#2017slbpholidayexchange

[slbp-holiday-exchange-blog]

A modern Saizo/MC for @akiza-hades-rose, from @alva-radio!

[rubyleeray]

For a Friend

This is for Tumblr user @kawa-akarin who wrote me a wonderful Shingen smut for the 2017 SLBP Holiday Exchange. This is my thank you to her!

“Oh man.” Shigezane mumbles over and over again while raking his hand through his hair so many times it starts to feel greasy. “I have NO idea what to do. Like, none.”

He’s pacing the stable taking deep breath after deep breath, shaking his hands when they’re not in his hair.

“Like…what do people even talk about on these things?”

Shigezane’s horse, Kurodayu, lets out a whinny.

“No, I’ve had a lot of hookups - not actual dates. Hookups are easy! You don’t need to talk at all! This is different - maaaaaaaajorly different.”

Kurodayu gives shigezane and irritated look.

“That wasn’t a horse joke, just a human exaggeration! Anyway - you’re a girl! What sort of things do you like to talk about?”

Kurodayu let out a long sigh through her nose and looked down.

“Hmm? Your salt lick?” Shigezane crouches down to get a better look. “I don’t think she has one of these so I’m not quite sure…”

Kurodayu stamps the ground three times in a row.

“AH! That’s right! She cooks! That’s a great idea! I’ll talk to her about recipes and things…things I like to eat and make. I only really know how to make rice but that’s a great jumping off point! Thanks girl!” Shigezane leaps up and ruffles her mane appreciatively. Kurodayu lets out a delighted whinny and snort.

Shigezane’s confidence is fleeting though and in just a few seconds he is thoughtful once more. He reverts back to pacing and raking his hands through his hair.

“One topic isn’t going to be enough. I should have a backup in case she’s sick and tired of talking about cooking after cooking all day…”

Kurodayu steps up once more and huffs.

“What’s that?”

Kurodayu huffs again. Harder.

“Horses? You want me to ask if she likes horses? Well…It’s a bit of a stretch but hey - why not? You’re the best girl!”

Shigezane once more pats her appreciatively and feeds her a cracker from his pocket.  It is when he does this that he suddenly looks at his outfit critically.

“What should I wear?”

Kurodayu whinnies.

“I can’t wear this! I smell like horse and crackers!”

Kurodayu lets out an angry huff.

“It’s okay for most days but not on a super fancy special occasion. Do you understand girl? I’m sorry I’m really not trying to offend you. I just want to smell - you know - like a man.”

He takes her by the muzzle and rests his nose against hers. Kurodayu doesn’t react but she doesn’t pull away either.

“How about you wear the blue kimono?” a voice calls out from the doorway.

Lord Ibano stands there holding the very kimono he just mentioned. He smiles and shakes his head.

“And how about you come to me and stop asking the horse for advice?”

Kurodayu rears up.

“Sorry girl, but he shouldn’t be putting this burden on you! You’ve had a long day and need to relax. You can’t let this guy be stressing you out too.”

Kurodayu settles down and turns around in her stable.

“Thanks.” Shigezane walks up to Lord Ibano. 

“Don’t mention it, but seriously, next time just come right to me. I’m not a woman like Kurodayu here but I’ve had more than a few successful dates in my life so this old guy knows a thing or two.” Lord Ibano’s eyes crinkle with his smile.

“Really…thank you…I’m sorry, I’m just really nervous. I really l…l…like this girl. Like, like-like.”

“Love?”

“Yeah…maybe…yeah.” A tint of pink spreads across Shigezane’s face as he looks away.

“Well if you love her, be yourself and trust her to be on this date with you. She will be nervous too and worry about the conversation but just listen to each other and comment as you naturally would. I take it you two have conversed before?”

“Oh yeah! Plenty of times!”

“And it was fine?”

“Yeah! It was great actually!”

“Then don’t psych yourself out so much. Just relax, listen to her, and think before you speak. You’ll be fine.”

Shigezane looks back at Lord Ibano and takes a deep breath before flashing him his signature grin.   

“Right again - as always.”

“I’ve been saying that for years.”

Shigezane takes the kimono from his hands bowing deeply.

“Thank you. Please pray for me and wish us luck.”

“I will pray for you now, but I’ll save the luck-wishing for your wedding.”

Shigezane’s eyes grow wide and he bites his lip. Lord ibano laughs.

“I’m kidding! Now go! Before you’re late!” He shoos Shigezane off with a wave of his hands. As Shigezane clears the hill to the castle, Lord Ibano lets out a happy sigh. “Half-kidding.”

[orphedream]

So this one wait since a couple of days already to be show to the world xD

Here is my secret santa gift for  @tentori21  (here another version of the picture i did  )

I fully draw Masamune, but used the background from the app ;)

I hope you like it

And yeah, guess i need to learn how to properly color my draw with pc ^^,

[mandakatt]

Hi! It's your SLBP Holiday Exchange nonnie. Just trying to figure out some specifics here. Any writing/style/POV choices you aren't fond of?

Hiya SLBPHE-Nonnie. *blinks* Wow.. that’s a heck of an acronym. *chuckle*

Anyhow – I really don’t have anything that I’m not fond of. Whichever is easiest for you to create. ♥

I am so excited! Thank you in advance!

[slbp-holiday-exchange-blog]

(For @jemchew, from @regretful-otome)

1. Usagi.

“My name is Yahiko.” The boy beside Lord Kenshin was tiny. Smaller than everyone in the castle, almost the same height as Kanetsugu, but somehow smaller.

In other words, Yahiko was positively tiny compared to himself. He didn’t want to fight the small boy, he would crush him, so Kageie didn’t go out of his way to make friends with the tiny boy.

He… fit in somehow. A bit awkward in the way all growing boys who weren’t quite adults yet were, but alright.

Also, he was very jumpy.

It was like they had gotten a rabbit.

2. Oishī.

A small rabbit that could cook he amended a few days after his introduction. He was much better than the other castle cooks so hopefully, they got to keep him, if only for his food.

He could make kusa-mochi edible. He made Tsugutsugu’s bitter kusa-mochi sweet like they were supposed to be. A relief for his taste buds because Tsugutsugu was fast when it came to making others eat them.

“Yakko, food.” He plopped his head on top of his, his hair was soft, and tossed his arms over those tiny shoulders.

He barely stumbled with his weight this time.

3. Houchou.

Yakko would be very good with a tantou he decided, watching the swift cuts he made to the fish. No hesitation. A good thing on the battlefield.

“Hey, Yakko, want me to teach you how to fight?”

“No.”

That was a shame. He was small. And fast from the few times he had seen Yakko run.

“Are you sure? I’ll go easy on you.” He offered. Tsugutsugu was starting to get boring. And Yocchi never wanted to spar.

He blinked and stared down at the blade that was pointed at his throat.

“No.”

Kitchen knives suited Yakko’s hands more.

4. Kasa.

“You’re so small.” It was part complaint and part… he didn’t mind how small he was, compliment, observation?

But this was starting to hurt his back a little. If he straightened his back, the umbrella would be too high to cover Yakko and the rain was pretty heavy.

Not to mention, both of their feet were already covered in mud and their hakama were getting wet.

“Sorry about this.”

He seemed light enough.

“Yakko, hold this.” He handed the umbrella to him and then picked the smaller man up.

“Kageie-san!”

“Kakki.” He corrected. “We’re friends, so call me Kakki.”

5. Yomu.

Yakko was staring blankly at the scroll. Like he didn’t know what to do with it.

But, he was a commoner. Not a samurai or a noble.

“Yakko, do you know how to read?”

“… no.” Just as he thought.

“I’ll teach you how!” Yocchi popped his head onto Yakko’s and started pointing at the scroll. “This kanji is-”

“Yocchi, he needs to learn kana first before kanji.” His teacher hadn’t been merciful when teaching him the Chinese characters, but he could at least make sure Yakko didn’t suffer too much learning. “I’ll get some books for him.”

6. Okaeri.

“Kakki, you’re super lucky, you know.” He eyed Yocchi as he led him and his group somewhere after their wounds were treated. Rear guard was fun. The injuries not so much.

“What are you talking about? You want to join us?” Laughing, Yocchi shook his head and slide a door open.

A feast. There was no better word for it. It looked good for what wasn’t covered.

And there was a familiar form in the corner, fast asleep.

“When Yakko heard you were coming, he asked Lord Kenshin for permission to make a feast to welcome you back with.”

7. Moku.

“What is this for?” His stare was almost accusing. No doubt he still remembered their conversation in the kitchen.

Yakko didn’t want to fight. But that didn’t mean he should be defenseless.

“You’re too weak.” But still sturdy. “Some defense never hurts.”

A practice sword would hurt, but not in a permanent manner.

Just enough for him to get away.

“I still don’t want to fight.”

“But I won’t always get there in time, Yakko.” Good, Yocchi could do this. “We want you to be able to defend yourself a little, so please?”

He crumpled like paper in no time.

8. Ue.

He woke to a blanket being placed on him and a shadow cast over him.

Wordlessly, he lifted his arm up. An invitation. One he didn’t offer often.

“I have to help with lunch.”

He frowned. Yakko’s food was good and people would get upset if he deprived them of his cooking. So he just sighed and settled back under his blanket which was a haori. But too big to be Yakko’s. Who could have given Yakko one then?

Too much effort to think about he decided, closing his eyes again.

It smelled like sandalwood and felt like sunset.

9. Amai.

The first time Tsugutsugu offered his weapon-grade kusa-mochi, he was unaware. Afterwards, he ran, but that rarely stopped Tsugutsugu. Honestly, they should just equip Tsugutsugu with his food and let him throw them at the enemy. Or feed them. He was such an aggressive feeder.

The first time after Yakko’s arrival, the kusa-mochi was sweet for once.

Just like all the other sweets leaving Yakko’s kitchen.

He wondered what it said about him when he took to napping near the kitchen in order to wake up to a plate of sweets nearby with a pot of tea and a cup.

10. Neru.

He was pleasantly surprised when he woke up in a small human curled up under his haori. Or rather, one under and the other leaning on the wall right by him. It was rare for Yakko to not have a shadow called Ai behind him.

They were both so small that his haori easily covered both of them. It was warm enough he didn’t need it to nap.

Kanetsugu couldn’t scold them. He wouldn’t. He was oddly fond of Yakko though that might have had something with the way Ai followed him around.

A nap would be good for them.

11. Tōrō.

“Kakki-san,” Opening his eyes, he was met with soft lantern light being cast on the floor and Yakko looking down on him. “You missed dinner.”

Giving the smaller man a look, he deliberately dragged his eyes from his to the tray in his hand.

The action got him a giggle and the tray moved in front of him.

“Itadakimasu.”

It wasn’t bad. Eating on the veranda with a lantern’s light and Yakko’s quiet presence.

Perhaps he should keep doing this.

“Kanetsugu-san seemed annoyed with you not coming to dinner.”

Or maybe he shouldn’t. An irritated Kanetsugu was feared by all.

12. Kage.

Officially, Yakko was a page. Kenshin’s page. Or Kanetsugu’s depending on who snagged him first. And a cook.

Unofficially, as in Ai had decided it and no one ever denied her anything that wasn’t dangerous, he was Ai’s main caretaker.

Though, watching the two of them hang laundry up to dry from his spot on the roof, Ai looked like she could have been Yakko’s little sister. Or daughter if he was a little older.

“Nii-san, can we make mochi for Father today?”

“Of course.”

He was good with kids. Did he have a little sister in the capital?

13. Himitsu.

Yakko had secrets. And he wasn’t very good at hiding their existence. He supposedly had an older sister and a mother back in the capital. If anything, Yakko seemed more like Kanetsugu than Yocchi so did he have another sibling?

Not like it was in his position to pry when Yakko was mostly harmless. Unless it involved his kitchen.

Yakko was very good at not revealing his secrets.

“B-b-breasts!” Tsugutsugu covered Yocchi’s mouth before he could get louder.

Except, he couldn’t hide this one after falling into the pond. Then, loud stomps came before them.

“What is going on here?”

14. Shiragiku.

Well, in hindsight, he supposed it made sense. Yakko was built more like a willow and so light compared to even Kanetsugu, he had worried he wasn’t eating enough.

The wet clothes clinging to her frame made it quite obvious a woman had been underneath them.

“You’re soaked!” Grabbing a towel, Kanetsugu started to pat her dry. Not even blinking at her gender. He probably knew from the start.

So why did he let her stay? Did Kenshin know?

“Don’t just stand there! Get me another towel!”

Too troublesome to think about it now he decided, getting another towel.

15. Bijin.

“Yep, Yahiko’s a woman.”

So Kenshin knew too.

“Women are forbidden in the castle.”

“She’s here for Ai. Kanetsugu figured she could use some feminine influence in her life.” Then why weren’t they told in the first place?

The shifting and frowning meant he wasn’t the only one to think that.

“Yakko’s still Yakko.” Yoshichi decided with a firm nod. “So where is she?”

“Lord Kenshin?”

“Come in.”

The door to the main hall slide open.

Her still somewhat damp hair clung closely to her neck and he could see why they felt the need to hide her.

Pretty.

16. Aho.

Yakko, as she didn’t mind being called that, was an idiot, he decided, for continuing to stay when she could have gone home. It was a castle full of men and one girl, and, now, one woman. “No. Spar with me.”

Oh, wait, it was their own fault for making her feel safe enough that staying was an option. There went Tsugutsugu dragging off his latest victim for a ‘spar.’

More like beating him black and blue. In the name of training so they couldn’t get in trouble.

And Kanetsugu seemed to approve of their methods.

Kenshin didn’t mind either.

17. Ku.

“Kakki-san, I made onigiri. Would you like some?” It was nice to hear her normal voice. Pleasant, not at all hoarse like she pretended it was to hide its high pitch.

“Yeah.” He sat up. Taking one of the balls of rice off the plate, he bit into it when something caught his eye.

Where had she gotten rouge? They always went shopping in town together so he would know if she bought something.

Did Lord Kenshin give it to her?

It was a nice shade.

He should warn Yocchi and Tsugutsugu. They were going to have more work now.

18. Namae.

The only people who knew Yakko’s actual name were Kanetsugu and Lord Kenshin. And no one asked her what her name was.

As if, if they did know, Yakko wouldn’t be one of them anymore.

It would be much more real that she was a she and not simply a beautiful man like Lord Kenshin. And happened to dress like a woman.

“Hey,”

“Yes, Kakki-san?”

“Your real name, what is it?”

Looking around and then gesturing him to lean down, it felt like she was telling him a secret.

Something private she was going to share just with him.

19. Nyuu.

It was dumb. It was no secret that Lord Kenshin was fond of Yakko. He doted on her constantly as evident by her growing collection of hair accessories and fine kimono. In addition to his habit to escaping the castle with her.

Lady Uesugi, they whispered in the halls. The rumors were flying around.

Before he didn’t pay attention to them, but these ones irked him.

Now he was downright irritated.

He wasn’t surprised by the fact that Lord Kenshin liked to do her hair.

It was the fact that he minded that surprised him.

It was just a hairstick.

20. Atsui.

Too hot to nap. Way too hot, even in the shade. Especially near the kitchen.

“Yakko,” He whined. From outside the kitchen, right where he could start to feel the heat. It was almost dinner time so it was hot from the flames.

“Yes?” Soft, but quick footsteps signaled her arrival.

… perhaps he shouldn’t have called her outside.

The sheen of sweat on her skin caught the setting sun’s light and there goes a drop down her neck and into… her… cleavage.

She looked good regardless of the weather.

“I want sweets.”

“After dinner if you’re still awake.”

21. Suki.

He wasn’t an idiot. He was very familiar with emotions contrary to what his comrades might think. He was a rather simple man. None of that complicated denial stuff.

The worst that could happen was Lord Kenshin taking offence in the scenario that she was his lover.

He might die.

But that was highly unlikely since she wasn’t the type to get retribution for anything.

Except messing with her kitchen.

“Kakki-san?”

He gestured to the spot beside him on the veranda and waited until she was seated.

“I love you.”

Oh, her surprised squeak was adorable. Along with that blush.

22. Aka.

“You can’t just say that!”

“I just did.”

He could wait until her stammered retorts ended. Except it didn’t look like she would be done anytime soon.

Softly, he called her name, putting a stop to her voice.

“I love you.” He repeated calmly. As calmly as he could with his heart thumping louder than usual. “I liked Yakko, now I love you.”

Well, her blush and attempt to hide behind her hands seemed like a good response.

It wasn’t a rejection yet.

“Well?”

“I… love you… too.”

“I can’t kiss you with your hands in the way.”

[slbp-holiday-exchange-blog]

For @aeirwen 

Here is some Sunshine and Mitsunari for your Holidays!

(From @jane-runs-fast)

[slbp-holiday-exchange-blog]

A Kiyohiro fic for @regretful-otome, from @yoolee

Side Ponytail Relationship Success Support Squad – the ship no one asked for, I’m sorry!

Watercolor background by Balasoiu. Reference one & two

Officially, Kiyohiro oughtn’t approve.

Emotional attachments are liabilities in the shared business of Iga villagers, and he has seen their cost paid enough times to understand why they are considered so; it’s much easier to clean blood off your blade that never belonged to someone once held dear.

But there’s something nice about seeing them form, and blossom.

The softness in the Lord Assassin’s smile looks like it belongs there. Like its shape has settled and sealed some shattered foundation and strengthened it.

Put more simply—Saizo looks happy.

As for Kiyohiro himself, who is not overly prone to strong emotions one way or another, he finds that watching sunlight creep into a soul sworn to shadows makes him happy as well. He keeps this to himself—but he does his best to protect it. He delivers gifts from Oyuki (though often while wondering if doing so is protection or problem-causing), redirects the wayward Hotaru, puts forth his own blade to distract the mad Hojo ninja intent on Saizo’s attention, such that his odd ardour won’t disrupt few stolen moments of alone time the Lord Assassin takes with his little lady. It is an offering of admiration if not precisely friendship. He supposes that suits best—he is neither guardian, nor protector. He is not even quite shadow, for if he were, he would not interfere. He is an ally of sorts. An admirer.

He notices—because it is his job to notice things—the pretty maid in pink lingering in the hallway. Ostensibly, she is scrubbing the floors, but to his trained eye they are already sparkling and so the activity is suspect. From his place tucked in the dim, Kiyohiro grips his weapon, and waits, weary of another interruption to thwart, but her purpose becomes clear as soon as the younger Sanada lord approaches. She flings her arms around Yukimura’s to prevent his entry into the closed room, and he stops short, free arm frozen from where it would knock.

The little lord, as Saizo calls him, predictably, sputters, and stammers, a shocked caricature of himself in scarlet from head to toes. The pretty maid shushes him and shoos him away from his course with a sweet smile and smooth words. His mission forgotten, the samurai returns from whence he came, face still burning in a blush and inarticulate mumbles stuttering under his breath. The maid watches him go, and Kiyohiro watches her. Her fingers are steepled, her hair pulled to the side, and her cheeks are bright with her pleasure. She gives a wordless thumbs up to the closed door. Kiyohiro does not detect a smile has taken up residence on his own lips in silent accord.

The couple has another ally, it would seem.

(He makes a note to learn her name.)

He does.

He also learns that she meddles.

He can only suppose that’s what she’s up to now, as she lies in wait in the garden, visible to him from his perch on the roof where he waits for Saizo’s return. He knows she is waiting, because he’s seen her and the woman in blue with her take the wash down before, and this particular instance seems to be requiring twice the usual amount of time. That, and she keeps checking less than subtly over her shoulder with impatience in her lips. Kiyohiro raises an eyebrow at Kansuke, who has silently joined him, unnoticed by the pair of maids working on their tasks below. The other ninja’s expression remains blank, focused but unconcerned. He gives a faint shake of his head; the reason for their apparent languor is unknown to him as well.

They need not talk, but Kiyohiro supposes once more that it is a sort of kinship, in that at least they are not fighting, as so often their kind must when encountering one another. He lets himself relax, but notes Kansuke does not. The other man is not tense, but he is still as he always is, watching and waiting as the maid does. Kiyohiro thinks again of sunlight and reflects that perhaps Kansuke’s is a different sort than that which Saizo has found.

He’s amused for a moment, that they are all waiting. He, for Saizo, Kansuke, for his lord, and the maid—for what?

But it becomes clear when Shingen strolls down the halls, laugh hearty and full, and Umeko calls for him sweetly. Kansuke, who was at Kiyohiro’s side one second, is not the next. His absence is as whisperingly unremarkable as his arrival, and Kiyohiro knows better than to look for where he has gone. Instead he watches, as Shingen obligingly approaches, and Umeko artfully—or perhaps, artlessly, trips on her sandal, careening into her blue-clad partner, who is then flung forward towards and into her lord…

Kiyohiro supposes he should sigh, but there are advantages to being an unseen observer and so he smiles instead, a faint press upwards of his lips. In any case, Shingen not only has an armful of blue-dressed and blushing maid with stars in her eyes, he has Kansuke, and that makes such meddling not Kiyohiro’s concern.

He spares a glance for the unrepentant Umeko, regarding the Tiger of Kai and her friend with as focused and bright a gaze as a child receiving a treasure.

He shakes his head and hears the crows calling. When he turns to seek them, and so the one who has called him here in the first place, he catches a stretch of sunlight creeping up clasped arms in red and blue, and smiles.

Because he learned it, when he hears Umeko in Owari, he pays more attention than he might have otherwise. From his position behind the gold-robed Lord Ieyasu, he watches, and there is no one to watch him and so detect the flash of a concerned crease that appears between his brows.

Sure enough. There she is, expression sheepish but no less bright, far from the lands of Kai, and in the service of the Demon King.

He does not serve Nobunaga, so he does not offer up his knowledge.

But he watches.

She is still there, still in pink, still with her hair to the side and her thoughts clear on her face. He notes other changes with her arrival, most notably in the lord she serves, whose eyes follow what appears to be a lad, but to Kiyohiro’s observant skill is clearly a woman. His business is secrets, and the risks they may carry. So he watches, as the would-be lad slips into the kitchens, and emerges with a jar of sugar candies, Umeko at her side, urging and encouraging some romantic purpose.

He hears her confess in the sheepish, girlish whisper of confidences shared between friends and not meant for eavesdropping shadows, that she was dismissed for not getting her work done. Since she is, at the particular moment Kiyohiro is observing, making the tea too hot and too full such that when it inevitably spills its victim will need nursing, he is not terribly surprised to learn this.

He, who is wired to work and work well, cannot quite reconcile her methods. But perhaps because there is something about the mighty being nudged by the modest, or simply because he appreciates her for pursuing what he will not, and the fact no word of what she knows from her prior service spills from her lips to endanger those he admires, when the sunlight reflects off of the tray of too-hot tea pressed into the not-a-lad’s hands, he smiles.

The way to a samurai’s heart is, apparently, through his stomach. Kiyohiro files that away with quiet consideration as he watches Ieyasu—like Saizo and Nobunaga before him—fall in love with the daughter of a cook. For his own reference, he makes a note of the chef’s home town. He wonders if perhaps there is some new ninja clan forming in Kyoto, one that focuses on foods instead of more immediate seductions, but try as he might, can find no wile in the lady’s affections for the caustic lord they both serve.

But then, if she is a very good ninja, he wouldn’t, would he?

Worried, he holds himself quiet in the dark, and crafts a message in his thoughts to be later delivered to Oyuki, who would know such things and hear him out. The silver-haired kunoichi of Iga may seem flighty and unfocused, but even in his mind he gives her name the respect she has earned. After all, she always comes home, her missions complete and her skin unkissed by wounds. Her wiles are perhaps more… exuberant than others in the village, but Kiyohiro can appreciate the effectiveness of her methodology. Surely she knows of stomachs, and as this now involves his employer, it will not do to be caught unawares.

Having decided on a next action, he feels something like relief, until he notes that here in Ieyasu’s castle, just past the quiet space near his Lord Ieyasu’s rooms where he holds himself in silence, there is a maid in pink scrubbing the floors. She looks familiar. As he is wondering just where from, footsteps and squabbling echo down the corridor.

“But Lord Ieyasu—”

“Just be quiet and come along, kitchen wench!”

Kiyohiro winces, but the maid’s head shoots up with a delighted grin, and she overturns her bucket of water, grabs her rag and the the now emptyied vessel and scampers with great haste out of sight.

He knows her name, and in surprise, it flows from him in a whisper, and she turns, shrieking at his (what to her must seem) sudden appearance, but he grips her arm as gently as he is able in his frustration, and pulls her into his shadows.

What is she planning? What has she done?

“Your lord could have gotten hurt.” His voice is calm—it always is—but even he can hear the firm disapproval in its tone. The maid’s quick, darting glance to the side and muffled twist of her lips tells him she doesn’t really see that as a problem (her defiance baffles him, he who serves without question and eyes downcast).

“Weeeell,” she hedges, drawing out the vowel in the way of someone who doesn’t know where they’re going next. Surprised at himself, he feels his fingers tighten on her shoulders, and her pretty, dark eyes fly back to his. (He doesn’t notice how happy he is for that, but later, when he settles onto the rooftop to guard his liege’s door for the night, the stars remind him of that startled, brightly defiant stare). His voice is soft, but does not waver. “Or the cook,” He does not know her name, they all seem the same to him, so long as they are not a threat, “I believe you did not consider that?” That gets guilt, which flashes briefly before settling back into determination, and her chin juts up even as a slim finger bangs into his chest, poking just to the side of his heart, not far off.

In an insistent whisper, she hisses, “They won’t get hurt, they—”

“­YAAACK!”

Splat.

Though he’s done nothing wrong—except, perhaps, fail to warn his employer of a threat—Kiyohiro tenses, and Umeko eeps in his arms, but wastes no time leaning her head back. The ninja is less eager to look, but she turns back to him, full smile coquettish and radiant with triumph. She giggles, and the finger that had been so willing to poke him now beckons. Uneasy, Kiyohiro obliges, peering for himself around the corner.

Because he knows what has happened—and who is to blame—Kiyohiro does not misunderstand the scene before him, but it would be easy to do. The little cook hovers inches from the ground, disheveled and wide-eyed, locked in her lord’s arms. Her alarmed hands have tangled in his golden robes, his are wrapped around her waist and up her back, their grip white and tight in the fabric, a picture of passion and shock and…

Kiyohiro has no desire to deal with having been caught witnessing such a scene and hurriedly pulls Umeko away and out of sight. The hallway only leads to their lord’s room, so deciding on the most expedient option to get them out of there, he scoops her up and darts up instead and out through the rafters.

Her gasp of shock is ignored, as are her arms, flung quick and tight around his shoulders. In the courtyard he sets her down and finds himself relieved that her cheeks are not pale in fright from his handling. She stares at him for a moment, and he dips his head, ready to return to his task when she asks, “Have I seen you before?”

It surprises him, that she’s asked. “Not if I have done my job well.”

She grins. “Of course, the…” She waves a hand at the rafters, and pink brightens the spots above her smile. “And you always do your job well, I bet.” He doesn’t have to say yes, she’s already nodding on his behalf. He lets her and stays quiet. “I don’t,” She confesses with a mischievous grimace, and out of courtesy he refrains from nodding on her behalf, “I mean to! I do! And I can but sometimes…” She trails off.

Kiyohiro thinks of slippery floors and close embraces, of fluttering sheets of laundry and trays of tea. “Sometimes circumstances are extenuating.”

“Yes.” Umeko looks relieved he understands. Which he doesn’t, exactly, but he has some sense of it. He bows, assuming their exchange is complete, and turns to leave when she seizes his hands. Hers are rough as his are, from a different sort of work than wielding swords and climbing buildings. “I HAVE seen you! You threw Lord Saizo’s crazy ninja down the well!”

He blinks owlishly at her. She is leaning in with delight, furtively glancing around, before whispering “At the castle of the Tak—” His hand is quick to cover her mouth in warning, well aware of how even whispers travel to the right, or wrong, ears. It is not so bad for him to have been there, but she is not—and he is certain of this now, for reasons he worrisomely cannot root in logic—a ninja, and would be called a spy and quartered. To his surprise, he realizes he would regret such a thing coming to pass.

Perhaps he is getting used to seeing pink wherever his role takes him.

She mumbles into his hand, breath warm and undeterred, “On Lord Saizo’s birthday!” Since she will talk anyway, despite the look he levels at her to warn her to silence, he drops his hand. “I know it must have been you because I thought at the time how we have the same style!” At his faint expression of confusion, her hands part, one going to her own ponytail and one to his. He catches the scent of something floral as she runs her fingers through their strands and thinks she is a rather strange person. It isn’t a bad thing, he supposes. “That was very sweet of you, to fight him off so they could have time together.” Uncomfortable with her praise, his eyes drop to the side, and he almost misses her next words. “You ship them too, don’t you?”

His brows furrow. The Takeda are more inclined to cavalry than armadas, and he wonders suddenly if she is a spy and knows something he does not, “Ship… them?”

“Yes! Together! Lord Saizo and his little lady! Oh they were just so adorable, don’t you think?” She’s sparkling again, Kiyohiro thinks, and it reminds him of sunlight. He tries to remember that he’s always been fonder of the rain, and wondesr what Lord Saizo would make of being deemed adorable. “Just like Lord Ieyasu and his sweetheart.” There, again. Sweetheart and Lord Ieyasu are hard to put together in the same sentence, but Kiyohiro cannot deny a soft spot for the capricious man. Though he can lie, as doing so is often critical to his survival, he prefers not to if it is unnecessary, and so once again he says nothing and once again Umeko does not seem to mind. “Oh it won’t be long now with them, it just won’t! I wonder if perhaps there is some way to speed it along.”

“Speed what along?” Kiyohiro murmurs, unaware he has asked out loud. Umeko looks at him like he is silly, and that seems very unfair to him. He is not the one sparkling. 

“Their relationship of course. Their love story!” He puts it together then, ship and shipping with relationship, and considers again that she is a bit strange, but Umeko is still talking. “Isn’t love beautiful?” Her eyes have gone starry, the question ending in a sigh. The honest answer, that he wouldn’t really know, rises in his throat, but her gentle, roughened hands are clasped once more in dreamy appreciation, misty in her smile, and he says nothing. “They just need a bit more of nudge.” The misty dreaminess abruptly skews towards something more purposeful, and a warning bell chime in his mind, “I wonder…”

“He is your employer.” Kiyohiro murmurs, asking at last what he has longed to know. How can she so flippantly insert herself into his affairs? It is reckless, and so against what he has been taught and how he is that he cannot help that it sounds like an admonishment.

“Of course. Don’t you want him to be happy?” He did, but that fell into the category of not relevant to doing his job well, so he didn’t act on it. “And I’m sure he’s marginally more pleasant to work for when he is.” He frowns at her, because that is even less relevant, but she flaps a dismissive hand. “Oh don’t give me that scary face! You aren’t half as scary as Milord Ieyasu is.” Kiyohiro isn’t certain if he should be amused or insulted. He settles for neutral—it’s never bad to be underestimated. “Oooh you have a sword, don’t you?” She’s only just now seen? Kiyohiro worries for her sense of self-preservation. “Perhaps you could kidnap her, or prete—”

“No.” The gentleness of his speech does not make the statement any less iron-clad. That is a line he will not cross, however appreciative he is of this determined woman’s fearless efforts in pursuit of… ships. He believes he’s gotten that right.

She puffs her cheeks out in a pout, but moves on quickly enough, tapping her chin in thought. “Well, I suppose I could ask the fellow in the market who’s sweet on me to do it…”

He feels a flash of unexpected irritation, and tells himself it is because he does not wish for harm or fear to come to anyone, and does not appreciate her disregard of the risk. It is uncharacteristic of him to interfere. He should leave her to her machinations, return to the shadows, and be unsurprised when she is dismissed for her efforts. It’s something he knows, but he closes his eyes, and then opens them, and wonders what he is doing. “May I present you an alternative?”

She giggles. “You’re so formal.” So he’s been told, but that’s his nature. She tilts her head in a way that sends her silken bangs into her eyes, considering him. Without realizing, he brushes her bangs aside, and only realizes what he’s done when her cheeks turn pink. He yanks his hands back, and she stumbles in her words, “An alternative?”

He apologizes silently to Ieyasu’s page, but it is better than her staging violence. Surely. Or, not that he wishes to admit it, going to someone else. “The young lord, Ii Toramatsu would… appear to hold affections for the same lady.” He offers this with great reluctance. It’s not as though he has been asked to keep the secret, not as though it bears relevance to anyone except a matchmaking maid in pink. Still, it is enough enough unlike him to freely offer information when his business is secrets to be sold that his brow furrows once more in concern with himself.

Umeko squeals, “Really?” Already regretting speaking, Kiyohiro remains still. “Oh that’s wonderful!”

(Kiyohiro does not see how but it seems unwise to offer that up.)

She doesn’t seem to notice, and continues, “We can certainly use that.”

“We?” Kiyohiro blinks, but her arm is tangled around his, freely and willingly, and the soft pink fabric looks bright against navy armor and red rope. She squeezes cheerfully and drags him down the hallway to some unknown purpose. He could escape, but he doesn’t.

“Well sure! We’re partners now! The Side Ponytail Relationship Success Support Squad!”

Kiyohiro frowns.

Umeko pouts. “Alright, maybe that’s a bit much of a mouthful. We can be—” She pauses in surprise, “I don’t know your name.”

To his surprise, he wants to tell her. Wants to give her the truth. He doesn’t like to lie, unless it is necessary, but it is in this case. So he lies, and tells himself there is no reason to regret it, as she’ll never know. “Kiyohiro.”

She beams, “Kiyohiro! It’s nice to meet you.”

He has to smile at that, thinking of shadows. He murmurs gently, “I’m uncertain you would find any to agree with you.”

She sniffs, “Well poo on them.” His eyebrows raise, but she ignores it, as usual he is beginning to suspect, “I’m Umeko.”

He doesn’t tell her he knows already.

Manners dictate the response, for all that it is also true. “It is nice to meet you, Miss Umeko.”

“Of course it is,” The confidence is tempered with a tinkling laugh that tells him she is aware how silly she is being. Conspiratorially, she tugs on the elbow she’s captured, and he obliges, lowering his ear closer to her height. “Next? I think we should hook up Lord Tadakatsu. He’s such a sweetheart, he just needs the right partner, you know? And we can find them! Or perhaps poor Lord Toramatsu. Yes, yes I think he will need to be next, the poor dear, since his lady love is desperately smitten with someone else. Even if they are both stubborn and won’t admit it yet, silly dears. But we can help! They’ll find love with our help! I’m sure of it!”

He is less so, and uncertain that he should spend his time on such pursuits when he has work for Lord Ieyasu and the village to see to, but she’s smiling, and it is bright as sunshine.

He smiles back.

[slbp-holiday-exchange-blog]

For @tentori21, from @orphedream!

[slbp-holiday-exchange-blog]

For @han-pan, from Santa-runs-fast! ;)

[slbp-holiday-exchange-blog]

Kitten

 A Kojuro/MC fic

Fluff/Angst/Supernatural

A holiday gift for @princeanderfels from @quincette

I hope you enjoy this! This is meant to be fluff, but the execution demands a dose of angst that hopefully I have ended in a hopeful note.

She is fighting a losing battle with her illness but she’s not Katakura Kojuro’s precious girl if she’s not resourceful. A Katakura family heirloom and a conversation with Shigezane start an adventure that would probably cost nine lives.

 *

“Weak as a kitten.”

“Best to make her as comfortable as possible.”

Did the doctor think she wouldn’t be able to hear him? She heard everything. And it hurt. The subtle (no, not at all subtle – her mind supplied) suggestion in his words had hurt more than this unnamed malady that had been piercing invisible pins and needles, and viciously twisted them, into her limbs, relentlessly, day in and day out.

There had been brief respites, on warm sunny mornings. Brief periods of painless bliss that fanned the embers of hope inside of her, enough to fight off the next wave of pain.

She closed her eyes. She was so very tired.

“Trust me to get better, as I trust you to come home to me, Milord.”

“I trust you, my precious girl.”

Every time she thought of giving up, she replayed her own parting words to Kojuro, and his to her. He trusted her to keep her promise of fighting to get better. As she was sure he was currently fighting to come back alive from the battlefield to come home to her. She had asked him to trust her, to not giving up hope on her. And he had granted her that. She would not fail him. One does not squander Katakura Kojuro’s trust.

Not without trying, at least.

So, she moved, slowly, swimming through a sea of painful sensations her world had been reduced to. She felt her hand grasping the door and sliding it open, she felt the threshold of the tatami inside and the wood on the verandah outside, warmed by the early spring sun.

Oh, the sun felt so good on her skin. Just a little bit more…

“Doll!”

Oh. No. She’d been caught.

“Shigezane-sama…” she said with an effort.

“What are you doing!? You’ll catch a cold!”

It was not often that the jovial Date cousin sounded upset. He did now. Already she felt one of his hands on her arm, trying to haul her back in, presumably.

“No. No no no no no, please, Shigezane-sama…!” she fought him off.

She felt the hand fall away, and when she opened her eyes, she saw him kneeling next to her, blocking the draft. His face was shaded from the sun but she could vaguely see his frown.

“I-I just… wanted to feel the sun. It’s warm here, Shigezane-sama. You can feel it too, right?” She smiled, even through the pain, the sun did feel good. “Would you help me? Please?”

She heard Shigezane’s sharp breath. “But the doctor–“

“He said to make me as comfortable as possible, did he not?”

Shigezane let out another sharp breath. There had been a pause before she heard him curse softly under his breath, and the next thing she knew she was sitting on the edge of the verandah, comfortably propped on his left shoulder.

“This is the only way I would let you soak up the sun in the open air, got it, doll?”

She sighed. “You’re very kind, Shigezane-sama.”

“Tell that to Kojuro when he murders me for letting you do this.”

She couldn’t help to chuckle. “You’re supposed to be recovering in your bed yourself.”

“Hmh, but it’s such a lovely day to visit my lovely erstwhile neighbour,” he said. “Might cheer her up.”

His back was broad and warm.

“Cheer her up you did…”

She couldn’t see his face, but she could tell that he’s smiling by the slight movement of his shoulder.

They sat together for a while, letting the bush warblers in the budding plum trees fill the silence with their chirps. 

“How’s your hand, Shigezane-sama?”

“I think it’s trying to turn into a flipper now,” he said, showing her his bandaged hand. “Do you think I have a chance competing with Bontenmaru for Kojuro’s affection?” He chuckled.

It’s strange how her lips smiled but her eyes stung with unshed tears upon hearing that. She fought the urge to cry.

The bush warblers’ chirp did not manage to drown out the soft sob that escaped her lips.

“Hey,” Shigezane said. “Don’t listen to what the doctor said – I mean, you did hear what he said but I mean, uh, don’t believe the entirety of it, alright? I mean, he said it’s unlikely I will be able to hold sword like I used to with this hand. He said I’d be lucky if my fingers don’t fall off tomorrow, but they will likely be stuck together – disgusting right? But, doll – “

She felt his good hand squeezing hers.

“One way or another, I will keep fighting, you see. I still have my other good hand or god forbid I will train my new flipper to hold a sword if I have to.”

She wasn’t sure if she was crying or laughing at this moment. Or if the edge of her vision was blurry from tears or pain or medicine or all of them combined.

“I am going to be alright,” he continued, “That’s why I think you’ll be alright. Heck, you’re stronger than me. You’re Kojuro’s best student, you know that?”

Like his laughter and his optimism, Shigezane’s conviction was infectious. By the time he shifted her body and propped her to lean on his raised knee so she could see his face, she was smiling again.

“Thank you,” she whispered as he dabbed her tears with his sleeve.

“Want to tell me what that shrivelled old sourplum told you?”

She let out a shaky breath, “That it’s best to make me… comfortable… because I, I am weak as a kitten…”

Shigezane snorted. “That’s all?”

“… like I’m going to die soon, Shigezane-sama,” she looked into his eyes. “Some days, I felt like it too and I am terrified.”

“He doesn’t know that. And he doesn’t know how strong you are. Hell, I just found you clawing the floor to get to the sun. You –“ he squeezed her hand again and this time she squeezed back, “ – are one kitten with helluva sharp claws.”

He grinned and even with the pain, it was impossible for her not to crack one too.

“That’s more like it. Did you know that there was this crazy lord who brought his cat to the battlefield? Outfitted with this special little armour made of coins and stuff?”

She chuckled and shook her head, “No…” The pain felt distant now. The medicine she took in the morning must have taken effect. Her senses felt dulled somewhat and the tears she had shed earlier has made her chest felt lighter and her eyelids heavier.

“It’s true, they have a picture of it in this book, I’m sure Kojuro has one in … –“

She didn’t hear the rest of the story. Still leaning on Shigezane’s raised knee, she let her tired body succumb to sleep.

***

When she came to, she was snugly cocooned inside her room. Her limbs felt numb this time, which was marginally better than the pain, but she knew it wouldn’t last. The numbness would soon splinter into thousands of pins and needles lodged under her skin again. Trying to distract herself, she traced back the day’s event, and her conversation with Shigezane.

She clenched and unclenched her hand, it felt like she was feeling her own skin through a layer of dumpling skin. She replayed his words, his conviction. “Kitten with sharp claws…,” she murmured. There’s nothing she wouldn’t give to be able to transform to one now if that means she could escape her ailing body.

“There was this crazy lord who brought his cat to the battlefield…”

A cat…

“It’s an odd thing to be able to say that you’re the first cat that’s ever taken a liking to me.”

The crazy idea came to her so suddenly, so forcefully and she was so desperate to catch it that she leapt out of the bed and dashed to the door.

Or so she had meant to do, for she collapsed halfway.

“Milady!” the chambermaid assigned to her to her room had woken up and cried out. Her voice was followed by the sounds of hurried footsteps and bedding being thrown away.

She, they – there were more than one tonight – came to her side.

They must have thought I would die soon.

“Milady you shouldn’t –“

“Fetch the doctor!”

Oh, why couldn’t they be Umeko, Matsuko, or Shiro or someone who knew her from her commoner days instead of these young servants who had only known her as ‘Milady’? The title she would take a long time to grow accustomed to. Had she had the time.

“No. No!” she screamed, using their hold to haul herself up. “Please, I need to go…!”

When it only served to make them tighten their hold on her, she realized she needed to change her approach. She steeled herself.

“Fetch Shigezane-sama now or I swear I will have Kojuro-sama strip your hide.”

She recognized the fearful silence that followed her words. She had experienced it firsthand, more than a handful of times, but never as the caused of it. Never in her wildest dreams, she had thought she would one day learn from Yoshihime, let alone channel the Date matriarch’s deep-rooted disdain for commoners through words.

But desperate times and all that.

 “Now!” she growled.

It had taken all her strength to keep herself upright until one of the servants assigned to her went running to do her bid.

Only when Shigezane was in her chamber, wild-eyed and concerned, and she had banished all her attendants from the room, did she let herself collapse in his arms.

“Take me to Hachiman shrine, please. Take me to Kita-san, Shigezane-sama.”

***

Having been raised in a shrine with a considerable collection of sacred relics and artefacts, Kojuro was no stranger to supernatural things. He was mostly unfazed by them, and handled them like he handled everything in life – collect enough facts and think of the most effective strategy to get his objectives.

But this was… something else.

Something was following him like a cloud of…  good luck. Now, most people would chalk this up to some god’s blessing but Kojuro wasn’t one of them. The universe, he believed, would always constantly balance itself, and if by some accident he was bestowed a good fortune, then he must be prepared to overcome an obstacle or a setback, as it is the way the world works. That’s why dark magic would never really work in the long run.

Good fortune made him suspicious. He has turned his tent upside down in search of an ornate temari – in case all of it was Kogiku’s work. It was unlikely that the Katakura family’s zashiki warashi could convince Kita or Shigetsugu to slip the artefact into his belonging, but just in case she had managed to do so.

But no temari in sight. And knowing Kogiku, if indeed it had been her, she would have been too proud of her work not to take the credit. This… thing that’s been happening to him, whatever it was, it had felt gentler, and manifested in more subtle, small things.

Despite his general incompetence at tidying up, he had never lost a brush during this campaign, or cracked an inkstone, or woken up to find he had spilt ink everywhere during sleep. In the past, he had often fallen asleep without eating his ration to find the rats had gotten into it in the morning. But never in this campaign. In fact, no mention of rats anywhere in the reports he was inspecting.

These small things might escape his notice had it not been culminating in one pivotal incident during a recent skirmish with the enemies. An enemy scout had noticed them during one of their nocturnal outings. He had been stealthy and fast, and he would have gotten away and warned his camp had it not been for something that attacked him, immobilizing him enough for his party to capture him.

That something might have been an animal, for he had found scratches and bite marks on him. Genya only shrugged and smiled when he quizzed him whether that was Oboro’s work.

“Whatever it was, it was definitely the work of a good bitch, huh, Kojuro-san?” he had said in his typically lazy drawl and coarse language, breaking his disguise as Masamune’s kagemusha for a few seconds. Kojuro had a sneaking suspicion that the shinobi had known something more than he let on. But again, Genya had always known more than he let on.

These things that most people would thank the gods for, they made him feel apprehensive. Because they started to feel like a compensation. The universe had not been kind to him and his precious girl of late, and these, he feared, were the flipside of some great misfortune that’s coming their way.

Deep down, he was terrified for her. She had promised him to fight to get better. And she had never let him down, as his page, as his lover. But some things were beyond the mortal control and mortal realm.

Her letters had stopped coming. Kojuro told himself that it was because they had made camp in a rather remote location recently. But her last letter had been short, and her penmanship – usually neat and expressive, a mirror of his own style – had been rather clumsy. It must have been difficult for her to write at that point and…

… and not even all the fortune in the could compensate for her life. So, he had said in his prayers, wishing for her health and his victory in every shrine he had found during his campaign trail, where he had stopped and played a song or two with his flute as a small offering. He needed blessings and help whenever he could find them.

***

When it dawned on him that the ambush had not meant to capture the small party he led, but to lead them inside that dark, dead-end cave, it clicked.

This is is the great misfortune.

“FALL BACK!” he shouted. “GET OUT OF THE CAVE, NOW!”

But his soldiers couldn’t hear him as a blast shook the cave. A sound of explosions, falling boulders and sliding earth followed suit, and all the sudden it was pitch black.

***

There were thirty of them, some were injured, few critically. And a handful of horses.

Kojuro had had greater losses. Much greater. But he had always managed to scrape through.

He had a nagging feeling in the back of his head that told him he’s not so sure this time. He mustn’t let that uncertainty grow louder. He needed to strategise.

If it’s any consolation, Masamune was safe back in the camp.

“Do you think I can let them know that I’m not Masamune? Might be good for their morale,” Genya whispered next to him when he had finished taking stock of their trapped party.

“No. Not yet,” he whispered yet. “There must be a way out.”

***

There was not, a way out.

There was an underground river at the back of the cave though. So they had water…

They could butcher the horses for meat.

They had enough cloth to fight the dropping temperature at night.

They had oil and flint stone to make fire.

They had sustenance. But they had no way out.

And they had no way of letting the outside camp know. Not even to warn Masamune, who was now left without his eyes, his claws and his body double. The size of the Date army was of a small comfort, but Masamune was about to be severely disadvantaged.

He needed to find a way out.

***

Still no way out.

He had sent one of his men into the water, in case there was a way for them to swim out of the cave.

He had gone for quite a time Kojuro feared he had drowned. Then he resurfaced only to say that there was indeed a way out, but it was too small for anyone to swim through.

They decided to butcher one horse.

Kojuro shook his head lightly when Genya raised an eyebrow, repeating the question to reveal his identity.

No, not yet. There must be a way out. He would not so easily give up.

He had promised to return to her.

***

He woke up to find two of his injured men had succumbed to death in the freezing night.

They buried them under the rocks. He played a song that brought tears to some men’s eyes, and say some words to rekindle the fire in their soul.

They decided to butcher one more horse and drank the little sake they had left.

It must have been the third day.

The stale air began to take the stench of human waste.

Kojuro still shook his head to Genya’s unspoken question.

Exhausted, but unable to sleep, Kojuro thought he saw a pair of glowing eyes. He blinked, and it disappeared. He thought he heard a splash.

But all his men were accounted for. No one had been throwing himself into the river.

***

Fifth day. Two more men. Two more horses. The morale was declining.

They still closed their eyes and smiled when they hear his song. But he could see the exhaustion seeping into their bones. He could feel it in his own flesh.

He thought of his precious girl. He thought of Masamune. He thought of Shigezane and his injury. He hoped they were in a better state than his own.  

But he still shook his head to Genya’s question. No, they are not at that point. He needed to keep his faith that there would be a way out before they got to that point.

The shinobi had ditched his Masamune impersonation, keeping only his tone of voice and his eyepatch. Kojuro let it slide. It was dark anyway – they had decided only to keep one torch lit. 

The air was foul.

Kojuro told himself that it was a sign that they were still alive…

… not the stench of death coming for them.

***

Seventh day.

They had butchered all the horses, tearing apart their carcasses and preserved what they could.

He had dragged Genya to a secluded alcove and punched him for making a joke that maybe they would soon need to eat each other to stay alive. To his credit, the shinobi seemed to regret his words.

“Tomorrow,” Kojuro said, letting his grasp on Genya’s (Masamune’s) armour fall away. “We’ll tell them tomorrow,” he said to him before dismissing him to tend to his bruised cheek.

He still believed they would find a way out, but couldn’t ignore the little voice on the back of his head that said his men needed something to hold on to. They needed to know, at least, were they to be buried alive, that they had done so to save their lord and the Date clan.

He thought of Masamune, hoping that he had enough resources to clinch the victory.

He thought of Shigezane, hoping that his recovery back in Yonezawa went well – Masamune would need him more than ever if –

If…

No.

He would come back to her alive.

He had promised.

He wondered how much longer he could keep his exhaustion from showing.

***

Eighth day.

He didn’t sleep at all that night.

Hoping for the best, prepare for the worst. Everything happens for a reason. Didn’t he brace himself for a misfortune to come, seeing a string of good luck that had followed him around lately?

Prepare for the worst. That he must.

Rising the morale of his men had always come easily to him. This time, though, his throat wouldn’t work for a few long seconds before he managed to call them to gather round.

Have faith and know that your sacrifices have saved our lord and clan.

He meant to say that, like he had practised again and again inside his head.

But before he could. 

A distant rumble, and the cave shook.

“Gunpowder!” Genya hissed next to him. Kojuro couldn’t tell if the shinobi was alarmed or excited. He could tell if he was either. At this point, any changes to their situation would be welcomed. 

Another rumble, another shook, louder this time.

And another and another. Louder each time. Someone know they were there and trying to blast their way in.

Or so he thought, he hoped.

It could still be the enemy, could it?

No. It would be much more make sense for them to let us be buried alive.

Unless they wanted to take something? Masamune, perhaps? Genya’s cover hadn’t been blown, maybe to keep as hostages?

“STAY BACK!” he shouted to his men. “HOLD YOUR WEAPON AND STAY VIGILANT!”

The sunlight, when it came through the hole created by the last blast, was blinding. And when the crescent of Masamune’s war helmet emerged from the light, he knew that the loyalty of some twenty men behind him would be his forever. And he had never been prouder.

But soon a worrying thought dawned on him.

If his great misfortune had been repaid with this miraculous rescue, would he have to pay this one with an even greater trial?

***

He was exhausted, yes. But nothing so serious that would keep him from a debrief with Masamune. But his lord had banished him to his own tent and sent a small army of attendants to attend to him, from making sure all his scraps and cuts were taken care off, his belly filled with warm food and then, to prepare a hot bath in that strange gilded basin, a gift from the Western trader that Masamune had insisted on using and bringing with him everywhere, one of his very few rare indulgences. 

The hot bath did wonders for his body, enough that he could enjoy a few hours of sleep. It was midnight when he woke up. And it didn’t take long for his restfulness to give way to restlessness. He took time to retrace the documents left on his desk. Nothing major. The important ones would be kept in Masamune’s tent following his absence.

And still, no more letters from her.

That familiar anxiety returned to his chest, beating its wings inside his ribcage.

He needed to do something to both take his mind off the worst scenario that kept popping inside his head and take him one step closer to returning home.

Just like that, he heard a commotion coming from Masamune’s tent.

“Fetch the physician!”

***

The wild dogs in the forest.

The startled horses.

The errant arrow.

The shoulder’s fist, and his pointy boots.

The falling boulder.

The underground river.

The cold.

Cats have nine lives. Didn’t Luis, or Fran said that to her once? She wondered if only Western cats have that many lives. Or if she, during the few weeks’ time between the Hachiman shrine and this camp, had truly squandered most of them.

She counted seven.

But maybe, she was mistaken. Maybe she had had eight. Maybe she had died more times that she remembered.

And that she was currently on her last one.

Masamune’s hands felt so good she could forget the dull ache radiating from the core of her small body.

“Does it hurt?” she heard him say.

She replied by nuzzling his palm, purring.

Masamune chuckled. His hands were so big and so gentle. So was his smile. If only, she thought, everyone can see this side of him, no one would follow him for other reason than love.

“You should go see him,” he said again.

No. She jerked. No. He mustn’t find out.

“Sssshhh, I will not tell, calm down,” he said again, tucking her back into his lap when he thought she was about to slink away. “Just focus on getting better. You did well. You saved them. You saved us.”

She closed her eyes and purred louder. Yes, that, that was worth everything. Even if death came for her soon, she would have no regret.

At least that what she thought. The furry body she currently occupied, on the other hand, seemed to disagree with her. She could hear its thought, whatever god it was that had been kind enough to lend her this tiny, resilient body with its sharp claws and teeth, it chided her, scratched her dulled minds to consciousness and clawed her back from sleepiness.

I’m sorry, I have disappointed you, have I not? I have squandered your lives, for my own selfish gain…

But thank you, truly…  

The meowing sound turned louder inside her head, urgent, almost angry. But she was so drained, and it seemed so effortless to just let the darkness take over.

She heard her name, spoken by Masamune’s voice, echoing the urgency of the voice inside her head. She blinked, too weak to purr. Masamune called her again. She wished she could answer him. Yes. I am fine. Thank you. Thank you.   

“Fetch the physician!”

That voice again, the low rattle of the thousand needles Masamune reserved only at the direst of situation.

I must be dying. Again.

***

Milord Kojuro-sama,

I am losing this battle. You said to me once, a wise general must be plan and hope for the best and prepare for the worst. I am no general but I am ashamed to admit that I am not sure what to prepare at this point in time. Of if a preparation meant I have no more faith in my ability to get better, like I told you I would. The doctor (I am tempted to call him a sourplum, like Shigezane-sama does, at this point) has barred me from the kitchen (too strenuous an activity a lady must not endure! I start to think everyone has forgotten my life in this castle as ‘Ýahiko’). I hated him for it, but I should like to quit before I earn the same reputation with food preparation as you do – if you would forgive me for a little joke. I have missed you so.

The sourplum (I gave in) told me I might lose my ability to write soon. He didn’t say it in so many words (he thinks of as a ‘delicate lady’ who should avoid a messy affair like writing and just let a clerk read to me), but I can read between the lines much better than when I came to serve the clan. You’ve taught me how to. I would probably frown upon my shoddy penmanship. For that I shall retire for now. I will still be writing. But you may find this book not quite so filled up like the previous one upon your return.

But I will gladly talk your ear off with all the boring things happening to me during your absence. How I (and you little turtle Bontenmaru, who has been my steadfast companion to whom I pour my heart out) long to hear your voice and your music and feel your touch. I pray for your safe return. And in my ability to heal.

***

It was like hearing her own words in her own voice – young, sometimes wry and admonishing but never for long, for deep down she is a sunny and forgiving soul he had come to adore with all his being. The last entry in her journal had started with a sombre note, but gave no sign of surrender at the end.

The penmanship was considerably clumsier than her last letter to him. How much had her condition worsened after this she wrote this? 

Words choked on his throat and his eyes stung.

“Precious girl,” he managed.

A soft mewl came from the bundle of fur on his chest.

He had run to Masamune’s tent following that commotion for fetching a physician, expecting the worse. Had Masamune been hurt? Poisoned? Enemy shinobi? The fact that Tanaka had made an aborted move to block him from entering Masamune’s tent had made him suspicious.

But never, in his life, he would have thought to walk into something so strange. Masamune, visibly panicking. But not for his own life. At a glance, he had appeared to be unharmed. He had looked distressed.

And before he could ask him what’s wrong, he had noticed the bundle he had been clutching.

He would have recognized that cat anywhere.

The first and the only cat who had ever taken a liking to him.

The physician had been visibly miffed when he had arrived to have the Lord Date ordered him to tend to his pet. But Masamune’s glare had been enough to silence whatever resentment he might have harboured. But in the end, he only shook his head. The cat could live or die, it’s all in the hands of the gods now. Best to keep her warm.

Kojuro had sat in silence in one corner of the room then, trying to make sense of the situation. The sheer impossibility of the situation had made it difficult for him to see the whole picture even when that voice at the back of his mind had been faster in guessing it.

She came to see you, idiot.

To be with you.

In whatever form she can.

A cat.

In another situation he would have admired her resourcefulness, her using a seemingly useless family heirloom. But the cat had been dying.

“Read it.”

Masamune had thrust her journal into his hands then and turned back to quiz the physician.

He had read the last entry, written by her hand. And he had read a letter slipped between the journal’s pages. He had recognized his elder sister handwriting, pleading “Bontenmaru-sama” to take care of this cat that he knows so well, for Kojuro’s sake. And to keep her a secret, as she does not wish to spend her days in pain, and away from Kojuro. And if it must be, she would assume all the blame for allowing her to go through with such an outrageous plan.

His first reaction had been to rage, to indeed blame his sister for fulfilling his girl’s utterly foolish wish.

But then Masamune had handed her that bundle of fur, all curled up and seemingly sleeping, into his hands, and his heart had shattered into pieces.

“She didn’t want you to see her like this, or turn her back to her broken body that has become her cage. But I convinced her that you deserve to have a say in it.”

So there they were, inside Masamune’s tent, warmed by the burning fireplace.The One-Eyed Dragon had mumbled an excuse and left the space to them.

Still reeling from the conflicting emotions churning inside his chest, Kojuro curled up around her, keeping her warm and close enough that he could feel her laboured breathing.

“My precious girl,” he said again, feeling his heart broken anew when her ears perked up and she cracked her eyes open.

She mewled softly. It sounded like a complaint.

He smiled, “I’ve been such a fool.”

***

No, she thought. No, please don’t blame yourself.

She knew he’s going to think this way. It had been one of the good reasons she didn’t want to reveal herself to him.

“I respect your decision to keep yourself a secret from Kojuro. But I too, owe him the truth. You are his happiness. Therefore, I command you to reveal yourself to him.”

Spoken like a true lord of the clan. What else could she do but to obey her lord, her lord’s lord, to be exact? But that had been a lie. She had been exhausted. And yes, she had missed Kojuro. Dying in Masamune’s lap after being commended for saving the clan was not bad. But the truth was, she had missed the Dragon’s Claw terribly. It had been such a torture to shadow him, see him, hear him, watch him over, without being able to reveal herself.

So, there she was, curled up in bed with her beloved lord. Just not in the way they had used to.

“My precious girl.”

She had always loved his hands. Much larger than her own, they are rough with callouses and graceful at the same time. They’ve written the most beautiful words, played the most beautiful notes from reeds and flutes… and coaxed the strangest sounds from her own body. Oh, how she longed for his touches.

Seemingly sensing this, he gingerly touched her with his fingers. Tentative, gentle strokes, on her head, along her spine. Then, when she nuzzled into his palm, he scooted closer and petted her in earnest.

Oh, that feels lovely.

She purred. And he made a sound that was half a chuckle and half a sob.

Oh, no. She mewled. This is not your fault.

“I had an inkling, that something was happening, all the small things…”

Mmmm, yes. I did good, didn’t I, milord? It’s strange, this elated feeling that sprung from inside of her. It was hers but it was something else’s too, the cat’s own.

“My food.”

Mmm, the camp cook did a decent job, she thought. But she could do so much better.

“And the absence of rats…”

They were foul. But they sated the tiny little cat god inside her body. 

“That enemy scout.”

His boots had been shard. But her claws and teetch were sharper. 

“You were in that cave with me, weren’t you?”

Yes, yes, I was.

“I thought I was seeing things, hearing things… I thought my own mind was haunting me. I thought of you and what if I fail our promise.”

She pawed weakly at his hand. She shared the fear of failing to fulfil their promise, too.

“But you didn’t let me.” He cupped her head, stroking the markings between her eyes reverently with his thumb. She’s such a beautiful cat like she is a beautiful woman. “I heard a splash that night. You swam out, didn’t you? You let Masamune know where we were trapped.”

Yes, I would have died a thousand deaths and I would still do it for you. She mewled.

He sobbed. “I miss hearing your voice.”

It hurt, the sadness and the hint of fear in his voice, usually so calm and gentle.

His lips, so close to her face, were dry and cracked.

If she could lean a bit further and give him a kiss, she could turn back and let him hear her…

But then, could she? Let him hear the voice he had loved so much? Her human body had not been hale and healthy for a while… who could say she would turn back to her human body and sound, look, the way she had been? The multiple deaths she had experienced in this borrowed little body, would those have an effect on her human body? Who could say? Not even the tiny other presence inside her body could answer.

So she touched his lips with her paws instead.

I love you. I love you.

He took her paw between his fingers, gently squeezing them. His eyes were bloodshot, the crow’s feet around them made him looked tired instead of distinguished. 

“I have been a harsh taskmaster, have I not?”

No, no, you have been the best teacher, the best lover I could possibly have.

“I would have failed our promise if it weren’t for you. I should have – I should have –“

She felt helpless. She knew something like this would happen. This man was hopeless. He would blame himself and take responsibility for every misfortune that befalls the clan on his worst days.

She licked his finger and mewled and purred.

What would you do without me?

“What would I do without you?” He laughed. It sounded strange between his sobs. “You’re such a sweet cat, but remember when I told you I liked you much better in your human form?”

Ah… He was bargaining, this infuriating man. If she had the energy and her human form, she would have shaken her head.

“I remember when you woke me up that morning, hale and healthy, with lips so red, the most tempting lips I have ever seen in my life…”

Yes, she remembered waking up naked, clinging to him, after they unknowingly broken the curse the previous day by kissing. She remembered feeling so relieved she leapt out and got dressed and put on the rouge he bought for her. The rouge she had smeared on Kojuro’s lips soon after. The rouge that had kept them in bed until well past noon that day. The rouge they would forever associate with gentle morning, heated tangle of limbs and sounds, and messy bedding.

“I would give my own life to have that morning again.”

Oh, my precious man…

“You asked me to trust you to take care of yourself in my absence.”

She mewled, she knew where this was going.

“Don’t you think it will be fair if I ask you,” he paused, seemingly coming to a silent decision, “If I ask you to trust me that I can take care of you, in whatever state you might be if you turn back?”

Oh, my dear lord. I do not wish to impose upon you so….

And in her heart of hearts, she was selfish. He did not want his memory of her eroded and reduced down to taking care of an invalid.

“I am a selfish man.”

Like I am a selfish woman.

“I don’t want to let go of you. I am asking you to take the risk of turning back. Just so I can feel you in my arms again.”

No.

“To hear you telling me about your beautiful mundane days.”

That’s not fair.

“To hear you berate me yet again for making such a mess of my room.”

But you know this would happen. This would happen if you let him see you. He would bargain, he would negotiate, he would. You know this. She berated herself.

“To feel the warmth of your skin and your lips as I drag you into my bedding as you try to wake me up from my sleep.”

She meowed. Stop.

“Take the risk for me?”

Stop.

“Let me share your pain.”

Don’t do this to my resolve.

“I love you.”

I love you, therefore you must let me go.

Even her cat body would not listen. She had no strength left to run. And damn this man, she couldn’t bear to disappoint him even now, when she should have made everything simple by going away.

So she nuzzled his lips.

And hoped.

***

Few things inspired this fic, mainly elements from Kojuro’s My Eternal Love Story ES (where MC is diagnosed with beriberi) and the Seductive Superstition ES Epilogue (where MC is turned int a cat by Katakura family’s magical manekineko and turned back into a human with a kiss).

Also, I imagine the cat like the bakeneko featured in the bakeneko arc of the anime series Ayakashi (the Bakeneko arc is so beautifully drawn it remains a few anime that had made me cry).

Also, a 2014 artwork ‘Warrior takes armoured cat for a walk’ (着甲武人猫散歩逍遥図) by Noguchi Tetsuya.

There will be a smutty epilogue. Fingers crossed. My masterpost is here. 

[slbp-holiday-exchange-blog]

A Saizo for @slbp-gamer, from @llama-in-socks!!

[slbp-holiday-exchange-blog]

In Spite of Everything, the Stars (for mandakatt)

FIC: In Spite of Everything, the Stars, by @nightingaledarling Gift Recipient: @mandakatt Character: Masamune/Tomoe Theme(s): Drama/Romance Word count: ~7.2k Rating: R Notes/Warnings: @mandakatt I hope your holiday season has treated you well! Here’s my humble little offering for ya. Hope you like. <3

Onto some housekeeping… I should probably warn for a somewhat graphic depiction of character death, although it’s old age-y death and not bloody. There’s also some emotional infidelity, but is it really necessary to warn for this considering that historically “One Wife 4 Lyfe” wasn’t a thing?? Nevermind, I’m being dumb.

Lastly, the death warning is just a warning! Like all of our favorite epilogues, there is reincarnation. <3

———-

Tomoe feels at home amongst the gleam of freshly-sharpened knives, the gentle rolling bubble of boiling water, the powdery scent of rice flour. For her entire life, this has been her reality, and no other place gives her the leisure of feeling so tranquil.

Today however, her peace is interrupted - not disturbed per se; that’s not the right word. But with Masamune working alongside her, things feel decidedly off, despite the fact that this is his home and kitchen. It doesn’t matter that this space is twice the size of her restaurant’s kitchen in Kyoto. She finds her movements much more cautious, constantly checking herself before turning around, taking an extra second to pause - as if waiting for permission - before reaching to grab for ingredients on the shelves.

Which is bizarre, because so far Masamune has been nothing if not accommodating while they’ve worked together. When she needs a specific cutting board that’s housed on his side of the kitchen, he will not move out of the way but rather bring the board over to her side. At one point, she stands on her tiptoes, reaching for a jar of shoyu on a high shelf. After a moment of struggle, she gives up, thinking that while not perfect, the dish she’s working on will be alright without it. The next thing she knows, Masamune wordlessly sets the jar down at the side of her cutting board before returning to his station.

Things like that. So small and simple but thoughtful all at once. They set her nerves on fire and then immediately soothe them, a phenomenon that she cannot possibly begin to explain.

Naturally this conflict makes her wonder if her next usual step in the cooking process is the wisest. Best case, nothing happens and she maintains politeness. Worst case, she ends up doing or saying something embarrassing.

She commences an internal debate for several minutes before her bolder side wins, and she ladles a bit of soup into a small dish, turning to her companion. “Masamune-sama,” she starts quietly, holding the dish out for him. “Please tell me what you think.”

He gives a single nod and moves toward her. Long fingers graze hers as he takes the dish from her grasp. It is a brief touch - a fraction of a second, really - but the contact is enough to make her freeze.

If he notices her momentary lapse in sense, he is gracious enough not to comment on it as he sips a mouthful of soup. His visible eye narrows in contemplation, and she holds her breath waiting for the verdict.

After a long second, his face relaxes, and a ghost of a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “Delicious,” he says. “Maybe just a touch more miso.”

“Of course,” Tomoe nods fervently and turns back to the soup. She tells herself that the heat in her face is just the steam from the pot.

In the end, she fools no one.

—

It’s in the way his hands linger on hers for a second too long when she gives him a fresh towel after training, a gentle appreciation lining his face.

The way his gloved fingertips, warm with unspoken promise, grasp hers at the rim of his helmet as she sees him off to the battlefield with prayers that he will return.

The way he reaches into her space to still her hand on the warmed sake bottle at feasts before pouring her a cup, quietly insisting that this is the very least he can do for her.

It’s in the way that nothing - and yet everything - has changed.

—

Her lord is a creature of habit. For so very long, his routine after dinner was to take tea in his chambers and peruse the minutes from war council, spending many late nights trying to come up with strategies that would make even Kojuro proud.

She is not quite sure how to respond when Masamune begins to break from this routine and take his tea out on the veranda. Logically, she can attribute this to the fact that the trees have begun to flower, welcoming spring. Surely even the strongest of daimyo appreciate fresh air breaks between work.

She can’t be imagining things when she brings Masamune his tea on those nights. She can feel his eyes on her as she carefully pours into his cup and arranges the tray to his liking. The look on his face is so gentle, so unlike the visage he shows his retainers that it makes her chest ache.

He takes the cup, gazes contemplatively at its liquid depths and then at the spot on the floor right in front of the tray. He looks almost like he’s pausing to find words, but ultimately all he says is a thank you, flashing her a small, troubled smile and watching her carefully as she stands up.

She bites her lip, turning to leave. She was sure that…

No. She came to Oshu so that she would live her life with no regrets. Summoning up bravery from the pit of her gut, she whirls back around to meet a look of utter surprise on Masamune’s face. “Masamune-sama, would you mind terribly if I joined you for a bit?” Please.

He blinks several times before shaking his head. The smile returns to his face, and now it reaches his eyes. “Have a seat.”

—

She thought she would have more time. More time on this earth, more time in Yonezawa Castle, more time with Masamune…

But that’s clearly not in the plans for her. Yoshihime’s poison creeps through her body, paralyzing her limbs, crawling its way into her chest and making its home there.

Her breaths come slow, so slow. Her mind goes hazy and thick.

In her last lucid moment, she wishes she could see Masamune once more.

And then she falls, lured into death’s embrace.

—

She thinks she hears a voice, softly reading to her. Then there’s what feels like the press of damp cloths to her skin.

Someone running their fingers through her hair, soothing and rhythmic.

Caught in that space between dreams and reality, she’s not sure how much time passes in this fashion, and she’s not sure if it really matters.

She feels safe and cherished like this, and for now, that’s enough.

When she opens her eyes, Masamune is sitting at her side. He leans in close, brow furrowed, searching her face for - she’s not sure. Recognition? Signs of something wrong?

He looks so worried, though. She doesn’t like it. Not when she’s seen how he looks when he smiles. She blinks slowly, willing her limbs to move, and weakly reaches up to grasp the hand gently cradling her face. The movement jostles his fingers, and the sensation of his touch on the sensitive skin of her neck sends a pleasant shiver down her spine.

“Masamune-sama,” she calls to him, her voice scratchy and hoarse, but the sound is enough to ease the tension from his frame. His shoulders sag, and his face relaxes. He looks so much younger like this.

“Thank the gods. I thought…” he trails off, swallowing. “I thought I’d lost you.”

The words make her heart skip a beat.

“You didn’t,” Tomoe answers, feeling a bit lightheaded. “I’m right here.”

The corner of his lip curls in a smile. “So you are. Can we keep it that way?”

Perhaps it’s her sleep-addled brain, or perhaps it’s the look in his eyes. Something makes her assertive, more decisive. Or maybe more foolish. Regardless, she finds a courage she didn’t know she had and nuzzles into his hand, briefly pressing her lips to the bottom of his palm before turning her gaze up to him again. “I will be by your side for as long as you wish it.”

Foolish or not, it’s the right thing to do, the right words to say, because his gaze softens with another shade of affection as he answers, “For always, then.”

And she knows, gods she knows - he means it.

—

Things are different after that. Kojuro often comments on how gentle and relaxed Masamune is these days, all the while giving Tomoe meaningful looks.

A few lower-ranking retainers have stopped her in the hall, making a point to tell her how glad they are that their lord has become much less scary and much more approachable.

Shigezane is the most direct, to the point of actually saying to her over dinner one night, “It’s all because of you, Tomoe - thank you for being the one to finally make my cousin happy.”

That in particular makes the heat rush to her cheeks, but she’s not alone. When she looks at the man in question, Masamune also has a rather embarrassed look on his face.

He certainly doesn’t deny it, in any case.

—

Her breath catches in her throat.

Although she’s almost afraid to touch, curiosity and wonder win as she reaches out to run her fingers over the fabric. What fine silk, with such a beautiful muted red color. Images dash along the sleeves and the hem, sparrows and bamboo reeds alike all interweaving for an intricately unique pattern.

The strength in her legs dwindles, and she falls back on her feet, holding the kimono out at arm’s length, unable to believe her eyes. When Masamune had pulled her aside after lunch earlier today and said that he had prepared something for her in her chambers, this was not what she was expecting.

Well… she honestly wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but this is too much.

After the initial shock wears off, she hurries to find him.

It’s an easy enough task. Her lord has taken to gazing up at the moon again on the veranda outside his chambers. When she sees him, her steps falter.

He is decidedly unguarded today, his eyepatch nowhere in sight. He turns to her, his eyes clear and bright and shining like gems.

He’s breathtaking like this. She begins to feel an unbidden stinging at the back of her own eyes.

“Good evening,” he greets her, tone calm and happy and almost shy. “Did… did you see your gift?”

“I did,” Tomoe swallows, approaching him slowly. “But I can’t possibly accept it.”

When his brow furrows, she rushes to add, “It must have been so expensive. The fabric is much too exquisite.”

“Ah,” Masamune’s gaze relaxes, and he gestures to the floor next to him. Tomoe tucks her feet under and obediently takes a seat.

He regards her for several long moments, and she’s won over the urge not to fidget. The goal to maintain a neutral facial expression is less successful however, and she can feel the scarlet steadily taking over her cheeks.

“I gave that to you because I wanted you to have it, that’s all. Unless…” He looks unsure of himself now. “Do you not like it?”

She hurries to shake her head. “No, that’s not it - I love it.”

“But…?” He prompts her.

Tomoe wrings her hands. There is no other way to explain this, so she opts for the truth. “I just… I’m not sure that someone like me should wear something so fine. I am a mere cook’s daughter, after all.”

Understanding dawns over Masamune’s face, and a soft look settles in his eyes. He reaches for her hands, which she willingly gives. His thumbs brush over her palms, sending small tingles up her wrists.

“Cook’s daughter and all,” he says earnestly, “You’re perfect.”

And when he looks like that, what else can she do but believe him?

—

Lingering glances when no one is looking. Eager touches to hands and wrists when passing in the hall.

Long moments standing close together in the kitchen under the guise of tasting food, and staying up late to watch the moon and resting her head on his shoulder.

Sweet, quick kisses in the privacy of his chambers when she brings him his morning tea and secretive, toe-curling kisses in dark corners when they meet at midnight.

All of it makes Tomoe weak-kneed, sends her heart racing and her head up in the clouds, delirious with happiness.

In her more rational moments, she thinks that a relationship in these circumstances isn’t the most stable or secure.

However, she doesn’t allow herself to acknowledge those thoughts for very long, pushing them to the back of her mind instead.

That is her first mistake.

—

As she returns from the castle well with a pail of fresh water, Tomoe is greeted with the sight of Kojuro walking with an older man she has never seen before.

The man must be of very high station, judging by the fine quality of his robes. Kojuro nods in her direction, silently acknowledging her, and she bows as the two men pass.

“I look forward to speaking with you again, Katakura-dono,” the stranger says pleasantly. “Tamura Gozen will be very pleased with the arrangement.”

“I am sure. Thank you for taking the time to see us today,” Kojuro says, and while he is polite enough, Tomoe has been around him long enough to identify the tension hidden in his tone.

Curiosity bubbles up inside Tomoe as she returns to the kitchen with the pail. After setting aside some water to boil, she leans back against the wall, thinking about the conversation she just witnessed.

Who was that man? What arrangement was he speaking about? Who was Tamura Gozen?

Why did Kojuro sound that way? If this was some sort of political alliance, should he not have sounded happier than he did?

The questions stew around in her head as she uses the water to make some of Masamune’s favorite mochi. She’s in the middle of rolling it out when she hears someone clear their throat behind her.

Tomoe turns to see Kojuro leaning against the entrance to the kitchen. His brow is furrowed, his lips set in a thin line.

“Kojuro-sama,” she addresses him politely. When he says nothing, she adds hesitantly, “Is something the matter?”

Still he doesn’t say anything, and the look of concentration on his face tells her that he is carefully considering his words. Then, “You have been invaluable to us all. I thank you for everything you have done, especially for Masamune-sama.”

Unsure of where this conversation is headed, she puts her knife down warily.

“In all of my years of service to him, I have not seen Masamune-sama the way he is with you. He is kinder. He’s begun to open his heart more,” Kojuro explains. “It’s because of you.”

She warms at that. “Masamune-sama has changed on his own, surely. All I’ve done is care for him.”

“And that’s precisely why,” Kojuro answers, a hint of a smile on his face. Then he sobers and adds, “Things may change in the next few weeks - in ways that you may not like. As much as I wish I could ask you to stay for his sake, it would be selfish of me to do so. Therefore… should you decide to leave, I wouldn’t fault you for it.”

A heavy, sinking feeling settles in the bottom of her stomach. “Forgive me for being so frank, but… what exactly are you saying, Kojuro-sama?”

He sighs, crossing his arms. “He asked me not to tell you.” Kojuro frowns, taking only a moment to consider it before going on to say, “The man from earlier was a marriage liaison. Masamune-sama is to take a bride.”

His answer is simple, with so few words. But it makes Tomoe wish that she never asked at all.

Their romance is over, and it never even had a chance to really begin.

—

Deep down, she supposes she’s known all along that Masamune would have to take a wife at some point. Even raised from an outsider’s point of view, she knew that in addition to marrying those of a similar social class, samurai were pressured to marry in order to forge political alliances.

She had just… chosen to remain willfully ignorant of that for a while.

But no more.

A sort of vague, sad resignation wells up in her when she speaks to Masamune that night, saying that Kojuro had told her everything.

He shakes his head, insisting that nothing is set in stone. And she comes right back, saying that she understands this is for the good of the Date clan, so he must, he must.

And after many exchanges - tears and embraces and words that hurt but must be said - he agrees with her.

—

They had agreed to meet tonight, but she’s sure he was not expecting this.

The look on Masamune’s face when she enters his chambers is one she has never seen before. His cheeks are flushed, lips parted, eyes wide and heated with desire. She wants to commit that face to her memory forever.

Tonight, she is wrapped in the silk of the beautiful red kimono he had given her. The hem kisses the ground, leaving a trail of pure white sparrows and bamboo in her wake.

She has rouge rubbed to her cheeks and lips, imported kohl smudged in the outer corners of her eyes, thanks to Umeko’s help.

Her wrists have been gently perfumed with sweet-smelling oils. Her hair is done up, held in place with the hairpin Masamune had given her so long ago.

She wants to make this a night he will never forget, because she certainly won’t forget either.

Masamune reaches for her then. She goes willingly, melting into his embrace as he presses kisses behind her ear, down her neck.

“You’re breathtaking,” he murmurs into her skin, trailing a hand up her wrist, up her shoulder. Plucking the pin from her hair and setting it down on the floor.

Tomoe’s heart is full as he lowers her to the bedding. She reaches out, wanting him, wanting to be close to him, wanting all of him. He follows, sinking on top of her and taking her lips in hungry, eager kisses.

Vaguely she can feel his hands working to loosen her obi at the same time that she pushes his robes from his shoulders. The warm, balmy air of late summer hits her skin and she sighs blissfully into his mouth.

Masamune is quite the generous lover, apparently. For all the attention he bestows on her, never does he demand the same. He presses kisses into her mouth, her neck, her collarbone and breasts and ribs and hips, some gentle, some bruising.

When he lowers his head to her chest to take a nipple into his mouth, she arches into him. He suckles hard at her, coaxing a low moan out of her throat.

His fingers find purchase at her soft hips, at first squeezing gently, then drifting across the top of her thigh. They dip and ease into her folds, and she cries out. She parts her legs more, his fingers move inside her, stroking and teasing and pulling out and plunging back inside her until she sees stars.

She never did think that she would have this, and through all the sensations in her body, the tingling, and the ever-present heat between her hips, she brings him close, wraps her arms around him. Her fingers shove through his hair and she kisses him deeply, desperately, so he can feel for himself just how much she wants and needs and desires him, even if she cannot keep him.

It feels like forever, the amount of time he spends touching her, exploring all of the most sensitive and responsive spots of her body, that she’s not prepared when he parts from her only to divest himself of the rest of his clothing.

“I want you,” he says, voice low and hoarse with desire. The skin of his neck gleams with a thin sheen of sweat, his pupils blown so wide his eyes are almost black. His chest is flushed and heaves slightly with the effort of just barely holding himself back.

She’s never wished for anything more in her whole life. So she reaches up, cups his face with both her hands. “I’m yours,” she answers, because it’s true.

And when he finally pushes in and fills her up so much she almost can’t take it, then leans forward to take her lips in an achingly sweet kiss, she feels like she could cry.

It might be minutes or it might be hours she spends like that, wrapped up in his embrace as he loses himself in her body, taking her pleasure and giving it back to her tenfold. She wants to stay here like this always, here with him, here in this emotional haze where nothing and everything makes sense.

She can’t tell where she ends and he begins, if her heart is in her chest or in her throat, and just when she feels like her soul could go flying, he brings her back down with a bruising kiss and forearms on either side of her head, locking her in a cage she doesn’t want to escape.

No matter what happens, he is it for her.

She knows this.

She knows it now, and she knows it much, much later, when they are sated and exhausted and curled up together under the covers.

It’s a fragile sort of silence that falls over them, both all too aware that tonight is the first and last night they can be together like this.

Tomoe is content to stay here for a while, just resting her head on his chest. Her fingers drum out absent little patterns on his abdomen. He reaches for her hand, fingers boyishly playing with hers, so sweetly innocent compared to their earlier activity.

“Did you see the pattern on your kimono?” He speaks finally.

“Mm,” Tomoe closes her eyes. “Bamboo and sparrows.”

“Both are part of the Date clan’s emblem. I’m…” Masamune clears his throat, something like discomfort lacing his tone. “I’m sure you noticed.”

“I did, but I wasn’t sure if I was reading into things.”

“You weren’t. At the time, I had given it to you in order to signify you as mine. But now…” Masamune’s breath hitches. “I hope that you’ll take it as a token to remember me by.”

Tomoe’s eyelids slide open again, and she sits up, turning to gaze at Masamune. Her heart may ache with this decision, but she is determined. “…I’m not going anywhere.”

“Tomoe,” he sighs, his expression dark with guilt.

“I told you once before, Masamune-sama. I will be by your side for as long as you wish it.” Tomoe reaches over to place a hand on his heart. She can feel it beat, quick and steady, just for her. “So until you tell me otherwise, I will be with you - for always.”

—

When autumn comes, Date Masamune is married to a lady of the Tamura clan. She is beautiful and learned and she is his equal in every way.

In a move for which any person knowing the intricacies of their relationship would call her mad, Tomoe makes the food that is served at the wedding feast.

And not only does she cook for the wedding feast, she cooks for the feasts celebrating the birth of his daughter, and then of his son.

Frankly, the occasion doesn’t matter. Cooking and making people happy because of delicious food have always been her passions, and the preparation soothes her. So even when Umeko shakes her head sadly, or when Shigezane sends her troubled looks over the dinner tray, she doesn’t mind.

She’s made her peace with this fate, accepts it, embraces it even, in a bittersweet sort of way.

She loves him quietly from afar. And that is enough.

—

“Guess who?”

It’s so obvious. Who else would do this? “Be careful, Soujiro-sama. What if I had been holding a knife?”

The intruder’s hands disappear, and her view of the kitchen is unobstructed once more. A young boy comes round from behind her. Not quite an adolescent yet, though he would probably disagree. The messy black hair atop his head and the toothy grin remind her distinctly of her brother in his younger days. “Even if you were, you wouldn’t hurt me, Tomoe-nee. You wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“You give me far too much credit,” Tomoe sighs, smiling gently. Then she stops to consider something. It’s only shortly after midday, which means… “Forgive my rudeness, but should you not still be in lessons right now, Soujiro-sama?”

“Kojuro let me out early. He said I should get some fresh air,” the boy says cheerily. When Tomoe sends him a hard, skeptical look, his grin falters and he fidgets and then puts his hands together in a desperate plea. “…Alright, he may or may not think I’m out for a toilet break right now. Please don’t tell on me!”

“I won’t, but I must insist that you return. We both know how Kojuro-sama can be.”

“And I will. After a little while. I’m already this late, what’s a few more minutes?” Soujiro grins. Tomoe is struck dumb by just how much he resembles his father, from the deep forest green of his eyes to the curve of his mouth when he smiles, though Soujiro’s is given much more freely. She tears her gaze away and gives a brief shake of her head, picking up her pestle again and continuing her work.

“What are you making?” Soujiro leans in curiously.

“Zunda,” Tomoe replies, pausing again so he can see the crushed soybeans at the bottom of the mortar. After a moment’s debate, she throws in another pinch of sugar and continues mashing. “Your father has been off to the front more often than not in recent months. I thought he might enjoy something sweet to restore his energy.”

Soujiro rests his chin on one of his palms. “That’s really nice of you, Tomoe-nee. You treat my father well.”

The statement catches her off-guard. “Well… I’ve served your father for several years. He is a good man.” She allows herself a small, soft smile at the thought of her lord, and when she looks back up, Soujiro’s cheeks are curiously pink.

“Y-Yeah. He is,” the boy mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Who is?”

A familiar voice cuts into the kitchen, and both Tomoe and Soujiro startle, turning toward the intrusion. Masamune stares expectantly at them from the doorway. He must have only just returned, still dressed in his armor, making for a rather intimidating image as he waits for a reply.

The color drains from Soujiro’s face. “Chichiue!”

“I saw Kojuro in the halls just now looking for you,” Masamune raises an unimpressed eyebrow at his son. “Return to your lessons, Soujiro.”

“Y-yes, of course!” The boy almost trips on his own feet as he stumbles toward the kitchen entrance.

She can’t help but pity him. He’ll probably be getting punishments - or at the very least, stern lectures - from both Kojuro and Masamune now. “Work hard, Soujiro-sama. I’ll make some gotto cake for you tonight.”

At this, the boy’s face brightens. “Thanks, Tomoe-nee!” And just like that, he disappears into the corridor.

Masamune sighs, a wry smile crossing his face. “Don’t encourage him. Besides, I’m fairly certain that he wishes to take you as wife already.”

“That’ll change. Just give him a few years,” Tomoe laughs. “Welcome home.”

“Ah. I’m glad to be back,” replies Masamune, and he moves closer, peering into the mortar.

“It’s exactly what you think it is. I’ll bring it to you with your evening tea,” she promises.

“You are far too good to me,” he murmurs gratefully. “Thank you.”

In that moment, she is acutely aware of how alone they are in the kitchen. She looks down and reaches for a bowl. She’s not sure what she plans to do with it, but it’s something to occupy her hands and her eyes for a few seconds.

Then, she feels fingertips, light as a feather, land upon her brow and drift to her hairline, sliding to the soft skin behind her ear.

Sharply she looks up at him again, wide-eyed. What sees is a look she recognizes instantly - because it’s one she has seen many, many times before, and she’s sure it is reflected in her own eyes even now.

His gaze is gentle, laced with affection and fondness and above all - a quiet longing, so undeniable it makes her ache.

—

Seasons come and go. He has more children, takes more lands, and forms more alliances.

Sun lines start to wrinkle her skin. Her joints begin to stiffen.

His hair grows white. His endurance on the battlefield dwindles.

But never does he ask her to leave him, and never does she want to. True to her word, she stays by his side - for always.

—

It is past midnight when she reaches his chambers. His wife is pacing in front of the door, and when she sees Tomoe, her frame instantly slumps in relief.

“Thank god,” Megohime grasps her hands, pulling her to the door. “I fear he does not have much time left.”

Tomoe swallows a lump in her throat. She knew that Masamune’s health was failing, but she did not quite expect the decline to be this rapid. That was life though, was it not? Here one day, gone the next. “I am sorry to hear it, but with all due respect Hime… Why have you called me here?”

“Because Masamune asked for you,” Megohime answers, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. She looks down, worrying at her sleeves. “Honestly, I knew from the very beginning that Masamune’s heart was not mine. I thought perhaps I could change his mind, that perhaps one day he would grow to love me, especially after I gave him sons… But it was not so. I saw the way he looked at you whenever you would enter the room, and the look in his eyes whenever we would pass by the castle kitchen.”

Tomoe’s eyes begin to sting. “Hime… I’m - ”

Megohime shakes her head. “Please don’t apologize. Just go to him. I have been selfish enough. The least I can do is have him spend his last moments with the one he truly loves.”

A counter-argument on the tip of her tongue, Tomoe holds it and takes a deep breath. Every second she spends out here could be Masamune’s last. Better to follow her lady’s word. Decisively she steps into the room and shuts the door behind her.

Indeed, Masamune looks like he is at death’s doorstep. His skin is pallid, save for mottled patches on his sun-spotted hands. Hair lies dull and flat and limp against the bedding. Eyes closed, lips chapped and colorless.

Tomoe inches closer. He is so still, she fears he may be dead already - until she sees his chest rise and fall, quickly, deeply, then slowly, slowly… until he stops. And the cycle repeats again. Again. Again.

With each breath comes a disturbing rattling sound, and it chills her to the bone. She bites her lip and closes her eyes, even as she reaches for his hand.

His fingers are cool. This pale, weak man so close to the end… He looks so unlike the Masamune she knows. She is aware that people look and sound and feel vastly different when they are dying, but that doesn’t make it any easier to accept, especially when the person in question is the one she has loved for most of her life.

A scratchy sound escapes his throat, almost a groan. “To…” His eyelids lift just barely, but she knows he cannot see anything. He’s past the point of lucidity, acting purely from delirium. “To…”

As soon as she realizes he must be calling for her unconsciously, she squeezes his hand, smiling weakly. “I’m here.”

His eyes slide shut again. A distinct heaviness tugs at her chest, and she muffles a sob into her palm.

He must be in so much pain, even if his brain isn’t working well enough to recognize it as such. As much as it hurts her, she wishes his death could be hastened, if only so he would not suffer anymore.

Through a tear-filled, blurry haze, she reaches out and gently lays a hand on his brow, leaning in close to his ear.

“It’s time,” she whispers, voice breaking and crumbling. “It’s alright. I’m right here. You can let go now.”

With a heavy heart, she watches as his breathing slows and slows and stops for good.

—

You were mine in this lifetime. I’m sorry I couldn’t return the favor.

But I swear to you, in our next lifetime, I will be yours.

—

As she boards the train, she looks down at the picture message her brother had sent earlier.

Hikaru grins up at her through the screen, cheekily holding up his bandaged, slinged arm and making a peace sign with his fingers. The text accompanying the photo reads, “I’m alive!! Now stop worrying, that’s what Kaa-san is for.”

She giggles. It probably was rude of her to rush out of the lecture hall immediately after class, considering that her friends had wanted to try out a new lunch spot just outside their university, but she can’t help it.

He might be a snot sometimes, but he’s the only little brother she’s got. It’s natural that she worries. With that picture though, he’s clearly doing alright.

Sure enough, when she steps into her brother’s hospital room, he’s wearing a smile as bright as the sun.

“Hey!” He greets her cheerfully. “I told you there was nothing to worry about. I’m all fixed up now.”

“I can see that,” Tomoe grins, sitting on the edge of the bed. She reaches over to ruffle her brother’s hair. “So no more races right? Honestly, I’m not sure how you thought you’d be able to speed past a train when all you had was a bike…”

“I saw it on TV once,” Hikaru admits sheepishly.

“Uh-huh, because everything on TV can totally be done in real life,” Tomoe deadpans.

“Well when you put it like that, yeah it sounds stupid!” Hikaru says defensively, crossing his arms.

Tomoe flicks her brother in the middle of his forehead, and he yelps in protest.

“Stop pouting,” she orders. “It’s not flattering for someone who’s going to be in high school in just a few months.”

“Ugh, you should be nicer to the sick.”

“Please. You said so yourself - that’s what Okaa-san is for.” She smirks at him, leaning back on one of her palms. Her eyes drift around the room. “Where is she, anyway?”

“Somewhere.” Hikaru shrugs. “Probably stepped out to get food or coffee or something.”

A noncommittal hum escapes her throat. Then a knock comes to the door.

“Yes?” Hikaru answers.

Tomoe somehow forgets how to breathe when she sees who walks inside. Their guest is a handsome man, perhaps early to mid-thirties, wearing a pristine white lab coat over navy blue scrubs. He has dark hair that falls over his striking forest green eyes, and the sharp lines of his jaw are almost aristocratic. His forearms look strong, as if they could…

God, help her. Tomoe looks down at the bed sheet, valiantly trying to fight the blush on her cheeks. She’s an adult, dammit.

“Hey, Shin-sensei,” Hikaru acknowledges the man. “This is my sister, Tomoe.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Date Shinnosuke,” the doctor introduces himself, and when their eyes meet, Tomoe swears that everything slows down for a second.

There’s something familiar about those eyes. She’s seen them before, she knows it.

But when? Where?

Before she has the chance to take a closer look, Shinnosuke turns to Hikaru and begins examining his bandaged arm. “No tingling or numbness?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Wiggle your fingers for me?”

Hikaru obeys, and Shinnosuke nods in satisfaction. He takes a pen from his pocket and puts the end of it against each of Hikaru’s fingers. Once he determines that Hikaru’s sense of touch is intact, he puts the pen away again. “How is your pain doing?”

“The pills cover it. Not 100 percent, but pretty close.”

“Good.” Shinnosuke smiles, and the sight sends a twinge through Tomoe’s chest. “I’ll come by again tomorrow. Provided nothing happens overnight, we should be able to send you home in the next day or two.”

“Great!” Hikaru grins. “Thank you.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Shinnosuke replies, and as he turns to leave, his eyes catch Tomoe’s once again. She knows she’s not imagining it when they linger on her for a second longer than strictly necessary, and she watches as he walks out the door.

“Oi,” her brother’s socked foot nudges her in the side. “Can you not drool over my doctor? That’s kind of gross.”

“Shut up!” She says hotly. “I did no such thing.”

Her brother rolls his eyes, but before he can tease her further, their mother comes bustling into the room with her favorite vending machine coffee, and conversation about the young surgeon is all but forgotten.

—

Date Shinnosuke, as it turns out, is from Sendai. He went to university straight out of secondary school and graduated with his medical degree as quickly as… well as quickly as physically possible. His internship brought him here to Tokyo and he’s been practicing ever since.

Tomoe should probably note that this is all information she learned from her mother. It’s not like she went to creep on him on social media, even though the thought did briefly cross her mind. Briefly.

She swears she’s seen him before, but from where? She can’t put her finger on it. Or maybe she really doesn’t know him, but he reminds her of someone else.

Regardless, as dumb as it sounds, the familiarity (or fake familiarity, whatever) makes her want to reach out. Food is usually the best way, she’s heard.

It takes a few tries, considering she’s not the best cook. In the end, the mochi balls are uneven and a little lumpy, but they taste fine. She likes them, anyway.

And as she stacks them into a box and spoons little piles of zunda on top of each one, she hopes Shinnosuke likes them too.

—

After all the discharge paperwork is settled, there’s some disagreement over how he’ll be taken downstairs, because Hikaru is too stubborn for his own good.

Surprise, surprise.

The nurses look a bit frazzled when he refuses the chair they offer to wheel him down in, and they look downright panicked when he insists on carrying his belongings and all the bags of food their mother had brought. The poor ladies give each other troubled looks, and Tomoe can imagine them saying ‘Do something’ ‘No you do something.’

So she sighs, elbowing her brother. “Don’t be annoying. Just let them help you.”

Hikaru swats her arm away. “Last I checked I only have one mom, and it’s not you.” But despite his grumbling, he concedes to putting his things down on the chair so they can at least wheel that down.

One of the nurses - Sakurako, if she remembers correctly - gives Tomoe a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“I should be saying that to you,” Tomoe answers. “Thanks for dealing with my brother.”

“Not at all.” Sakurako laughs. “He’s a funny kid.”

“I’ll catch up,” Tomoe calls to her brother. Hikaru raises an eyebrow at her, but he says nothing and turns away, heading for the elevator with their mother and Sakurako’s coworker in tow.

“Oh and thanks for the cakes,” Sakurako adds. “That was very sweet of you.”

“Of course. Again, it’s the least I can do for the care you gave Hikaru.” Tomoe smiles, then her eyes drift down to the small green confectioner’s box in her hands. “Actually, I wanted to give Date-sensei a little something too. Is he busy?”

“He usually finishes up his rounds at this time. He should be charting in the conference room around the corner,” Sakurako says. Then a call light goes off, and with a quick bow to Tomoe, she rushes away to answer it.

Sure enough, when she enters the conference room, Shinnosuke is staring intently at a computer screen, clicking through and making notes.

Tomoe sets the box down on the table next to him, and Shinnosuke starts visibly, looking wide-eyed up at her.

“Oh, it’s you,” he relaxes, sitting back in his chair. “Tell your brother I said good luck. He should recover in no time.”

“I will,” Tomoe nods. She nudges the box toward him. “This is for you. Just a little token of my appreciation.”

“Ah. That’s very kind.” His eyes soften. “Thank you.”

“You can try it now, if you’d like,” she offers before her verbal filter can suggest otherwise. “I’m sure you haven’t had a chance to eat yet.”

“That’s all right, I’ll…” he trails off at the look on her face and chuckles. “Well, maybe just to try.” He pops open the lid, and his eyebrows lift in surprise.

“I’ve never actually made zunda mochi before, but I heard you were from Sendai, so…” Tomoe clasps her hands together. “They’re not the prettiest mochi, but I think they taste alright. Let me know what you think?”

Shinnosuke indulges her with a gentle smile and bites into one of the mochi pieces. As the flavors roll through, however, he stops chewing suddenly, eyes flickering with something that Tomoe can’t name.

What on earth?

She’s almost too afraid to ask. But just as she works up the courage to call his name, his eyes focus again, and they stare up at her. What she sees in them looks almost like… disbelief.

And recognition.

Her mind goes back to yesterday, when she’d first seen him. His eyes looked so, so familiar, but she’d never met him before… right?

Shinnosuke slowly stands from his chair, moving closer to her. All she can do is stay there, frozen, watching the emotions pass over his face.

“To…moe?” he asks quietly.

He stands in her space, far too close for a person she’d only just met yesterday, but this doesn’t bother her.

What does bother her is the strange sort of melancholy that settles into her bones, like she’s forgotten something - or someone - very important.

And even though she’s staring him right in the face, searching those gorgeous eyes, and smelling his cologne, fresh and clean like cypress, she simply cannot remember.

“I…” She swallows, trying to fight the sudden urge to cry. “I don’t know you, do I?”

To her surprise, Shinnosuke gives her a relieved smile. “No, you don’t. Not yet, anyway.”

Before she can process the peculiarity of his words, he fishes something out of his pocket and presses whatever it is into her hands. His smile grows, slow, dazzling, and it makes her feel lightheaded. Again he speaks, “I always wondered why I kept this with me all the time. Now I know.”

His pager sounds, effectively bringing both of them out of the moment. After sending her another meaningful look, he gives her hand one last squeeze, and then he’s gone.

Tomoe shuts her eyes against the rapid thump of her heart. When she’s managed to calm down some, then, and only then, does she look down to see what he had given her.

A square of fabric - faded and beautiful - made from ancient red silk, dashed with sparrows and bamboo reeds. 

[slbp-holiday-exchange-blog]

Reticence

For the amazing @shokundayo: I hope you had a wonderful Christmas and a fantastic New Year! - Ash ( @actualangelmitsunari )

Thank you to my friend, Kiana, who was kind enough to let me use her dear Iori in this!

She was small, almost sickly in a way. Greasy, black tendrils of hair framed her face and blank chestnut eyes stared back at the world around her. Her skin was paler than normal and her lips were dry and cracked. Her clothes, mere rags, hung from her like rope from naked tree branches. From what the other villagers said, she stuck to the back walkways, so as not to be seen by the others. She was quiet, kept her head down and stayed out of trouble. It was unusual for her to engage anyone at any point. So no one expected her to take a kick to the stomach for a boy she hardly knew.

He was young, no more than 7 or 8, and being accused of the trivial “crime” of breaking some ronin’s sandal. They were just looking for someone to fight, even if it meant an 8 year old boy or a sickly young woman.  She had stood tall, staring the ronin in the eyes as he’d yelled at her. Shigezane was about to step in right when the ronin realized his words weren’t having the necessary effect on the woman. The next second the ronin had kicked out, hitting her in the stomach and knocking her back onto the ground.

The villagers, needless to say, were not impressed. While they weren’t necessarily friendly with the girl there seemed to be a sense of respect. She made it a point to stay out of their way and away from their shops and they left her alone to survive as she did.

It didn’t take more than a few minutes for the ronin to be subdued and disposed of but it took even less time for the villagers to surround the girl’s body, laying completely still on the ground. Shigezane had shoved through, pushing them to the side so he could get a better look.  When he’d careful sat her up she had wheezed, but her eyes remained closed. Unconscious? Not from the hit itself. She’d probably been well exhausted before hand, her body choosing a convenient time to shut down on her.

He’d asked the villagers if there was anywhere close by she could rest properly, he’d even offered to pay them. In the end, none seemed to want to chance being near her. It was the fear of contagion, that whatever illness she could have would spread to them. But they had given the name of a temple nearby that would give them shelter for the night. One of the men of the village offered to walk them there, at a reasonable distance. He suspected they were happy to see her go, but that same strange respect they had for her cause them to need to do everything to make sure she made it to the temple safely.

The priests had been polite, offering a small room in the back of the temple for them and a modest dinner of rice porridge. Honestly it was probably for the best. She was so small he couldn’t imagine her stomach being able to hold anything denser than this. She had awoken before their food had been given to them, listening calmly to his explanation of what had happened. She didn’t say a word, just stared past him as though this were a normal everyday occurrence for her. He wondered if this had been a first for her at all. When he asked, she’d said nothing, merely taking another spoonful of porridge. They had ate in silence after that.

The next morning found them standing outside the temple, him ready to continue on his way home and her looking a bit confused as to where exactly she was. He had smiled his usual smile, giving her directions back to her village, but she’d merely tilted her head away in disinterest. When he’d offered to walk her back himself he had to struggle not to laugh despite the situation. Her brows had drawn together and her lips pursed into an almost comical pout.

But her face said it all. If she had a choice, she wasn’t going back to the village.

But did she have a choice? Was it his to give?

“Or you could come with me?”

It was crazy, he thought, that she would even consider it. She didn’t know him past a night of eating together and him talking of the days events. They hadn’t even exchanged names. But the look on her face said she was considering it and his stomach gave an odd sort of flutter when she looked him in the eyes and nodded. He wondered what Kojuro would say once he found out.

The night they’d arrived, the reaction had been immediate, though not quite what he’d expected. He’d prepared his argument, not that it was very solid. She hadn’t spoke a single word the entire walk and he wasn’t able to get an answer as to who she was. Because of that, he’d suspected suspicion and recoil at her appearance. The recoil had been there, but overall she was met with pity more than she was suspicion. He scanned the crowd for the one face he- There! His head maid. He waved her over, stepping slightly to the side so she and the girl stood opposite one another.

“Milord?”, she bowed to him slightly, a worried smile pulling at her lips.

“Iori, this is….”

Ah, he hadn’t quite thought this through all the way, had he? Spent all that time worrying about how they’d treat her that he hadn’t thought of what to call her. He’d tried to get her name countless times, calling her some nickname that didn’t belong to her seemed more like a mockery than a title of endearment when he didn’t know who she was in the first place. But now he had no choice. He studied her a moment. Blank eyes, black hair, pale skin, cracks in the por-

A smile tugged on his lips, the first since he’d acquired this companion of his.

“This is Ningyo.”

Iori stared a moment, clearly baffled by the name clearly pulled out of his ass before breaking into a smile filled with mirth.

“A beautiful name, milord.”

“Can you take care of her for me?”

“Of course, milord,” she bowed and turned her attention to his acquaintance, “If you’ll come with me, miss.”

Iori wrapped an arm around the girls shoulders and as they walked away the other maids followed after. He could trust Iori with this. For now he needed to figure out what to do with Ningyo herself.

It was well after noon before he saw her next. After a small meeting with the castle’s doctor about her health, he set out to see if he could find her. Malnutrition, dehydration, bruises, she had a pretty bad limp, but that could just be from walking all day. But with a little rest and proper meals, she’d be fine. He rounded the corner hard, almost running into Iori in his haste. She yelped in surprise, stumbling back a bit before bowing to him.

“Pardon, milord. I was just looking for you.”

“Ah? Yeah? What do you need?” He hoped it was quick, he was in a hurry.

Iori smiled sweetly.

“It’s about Ningyo.”

She was in the kitchen with a few other maids carefully putting away dishes. She was unsteady on her feet  but a look of pure determination on her face. Iori had worked some kind of magic. Ningyo looked completely different. Gone was the dirt and mud of the village that had caked itself onto her skin revealing the porcelain complexion he’d thought he’d only imagined before. Her hair, once touching her lower waist was now cut into a bob just below her ears.

Iori cleared her throat, bringing his attention back to the matter at hand. He coughed awkwardly.

“Ah, yes. Sorry? What did you want to speak to me about?”

She looked back at the frail woman in the kitchen before walking past him.

“What will you be doing with her, if you don’t mind me asking, milord?”

“I was just wondering that myself actually…”

“If I can make a suggestion…” Iori stopped, waiting for him to object. When he didn’t she continued, “Perhaps you would leave her to me? I could always use the help and I don’t mind helping her learn the ropes. So long as she doesn’t mind, of course.”

He thanked every god there might be for sending Iori to him. The woman was sincere and made every attempt to make his life easier.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea, Iori.”

Ningyo didn’t mind, of course, or at least she didn’t try to protest or leave. She seemed to dedicate herself to Iori’s lessons, though it seemed she had her work cut out for her. With little strength in her limbs and her limp, the girl was quite clumsy. There were a few occasions that Shigezane found himself under a pile of laundry or wearing his lunch or tea for the day. Though sometimes wearing it was better than sampling it, he admitted.

Still, she appeared to be doing better than she had. There seemed to be a light in her eyes now and color was returning to her cheeks and lips. Seeing her move farther and farther from the malnourished girl he’d met in some countryside village made every spilled lunch or laundry and overly bitter tea worth it.

A look of concentration on her face, she’d slowly and carefully pour him a cup. She’d sit up straight, waiting expectantly for what he thought of it. Or maybe he was projecting. She wasn’t much for conversation, only giving a silent nod or shake of her head here and there. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was really thinking.

In the end, it had taken her over 3 months to get it all down at a reasonable level. At first they had kept it between him and Iori, being the only one that Ningyo served. Now she could walk the hall, serving the samurai and guests that celebrated there.

She looked far healthier as well, her eyes reflecting the light of the world around her instead of dully looking ahead. Her hair had taken a different shine, like silk instead of the inky tendrils it had been. And her skin? The pale, doll like porcelain was gone, replaced with a healthy peachy tint.

He really wished he could get her name out of her but no matter how many questions he’d asked the only answer given was a blank stare and silence. She didn’t want to talk of her past, he supposed. Or perhaps she couldn’t.  That was fine, he could do aimless conversation and she seemed to enjoy their talks as well.

His enjoyment of her company was what had compelled him to bring her along to Yonezoma Castle. Getting there had been no issue but their arrival was another thing entirely. Word had spread of how Ningyo had come to work for him. The already frightened staff and samurai were deathly silent as they watched them walk past, whispers already passing through the crowd once they saw her.

“A demon disguised as a pitiful wretch is what I heard…”

“But she looks completely normal?”

“Look at her hair! Poor thing…”

“An act I bet…She’s probably here to-“

He stopped listening. It was in their nature to be cautious, especially here. With the amount of times Masamune had nearly been poisoned their fears weren’t entirely unfounded.

“You bring interesting company if nothing else.”

Shigezane smiled as he sat across from his cousin, Ningyo sitting a little behind him.

“Don’t I? I quite like her. I think she’s quite taken with me as well! Ain’t that right, doll?”, he said, cheerfully looking over his shoulder at her.

She merely blinked slowly at him, her right brow twitching ever so slightly. She thought he was being ridiculous. He felt ridiculous. He turned back to meet his cousin’s gaze, the man in front of him almost mirroring Ningyo’s expression.

“She doesn’t need to be here, does she?”, Masamune questioned cooly.

Did the room just get colder? It was probably just his cousin’s glare.

“No, I supposed she doesn’t,” he looked over his shoulder at her. She’d hardly moved, as he’d expected. But would she be alright with Masamune’s maids? Or should he have her go stay with the small traveling party he’d brought with him?

“I’ll escort her to the kitchens. They should be preparing lunch right about now.”

Kojuro stood and walked to the door before stopping, waiting for Ningyo to follow.

Shigezane nodded to Ningyo, smiling at her.

“Kojuro will take care of you.” I hope.

Finally Ningyo bowed to them before standing and following Kojuro out of the room.  When the door clicked shut, he heard Masamune sigh. Shigezane looked back at him, seeing that his cousin had finally allowed himself to relax somewhat now that their company was gone.

“Couldn’t have just hired another maid, could you?”, he grumbled.

“Sure, but none quite as cute.”

“You know what I mean, Shigezane…”

He did. He really did. He wondered if things would’ve turned out differently if Masamune and Kojuro had been there to see…

They sat in silence until Kojuro returned, the click of the door sliding closed snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Did you think for even a moment as to who you could be letting in? Do you have any idea who she is? Where she came from? Do you really know anything about her?”

And here was the lecture. He got to hear it for the next 30 minutes, laughing off insults and petty jabs, tossing some back here and there, deflecting obtrusive questions, and defending Ningyo’s case. In the end Masamune remained completely unconvinced and Kojuro skeptical at best. He supposed it was the best case scenario honestly.

But while Kojuro was skeptical, it didn’t prevent him from trying to step in and lend a hand when needed. Ningyo was treated coldly by the staff. They weren’t hostile, at least not outright, but the definitely weren’t friendly either . Whereas most of the other maids had been working for years in different places, Ningyo had only been working a few scant months. So whenever they found her being lectured or left alone to clean up a mess, he and Kojuro would step in either running interference or helping to clean up.

They were in out on veranda sipping tea when Kojuro brought it up.

“Not very graceful, is she?”

Shigezane shrugged in response.

“Her strength has improved greatly since Iori began training her. You should’ve seen her when she first started.”

Kojuro hummed into his cup, looking thoughtfully at the sky.

“If she’s an assassin, she’s the worst I’ve seen.”, He mused.

Shigezane laughed.

“You never know. Maybe she’ll bury one of us in laundry until we suffocate.”

“That’d be an interesting way to go.”

Shigezane would have to agree. It would be a far more entertaining way to leave this world. The image it conjured made him want to laugh but he couldn’t against the sudden numbness he felt in his chest. Something in Kojuro’s voice felt wrong, like the calm before the storm, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.

It had been the fondness in Kojuro’s voice, he realized, when he’d spoken of Ningyo’s clumsiness.  The problem was it took him too long to figure it out. It didn’t hit him until he was watching the two of them hang laundry. On the surface it all seemed so simple, but he’d seen it a million times before.

Their hands brushed ever so slightly. She stiffened in surprise, looking up at him with innocent eyes. Kojuro looked down at her questioningly, his mouth forming words that Shigezane couldn’t quite hear. The pink of her cheeks seeming to darken and her eyes widening, sparkling like she was discovering something wholly knew. The change in her facial expressions had been minute at best, but he figured it was time to give himself credit. He was very good at reading people who rarely expressed emotions. He turned on his heel and walked back to his room.

He didn’t leave it much after that and he could hardly look her in the eye. It wasn’t fair to her, he knew. This was his fault for ever taking interest in someone.

The return to Oomori had passed quickly with him trapped in his own thoughts. The day he’d glimpsed Kojuro and Nyongo hanging the laundry hadn’t left his mind and every interaction the two had since then he now saw in a new light. It was irritating him and the thought that Kojuro might sleep with his maid was making his mood even more sour. He deflected the worried words of his retainers, saying he was only tired from the trip as he walked back to his room. He wasn’t lying, not really. The last few nights at Yonezama he hadn’t been able to sleep and when he had it was anything but peaceful. He’d just needed a moment to himself to think.

He wasn’t expecting a knock on the door or the person on the other side of it when it slid open. Ningyo kneeled in front of him, carefully pouring his tea. He hadn’t asked but he really should’ve expected it. It wasn’t the first time that he’d fallen into one of his moods since meeting her. The first time it’d happened he didn’t know how to react but having someone to sit and talk with helped ease his worries. But this time she was the source of his worries. He took the cup from her and took a sip. She’d improved again.Was that Kojuro’s doing?

He stole a glance out the window. Thinking about Kojuro just made him irritated again. She wouldn’t be the first girl that had chosen Kojuro over him and she likely wouldn’t be the last. He figured he should probably just let it go. Kojuro would  be better for her in the end. But would he stay with her? Would she want to stay with him? He didn’t want Nyongo to just be another number to add to the list.

He blinked, looking at into the cup he’d rested again his thigh. Why did he care? He hadn’t thought he’d had any interest in her in the first place. Sure, he felt protective of her, but who wouldn’t after witnessing what he had when they’d first met? That was no reason for him to feel like Kojuro was taking her from him. So he had to have some sort of romantic interest, right? There must be some sort of attraction if he felt this way.

He tilted the cup, watching the tea push toward the edge of it. Even if he did feel that way towards her, did he have a right to pursue it? She already seemed interested in Kojuro and from what he’d seen it was mutual. What right did he have getting in between that? He’d never made a move in the first place. He’d never given her the option of choosing him, was he really in the right to do so now?

He jumped when she cleared her throat, having been too lost in his thoughts to acknowledge her. The look on her face was one he hadn’t seen before, brows drawn together, eyes crinkling in concern.

He swallowed, his mind going oddly blank.

Why shouldn’t he pursue this? Ningyo was sweet. When he’d first brought her to the castle she’d almost immediately dived into working. She’d made mistakes, most somehow involving him, but she’d worked so hard at getting better that everyone in the castle had been cheering her on. She was so dedicated to everything she did and it showed in the results she produced. It had endeared her to him so quickly that he hadn’t even noticed until Kojuro stepped in. Not to mention she seemed to genuinely care about him, if her worried expression and these moments were anything to go off of.

He felt his lip twitch into a smile, the first genuine one he’d formed in days, as he looked into her eyes.

“Say, doll…What do you say to a little trip?”

The village market was as lively as it ever was. Vendors hawked their wares as people passed, trying to bring anyone’s attention to their stalls. Various smells filled the air, herbs, food, perfumes…

Nyongo kept pace beside him, staying as close as she could. It was the first time they’d gone out together like this and her nervousness wasn’t lost on him. As he was debating his options on how to ease her worries he felt a sharp tug on his arm.

“Whoa there!”

He wrapped his other arm around Nyongo, helping her right herself after her stumble.  He needed to take smaller steps for her, he figured, and they’d keep this trip quick and short with a break before returning home.

And then his mind was blank again, his thoughts leaving a light fluttering in his chest in their absence.

She was looking up at him, pink tingeing her cheeks and looking mildly embarrassed.

Wow, she was pretty, how had he missed how pretty she was? Was that blush because of the stumble or was it the half hug he was currently giving her? May as well kill two birds with one stone, right?

He slid his arms away from her, brushing his hand down her arm before grasping her own hand. It was so small compared to his own and felt so very fragile. Her cheeks darkened as her eyes widened in surprise. He was seeing more emotion from her in the past two days than he had in the past few months. He wondered if he could keep that going.  But for the moment, he gave her a carefree smile and swung their joined hands gently.

“How about this, doll, so we don’t get separated?”

Despite the red of her face she still looked up at him and nodded her consent. The feeling in his chest swelled causing his smile to widen and he cheerfully led her from shop to shop. He kept passing glances at her out of the corner of his eye, seeing if she was looking at anything in particular. Most times he’d catch her eyes wandering across the wares without stopping on anything in particular but once….

A hairpin with white glass flowers hanging from the end of it. Her gaze stopped on it for  few seconds longer than it had everything else. He wondered if it was subconscious on her part, the way her hand came up to brush against the ends of her hair. He felt his chest squeeze at the sight. It had needed to be done, he knew, but it hadn’t exactly been voluntary on her part. She had been persuaded, in the end, but it didn’t mean she was comfortable with it being cut.

He glanced back at the hairpin idly. He could come back and buy it for her. Her hair was half way to her shoulders already; it’d be past that given a couple more months. It would make a nice gift, regardless of how this turned out. She deserved any gift he could provide.

They went back to Yonezama way too soon, in Shigezane’s opinion. He loved his cousin, he really did, but the man made it difficult for him to impress Nyongo without Kojuro’s interference. He’d done his best. Subtle flirting, small gifts, long talks, simple things. She seemed to be getting used to it, shaking her head occasionally with a small blush on her face. He hadn’t missed it, he couldn’t have. He never got tired of seeing it, wanting to get that reaction again and again.

When she interacted with Kojuro, however, she seemed to be completely at ease. It was almost infuriating. She never hesitated when it came to him. She even sought him out when she needed help, instead of Shigezane.

Was he jealous? Absolutely, without a doubt. He was actually starting to wonder if there was any point to what he was doing. It didn’t matter that he’d spent more time with her or what he seemed to do. Yes, their relationship had changed but she just seemed to mesh with Kojuro on a different level than him. Without her own words, confronting her, or her suddenly becoming bold, he wouldn’t know.

“You’re sulking.”

He was, but he didn’t need his cousin pointing it out. In fact, he didn’t want to be with Masamune at all. He wanted Ningyo to come in with tea and her company for him. He wanted to know what she thought of all of this, wanted her to speak to him instead of the other way around. He wanted to hear her voice or see her smile. Could he do that? Could he make her smile? He had been trying to but so far no luck.

“Yeah, I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

He missed her.

He needed a drink.

Which found him drunkenly stumbling through the corridor to his room. He’d gone too far but he couldn’t help it. He was so miserable when she was gone. He wanted to talk to her. He pressed his hand to the wall, concentrating on each step. A small smile spread across his lips. He was doing fine, actually. He could probably manage a conversation. Would she be up for that? How late was it?

“Oh? You’re here rather late. Did the maids keep you?”

He looked up, catching sight of Nyongo just before she disappeared into a room. Kojuro’s room.

His throat tightened.

That had been Kojuro’s voice. He’d been expecting her. It was the middle of the night and she was visiting his room.

There was a prickling sensation behind his eyes and suddenly he didn’t want to see her anymore.

He pushed himself past Kojuro’s room and made his way to his own. He suddenly felt very sober.

And so things became cold between them. He still greeted her cheerily and made an effort to be friendly but the idea of flirting with her after…

It wasn’t the idea of her going to bed with someone else that put him off. He didn’t mind that actually. It was the idea that she’d chosen Kojuro over him. It had happened before, he knew how it went now. He didn’t want everything between them to change this way, but he couldn’t bring himself to try and continue things the way they had been going. If she had noticed she hadn’t let it show, continuing to bring him tea and waiting for a conversation.

He was running out of things to talk to her about though. Every time he sees her the words stick in his throat and he feels himself breaking again. It wasn’t her fault. It really wasn’t. But a part of him was blaming her for how he felt and, while he still desperately wanted her company, he didn’t want to hurt her. The longer this went on the harder it was not to lash out at her.

He found himself avoiding her more and more as the days drew on. He stayed away from the kitchens and tried to avoid going anywhere near Kojuro’s room during his visits. He’d caught her a few times going to the older man’s room. One time they’d made eye contact, hers widening in panic. He’d never seen that look on her before. Some dark part of him enjoyed it, thinking that she should feel panic and guilt for putting him through this. He’d squashed the feeling, pushing it to the back of his mind as he tilted his head and smiled, offering a small wave to her. Her cheeks had stained pink and she’d waved back, but she’d still crossed the threshold into the room.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. He started taking tea less and less, being around her slowly becoming unbearable. When he looked at her he remembered her blushing, looking at him shyly. He remembered their date in the village and how warm her hand had been in his own, a small, delicate warmth. The way she’d just let him guide her through town and the way she’d looked that hairpin. That hairpin…

It stayed with him at all times. He was hoping to gain some sort of courage and give it to her, but when he had the chance he could barely meet her eyes let alone give her a gift. So it must have been luck, he guessed, when life decided to give him a little push.

“You want Ningyo?”

He was shocked. He was more than shocked. He’d never thought he’d hear his cousin requesting one of his maids, let alone her.

But there sat Masamune across from him, straight and serious.

“It was actually Kojuro’s request,” Masamune looked to the side, as if pondering why Kojuro would ever ask such a thing, “He said she’s a good worker and that she’s earned his trust.”

Shigezane smiled against the pit forming in his stomach.

“Of course she’s a good worker, Iori trained her. But are you sure you want her?”

Perhaps this was for the best. No. He needed to get away from her anyway. No. And this way she could be closer to her lover. No, no, no, no. He felt like the floor was falling out beneath him.

Despite his conflicting thoughts he’d agreed to transfer her, not being able to truly deny his cousin without reason. A reason other than ‘I feelings for her’.

As the last days of his visit approached he walked the grounds trying to find her, the nauseating feeling in his stomach growing with the anticipation of what he wanted to say. What did he want to say?

‘I know I’ve been distant for the past few months but here’s a hairpin, by the way I love you please don’t leave me for Kojuro.’

Right. He laughed bitterly at the thought. She’d already chosen Kojuro, there was no leaving Shigezane for him. Plus, with how much distance he’d put between the two of them, he didn’t deserve to have her stay. He rarely spoke to her now. Ah, speaking of…

There she was, hanging the laundry out to dry. No Kojuro in sight. He honestly had never felt so thankful for that.

He armed himself with his best smile and walked over, picking up one of the damp linens and hefting it over the line.

“Working by yourself this time, doll?”

She jumped, turning to him with a startled expression. He felt his heart flutter when her eyes met his. When had she gotten this beautiful? He’d always known she was pretty, but after months apart he was suddenly overwhelmed. She was healthy and bright now, he almost had trouble looking at her, and the way her cheeks were beginning to flush under his gaze was making him want to cup them in his hands, pull her close and-

His heart sank like a rock and he pulled something else out of the basket to hang up.

“Listen, doll, there’s something we need to talk about. Masamune asked if you’d work for him.”

He couldn’t look at her but he felt her eyes on him as he pinned the sheet into place.

“So, this time around you’ll get to stay here. I’ll have Iori gather your things and have them sent here. I’ve already talked to Masa-“

“No!”

He felt the damp fabric slip from his fingers, hitting the ground with a thud. He turned almost mechanically. He was too shocked to do anything than that.

She looked positively distraught. And Shigezane felt positively confused. His mouth worked wordlessly for a moment before he managed to say, “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t want to stay here. Please, don’t make me stay here! I want to stay with you, milord. I want to keep working at Oomori, I want to keep working with Iori. Was it something I did? I’ve been doing my best not to trip or drop anything and I’ve improved with my tea! If you just try it I’m sure you’ll see-“

She was rambling, to be honest, about things that actually had nothing to do with the situation and he really wanted to stop her but he was too stunned to do so. She was talking. She could talk. It was rough, but to him this sound that he’d so desperately wanted to hear for so long was music to his ears. He was almost afraid he was hallucinating.

He needed to stop this. She was talking faster and faster and tears were starting to pool at the corner of her eyes. So he slowly held up a finger and pressed it gently to her lips. They pressed shut, her body freezing entirely.

“I have…So many questions. But…How long have you been able to talk?”

He dropped his hand, watching curiously as she worried her lip between her teeth. She took a moment before answering.

“Six months.”

“Six months? You’ve been talking for six months? Why didn’t you say anything?”

She twisted her hands together.

“It was going to be a surprise...”

Her embarrassment was clear in her voice and on her face as she looked at her hands.

“I wanted to thank you for everything. Really thank you. So I pleaded with Lord Kojuro to teach me. Every night he’s had free during our visits he’s been helping me learn…”

He tilted his head back, looking at the sky.

“So that’s why you were going to his room…”

“Hm? Yes. Why else would I go there?”

He felt like laughing almost. And a little like crying. He was an idiot.

He looked back down at her worried expression.

And did exactly what he wanted to in the first place, cupping her cheeks in his hands and leaning forward to press his forehead to hers. She squeaked in surprise, her face turning a brilliant shade of red as he closed his eyes and sighed.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Lord Shigezane?”

“I have been a complete ass the last few months. I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

She was quiet for a moment, almost completely still and just barely breathing. When she did speak his heart nearly broke like her voice did.

“I thought I’d done something wrong…”

It was said so quietly that if he hadn’t been so close to her now he wouldn’t have heard it at all. He felt her tears spill and catch on fingers and swallowed against the lump rising in his throat.

“You did absolutely nothing wrong, Ningyo. I misunderstood. Instead of trying to clear up that misunderstanding I just continued to silently assume an because of that I hurt us both. I shouldn’t have put my own bruised pride above you. I’m so, so sorry. I know I can never make it up to, but I may have a starting point.”

He pulled back, releasing her face in favor of reaching into his sleeve and pulling out a box. He held it out to her, waiting patiently as she wiped the tears from her face before she took it. When she popped the lid off she nearly dropped the hairpin in shock.

“This-!”

“Want to try it on, doll?”

She stared at him in stunned silence before her lips twitched and tears started trickling down her cheeks again. Meeting his eyes, she gave him the most radiant smile he’d ever seen.

“This feels a little underhanded.”

Kojuro shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he watched his lord drink his tea.

“This,” Masamune said, “Will keep him from coming to my room to sulk for a few months at least.”

Kojuro reached over and plucked a letter off the desk next to him, reading it over again slowly.

It was from a Watanabe Iori expressing her concern for her Lord’s sudden turn in mood. She’d observed nothing that could be causing and wondered if, perchance, Lord Kojuro, having been closest to Lord Shigezane, could help him in anyway.

He looked back up at his own lord. Masamune almost appeared smug as he continued enjoying his tea.

[slbp-holiday-exchange-blog]

For @demonintheally, from @melody-chii!

The tree is rough against your back, the wet bark clinging and scraping against your kimono. You can feel the damp seep in against your skin and the occasional droplets landing in your hair and dripping down your neck and spine. But you do not feel cold.

But to be fair, it would be impossible to feel such considering your situation.

“Ah—”

You gasp against his lips, your hands tangling in his thick, russet mane as he holds you up against the tree, and the rumble of thunder in the distance disguises your moans as he nips at your neck.

“L-Lord Shingen—” you gasp out, when he gives you a moment— “please—”

Lightning flashes among the clouds on the horizon, throwing his handsome features into a painfully sharp relief. It’s almost enough to make you forgive him for dragging you out into the rain, apparently just to— well. Do things that probably shouldn’t be done in the middle of a storm.

“—it’s a thunderstorm,” you insist. “The lightning—”

Of course, Takeda Shingen laughs in the face of danger. Even as doubts worry at the edge of your concentration, Shingen merely gives his dauntless grin, diving back into his ministrations with palpable pleasure, cutting you off mid-sentence. In hindsight, this was probably his plan from the start.

You’d followed him away from the palace hours ago when the clouds had merely been an ominous, bruised mass on the horizon. The morning air had been sticky against your skin and the atmosphere was heavy with the promise of rain. As you’d followed him up the mountain, the busy chirrup of birds settling into trees in preparation had echoed around you but, even as you persisted, Shingen had given you no heed except to help you up the more difficult parts of the mountain path.

There was no thought that you’d give up. If nothing else, it was enjoyable to go on a walk through the forest with the man you loved. But as the storm front rolled in, the temperature dropped sharply and the previously still air had grown wild.

“Lord Shingen, we ought to go back,” you’d said. “I think there’s going to be a thunderstorm.”

Not that he cared, clearly, considering what the two of you were doing now.

His hands were shockingly warm against your shoulders, and he held you up, braced against the tree, with ease. No matter how dubious this current situation, with his arms around you, you felt safe.

Lightning flashed, the thunder rumbling an instant after— the storm shockingly close— covering your stuttered scream as he hilted you in full.

“Any complaints?” Shingen asked as he waited for you to finish gasping.

There were raindrops in your eyelashes. The bark was cold and the entire back of your kimono was wet and probably covered in mud. The rain was coming down in sheets, you could barely hear him over the cacophony of thunder, and the glorious dance of lightning over the horizon and above the two of you made you shudder a little inside at the danger.

But really, the answer was obvious.

His handsome smile was confident even as his intense, predatory gaze bore into yours, waiting for the answer. You could not resist leaning forward to press as kiss against his lips, boldly teasing at the seam of his lips. Shingen indulgently allowed you to explore his mouth and it was a long moment before you pulled back, gasping all the while.

“Not at all,” you told him seriously, in the sudden lull. Even the squall quieted to hear your answer.

After that? Well, it was a good thing that the storm had yet to move on.

[slbp-holiday-exchange-blog]

Little Princess (Nobunaga x MC) SLBP Gift Exchange.

For @yoosungshoodie

Summary: To save Rose from the fires and ashes of Honnoji. Nobunaga drove his blade into the flesh of abdomen , ripping her skin fathersdemning her to a quick and sudden death. What Lord of Fools didn’t know, someone was inside of her.

_____

“I’m not coming home for New Years, mom!” her fingers wrapped around her carbon black smartphone, exasperated with her mother’s condescending voice. Something annoying was about to come out of her mouth and Rose braced for the impact of her scathing words.

Sighing she walked around around her Tokyo Apartment to where her 12 month old daughter sat on her Pom Pom Purin mat engrossed by kids show on NHK.

“Your family has not seen you in a while! We’d like to see Erika!” blasted through the speaker.

“No you mean you want to show off Erika then discuss for hours that she didn’t come from my body!” she sat down on the sofa in front of the tv.

*Squeal*

Erika’s steel grey eyes glittered hearing her mama’s voice so close, she turned herself around, mouth opened in a smile of pure joy, holding her tiny palms out, hoping to be picked up. Bouncing up and down she pouted while Rose balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder. “Pom Pooooooom.” she cried happily turned her head slightly cuddling into her mom’s warm body, she closed her tiny eyes finding comfort as she snuggled closer.

“Mama.” she cooed.

“I’m here sweetie.” Her baby’s features were so different from her own.

“Is that Erika?!” her mother’s blood boiling tone evaporated in a snap. High pitched and cheery you’d swear her mother was now running through a sunny field on the back of a unicorn. “Let me speak to her!”

“She isn’t going to….”

“Hi shweetie how are you? How are you?” ignoring her her mother launched into a high pitched babble of nonsensical baby talk. Rose never understood why having an adopted baby was a stigma.

When she first saw Erika she melted. Who j sang to her and told her stories. The baby just settle her head on her shoulder, thumb in mouth she listened to tales of princesses and emperors. Rose couldn’t wait till she was older to read books to her and they both could get lost in adventures once again. Erika was hers nobody could K that and nobody would take her away from her mama bear.

“There’s so many needy kids in this country. They need love too. Like her.” her eyes glistened for a minute. A show called With Father came on while her mother talked to her daughter. Usually it was for fathers and their babies to do exercises together and suddenly her lingering sadness grew bigger and bigger, the anxiety spreading to her entire body.

Erika had no father to raise her, to play with her, to protect her. Rose wasn’t exactly lucky in love. If she were single it may have been easier but a lot of men who expressed interest in her didn’t want women who j had a child. Changing the channel then closing her eyes the scent of baby powder and fabric softener comforted her. “You’re more important than them all. I’ll protect you like a father too” she whispered.

“This country is under threat, look what North Korea did to our country last week and you insist on sitting there and doing nothing?”

A crisp, determined voice fueled by anger entered their living room from the television. She changed it to a political channel it seems.

4 eyes shot open that word bringing her back from her little world. “Dada!” her cheeks puffed out in joy, eyes sparkling. Squirming out of her grasp Rose put her down. She crawled to the TV and sat in front of it.

“Dada! Dada!”

The phone slipped from Rose’s grasp with her mother still babbling. Grey eyes and dark red hair swept back into a modern style, perfectly fitting black suit hugged his body giving her a good idea of what his body must be like underneath but it also gave him every ounce of power and respect he deserved. He spoke with determination and courage. The passion in his voice for his country drew her in. She felt like he was speaking to her, like she was one of these citizens he needed to protect, she would let him protect her if needed.

Him and Erika shared the same features even when she pouted when she didn’t want her milk, resembled the angry face of this man.

Erika was too young to know if someone was her father. Someone who never held her given the time she was brought in. Did this man abandon her? Did he have her out of wedlock and knowing it would ruin his political career give her up? The adoption agency told her they had no record of her parents. Confusion infiltrated Rose. This wasn’t normal what was the connection?

“Saborou Oda” she murmured

“Dada!” her daughter squealed again.

_____

“According to a recent study done by Waseda it was confirmed that the wife of the warlord Oda Nobunaga was indeed pregnant upon her death.”

Saborou’s fists clenched at the words. Guilt attacked him in this cold amphitheatre raising his pores and angering him even further. He nearly smashed his fist into the chair in front of him. Usually he enjoyed sitting in on conferences about his country. It was a way to see the perspective of what he’d done from an outsider’s point of view.

“ I killed them.” he whispered hoarsely. “I promised her divine rule. I promised her a better world but I��m the one who lives on now to see my failures.” He put the arm he just hit the chair with over his eyes. “And the baby…why? Why did that little one chose me as their father? Why did it choose a time when I was hated and betrayed?”

Maybe they had seen his anguish from heaven and told the gods they wanted to go to him to make him happy. “I promised them the world but they got ashes and death.”

His wife he wanted to save if only he had known. “Was the baby a boy or a girl?” As cruel as it was to have a baby in that time, he couldn’t bear to love them. A son he’d have to raise to be the head of the clan, to murder, to plot to prepare him to be betrayed like he was. A daughter would be a bargaining chip to bring in alliances. Neither he could love properly back then but now, could he?

The former lord thought he could see himself with a daughter. Her face squealing in delight as he tickled her,teased her and kissed her cheeks warmed the Lord’s heart. He read somewhere that daughters were more attached to their than sons. He pouted thinking of having a son that would give his mother more attention than him.

Sighing to himself he listened to the speaker while going over his speech for a later event.

—–

Erika sat playing with her toys as her mother chatted away with Sakurako at their old workplace. Rose was hesitant to bring up what happened with Erika and the politician.

“She’s so cute.” her friend beamed looking at the little girl, quietly focused on her work. “How’s motherhood?”

“Tough but I can handle it.” she smiled at her daughter. “I can do anything for her.”

“Don’t you want to raise her with someone?”

“Not this again.” She sighed. “I’m fine on my own. I don’t need a man to help me.”

A hollow emptiness crawled within her. “I do not depend on a guy. I can take care of myself financially but it would be nice to have company.” She felt as if she lied to her friend but what could she do?

“Ah!” a sharp pain burned her skin from the birthmark on her abdomen. It started off slight before eclipsing into a searing pain that burnt her vision and sent the world reeling, her head spin as she struggled to gain a grip on the table.

“What’s happening?!”

“Rose!” she heard her friend scream the pains anchored her body to the ground where she collapsed. She felt like one hundred arrows pierced her skin giving away to the feeling of flames eating her from the inside.

“Erika…she..can’t see me like this.” She breathed holding her pained flesh. “Hold on dear hold on.”  Sakurako rushed to get ice.

Erika stopped her playing to look at her. Curiosity bubbled in her grey eyes. It was as if the baby could tell something was wrong to her mom but she didn’t know what.

Sakurako came back with ice and flustered as she was began compressing the birthmark. She felt her strength weakening as she sat there on the floor, the world turning black by the minute.

She swore she heard Erika cry out for her father again like that day.

———–

The politician entered the small establishment because he liked their sweets and melon soda the best. It was one habit that did not leave him since those days of the past.

He entered for sweets instead he saw a commotion. One woman frantically applied medical care to another who seemed to have fainted.

“Tch you’re doing it wrong.” he grimaced about to go help. “Dada.” a little voice greeted him. He looked down to see a pillow cheeked cherub at his feet. Some unknown force nearly knocked him over. She raised her hands to be picked up but he staggered back.

“You…”

The baby had his eyes and his hair, and when she saw he wasn’t going to pick her up, her face scrunched into a sulk in the exact same manner. Deep in his heart he knew her.

“Please help.” he heard someone cry to him. Turning to the other women, he realised who the fainted one was. He recognised the scar that was hurting her. “Move out of the way wench!” he shouted to a stunned Sakurako. Grasping his wife’s head, he moved her into a position that was better for her. Trailing softly his fingertips he traced her scar from left to right with featherlight touches.

“Don’t you dare die before me.” Flames surrounded her, arrows protruding from her back. In a haze like dream, she looked down to see a blade in her body. “What are you doing?!” she screamed no words coming from her mouth, the heat licking at her skin. Her pain was terrible, heat, arrows, blades, how was she still alive?

“No..” she cried. The things sticking out of her back secured her death, the little one inside of her had no chance of surviving if she, the mother was fading from this world. “Hanae…” he whispered. White robe bearing a similar wound as he shifted her body in the most comfortable way possible against him. She couldn’t feel his bodily warmth but god could she feel the blood.

Gazing up she met sad, gunmetal eyes and dark red hair.

Instantly Rose’s eyes flew open, the pain instantly disappeared. She breathed in ragged breaths sucking air in and out. Looking into his grey eyes, she saw Erika waddle up next to the man grasping his expensive looking black suit.

“Erika..” she gasped weakly to get her to move away from the fabric but the man wrapped his arm around the baby, pulling her close and kissed her pillow like cheeks. “Your mom is ok now.” From over Erika’s little head he glanced at her.

Rose knew him. Why had she not recognized him before? Why was everything clicking now? Why did she have to be with Sakurako now when all she wanted to do was throw herself in his arms and never let him go.

“My..lord.”

“Hanae.” he responded. “Is it still that?” reaching up to stroke her cheek.

“It’s Rose now, milord.”

“Suits you.” he whispered “Pretty but thorny and stubborn! How dare you hide yourself from me for so long, my foolish little flower. I thought if I could make a fool of myself on

T.V somehow you’d find me. Took you long enough.” he grumbled.

“I’m sorry.”

“How dare you keep my baby a secret?”

“ I didn’t know…if I had known I wouldn’t have gone into the temple.”

“Foolish girl.” grabbing her head, he held it against him for a while before pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. “Foolish, foolish girl.” he whispered.

“Who is her father?” he demanded. Nobunaga needed to know the fool who was lucky enough to get the reborn soul of his child. It killed him to know another man gave his wife their child.

“She’s adopted.”

He didn’t know what was worse what he thought about another man or cowards giving up his little princess. It didn’t matter how, fixing Erika’s hair. “How dare you dress her in rags?!”

“Those are from Ribbon Hakka and Ma Mere excuse you!”

“She deserves Burberry and D&G!”

“That’s going too far!”

“Nothing is too far for my princess. Isn’t that right?” he cooed pressing his cheek against the baby who babbled happily.

“Dada!” she responded.

“You will come with me. You have centuries of making up to do! As for me.” he trailed off. “I killed her. I need to make it up to her. I will be the best father she will ever have!”

“You’re a politician! Having a child out of nowhere will cause a scandal!”

“It doesn’t matter.” gently he held out his hand to her get up. Taking Erika into his arms.

“We’re a family again.”

[slbp-holiday-exchange-blog]

(this is for @yoolee!  Hope you like it!)

There had been a few close calls in Yukimura’s life, and few other people he’d want by his side than Saizo.  He was so incredibly grateful to have him there, to help defend him against the hordes that stood in their way.

“You just walk with purpose or be ready to sway in between people.  It’s the best way to walk through a crowded area.”  Saizo teasingly reminded Yukimura and Sasuke as they stared at the crowded store.  The entire mall was like this, people bumping into each other, security watching everything and everyone closely.  With it so jammed packed it was surprising that the holiday decorations still sat on the wall seemingly undisturbed as Christmas music played over the chaos.

“I don’t think MC needs anything from this store though,” Sasuke strained onto the tips of his toes trying to see through the people at whatever was on display.  “She has everything she needs right?”

“Maybe?”  The area seemed to be sectioned off in order to display different types of cooking tools, each area further sectioned off by brand.  It was strangely entertaining to see sets of pots and pans in uniform, as if they were banding together to create a unified kitchen.  While he had been there with MC in the past though, he couldn’t recall what the pans looked like, he was more distracted by the soft smile, and the way her hair would fall away from the bun in tiny wisps, and- A sharp pain in his gut distracted him from the memories of MC in her kitchen as Saizo elbowed Yukimura.

“Whoops.  Sorry, someone bumped into me.  So what are you thinking in this store?  Are you sure this is where you’d want to get your girlfriend her gift for your first Christmas together?”

“Yes.  She loves to cook, so she’d like a present from here… right?”

Saizo gave him a useless shrug as he looked around, “well, I guess you should get to looking, try to pick something out?”

“What about this?”  Sasuke held up a strange device, it was long and slender with a strange looking cup at one end.

“I… don’t know.”

“It’s a hand blender, and Kiku picked out a cute little pink one for her already.”  Saizo said as he started walking away easily maneuvering around some couples eyeing something that looked like a blender.  The more Yukimura tried looking around at the stuff surrounding him the more overwhelmed he was feeling.  Did he see that in MC’s kitchen already?  What does her kitchen really look like?  Would her mother approve of that if he purchased it?

Sasuke bumped into him, his stare becoming more distant with each passing second.  He had insisted on coming with but now seemed incredibly bored and unaware of the rushing sound of Yukimura’s pulse in his own ears.

“Should we try elsewhere?”  Yukimura and Sasuke both jumped as Saizo spoke from behind them.  “There’re a few hours before the store closes, and a few days left before Christmas anyway.  We can always try elsewhere.”

“Umm…” Yukimura’s stress and tension increased as he glanced away from Saizo’s unweavering gaze.

“‘Umm’ what dear?”  Saizo’s grin slowly increased as Yukimura fidgeted trying to find the best way to respond.

“I don’t have a few days… we’re getting together tonight since she’s going home to celebrate with her family.”

“But you’re going with her right?”  Saizo tilted his head back into Yukimura’s view, allowing them to look at each other when Yukimura’s gaped with his eyes wide at the suggestion.

“No?  She’s going home to her folks, and I’m going home to mine.  Why would I go with her?”

Saizo chuckled while Sasuke scrunched up his face, barely hiding it with a hand pressed to his forehead.  “Either way, it sounds like you really waited till the last moment to get this taken care of.   How about we recommend some stores to you?  I know the perfect place to go next.”  Saizo turned leading the way through the mess of people, easily moving around them with Sasuke mimicking his actions.  Yukimura trailed behind a little as he apologized each time he bumped into someone.

It was a mercy when they finally stopped moving.  Yukimura quickened his pace, finally catching up to Saizo and Sasuke.  He noticed Sasuke adamantly looking away from the store in front of them but failed to notice the red glow spreading across his cheeks. “I’m so glad you caught up dear!  Now let’s go in and see if we find anything you’d like for MC.”  Saizo didn’t wait for an answer as he casually stepped into the store, leaving Yukimura to hurry in after him.

He stumbled as he suddenly found himself surrounded by a lacy display.  Saizo casually pinched the fabric of a nearby bra.  “You do know her sizes right?”

“Of course I don’t!” He spun around and almost ran into a woman coming into the store. He hurried out to where Sasuke waited for them, blushing.

“You didn’t find anything you liked?”  Sasuke mumbled his question as he glanced up as Yukimura.

“Let’s just… go.”  He took Sasuke’s hand, and they got a few stores away before Saizo slid back up next to them.

“Okay, then where next?”

“Can we look over there?” Sasuke’s eyes were wide as he pointed towards a toy store.  “We might find something cute, for MC, you know..”  His voice trailed away as Saizo laughed quietly. Yukimura shrugged.

“We might, let’s check it out..”

If the other stores were crowded and chaotic, this one was a war zone. Parents snipped and snapped at each other from across aisles, ignoring the children as they zigged and zagged everywhere.  Sasuke claimed he was going to take a look around by himself and easily disappeared into the throng of madness that Yukimura was staring at.

“Stuffed animals are over there.”  Saizo easily directed Yukimura’s focus, and while it didn’t seem like a bad idea, Yukimura found himself stumbling a little to try and get there, though there didn’t seem to be anything for him to trip on.

Saizo’s hand pressed against his back, gently guiding them there.  The variety of fabric faces before them was a little overwhelming, was a stuffed animal too childish?  Would she like the rabbit, the cat, the dog?  He tried to imagine her with each of the stuffed animals, barely paying attention to the way people jostled him as they bumped and pressed, surging around him.

Even if he was having trouble picking one for her, it didn’t matter which stuffed animal imaginary Yukimura presented to imaginary MC, she greeted each one with a tender imaginary smile that made his real heart melt.  A little orange teddy bear stuck out at the end, surrounded by other bears of various colors.

Having selected his purchase, Saizo collected Sasuke and they were out the door and heading back towards Saizo’s car.  “You got her a teddy bear?” Sasuke pouted in disapproval.

“You were the one who said we should go into the store.”  Saizo smiled as he unlocked the doors. “I guess I was…”

“Thank you, Sasuke!” Yukimura patted the kid on the back, finally feeling relief at having selected the gift and having plenty of time to get back to get ready for his date with MC that night.

“Though you know Yukimura…” Saizo waited until Sasuke was in the car before turning to him.  “If she doesn’t like that teddy, maybe she’ll like this one.”

Yukimura tilted his head curiously as Saizo tossed a bag that was hidden within his jacket.  The plastic fumbled a little as Yukimura tried to juggle both bags, his hands brushing against something soft inside as he noticed the logo on the bag as the same from the store Saizo suggested.

“What… why?!  We don’t… she doesn’t… you don’t even know her sizes!”

Saizo casually tossed another back in the back of the car before climbing into the driver seat, “of course I do.  Coming dear?”

“Then why did you ask if I knew?”  Yukimura stood defiantly outside of the car trying to hide the bag within the toy store bag with the teddy bear.

“I guess he’s not coming Sasuke… bye Yukimaru.”  Saizo shifted gears giving Yukimura enough time to scramble to the other side, mumbling under his breath, feeling the heat raising on his cheeks.