#and as the caption says: I added in an extra crack on her chin

[spotaus]

Ended up adding in the crack along her chin finally!

[ikesenhell]

A Family Tree

Bloodline, Chapter 3. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTE: Ayana is @jindalraekarkki’s lovely OC! Thank you so much!

Masamune and Mitsuhide nicknamed the archivist ‘Princess’. It was their idea of a joke, prompted unbidden by a remark Nobunaga made at the office. Something about Ieyasu ‘rescuing a Princess in distress’. 

“Very funny,” he snapped irritably. It wasn’t as if he needed a reminder on how he’d endangered the poor woman. The whole situation was his fault. “Back to the important things. Do we have some kind of a lead on this?”

“As it so happens? We do.” Mitsuhide set down some paperwork. “The accelerant used for the fire is actually quite similar to the products we found in the office Masamune cracked into. It appears that someone in our current investigations to the mob has not only figured out that Ieyasu is involved on our team, but is taking an interest in obscuring how his family plays into their organization.”

“So let me see if I understand.” Nobunaga twirled a pen idly over his desk. “The Mob not only was in possession of photos of the Tokugawa family, a pair of former CIA agents deceased over a decade and a half, but figures out that their son is also in connection with the CIA, and that he is investigating on his own into this?”

Masamune frowned deep, his blue eye glittering. “That sounds like a mole to me.”

The men fell silent.

“I’ll certainly be branching my investigations into that possibility,” Mitsuhide remarked lightly. “Don’t you worry about that. In the meantime, we need to move the Princess into protective custody.”

Ieyasu grimaced. How unfair was this? The poor woman would have to completely uproot her whole life, disrupt everything she knew--and it was all because of him. He clenched his fist tight. 

“Have some opinion on the matter?” Nobunaga cocked a brow at him. “You appear tense.”

“No opinion.” He replied brusquely. It wasn’t as if that train of thought mattered. But Mitsuhide kept staring, a knowing look emerging on those snaky lips. Of course Mitsuhide could tell what was wrong.

“How about this?” Mitsuhide suggested. “Our dearest Princess is likely a valuable resource in our investigations. She’s already played a part, after all. We could move her into Ieyasu’s custody.”

“Intriguing. Do tell.” Nobunaga folded his fingers together, resting his chin on the lattice of his knuckles. 

“As excellent as Mitsunari is at his job, it’s known that we’re stretched a touch thin. I already took the liberty of looking into her background, and she is squeaky clean. We could employ her as a civilian contractor for this particular case. It would free up our process and provide Ieyasu with a bit of needed interpersonal interaction.”

“I don’t need interpersonal interaction,” Ieyasu snapped. The idea of having someone in his personal space was almost offensive. Granted, he did owe her that much, and Mitsuhide was right--but still. ���And I don’t need a random woman living in my house.”

“No? Not even with all the benefits of someone assisting you on your case? We all know of your aversion to working with Mitsunari.”

Damnit. Ieyasu ground his teeth tight together. He was up against a rock and a hard place, and everyone knew it. “Fine.”

Apparently she didn’t have much. Maybe she just hadn’t brought much. Either way, when he picked her up from her apartment, she only had two large suitcases and a confused expression.

“What’s with that face?” He snapped harder than he meant. “Come on. Is this all you have?”

“It’s all I need. I didn’t think it would be polite of me to load up your space with my things.”

Well that was downright considerate. He felt bad for being rude already, but an apology wouldn’t unstick from his throat. Opting for silence, he placed her things in the back seat and drove them both to his place. 

He had a three bedroom apartment and frankly no reason for all the space. If he were honest with himself, he’d gotten the extra rooms partially for if Masamune decided to come over and crash, partially for space for his own collection of books, partially for an office. Converting the spare room he’d meant for Masamune wasn’t a stretch at all--he’d just gotten some new sheets and towels. Quiet as a mouse, she slipped into the room and looked around. 

“Thank you so much,” she murmured. “I’m sorry to be in your way.”

What was he supposed to say to that? It was his fault she was there. Ieyasu reached for words and finally settled for, “It wasn’t that much trouble.”

Clearly he’d missed the mark. She didn’t look assuaged at all. Desperately trying to wriggle his way from the situation, Ieyasu added, “The office is free for use. Mitsuhide sent you some clearance. I’ll put the folders and files you can use in there, and the payment processing is going through. Questions?”

“No, not really. Thank you.”

She was quiet for certain. Ieyasu half-forgot she was there some days. All that ever reminded him was the soft hum of some song or another, the gentle clink of mugs in the morning and the scent of food cooking. As far as roommates went, she was courteous and clean. As for the rest? He wasn’t expecting much. How useful could someone entirely outside the CIA training regimen be? It wasn’t that she was a subpar researcher (not that he knew if she was or wasn’t), but he just didn’t have hope. 

But Mitsuhide kept presenting him with dossiers, so he kept bringing them to the office, stacking them with the others. She neatly cataloged and read and took notes, but Ieyasu wasn’t expecting much. 

And then one morning she walked into the kitchen as he was brewing coffee, holding a file in her hand. 

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Mmm?” Yes, he thought, but he just looked at her expectantly. 

“I’m sorry. It’s a little invasive.” But then she paused. “You were raised by an uncle, weren’t you?”

That was a weird question. He lowered the mug. “Yes?”

“I--” The Princess paused, thinking about her words before finally coming out with it. “Are you sure you’re related?”

Ieyasu stopped short, staring at her. “What kind of a question is that?”

“I know that sounds weird,” she rushed out. “I know it does. But I did a little looking into your familial background, and something isn’t adding up. So I went through your uncle’s history. He supposedly graduated from Princeton, same as your father, but--well, just take a look.”

She fished through the folder and produced several pictures, laying them out for him. That pang of familiarity rushed through him once more. It was him--that mystery man in the newspaper clipping from ‘93. Except now it was a smiling, younger man on the Princeton Yard, baseball bat slung over one shoulder and a slight caption underneath. I. Tokugawa, first baseman. 

“What the fuck,” he blurted out. The whole world tilted under his feet; he sat heavily on the floor, struggling to make sense of it. That was his uncle. That was his uncle. So much now swirled into focus. His ‘Uncle’s aversion to talking about his parents--how they didn’t have a resemblance--how he’d never met anyone else in the family--it wasn’t even his family. Who the fuck was that man? Who was that stranger?

The cold press of a cup into his hand jerked him from his reverie. The Princess stared into his eyes, concern etched in every line of her face. His first instinct was to withdraw. He didn’t need her pity. Familiar irritation rose hot in his throat; no doubt she saw him as a poor orphan, a pitiful thing abandoned by his own blood. But as his fingertips closed around the ice water, he came back to himself. She wasn’t pitying him. She was genuinely worried. 

“That’s a lot to process,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to shock you, but I couldn’t think of any other way to tell you.”

For a single second, he appreciated the hell out of her. He’d undersold her on every respect, and here she was, shining in every conceivable way. What an ass he’d been to her. How was he supposed to right that? He gulped down the ice water, looking for anything else to do aside from answer. At last, he found his voice. “I told my Uncle--or whoever that was--about the photo in the paper I’d gotten. He’s the mole.”

She paused. “Are you certain? How did he figure out you were part of the CIA? The link between which specific place and the paper?”

“Not a clue.” He struggled to his feet, screwing down his resolve. “Not a damn clue. But I’m going to find out.”

[artificialqueens]

Bleary Eyes (Rajila) - Juniper

Summary: When Manila catches a cold, Raja figures out what keeps her up at night. 2.5k of established lesbian Rajila.

A/N: Just a fluffy, little drabble! May or may not make this a miniseries. Enjoy!

It started with too much wine, and not enough thought.

Raja mumbled her words, laughed too loudly, lost her balance on more than one occasion. She inspected the empty bottle numerous times, looking for just one more drop to roll out onto her tongue.

She sat cross-legged on the carpet, glass toppled over to the side, the tile of the kitchen much too dangerous for her state. They stuck to white, the red much too risky for tipsy girls in rented apartments. Manila sat across from her, much more alert. There was a smile on her face, though she was beginning to sweat.

They’d spent many nights tangled up in bed, talking until sunrise, content to give up rest in exchange crazy hair and deep conversation, always in Raja’s room. They’d get out of bed when the sun was too bright, say nonsensical things as they tried to make a decent breakfast.  She’d pull the girl down to kiss her sleepy eyes, then Manila would drive home to crash out. Now, they were in Manila’s apartment, and it was much too late to send her drunk girlfriend home.

So, by the time her third playlist ended, and the clock struck two, Manila used all the strength she had to yank her lanky girlfriend off the floor and into the bedroom. For someone so skinny, her dead weight was extremely heavy. She helped her peel down her jeans, relenting to let Raja sleep in her t-shirt and underwear. The makeup wipes were in the bathroom, and when she came back, Raja was on the foot of the bed, eyes closed, humming and swaying to some melody of her own creation. It was the end of a long day, at the end of a long week, and if Manila had not been so exhausted she might have harmonized.

She worked the cold wipe over her face, dark foundation staining the sheet.

“We’re havin’ a sleepover, ‘Nila?” She hiccupped.

Manila sighed and pressed a kiss to her girlfriend’s forehead. “Yes, honey.”

Raja fell asleep the second her head hit the pillow. An open-mouthed, drooling, kind of sleep, and Manila giggled as she changed into pajamas. Her phone was set to charge, and she resisted the urge to take a couple of pictures.

She longingly looked toward the closet before switching the lamp off, climbing underneath the sheets.

When Raja woke up the next morning, wondering about Manila’s disheveled appearance, she blamed the headache and fatigue on the hangover she didn’t actually have.

–

The gray plastic stuck out of Raja’s purse, begging Manila to ask what was inside.

She was making dinner for them, cupcake covered apron tied around her back, while Raja texted someone. The silence was comfortable, as it usually was, but she couldn’t help but wonder why the strap of her purse still hung around Raja’s shoulder.

“You stop by the store on the way over?” She asked, unable to hide her curiosity. Something about the half-rate concealment led her to believe she should be interested.

“Yeah, um,” Raja laughed nervously, locking her phone, as if she hadn’t been waiting for the question. She pulled the bag out, holding it in her hand like it was a sack of hot coals. “It’s…it’s a toothbrush. I was wondering, since I stay here pretty often-“

“Yes, of course,” Manila laughed, raising on her tiptoes to kiss her. “You can leave it here. My home is your home.” Raja looked relieved, leaning against the counter.  

Manila returned her attention to the sizzling vegetables in the skillet, considering the situation settled. Her mind drifted off to her job, listing off unfinished projects down at the office. There was the shirt design, the vitamin logo…

Raja crept up behind her, wrapping her arms around her waist. Her chin rested on Manila’s shoulder.

“Sometimes I don’t think you like me staying over,” she whispered.

“Watch it, Raj,” she warned playfully. “If you make me burn myself on this hot stove, I’ll stab you with that damned toothbrush.”

The older girl’s concerns weren’t unfounded. Every time she spent the night at Manila’s, the latter had dark circles under her eyes in the morning. She always slept last, and despite not being a morning person, was always the first one up, scrolling through social media feeds, no matter the hour Raja opened her eyes.

Manila defended that she’d never been good with sharing a bed. It disrupted her sleep, her subconscious never allowing her to fully relax. The bed felt too stiff, the covers were too hot, the street sounds rang out too loudly. A million thoughts played out in her mind, forcing her brain through the ringer. She’d stare at the ceiling with strained eyes, sighing in discomfort as she checked her phone periodically, watching the hours tick by.

But she loved not having to say goodbye to Raja, loved having something warm to snuggle up to on chilly mornings. The silent, lazy sex that came naturally, the birds chirping as they moved together.

It felt right.

If she was ever going to get used to it, they just needed practice, Manila said.

Still, Raja couldn’t help but to feel guilty when she stopped by the office to drop off lunch, and found her dozing off at her desk.

–

Manila was up on her knees, sinking slightly into the mattress, as she sang along to the old Kate Bush album on, flooding out of her phone speaker. Raja’s eyes were closed, head tilted back slightly, as Manila worked the brush through her long hair.

The bristles combed through the tangled strands, guided by a steady hand, sending tingles down her spine. Goosebumps rose on her arms, wishing to live in the moment forever. Sometimes, when Manila leaned forward, their dark hair twisted together, and they looked to be one magnificent being in the vanity mirror.

“I ran into my landlady today,” she spoke softly, Manila humming in acknowledgement. “Not much longer until she has the twins, I think.”

“How exciting.”

“I need to meet with her, soon,” she mused. “My lease is gonna be up.”

“Is it?” The brush tickled the nape of her neck. She shuddered.

“Manila, I’ve told you this a million times,” Raja groaned. She could see her girlfriend’s reflection shrug.

“Must have forgotten,” she said. “Go get me a hairband and I’ll braid it for you. Top left drawer.”

Raja hopped up from the bed, and Manila swatted her ass with the brush.

She laughed, pulling open the dresser drawer that held all of her girlfriend’s miscellaneous beauty items. Pins, ribbons, extra sponges and cotton pads, an unopened pack of cheap nail files. She grabbed a black hair tie, almost missing the gift box in the corner.

“’Nila,” she said warily. “What’s this?”

It was a tiny cardboard box, black with white polka dots, and the girl on the bed held a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

“Open it!” She urged impatiently. Raja bit back a grin as she pried off the top.

A key sat in the center on silver silk.  She peered up, seeing Manila’s clasped hands brought up to her excited face.

“If you say this is the key to your heart, we’re breaking up.”

Manila hopped up and skipped over to her. Her smile was wide, and Raja couldn’t find it in herself to be concerned.

“I was thinking, you only have a couple months left of your lease,” she started, ponytail bouncing as she energetically spoke. “So, when it ends, why don’t you just move in?”

Raja was speechless, a warmth spreading through her chest. Pretty, almond eyes were blinking up at her, still as entrancing and playful as the day they’d met. Manila took the key from the box and pressed it into Raja’s palm.

“I wanna come home to you every day. This is the start of our future,” she said. “I trust you, completely. This way, we can test the waters.”

“You mean it?” Raja finally managed to breathe out. Manila nodded, biting her lip.

She grabbed the shorter girl’s face and kissed her.

–

A few weeks later, Raja was doing her makeup in the bathroom when her phone buzzed on the countertop.

It was a snapchat from Manila, and she twisted the wand back into the tube of mascara before opening it.

It was a selfie, a tissue plugging up her nostrils. A filter was applied to the picture, adding bunny ears to the sides of her head, making her eyes look wide and weepy. The caption ran along the center.

No work today. Sick as hell!

Raja smiled as she screenshotted her girlfriend’s pouting face. She slid to the chat.

Poor baby. Bring you lunch later, ok? Xx

It was only seconds before the reply came.

LOVE U :(

Around noon, Raja heated up some soup and poured it into a thermos, grabbing a pack of saltines for good measure. She called Manila to let her know she was on the way, but it went unanswered.

She called a second time as she parked, but the voicemail greeted her again. She frowned. Manila’s car was in the lot, so she was definitely home.

Raja’s eyes fixated on her keys, still hanging from the ignition, and her fingers fiddled with the metal of the ring’s newest addition.

She hadn’t really had the opportunity to use the key Manila had given her yet, and her stomach twisted at the thought. She didn’t want to impose, but would she really have received it if that was a possibility?

Not wanting the soup to get cold, she sighed and climbed out of her car, ascending the stairs to the second story of the apartment building. She left herself in, calling out Manila’s name.

No response.

Raja set the food and her purse down on the kitchen counter, moving to search for her missing Pinay.

The living space and bathroom were both empty, but the door to her bedroom was cracked, and Raja was willing to bet that Manila was napping off her cold.

She pressed the wood, creaking as it opened, sneaking in. Manila was almost completely covered in blankets, the curtains drawn. The carpet was littered with wadded up tissues.

“Baby,” Raja whispered, lightly shaking her shoulder. “Think you can eat something?”

She only groaned, squinting her eyes further. Raja laughed, peeling down the covers.

“Come on-“ she stopped, eyebrows raised, as she saw Manila clinging onto a brown stuffed bear, a glittery bow around its neck. It was clearly old, fur stained in some spots, one of the eyes replaced with a mismatched button.

“Who is this, making a move on my girlfriend?” She teased, grabbing one of the paws.

Suddenly, Manila shot up. She was holding the bear tight to her chest, still trying to force her heavy eyelids to stay open.

“Woah,” Raja laughed. “It’s just me.”

“What are you doing here?” She responded groggily. Manila was clearly stuffed up, her sinuses reducing her to heavy mouth breathing.

“I brought you some soup. I let myself in…is that okay?

Manila nodded, messy bun threatening to unravel. Her face was flushed.

“You look really red. Let me see if you’re feverish,” the tall girl noted, reaching her skinny fingers out to Manila’s forehead. When she flinched, Raja huffed.

“Hey, look at me,” she demanded. Manila was staring at a random spot on the comforter, fingers toying with tan fur. “Manila.”

She looked up, and Raja gasped when she saw her dark eyes glimmering with tears.

“Baby, talk to me. Is it because you’re ill? Do you want some water?” Manila shook her head, once again avoiding eye contact. Raja bit her lip, going out on a limb. “Are you embarrassed that I saw you sleeping with a teddy bear?”

She said nothing, but her lip trembled.

“Oh my…Manila,” Raja rolled her eyes, climbing up on the bed. She wrapped an arm around Manila’s shoulder, resting her head against her girlfriend’s. “Plenty of grown women still sleep with stuffed animals. You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m not gonna judge you.”

She sniffled, and Raja handed her a tissue. Manila blew her nose and sighed, frustratingly tossing it at the trash can. It bounced off the rim, cascading down to the carpet like the majority of the others.

“I don’t want you to think I’m lame,” she mumbled. “You’re this cool, independent, punk rock bitch, and I’m…none of that.”

“If I wanted all of that, I’d date myself,” Raja joked. “I love you for you, ‘Nila. You’re sweet and snarky, and it fascinates me how the gears in your brain never stop turning. You’re like a silly cartoon character, and it keeps me from going insane. Reminds me not to take everything so seriously.”

Manila let out a pitiful laugh, and received a kiss on the top of her head.

“Ew, I smell like sick person,” she whined, making a face.

“That’s my girl,” Raja laughed at the attitude. The clouds outside moved to cover the sun, casting more shadow over the already dim room. She grabbed the bear from her girlfriend’s hands, inspecting. “So, tell me about Teddy, here.”

Manila scowled and snatched him back.

“His name is Mr. Bear.”

“Original,” Raja teased.

“Shut up! He was my first stuffed animal. I’ve slept with him every night since I was a baby.”

“Every night?” Raja blinked. “Oh, my God, Manila.”

“What?”

“Is this why you can never sleep when I’m here?” She crossed her arms, and Manila sneezed. She wiped at her raw nose, avoiding the question. “You’re an idiot! You really made yourself suffer because you thought I was going to make fun of you? What did you think was gonna happen when I moved in?”

The younger girl shrugged, her oversized shirt swallowing her body.

“What was I supposed to say? It’s not like I can sleep with you and the bear at the same time,” she pouted. Manila’s voice held an air of jest, but her eyes were genuine. Raja paused to think for a moment.

“Lay down on your side of the bed,” she said. Manila raised an eyebrow. “Just do it.”

She relented, achy body begging for rest. She settled into the mattress, bear held to her chest, the same as always. Manila felt like an idiot.

The springs squeaked under the change of weight as Raja laid down beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. She nuzzled her face into the messy mass of black and blonde.

“You’re gonna get sick,” Manila giggled.

“I don’t care,” Raja persisted, giving her a gentle squeeze. “How does this feel?” Manila sighed, snuggling back into the curve of her body.

“Perfect.”