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the12thnightproject · 4 months ago

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Chapter 18: Mitsunari POV - The Anger Emergence. Mitsunari discovers jealousy. (Events from previous two chapters).

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

CW: Snake

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

Camouflage versus concealment: Concealment is that act of hiding something, covering it up so that no one can see it. Camouflage is the use of color, pattern, shadow, light and dark to make something less visible, visually fooling the eye into not seeing something that is not hidden.

Personal comments: Until recently, my emotions were concealed not only everyone around me but also myself so well that they might not have existed at all. In the past few days, I have experienced fear, joy, anger, hope… and feelings that I did not know existed, never expected to experience; feelings that I do not even know how to categorize.

And now, I must learn how to camouflage them.

"Halt. Do not move." Instinctively, Mitsunari froze at the sound of authority in Hideyoshi’s voice, and in the process nearly overbalancing on the step. He tightened his arms around Okatsu. No, he refused to trip and fall, not when he had such an important bundle in his arms. Okatsu let out a dismayed sigh, and for a moment hid her face in his chest. Mitsunari wished he could pretend she was doing so because she wanted to be closer to him, but he knew her well enough to realize she was trying to avoid Hideyoshi’s eyes. "Did you not leave the mine early to rest your injury?”

How to respond? He didn’t want to lie to Hideyoshi. Not again. He didn’t want to lie any more than he had to… even presupposing he could come up with an effective story this quickly in any case.

Okatsu rescued him, lying as easily as she did everything else. "We did, and we did. We spent the afternoon in the garden, and Mitsunari let me rest my foot in his lap."

Hideyoshi didn’t look happy with that explanation. Did he not believe her? Mitsunari hurried to back up the story. "Yes. It was elevated."

There was a shocked little peeping noise from Okatsu. "My foot. It was elevated, as Mai instructed. It was very restful."

Without another word, Hideyoshi took Okatsu out of Mitsunari's arms. "I’ll carry her." The sudden emptiness left Mitsunari feeling bereft – and that emotion was replaced by something else when he saw her wrapped in Hideyoshi’s arms. It felt almost like … anger? He had an impulse to grab his sword and run Hideyoshi through.

Horrified, he squashed that impulse down.

Where had it come from?

He was still trying to puzzle that out when he caught Okatsu silently trying to tell him something. What? Save her? From Hideyoshi?

Her lips moved again.

He… still had no idea what she wanted him to do.

Her hand was resting on Hideyoshi’s shoulder. She waved it at him and he realized there was a paper tucked between her thumb and her palm. Where had she gotten pap- The note!

She wanted him to check on Hikosane. Mitsunari paused, not entirely sure he knew where to find him. In his room? In the garden?

Hideyoshi glanced over his shoulder. "What is wrong?"

Mitsunari told the most believable lie he had ever told in his life. "I’m going to go get a book."

Over the course of a long search, Mitsunari discovered that Hikosane was not in the gardens, not in the archives, and not in his room. Nor was he in the armory… although one of the Genba maids and one of Mozumi’s personal guards were, and Mitsunari hastily retreated after stumbling through a long apology for interrupting them (he hadn’t been aware that particular activity could be performed standing up). Eventually, he tracked the boy down in the kitchens, where he was playing suguroku with a page.

Winning, in fact, and the page was more than happy to turn over his part of the game to Mitsunari and return to his duties. “Good luck, Lord Mitsunari. You may need it. Hikosane is very good at this game.”

Once the page had left, Mitsunari studied the board. “Hikosane, are you well?”

“Of course, Lord Mitsunari.” Hikosane smiled as he rolled a combination of numbers that allowed him to move more markers closer to the finish. “Why do you ask?”

“I am making conversation.” Mitsunari didn’t want to come right out and tell a small boy that he might be in danger. “Has anyone pushed you down the stairs recently? Or have you nearly been shot? Or stabbed? Or… been standing under something heavy that mysteriously fell?”

There. That would gently lead up to the topic, he thought.

“You believe I am in danger.” Hikosane stated it calmly, but his hands were shaking.

Perhaps… that had not been the best way to go about it after all. Okatsu was better with the child. She would know what to say. “Er. It is possible. Will you come with me to talk with Okatsu? We can come up with a plan to keep you safe from potential assassins.”

Hikosane swallowed loudly. “Assassins?”

Why had no one written a book on how to talk to small humans?

By the time Mitsunari returned to their quarters with Hikosane in tow, it was fully dark outside. Okatsu was lying on her stomach on the futon, puzzling over the note. She had a brush and a scroll, and it appeared she had been researching whether it was a code, for the scroll contained several lines of nonsense words. She sat up and set the materials aside when she saw them.

As soon as he crossed the threshold into the room, Hikosane got right to the point. “Mitsunari believes I’m in some danger.” Though Mitsunari appreciated directness (from any person, be they adult or child), given the way Okatsu was frowning at him, he must have done something wrong. Maybe he should have done a better job at keeping the information from Hikosane. “He didn’t tell me in so many words. I guessed from the manner of questions he asked.”

“We don’t know.” Okatsu suddenly smiled at Hikosane, and Mitsunari realized he hadn’t seen her smile very often, but when she did smile, it felt like a sunrise. Unfortunately, the sun was rising on Hikosane, instead of Mitsunari. “We were given a message, but it was vague.”

Hikosane curled up next to Okatsu to read the note, and though this was only a child, Mitsunari felt again that same rush of anger he’d felt when Hideyoshi had scooped her into his arms. “I see. The truth is, I am in danger, I have always been in danger – this is something that has been told to me as long as I can recall. The question is, am I suddenly in more danger? Immediate danger.” His hand went to the child sized sword at his waist.

At the reminder that there were more important things to worry about that his own feelings, Mitsunari sat down too, ready to push emotion aside to deal with the problem. “Yes. That would be the dilemma. Have you experienced any unusual accidents in recent days?” When Hikosane shook his head, Mitsunari continued, “what about illness?”

“Last month, I became sick after something I ate. It tasted odd, so I only had one bite.” Hikosane shrugged. “However, that may have been an accident.”

Okatsu seemed thoughtful. “Was anyone else sick?”

“No… but.” Hikosane suddenly looked appalled and tears came to his eyes. “Two of the dogs died the next day.”

Poison. He could tell Okatsu was thinking the same thing.

Hikosane launched himself into Okatsu’s arms, hiding his face in her shoulder. And this time, Mitsunari didn’t feel angry at all. If anyone had earned the right to Okatsu’s hug, it was Hikosane.

Once the embrace ended, Okatsu asked him, “Are there people here who you trust – people you know will not try to harm you?”

He counted the names on his fingers “You. Mitsunari. My father – though I do not see him often. My sisters.”

It was unlucky for Hikosane that he only had sisters. Sisters who were like Shohime, instead of like Okatsu. An Okatsu sister would be a great advantage to the child. But at least her fiancée was young and likely able to protect Hikosane. “When Shohime marries Iekane, would you be able to go to them for long periods of time?”

Hikosane’s hands balled into fists. “I hate him! He smiles too much.”

“I thought smiling was a good thing?” Wasn’t it? Mitsunari realized he smiled a lot too. Was that wrong? But... “I like it when Okatsu smiles.”

“I do too.” Hikosane looked like he was about to crawl into Okatsu’s lap, and Mitsunari started to get that mixed up angry feeling again. “Iekane smiles when he means to frown. I don’t trust him. You do believe me, don’t you?”

“I do.” She ruffled his hair. “I … don’t like being around him either, so how about this? When he is around, come over to me and we can protect each other.”

Why didn’t she like Iekane… had the man also threatened Okatsu, or accosted her the way Mozumi had? Why hadn’t she told him? Did she not trust him yet? He wanted to pull her close, and comfort her somehow. But he couldn’t think of what would be the correct way to do so without being as free with her person as the other two men.

During his mental debate, Hikosane said something that Mitsunari missed. He hoped it hadn’t been important.

Hikosane bowed. “I should return to my room before someone looks for me.”

Since Okatsu stood up and seemed determined to accompany him, Mitsunari got to his feet as well. After all of this, he didn’t want her to have to return to their rooms by herself. There were too many potentially dangerous people about.

Hikosane took Okatsu’s hand, and then, to Mitsunari’s surprise, he discovered that Hikosane’s other hand had found its way into his own. Interesting. In a sense, Hikosane felt like a link in a chain that connected him to Okatsu. It felt… warm, also to be allowed into this circle of trust, and Mitsunari realized that even without the presence of Okatsu, he would like Hikosane for his own sake.

Once, they reached his room, Hikosane bowed again and thanked them, after a hastily covered yawn. He thunked down on his futon.

Mitsunari had half turned to leave, already mentally preparing to ask Okatsu what she knew about Iekane, when he heard the noise.

HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

The blanket undulated, and his eyes focused on the snake that was already honing in on Hikosane. “Hiko! Do not move.” To Okatsu, he asked, “Mamushi?”

HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

There was fear, and the urge to shield Okatsu, to shield Hikosane, and under that was the terror that he would not be able to save either of them. He pushed that away. A snake was a sword. Its actions were just as predictable as that of a warrior. It was threatened and it would strike where it deemed the closest threat was. Right now… that was Hikosane.

What tools did he have with him? Sword. And, Okatsu must be armed as well, he knew she never went anywhere without at least –

Yes, she was reaching for a knife she had strapped to her ankle. Was she as good with a throwing knife as she was with a bow and arrow? “Can you hit it?”

“I’m … I’m not sure.” She frowned at the snake, which still had its full attention on Hikosane.

If Okatsu threw the knife and missed, or didn’t do enough damage to the snake, it would bite Hikosane. If Mitsunari approached it with his sword, the snake might bite Hikosane before he could get to it. Therefore, they needed to divert the snake’s attention, first. In his mind, he could see how to accomplish that and the steps that immediately would need to follow.

Knife.

Roll.

Approach.

Sword.

Strike.

Kill.

“Hikosane – on the count of three, Okatsu will throw her knife behind and to the left of the snake. As soon as it turns to look at the knife, you are to roll to the right.” He spoke softly, trying not to agitate the snake further.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

With the calmness and skill of the best warriors, Okatsu sent her knife sailing over, and behind the snake. It bounced off the wall and clattered to the floor. The snake hissed and turned its head.

Hikosane rolled off the futon.

The snake turned back as if to strike, but Mitsunari knew where it was going, where it would be, and got his sword there first.

Even before the two halves of the snake hit the floor, Okatsu had Hikosane wrapped in a hug. “He is not staying in this room.”

“It is probably safer now than it ever will be. Whoever put this snake in here will be counting on no one coming in until morning.” But even as Hikosane spoke bravely, he looked at the dead snake with apprehension.

While she comforted Hikosane, Okatsu glanced around the room, possibly seeking additional deadly traps. Mitsunari took the opportunity to hold her hand again. “I forgot. You did say you are afraid of snakes.”

She shrugged slightly. “I’m not fond of things that can kill me. It’s good to be alert for that kind of thing.”

Though she had seemed less worried for herself, she had kept hold of his hand, and that made Mitsunari feel warm inside. Hopefully, this meant that she finally trusted him.

"You don't like Iekane.” Mitsunari made it a statement, not a question, though he kept his voice low. After a brief discussion, they had brought Hikosane back to their room, figuring he would be safest with them. He grabbed his night clothes and slipped behind the screen. "Is there a particular reason? Or a feeling?"

"Would that matter?" There was a note of challenge in her voice, that even Mitsunari could pick up on.

"I trust your feelings either way.” He struggled a bit with his sash, not wanting a repeat of the time he had gotten stuck in his clothing. Luckily, this time it wasn’t tangled or twisted around. He freed himself on his own and kicked his kimono out of the way. "But if he has actually done something, I would like to know what he is capable of."

Her hand whisked the kimono off the floor. "Remember when I said someone locked me in the crate? That was him."

The mixture of anger and confusion that he had felt earlier was nothing compared to the sheer rage that swept over him. For a moment, he couldn’t see or hear, it was all a whoosh of hot anger. If Iekane had been in front of him in that moment, Mitsunari would have cut him down faster than he had the snake.

Thwap!

Someone had punched at the screen.

It was him.

He’d punched it.

And then the need to assure himself, to confirm, that Okatsu was ok had him rushing out and yanking her into his arms. She was ok. She was alive. What had happened to her had happened years ago, and if he had anything to say about it, nothing would happen to her again. But Iekane had been here all day. She’d had ample opportunity to confide in Mitsunari. But… she hadn’t. "Why haven't you told anyone this?"

She mumbled something too quiet for him to hear, so he reluctantly let her go.

"I confronted him the other day. He said it was an accident." She shrugged. “That I had gotten confused. And meanwhile, he was robbed and unconscious for days. Eventually he was adopted by the previous daimyo… who apparently recently sickened and died. So. That’s where he’s been.”

As stories went, it sounded less than likely, but Okatsu knew Iekane better than Mitsunari did. "Do you believe him?" He realized he was still holding his night kimono, so he shrugged into it.

"It's a plausible explanation, but... no. I don't." Okatsu made a circular motion with her hand, and Mitsunari turned around. Then her hands came around his waist, and he was momentarily thrilled until he realized she was fixing his sash. "The problem is, without Aki- my lord- I have no way to prove it. It's his word against mine."

She slipped behind the screen to change, and to distract himself from the delicious sounds of silk fabric sliding across her body, Mitsunari instead pictured Iekane, and what he would do to him when he found him. "I will take your word. That being the situation, what are his skills? Lying and manipulation - poisoning- for its likely he killed the previous Daimyo. What else?"

"Pretty much anything I can do, so can he." There was a long pause, and a relieved sigh, and Mitsunari wondered what she was doing back there. Focus! Enemy. He concentrated on her words. "I'm a much better archer- he's better with a sword."

Then she emerged from behind the screen, and her hair was flowing all around her shoulders, still wavy from being confined in that elaborate hair-bundle she’d been wearing it in, and everything left his mind except … her.

"Your hair is pretty." He reached out to touch it, only remembering just in time that that would be an invasion of her person.

"Er. Thanks." She looked away from him, then her eyes grew big in surprise. Hikosane had fallen asleep across her futon. There was no room for anyone else.

That was… ok. She could sleep in his futon. Mitsunari could sleep on the floor, if needed. But it was probably for the best. He would stay up and attempt to figure out what to do about this Iekane problem. "You can take mine. I will be awake formulating a strategy.

"You will not. You need sleep. We all do. Your strategy will be better after a good sleep." Okatsu was all business as she briskly climbed under the bedding. "There's enough room for two. I trust you."

She trusts me! But the sight of her, warm, flushed, her hair a bit disordered, and the thought of pressing up against her all night long almost overwhelmed him. No. Did he have that much control? "I am honored, but… You... should not." He didn’t even have enough control to refuse the offer. He carefully perched on the edge of the futon. "Perhaps a short nap."

"Even if you weren't the most trustworthy person I know, it's not like you would do anything with Hikosane in the room." Okatsu rolled onto her side, facing the window – they could, potentially lie down back-to-back.

A little hurt by her automatic dismissal of him, he lay down, keeping a hand space between them. “That is a good point, I suppose. Although an untrustworthy person might not care."

Was it that she found him trustworthy? Or did she not consider him worthy of sexual interest?

"Go to sleep, Mitsunari."

"Goodnight Okatsu." He reached over and squeezed her hand, just to remind her that even if he was “trustworthy,” he still was human.

He would be lucky if he slept at all.

In the end… he slept. Some. Okatsu was a restless sleeper, who talked in her sleep. Nothing that gave him any information about how she felt about him, unfortunately. Nothing even that made any sense, either, simply random phrases, like, ‘where’s my IC card?’ ‘missed the bus’ and ‘wiped-out on the half pipe.’

What did make sense though, was shortly after sunrise, she was relaxed, curled into him and once again, Mitsunari had that feeling that together, they simply fit, that they added up to something that was important and strong.

He couldn’t revel in that insight too long though. As she unconsciously burrowed closer, a physical need for her, to be inside her, flooded through him. It was almost painful in its intensity, and if he didn’t-

Oh. She was awake.

Was she aware?

Could she tell?

She was smiling though. If she could tell, perhaps it was ok?

"Good morning Okatsu." He said it as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb Hikosane, not wanting the moment to end. He put the palm on his hand on her cheek, the way he had done weeks ago when she was injured. The way he had done the first time he’d noticed they fit.

She didn’t move. Mitsunari didn’t either, waiting for a signal to do something, to move, either closer or away. Cautiously he lowered his head. If she didn’t want a kiss, surely she would say no, or move or…

She was going to let him kiss her!

"We have a problem! "Hikosane yelled from the doorway.

Okatsu leaped away from him, while Mitsunari got tangled up in the blankets, and in his frenzy to escape, banged his head against hers.

Hikosane was in danger, that was certain. But at the moment, he was in danger from Mitsunari.

@bestbryn @lorei-writes @katriniac @lyds323 @briars7

#TBTMND #A mitsunari night's dream #throwback thursday #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen fanfic #ikesen mitsunari #mitsunari ishida #oc katsuko #katsuverse #cw snakes #tw snakes

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ikeromantic · 2 years ago

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Strength

Ok, so this is for @ikemenlover but the ask has been eaten in my inbox. It's a good thing I copied it to my notes, huh? ^_^ Approx. 1400 words on the ask: Hey Can I have Fanfiction of Ieyasu tokugawa with MC who has a psycho stalker and hurts her very much and ieyasu taking care of injured MC?

Ieyasu followed the maid through the halls of Azuchi and into the chatelaine’s room. Despite the fact that it was a beautiful spring day, the windows were closed tight and she lay curled up on her futon beneath a blanket. The maid gestured silently, her face twisted with worry.

The warlord shooed her out and then knelt beside the bed. “Mai?”

She stirred, but only to pull the blanket over her head. “Leave me alone.”

“I would. But the maids are worried about you. They said you didn’t eat last night or today, and that you won’t get out of bed. So get up, and I’ll go away.”

“I will. Later.” She didn’t come out of the covers.

Ieyasu frowned. This wasn’t like her at all. Mai was cheerful. Annoyingly so. And full of energy, enough that he felt tired just talking to her. She always had a smile for him and a kind word. Always. Maybe she was really sick. “Now. I have to look you over and see if there’s something wrong.”

“I’m fine.”

“Then come out.”

“No.”

Annoyance blossomed in Ieyasu. He had a thousand things to do, and he did not have time to coddle her. His real fear was buried somewhere under that justification, his fear that something was very wrong here. With one strong pull, he tore the blankets from her grip and tossed them away from the futon.

Mai immediately turned away from him, but she could not hide the dried blood nor the stiff way her legs moved. “Dammit, Ieyasu! I don’t want you to look at me!”

“Mai . . .” Ieyasu felt all the air knocked out of him. He fought back a wave of panic that made the room seem smaller and darker than it was. “You’re hurt,” he rasped, and forced himself to take a breath.

“I said I’m fine.” He could tell she was crying now.

“Stop being an idiot and let me look at you.”

She went still, and for a moment he thought she would ignore him, but she slowly sat up. Her breath hitched as if the motion pained her. When she looked at him, he saw why she’d hidden her face. Her lips were split, swollen, and bruised. One eye was so puffy that she couldn’t open it. And she was cradling her wrist.

Ieyasu rocked back in shock. “What - what happened?”

“I fell.” The lie was so blatant that it hurt.

Though he wanted to know more than anything, right now it was more important to treat her injuries. He could find out how they’d happened later. He knew there was no fall that did this. “Alright. Let me . . . let me see.”

He took out his ointments and bandages, first cleaning the wounds on her face and then carefully treating them. The tear on her lips might leave a scar, he thought.

She winced at the sharp sting of the medicine as he worked. “Will that . . . make it go away faster?”

“It will, if I reapply it for you. Twice a day for the next week, at least.” He frowned at her, wishing she trusted him enough to be honest. Ieyasu moved to her hand. Several of her fingers were broken, the wrist sprained. Her nails were torn and bloodied as if she’d been fighting something. Or someone.

“What about my hand? I have to be able to sew.” She looked as if she might cry again.

Ieyasu gently stroked her forearm, the only part he was sure he could touch without hurting her. “You will. I wish you’d come to me right away though. This will hurt more, now that they’ve had time to sit like this. The bones out of place.”

It took a moment to pull them straight, and then to bind them so that they could heal. “I’ve had to do this several times. For Masamune, after a fight.” He glanced up at her face and saw fear there.

“I just . . . I fell. On my hand.”

“Mai. I’ve seen a lot of injuries. These aren’t the kind you get from falling.” He took her other hand and examined it. No broken bones, just some scrapes on her knuckles, and torn nails. He began to bandage them as well.

“Ieyasu. I can’t. I can’t say anything else. Or-”

“Or what? Mai, you have to tell me.” His eyes blazed with the intensity of his feeling, though his expression changed little. Something in his chest shifted, aching in an unexpected way as she met his gaze.

Her next words were so quiet that he almost couldn’t hear them. “He’ll hurt someone else.”

“He?” An irrational rage shot through Ieyasu. Irrational because it had no direction. He still didn’t know who had done this or why. “Who?”

“I . . . I don’t know his name.” She took a shaky breath. “I thought he was nice, at first. He helped me carry my shopping bags. But then he - he -” She started to tremble as if her body would rather shake itself apart than to continue.

Ieyasu carefully pulled her into an embrace. He held onto her as if she were made of the most precious, fragile porcelain, afraid he might crack her delicate exterior.

She clung to him, and the tears came. Great, heaving sobs that tore from her as if the act of crying itself hurt. Words came too, in that undammed flow. At first he could make no sense of them, but eventually the story came clear.

This man she’d met knew all kinds of things about her. Where she lived, who she associated with, what she ate and drank. He’d been watching her for weeks at least. And then made his move.

“H-he told me he hated . . . he hated that I could smile,” she cried. “Th-that he would hurt mmme until . . . until . . .”

Ieyasu gently stroked her back, letting himself express the emotions he was not ready to voice. He cared for her so much. Too much to see her like this. “Why,” he asked, when she finally quieted, “why didn’t you tell us? Me or Nobunaga? Anyone in Azuchi?”

“He said -” Mai took a long, slow breath, calming herself. “He said he would kill a servant if he even thought I told someone. I - I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. And, and now . . .” Her voice disappeared in another wave of helpless tears.

“I promise you, he is not going to hurt anyone.” Ieyasu wasn’t sure how to keep that promise, but he couldn’t let Mai sound so broken and hopeless. He would have to speak with Nobunaga. Somehow, they would keep everyone safe until this man was caught. And they would catch him. One way or another.

After taking a few minutes to get her tears back under control, she nodded. “I - I believe you.”

“Good.” He settled her gently back into the futon. “I am going to send for some food and while you eat, you are going to tell me everything about this man. What he looks like. Where you saw him. What did he wear. Every detail.” Ieyasu’s voice was cool, calm and collected as always. But anger simmered just below the surface. Anyone who could hurt a woman like this - much less one as sweet and naive as Mai . . .

“And when you are better, I am going to teach you some things. To make sure this never happens again,” Ieyasu added.

Mai gave an uncertain nod. “I don’t know if I can. I’m not very strong or fast.”

A remembered shame boiled in Ieyasu’s gut as he remembered his own helplessness and fear. He’d been a child then, and Mai was a grown woman, but it was the same feeling. The same problem. In this world, you had to grow hard and strong. Cruelty would not pass you by just because you were sweet. Beautiful.

“You can. If you are strong enough to learn.”

“I. . . I think I am. With you as my teacher.”

When her fingers curled around Ieyasu’s hand, he felt his heart lurch in his chest. A sudden, erratic pounding like a deer bounding across an open field, full of wildness. He pulled his hand back. “I’ll send for food. And get something to write on.”

This would not be easy. Catching her stalker. Training her to defend herself. But Ieyasu would not fail. He had to be strong. She needed him. And, in the echoes of his fierce heartbeat, he knew he needed her.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen ieyasu #ieysasu tokugawa #tw violence #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #hurt and comfort

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paradisekissmoon · 11 months ago

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Kicho hints at his sister's suicide?

#tw: suicide #ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikesen kicho #ikesen kichou #Kanetsugu's route

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imagineimaginethat · 2 years ago

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I must be in my feelings tonight because why do I want to read (preferably read) or write about the after effects of MC’s vanishing from their original universes/timelines/realities.

This all started because I was in my head like “shouldn’t most of the MC’s be reported missing” 👀 and I don’t remember that ever being really touched on, I could be wrong though and just overlooking something that has been addressed before

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen #ikemen series #ikemen vampire #ikevamp #tw missing person

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fighting-and-drawing · 6 months ago

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Heart of the Warrior: 2nd Anniversary Celebration

Heart of the Warrior had its last chapter published in AO3 on May 25, 2022, just a day shy of two years since the first chapter was published on May 26, 2020. What started as a simple idea had turned into an amazing story that I'm thankful to share with the wider Cybird Ikemen Series community. Sure, it's a somewhat self-indulgent BL, but I'd like to think it's still a good story. I'd like to take this time to thank everyone who has read/followed this story of these two dummies. So, in celebration, here's a never-before-seen Chapter 0 (not really a prologue) of Heart of the Warrior: A New Beginning.

AO3 Link

tumblr Masterpost

Fandom: Cybird Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Yukimura Sanada x Male!OC

TW: Blood, Violence, Death Warning (Do exercise caution, please!)

Word Count: 2500 Words

Chapter 0: A Ferocious Arrival

The trees rattled from the torrential winds of the incoming storm, dark clouds covering the night sky that poured rain onto the darkened lands below. The moon was shrouded in swathes of dark grays and purples, the ferocious cracks of lightning and booming of thunder drowning out the wind rushing through the leaves with each flash. Raijin and Fūjin had seemingly blanketed all of Japan with their intense fury.

A lone figure quickly ran through the entire ordeal, several others hot on his heels. Cold air passing through his dry lungs with every breath, he denied his already sore legs rest as he sprinted through the shaking forest, unfazed by the dagger-like rain or the flashes of ominous purple lightning above. He gripped his yari firmly, his knuckles turning white, knowing that the men maddened by the blood lust of the growing hunt were getting closer. All he needed was a wall to his back lest he gets surrounded and swiftly killed.

Yukimura Sanada finally broke out of the trees, finding a small clearing with dense forest all around him. He skidded to a stop, the worn-out soles of his boots nearly making him slip on the mud. There were more men in front of him, each one of them glaring at him with a sickening gaze, their swords and teeth bared. He was surrounded, Yukimura stepping towards the center of the clearing and raising his yari.

To say his body and mind were exhausted would be an understatement. Three days of nonstop fighting had started to take a toll on the Peerless Warrior. He wiped his strained eyes quickly with his sleeve, his clothes and armor drenched with both water and blood. The men started to cautiously step closer to him, their swords screaming for blood.

One of the men grew impatient, letting out a war cry before charging at Yukimura from behind. Yukimura caught him in time, spinning his iconic three-pronged Jūmonji yari around and striking the man in the torso before he grew close. Yukimura nearly slipped on the mud but caught himself tiredly as the man's lifeless body plummeted to the ground. He readied himself again, the men now more cautious than ever as they kept their relatively short distance from the Peerless Warrior. Even a cornered wolf still had fangs.

This small victory did little to offer comfort to Yukimura. He was still surrounded by nearly a dozen men. The ground below him was muddy and drenched; Yukimura could easily slip or get his foot stuck. His arms and shoulders were weakening, barely having the strength to hold up his spear properly. His legs struggled to even keep the warrior up, his mind frantically conjuring up any means of escape or victory. However, his mind could only settle on one thought—he was going to die here.

NO!

Yukimura let out a grunt, feinting an attack that made the restless attackers flinch and back up a step, some even tripping over their own feet or slipping on the mud as they scrambled backward. Yukimura’s heart began to sink as he weighed his options, but every idea kept circling back to his demise. There was so much that still needed to be done; the war was not done for him. His lord still needed his spear, but now he was separated and alone, facing the demons that seemed to forever be at their throats.

Will tonight be the night?

Alone and surrounded by the devils that took his home...

Yukimura clutched his spear tightly as he swung it around himself once more, forcing his attackers to back off briefly. If tonight was to be his last night, he would die with honor. His sacrifice here would mean that his lord would still get a chance to rally his forces once more to finally take the head off the Demon that wrought chaos throughout the land.

If only there was a way to see home once more...

Yukimura took a deep breath, readying himself. The men started to inch closer once more. Save for the howling of rain and distant thunder, the arena grew silent. The seconds that seemed like hours started to tick by, everyone waiting to see who would be the first to attack. Yukimura steeled his nerves and focused his breathing, pointing his yari at the closest man in front of him.

Suddenly, a vicious strike of lightning hit the forest just behind them, a brief flash of light blinding everyone. The men cried out in fear and surprise, but Yukimura used this opportunity to his advantage. Before anyone else could react, two of the men were felled by Yukimura's rush attack, the others scrambling back to regroup. Yukimura could not afford to let them have the chance, engaging those closest to him. His steps were efficient, each thrust, block, and parry with intent. He pushed back three attackers with his spear, swinging it around before striking his next target. The force of his attack not only struck the man but also twisted his own foot in the mud. Yukimura struggled and successfully broke free, but in the process was slashed behind his back by another attacker's katana. Yukimura cried out in pain, pushing the man back with the blunt end of his yari. He swung his spear in a violent circle, forcing the remaining attackers back as Yukimura stumbled back.

Luckily, the backside of his chest plate had mitigated the attack, yet the sheer impact of the attack shook Yukimura to the bone.

That was too close…

The men rushed at him again, Yukimura frantically defending himself. Another attacker grew lucky, his sword thrusting between Yukimura and his spear. Yukimura swung his head back to the side, the edge of the blade gashing his cheek. Yukimura responded by kicking the man back and striking the attacker with a fatal blow to the torso. Another attacker, meanwhile, closed the distance again and slashed Yukimura's arm. Yukimura grunted, his yari dropping from his hands. However, he quickly stepped back from another swing of the attacker's sword. The man swung at Yukimura again, but Yukimura quickly closed the distance, grabbing his right arm with one hand and scooping his arm around the man's back, throwing the attacker on the ground. Yukimura mounted him with one knee on the man's belly before taking out the man's own tantou dagger and ending him with it.

Yukimura quickly rolled out of the way of an incoming sword, but was still struck in his right leg. Drenched in mud, Yukimura scrambled back up, facing the remaining three attackers. He frantically searched for his yari, realizing it was somewhere buried under the mud. Armed now with only a dagger, Yukimura faced the three other attackers inching closer. His left arm was bleeding out, his breath shaky, and rain covering his eyes.

"Not yet," Yukimura grunted softly to himself. "Not...yet...."

One of the attackers rushed towards him. Yukimura tried parrying his sword with the dagger. Yet, the force of the man's swing had in turn disarmed Yukimura and struck him solidly on his breastplate. Yukimura cried out as he fell to the ground. The man chuckled, stepping forward as he pointed his sword down. Yukimura was stuck in the mud, the little adrenaline that kept him running finally wearing off. He could only watch with half-blinded eyes as the man stepped on his chest with his muddy foot.

"Ready to die, Sanada?" the man hissed.

Yukimura didn't say anything, glaring at the man as he raised his sword.

This was it...

He closed his eyes, ready to meet his end.

It's over…

"GAAAAH!!!"

...huh…?

The pressure on his torso released. Yukimura gasped for breath as two bodies collapsed beside him. He scrambled onto his knees, noticing the other attackers moving back in surprise as well. A movement to his front caught his eye. The man that was about to kill him was clutching his head in pain before falling unconscious, another figure drenched in mud scrambling back up to their feet.

Yukimura slid back as the figure stood up. It was difficult to make out his appearance, but for a brief moment, the two locked eyes. It was a smaller man, his unfamiliar clothes drenched in mud from the fall that was slowly being washed away by the dwindling rain. The mysterious stranger was panting heavily, his hunched-over back slowly straightening.

Yukimura was about to say something to the mysterious stranger until the loud war cry of the remaining two attackers alerted them. The stranger whipped his head forward, seeing the advancing attackers. He let out his own short cry, running towards them. Yukimura only watched in both horror and amazement—the stranger didn't have a weapon on him. Even stranger, the man reached to the ground and spun around his arm, launching himself high up into the air just as the first attacker reached him. Spinning furiously in the air, the stranger let out a wild kick that landed perfectly across the attacker's head, instantly knocking him out as the stranger engaged the other attacker. He slid forward as he landed, shooting out another straight kick to the attacker's gut that knocked him back. The stranger shuffled back in a side stance as the attacker collected himself. The attacker held his gut in pain, raising his sword at the stranger.

The two began to circle around each other. The samurai held his sword high and merely stepped cautiously, trying to keep his balance on the slippery mud. Meanwhile, the stranger baffled both Yukimura and the samurai. The stranger began hopping around, his head, arms, and feet moving in tandem rhythmically like in a dance. Regardless, the samurai let out a pained cry as he rushed forward. He swung his sword down, but his arm was kicked away in a flash by the stranger’s outside crescent kick, allowing him to clinch the attacker by the neck and repeatedly knee him in the stomach.

Yukimura's heart jumped—the stranger just saved his life! A rush of joy filled him, but a movement to his right tossed it away as his would-be-killer stumbled back up. The attacker clutched his bleeding head, gripping his sword tight with the other as he glared at the stranger continuing to knee the other man.

"You…" the enemy attacker growled under his teeth as he ran forward.

Yukimura got up to his knees, the stranger tossing the now unconscious man to the side, his attacker coming up from behind. "HEY!!"Yukimura called out, the strain of his voice burning his dry throat.

The stranger turned around just in time, gasping as the attacker brought his sword down. The stranger barely had time to react, bringing up his arms as he shuffled back, the sword seemingly cutting through his right forearm. Yukimura gasped, but it looked like the stranger’s arm was still intact. Meanwhile, the stranger yelped as the attacker continued to slice toward him, screaming all manners of curses at the stranger as he seemingly danced around the attacker. The stranger frantically bobbed and weaved around the wildly-swinging attacker, looking for any opening to attack. To Yukimura, it seemed that the stranger was already sliced and cut multiple times, but no blood was spilled and the stranger kept moving as if nothing happened at all. Was it adrenaline? Fear? Yukimura could swear at one point the sword went right through the stranger’s neck, but nothing happened.

The stranger desperately ducked down from another swing, shooting toward the attacker's legs to tackle him. The attacker didn't fall, his feet sliding back on the mud as the stranger kept pushing with all his might. The man brought the pommel of his sword down on the stranger's back, the stranger falling down on all fours. The man let out a cackle as he raised his sword and brought it down. The stranger was faster, however, sliding out of the way just in the last second. The sword instead had embedded itself into the mud. The attacker frantically tried pulling on the sword, failing to realize the stranger jumping up. The stranger pushed the attacker away, following it up with a series of heavy punches that struck his gut, liver, and face. The samurai roared in pain as he tried throwing a punch at the stranger, only to miss and dive head first into the stranger’s kick.

Stunned, the samurai was left vulnerable as the stranger spun around again and threw a wild kick that finally finished him off. The stranger was flung to the ground from the momentum of his kick, crashing into the mud below just as the samurai fell unconscious to the ground beside him.

The rain had finally started to die down, the clouds breaking away. The arena fell silent save for the exhausted breath of the stranger. He groaned as he collected himself and stood up, letting out a deep, shaky exhale. He stretched his arms and shook his legs. Yukimura stared at the man as the latter looked all around him. Through the dark, he could see the man's eyes dart all around him, his air of either confidence or madness slowly dissipating to that of utter shock. Yukimura started to get up, alerting the stranger.

Ignoring the stranger for a while, Yukimura looked around, suddenly seeing the red shaft of his yari nearby. Yukimura stumbled towards it, picking the worn weapon up, noting the scratches and dents on the blade, splinters sprouting from the wooden shaft.

The stranger hesitantly started to step over to Yukimura. Yukimura turned to the stranger, starting to note more of the man's odd appearance. He wore foreign-looking clothes consisting of some sort of jacket, shirt, and pants now drenched in mud, his disheveled short almost black hair covering his eyes. What amazed him the most, however, were the nonexistent wounds or cuts he expected to see on the stranger’s body.

"Uh...you...are you okay?" the stranger asked in a near-trembling voice. His voice was deep for his relatively small size.

"Y-Yeah, I'm okay," Yukimura trailed, the two now standing in front of each other. "W-Where....where did you come from?"

"Uh...."

The man just looked at Yukimura, almost as if choking on his words. Suddenly, his foot slipped on the mud, the stranger starting to tumble down to the ground. Yukimura reflexively darted towards the man before he fell, catching him just in time.

"Hey, careful!" Yukimura grunted. "You're really something, y'know that? You must be crazy for trying to fight them unarmed."

"Huh?" the stranger huffed.

"I said, 'you must be crazy' for charging in there unarmed! You could’ve gotten hurt—or killed!"

"I...I don't..."

The man was lost in his words, staring helplessly at Yukimura. Yukimura looked equally in confusion at the man. He got a better look at him, noting the stranger's tan skin, dark thin mustache and dark hazelnut eyes. The fabric that Yukimura held in his fingers felt different than the silk fabric he was used to.

"You...you're not Japanese, are you?" Yukimura said.

"No," the man struggled to say. "I'm not. W-where am I?"

Thank you again to everyone who has followed the journey of these two dummies. Here's to you outstanding souls!

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #fanfic #ikesen yukimura #ikesen oc #yukimura sanada #ikemen sengoku yukimura #tw: death #tw: blood #tw: injury #cybird otome #ikesen fanfic #fic: Heart of the Warrior

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maladaptivedaydreamsx · 2 years ago

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⚠️ yukimura sequel passionate end spoilers ⚠️

( also, death mention tw )

NO BUT THE WAY I WAS IN SHAMBLES ABOUT TO CRY MY EYES OUT OVER THIS SCENE NOT EVEN AN HOUR AFTER I HAD BEEN DISCUSSING THIS GAME WITH MY MOM AND TALKING ABOUT HOW SHINGEN'S ALWAYS ON THE VERGE OF DEATH AND HOW THE FUTURE IS THE ONLY WAY TO SAVE HIM AND HOW IKESEN DOESN'T NORMALLY KILL ANYONE OFF FR FR...... I GOT SO TERRIFIED WHEN I GOT TO THIS PART ONLY FOR SASUKE TO JUKE US 😭👏

....and not him asking about worm's hole im-

#ikesen yukimura sequel #l'hôtel.ikesen #ikesen.yukimura #my post 📫#aerin.jpg #tw death mention #ikesen spoilers #this fuckin scene and all of the hostage battle had me in T A T T E R S #just started kanetsugu's route.... wml y'all 🫡

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noodlersthesilly · 1 year ago

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Nobunaga is afraid of snakes. I have no legitimate reasons for this, but think of it.

1.) Imagine he’s just chilling with the other warlords and a snake happens to be existing. Imagine seeing your boss scream like a little girl and jump up in surprise because there’s a cute little snake. That’s so funny.

2.) Naga means snake in Sanskrit. The irony here is delicious.

3.) Nagas can also be referring to the mythological creature that are half snake, half human creatures that are at least semi-divine. This fits…very well.

4.) Nobunaga is just fun to bully, honestly, and I think him being afraid of snakes is completely valid <33

Someone please tell me I’m not being completely invalid here.

#ikémen sengoku #ikemen sengoku #nobunaga oda #ikesen #ikésen #ikesen nobunaga #he’s so silly guys #like i want to adopt this guy #he’s just… so freaking funny #i actually love him so much #snake phobias are valid <3 #cw snakes #tw snakes #boop the snoot #tw phobias

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dove-da-birb · 10 months ago

Photo

I'm joining in

HELL YEAH

Source - Me

“Ikemen Sengoku”

~Intoxicated!~ - Guys

*note* Dragging images in chrome has been resulting in the same result over and over. I don’t know why this is. Either Screenshot, or use a different web browser for best results!

#mimi!#tw flashing images #tw flashing #flashing gif #that would be fun though #bartender brain; do not get drunk *proceeds to get drunk* WHAT DID I JUST SAY-#cw alchohol mention #ikesen #i don't play it ... YET

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lucyw260 · 1 year ago

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Yore Of Shooting Stars - Nobunaga

Every year on my birthday I post a little something to commemorate Nobunaga's death anniversary which so happens to be the same day, I wanted to write a little something to keep up the tradition. I hope you like it.

Words = 364

Warnings = established relationship, kissing

Excerpt = "I hope the stars were not listening to our wishes"

Summer was beginning and the nights were getting shorter and hotter. Y/n and Nobunaga were out on the balcony of Nobunaga's tenshu, watching the stars in the humid breeze. Nobunaga's arms were wrapped around Y/n as she was seated in his lap.

Suddenly a bright light shot across the deep cerulean sky and Y/n quickly clasped her hands together and closed her eyes.

Nobunaga angled his eyes down towards her as he watched her effulgent and elysian visage in all her glory. He waited until she her interesting action was finished but it ended up being protracted and he became impatient.

He stroked one long finger down the side of her face to draw her eyes to his. "What were you doing just now?" he inquired in confusion as her eyes flittered open to meet his.

"A shooting star just went by so I was making a wish" Y/n spoke as if it was obvious

Nobunaga hummed but before he could answer, another bright light arched across the sky.

"Quick Nobunaga, clasp your hands together and make a wish!" Y/n enthusiastically pointed out in a slight panic.

He did as she said and put his hands together in silence, he wished for the first thing that came to mind. When he opened his eyes, Y/n's curious eyes looked eager to hear his wish.

"That was a pointless activity, the stars cannot answer a person's wishes" Nobunaga boldly declared. Y/n's expression fell a little upon hearing his opinion.

"However, sharing a superstition you believe in was interesting but I hope the stars were not listening to our wishes" he declared as Y/n tilted her head in puzzlement.

"How come?" she asked inquisitively.

Out of nowhere, Nobunaga pulled her by the waist towards him and planted a deep kiss upon her lips of pulchritude before pulling away.

He looked straight into her eyes as he replied...

"Because it is my duty as your boyfriend to fulfill all your wishes. I won't let the night sky steal that from me"

Y/n chuckled quietly as she stared in mild shock, adoration and love for Nobunaga overflowing in her heart.

Please don’t repost, edit or steal. Reblogs are more than welcome though!

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the12thnightproject · 7 months ago

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Title: Help Wanted

Event: Mayday Heyday OC Exchange 2024 organized by @lorei-writes and @olivermorningstar

Giftee: @fighting-and-drawing

OC/Fandom: Thai Bulan / Ikemen Sengoku

Genre: Urban Fantasy AU

Warnings: Very Large Spider, some violence (involving said arachnid)

Word Count: 1500

See notes/dedications at end

As the sun sunk, building shadows elongated, creating patches of darkness on narrow, meandering streets. Parts of the city had been planned; every road numbered and set out in a precise grid. This was not one of those parts. If anyone planned out the Echigo district, they had done so by tossing noodles onto a map and putting the streets where they landed.

Thai was following their progress on a phone app, and wondered if his driver actually knew where to go. At least once the Uber doubled back, taking a longer, indirect route. As a precaution, Thai made an obvious show of texting the driver’s information to “a friend” (his own cloud account).

In truth, there were no friends to wonder or worry if he disappeared into a void, never to return.

Too many things had disappeared for him this year, the most pressing being a promised job, the one he had uprooted his life for. He’d travelled over 1000 miles, only to discover the job no longer existed. The entire company no longer existed – it had fallen victim to a takeover by Oda International, then dismantled. All previous employees were fired, all pending job offers rescinded.

Now trapped in a new country, with unpaid moving expenses, a dwindling bank account, and no solution for either, he was desperate for work… any kind. Having burned his bridges back home, in fact, having firebombed those bridges, he –

Screech!

The Uber slammed to a stop in the middle of the street, nearly garroting Thai with his own seatbelt. “Get out.” The driver flicked the automatic locks. “Now.”

He checked his phone. “We’re nowhere near-“

“Get out, or ride back to the city with me, but this car goes no further. Not here. Not after sunset.” The driver pulled a thick cudgel out from under the seat. “Yokai. It’s not worth my life to drive through the district.”

No use arguing with superstition. Grumbling to himself, Thai climbed out, then leaped for the gutter as the car zoomed away. He was surprised it hadn’t taken his leg off with it when it sped into the night.

The lights and press of the city’s humanity were far behind. Here in this strange neighborhood, the sounds were alien. No traffic hum or buzz of neon, just a steady drip drip drip of thick liquid onto pavement. The road was gritty, he could feel tiny grains of gravel and dirt slipping under his feet. A stench of rotting garbage hung in the air, dense, motionless, as if not even the wind would dare come to this place. Even the graffiti was different: its colors sharper, appearing bioluminescent, glowing talismans against evil.

Or warnings.

No… he was being fanciful. The driver’s obvious fear had gotten into his head. He wasn’t a big man, but he moved with strength and purpose. He wasn’t worth attacking, was not, even in his best interview outfit, dressed in a way that would not suggest wealth. Because there was no wealth. Even less now that most of his remaining funds had just sped away with the Uber. He’d have to walk the rest of the way.

At least he was within walking distance, as confirmed by his smartphone’s GPS. The voice of the AI (“Alex,” programmed with a soothing attractive Australian accent) told him to continue along this road another 500 meters.

Good thing I’m still within view of a satellite.

Plonk.

Something wet dripped on him and he squinted up at the tangle of ivy that covered the wall of a warehouse. Ivy? In the middle of the city? No time to investigate, he was already late for the interview. Besides… there was something sinister about that mass of ivy, as if it hid watching eyes.

When, as Alex directed, he turned left at a street so narrow he’d have hesitated to call it a street at all, something skittered past his leg, something furry and malevolent.

Yokai…

It had been a cat. Or… a very large rat (not that that possibility was reassuring).

Still, with Alex giving him updated directions he felt almost comforted. As if the AI was his friend, a non-judgmental friend who would help him navigate the worst of life’s bumps. If only Alex had told him, “Stay in college. Don’t move to a foreign country, don’t break up with -.”

Crash! Thud. Ooof!

“You have arrived, mate.” The AI went silent.

Arrived where?

The noises were coming from the bar on his left. With late summer humidity streaking the window, he’d missed the sign. Kasugayama. Through the fogged glass, he could see two shapes locked in battle.

Anyone might have been forgiven if they’d performed a 500 meter sprint back to relative safety. But acting on instinct, an instinct that he cursed a moment later, Thai ran into the bar. He didn’t know what he’d been expecting. Expectations and instincts did not generally go together. Still, one might have expected a simple bar fight, or a less simple robbery. And not… a spider the size of a pony.

Yokai…

There was probably a more proper name for a spider demon, but Thai’s language skills temporarily deserted him.

Of all the gin joints…

Spiders… why did it have to be spiders?

Why am I thinking in movie quotations?

Fighting the spider was a man who wielded a pool cue as expertly as a spear. But the spider had a six arm advantage and…

Sproing!!!

Holy fuck… it can jump!

That damn instinct took over again and Thai grabbed a chair and threw it at the spider. This had the stunning effect of breaking the chair and getting the thing’s attention. It charged toward him, then screeched when the other man drove the pool cue into its butt.

Now it’s just pissed off.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Thai flipped himself over the bar top, grabbed a bottle from the speed rail, and smashed it on the edge of the sink. The scent of fermented rice mixed with the aromas of spider goo and blood. The blood belonged to a rather nasty looking slash on the man’s leg. The spider goo was … well, obvious.

At the sound of the breaking glass, the spider scuttled toward him again, a glare of uncanny intelligence in its red eyes. Thai slashed furiously with his improvised weapon, drawing more goo from the spider, and dammit, there was a paring knife right there on the garnish station.

The spider jumped to the bar top, stretching out a spindly leg (arm?) toward him. Thai switched the bottle to his other hand, grabbed the knife, and slammed it down on the arm/leg, severing it at a joint. The limb snapped off with a sickening crunch and slid halfway across the room. The spider emitted a high-pitched shriek, then the other man drove the pool cue through its head.

It twitched three times, then went still.

In the sudden silence, Thai could hear himself and the other man breathing.

Later, he might think back and take in details – the man’s warm brown eyes, the feel of the sticky floor under his feet and the flicker and hum of fluorescent lights. But the instinct that drove him into this place took over again. While the other man retrieved a well-used first aid kit and treated the slash on his leg, Thai soothed his jangled, spider-hating nerves with the ritual of cleaning. Wipe down the bar top. Sterilize the knife. Sweep up the glass…

Noticing the pool cue samurai was eyeing a bottle of iichiko Shochu, Thai poured him a glass, adding blood orange juice, tonic water and ice when prompted.

Finally the other guy spoke. “No idea why you came crashing in like a wild boar, but… thanks.” The blunt speech was softened with a wry smile.

“Job interview? Advertisement for a barback?” Thai unearthed his phone, getting ready to pull up the confirmation email. “I’m Thai Bulan.”

“Oh, shit.” The other man raked his hands through a mop of sweat-soaked brown hair. “It completely went out of my head. Sanada Yukimura.” He bowed. “Any chance you still want the job?”

It had been listed as minimum salary, but it did come with the mention of a studio apartment above the bar. “Um.” Thai indicated the spider. “Is that what happened to the previous barback?”

“No. This… was new. Never seen one those in here before.” Yukimura took a deep breath. “The last guy quit. Kasugayama’s owner is a bit… unique.”

Then, with what might have been called perfect timing, the front door opened and a man with heterochromatic eyes entered and surveyed the scene. He eyed the dead spider. “Good. I was in the mood for takeout.”

He pulled a sword out of the scabbard on his waist and cleanly sliced off a limb. Then, gnawing on it like it was a turkey leg and he was some medieval king, he disappeared into a back office.

Thai took the job.

Thank you @lorei-writes and @olivermorningstar for organizing this event (and it was super organized with check ins and google docs and everything I could ask for. If they ever do another event, jump at the chance to join).

To @fighting-and-drawing , I really hope I have done Thai justice. Heart of The Warrior has been one of my favorite Ikemen Sengoku fanfics (I've read it more than once), and I was thrilled when I learned you were the giftee. I'm not nearly as confident writing fight scenes though, so I hope it made sense. And yes, I was the anon who asked you what Yukimura might order in a modern bar (and then had to figure out whether he would still drink a sweet cocktail after killing a giant spider).

To anyone else reading this, I encourage anyone interested in reading a fantastically well written, well researched Ikesen longfic to read Heart of The Warrior either here or here

#OCExchange2024 #mayday heyday #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen yukimura #oc Thai Bulan #Urban Fantasy AU #AU #heart of a warrior #ikesen oc #cw spiders #tw spiders

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ikeromantic · 2 years ago

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Another Skein

This is for my dear friend @scruffymctee a gift to celebrate her. Featuring her OC Tomoyo in a red string of fate AU story. TW for major character death, violence and general scary stuff. 6K words. Much love to you, my dear!

Kenshin stood between the burned-out husks of what was once a village. The blackened buildings sank into the char and mud, slumping toward their final resting place beside the bodies of those that lived there. The empty eyes of the dead followed him as he walked through the narrow streets, the white of his cloak almost obscene in this dark place.

The scouts told him no one survived the mystery attack. No one could tell him who his enemy was, or where to point his sword. He felt his jaw clench. What good to be the God of War if your enemy would not go to battle against you?

Some innate sense drew his hand to his hilt as he turned onto another of the narrow streets. A feeling of threat the rest of this dead place did not possess. And then, from the wreckage of a teahouse, some wild thing leapt. It screamed with rage and loss, a spirit of vengeance. It was only his instinct that let him draw in time.

Himetsuru-Ichimonji shrieked as it collided with the rust-pitted blade of his enemy. Kenshin’s blood sang. A fight. A battle. A foe to destroy. Finally.

The demon jumped back, surprised by his defense.

Kenshin tried to make out the features of the thing he fought. All he could see in the dim shadows of this alley was long, dark hair and ragged grey clothing in the general shape of a human. If it had a face, the features were hidden, though he could see the gleam of a jade-green eye as the spirit came for him again.

“What are you?” The warlord side-stepped the blow. His own blade flickered forward, drawing across the thing’s arm. The edge came away stained scarlet. It was a creature of flesh then. “Who are you,” he asked this time.

It did not answer, but attacked again. Despite the wound on its arm or perhaps because of it, the spirit’s attacks came faster. A brutal onslaught. For several breaths, Kenshin could only defend. Ichimonji was too long to wield in such narrow confines, and there was little room to maneuver. He needed to end this quickly.

Through the next exchange of blows, he watched carefully for an opportunity. It came a moment later, as the spirit swung its sword. Kenshin blocked with his tsuba and slipped the hardened wood under the creature’s grip. With the strength and skill of a practiced swordsman, he used the leverage to knock the blade from his opponent’s hand.

Before the spirit could materialize another sword or dissipate or whatever it might do, Kenshin pinned it against the wall. He dropped Ichimonji to pull his small belt knife and held it to the thing’s throat. “Why did you attack me?”

The spirit tilted its head to regard him. The tangled mess of dark hair fell back to reveal burning green eyes staring out of an angelic face, a cupid’s bow mouth twisted in a snarl, silken skin smeared with ash and dirt that could still not disguise the beauty beneath them. That jade gaze was unfocused, distant. She did not see him, but fought in some other battle made real in her mind.

Kenshin almost drew back from the fight, but he could not release her. She would attack again, and there was something else about her. Something that pulled at the lonely vastness in his soul. “Look at me, woman. Answer me.”

She struggled in his grip as if to escape and resume the fight.

He held her tight, pressing her back against the wall. “What did you see here? What happened?” Kenshin forced her gaze to meet his, emerald fires met his mismatched eyes.

She started, a sudden recognition lighting in her eyes. Her mouth moved as if to speak, a word forming on her lips. Then her eyes rolled back and she collapsed back against the wall.

Kenshin caught her in his free hand before she hit the ground. Frustration boiled up in his chest. He needed to know who was responsible for this and she was his only witness. This wild, fierce, woman, driven mad by whatever she'd experienced. He stared down at her face in consternation. In her present state, with the anger gone from her expression, she was even more beautiful. And he felt a strange sense of knowing. As if they’d met before. Which was impossible, of course. He knew few women, and none of them warriors.

He put away his knife and picked up Himetsuru-Ichimonji, apologizing silently for his treatment. He also took the rusted blade she wielded and tucked that into his belt. Then he lifted her up and carried her back to his camp.

The field doctor he traveled with was only a soldier who once apprenticed for an herbalist, but he knew his way around wounds and could mix and apply most basic tinctures and salves. Kenshin brought the woman to him, parading past the stares of his surprised troops.

In the light of the medical tent, he could see the girl was covered in bruises beneath the tattered fabric of her kimono. The doctor cut the fabric open, and Kenshin turned away. He did not want to strip her of her dignity. Behind him, he could hear the steady flow of commentary from the field doctor.

“These wounds are a few days old. Yes. Ragged cuts. Interesting. This one. Ah. Infected. Well, well.”

Kenshin was curious, but he distracted himself from temptation by taking out her sword. It was well made but had not been well cared for. With some work, it could be restored. But it was odd. Short and light, as if made for a woman. And there was no proper maker’s mark. Only, on the kashira, an impression of a rabbit was embossed into the metal cap.

He set it on a table, out of her reach but close enough that she could see it when she woke. Kenshin turned his head enough to see the field doctor from the corner of his eye. “Will she live?”

“She will. The girl has several wounds as if she fought for days, maybe longer. One is infected, which I believe caused her current condition. Fever and lack of proper food and water.” He sighed. “It will take some time, but I think she will be fine.”

“Then see to it. She is the only witness to this attack. The only one who knows the face of my enemy.” And there is something about her, he did not add. Something that made him want her to live.

The field doctor gave a short nod. “Of course.” He turned back to his work. “Who do you suppose she is, anyway? She’s too pretty to be a farmer. But there’s no daimyo near here. A merchant, maybe?”

“Perhaps.” Kenshin did not think any merchant girl could wield a sword as this one had. “Let me know when she wakes.”

He left the tent and the mystery woman, though he could not put her from his mind. Kenshin let his troops know they would be camping there for a few days, and sent out some of his men to forage. They were nervous here, so close to the village ruins, but since their warlord gave no sign of discomfort, neither did they.

Kenshin did not hold with foolish superstition. The dead were dead. If they should curse anyone, it would be the one that took their lives from them. Still, he understood why the soldiers were quiet and wary as the sun set and the light of day faded into the gloom of night.

The foraging scouts brought back little to supplement rations. They said the land was empty for miles around, with barely so much as a bird or a mouse stirring in the brush. This set the soldiers muttering again as they bent over their dinners, huddled even closer around their fires as if the light would ward them.

He took his meal in the medical tent, sitting across from the lone survivor. Kenshin studied her face, relaxed now as she slept peacefully. The familiarity of her face only grew the longer he looked at her. The feeling disturbed him, of knowing and not-knowing, as if he’d lost some part of himself and had not even realized it.

“Who are you,” he asked, letting the back of his hand brush against her cheek. The answer felt as if it was close, as if his mind were just one step away from recalling her.

A scream split the night, sudden and horrible. The sound of a man dying. Kenshin knew it well. He rushed from the tent and toward the chaos. That first scream was joined by others. He found one of his men on the ground, his face frozen in fear. There was no visible wound on him, but he was dead.

The soldiers were experienced men, and they knew what to do in a raid. But their tactics didn’t appear to be helping. Kenshin found a knot of soldiers carrying torches and joined them. They moved slowly, going from tent to tent, searching for survivors or some sign of the attackers. None of the men saw anything, only their own comrades lying dead.

The torchlight swayed and guttered with the evening wind, dimming and flaring unexpectedly. Kenshin’s eyes strained to see into the darkness between the tents, hoping for a glimpse of steel or the white of an eye, or to hear the whisper of stealthy movement. Anything that would give his enemy away.

The moment came when one of the torches guttered out for good. The flame popped, flared, and then fizzled, plunging Kenshin and two others into darkness. His soldier scrambled to light another. That was when it came. The stirring of shadows. They shifted and congealed into a shape vaguely human, a hand reaching for them.

Kenshin did not think, he only reacted. His body moved before he considered the motion, drawn sword slicing through the limb. But Himetsuru-Ichimonji’s edge met no resistance and that horrid arm stretched closer, brushing against the soldier beside him.

The man let out a howl of pain and fear. His back arched, his face contorted. He gasped for air, his body drawing as tense as a bowstring. And then he collapsed.

The other soldier finally got a new torch lit, just in time to see his companion fall. He made a strangled sound of fear as the shadow-arm pulled away from the dead man, recoiling into the darkness.

Kenshin did not let it retreat though. He cut at it again, and this time, in the nascent torch-light, his blade met the resistance of some sinewy flesh. Stringy and tough as old meat, but not too tough for the razor edge of his sword. The severed limb turned to ash as it fell, while the rest of the blighted darkness disappeared into the gloom.

“D-did you see -” the torch-bearing soldier trembled.

“I saw an enemy that can be killed when in the light.” He gazed at the man, his disparate eyes as calm as a snow-swept plain. “We need to surround the camp with fires. Come.” They spread the word to the remaining men, and those soldiers began the work of lighting a ring of campfires. They stayed in pairs, each bearing a torch or lantern. No one wanted to be caught without a light.

While his men worked, Kenshin stalked between tents. His roving gaze searched for any sign of a deeper shadow. Of movement. That liquid oily slide of blackness. He wanted to fight it - to destroy it - whatever it was. Spirit or demon, the specter could be cut and if he could cut it, he could kill it.

A flutter of tent fabric caught his attention. The waxed fabric floated for a moment, caught in an unnatural current of air. The movement of something unseen. Kenshin brought the flame to bear, Ichimonji lashing out a heartbeat later. He felt the edge catch in flesh, and then pass through. He stabbed again into the roiling dark revealed by the flickering torchlight. But then, the unexpected - with a snap, the tent-ropes came loose and the fabric smothered the flame.

The soldier carrying it quickly untangled the singed fabric, and tried to relight the torch. The flicker of sparks from the flint and steel threw the shadowy shape into sharp relief. A gloom that boiled and rolled into itself, flowing into tendrils with the shape of human limbs.

With each sputtering strike, Kenshin slashed at the shape and it hit at him. The light made it too solid to reach beneath his skin. Instead, it left bruises and sometimes cuts, drawing blood to the skin with its cold touch. The feel of it was like oil and ice, sharp and hard as stone. Neither could get an advantage so long as the light only flickered.

Through the camp, another chorus of screams erupted as the shadows extinguished the light. Lamps fell to the ground and lost their wicks, campfires dimmed from otherworldly cold, and torches died. Without the light to fight back, they were helpless in the face of this threat. Kenshin needed to win, and fast. Every second cost him another life.

“Light the torch,” he rasped, but he knew even as he gave the order that his soldier was doing his best. The creature they fought killed the flame each time it sparked. Kenshin had to face the possibility that he would die here tonight. Such an unexpected end for the God of War. If so, he vowed to die fighting.

His lips curled in a feral snarl as he went on the attack. Light or no, he would do his best to make the specter pay for every ounce of blood it took. Just as he lunged, his world erupted into bright, white light and from that light came an avenging angel.

A green-eyed banshee with a rusted blade. The onslaught of light seemed to catch the shadows by surprise as well. It boiled and twitched but did not have time to flee as she drove the point of her sword into the central mass of darkness. There was a sound then, somewhere between a scream and the hiss of a tea pot and the rustling of wind through trees. Then it was gone. The light faded too, as suddenly as it came.

The woman shook her sword off and took a deep breath. She shut her eyes for a moment, but opened them again when Kenshin took a step closer. “Thank you,” she said, her voice unexpectedly soft.

“What?” Kenshin raised an eyebrow. He was still wrapping his mind around the horrors of this night and she was speaking in gibberish.

“You brought me back. You helped me. And I am no one to you.” She sounded almost sad as she said this. Then she shrugged it off, a smile playing at the corners of her lips. She turned to speak with the field doctor.

It was only as she did that Kenshin noticed the man was carrying a lamp and an oddly shaped bit of glass. A mirror, angled, he noted. The source of that bright light. Now, without the glass, it was only lamp light again. Mellow and less focused.

“You are injured. You should be resting.” Kenshin reached for her arm and was surprised when she moved faster than him to step out of reach.

She gave him an even look, challenging and full of an inner fire. “I’m fine. I heal fast.” After a moment of silence, she sighed and gestured at the surrounding camp. “I’ll explain later. We need to destroy the rest right now. If they didn’t run already.”

Her directness and her calm were intriguing. Kenshin let her lead him, along with the doctor and the two soldiers. The torch-bearer was finally able to light his torch, and so the four of them walked in a warm circle of light. They paced through the remains of the camp, but found no more sign of the specters.

None of the other soldiers survived the attack. To a man, they lay dead, faces twisted by the fear they felt in their last moments. The woman stopped at each and said a prayer.

Kenshin watched her movements, graceful and strong. She spoke with an educated voice too, sweet without a note of falseness. The sound of her prayers stirred some deep memory in him. He needed to know who she was. Her name. Her family. Where she was from. The sense of familiarity grew the longer he was in her presence.

“Lady,” he said, as she paused before another dead man. “What is your name?”

“Tomoyo.” She glanced at him from beneath a fall of dark, tangled hair.

“Tomoyo.” He tasted the word, let it sit on his lips. He felt as if he’d spoken it a thousand times before. It rolled so naturally over his tongue, sweeter than fine wine. “I am Kenshin.”

“Yes. Uesugi. I know.” She smiled for a moment, the expression transforming her from angelic to divine.

He blinked. “So you know me? Where did we meet? I would not have forgotten -”

The woman opened her mouth to reply, but snapped it shut again. Then she dropped to the ground and slid beneath a torn scrap of tent fabric. “Put out the light,” she hissed. “And hide!”

Both of the soldiers obeyed with alacrity. Somehow, in the space between dusk and midnight, she’d become an authority to them. But she had that quality in her voice that brooked no disobedience. Kenshin followed suit, and tucked himself away beside her.

Tomoyo gave him a brief, amused glance before she turned her attention back to the night.

Kenshin did not have long to wait to see why. Only a few breaths passed before the gloom began to lighten with a fey glow. Barely a light, the strange blued flickers came from the skin of a pale man who now paced between the tents. He wore an Uesugi tabard, the clan’s mark displayed proudly on his breast. But Kenshin did not recognize him.

The man knelt beside each body and slid his hands over the cooling flesh. He whispered into the corpse’s ear and wrote a symbol with his finger on their head. From some of the dead, a darkness rose, coiling from their mouth in an ethereal sigh. From others, there was nothing. The man seemed to take both results with uncaring equanimity.

Kenshin realized the dead Tomoyo blessed gave the stranger nothing. Only the unblessed released a shadow. He eyed her with renewed interest. She’d given him a name, but little else. He wanted - needed - to know more. She knew what was happening here, or she knew more than he did. “Why are we not attacking that man? He is human. He can die.”

Tomoyo nodded. “He is a sorcerer. I tried to kill him twice and nearly died for it.” She shivered. “Or worse.”

“I am the God of War. I am not afraid of a man who hides behind spirits and incantations.” This was mostly true. In his experience, these men were usually frauds. This magic was more real and more terrible than anything he faced before.

She wrinkled her nose. “You need to be patient. I didn’t say we would not attack. If you let me finish?” Her eyebrow rose imperiously and Kenshin felt a strange, sudden wave of affection for her. As if she’d made this face before, in a better time and place. At his silence, she continued. “We will go after him at dawn, when the sun is up. He’s more powerful at night but I think together we can take him in the light.”

“I don’t fight beside women. You are too distracting. And weak. I will attack him when the sun rises. You stay hidden.” She was distracting, he thought. Lying here under the tent fabric, where the ground was cold and the dead lay nearby, all he could think of was the warm press of her body against his side. How close she was to him, how lovely her features. Foolish thoughts to have in a dangerous place.

“Pffft. You didn’t seem to mind my help earlier. When I saved your life? Or did you forget already?” She tilted her head, observing him.

Kenshin stifled a reply, realizing she was right. Instead, he asked, “How do you know these things?”

Tomoyo shrugged. “I have been fighting this one for awhile now. Following him. He and I . . . let’s say I have some scores to settle.”

“You . . . followed him?” Kenshin could not hide his surprise.

“Of course. How else does one fight a demon or lift a curse? It’s not as if they come to your shop looking to be slain.” Her smile was wide and bright and sharp. “Technically he isn’t a demon. But he summons them so . . .” Another shrug.

Kenshin felt that tug of familiarity again. The way she moved, the way she smiled, he knew those motions better than he knew his own reflection. “I feel as if I have seen you before,” he admitted, surprising himself with this vulnerability.

“Do you? Hm.” Something in her gaze shifted and she glanced away. “It won’t be long now. An hour or two and the sun will crest.” She yawned.

“You can sleep, if you want. I will keep watch.” He shrugged his cloak off and set it on her. “I am not tired. Or cold.”

Tomoyo wrapped herself in the cloak with a sigh. “I won’t say no to that kind of chivalry. It’s rare enough. But you better not try to leave me here at dawn. Because I will hunt you down for lying.”

Kenshin frowned. “You have my word. I will wake you when the time comes.”

This seemed to mollify her. She settled beside him and fell almost immediately to sleep.

He kept alert through the watch. It wasn’t hard to stay awake when things moved in the night, just beyond vision and sounds floated over the camp that came from no human throat. He couldn’t imagine how she could sleep. Kenshin could make out the lines of her face, relaxed now, the shape of her lips in a small smile.

The memory of kissing that gentle mouth came to him the way warmth comes from the hearth, slow and filled with as much pain as pleasure when your limbs wake from the cold. Kenshin knew the taste of her, the feel. And he ached for that touch again. Was this madness born of the same magic that haunted the night? He wondered it even as his fingers reached to stroke her cheek.

He could not remember the last time he felt this way about a woman. It was different than the unchecked passion of his youth. His heart felt heavier, bittersweet with this unexpected affection. The desire to make love to her was there, yes, but the need to hold her was just as strong. And this woman was no fragile flower. Nothing like the ladies that came to his castle in hopes of catching his eye.

Tomoyo was a beauty, but also a fighter. Intelligent and resilient - a survivor. She had scars from the battles of her past - he’d seen a hint of them in the medical tent - but those only served to enhance her beauty. As if every fire she passed through only refined her. Kenshin wanted to know the story of every mark, to be entrusted with the secrets of her heart.

These feelings were new to him. New, and yet with her, they felt natural. He wondered what she felt, what thoughts and dreams swam behind her flickering eyelids.

Dawn came on them with inexorable slowness. The first hint of gold simmered along the eastern horizon, staining the clouds gold and pink. Light spilled over the barren fields and across the camp. The terrors in the dark fled, leaving only the dead in stark relief. The carnage of fallen tents and corpses.

Kenshin woke Tomoyo.

Her eyes opened, brilliant jade and vibrant with life. She met his dichromatic gaze with an untroubled smile. “Morning, beautiful.”

He blinked. “What did you call me?”

“Beautiful. I mean, I could have said lovely or gorgeous but I think Beautiful is the best. Do you disagree?” Her eyebrow went up. “Should I catalog your features? Tell you how pretty you are in detail?”

“Please don’t.” He felt heat creep into his cheeks. What manner of woman was this, to make him blush? He forced his lips to a thin frown. “This is no time for idle flirtation.”

Tomoyo reached up to cup his cheek. Her fingers were warm and he felt himself leaning into the touch. “Now is exactly the time. We might die today, and these could be our last moments. I could lose you aga - ah - or you could lose me. Or worse. So why should we not?”

Kenshin laid his hand over hers and closed his eyes. “I barely know you,” he said, but even as the words left his mouth, he felt they were not true.

She gave a soft laugh. “Is that so? Hm.”

He opened his eyes again to regard her mysterious smile. “I feel as if I have known you all my life.”

“Maybe you have.” She pulled her hand away and untangled herself from his cloak. Then the two of them stood.

Kenshin wanted to ask her more, but they had a duty first. “Do you have an idea of where the sorcerer spends his days?”

“I do. There is a house in town that only scorched. The roof and walls are still up, and it is there that he spends his days. I don’t think he will have moved from it yet.” She rolled her shoulders back, a determined fire lighting her gaze.

“Then I will gather the last of my soldiers and we will go.”

A short while later, the four of them made their way into the dead village. The two soldiers did their best to look brave, but Kenshin could see the slight tremble in their hands and the way the whites of their eyes flashed at every sound. He judged it better to leave them hanging back aways. They were competent swordsmen, but today they faced a different kind of foe. He would not expend their lives without a purpose and he saw none in having two extra blades for this fight.

Tomoyo stopped them as they neared the center of the village. “There is the house he was in before.”

Kenshin looked at the soldiers gravely. “Guard the path. Make sure we are not interrupted.”

The two men looked relieved to not be going in, and hid it badly. “I-If that’s your order, sir. Yes sir.”

When the two of them were in position, Kenshin turned to Tomoyo. “You have been inside this place?”

“Yes, once.” She grimaced. “I could not counter both his physical and spiritual attacks. Somehow, he wields both at the same time. But with the two of us there, I think we can defeat him. You can keep me safe while I dispel his magic.”

Kenshin nodded. “Will the shadows be there? Or is he alone?”

“The spirits of the dead are always around him, but in the daylight they cannot harm us. Just . . . don’t go into any places the sun does not reach.” Tomoyo patted his arm. She looked as if she wanted to say more.

Kenshin felt a sudden compulsion, and despite himself, he gave in to it. He pulled her close and kissed her. It was not the deep, sweet, languorous kiss of his memories, but a passionate, unexpected flare too brief to satisfy and impossible to justify.

She stared up at him in surprise. Then her fingers tangled in his hair as she pulled him down for another kiss. This one was deep and intense. It made his body ache with desire for her, and his heart race. Her lips were as sweet as he remembered, her tongue like silk.

He did not want to let go, but the two of them stepped apart. Tomoyo cleared her throat. “So. Are you ready?”

“I hope this is a good fight.” Kenshin gave her a fierce look. “That man must pay for what he has done.”

“I couldn’t agree more.” She grinned at him. “And after. I have questions.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I might answer them after I question you.Thoroughly.” Kenshin thought he saw a blush rise in her cheeks. Good. He turned to look at the abandoned house. “Let’s go.”

They did not slip into the house like thieves. They walked in as if they were fearless, Kenshin and Tomoyo side by side. Their swords were drawn, faces set with grim determination.

The sorcerer was waiting for them. The moment they crossed the threshold, the air became cold and thick. Pressing forward was like moving through wet sand. When he saw that they were slowed, he began to chant, calling up some other horror.

Kenshin pushed toward him, his muscles bunching and burning in his legs and back. He felt a cold anger burning in his chest. He wanted vengeance for his slain soldiers, justice for the dead of this village. He was their lord, and this was his duty.

Tomoyo cut a symbol into the air with her rusted blade. Sweat pearled her forehead as she moved the edge in careful arcs, as if carving the gelid air. The room shivered. Dust flew up from the corners, and the wooden walls creaked. The tension in the air burst apart, shattering by whatever power she wielded.

They didn’t have time to celebrate the momentary success. Just as Kenshin rushed forward, freed to move, the falling motes of dust moved as one toward him. Tiny specks of nothing, they flew into his face, clogging his nose and eyes, and filling his mouth with the taste of ash and mud.

“Why are you here, cursed one? Did you follow me from the hell I left you in?” The sorcerer looked past the choking warlord to Tomoyo, his dark eyes cold and remote. There was nothing in his voice to say what he thought of this, whether he was surprised or angry or disappointed.

She bared her teeth in a grin of challenge. “There is no hell you can lock me in that will hold me.”

“Then I will kill you.” The sorcerer bent his fingers into an impossible shape, as if the bones of his hand were formed from some other, less rigid matter. As he did, the wood beneath Tomoyo split open like a maw, the splinters jagged teeth that hooked and bit at her legs.

“You will try to kill me. Again.” She blocked the chewing hole in the floor with her sword and kicked away from it. Her leg bled from where it caught her and as she landed, she flung droplets of scarlet at him. They turned diamond-hard and sharp as razors in the air, piercing him each place they hit.

Kenshin, still choking, rushed toward the sound of the sorcerer’s voice. He did not need to see to kill. His blade rose and fell, finding flesh. His eyes burned from the invading grit and his nose and mouth felt raw. He coughed and spat and rubbed at his face, trying to see what he’d wrought.

The sorcerer made no sound as the sword cleaved through his raised arm. He only glanced at the bleeding wound as if it mattered not at all. A pool of crimson formed around him.

“Step back,” Tomoyo shouted as the blood edged toward Kenshin.

He heard the warning in her voice. Though Kenshin did not understand, he stumbled away.

Tomoyo moved closer, slow and wary. She brushed a hand down Kenshin’s back and at her touch, he felt the dust fall away.

The sorcerer did not look impressed. “You think because he lives in this world, you will too?” He gave her no time to answer. The thickened blood coiled like a nest of serpents, striking at them.

Kenshin reacted out of instinct, cutting them down as they moved toward him. But the severed ends splashed to the floor, the runnels forming smaller serpents.

“Focus on the man, not the magic.” Tomoyo’s emerald eyes flashed, still confident and strong. “He’s getting desperate to use such children’s tricks.”

“You are desperate. Afraid I will win again and you will be caught out, alone. With nothing to show for all your efforts, all your imagined strength.” He laughed, the sound full of scorn and anger. The first emotion he’d shown in this fight. “What use to stand up after every fight when you know I will knock you down again?” His laughter seemed to echo through the room, growing in volume. “I am never desperate.”

“Perhaps not,” she mused, her expression fierce. “Maybe the word I’m looking for is pathetic. A vulture, picking at the dead, stealing from those too far gone to defend themselves.” She jabbed her blade toward him. “I am not defenseless. And you will not win this time.”

Kenshin wondered how she knew this man, another question for another time. He took advantage of the distraction to lunge forward. A sweeping slash that gouged a trench in the sorcerer’s chest.

This wound he noticed. The reaction was immediate. He screamed, a high pitched and inhuman sound. Like the cry of a wounded bird. From the cut, a darkness boiled. Bloodless and black as midnight. An oily smoke that roiled and hissed in the light. The sorcerer gestured at Kenshin with his remaining hand, and the shadows within him leapt at that command.

In a heartbeat, Kenshin found himself surrounded by the cold, pressing gloom. Sharp edges and hard planes cut and beat at him from all sides. He could not see the room, could not see Tomoyo. The only sound was his own heartbeat and the dull rasp of torn and battered flesh. He fought however he could, twisting in their grasp. Biting and kicking, using every part of himself to refuse them.

In the distance, as if she spoke from a mountain top, he heard Tomoyo’s cry. A wordless anger. He felt the sudden shift around him. As if all the air were sucked out, and then it all came rushing back. The shadows released him. They writhed and withered until there was nothing left of them at all.

Kenshin blinked as his world tilted and the floor rushed up to meet his cheek. He could see the slumped body of the sorcerer. Then all he could see was Tomoyo’s face.

“No, no, no, no. Kenshin. Stay with me. Oh my god, please. Don’t - don’t die. Not again.” She began tearing his clothes to strips, wrapping them around the worst of his cuts. “I didn’t come all the way here - I didn’t chase that bastard just to see him - to see you -”

Hot tears fell onto his skin. He felt them soak into his clothes and hair, like a summer rain. He closed his eyes.

“Oh!” Tomoyo’s pained gasp brought his eyes open again, though his eyelids felt so heavy.

“I . . . won’t die.” He smiled up at her, not understanding the movements of his heart nor the strange and sudden affection he bore this woman. A thin, red bit of gossamer hung from her wrist above him. His eyes followed the spiral of the string to where it met his chest, disappearing beneath his skin. A crimson skein that bound them. And then he understood.

His lips parted to tell her - to say the words that burned in his soul. But the breath would not come, his lips felt cold and frozen in place. His eyelids were leaden and the darkness behind them was so peaceful. It pulled at him as the tides move the sea.

Tomoyo pressed her lips to his forehead. “I’ll find you again,” she wept. “I’ll find you if I must cross a thousand worlds, and live a thousand more lives.” I’ll find you, he swore, in the depths of his stilled heart. Don’t cry for what is lost. There is no expanse of time or space, no world exists in which I will not find you.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen kenshin #kenshin uesugi #oc #birthday gift #fanfiction #fanfic #otome #otome guys #ikemen sengoku au #Tw mcd

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colourless-hydrangeas · 2 months ago

Text

This is so sad.

I love you writing style though.

My fanfic, I called it Kyle.

Kyle

Summary: Kyle finds out that Kennyo is his father, but does Kennyo accept him or does Kennyo even realize?

This is a small backstory.

Mai after making love with Kennyo notices something odd about herself, but Kennyo had to return to the battlefield for some reason. Kennyo doesn't fight as much as he used to when she first known him, but he still sometimes gets sent out to war. Some of the Ikko-Ikki monks of course follow Kennyo out to the battlefield, Kennyo does kiss Mai's forehead before he leaves. She also has the time to ask a serious question, one about what if they were to have kids and what to name them.

"What should the son's name be, if it's a boy? Also, what should the daughter's name be, if it's a girl?" Mai asked him. "These are rather serious questions, my love. But I'll name the son Kyle, I really like that name somehow. As for if we ever have a daughter along the way, before a son. I'll like the name of Miyuki." Kennyo replied honestly. "But, I like the name of Mario if we have a son." Mai protested.

Kennyo gently took Mai's hand and looked right into her eyes, as he spoke.

"I still like the name Kyle." Kennyo stated as he gave Mai's hand a gentle squeeze, before getting up to leave.

However… as the years pass on, Mai is sick and tired of waiting for Kennyo to return, he hasn't shown back up the temple and so she moves away. During this time… Mai gets a house within a village far from the temple, she doesn't even leave a note or anything for Kennyo. Mai later gives birth to Kyle within that village home, but after he cries so much… she can't take it and leaves Kyle on the doorstep of a random house. Mai places a letter into a basket, along with Kyle in it, a blue blanket and a baby bottle. The letter reads, "To whoever finds this newborn son… I named him Kyle. Don't try to find me or his real father. I need to talk to his dad regardless, all I ask of you is to take care of this brat. Signed Mai."

The couple actually do take in Kyle… but what befalls the poor boy is what happened next. Kyle doesn't recall much of his childhood, all he knew was he got some rare illness at the age of five years old. Kyle had always seen these two fight, he also knew something was amiss somehow but he couldn't put a finger on it. Kyle did oddly point at a hoodie one day in the marketplace, his foster mom bought it for him… even though they also had other clothes that Mai gave them, they didn't fit Kyle though, since they were too big. Kyle's foster dad often would take off his belt and hit Kyle with the belt… for no reason at all, even his foster mom didn't do anything to stop her own husband's treatment.

Kyle often wears that blue hoodie around, and once he was the age of seven he walked into the forest. Oddly, at this same time Kennyo was roaming that same forest, since he was making sure his old forest temple still existed. It was still standing there, but no monks visited it, it looked super abandoned this time… and he was about to head back to his new temple, but that's when he noticed a young boy with black hair and blue eyes. Kennyo could tell that, even if the child did wear a blue hoodie and some strange pants.

Not only that but… Kyle looked like he would collapse at any moment, this troubled Kennyo greatly. Kyle soon sat down beside a tree, Kennyo watched the young boy the whole entire time, before he finally approached him slowly.

"May I know your name?" Kennyo asked. "No…" Kyle answered and turned away from him.

Kennyo didn't press any further, he just didn't want to leave this child in this state. His mind even raced to questions like, where was this child's parents? Does he have anyone? Is he hurt? Is he ill? But, he didn't bother to ask any of them out in the open, he just lowered himself to sit next to the boy.

"You shouldn't stay out here too long" Kennyo warned him, since he knew it would get dark soon. "Oh, yeah…" Kyle replied shyly, not even glancing his way.

Kennyo thought this was a bit strange since most kids still ran away from him… but this child was willing to speak to him. Even if Kyle was being super vague with his response, Kennyo couldn't help but feel more worried about this young boy. Finally, after two whole hours had passed, Kyle finally stood… and walked out of the forest. Kennyo did watch as he left, as he shrugged and decided to go check on Mai again. However, once Kennyo reached the temple, he learned that Mai left many years ago… and no one even knew where she gone.

Kennyo got more worried about his wife and he recalled the last thing she told him… the questions about what he wanted to name their children, if they ever had any. Kennyo wondered why she had asked that way back when, but now she wasn't at the temple? Where would she have gone? Oddly… once Kyle turned ten years old, the clothes that Mai gave him when he was still a newborn now fit him, he had normal pants on with that blue hoodie. Not only that, but Mai finally returned to the temple… and she never once told Kennyo that Kyle was their son…

Kyle later that night returns to the forest, yes at the age of ten this time. Only because he noticed his parents fighting, he still thought something was wrong about them two… and he didn't even know they were his foster parents. Not just that, he also got a letter from his birth mom Mai, she explained how Kyle's real father looked in the letter… and that's when Kyle connected the dots back to Kennyo, he first met that guy when Kyle was just seven years old. So, that was his real father? But however, Kyle keeps it a secret, even though he once again bumps into the older man.

Kyle was running away from his foster dad that night, since his dad chased him with the belt off. Kyle ran into the forest… and he hid behind Kennyo's back right away, once he noticed the older man there. This act alone caused Kennyo to think on the situation, but he did notice the other man with a belt in his hand.

"What do you plan on doing with that?" Kennyo asked, pointing at the belt. "To punish my son." The man answered. "There will be none of that. Can't you see that he's scared of you?" Kennyo asked the other man. "Oh, he's always like this. He's such a coward." The man replied, as he finally walked off.

Though, at this time Kyle started to think he wasn't good enough. Kyle often thought this way, but it was far more intense this time… and he even wasn't sure if he should allow Kennyo to know the truth, and sadly… Kyle never tells him. Kyle's illness also takes a toll him and Kennyo actually carries the boy back to the other temple, the one along the road… the newer one he and Mai should be living in together. Once Kennyo places Kyle onto the futon, Kennyo does the unthinkable… he even kisses Kyle's forehead and moves some of the black hairs from his face.

Though Kyle doesn't make it through the night… his illness took his life. Kennyo actually buries the young child in the small garden of the temple and said a prayer for his soul. Kennyo even often visits the grave, but he sometimes gets dragged away by Mai… and his wife never once tells Kennyo that the young boy who died was actually their son.

The end.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #fanfiction #tw: death #tw: child abuse

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