友切鬼切❪髭切❫獅子ノ子

[okouoni]

出会い

[tomokiri-archive]

okouoni:

     She held no expectations for the demeanor of a sword given life. At best, she assumed, it would mirror the personality of it’s master. Otherwise, it was an open canvas of possibility. But it became obvious the moment he spoke. Arrogant. Arrogance was a personality trait that struck a nerve with the oni if only because she was the same. At least – the facade she wore was the same. With all of her failures in life she knew her attitude lacked the substance to justify it. But she was the leader of the oni race, and she had her pride.

“Hah? Do you have room to talk? A sword is an extension of it’s wielder.” From her crouched position, those amber eyes reflected the torchlight as she glared with clear fatigue up at the man. “Do you not recall me tricking your wielder and retrieving it? Or…” She held her arm out, revealing a thin incision along soft looking flesh. “If not, let me remind you.”

“No. What I wished to hear was that you were repulsed. The blood of a ‘monster’ that feasted upon human kind should hold no savory flavor. That goes for both I, as well as you. In this form, you and others of your kind are no different than the monsters you cut down. How amusing.” She turned her gaze to the sky once more. 

“I wonder how long it will be before you’re nothing more than a beast? Youkai can only resist blood for so long, and as a sword you sampled the blood of many I’m sure. Unless you earnestly believe you will never succumb to such an urge – in which case, I applaud your naivete.”

       ❝ Tricking my master and retrieving it? ❞ The laughter that left the sword’s throat was all too gentle for their conversation, for the atmosphere that surrounded such faithful meeting, though the way his fangs could be seen made it only slightly terrifying. Yet Onikiri cannot help but find it hilarious, find reason to laugh at the choice of an oni’s words that were, truly, just like her. Oni were truly fantastic creatures, were they not? With pride that put others to shame, they blinded themselves in it so often that they forgot at times their pride was just, in fact, cowardice.

       When he bares his fangs at her, it’s almost felt like their first and last battle. ❝ You have pride in covering your shame and defeat, pretending you’re a flawless being? I have never seen an oni as shallow as yourself, Ibaraki-Douji. It almost makes me want to spit out your blood. ❞ Almost, but he takes it as a trophy. ❝ Does the weight of your lies ever crawl in your back? I’m impressed you are able to live and challenge men after men knowing fully well a simple retainer was able to harm the so feared right hand of Shuten-Douji. 

       --And to think you didn’t put up a fight. You have pride in disguising yourself as Lord Tsuna’s wet nurse, retrieving your arm and running away, like a coward afraid of a man that was but a servant. I would admire your courage in showing your face in public if I weren’t so disgusted. ❞

       But this was neither here nor there. When the tachi’s expression falls and weakens, becomes the gentle façade he so often puts up to pretend he wasn’t a truly broken sword in spirit, his smile becomes soft as does his words. It’s hard not to find the oni’s words ironic. When she tried hard to shame the sword for being so alike to her kind, it was perhaps a moment too late; for now, Onikiri couldn’t help but agree that he, too, was just an awful as those he proudly cut down. 

       ❝ Your words would have a better effect against swords of the Saniwa. ❞ Because he wasn’t one. Onikiri had no master worth wielding his blade. ❝ Swords are forged to drink the blood of whoever opposes its wielder, and I proudly live for that purpose alone. The little boy who gave me this form, though many find solace in calling him their master, doesn’t truly know how to wield a weapon. I was born to feast upon the blood of humans, and I do not have shame on that. Whether human, oni or sword-- blood is always blood. Call me a beast if you dare, Ibaraki-Douji, call me an oni if you will! But I would never pretend the reason I was made wasn’t solemnly to drink the blood of the fallen. ❞

[tomokiri-archive]

minamoto-no-yorimitsu:

“Many years, is it?” Yorimitsu nodded as he spoke. It was a telling suggestion, even when made so offhandedly. “Yes… I suppose it has been.”

“I appreciate your kind words, but all the same I cannot see anything impressive about it. Finding complacency in one’s old age is not a luxury afforded to warriors, and therefore I would be remiss, should I ever allow myself to slip. Likewise… I could not possibly forget our esteemed brethren, or the pride of our emblem. A single glance should be plenty, for anyone who still holds loyalty in their heart.”

Though some might have found her words severe, they came from the bottom of her heart. Her time had long since come and gone, as had her clan’s, and nothing there could be debated. Yet her obligations had not ended with her passing, nor was she any less devoted to her people.

“Surely, though, I speak nothing you do not already know. That you would so proudly honor our legacy, even today, says much about your person. Indeed, I am thankful for your dedication.”

Any leader should be grateful for the love of theirs subordinates, and the pride they might stoke within them.

“However… it is for this very reason that your question perturbs me. I must confess, I cannot claim to know you.”

At the very least, not without some doubts.

“Surely, I must… For if I did not, I cannot think of how you would recognize me so readily. If you wish it, I can wager a guess… Yet were I to be wrong, I could only be doing you a great dishonor. I think it best for both of us, that I swallow any pride and ask you for your formal answer. Who are you, child of the Genji?”

       She speaks with words of a leader, and it’s not at all surprising; after all, for she is one, those words were much fitting. He appreciates, even now, the loyalty of those from his clan, though hypocrisy was a daily idea that crossed the spirit’s mind when he was naught but a sword, many years back, the Genji had all been much proud of their blood and name. 

       Perhaps too much, enough so that they slayed those of his clan along the enemies they all shared. It all depended of which branch one hailed from, and much blood of his own family had been spilled onto his blade. Though he is named Tomokiri when he defends his brother’s honor, cuts down in protest a sword that was only a copy of a treasure, the Minamoto did not think twice before naming themselves something akin.

       For a moment, he finds it fitting. The betrayer sword for a betrayer clan.

       But those are tales of the past, and nothing truly to be brought up. He appreciates the loyalty & love Yorimitsu possessed for her clan, and it was refreshing, almost nostalgic. In it, Higekiri finds comfort, even amidst some of the personal disgust he bore for his brother’s old master right before his eyes.

       With a gentle smile, a hand to his chest and a small bow, it is the second time he presents himself in such ways to someone that did not truly deserve it.

       ❝ Treasure of the Genji, Hig-- ❞ No. Through the many names he had received and went by in the past, though Minamoto no Yorimitsu received his sword with the name he had first been given, it was not truly Higekiri that she knew. ❝ Onikiri. ❞ The very sword who had sliced an arm off the feared demon Ibaraki-Douji-- only by a mistake of his at the time master, Watanabe no Tsuna. Had he truly been used right, it was her head he would have cut off. ❝ Surely you must know this sword well. ❞ The one the tachi takes from his hip and presents to Yorimitsu, scabbard as white as his jacket, a fitting match to the very spirit of that blade. ❝ Tsukumogami is what I am now. The concept might be a bit hard to believe, but surely one such as yourself will easily believe it-- am I right, Lady Yorimitsu? ❞

       Whether or not his words meant more than Higekiri let on, that decision was solemnly on the former head of the Genji’s hands. 

[tomokiri-archive]

progenit:

tomokiri​

“ah, you are a treasure of genji then, child.” it is a statement, not a question, made in acknowledgement of the crest the other openly bears on modernized clothing - the last he had laid eyes on such an insignia, he can no longer recall; yet it is a symbol impossible to forget - their dominance, their legacy, were all destined to be immortalized in the history of man from the very beginning. 

chaos filled with grief and greed, malice without mercy - man’s self-induced tragedy, destined to repeat. the conflict was not the first, and it certainly was not the last.  

“to now meet you here in this strange land - the will of fate continues to be one difficult to predict, it seems.”

       When he first hears whispers among their citadel, back still in a land that was not this one, whispers about a new sword, whispers that spelled the name Kogarasumaru, he couldn’t help but feel his blood turn cold & anger fill his veins faster than it had ever before.

       But the whispers continued; Kogarasumaru? Who is that? A mistake, Higekiri answers himself, in the back of his mind and to nobody to hear, as his delicate fingertips still made sure to remain as gentle as possible against the softness of Hizamaru’s hair as he rested on his lap, beautiful and innocent and safe from poisonous words. I heard he was one of the first swords to be made like us. He’s a super old sword too, even more than Mikazuki-dono!

       Ah.

       So it wasn’t that Kogarasumaru; the forgery, the replica of a treasure, of his own brother, steel of his steel, as the Genji took him away and gave him someone who was just a substitute. The reason he had been named Tomokiri. No, he had heard of a rarer Kogarasumaru among the Taira, one who had been smithed by the legendary Amakuni Yasutsuna-- it was that one.

       To think they would meet in a place that was not the Saniwa’s citadel... Fate does work in strange ways. And though Higekiri is a proud work of the Genji, who always had been a rival of Taira ( oh so much blood of the taira had been drank by his blade ), though the combination of that plus the disgusting name that brought nothing but anger to his being, he greets his new comrade ( he isn’t a sword of the saniwa, no, that little boy never deserved him ) with a smile and the same soft voice he would use to keep his distance as a renowned treasure.

       ❝ The Saniwa is a curious person. Only under a sage’s power would a Genji and a Taira sword not only reunite, but be made to fight together. ❞ He finds it’s a very similar feeling to working together with the traitor’s sword, Shishiou, a man who had dared not only be friends with Taira no Kiyomori but even fight with them against blood of his own blood. The Minamoto were known to fight their own blood, yes, the many branches in the clan ended up with conflicting opinions, yet never would they join a rival to fight their own family. ❝ Kogarasumaru... is it not? So you’re the original. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you. ❞ That name was nothing but venom between his lips. ❝ I’m ( tomokiri ) Higekiri, treasure of the Genji, as you already know. ❞

[tomokiri-archive]

saintseiyasword:

It was an embarrassment, not only to be caught like this, but to be caught by him.

How many times had the two of them argued and bickered because of their former Saniwa? How many times had Hachisuka attempted to defend his master’s honor and speak to his benevolence–to how much he’d believed in his ability?

In all honesty, Higekiri had every right to gloat and lord the facts of the matter over him. Part of him fully expected it, in some capacity. After all, their bitterness had never completely subsided, even if he had gone and come back. They had hardly had a word exchanged between them since the uchigatana had returned and Hachisuka had preferred it that way. So here and now, to be offered a comforting hand on his shoulder and gentle words from Higekiri–the blade known to so many as Tomokiri–it was unsettling, to say the least.

“How would you ‘help’, if that is truly what you hope to accomplish? What words can you deign to offer me besides ‘I told you so’?” The hem of his sleeve cut angrily across his eyes as he turned his face away from the tachi. He may have heard him weep, but he wouldn’t see it, if it could be helped. “All of us have heard your crowing about being a treasured blade of your clan. What would you know of what I’m going through?”

          ❝ I don’t know your story. ❞ It’s how he starts it, when he retrieves his hand from Hachisuka’s shoulder and looks at him with an expression not much different from the one he bore a minute or two ago. There is only a sigh, a soft exhale as the uchigatana denies help and is as stubborn as he would always be in the presence of the tachi; it’s understandable, truly. They had never quite gotten along, despite shared views here and there. Higekiri does not harbor any ill feelings towards a fellow brother in arms, despite how he knew Hachisuka felt.

          He found it curious-- his desperation, his panic, his fear of being abandoned and left behind and made to believe he hadn’t fulfilled his role as his master’s sword.

          ( how much different was it from any other sword’s fears? they had all been made to serve and fight for those who wielded them. )

          ❝ And while neither you do mine, we are both swords. We both want to be useful and serve our master, and if we were simply to be abandoned without a word, wouldn’t we wonder where we go wrong? ❞ Though such thing had never truly happened to Higekiri ( lest he thinks it would ever; treasures were simply much better than normal swords, and the minamoto all had pride in the swords forged for them only ), he could easily imagine it. Suddenly being disposed, suddenly being thrown away as if he was no longer useful. In a way, it had happened-- when the Minamoto fell, when swords eventually became a thing of the past.

          Though he no longer fought for a master, it took from him his own purpose. ❝ If you start doubting your origins, wouldn’t that make you closer to the brother you despise so much? You have always been told you were a real Kotetsu, Hachisuka, and your masters always judged you that way. Though Nagasone’s might have thought him to be a genuine Kotetsu, too, doesn’t the world know well he is but a fake? ❞ What would you know when you are a treasure yourself, made with iron and steel from the Gods, Higekiri almost could hear the uchigatana ask. He doesn’t truly understand, but he could nearly place himself in Hachisuka’s situation--

          When he remembers a certain crow, and how the Minamoto could have very well made a forgery out of him, it boils the tachi’s blood. ❝ No matter whether you are left behind or abandoned, at times you must remember you’re genuine, better than many others that would dream of being as talented a sword as you are. Sometimes, it’s the loss of the masters who decided to give us away, not to own and wield us. At the end of the day, perhaps, you never truly understood our Saniwa, did you? Otherwise, you wouldn’t be asking such questions. You mustn’t forget either; it’s not our choice to stay or leave. Now that he is absent, shouldn’t you, a trusted and loyal sword of his, stay strong and remain composed in case he, one day, comes back to you? ❞

[mmmmllyyyy]

[tomokiri-archive]

mollyshome:

兄者～～

[tomokiri-archive]

8 PEOPLE I’D LIKE TO GET TO KNOW BETTER.

( repost, do not reblog !!! )

TAGGED BY. hijacked the shit outta it

TAGGING ( eight people; optional to do ). idk. anyone. if ur reading this? do it

ONE ( name / alias ).                 Kevin. TWO ( birthday ).                      October 27th. THREE ( zodiac sign ).             Scorpio. FOUR ( height ).                         5′3. FIVE ( time ).                               6:51pm. SIX ( sleep ).                                6~8, probably? SEVEN ( favorite books ).         Harry Potter series. EIGHT ( favorite artists ).           Several? Mostly Arctic Monkeys, P!ATD, nasty sb69 bands. NINE ( last movie watched ).     Movie.. idk.. does musical count? Atsukashiyama myu. TEN ( college ).                           lmfao ELEVEN ( dream job ).             Actor. I’d be happy to be a writer, though. TWELVE ( the meaning behind your url ).           One of Higekiri’s names-- it means “friend cutter”.

[saishounoeiyuu]

He shied away from his brother’s touch and pawed at his eyes at his words. There was no point in denying something that was written so plain upon his face, but it didn’t stop the color from rising to his cheeks at being called out about it. Still, in a situation like this, it was fine. Times like these reminded Hizamaru of better times when the pair of them were back home and in relative comfort–how they would banter back and forth during those carefree times in between sorties and live as though they could know peace.

“We have names and legacies to uphold. How could I forgive myself if something happened to you because you were worried over seeing me upset? It pains me to even consider it…”

But this wasn’t the time to think of such things. Reunions were meant to be joyful, and he hadn’t seen his brother for months on end. There were so many questions that flooded his mind when he fully came to realize the position he was in, he hardly knew where to start–or if he should even start at all. But in the end, his practicality won over in his mind. There would be plenty of time for for catching up once some cursory information was known.

“Anija… Indulge me for a moment, if you will.” Looking his brother in the eye, he was almost certain a pout would form before long, but he couldn’t let the thought stop him. “I still feel a bit out of sorts. The knowledge that you yourself are safe is more than enough for me–and I wish to hear how you’ve been and what you’ve been up to, to be sure–but do you know anything about this world? Our captors? What of our allies? I was thrust into all of this so suddenly, I could hardly find my feet before I was sent on my way.”

[tomokiri-archive]

          It is much like Hizamaru to worry about details and whereabouts and the situation beforehand, so his mind and thoughts could follow an even path and he could find himself understanding what his duties were with the place and responsibilities that were given him. Though Minamoto no Yoshitsune was a lord fond of surprises and no plans laid out at first, and so Hizamaru became much like him, he had always been someone to at least have a good understanding of his surroundings.

          It has been only so long since Higekiri had found himself in such place that those questions meant little, very little; they no longer were questions he asked himself every now and then, but he still found disgust at the idea that men, humans he supposed, stood above himself and his brother and controlled them at will; played with his feelings, manipulated his dear brother and took him away much like the Minamoto seemed so fond of doing.

          When it all came to it, he knew, that the moment an opportunity was given, Higekiri would wield his blade and claim the heads of men who deserved nothing but death.

          ❝ Mhm.. I know just enough to get by everyday; I have been here for nearly a year, after all. ❞ How many months had it been since his arrival, he wonders; truly, more than enough, yet it allows Higekiri to wonder whether he preferred to be in a place where, for as long as he was allowed, he was able to live in peace with his dear brother, or whether living under their Saniwa and protecting history was a better choice. ❝ It seems to be an experiment, and we are to indulge our captors against our will. Granted, it is given us a place, food and a normal life to live as though we were humans, but when they seem to be tired of us, they simply send us back. ❞ As it happened to you, the tachi thinks of adding, but it dies at his throat. Hizamaru did not need the guilty of forgetting he was once there--

       --that he once killed his own brother, with his own hands. ❝ If you are worried about the others, some of them are here, too. Most, if not all of us live in a Citadel Izuminokami Kanesada managed to build, in Sector Six. It seems there’s a Saniwa around too, but it’s not ours. Ah-- You should be happy to hear Iwatooshi is here as well, though Imanotsurugi is nowhere to be found. ❞

[saintseiyasword]

He had never let on to anyone just how much he was bothered by their master’s disappearance.

When he had first arrived, he didn’t believe when the others told him the young man had simply vanished without a trace. Though Tsurumaru Kuninaga was nowhere to be found, he thought it had been some terrible prank at his expense. But the hours turned to days and the days turned to a week and the week turned into another and there was still not sight of him to be found. He had gone.

They were alone.

No matter how vigilantly Hachisuka Kotetsu stood guard over their Citadel, eyes sharp on the gate awaiting for that familiar silhouette to return, he knew it would never come to pass again. But it didn’t help him understand why. 

Why had they been left behind? Hadn’t they been strong enough? Hadn’t they been loyal? Hadn’t they been true? Hachisuka had turned those questions over and over again in his mind so much that it sounded like some haunting chant to him now, taunting him and raising concerns he would have never dared to even consider before.

Were they not worthy of his attentions? Were they not who they thought they were? Were they not… real?

The mere notion of it made him sick to his stomach. That couldn’t be the case. He was the spirit of the Hachisuka Kotetsu. There could be no other. 

‘But the one everyone looks to as your brother is a fake,’ said the voice in his mind. ‘What makes you above such a thing? Would a genuine article be left to rust as you have? Would it be forgotten as you have?’

“No!… I am Hachisuka Kotetsu. I am genuine! I am real!…. aren’t I?…”

The room full of things his master left behind gave no answer, but he still asked, still needed an answer.

“Milord… why have you left me?”

[tomokiri-archive]

          When you’re unattached, things hurt less.

          When you’re a sword, things shouldn’t hurt at all.

          When you’re both, you become stronger.

          He hadn’t meant to intrude as much as he had found some sort of satisfaction in the words that left Hachisuka Kotetsu’s mouth. It had been case in point with the absence of Issei, swords that once belonged to him and remained in the city found it weird to deal with something that for long they had been blessed and spoiled with both. He hadn’t asked Iwatooshi, hadn’t really cared as much since something similar had happened months prior. With Hachisuka, however, he had always been interested.

          But to think he had been abandoned, which Higekiri doesn’t think as much as his master didn’t quite have a say in it-- he finds it overjoying. Finds it to be a weakness of the uchigatana, thinks he’s showing a side of him that many wouldn’t imagine it would even exist. But he finds it pitiful, too; to even come to doubt his origin, come to doubt whether he was truly a real Kotetsu or not-- how low the absence of a master he had grown so attached to, a master he would kiss his feet if ordered and commit seppuku for if asked... How low had Hachisuka Kotetsu reached, for a master that little told him, little trusted him, and much lied to him?

          ❝ Hachisuka. ❞ His voice is ever so soft, and he means no harm this time. Though Higekiri knows well his space should be minded, there is a comforting ( that is what he was aiming for, after all ) hand on the uchigatana’s shoulder, and he rubs it once or twice. He should act like he sympathizes, like he understands--

          But not all a sword that has never accepted his Saniwa as master would. ❝ Did you truly get this much attached to our Saniwa? Should you, an authentic Kotetsu, really weep at the thought of being abandoned? I didn’t come to mock or laugh at you, lest to wound you any further. I wish to talk, and to help, if you would allow me to. ❞

[okouoni]

出会い

@tomokiri

     Just how many of these tsukumogami were running around this city? Or rather, why were they all handsome men? No, there was something different about this one. She sensed familiarity. The horns that decorated his head, his aura, it was an existence she knew very well.

For that existence was responsible for the existence of her Noble Phantasm; for the arm she had lost at Rashoumon and had been forced to retrieve later.

The oni’s expression was not one of amusement as her golden eyes reflected the dim light of the night’s lanterns scattered through the park that bore uncanny homage to the Heian era they came from. A fitting stage prepared by fate itself.

“Tch… That aura. Did you think I couldn’t sense a piece of myself in there? Or perhaps that’s why we’ve been drawn together.”  She was speaking spiritually, of course. Youkai to youkai. A blade that had tasted the flesh of an oni. The hatred in her gaze flickered only for a moment, before she clicked her tongue and re-positioned her back against a lantern, crouching comfortably like some sort of Heian thug. 

“No matter. My quarrel will always be with your master, not with you. Though I can only wonder… How did I taste, ONIKIRI?”

[tomokiri-archive]

          He knew, despite the name he bore and his own despise for the kind, that Higekiri, once known as Onikiri, had become an oni himself. He knew that he had become the very race he allegedly said many times would kill & cut regardless whoever faced him. Though he did not possess the same horns ( nor he would think they would grow from his forehead ), many times he felt their height against his skin, many times ( times especially when he nearly treated hizamaru, his dear brother, like a puppet ) he enjoyed the notion of wearing an oni mask, because so many years later, the sword had come to accept it.

          And it might be fate, might be a warm reunion under an atmosphere much from their time, that Onikiri finds the reason for his name under lights that almost had him think she was beautiful-- beautifully disgusting, perhaps, but he only smiles, softly and kind almost as if he didn’t despise the oni that was, in a way, his.

             ( name after name after name, though he is now higekiri, there is something amusing at being called onikiri once again. )

          ❝ As expected of the fearsome Ibaraki-Douji... or perhaps not as fearsome, after you had accidentally lost just an arm. ❞ For the many years past since the incident, he still carries shame upon his master’s name, who foolishly committed a mistake and had only the arm of the oni severed, instead of the head that should have been the Genji’s prize and pride. But years later, there is still some honor in obtaining the name Onikiri, when the tachi rests his own back against one of the many lanterns across the small oni. Ibaraki-Douji and Onikiri-- truly, a meeting organized by fate. ❝ I wonder if you expect me to say your blood was delicious-- For all the onis I have slayed after you, none of them tasted as disgusting as you did, no matter how rotten they were. But I’m sure you knew that already, did you not, Ibaraki? ❞

[daitoku]

@tomokiri

“Pardon me.” She called out towards the stranger. “May I have a moment of your time?”

Without waiting for a reply Yorimitsu quickly caught up to him, and walked around to face his front. Without a doubt she knew what she had seen, yet still she wished to have a better look at him. 

“That insignia on your clothing…”

Under the glimmer of the morning sun, the pins upon his coat had shone like gemstones. Though they had only briefly caught her eye, before the stranger had rounded a corner, she needed no more time than that. It was all too familiar of a design, with details which had long since been etched into her memory.

“If I am mistaken, I shall apologize, but…  it is the emblem of the Minamoto Clan, is it not?”

He could only have been a fellow member of their clan, or a trusted retainer. At least, those were her initial thoughts. Yet, the more closely she studied him, the more another possibility arose. He did bear a rather striking resemblance to a certain someone else.

An uneasy prospect for her, if no longer quite so world-shaking. 

[tomokiri-archive]

          Eventually, he had expected such thing-- to see fallen Genji rise again like life blessed them once more.

          But they were dead, all of them, and this era did not belong to the Minamoto any longer. Though their treasure still walked proudly around with their crest on his clothes, though he still shouted his title at his enemies ( hear, for i am the treasure of the genji, higekiri! ) with pride & love, only a fool wouldn’t admit the clan was a fallen one, after so many years had passed that the Heian period was but a tale, memories and history for elders to pass onto their children.

          Even now, Higekiri can recognize well every one of his masters, every Genji his sword had slayed despite belonging to them, every enemy his blade had sucked the life out of. Even now, when a voice reaches out to him and he is stopped in his tracks, the tachi can’t help but draw a soft smile to his face when the fact of someone who had wielded not him but his brother comes to sight.

          ( eventually, he had expected such thing-- to come across fallen genji who, for the most part, higekiri wondered why at all had they been leaders. )

          ❝ You have very good eyes even now that many years have passed, Lady Yorimitsu, I am impressed. But yes, I proudly carry the Genji crest in my clothes. ❞ Had it been back home, such kind of talk would not be allowed. They were not forbidden of talking to others, no, but ultimately forbidden of speaking of the future or their true nature. But this was not home, this was no history that should not be changed. Here, they were given the opportunity to say the much they wished to to old masters. ❝ It makes me fairly happy to see you well once more, but I do not think you know who I am, do you? ❞

[ireisai]

𝒪𝓇𝑜𝒸𝒽𝒾

[ireisai]

      Higekiri has always been… somewhat hard to understand. More difficult to deal with than most of her other toudan, even on his best day. Presumptuous and self-interested, caring for little but himself and his brother, except maybe putting whatever enemy he faced in his place. Ryuubi does not deal well with disobedience; mostly, because she has little tolerance for it. Whether he liked it or not, whether he liked her or not, Higekiri had at least understood.            Fall in line, or be returned to that lonely state from before.            Hers however, she thinks, had never been so bold-faced a liar. She wonders just what this one’s been up to that makes him think he’s going to sell her on anything with that look on his face while he tries to claim himself a victim. 

          “Harming people is not what you were given this body for, Higekiri,” she says, but it is not chastisement– it is fact. One that she thinks he should respect, if nothing else. “However you look, however bloodsoaked you are, matters little, so long as that blood isn’t human.” Her eyes travel from his blade to his eyes, and she takes a sole step closer, her hands folding together. “I am not unaware of the dangers of this place, Higekiri; and neither, would it seem, are you. However, sometimes the places we must go are fraught with danger– do you think me someone who would shy away from such?” Her expression is curious, prodding.            “Or is it perhaps the only experience you have, with a Saniwa?”

[tomokiri-archive]

          He finds her just as interesting as his Saniwa.

          She, opposed to that little, sickly boy, had the authority of a leader, of a commander; her voice was imposing, her attitude didn’t falter and though Issei had unwavering eyes here and now, though he acted like he didn’t fear his swords, wouldn’t fear if one or two rebelled against him, Higekiri knew he was much too weak even with the godly powers Saniwa sages possessed. She, however-- she wasn’t like that. From her, the tachi felt that a wrong move here and there would cost him a missing humanoid body and a spirit back to his sword.

          Again, he found it no worrisome. Hizamaru wasn’t around. Living with himself with such body was much too exhausting when he saw no reason for such existence. Not without his brother, not without the only one who mattered.

          Yet he smiles weakly, relaxes his posture yet raises his blade; not in a threatening way, no, not now. He raises his blade, tip pointing at the Saniwa before him, not at all close to her skin but aiming for the very center of her throat.

          ( higekiri much liked those; it was the reason of his origin, in a way. )

          ❝ Were I to think something of the kind, I would be much more impressed to see you stepping into such dangerous zone, would I not? ❞ Most quickly walked away at the sight of death and blood, after all-- it was human nature, for those who were not used to the battlefield. ❝ But you paint me as a culprit, when not at all I would call myself such. Humans aren’t kind creatures, lest I would call them merciful. Had I not defended myself in such extreme ways, dare I say I wouldn’t look as well as I do. ❞ For all things considered, had damage  enough happened to his body, he would have awakened and slayed the culprits regardless. With a quick motion of his arm, he forces away some of the blood in his blade before it is returned to its scabbard. ❝ But truly, I do not wish to fight. You caught me in a rather unpleasant sight, though I wouldn’t say it’s anything unlike the usual. Is there anything I may help you with, Saniwa? ❞

[furiage-deactivated20200421]

   {薙} — And it’s true, that they were always playing at this game –  

This game of being human, of feelings and sensations that they were gradually becoming accustomed to. He was easing into it, piecing things together one-by-one until they fell into place. It wasn’t all bad. There was plenty good.

Still, that smile of Higekiri’s – so soft and amused and yet still so mocking.

It was beyond frustrating.

Even when the two of them were at their worst, when their closest companions had been ripped from their sides without so much as a goodbye, how was he still able to act so completely unshaped? How was he able to keep up that impenetrable wall? 

The light is dim and his mind is buzzing, searching through memories for the right answer. Through those long-gone times when his former Master had sought to relieve himself of fear and frustration in private. Hidden away, hands grabbing at soft sides while kind words whispered into his ear. The lights had been dim then, too.

There’s a slight delay, an apology fumbled under his breath.

And then his approach is rough, colliding against the soft of Higekiri’s upper lip without much finesse or technique. He doesn’t care to be kind, doesn’t care to have time to think about whether any small, shameless moans that threaten to escape Higekiri’s throat would later be shared with his brother, no – there’s a hint of pleasure pulsing in his blood, a rise that dulls slowly with the guilt as claws rake gently against where bruises should be. It tastes of regret and warmth and it’s wretched, enough to make him sick if it weren’t so good.

When he pulls back, there’s blood, and he licks it off his teeth. Trial and error. There’s anguish in his eyes and annoying concern for someone who’s only ever treated him as lesser. “I’m curious… about what you’re really thinking.”

[tomokiri-archive]

          If he had to describe it, it would be disgusting.

          It’s not pleasant like when his soft lips touch Hizamaru’s, when he leads his brother even when they share intimate moments, when his brother so desperately muffle a moan that is nothing but needy, saying anija in such a begging way. It’s not pleasant at all, and unlike a drunk Iwatooshi ( much drunker than he ), he does not hide orange hues behind eyelids. Does not act in the way lovers do when they kiss, closing themselves from the world by embracing darkness and letting their human bodies enjoy the wave of feelings that the touch of lips provided.

          Higekiri does neither, because that man was far from being the one Higekiri would be most vulnerable to.

          When he pulls away, there is a single thumb across his lips, the sight of his own blood dirtying his skin, and the tachi simply licks it clean, the same taste of iron that dared to be part of their kiss ( as much as they could call what just happened that ) invading his taste again. When months prior they were at each other’s throats, to share the same act lovers often did was ironic of them.

          Like humans, too, Higekiri blames the alcohol.

         And for once, he is glad Hizamaru is not around. ❝ We are swords a thousand of years old, and yet you still cannot comprehend me? ❞ There is a light chuckle, and the tachi realizes he, too, doesn’t understand himself. When he came to be, names and names later, he had simply become too corrupted. ❝ ... I miss him, if that’s what you’re unsure of. I miss him so much that if bringing him back would require killing any and all of the swords in this Citadel, I wouldn’t think twice. We have been separated many times before, but even now that we have our own bodies, the thought that someone I can’t see or touch being able to take him from me when I least expect it sickens me. Do you not think the same? ❞ It might be strange; the tone of his voice, ever so soft, quiet, unlike anything he had used with Iwatooshi prior. A tone that is free of his usual venom, a tone that is more honest than it is cryptic. Orange eyes do not deviate to the naginata before him; they close upon a longer sip of his sake than any of his priors, and open again to stare at his empty cup. ❝ When you are this old, Iwatooshi, sometimes you simply stop making sense behind your actions. What I do is what I have always done, so much that it has become automatic. Everything I do, and everything I am, is for Hizamaru’s sake. I cannot fight for the Minamoto any longer, but I can fight for my right to live besides my brother once more. ❞

          And then he does-- turns to the oni besides him with a smile that was all too sad, all too lonely, but one that did not ask for pity. ❝ I’m thinking that your kissing could use some work, too, if one day you hope to charm someone. But I wonder if that day will ever come. ❞

[tomokiri-archive]

          If anything, he had never quite assumed Ichigo Hitofuri, eldest brother of many, wouldn’t be as good of an old brother as one would have assumed.

          But if anything, Higekiri does give him some credit; the Toushirous were many, with diverse personalities and mostly tantous, too. Children as they were, reckless and immature and he’s glad Hizamaru was a tachi like him, so obedient and good who wouldn’t dare cause problems to the brother he was so proud of. Ichigo Hitofuri had to deal with more than one single brother would be able to handle, and with a personality as passive as his own, it was understandable.

          When he sees the tachi Awataguchi exit one of the rooms ( his, more specifically, his and his brothers’ ), a soft smile takes up Higekiri’s expression. For all the soft smiles he was used to showing the swords in the city, this one is more genuine than many would believe of the treasure. ❝ Seeing as Gokotai and Shinano are sleeping together, I take it all went well, in the end? ❞

@dreamafterdream

[saishounoeiyuu]

When their eyes met after his brother turned to look at him, Hizamaru felt something snap into place. 

A feeling of relief and peace that only grew as he felt the other practically fall against him. The feel of his hair against the bare skin of his neck, the way his arms wrapped around him so tightly, just the weight of his human body–there was nothing to compare it against. This was the only thing that could give him absolute calm: the knowledge that his brother was close and here and alive. Nothing could make him happier.

It was that feeling of complete and utter gratitude and calm and not his dear brother calling him by yet another unknown name that brought tears to his eyes as he returned the embrace, his arms wrapping around Higekiri’s equally slender form just as tightly as the lock placed on him. He could never forget the tenor of his brother’s voice, but hearing it here and now in this place where so much was foreign, he couldn’t help but feel all the more thankful to whatever power was at work that had managed to bring them together.

“Forgive me, Anija. If I had known you were here, I would have sought you endlessly. But it doesn’t matter. I managed to find you here, hale and whole. That is all that matters to me.”

And in that moment, it was truly all that mattered. Being trapped in this city, so far away from everything he’d ever known with no master, no other allies, not even a proper weapon to defend himself–he couldn’t have cared less.

His brother was here, in his arms. The very world could burn and he wouldn’t have minded a bit.

[tomokiri-archive]

          It feels and smells like home.

          Not the Citadel, no; Hizamaru was the only home he had. Wherever they may be, if they were next to each other, if his brother was in his arms or if he were in his, it would be home. Where they belonged, their rightful place, somewhere they always felt comfort and a place to return. Higekiri loses himself in the smell, in the delicate touch of Hizamaru, and it feels like all his anxieties and problems had suddenly vanished, never to come back again.

          Hizamaru was soothing. He often made the tachi forget how much of a demon he was, at the same time he would often remember how much of one he could be even with the person, sword he loved most in the world.

          Because Higekiri’s love was unique. It wasn’t one normal people would feel; he doubts it’s one Ichigo Hitofuri feels towards his many siblings, one Hachisuka Kotetsu harbors for his young ( and not at all a fake ) brother, one the Kunihiro brothers possess for each other. He knows his love is strong enough to become unhealthy, to the point he manipulates his own brother in small ways only so he won’t leave, only so they can be together forever, like they were meant to be.

          No one would ever be able to understand how dependent Higekiri was of his brother.

          ❝ There, there. It’s fine now. I’m glad you’re safe. I have missed you so. ❞ For one such as Higekiri, who bathes in blood more often than any other sword in the city, the gentleness of his touch against Hizamaru’s hair, soft fingers threading through a green that fit his brother so beautifully. His voice matches his touch, ever so soft at the presence of the only one who deserve to see the side of the sword who was pure, who loved and treasured someone and would ever only kill another if they dared, dared to harm his little brother.

          His beloved, the person who mattered the most for Higekiri. Someone he wished not to break contact with, to stay with his arms around him and make sure he’s safe, make sure he’s there, but Higekiri does, regardless. Keeps him close however, an arm around his hip and the other gently by his cheek, a delicate gloved thumb wiping away tears he judged to be of happiness.  ❝ You’re such a crybaby. I thought you ever only cried at the Saniwa, but I’m happy... I’m happy you let me see you like this sometimes, too. ❞

[thingsforrp]

                     ι'∂ яυη тσ s α v ε үσυ                                  ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ɪ'ᴅ                                         sᴀᴠᴇ ᴍʏsᴇʟғ

[dragonskinned]

The questions meet his ears one after the other, and Kamui silently wonders if this is what it’s like when he’s the one on the other end– when he’s the one asking questions. Ones he, in particular, didn’t really know the answer to. It makes white eyebrows raise as he turns towards the voice, red eyes meeting its source before lips part to answer.

“Well, I wouldn’t personally know!” It’s honest, at least, “This is the first time I’ve heard about this holiday.. the occasion and way to celebrate do seem fun though, don’t they?” Kamui wonders in return, gloved fingers adjusting the jacket to his aforementioned ‘costume’. 

Still, he hardly considers it as one.

“I’m not sure? I’m fairly familiar with the story in the lands I come from– it could be different elsewhere though, I think?”

[tomokiri-archive]

          Fun, he says, and Higekiri could only wonder what his definition of fun was like. He doesn’t judge others for it, no, for a sword as old as he was, he knew well people had different tastes & views on matters, however important or futile they could be. For all the things that Higekiri had no interest in ( which were most things, apathy coming with old age as he stops caring about nearly everything ), he doesn’t consider curiosity to be the same as being interested.

          Having knowledge was wise. Having interests didn’t quite help one succeed.

          ❝ The occasion... Is there one? Truthfully, I have never even heard stories about it. I’m sure at some point, Japan had started celebrating certain holidays the Western world seemed to be fond of, but I know little of them. Would you mind telling me what you know, though? ❞

[saishounoeiyuu]

– @tomokiri

“Anija…”

He scarcely believed his eyes. It had to be some trick. After everything he’d thought and felt to himself all the while, to have him suddenly appear like this would have to be some sort of cruel prank. Fate conspired toward many things, he knew, but something like this?…

Though he kept a skeptic’s eye, hope drove his feet forward toward that all-too-familiar silhouette that could only belong to him–to the brother that meant so much to him. Heart won over mind as he drew closer and he could feel the anticipation swelling in his chest as he reached out for the figure that had its back to him. 

“Anija!…” From the way he grasped the sleeve of his jacket to the barely-masked joy in his voice, it was clear how in just that short span it took to get near to him how desperate Hizamaru was for his heart not to have betrayed him. But he already knew the answer.

It was him. This was his brother. He wouldn’t accept anything else. 

[tomokiri-archive]

           If they were in a loud, crowded place, he was sure he would always be able to hear Hizamaru’s voice above all.

          It’s always so soft, delicate and kind like he was, always calling out to his brother ( to him ) so eagerly that he can’t fathom how anyone would be able to resist him; but he is glad, too, that they do. Hizamaru was his, and his only. His dear, dear brother who Higekiri would create a sea of blood for.

          When the same voice he hasn’t listened in longer than the tachi would have liked to admit calls out to him once again, calls out to him with the same desperate anija that Hizamaru would say whenever he had to reach out to his brother, it’s hard to believe his ears. Hard to believe there’s a hand ( a hand he knows well, every little spot of it, how soft it could be despite how calloused as well ) grasping at his jacket, stopping him in his tracks.

          The moment he looks at Hizamaru again, it feels like all the time they spent apart meant nothing. It feels like the last time they ever talked ( when hizamaru’s sword laid against his throat and killed him ) hadn’t at all existed, hadn’t at all happened. But he doesn’t care, really; for all it’s worth, being with his beloved brother again was way more important.

          ❝ You’re so mean, Tazunemaru. For making me wait so long. ❞ Tazunemaru, from tazunebito ( 尋ね人 ), because that’s what Hizamaru was. A missing person, his missing part, and the way Higekiri turned around and rested his face perfectly in the curvature of his brother’s neck, the way his arms wrapped around his brother’s delicate figure, the way his scent comforted him and made him oh so happy-- For all the while Hizamaru was missing, it was impossible not to forgive him now, impossible to be at all mad at him when the being with him felt so much like home.