#hashira reader

You sighed, though your lips curled into a fond smile. These three were more than just your students. Somewhere along the line, they had become your ducklings, following you around wherever you went, seeking your approval, your presence.

With a chuckle, you ruffled their hair one by one.

“I missed you too,” you admitted. “And I’m fine. You know I’m a Hashira, right? It’ll take more than a few demons to take me down.”

“B-But still!” Zenitsu sniffled.

“Enough whining,” Inosuke grumbled, though he was still very much glued to your side. “She’s back, and now she can feed us!”

Tanjiro laughed softly, finally pulling back, though his hands still clutched your sleeve. “Are you hungry too, Y/n-sensei? You must be exhausted.”

You hummed, pretending to consider it. “I could use a meal. How about we all eat together? My treat.”

Zenitsu gasped, tears sparkling in his eyes. “I knew it! You do love us! You do care!”

Inosuke pumped a fist into the air. “FOOOOD! Finally!”

Tanjiro’s smile was radiant, his exhaustion melting into quiet happiness. “Let’s go. I’ll help cook.”

And just like that, the three of them trailed behind you, sticking close like ducklings to their mother.

You couldn’t help but feel warm at the sight.

Yes, they were warriors.

Yes, they were strong.

But at the end of the day, they were still just kids.

And you would protect them, feed them, and care for them as long as they needed you to.

The kitchen at headquarters was already warm when you arrived, and despite their exhaustion, all three boys eagerly helped prepare the meal.

Tanjiro, ever reliable, was already washing rice and cutting vegetables. Zenitsu grumbled about being forced to help, but his hands moved skillfully as he worked on seasoning the fish. Inosuke, surprisingly, listened to directions—for the most part. He still insisted on “hunting” ingredients, which really just meant charging into the pantry and coming back with an entire bag of flour like it was a prized kill.

“Y/n-sensei! Look! I got this myself! Now make something good with it!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Inosuke, put that back. We don’t need flour for-”

“Don’t waste my bounty!”

Zenitsu groaned. “You absolute barbarian! You can’t just bring random things and expect them to work in the meal!”

“Yes, I can! And Y/n-sensei is the best! She can cook anything!”

You sighed but patted Inosuke’s head, making him freeze in place before puffing up proudly. “I appreciate the enthusiasm. How about next time we bake something?”

The wild boar boy nodded sagely. “Hmph. Fine. But only because you said so.”

Dinner was simple. grilled fish, miso soup, fresh rice, and vegetables. Nothing fancy, but by the way the three of them practically inhaled their portions, you would have thought it was a feast.

Zenitsu let out a dramatic sigh, clutching his stomach. “I could cry. This is the best meal I’ve had in forever.”

Tanjiro, cheeks slightly puffed with rice, nodded in agreement. “It’s really good, Y/n-sensei. Thank you.”

Inosuke, on his third serving, was too busy stuffing his face to respond verbally. Instead, he let out a pleased grunt.

You shook your head fondly. “Honestly, what would you three do without me?”

Zenitsu gasped. “Perish.”

Tanjiro coughed, looking embarrassed. “I’d… probably manage.”

Inosuke shrugged. “I’d be fine, obviously. But if you want to keep cooking for me, I won’t stop you.”

You smiled, gathering their empty bowls and ruffling their hair once more. “Then I guess I’ll have to keep an eye on you three, huh?”

Zenitsu immediately melted into your touch. “Yes, please.”

Tanjiro laughed sheepishly. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Inosuke let out a grunt, but you caught the way his lips twitched upward.

You sighed, shaking your head. “What a handful.”

But they were your handful. And you wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world.

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一、家族が第一。

I.Blood comes first. 

Hair like freshly fallen snow, gaze tinted a soft wisteria. 

When you looked upwards into your mother's eyes, you saw that color, and its sublime harmony with morning sun blistering through the night, spreading its peony rays across the lands that merged with the arctic blue reflected in the softly lain snow. You had always found comfort in winter scenes like that, as you would feel the warmth of your mother closer during those periods, even with the scarce time she could get from her pillar duties. 

  Yuki ya kon kon, arawareya kon kon

Motto furefure tokezuni tsumore

  Tsumota yukide darumaya tourou

Koshirahemasho oneesama 

  The glow of her voice seeps deeply in the crisp winter air, composing all the softness about her that combs softly through your silvery locks. 

"Mother?"

"Yes, my sweet?" 

You turn to look at her, shifting your head on her lap. 

Years later, you'd wish you etched her features deep inside your memories, searing every curve and inch so it would resemble something of her soft warmth that you could hold, and be held in. But that moment is not sharpened within you yet, so you look through lidded eyes and a vague constitution‒ only grazing your eyes over the shapes that you'd eventually burn yourself to grasp the smoldering threads of.

"Will Father be home soon?"

A soft sigh escapes through her nose, her lips forming a subtle crescent smile. 

"He will, yes. It's hard overlapping our days off from our duties." She continues to brush her fingers through your hair. "You'll understand when you're a hashira, my dear."

"When I become hashira, I wanna be like you Mother."

"No, (Name)." She looks distantly. You grip the thick fabric of her kimono sleeve, afraid that this look that often seized over her features would drive her far far away from where you could reach. 

"You won't be like me. Different.” A pause. “Better."

A breath, and the warmth rushes back into her once more. 

"You're going to be wonderful."

It would have been easy, even as a child‒ to carve her face into your mind. She was smooth, bright‒ without wrinkles and smile lines, something you'd never see etched onto her face. It was easier, then. 

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    一、神々が定めた自然の秩序を維持する。自然の流れや循環を大切にする。

I.Maintain the natural order of the kami. Respect nature, stay within its cycles and flow.

"Wrong again."

The bokutou in your father's hand's spears into your stomach, hurling you across the training grounds with a limp thump. 

"Is this how to plan to humiliate your ancestors‒ our legacy?" Your father sneers through heavy, opium-laced eyes. "Our family has been in the hashira for generations, and you expect this sloppy, half-baked technique to even get you through the final selection? Again."

You silence yourself as you always do amidst your lobbing breaths and the bile dribbling at the corners of your mouth. The breath in your lungs runs cold, burning thick between your clamped teeth. It all comes pouring out at once. You wouldn’t have begged to be let out of your cage, the zashikirō*, if this were the alternative.

"Our legacy? Our family? Don't be fucking ridiculous." You spit, gripping the sword to stagger into a fighting position once more. "You barely held the weight of an arrogant, good for nothing husband for the actual head of the family when she was alive‒ and with every minute you spend gambling our money away, this idiotic family legacy crumbles into nothing."

"Insolent brat." The weight of his feet sinks into the gravel as he steps closer, much faster than you can recover and resist. The solid bokutou throbs dully against your body in comparison to the spasm wriggling inside your chest. He used to be a member of the slayer of course. Honorably discharged, dishonorably depleted.

"I'm your fucking father! Don't ever talk to me that way. Matsumi, she would‒"

Something flares inside of you. Rage‒ all of its divine power moves the blood in your body, flinging the sword in your hand with precise resolution to knock the man down. 

"Don't ever talk about her, you useless piece of shit! You were on that mission too, what the fuck were you doing when she was dying?! What the fuck did you ever do to bare the burden of this family legacy?!" 

The butterfly estate had especially warned him to handle the fresh absence of his right arm with care‒ collateral damage from his, and your mother's last mission‒  you think it's a little cruel to see him topple so easily with a single strike. But the blood draws hot on your tongue as you continue, its quiet murmur in the zashikiro* now boiling and bursting from your body. "What the fuck did you ever do for her?! You useless piece of shit‒ you killed her!!”

His mouth opens, but you stop him with a swift glare before any words can even make shape in his breath. He shakes, surprised that his child could shut him up so swiftly. 

"Don't. I'm leaving." You look to him, and behind the house you'd been born in and spent your days growing against your mother's warmth stands tall, and far. 

You try to think of those moments that would kindle the icy coal in your chest, but the home you had slept and ate and lived your days with your mother with frays into nothing but an aching house‒ empty windows and rooms far too big‒ a dying monument of something you are losing the shape of in your hands and mind. 

"I can't do this anymore." The words come breathless. “Not without her. And not with you.”

You leave, and never go back. 

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    一、祭りで神々を祝う。

I.Honor the gods with festivals. 

The first snowfall was one of your favorite things when you were young. You'd be the first one up on that day, having some sixth sense of the exact date it would occur, and rustle your mother out of bed to watch the silky petals of snow rain from the gathering clouds above. Her smile now feeds the cold earth, eats at your mind at the sight of the wintry landscape. 

The first snowfall now was one of your most dreaded days. Harsher weather like rain or thunder usually meant less customers‒ however, the snow for some reason always seemed to pull more customers into your performance, the temple go-ers gathering under the circus tent for warmth. It was the nature of misemonoya, a place to demonstrate, an omen of a monster tamed and captured and mangled into the civilized gaze of men. 

"Come in, come in! See the freaks we have lined up today. You there mister‒ we have the famed yokai Yuki-onna for our star act today‒ won't you come and see?"

You hear the ringleader's garrish voice filter through the linen screens of the tent. 

He lowers his voice, but you hear its gruff rumble deep at the base of your neck. 

"If you pay a little extra, you can have a turn with it."

You dig the naginata deeper into the dirt, crushing the muscles of your face further into the center. Bile climbs up your throat at the thought of those men touching you in any way again‒ and you'd soon deal with the beatings the ringmaster would give you if you retaliated than grow slump against their greasy palms. 

"Repulsive."

You look up towards the voice. 

"Ginka-san." The woman seats herself next to you, her thin blue robe swaying in the winter wind as she leans her own head in the crook of her shoulder. Shira-yuki, her snake, coils around her neck, softly grazing her scales on your bare shoulder. "Don't you have an act soon? You're barely ready."

"Worrying is my job, my dear."

You chuckle, savoring the shape of its sweetness in your mouth, as if to ward off the growing hunger eating a hole in your stomach. "I don't have any treats for Shira-yuki. The crowd has been so scant this month. Akasusa was so much better…" You groan, flopping onto the bed.

"Now, now, don't be discouraged. We're still close to the seaport‒ wallets are loose in these areas."

She smiles, the tattoo around her lips stretching with it.* Letting her companion slither towards you, the small animal gently coils around your collar. The three of you sit for as long as you can, sharing this clandestine moment of joy like kindling campfire‒ warming you for the winter to come. 

The harsh flap of the canvas tent alerts the two of you‒ the cold November air beating as needles against your skin. The ring leader's voice grates against your tingling nerves. 

"It's time. No incidents like the last show." He cracks his whip so close you’re chilled by the wind it slices through. You feel a ghostly tinge murmur under your skin, marred and cleaved from the punishments of the last incidents. 

The two of you shake your heads, returning to your respective routines, the mundanity of horrific survival, the ease this wintery, primal terror brings for you opposed to the other option. 

“I’ll see you after the show. There’s a public bath nearby, I hear there’s a back entrance where we may be able to sneak in.” She smooths your hair down, bringing you to her chest. It’s a ritual every time, an expectant good-bye in case incidents happen, a mother gesture perhaps in another lifetime. Her heartbeat thrums in your skull, and you remember this time to etch this rhythm into the marrow of your bones, let it propagate through your dreams unto eternity. Incidents happen. 

You sterilize your mind before the filth begins. The wind is raw against the fibers of your flesh, you let the sensation of numbness fill you, seep you as deep and dark as the turbulent ocean floor to foreclose your nerves. You hear the distant echoes of the waves at port, you imagine it taking every piece of you one by one, the saltwater burning and cleansing the splay of your butchered body. The sensation stings every time against the rags you insist you wear, you deserve. This is what I deserve, you pray every time you peel the layers away on your back to ready yourself for the whip. 

“The show is about to begin, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Step right up, feast your eyes upon the monstrosities of our great country and beyond!” 

The naginata glows in the lamplight before you extinguish its luster with a heavy slam of the wooden chest. 

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    一、体を鍛え、禊せ、汚れを祓えよ。

I.Cleanse the spirit and the body. Cleanse the pollution within. 

"It's nice to see you again, (Name)."

“Ubuyashiki-sama.” You bow your head low to the cedar floor in respect. There's little room in the cell to make such movements, but your mother had always taught you to be respectful of the Ubuyashiki family.

“You mustn’t be here. There are many dangerous criminals, and they will easily take advantage of your frail state.” 

He smiles, a pleasant curve upon his serene expression, despite the rows of wooden bars that line the hall. A man with a hulking figure stands behind him, his hands clasped together in prayer. And for some reason, he weeps. It must be this place, you think. It reeks of sin, as do you, wearing your mother’s haori like a costume. 

“You poor child. They left you covered in all of that blood.” The tall man laments, pressing his hands in prayer. 

You know it is a fact that cannot be ignored, sitting in the small of this cell for days caked in blood. It so thoroughly coats your body‒‒ the horrific sight of your face with blood that has yet to fully dry, the chunks of some dreadful piece of meat that form a hideous layer of skin atop the impurity of your own. Still, you ignore him, knowing that you insisted on keeping the mutilated vestment‒‒ most of all your mother’s haori. Perhaps a trophy, the psychiatrist in suit and tie mentioned.* You mustered a still, mechanical smile the moment those words left his lips, your ticket to freedom. This horror is easy, you thought. It always is. 

“Even I may become desperate and harm you. Perhaps you should go.” 

“I am sure you won’t do anything to hurt me. You were always a gentle child.”

“People change.” Those words scrape past your throat, dry and cold. 

You raise your head, adorning a soft, polite smile. Just as you were always told to do. “It will be no matter. I will be executed today. People change, people die.” 

His smile fades, something you had rarely seen even in his youth when you had visited his manor with your mother. 

"And you are fine with that?" 

"It is what happens to hinin*.” You took straight into his eyes when you speak. "Theft, murder, harm to the public‒ all of these make me unworthy of the Fuyutsuki name. A dishonor to you, foremost. The honor had ended when my mother died. And now our blood ends here with me."

"It must have been hard, losing your mother at a young age. I remember her, she was as critical of everyone as she was of herself."

Your throat tightens, your eye twitches. At no point did anyone bestow that comfort to you‒ not even yourself-  to be able to fully swallow and digest the grief of losing your mother. It had always been a looming thing, through the harsh training with your father, the lonely nights without a home, and when you had lost the family you had found to the very duty you had been running from. 

He continues. "I know you did not kill those people at the misemonoya, as the ringleader claims. My children conclude it was the work of demons‒ blood art. Nor are the rumors of you doing the same to your father are true. It is unfortunate that he took his life in such a way that would push the blame on you, but I know you would do no such thing."

"Ubuyashiki-sama. Please, stop." You beg, pressing your head to the floor once more, curling into yourself, as if bracing for impact. "I killed them. I committed patricide. It was me. All me. I'm a criminal. Hinin. Please, do not waste your breath in defending a lowly life form like myself."

He reaches a hand into the cage, smoothing the clumpy, bloody mat of your hair with his soft hand. 

"And I am deeply saddened that the family you choose after you had lost your mother and father was also lost to the demons which plague the land. I am sorry."

"I brought it on myself. I ran from my duties. My father was right‒‒ the kitsune* possesses me, curses me. This is divine punishment. I am vile. I killed my father, I ran from my duties, I let my friends die. It is better if this cursed life ends here." You unsheath each polluted word from your mouth, feeling its sharpness against your chest. You want it to hurt like hell as some somatic proof of your words, slow death that eases into the deserved pain. 

"Then it seems you should make it up, no? You don't have to be in the field, or become hashira. However," he slips his hand through the perpendicular bars, resting his hand on your head. "You are extraordinary, (Name). I cannot let you die this way."

"You're going to be wonderful."

You look up. You're tired, so tired. You had always been running from your mother's words.

"You must live, (Name). The people that held you dearly, they would have wished that for you."

Okay. You decide, rising from the earth. No more running. 

--------------------------------------------------

It was no use running from your duty‒ you had become a hashira afterall‒ the youngest to rise to the ranks so quickly. 

Oyakatasama had entrusted you in the hands of Himejima-sama‒ a hulking, but tearful man who had been at Oyakatasama’s side. He had been surprised by your speed and technique when he began training you. As such, you completed your recovery fairly quickly, and ascended through the ranks by the age of thirteen. Honest, sharp judgment, and a cooled demeanor‒ those were the things you were known for, and the traits that had convinced the head of the Ubuyashiki family to accept you to the pillars. You had lost some of your blatant rudeness and sharp tongue in the three years that had passed from then‒ instead replacing it with a distant, professional attitude. 

A little like your mother, Oyakatasama had mentioned. 

The corridors of the main mansion are as you remember. The people there, are not. You'd wish they'd just leave you alone and only bother you for only your hashira and demon corps duties‒ but you suppose things can't always go your way. 

You're a ghost in these hallways anyway, wading in and out only for official hashira business. It was most of all a refusal for stagnation, the permanent porosity of the headquarters a comfort close to what you had before. The hysterical susurration ascending the ranks of the corps, the cluttered transit of the traveling misemonoya, the howling violence you contorted your small body into against your father. 

This ruthlessness of your father instilled one thing in your body‒‒ a biological program to let the furious mastication fuel your body, hot and rapid in its cruelty as you tore against the blood and sinew of demons.

This horror is mundane. This horror is manageable. 

"Excuse me…"

You groan internally, but put a professional facade towards the voice. Blank expression, flat tone. 

"Yes?"

The color of her hair almost surprises you‒ bright, lush green, with pink. But you make no effort to show it on your face. 

Ah. Like sakura mochi. 

"O-oh! Hello! I was just wondering the direction to the hashira meeting. At this rate, I'll be late!"

"I'm headed that direction as well. I can take you."

She bows graciously, clasping your hands in her soft palms. "Oh thank you thank you thank you! It would be rude of me to be late to my first meeting. I want to be there before any of the other pillars."

A new hashira? You look her up and down. She looks about the same age as you, medium build. Come to think of it, Rengoku had mentioned something about a promising pupil in his letters. But people die, people change. 

"It's no problem. I'm headed that way anyway."

"Have you been here for long? I haven't seen you around yet." She sweeps her sweet gaze across your face with her arms held in the back. 

"Yes. Maybe too long. I'm tasked with longer missions, I'm not here too often."

"Oh wow, you must be up there in the ranks, huh!" 

You nod, turning right into the hall that leads to the meeting room for hashiras. "You could say that." 

"Do you still get days off? Oh‒ please, if I see you again‒ will you tell me of any good places to get hotcakes*? The one I know of just closed down…" 

"I'll keep that in mind. Here we are.”

"Oh! We're here already. I hope I'm not the last one here…" she says, listening in closely to the murmurs of voices inside the room. 

You open the shoji doors. "Do you truly want to be there before the last hashira arrives?" 

The woman nods eagerly, her braids bouncing up and down with her head.

"Step inside the room then."

Her face twists into confusion for a moment, but she steps forward anyway, her eyes still locked onto yours despite the stares she receives from the other hashiras. 

"Congratulations. You're here before the last hashira." You walk past her, resuming your usual position among your colleagues. In an instant, she turns bright red, all the way to the tips of her ears. 

"O-oh dear‒ I‒ I! I didn't know you were‒"

"Almost tardy, (name). How unlike you." Shinobu remarks, still stifling her snicker from your little stunt.

"I just got back yesterday, I had paperwork to do this morning.”

"Long time no see (name)! Kanroji‒ come sit with us!" Rengoku summons her to sit between him and you. She flushes even more at that, and you can almost feel the heat off her cheeks when she situates herself next to you. 

"I-i'm so sorry! I really didn't know you're a hashira‒ my senior at that! I sincerely apologize!"

You don't turn to her. "How old are you?" 

"O-oh. I'm 17." She makes it sound more like a question than an answer. “Almost 18.” You hum. 

"I'm 16. I'm technically not your senior, then, am I? Besides, I don't care for such meaningless things."

"But you're still‒"

You place your finger in the middle of your lips. "Sh. He's coming."

A pleasant floral scent rushes through the room when the children open the doors to reveal Oyakata-sama, his wife supporting him from the side and gently guiding him to his seat. 

The rest of the meeting goes without little trouble, though you sense her eyes flickering to your face numerous times. 

--------------------------------------------------

"Fuyutsuki-san?"

You feel your throat dry at your family name, a cool breath entering your lungs. The tip of your bokutou quivers before you turn to the side, face to face with a woman's honey smile, framed with cherry pink and spring green braids that curve along her florid cheeks. 

"Are you…Fuyutsuki-san? The white hair, and your eyes! Like kohakutou! You must be!"

"Kohakutou…" 

She dusts off her uniform, bows her head parallel to the ground. "We met a couple of days ago‒ do you not remember me? I finally remembered who you are‒ my apologies for not recognizing you‒ you’re a legend! I’ve read about you in Rengoku-san’s family records! I was looking back at them but your name was crossed out…” 

The senior Rengoku must have crossed it out. Who could blame him, you think. He and your parents were close. And there were still whispers among the corps of your patricide, your illness and pollution among your long list of crimes. The shivers from the kakushi and your colleges were practically audible at the appalling sight of your carnage soaked form at the end of each battle. You came out of every encounter brutal and hideous, a crimson blot amongst the silvery winter solstice. You wonder why she’s talking to you. 

“My family was, yes. No need to apologize, as I said‒ I do not care for such sentimentality.” 

“Oh I’m so glad! I hope we can be friends, then!”

"Friends?" You ask, the immediate suspicion of your voice masking something underneath. Perhaps anger, perhaps horror. 

"Yes, friends! It seems Oyakatasama wishes for us to be partnered for this coming mission, so we'll be working together. And wouldn't it be better if we were…"

A faint grimace rolls into your face. "Not particularly. I prefer to work alone if possible. And we don't need to talk or interact outside of official hashira or corps business."

Her entire demeanor seems to wither at your words. You feel a bit bad, but you maintain your expression. "So…no friends?"

"No thank you.” You shrug on your mother’s haori. “I will see you soon Kanroji-san.” 

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The mission goes well enough. You slice through the decaying flesh of the demons with ease, and recapture the kidnapped children. You instruct kakushi to provide medical aid back at the village, so you task Mitsuri and yourself with escorting the children from the demon’s lair back to the village in case there are any other demons festering the land. The blood washes off easy, something you make sure to do in the presence of young children. 

You feel a tug on your clothes from below. “Thank you for the sweets, kisatsutai-san!” One of the children separates from Mitsuri‒ who is infinitely more popular‒ and walks alongside your brisk, but quiet footsteps. 

A small curve appears on your face. “No need to thank me. It is your reward for being so brave today.” 

“What’s your name?”

The expression on your face tightens slightly, but you retain a softness in your expression for the child that Mitsuri admires from afar. “I am no one worth noting. Be careful‒” The trail halts in front of a small creek. You lift the child in your arms, hoisting him above your shoulders to give him a boost. The other children run towards you, attracted by the high pitched laughter that the first child emits, all lifting their arms, patiently waiting for their turn. 

Mitsuri stays behind, making sure the children stay by her side before you lift them over the river. 

Ah! They're so good with kids. That's so sweet…

"I want to help people when I grow up‒ I want to be like you, kisatsutai-san!"

A coal forms in your throat, hot and scorching and slow. “You’ll…” You hesitate with your words, your expression. Finally, you manage a willow smile, and a small pat on the child’s head. “You’re going to be better. You’re going to be wonderful.”

You look tired, wilted‒ Mitsuri notes. A crucible for inscrutable pain and sorrow, growing brighter like the heart of a furnace as your smile grew wider, softer. A feeling wells inside Mitsuri’s chest, something akin to that furnace‒ scalding, broiling inside her until it left a buzzing mark pressed upon her. That expression stains her thoughts. 

“You will grow kind, strong, righteous.” You take a parcel out of your haori, unwrapping a box of caramels from it and pressing one into the child’s palms. “Take the rest and share it with the others. You’ll need to grow big and strong to help people, yes?” 

The child nods, enamored by the sweets placed in his hands, running off to share it with others. You extend a hand to Mitsuri, helping her cross as well. 

“O-oh. Thank you…” Warmth floods her cheeks‒‒ something she barely registers, too distracted by your chilled skin under the warmth of her own.

One of the children carefully observes the two of you. “Are you two married?”

“W-What?!” Mitsuri chokes. “Of course not! I-I mean, I’ve done omimai a couple of times, but Fuyutsuki-san and I are merely--”

“Colleges.” You finish. “Besides, I don’t really believe in the institution of marriage.”

“A-ah. See? Not married.” The love hashira squeaks. 

“Why?” The child asks, unaware of the way her questions incites a hellacious chaos inside of Mitsuri’s head, so hot it burns to the tips of her hands and feet. “My dad does that to my mom, like helping her and stuff. They’re married, that makes the two of you married, right?”

“Hm. I see your logic, however you do have to consider that marriage is a relationship constructed by law as a way of legitimizing the ie*.” 

“Ie? Legit…legitimi…?”

You hum. “Yes. What are they reaching you in school nowadays? To recognize legally. It’s all a farce, and further, the law does not recognize the marriage of anything other than between a man and woman, unfortunately.” 

“Oh. Then you couldn’t get married if you wanted to?” The child ponders. “That’s sad.” 

“I suppose it is to those who believe it. Even then, there are many men who seek Kanroji-san’s hand in marriage, I assume. Someone of my reputation would be unfit for her.” 

“That’s not true at all! Men run from me, my last omimai even…And don’t say such things! If anything, I wouldn’t be fit for you!”

She adds, frantically, “H-hypothetically, of course!” 

“I’m surprised.” You don’t look it, Mitsuri wants to interject. “With someone as strong and beautiful as you, I would have thought many noble men would have been in line to take your hand in marriage. But I suppose this job is not particularly fit for that.” 

“Don’t say that! That’s the whole reason I joined the corps!”

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“Breath of snow, form one‒‒ Meguri Ochi Tsubaki.” 

The last head of the upper level demon falls, a crimson winter tsubaki that releases from its body onto the wintery ground of the high mountains. Its last expression is indescribable, tears turning to ashes as it dissipates into dust. You are never really reminded of the other demons you have fought in these moments, rather, the other men and women lined up in the cages at the prison, their expression equally indescribable, tears turning to blood and meat for other hinin to handle. 

Mitsuri’s crow circles above you, relaying a message to head to the house with a wisteria crest. You gaze at the sky above, fractalized by the weaving of bare branches, the crimson gossamer that weaves through your lashes.

“You should wash off before we get into town…” Mitsuri mumbles, her gaze clearly troubled by your gruesome appearance. 

You silently nod, taking a look at the carmine mask smothered atop your flesh at the creek ahead. 

“May I wash off your haori? It seems important, and…stainable.” She’s already disrobing you before you can fully answer, dunking the fabric into the water to at least get some of the blood off, washing the chunks of flesh which you angrily butchered off of the demon’s biology. 

You splash the freezing water on your face, flushing the red from your face and hair, feeling the trickle of the icy liquid glide down the veins that cool the searing heat of your crimson rampage. The wind, the snowy landscape‒‒ you layer these images in the channels of your mind upon all the other winter landscapes of your time. Ginka-san, your mother, your childhood home. It all seems too distant and too close, a reeling image seared into the backs of your eyelids. The stratas swathe your body with an invisible force that drains feeling from your nerves. You attribute it to the cold.

That’s when you hear it. 

Mitsuri hums a familiar song as you slowly come back into your body‒‒ the rage from your body unmade and the tissue of your body now primed for your consciousness that seeps back in along with the words that sat like lead in your throat. 

“That song…”

Your partner smiles. “It's so nostalgic isn't it?” 

Despite yourself, you unravel a part of your memories in front of her. “My mother used to sing that to Inu wa yorokobi niwakakemahari, neko wa kotatsu de marikunaru…I would have liked to be that cat by now curled up near the stove.” 

She laughs, draining and drying your mother’s haori carefully as the two of you begin descending the mountain. “I would have liked to be that dog then, running around in the snow. It reminds me of my siblings and I when we used to play in the snow all the time when we were younger. They would always challenge me to snowball fights but,” She reminisces fondly, “I would always let them win. Do you have any siblings?”

“No, I am an only child. I have been told by Kocho-san and Uzui-san that I ‘give off that energy,’ whatever that may mean. Perhaps they have been reading too many of those popular psychiatry magazines.” 

You earn another chuckle from her, which spreads a warmth in your body you attribute to acclimating to the temperature. “I think they mean you’re just a bit aloof.” The love hashira ponders for a moment. “Actually, I have a question, Fuyutsuki-san.”

“Please do not call me by my family name. My given name, please.” 

She brightens at that‒ her eyebrows scrunching towards the middle of her forehead. “That’s no fair! I’ll do it as long as you call me by my given name!” 

You sigh, too sanded down by her brazen personality, you decide. “Alright, Mitsuri-san. Your question?” 

A triumphant smile glows on her face before she is reminded of her initial task. “Yes‒ I was going to ask you about your age. Are you sure you’re as young as you say?” 

“Of course. What use would I have lying about my age?” 

“Oh! I was just asking because you seem older than you are.”

You pause your steps.

“…do I look that old?” 

“Oh‒ OH! No no no! That’s not what I meant at all!” Mitsuri hurls her body towards you with her hands waving back and forth to deny the implications of her statement, the realization of her words hitting her in waves of crimson across her face. “You don’t look old at all! What I meant is that you look tired‒ not that you look that tired that you look old but…what I meant is…you just sound so smart and…” She shrinks under your gaze, her head slowly turning downwards in shame, beginning her internal barrage of self insults while trying to think of a way to rectify the situation. 

She hears laughter. 

Her face shoots back up as if possessed by the sound, her eyes following your lips parted in a small curve, behind your hand you use to stifle your laughter. “My apologies for laughing. I did not expect such boldness from you is all.” The sound slowly dies down much to Mitsuri’s dismay, before you resume a polite smile. “I truly am 16, Mitsuri-san. Though I’m sure the bags under my eyes do not work in my favor, in addition to my usual demeanor.” 

“You...scared me!” She exclaims, stretching the fox-like grin on your face even wider. 

“I apologize. I could not resist. Now,” you straighten out your uniform, brushing away the dirt. “Let's head to our lodging for the night. I’m quite tired today.” 

Mitsuri agrees, letting you lead the way. “I confirmed something today.” She muses. “(Name)-san is quite the jokester.”

You scoff, doing your best to mask the growing blush dusting your cheeks. 

--------------------------------------------------

“No wonder Rengoku took you as his disciple.” You remark, chipping your portion of your food. 

It was always this way, her with her numerous plates of food and you picking at a plate while she joyously scarfed down her meal at the various cafes and coffee shops she dragged you in between missions. Team bonding activity, she said. Oyakata-sama agreed, leaving you in a tough situation to argue with your literal life savior. 

“You eat too little (Name)-san! Here, try one of the shrimp, they’re so tasty!”

“You should have some of the sweet potato then. They’re quite good, they must be in season.” 

The two of you fell into your usual rhythm, swapping food off of each other's plates. Or rather, it was more that you offered most of your portion to her plate, content on just seeing her enjoy her food. You wonder how long it’s been since you’ve enjoyed eating with someone. 

“Your favorite, abura-age*.” She places the entire cut of the tried tofu on top of your noodles. 

It's a rare moment which you oblige to her offering peacefully. The tofu oozes with a delicious broth, deep and rich in its flavor. What indulgence to have not one, but two.

As you finish your last bites of your tofu, you ponder, why? Why does she remember? Why does she give it to you if she likes her food so much? And something as good as abura-age nonetheless.

“Fuyutsuki-san! Kanroji-san! It’s been a while!” 

You halt the noodles making their way towards your mouth, seeing Tanjiro enthusiastically bowing before entering the dining room. Zenitsu and Inosuke follow suit, the former hiding behind Tanjiro and squeaking when you turn your gaze towards him. Mitsuri greets them with a smile. 

“Tanjiro-kun I’ve heard from Hisa you’re coming back from a mission too. Otsukare~!” She looks towards the two others. “And your names are?” 

“Inosuke‒‒ you better remember it because I’ll only tell you once!”

“Zenitsu…” 

Tanjiro seats himself next to you, Hisa serving food for the three of the rambunctious bunch. “Fuyutsuki-san, I never got to thank you formally for defending me and my sister. If there is anything I can do, please let me know!” 

“No need for thanks, my actions were purely self serving.”

You’re almost taken aback from how polite he is, how easily he interacts with you despite your reputation. It was true, you did defend him and his sister during the hashira meeting, but only to piss Shinazugawa off, who found your “thoughtless, lifeless personality” abhorrent, apparently.

“What a melodramatic man. Are you done throwing your tantrum? Let the girl and his brother go. Clearly they have no ill intent and could serve as a valuable key to defeating demons.”

That did piss him quite off, his rage only fended off at Oyakata‒sama’s stern gaze. Fucking brat, he had grumbled underneath his breath. You almost smiled. 

Tanjiro continues, “What are the two of you coming back from?”

“Our mission concerned an upper level demon, but it was no issue.” You take a sip of your warm tea. “Call me by my given name, please. I dislike such formalities. Besides, you are older than me, are you not?”

It seems he senses your uncomfortability. “Hm…if you say so. But you’re still my superior, both in rank and in technique, so I’ll use an honorific! I wish I got to see more of your breathing styles up close, I’ve heard so many rumors about you! Snow breathing is so interesting, isn’t it Zenitsu, Inosuke?” 

Responding with an unenthusiastic ah, you think, the rumors again. You flickered your gaze anxiously towards Mitsuri, turning it quickly downwards to your bowl of noodles. Shame caresses the nape of your neck. 

“T-tanjiro, be careful!” Zenitsu whines. “Don't provoke them…”

“Huh? Is this person famous or something?” Inosuke doesn’t even look up from the food he shovels into his mouth. 

Mitsuri beams, “(Name)-san ascended to the ranks at thirteen! Quite the prodigy, Rengoku is always praising you, you know.” She nudges you from the side, as you try to quell the nausea churning in your stomach to where this conversation may be headed. This is why you hate befriending people, this is why you always work alone, this is why you would always be filth, this is why‒‒  

“Those aren’t the only things I hear…” The blonde boy grumbles. “All I hear is about how you’re a criminal, about the brutality of how you kill demons. You’ve killed people haven’t you? I don’t know why the corps would hire such an insane person, so scary…” He jumps behind Tanjiro when you glance at him, and now you’ve progressed to picking at your food. 

“Zenitsu, don’t be rude! Even if that was the case, all I can smell from (Name)-san is selflessness. How could someone like that be what you describe? Besides, people change.” 

A mistake you think. People change, but they can change in a variety of ways. They could accumulate putrid layer after layer, a stratification of scum and decay. 

You probably reeked with this excrement you tried to quell at every turn, something you could point towards the demons that plague this land. Tanjiro called it selflessness‒‒ sanitized, you decide. It was merely the way of your life, to expend your body as a tool as much as possible, facing the horrors of your responsibilities until you deemed the blood you shed was enough to excise all the pollution that was stitched into your molecular being. 

“So, you’re strong?” Inosuke jumps to his feet, “Fight me!” 

“I will not fight a child.” you take this opportunity to place a couple of your tempura on his plate, your appetite extinguished from this conversation. “When you’re strong enough you can fight me. Eat. You’re young, you should eat more, you’ll recover faster.” 

“Old man…” “Old man talk…” Zenitsu and Tanjiro mumble. 

“What?! You think I’m weak?? You think I’m not strong enough to fight you??” 

You swiftly press one of his broken bones, just soft enough to topple him over in pain. “Why find out when you could have an objective advantage over me? Better to kill the enemy when they’re starving and desperate and when you're at your peak form. Humans and demons are the same in that respect.” 

“Hmph.” He seems to understand. “I guess that’s not an entirely stupid idea, yukionna. I expect you’ll be groveling at my feet when I’m fully recovered and beat your ass then.” 

“Yeah, yukionna.” Zenitsu grumbles. 

You freeze at that name. 

“You two! Don't call people names!” Tanjiro mothers. “I apologize on their behalf, they don’t mean it.”

“You handled that better than I would have.” Mitsuri compliments, throwing you a thumbs up, perhaps as a sign to indicate she wasn’t bothered by those rumors. You quell a flinch at her sudden movements, her gesture a very little comfort to you. After all, who could ignore what has been said about you? “Though, I wouldn’t provoke Inosuke too much. He seems serious, no?” 

You attempt a wobbly smile, tasting the bile rising in your throat. 

Sleep doesn’t come easy. But when it does, you are immediately severed from it, waking in labored breaths and your sweaty hands gripping the handle of your naginata, shaking.

The landscapes layer in your vision. Ginka-san and Shirayuki splayed like a desecrated animal in the dark alleyway on that night home from the public baths together. Your mother’s ashes housed in a silky, white box, your father gripping it with his dirt crusted nails. The pain too, the sound of the ringmaster’s whip against your flesh, the darkened cage of your family home sunken with dust and decay. The manifestation of your desperate escape from your duties‒‒ the pain this flesh deserves as atonement to your sins. The slow death, the slow horror that refuses sedimentation. 

Through the labored breaths coming from your nose peaking between your fingers, you swear you could hear the calls of the ringmaster, beckoning people into the tent to see yukionna. You can imagine running your hands across the carved symbols of your name, Fuyutsuki, the wooden plaque secured to your family home that stood too long and too tall for you to ever reach in full. The various monikers flood hot into your body alongside the failure you have incised in each one of them.

  “...s happening?? Are you okay? Can you hear me?” 

You jump at a hand cupping your shoulder softly, shielding your face with your arms and vital organs with your legs. Bracing for impact, you duck under the futon, a warm womb that envelopes your filth from the world. 

Someone enters your space. You can scarcely hear their breaths, see their face in the dark of your cocoon. Your eyes begin to adjust, the limited air under the thick blankets strangely calming the pace of your breaths. And there it is, the color of sakura mochi. 

“Hey. It’s okay. It’s Mitsuri. We’re spending the night at Hisa’s house, remember?” 

You nod. 

“Do you want to get out from under here?” 

Silence.

“We’ll stay then.” 

The focus of your vision comes in and out, but you can see the flutter of Mitsuri’s lashes, the strand of hair that rises and falls with the tufts of air she blows from her nose. She closes her eyes, hums that song your mother used to sing. She remembered. Why? 

It’s this moment where you realize you’ve never really looked at her face for too long, let alone anyone’s in  years. It seemed pointless anyways, memorizing the faces of corpses while you were tethered to this earth in all of your filth. You memorize the curve of her lips, the pleasant slopes of her eyebrows, the architecture of her being. Tracing it with your eyes calms you enough where you emerge from the blankets, the upper half of your face and Mitsuri’s poking out. 

“You remembered the song.” You start. 

“Of course I did. Your mother’s song, right? I thought it would be comforting.” 

You macerate her response, each word buzzing in your stomach. The energy invigorates something in you. 

“...I didn’t kill them.” 

“Hm?”

“The people they put me on trial for. I didn’t kill them. It was the work of demons. I couldn’t stop them. I ran from my duties, I had little experience on the field back then and froze.” 

“Hmmm…I didn’t think you killed them. You don’t seem like the kind.”

“But I am the kind. A criminal. Hinin. I really am." You pull your arm from under the covers, gazing at the two jagged horizontal scars that circle around your wrist‒‒ the way they would have tattooed it on your body if they decided not to execute you. A few weeks after your first hashira meeting, Himejima saw you lying in the pool of your own blood in your residence. They did a decent job stitching you up, but you’re almost glad the scars were still there as a reminder. You think you would have marked yourself again if they had faded. You think of doing it again regardless. 

“My spirit is deranged, at least by the standards of the government. Sometimes, I think I am. And I look towards the comfort of being confined in a cage once more. It's easier than anything I have to live up to.”

You let her run her fingers along your disfigurement, achingly gentle. She moves closer to admire how the lightness of the scars reflects the radiance of the moonlight.

“I can see why diving into the futon would be comforting. Small space. But you scared me.”

“That should scare anyone from approaching me.” You state deliriously, drunken from her touch. “Yet you can just…be like this. With Oyakata-sama or Himejima-san, it’s different. I don’t understand.” 

“I was scared for you. Not of you. Besides, the government doesn’t recognize the love that women have for eachother, or even situations like Tengen-san’s wives.” She leans into your shoulder. “I don’t really care for such formalities, as you would say.” That earns a raspy soft chuckle from the both of you. 

She whispers, sleepily. You thank some sort of higher being for your mutual incoherence in your sleep deprived states. “All I care about is the fact that I know you are a kind person. So many of us look up to you, not just Rengoku-san and I. Even through your pain, you extend it as a hand towards others. I find you beautiful in so many ways…” 

“…I don’t want my reputation to color your vision of me.” You mumble into futon. “I don’t know why…”  

She takes your hand that she delicately holds, tucking it under her head for support. 

“Me too. I care about your opinion more than others. Is that a bad thing to say…?” She yawns, snuggling further into your warmth. 

“I do to. I don’t really care if it’s bad…” 

You fall weightlessly into sleep once more. 

--------------------------------------------------

"Good evening, (Name)-san."

"Good evening, Mitsuri-san."

"Did you hear about Rengoku-san?"

"Yes. Yes I did."

Silence rings through the night as you gaze downwards in your palm, where a beheaded tsubaki flower lays its soft petals on your skin. 

"He was quite something, I'm sad to see such a kind, talented man be lost to the demons once more. I am sad I could not be in his place.”

Quiet swings through their air once more, as you recall your time with Kyojuro, and further debate whether you should even voice any relation to him outside the professional sphere. Distance, distance. Arms length at all times. You smooth your hand on the grain of the wood beneath your legs, reminded of the zashikirō from your family home. Cursed, you inscribe into every channel of thought of your mind. 

"...what is happening?"

Mitsuri closes the distance between the two of you, wrapping a head around your clenched shoulders and leaning her head into the crook of your neck. 

"A hug!" She says brightly. "A-ah! Sorry, are you uncomfortable with it? I thought since that night at the Hisa’s-- ahh I should have asked first I'm so so‒"

"I…" You feel the words choke through your throat while her warmth curls into yours, and finally carve onto your lips into a slim smile and mumble. "...think we’re past that point considering we slept in the same bed together. That’s very kind of you, Kyojuro must be very proud." 

"O-Oh." Her cheeks warm against your neck. "I hope he is."

"He is, I know." You decide to continue. "I've known him a long time. He admires people like you. Headstrong, beautiful, and warm. You've set the hearts of many ablaze with hope. There's no doubt that Rengoku Kyojuro wouldn't be proud of someone like you."

Her breath tickles the ends of your hair as you stew in your own words, embarrassed a little of how much you've said. But none of it was wrong, or exaggerated‒ you merely painted her grace the exact way it was. Even then, you feel the tips of your ears warm. 

"(Name)-san…" she grabs your arm, leaning further into your side. "You're too kind…I didn't know you knew Rengoku-san so personally, but if you say so, I'll take your word for it!!" 

"Y-yes well…" The words come staccato from the sudden spike in contact. "I've known him since we were children. Both our families have been within the hashira for generations, we were good friends as children…" 

"Whaaaat?? I don't believe you." She smiles mischievously. "Unless you show me a picture of you two as children…"

You fold easily to her suggestions with a softness you rarely see in yourself anymore‒ a spearhead sunbeam, and as Rengoku put it, setting your heart ablaze. 

"I suppose I can show you. Neither of us changed that much, though." 

You pull out a small pull string bag tied around your neck, fishing it out of your yukata, and carefully sliding out the small album into your hand. Mitsuri stares curiously when you hand it to her, opening the pages to a picture of when you and Kyojuro were just children, standing in front of your two families who perch like bygone statues. 

Your father has a freshly shaven face, paired handsomely with a boater hat, and a western cape draped over the shoulders of his plain linen yukata. Standing beside him is your mother, who has one hand resting on your shoulder, and the other gripped firmly around her naginata. You don't remember well, but you suspect it was a special occasion or something. She adorns her beautiful wisteria-colored irotomesode* and kamikazari flowers woven in her silvery locks that you'd take as an indicator of a great celebration or new years whenever she would reveal it from the dense black pine closet. The Rengoku family stands next to you, Kyojuro ‒‒ a little taller than you‒‒ adorning his usual smile in a kimono. 

You grip your haori that still has that faint, dusty smell of that closet. Though, your mother had always been one to keep things tidy. Perhaps it was the years it spent locked heavy with guilt under your circus tent bed. 

"You're so tiny! And so cute! Oh your little furisode here is just so adorable!" She gushes. "You two really haven't changed…you both look so much like your predecessors." 

You hum absentmindedly. "My mother was very beautiful. Her speed, her skill, her breaths‒-  I struggle to stay even remotely matched everyday. But her beauty and kindness…that will not be anything I can measure up to if I tried."

Yuki ya kon kon, arawareya kon kon

Motto furefure tokezuni tsumore

"Like the first snowfall of winter blanketing the entire head of the mountain forests‒ all of which was beautiful about her was seemingly eternal." You feel the unwavering nature of Mitsuri's gaze stretching into your own. "Love, strength, empathy. No matter which way I look, it seems I am met with the bittersweet remnants of her. She inspires as much as she haunts me." 

You weave your gaze softly with hers. "You inspire me too, you know. Kyojuro would say so too.” 

“Me?” Mitsuri points to herself. “But, why? All I haven’t done half the stuff your mother or Regoku-san has, and I’m still getting used to this hashira position, and‒‒” 

“You will set hearts ablaze. I know it. You are going to guide this world into a new season. You are the sun.” 

“If I’m the sun, what could that possibly make you?” She wonders.

"I'm not anything."

"What?! No! You're‒ you're‒"

You laugh. "You don't have to‒"

"You're the fuyuzakura!" She blurts out. 

Your shoulders tense. "The winter cherry blossoms?" 

"Y-yeah! Cause…You're sublime, really. Your existence, and your words fill people with so much happiness and hope for what's to come. You're quiet, but you're there‒ robust in your endurance and power!"

All you can muster is a pathetic ah… as Mitsuri continues to ramble on about her very favorite flower, the fuyuzakura, and how it blooms during the harsh winter months‒ and of course how it's divine beauty has enraptured generations of ukiyo-e artists for centuries. 

Divine beauty. 

You look to her smile, the honey sweet rays of which twist your chest into a shape that had been incomprehensible for the years you have suffered. But you remember the moments of peace, much like this, and how it had similarly burnished your soul to that shape, and mild climate. Again, you look to her. Again, and again, and again.  

"Then, I was wrong."

She tilts her head to the side. 

"If I am what comes before happiness and hope, you are not the sun Mitsuri." Her smile. Again, again, again. You want to draw it out like syrup. "Mitsuri, you are spring itself."

"Ahhh! When you say stuff like that it makes me…" Your breath stops for a moment. Makes you what? The way your throat leaps to ask makes you nauseous. You must remind yourself‒‒ you are poison, pollution‒‒ you are not forgiven for your sins until the day you die. Her smile, however, eases that mantra inside of you. 

"Wait! You called my name without an honorific! Does this mean we're friends, (Name)?"

You feel the relief to breath out, and smile. "I suppose it does, Mitsuri."

She squeals, asking you to please please please say it again, and you easily bend to her will with a smile you promised yourself you would never show again. But again, and again, and again you do. 

  Nausea gnaws at your stomach, lingering. This horror is new. 

--------------------------------------------------

 It’s only months later when you awaken from a week’s long coma, Mitsuri sleeping at your side and Shinobu changing your bandages. The infiltration at the swordsmith village had been a brutal one, one which you matched in through the flare of your own animal rage. Understanding the sheer power Hatengu possessed, you mutilated your body as a disposable device, teetering precariously between offensive ferocity and defensive carelessness in tossing your body between demons and the swordsmiths. 

“...you’re quite a cold person, aren’t you (Name).” 

“Kocho-san, I’m still a patient, you know. You have to be nice to me.”

She finishes dressing your wound, patting the wound with an angry smile. You grit your teeth, careful not to move so as not to wake Mituri up. 

“I am being nice. For your own good. If you hold her at arm’s length like this, you'll come to regret it. She confided in me while she stayed by your side the entire time.” Shinobu demonstrates an incredible amount of restraint in her everyday life, but for a moment, it cracks. Her eyebrows gather to the center of her face, a vein protruding from her temple.

“For your own good.” Himejima lamented, encouraging you to allow yourself to feel more than the anger you sharpened towards yourself.

Oyakata-sama too, “For your own good, my dear child. Be kinder to yourself.” 

You sigh. “It’s not that easy.” 

“Yes, you make it quite difficult. But she is fond of you nonetheless.” Her angry smile drops for a second. “Don’t do this to her. If you truly believe she will be better without you, don’t give her hope.” 

“Mm…oh, I fell asleep. Shinobu, I’m so sorry- “ Mitsuri rubs her eyes, gazing groggily to your own. 

“‘I’ll leave the two of you to it.” Shinobu gives you a look before exiting the room. 

Your companion is unusually quiet for a moment, studying your face and flickering her gaze back to her hands. 

“I was really scared. Shinobu was worried you wouldn’t make it. Why didn’t you call for me for back-up?” She begins softly. 

“I…” Words scrape against the dryness of your throat. “I handled it. The demon is killed, that’s all that matters.” 

The love hashira tightens her expression. “That’s not the only thing that matters. You almost died.” 

“So what if I did?” 

You can feel yourself doing it, you’re outside your body. Everything inside you screams at you to stop, to remind yourself Mitsuri is the best thing to have happened to you through the pain and horror of facing your responsibilities. But it feels like none of it matters, the words on your tongue unfolding so easily to fossilize the mundane comfort of solidary suffering in your life once more. 

“I’m a criminal. It doesn’t matter.” 

“I don’t care that you’re a criminal.”

You know this. You know, you know, you know. She extracts a recognition for your feelings you’ve never allowed yourself to have. I know, but I don’t and I cannot allow myself to feel‒‒ 

“In fact, it would be better for the corps, for Oyakata-sama. You know the rumors about me, I burden him. I burden you all.” You finally shift your distant gaze into her own, filling your entire world with her. “I burden you.”

“I want to be burdened by you!” The inflection of her voice begins to rise, “That night‒ I told you, and didn't you? I don’t‒‒” 

“That doesn’t mean anything. People lie, people change. You don’t know anyone and you don’t know me.”

She visibly wilts. “How could you say that?”

You evoke a twisted sense of your responsibilities. “The purpose of the corps‒‒” 

  Even if it’s barely a whisper, willow in the way it passes through the muffle of her own hands cupping her face, her words seizes your lungs. “Why are you so destructive?”

  The self-mutilating ritual of your life is impounded for a second, threatening to unravel with one movement, one more breath. 

  “Mitsuri…” You twist your fingers into each other, hoping the pain would ground you somehow for this severance. “You’re someone who’s meant to live past all of this and be happy.” 

“But‒‒” 

“I would really like you to be happy, Mitsuri.” 

Her face crumples. “...does that have to be without you?”

“You will be happier without me. I am a criminal, a murderer, a hinin. I am part of the pollution of this land, my only duty is to use this body until I have expended its utmost use against the film I am inextricably bound to.”

“I don’t think…no, you know you can’t say that to me.” She grabs your hands. “I am happy with you, whenever I am with you. I think of you when we are apart and I think‒- “

You tighten your hands in hers. “I do not think I am allowed to feel this way, or be this way. You have much more value than me, you will carry more brightness into the future than I could ever hope to. And I‒‒”  You let go once more, as if to rehearse what you’ll have to do in this conversion. 

Suddenly, grabs your hands amidst you releasing them, pressing her lips to your mouth. Your eyes widen, silenced by the warmth and sweetness she pours into you. 

“Please stop interrupting me…” She says, emboldened. “I am not merely in love‒‒ I love the whole of your existence, I am consumed by your presence. And, I think you feel the same, right?”

“I…I don’t…”

“Meals taste better with me, right?” 

“Y-yes, of course. You’ll have all my portions until the day I die.” 

“And did you enjoy sleeping together in the same futon?”

You blush. “I can’t say that I hated it…” 

“You say you are bound to pollution but I feel as if you choose to bind yourself to those things. Won’t you choose to bind yourself to me?”

You gulp, dropping your head to her hand that still cups yours. Drunken in her fragrance, you push through. “Am I allowed to feel this way? It feels like a sin, for the dead of winter to love the life and kindness of spring.” 

The pressure bubbles forth in the staccato words. "Can someone like me…be allowed to be with someone like you?" 

"There is nothing I want more." She takes your hand, presses the curve of her lips into it, melting into the nectarine warmth. She traces the ghostly sensation of her lips back to your face. "I want to be by your side. I want to eat meals with you. I want to sleep in the same futon as you and go to Ginza and eat hotcakes together and grow old and wrinkly together.” 

“I think…I do want all of those things too.” You consider, rubbing the scars on your wrists. “A-are you absolutely sure this is what you desire? There are plenty of other people out there, men and women alike that would‒‒”

“If I'm spring like you’ve said‒‒ I should follow right beside you, right? And you, me?” She smiles coyly, pressing her forehead against yours. “But don’t ever do something as reckless as this again, I’ll really kill you.” 

“Truth be told,” Your lips hover from each others’, breath and warmth entangled as one. “You make this criminal so enamoured I feel ill, Mitsuri. Deranged. If you’ll have me, perhaps I should hold you responsible for the rest of my life.”

“You will be my executioner and the very best that has ever happened to me.” You place a searing kiss on her lips, breathless and honey-golden. 

“Oh! I see that the problem was solved very quickly. I’m glad you two worked it out.” Shinobu adorns a knowing smile, entering the room with medicine on a tray. “They say love is the best medicine, after all~” 

You think you’ll never hear the end of it from the rest of the hashira, especially Uzui. Whatever you think, your hand intertwined with Misturi’s as she struggles to explain why she was fraternizing with the snow hashira.

Your love for her enabled so many things‒‒ the world feels so open in her arms, her affection illuminating and extending the world beyond the confinement of your own being. You reach out of the cage, prepared to walk alongside her into the sun. If she is spring, you will indeed follow her as fuyu-zakura.

--------------------------------------------------

Endnotes:

Oof sorry for the inaccuracies with the KNY timeline, it’s been a while since I’ve read the manga and I’ve been cooking this one for *checks watch* idk some amount of time, I don’t believe in calendrical time 

ALSO at the end of writing this I realized how many similarities Obanai and MC had so maybe I did that subconsciously wtf. Augh whatever I’m totally normal about it. 

A general note on gender/sexuality (+ the intersection between)

I did mention that two people that were not "man and woman" could not marry, which was true. Often, lesbians would adopt their partners in order to be able to leave their belongings and inheritance to their partners, because there wasn't any other way lesbian kinship would be able to be recognized as a legal form of kinship. Even with today's president (I am her number one opp/I am the number one opp of the LDP tbh), gay marriage is a highly contested subject in Japan. WWII Japan did in fact establish a lot of sex tourism where men would travel to their colonies (Korea, Taiwan, Phillipines, etc.) and have sexual intercourse (likely unconsensual) with young boys, so there's definitely a history there. But I wanted to keep it predominantly ambiguous gender wise, but still not write a fic centralized for hetero cis men/hetero cis women. Because you all literally have everything lol. 

Explicit gender transition wasn't legally recognized then, but there were certainly figures who demonstrated the fluidity of the gender spectrum (take Kawashima Yoshiko for example), MC perhaps being one of them. I know the whole "lesbian as sexuality and gender" seems like a contemporary concept, but gender and sexuality are more intermingled throughout history, much more complex and rich than the west likes to believe (and even then, queer theorists still focus in Euro-America despite utilizing other cultures as "examples" to the history of gender and sexual variance). So I wanted to use this opportunity to examine the possibility of alternative gender paradigms while still adhering to the historical climate during the time. MC's hesitance of "Am I allowed to feel this way?" can certainly also be interpreted as a reflection of the lack of explicit "lesbian" (as we understand it today) representation during that time. But there was an increasing desire among the growing working class of women (moga, or modern girl) to break away from the traditional, cultural understandings of femininity during that time, often dressing in Western clothing or fabrics and expressing their financial agency. I think MC may be fem leaning due to the influence of their mother and how they have had to survive using the tools they had (one being to demonstrate their gender adherence in some sort of way, like in the case of yukionna), but this is by no means the only interpretation. 

This is definitely also influenced by my own understanding of gender, partly due to my autism too lmao. I don't even really feel human, so the stability of gender seems like an existential (I use that term pejoratively- I am an absurdist if anything) endeavor for me

Historical Notes: 

The four family rules are loosely based off of Shintoist beliefs

The song MC's mother sings at the beginning is a song called Yuki ya kon kon (roughly translating to Come now snow) It's an old song from the early 20th century Japan (sort of like a nursery rhyme). There's a newer version of the song that is more popular but I used the older version cause I think it makes sense more historically

Zashikirō* The cage during the training scene references the practices of caring/curing the mentally ill during the late 19th century and early 20th century (it’s actually very similar to the cage Obanai is confined to when he was younger). You can read more about it in Yumi Kim’s article and book if you are interested in it, but the basic deal is that this was often a practice in rural areas to contain spiritual imbalances or even possessions (particularly by the fox spirit, the ailment called “kitsune-tsuki,” or “fox-spirit possession/attachment”) that were seen as the cause of mental instability or suffering. I would think the death of MC’s mother would have, at the very least, mentally fucked with them, and caused lash outs against his father. I also wanted to include this, rather than the rising influence of modern medicine and psychiatry, to highlight that MC’s clan is very traditional, and spiritually oriented. 

*The detail about the tattoo around Ginka was to imply she is of Ainu descent. Both the Ainu and Ryukyu individuals (in addition to others from Japan’s colonies such as Taiwan and Korea later on) ‒‒ the native people of Hokkaido and Okinawa respectively‒‒ were on display in various world expositions and shows Japan organized as a way of indicating their place among the “first class” Western civilizations. This was happening around the beginning of the 20th century, and certainly well into the Taisho period when KNY is set. Though I would never intend to portrait the Ainu, or really any other indigenous group, as “naturally” inclined towards animals or the natural world. However, I do think, with the facial tattoos that are often a practice with married/adult Ainu women, “snake woman” would have been a viable way of mythologizing Ginka, especially as Ainu were seen as a “dying race” (a constructed narrative by the colonizing Japanese military/government). The blue attire she wears is also a reference to the natural dyes the Ainu people would use for their traditional clothing (though it could range from village/kotan from kotan). I know she's a character only shown briefly (and I did kind of fridge her), but I wanted to also show the sort of climate other groups were living through at the time, especially as KNY doesn't really get into that (in addition to kind of being police propaganda, which of course ACAB)

Circuses in Japan entered from America to Yokohama from the Meiji era, and were further popularized by subsequent French and Italian acts that followed which accumulated to the first Japanese circus featuring beast tamers and knife acts at the turn of the 20th century. But freak shows existed before that point, even during the Muromachi period (14th to 16th century), and were especially popular during Matsuri (festivals). They were moreso following the line of German Kunstkabinett/Cabinets of Wonder where basically anything (including animals and humans) that were especially rare or unique would be displayed. The Japanese versions (sangaku) were especially a marvel, as they began during the Nara period (8th century) when Japan was still under sakoku (lockdown), and would show imported dutch goods (ie guns, panoramas, records), which were novelties to most of the public/commoners below the merchant class 

* The mention of the psychiatrist is connected with the idea of kitsune-tsuki, or the folkloric conception of mental illness during the 19th -20th century. They would usually have a psychiatrist conduct an interview for those deemed mentally ill (there were many censuses conducted with the collaboration of local doctors and police, which were recorded if you built or updated a cage in the domestic space that would be used to keep mentally ill members), especially for women who were thought to have a propensity for violence and criminality during menstruation. There would be a lot of debates regarding criminality and mental illness prior to the taisho period, which would standardize the practice of having a psychiatrist or professional involved in the trial process. Those who were deemed who’s illness caused the crime (and felt remorse for the crime) would not be subject to the same punishment of those who were deemed of not. Because MC smiles in this scene, I think the psychiatrist would still interpret they were mentally ill (for the standards at the time), but deem them unfit for the exception because the lack of remorse they purportedly express. 

*Hinin is an umbrella term for a  class of people which existed before the Meiji era literally meaning sub or inhuman, which became to be known as the shin-heimin (“new commoners”) after the Meiji restoration as it was banned for discrimination (though there was still a lot of systemic and blatant discrimination towards them). It encompassed everything from  leprosy, panhandlers, criminals, those who were ex-communicated or banished, beggars, those who cared for prisoners/executing death row inmates, street cleaners, etc. I use it because it has ubiquitous cultural significance/impact/use, and because of the persistence of pollution as a notion attached to racialized understandings. Actually, people like Akaza would have probably been considered hinin during his human days. 

*Hotcakes (Hottokeki) were an alternative, more colloquially used term for pancakes in Japan during this period. It was really only in the later half of the 20th century with instant pancake mix where they were more known as pancakes instead of hottokeki. 

*Ie is essentially the equivalent of a “nuclear family” in Japan. Implemented during the early 20th century as a way of conceptualizing the core tenants of the Japanese nation (during a time of increased imperialization and militarization + recession after the Russo-Japanese war), this concept would legitimize many of the laws put in place regarding land ownership, kinship, etc. 

* Abura-age, or fried tofu, is usually given as offerings to Inari, the fox god/spirit. There's mention in Yumi Kim's book I mentioned that talks about one of the “mad” women who demands fried tofu, due to the belief that she was possessed by the fox spirit. I thought it was be fun to add lol. 

Irotomesode is a type of kimono. Contrast to the kurotomesode which is a patterned kimono with a solid black background usually with 5 crests and worn by married women (usually of higher hierarchy in the family‒ such as if a mother is attending a wedding of her child, she would wear the kurotomesode)‒ it is a more colorful version of the kimono, and usually worn also by married women but of younger age/lower familial status. The irotomesode is more accepted as more formal wear for married women of higher status, which is why I choose that type for MC's mother. She's the matriarch‒ but she's so young. An unmarried woman of a similar status may wear a furisode‒ like MC does in the picture.

Fuyutsuki Matsumi (冬月 真透) (MC’s mother): Surname means "Winter moon" and name means "True transparency". I wanted to give a very strong, very honest name. 真 usually indicates like "by itself"/"without any excess" so I liked it with the wintery vibe "transparency" gives. 

Bokutou: A wooden blade you see a lot of swordsmen practicing with. Shinai also a type of bamboo sword swordsmen but not as solid as a bokutou

Naginata: Japanese polearm 

Breaths of Snow (which I thought VERY hard about then ended up not using lol fml) 

巡り落ち椿 Meguri Ochi Tsubaki (Whirling Beheading Tsubaki) ‒ named after the winter tsubaki flowers that symbolize fallen heads in Japanese culture

初雪 Hatsuyuki (First Snowfall)

細雪 Sasameyuki (Silky Snowfall)

風花 吹雪 Kazabana Fubuki (Flower Blizzard)

銀世界 Ginsekai (Silver Sweep‒ a term used to describe the silvery, white winter landscape) 

銀雪の凍雪 Ginsetsu no Iteyuki (Hailing Radiance)

忘れ雪 Wasureyuki (Last Snow) 

雪月風花 Setsugetsufuuka (Respledent Winter Moon ) 

- Due to his work, you would most likely be a demon slayer yourself, perhaps a Hashira too.

- Shinobu probably noticed his lingering gaze on you during meetings and teases him about it.

- When you start dating he would not make it public instantly, but the Hashira would find out that something is going on between you two.

- Igoru and Sanemi 100% pull you to the side randomly and ask you how you fell for someone with that “I’m different from you” attitude.

- IF THEY KNEW 😭

- He often places soft kisses on your forehead and calls you baby or love.

- When you go out for missions alone he can’t focus on anything else. Though he usually tags along-

- “What do you mean you want to do this mission alone?”

- His idea of dates would definitely be small picnics by lakes. He’s worried sick that you don’t like his choices

- If you get injured, he’ll visit the butterfly mansion and tell you how you need to be more careful.

- Pls call him “Yuu” he’ll melt in your arms.

- Cuddle bug and Big Spoon

Nsfw -

- Soft dom

- He’s always praising you, he rarely degrades

- His favourite position is definitely missionary, he loves to pound into you as you wrap your legs around his waist

- Kink - I just know he has a praise kink himself. Please tell him how good he’s doing, he needs to hear it

- I feel because of the era he comes from he doesn’t have much experience with toys, but he’ll try for you!

- I don’t think Tomioka is very experienced, so he’ll need to suck or bite your skin to hide his adorable whimpers. If you tell him to be louder he’ll let out some cute moans near your ears.

- But his thrusts are hard and fast, he’s slapping us hips against yours, betraying his voice. He, and the other Hashira have monstrous amounts of stamina, so good luck keeping up-

- But the aftercare is so worth it. He’ll run a warm bath for you, massage you where you’re sore and even share his salmon daikon with you. What more could you ask for?

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣ ‧₊˚✧