That was how Tamamo met Sojōbō: covered in blood, surrounded by corpses, and wanting nothing more than to punch the smug bastard's teeth out. It was a sentiment that, unsurprisingly, set the tone for their relationship for the next several years.

Despite his irritating habit of finding amusement in her misery, Sojōbō never truly left her side after that day. Whether she liked it or not (and she very much did not), he seemed to have taken her survival as his personal project—or perhaps his new source of entertainment.

Every encounter followed a similar pattern:

Tamamo, exhausted and exasperated, would find herself in some new predicament, whether it was evading hunters, clashing with rival yokai, or navigating the murky alliances of supernatural politics. Without fail, Sojōbō would appear, offering his infuriatingly smug "help."

Sometimes he'd fight alongside her, his blinding speed and deadly precision cutting through enemies before she could even raise a flame. Other times, he'd hang back, arms crossed and a grin on his face, as though daring her to fail just so he could step in at the last second.

"I don't need your help!" she'd snarl, ears flattened and tails bristling.

"Of course you don't," he'd reply smoothly, his tone dripping with condescension. "But let's be honest, you're more fun to watch when you're angry."

The one thing that kept her from actually trying to kill him (again) was the maddening fact that his interference, as much as she hated to admit it, always worked. His strategies were as sharp as his feathers, his instincts annoyingly spot-on.

Still, that didn't stop her from fantasizing about the day she'd finally wipe that smug look off his face.

"I swear," she muttered one night after he'd dispatched a group of overzealous hunters with almost insulting ease, "one of these days, I'm going to outlive you just so I can throw the biggest party in Japan."

Sojōbō only laughed, a rich, infuriating sound that echoed through the forest. "Promises, promises, little fox."

And so their strange, antagonistic partnership continued—built on grudging respect, mutual annoyance, and a lingering question Tamamo could never quite banish: why had Sojōbō decided to help her in the first place?

Not that she'd ever ask him outright. That would only make him more insufferable.

Their relationship only began to shift on one fateful day when Sojōbō barged into the humble house Tamamo had been staying in. He strode through the door with all the grace of a conquering hero, holding a small, squirming human child aloft as though he'd brought back the most prized treasure in the land.

He beamed, looking thoroughly pleased with himself, like a cat proudly presenting a half-dead mouse to its owner.

"Tamamo!" he declared with far too much enthusiasm. "Look what I found!"

Tamamo stared, utterly bewildered. "Sojōbō," she began slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose as if trying to stave off a migraine, "that is a child. Where did you get the child?"

"Oh, I found her at a festival," he replied nonchalantly, as though this explained everything. "She didn't have anyone to watch her, so I decided to keep her."

Tamamo blinked. "You decided to keep her?" Her voice was equal parts disbelief and exasperation.

"Yes," Sojōbō said matter-of-factly, as though this were the most logical course of action. "She was all alone. What was I supposed to do? Leave her there?"

"Yes!" Tamamo shot back, tails bristling. "That is exactly what you were supposed to do! Did it ever occur to you that she might have parents? A family? Someone who might notice she's gone?"

He shrugged, clearly unfazed. "I asked her, and she said no one was looking for her."

"Because she's a child, Sojōbō! Children don't always understand the concept of being lost!"

The girl in question, perhaps no older than five or six, had been observing their exchange with wide, curious eyes. She tugged on Sojōbō's sleeve and asked, "Mister Crow, are you and the pretty lady married?"

Tamamo let out a strangled noise, her ears flattening. "No! Absolutely not!"

Sojōbō grinned, as insufferable as ever. "Not yet," he said with a wink, clearly enjoying her mortification.

Tamamo stared at him, utterly done with the entire situation. For a moment, she seriously considered asking Sojōbō about his own upbringing—specifically how often his parents had dropped him on his head as a fledgling. Surely the answer was "not enough" to justify this level of nonsense.

Before she could give him the verbal thrashing he so richly deserved, the child reached out toward Tamamo. "Are you going to be my mom now?"

The room went silent.

Tamamo froze, her brain grinding to a halt. Sojōbō, unhelpfully, grinned even wider.

"I don't know about 'mom,' but I think she'd make an excellent babysitter," he said with a chuckle.

Tamamo glared daggers at him. "You are not leaving me alone with this child!"

"Oh, don't worry," Sojōbō said breezily, already heading toward the door. "You'll be great. I'll be back by sundown!"

"Sojōbō, get back here right now!"

But he was gone, leaving Tamamo with a grinning child who had already decided to adopt her as a parental figure.

Tamamo sighed deeply. It seemed her life was destined to be one long series of disasters—each one more ridiculous than the last.

Sojōbō had not, in fact, returned by sundown. Nor had he returned the next day. By the third day, Tamamo found herself glaring at the horizon, wondering if crows could sense murderous intent from great distances. If so, she hoped Sojōbō was feeling very uneasy right now.

In the meantime, Tamamo was left to care for the child—Ushiwakamaru, as the little girl had proudly introduced herself.

Tamamo had no idea how to take care of a child. Her own "mother," Amaterasu, had essentially tossed her into the world shortly after her birth with little more than a vague, "Good luck, figure it out." Not exactly the nurturing type. And the closest thing Tamamo had to a reference was hearing her former husband recount tales of growing up in the rigid structure of the imperial court. Somehow, she doubted that teaching a child the intricacies of courtly politics and etiquette was the right approach here.

Still, despite her utter confusion and the many, many struggles, Tamamo found herself growing attached to the little girl.

Ushiwakamaru, for her part, seemed entirely unbothered by the situation. She followed Tamamo around like a shadow, asking endless questions about her tails, her ears, and why she was so pretty. Tamamo, unused to such unabashed admiration, alternated between flustered and exasperated.

One evening, as they sat by a small fire Tamamo had conjured, Ushiwakamaru leaned against her, yawning. "Are you a goddess?" she asked sleepily.

Tamamo hesitated. "Something like that," she replied, keeping her voice soft.

The girl nodded as though this made perfect sense. "Then does that make me your priestess?"

Tamamo blinked, unsure how to respond. "Why would you think that?"

"Because you take care of me," Ushiwakamaru said simply. "And you're really strong and smart. And I think you're the nicest goddess ever."

Tamamo felt a lump form in her throat. It was such a simple, innocent statement, but it hit harder than any insult or accusation ever had. She brushed a strand of hair from Ushiwakamaru's face. "You're a strange child, you know that?"

The girl giggled. "You're a strange goddess."

Despite herself, Tamamo smiled. "Fair enough."

As Ushiwakamaru drifted off to sleep, Tamamo found herself looking down at the little girl with a mixture of fondness and fear. She'd always kept people at arm's length, knowing how fragile bonds could be. But somehow, this child had slipped past her defenses.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Tamamo wondered if maybe—just maybe—she had found something worth protecting again.

Now, if only that damned crow would come back so she could throttle him.

The door to the small house creaked open just as Tamamo was preparing breakfast—a task she'd taken to with surprising care over the past few days. She didn't look up, though the unmistakable sound of taloned feet tapping against the floor immediately set her teeth on edge.

"So," came Sojōbō's infuriatingly smug voice, "how's my favorite kitsune babysitter holding up?"

Tamamo's grip tightened on the wooden spoon she was using to stir the pot. Slowly, she turned to face him, her expression as serene as a calm lake but with a dangerous glint in her eyes. Ushiwakamaru, still half-asleep, perked up from her seat at the table, waving enthusiastically.

"Uncle Crow!" she chirped.

Sojōbō grinned, spreading his arms like he expected applause. "See? She's still alive. I knew you'd be great at this."

Tamamo set the spoon down with deliberate care and strode across the room, her tails swishing behind her in a way that might have looked elegant—if not for the murderous aura radiating from her.

"You knew, did you?" she said, her voice sickeningly sweet.

"Of course!" Sojōbō said, clearly missing the storm brewing in her tone. "I mean, look at you! You've got that natural maternal instinct—"

The sentence ended abruptly as Tamamo grabbed him by the collar and dragged his face down to her level. Her golden eyes burned with fury.

"Maternal instinct?" she hissed. "You disappeared for three days, leaving me to deal with a child I had no idea how to care for, with no instructions, no warning, and no supplies! Do you know how many times I almost lit you on fire in my imagination during that time?"

Sojōbō blinked, unbothered by the fact that she was practically shaking him. "But you didn't," he said matter-of-factly. "And look! She's fine. Better than fine! She's happy. I told you you'd be good at this."

Tamamo's eye twitched. "You don't just drop a child on someone without asking!"

Sojōbō leaned closer, his smirk growing wider. "And yet, here we are. You bonded with her, didn't you? Admit it, you like her."

"I—" Tamamo faltered, glancing over at Ushiwakamaru, who was now happily humming to herself and swinging her legs under the table.

Sojōbō took advantage of her hesitation, gently prying her hands off his collar. "See?" he said triumphantly. "You're a natural. Honestly, I did you a favor."

Tamamo narrowed her eyes. "Oh, you're going to wish you hadn't said that."

Before he could react, she whirled back toward the pot on the stove, snatched the ladle, and flung its contents at him. Sojōbō yelped as a glob of sticky rice porridge landed squarely on his face.

"Great babysitter or not," Tamamo growled, "if you ever pull something like this again, I'll make sure you feel like you've been roasted alive."

Sojōbō wiped the porridge off his face, laughing. "Fair enough. But hey, I was right about you."

"Out," Tamamo snapped, pointing toward the door. "Before I test just how much heat those feathers of yours can take."

As Sojōbō retreated, still chuckling, Ushiwakamaru piped up. "Does this mean Uncle Crow's staying for breakfast?"

Tamamo sighed, rubbing her temples. "He can stay outside. If he's lucky, I'll throw him some scraps."

Edit: I might have a problem, also Sizel didn't actually leave her alone hes just returned to his stalking habits and is watching her from afar