threesailingslayers

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@itsramenoclock I can see it 😂

new festival art of tan and kyo!!!

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Preview of a gigantic Japanese woodblock print- style KNY fanart I'm currently working on.

This is going to take an unholy amount of time to colour in, so... here's a WIP for now 😅

Expect to see the finished piece posted here at some point- and the backstory/ historical inspiration that goes with it, too!

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🦋~Intoxication~🦋

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the tanjirou type

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Ok, so I just Googled whether Kyoya’s sub VA can sing (reference for a fic), and 😳

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Hey doll hey hey doll hey.....

*runs in. Slaps a newspaper down on your desk like a 1930s reporter. Chews gum aggressively*

Tengen in a pinstripe suit and a fedora, see?

Tengen seeing a film for the first time with his wives, seeeee?

Tengen trying to make it big in the Hollywood talkie scene but he's too extravagant and picky, seeeeeeee?

Tengen in a pencil thin mustache, SEEEEEE????

@threesailingslayers came up with it, ask him

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Some demon slayer OC asks to help flesh out your character!

What was their childhood nickname?

If you had to change their ship, what character would it be with? Why?

What is their color season/skin undertones?

If they hadn't become a demon slayer, what would they be doing?

If they survive the infinity castle arc, what happens to them during WW2?

Where is their favorite place to take a nap?

What will they think of the jazz revolution?

What is their favorite physical feature in themselves?

What physical feature do they secretly find most attractive in others?

What do they do to decompress after a mission?

What is the meaning behind their name?

Where do they go to rest after a mission?

What is the meaning behind the tsuba on their blade?

What is their relationship with their swordsmith?

What is their relationship with their crow?

Who do they write letters to when far from home?

How literate are they? How much schooling did they get?

Do they survive the Spanish Flu?

Who is their least favorite hashira?

What do they think of Ubuyashiki?

How many people survived their final selection?

How affluent was their family growing up? Does this effect their worldview?

What faith practice do they ascribe to?

Shoes or barefoot?

What was their first kiss like?

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Having an OC is basically like having an infinite paper doll set. Giving Lizzie some traveling clothes for the big move from England to Japan. Edwardian and Roaring 20s fashions are so much fun. I love the droopy silhouettes.

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KNY OC: Elizabeth Howard's backstory: Pt 1. Before Japan

Inspired by books about Florence Nightingale and the untimely death of her mother to tuberculosis, Lizzie Howard dreamed of becoming a nurse from girlhood. As the daughter of a humble estate groundskeeper to an English lord, her childhood was secure and comfortable, if not well-to-do. Whatever they lacked in money, the Howards made up for in love and devotion.

Out of gratitude to Lizzie's father for his years of exquisite service, the estate's owner sponsored Lizzie and her older sister's education at a girls' boarding school. Unfortunately, Lizzie's doting father would follow his wife to the grave shortly after her 14th birthday. Regardless, Lizzie's patron continued to pay for her education.

As an orphan, though never short on friends, Lizzie found herself quite alone. Her only sibling, an older sister, left home to become a Maryknoll nun years before and had recently been sent to Japan. Her next closest relatives - a wealthy maternal aunt and uncle - lived in London but were rarely home.

While her better-off peers spent weekends and holidays at home with their families, Lizzie spent her free time reading secondhand anatomy textbooks and volunteering at the local hospital - shadowing nurses and doctors, dreaming of the day she could join them.

Upon finishing school at 15, Lizzie enrolled at a teaching hospital to become a nurse. As a nurse in training during WW1, she never saw the horrors of war firsthand but became quite familiar with their consequences.

Throughout her school years, Lizzie's sister sent her letters every week detailing her life as a nun and her new adventures in far away Japan. Lizzie fell in love with the descriptions of the country and stories about its inhabitants. Sometimes, her sister would even send a sketch of the things she saw (she was quite a good artist). Lizzie cherished these, keeping them in ribbon-tied stack in her trunk. One day, the letter from her sister contained an invitation. It discussed an orphanage her order was founding in the countryside outside Tokyo.

Liz, dear, if you ever want to join our number, I know our congregation will welcome you with open arms. Have you considered a vocation to the religious life? You could do so much good in the world.

As her completion examinations approached, Lizzie began to wonder if maybe her calling was to the missionary life and to Japan. Exhausted from treating horribly traumatized men, with no prospects (though, not without a few marriage proposals from delirious young soldiers, which she turned down) and no other close family, she decided to take a chance and figure the rest of the details out later.

So, after receiving her state registration certificate, Lizzie packed up what was left of her family's belongings, sold what she couldn't pack, and set off for the land of the rising sun.

Having an aunt and uncle who were in the exotic goods industry meant that, at the very least, Lizzie's passage abroad was secured. Her aunt and uncle did express concern at Lizzie's dramatic decision, and even offered her a place to live with them instead. But Lizzie had made up her mind to have a grand adventure.

On the 35-day trip, Lizzie studied Japanese from a few rare, second-hand Japanese learning books scrounged up at a bookshop. Though, immersion turned out to be a lot harder than learning the language from a few books.

Upon arriving in the port of Tokyo, her aunt and uncle personally escorted her on the new trainline to the countryside where she began her new life as a postulant with the sisters at the mission orphanage. There, she was assigned to work with Sr. Mary Paul, a Japanese native nun with training as a medical doctor. Together the two provided free medical care to the children and the surrounding villages.

It was during their routine morning rounds of the villages, about 6 months into her stay, that Lizzie caught sight of the most beautiful boy she had ever laid eyes on.

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🔥🔥Time for some Shinjuro headcanons:🔥🔥

His own father, though a brilliant swordsman, was a terrible father. As a young man, he vowed to never be like him.

Sober Shinjuro is stubborn, an idealist, a pontificator, an emotion-bottler, iron-set in his ways and difficult to sway. He has a terrifying capacity for cruelty, and he hates that.

But he is also kind and gentle. A fair and attentive father. A rigorous, but encouraging teacher. A man who once tried to be a better version of himself every day.

Shinjuro is a man who desperately wants to be known and understood by his loved ones, but barely knows and understands himself.

Ruka brought out the best parts of him. Her presence was a soothing balm on the wounds of his youth. She gave him hope.

When she passed, he became lost to the worst parts of himself - a reflection of his own father.

Oh, but Ruka was his weakness. The day they met, he was a blushing, sweaty-palmed mess. Ruka almost couldn't believe the stories about this owl-eyed man who bored holes into her soul but couldn't bring himself to say a single word. That is, were it not for the impressive forearms and calloused hands.

Shinjuro deeply adored his sons, even in his darkest days. He will never forgive himself for abandoning Kyojuro to raise himself.

He has raised his hands to his sons in a drunken stupor on a handful of occasions - three times to Kyojuro, once to Senjuro. He hates himself for each one and forces himself to relive them every day as a sort of penance.

He's suspect of the government and the emperor, prone to pontificating about them over dinner even before he became a drunk.

"If the emperor is a god, let him come down from his fancy palace and deal with Muzan Kibutsuji himself!"

He finished school before 1890, so he entirely missed the Imperial Rescript on Education and the distribution of the emperor and empress' images to schools throughout Japan. When tiny Kyojuro came home from school one day and told him all about the altar to the emperor at school, he lost it.

Shinjuro has 100% been arrested by well-meaning law enforcement before. A big blonde man wandering around with a sword and allegedly killing people at night? Of course, he's suspicious and difficult to miss.

He isn't a paragon of modern morals, and he certainly is the farthest thing from perfect, but if there's one thing Shinjuro isn't, it's a supremacist. Everyone is made of the same flesh and blood, and it's his duty to protect the innocent regardless of trivial things like race.

Later in life, he becomes very vocally against Japan's role in WW2. By this time, he's getting on in in years and, although he's as sharp as ever, poor Senjuro has a time of it pretending that his father is "just senile and please don't listen to him. He doesn't know what he's saying." Shinjuro milks this for all it's worth.

His doddering old man act is so impeccable that the neighbors think he's back on the drink again in his twilight years.

Shinjuro could probably still beat your ass at 75, though.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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"Thank you, Kaname." The crow blinked its glossy eyes in acknowledgment and flew off into the falling dusk.

"Must you? You've only just gotten home."

He hadn't heard her come outside from laying the baby down. She leaned against a post on the engawa. The disappointment in her pretty round eyes broke his heart. "You're not even out of your uniform yet."

"It is my duty, yome."

"Can't someone else go, just once?"

He sighed and crossed the flagstone path back to the house. "No, yome. This is in my patrol region. It is an honor to protect those who have been entrusted to me."

"Your patrol region hardly contains the entire train line..."

"This is unlike you, Lizzie. Is all well?" He asked, climbed onto the engawa.

"I just... I have a bad feeling about this time..." A troubling waver betrayed her anxiety. She normally had nerves of steel. He brushed a sudden sense of doom aside.

She shyly tapped a brass button on his chest, "I'm not married to any other hashira."

Instead, he smiled and reached to slide his arms around her waist. Something about holding the woman he loved always made his muscles feel just a little more powerful. "So you'd rather another hashira be in danger instead?"

"Yes."

"And what makes me so special, hmm?"

"No one will die this time, I promise. And I keep my promises, do I not?" Their eyes met, and he tried to silently impart his own confidence.

"No one includes you, Kyojuro Rengoku."

He smiled gently and kissed the tip of her nose, "I'll try to remember that."

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Respectfully, I think it would have been far more powerful narratively for Shinobu to have lived through the Douma fight.

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KNY OC - Tokimasa Sakurano

Japanese, Cadet, Cook, Poet | Highest Rank: Provisional Hashira | Breathing Style: Flower Breathing (花の呼吸) | Blade Colour: Light Pink

Toki slowed his steps as he approached the ransacked house, the glints of blood in the moonlight making blades of grass seem black. The thought of how many must have died made the bile rise in his throat, to turn members of a family into demons just before a funeral, Muzan seemed to love playing sick jokes.

Over his quieter footfalls, he could hear something, the sounds of breaking wood, crunching bone and tearing flesh. The light he had illuminated the horrific sight before him, a pale figure hunched over the body of a man who's chest cavity had been mostly hollowed out. In a darker corner, another figure seemed to be breaking into the walls, for what purpose Toki didn't know.

The hunched over figure's head jerked unnaturally quickly towards him as Toki darkened the doorway. Letting out an ear splitting shriek as it bared its fangs at him, alerting its comrade. They rushed from the darkness, skin pale and free of markings, their eyes white but still moving faster than any normal human. Recently turned demons always seemed to act more with their stomach than with their heads.

They both left themselves wide open as they recklessly charged at him. Toki breathed in, readying his naginata as the muscles in his arms tensed.

'Flower Breathing, Fourth Form: Crimson Hanagoromo.' The blade of his weapon found the first demon's neck as it got within reach, spinning around to force the second one back with the shaft of his weapon before jamming the guillotine like end into its throat.

'Better look for survivors.' Toki thought, though he doubted he would find any. until in the newly found silence he could hear something, a soft crying of no just one but several voices.

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KNY OC - Sabar Khanna

Indian (Punjab), Cadet, Mareji, Sikh | Highest Rank: Provisional Hashira | Breathing Style: Water Breathing (水の呼吸), Red Water Style | Blade Colour: Dark Purple

Sabar was exhausted, his legs already aching and threatening to buckle. When Toki's uncle had sent him into the care of this Sakonji Urokodaki, he hadn't been expecting the older man to lead him up the side of a mountain on a moonlit stroll in fog so thick he could barely see a few feet in front of him.

"Sabar, your first trial begins now."

"Wha-" Sabar began before being cut off.

"Return to the house in the foothills before daybreak. If you succeed, I will accept you as a student. Fail, and perhaps you should return home."

A sense of dread gripped Sabar as he realised what was about to happen, "Urokodaki!" He reached out his hand as he ran forward. Yet as the fog enveloped Urokodaki, Sabar's fingers found nothing but air.

""Make my way back to the house?" He muttered to himself, letting out an annoyed sigh, "I suppose that's easy enough, so long as I keep my eyes on the path."

With that, Sabar began to jog down the mountainside again, soft leaves squelching underfoot. The conditions were less than idea but if simply coming down a mountain was a challenge, then being a demon slayer would be easy.

Suddenly, Sabar's foot snagged on something, causing him to stumble before steadying himself. The slightest creak alerted him to something being wrong, turning to face the source as a log slammed into his torso, driving air from his lungs.

Sent tumbling down the mountainside, Sabar felt his stomach drop before landing just as roughly. Realising he was at the bottom of a pit, hot, angry tears stung at his eyes, making the clear, starry sky above him blur.

'Of course it wouldn't be that easy.' Sabar cursed himself for his own foolishness but more than the sudden failure, Urokodaki's words, whether he meant to or not, had cut deep.

"Home? What home?" Sabar cursed. His family disowned him for joining the Royal Navy, cries of traitor and laments of disappointment had deeply wounded him in spite of his stoicism in the face of it. Now here he was, lying at the bottom of a pit in a foreign country, presumed dead and training to fight monsters that until a few months ago he wouldn't have thought to be real.

Yet, there was something, nagging at him in the back of his mind. Something that would not let him surrender, digging his hands into the soft earth of the pit's walls, beginning his ascent.

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KNY OC - James "Jim" Robinson

British, Cadet, Marksman | Highest Rank: Hashira | Breath Style: Gunpowder Breathing (火薬の呼吸) | Blade Colour: Light Orange

"Oh, this is that "love" thing you humans have isn't it? Interesting, but It's rude to interrupt my meal."

Jim's teeth clenched at that grating smugness that reeked of a false sense of happiness, white-knuckling the hilt of his sword. That tone of voice, the chill in the air, the rainbow coloured eyes coupled with a smile that conveyed the Upper Rank's superiority complex. It was all too familiar.

Though Douma was unchanged, it had been years since Jim had first seen the second of the Twelve Demon Moons. Previously needing the protection of a Hashira whilst paralysed by fear. But that was then, this was now. Kanae had already fallen, Shinobu would not suffer the same fate, not whilst there was still breath in Jim's lungs.

"Jim..." He could only glance at Shinobu as she joined him side by side, no longer desiring to be behind the protective stance he had settled into, "We're doing this together."

"You've always been a stubborn one." Jim chuckled, but now was not the time for reminiscing. The muscles in his legs clenched, as did those in arms, 'Gunpowder Breathing, First Form: Quick Draw.'

Like a trigger had been pulled, Jim rocketed forward. If this was to be their last stand, they would go down fighting.