#TAIKO POWER

[turnaboutanew]

WOOOOOOO STEEL SAMURAI YEAAAAAH (flashing visuals warning & spoilers for aa2)

(made in google slides. timed by hand.)

[comicdiaries]

You can bet I captured his part in the samurai show on video. I'll treasure it always.

[superat626]

Sometimes you gotta yell loud.

[ultravioletrooster]

Rooster's Summer 2022 Game List

The summer of 2022 came and went in the blink of an eye! And just like that fall has already begun. With crisp morning breezes, and leaves changing color and all that beautiful jazz. But before we get too comfortable, lets take a look back at all the games that I played during the summer of 2022.

[uzurimisery]

bite the hand that feeds. / naoya zenin / nsfw

Warnings: MDNI, Naoya Zenin is a warning, misogyny, secondary sex discrimination, physical violence, rough sex, degradation, a/b/o, biting, blood, BDSM, dub to noncon, use of slick, forced consumption of bodily fluids, talk of impregnation and baby trapping, lactation kink, sadism and masochism, spanking, threats of domestic violence, objectification, maybe body horror, dear god please practice RACK irl

w.c: 7.5k (shes juicy)

A/N: baby's first omegaverse! my (very) late entry into the wonderful @goxjo's Into the Omegaverse Collab

The rhythmic patter of zori against the courtyard bridge banged in your mind, each strike sharp and precise like a taiko drum—warning of impending doom that faces your lady. Married off into the Zenin clan under a clear blue sky, the breeze ruffling her dangling kanzashi. Everything about her looked perfect today, you had ensured it. Despite being your cousin, there was a world of difference between you as she strode forward, back straight, umbrella held by another attendant. Her every move was slow and steady, pronounced grace and elegance in every movement.

 It was easier to be from a branch family like you were—less pressure, less conformity, at least to a certain degree. While you had been at least allowed to attend jujutsu training until you presented, she had been given the basics of controlling her technique. Never stepping a foot outside of the family compound. 

It felt like the tsubo-niwa felt like it went on forever. The stretch between the bridge’s end and the open shoji doors where the meeting would take place going on like the desert. The air between heavy, hot and humid, weight down the fabric of your kimono.

It was easier being from a branch family. You could bow and prostrate, low and deep as your aunt had whipped into you, the cedar marks still faint against the back of your thighs. The scars almost faded, silvery lines, chain linked together through opposition, personal rebellion where you could. You could then sit, your posture picture perfect, eyes kept low to the ground, breathe calmly, and let the men speak. You could retreat into yourself, the memories of how the sun felt against your bare arms during training, the tan you’d get from the hours of running drills. The peace using your cursed technique brought. 

The peace and solitude of those moments had felt so pure. So freeing. But clan expectations changed everything. If only you had presented as a beta. 

The cicadas buzzed a drone against the conversation. The clan head was appraising your cousin, speaking directly to your uncle. Wanting to know every important detail about her. How consistent her heats were, what her last blood work showed, and how likely was her technique to be passed down over the Zenin family. It had always been like this here, omegas being cattle. Traded, bartered, bred. You’d be luckier than her, likely married to someone of less importance. Your value was lower than hers with a mistake from your youth. Perhaps he’d be kind, come to care for you over time. 

Maybe he’d let you train again, show you favor if you gave him an heir. You had made peace with the fact freedom, true freedom, would never come until you died or the death and destruction of your entire clan. 

Maybe one day everything would go up in flames, and a great fire would roar over the compound, scorching the earth. Erasing the clan from history. Maybe a curse so powerful would come and consume everything in its wake. Maybe you should just run away, flee from Japan altogether. There were sorcerers abroad, maybe you could join their ranks. Be free from how they operate here. Or maybe you would run away and rebuke sorcery.

Clove, rich and warm, scented the air as another man walked into the meeting room. His voice was low, steps heavy. 

Master Zenin introduced him as Naoya. His scent was distinctive, with notes of sandalwood underneath. It was spiced and smelt like comforting winter nights as the snow fell on pine trees. Holidays with your parents when your father was still alive. Both soothing and invigorating. It seemed to draw you in. Never before had a scent captivated you so strongly.

The dread you had felt crossing the bridge grew stronger, the animal instincts inside you screaming at you to run, and to run far. Run before he could catch you. 

Peeking over your lash line, you caught his eyes, dark brown and full of hatred, directed straight at you. Scrutiny crawling over your skin, climbing up through the arms of your kimono and wrapping around your heart, squeezing it tightly. He looked at you as meat, stock to breed. Your eyes quickly returned to staring at the floor.

You had heard tales of him before, of all the Zenins, but experiencing it was a different story.

“Naoya, this is Hiroko Kimura.” Naobito spoke plainly as if your cousin was another thing to buy at the store. As if he was deciding between brands of butter. 

From the corner of your vision, you watched as your cousin prostrated before him, kanzahi jingling as it hit the ground. Her father bows in suit, not nearly as low, saved by being an elder even if he was from a lesser family. Hiroko gave her greetings softly, speaking of how grateful she was to meet him. She was pumping out pheromones as she went, her scent permeating the air. The clash of clove and honey made you feel sick, the smell sticky as it crept around, spread by the breeze. 

He acknowledged her briefly, with no real interest or care as he returned her greeting.“What’s the one behind her.”

You knew he spoke of you sat five feet behind your cousin, now desperately trying to refrain from shrinking into the floods of your blue ougi-patterned kimono. To keep your pheromones from leaking out, to not scent the air with fear. 

“That is my daughter’s handmaiden, my brother’s daughter.” Your uncle introduced you to Naoya, shifting all the attention in the room to you. “She’s to continue her duties until a suitable mate is arranged for her.” 

Naobito hummed as he now turned to look over you. The weight of everyone's gaze was heavy on you. If it had been a different time and place, you had led a different life, perhaps it wouldn't have felt like the end of the world but you knew the attention of the room, of the marriage meeting, being on you was far from good. 

Naoya walked towards you, his presence looming, getting so close you could see his cloth-covered feet nearly touching your knees as you stared down at them. The soft fabric a sharp contrast to the dread pooling in your stomach. Maybe god would be merciful and cause lightning to strike the house, distract everyone, and allow you to escape. But god was not merciful, not kind, nor caring. No one was there to hear your prayers. 

“Smells good,” he crouched before you, cornering you without any way out behind you. He left you with no escape route. “Look at me.” 

His voice dripped with authority, command, and control, your instincts forcing you to comply. Instincts overriding fear, forcing your eyes to meet his own sharp brown eyes. Something in you felt like it was pulling you towards him, screaming at you to go to him. That he was the answer to your problems. That he’d take care of you. 

He looked over you, his gaze filled with an unsettling intensity making you instinctively shrink as he looked for flaws or dents, something that might detract from your value. It was strange. To be appraised not as a person but as an object by him.

The silence stretched on as he did so, no one speaking for the first few minutes. Everyone was waiting to see what he would say — if he would say anything. But as his silent appraisal continued, the conversation returned between the elder alphas in the room as they discussed the latest in sorcery. No one cared that his stare was lecherous, undressing you as you sat there poised and politely. The front of your ankles burned from the strain.

Naoya’s hand went to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands you had to patiently worked into an appropriate style for such an important meeting, before tugging your head to the side with enough force to make you wince. A whine escaped you, feeble, the omega within you desperate to appease him. To desperately try and salvage something to diffuse the undercurrent of rage and entitlement radiating off of him

It was hard to keep your eyes trained on him as he instructed, it felt nearly impossible. The trained reaction of avoiding confrontation, battling with the fear of displeasing him, and looking away only making the situation worse. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat feeling closer and closer to bursting through your chest as he leaned forward, weight in the balls of his feet, face uncomfortably close to your neck. To your scent glands.

Warm, wet muscle brushed against them, tasting the skin. A soft moan fell from your lips as you could feel every individual taste bud of his tongue as he lapped at your neck. 

Embarrassment, mortification-shame dancing along your spine as the room stilled again. Everyone had heard you but no one chose to comment. It was clear Naoya was staking his claim on you. Why would anyone care what he was doing to an omega, especially one with no status? It was his birthright as an alpha. The spices in his scent made your eyes sting with how close he was now, like little pinpricks on your skin.

Each passing swipe of his tongue swirled in your belly, warm and shimmering. Molten lava began to creep freely through your veins, replacing all the blood as you desperately held on to composure. Your nerve endings all thrummed in time with your heart, sending pulsing jolts of electricity everywhere at once. Your throat scratched, your mouth dry, like all the moisture in your body was moving to gather and pool at your core. 

You had seen alphas doing similar things. Scenting unclaimed omegas, testing just how much they could get away with. It was taboo if you were a normal functioning member of society, but when it came to the great families, it was a free game. Never did you think you would have to endure such treatment in front of your family.

“You taste good omega,” Naoya’s teeth scraped against your skin, teasing at a bite, a gasp leaving you. The sensation was both terrifying and strangely intimate. “Like cherries and cinnamon.” 

He moved your head again, this time forcing eye contact with you. The hand not wrapped in your hair crossed over your features. He started at the top of your head, tracing the perimeter of your hairline with his thumbs, pressing in slightly at your temple before moving on to your eyes, your eyelids fluttering shut as he brushed over them. Then he took to your cheekbones, running his thumb parallel to the curve of them before sliding down to your jaw behind your ear. He followed your jawline all the way to your chin before his thumb brushed your lips, smudging the lipstick that had been put on you to ensure your attire was appropriate for today's meeting. You could feel his eyes never leaving you, dark and filled with desire and dominance.

“Open.”

Your eyes snapped open, meeting his instantly. He tapped against your bottom lip, a command you couldn’t ignore. 

“You’re not very smart, are you?” His tone was sardonic, dripping with condescension. It didn’t matter if you were or weren’t. It only mattered what he thought and that you were an omega. 

“Open.” This time, you knew to part your lips.

Naoya’s thumb traced over the ridges of your teeth, pressing in against your canines hard enough that the sharp edges cut the flesh of his finger. Copper explodes on your tongue, the metallic tang filling your senses. He didn’t stop. Instead, he pressed his thumb flush with your tongue, pressing down to force your jaw open wider. 

Behind him the conversation continued to drone on, a forgone hum overpowered by the visceral reality of Naoya’s touch. He poked and prodded you with near clinical detachment. If he wasn’t leaking pheromones betraying just how excited he was to get his hands out, maybe you could believe it. A dispassionate facade only worked well if the scent of his arousal didn’t mix with the metallic taste in your mouth that left you reeling. 

“Kimura-san she’s your niece right?” Naoya’s voice cut through the dull hum of the background, clear and sharp. 

Your uncle lazily glanced over at the spectacle Nayo had made of you. His eyes were half-lidded and uninterested as you sat as still as possible. Your hair was half taken out of its style, no longer held up by the pins and clips that secured it. Now the only thing keeping the rest in place was Naoya’s grip. The lipstick you had so carefully applied was now smeared, and your kimono pushed down from his lapping at your neck like a wild dog. 

Your uncle didn’t even speak, just gave an affirmative nod before taking a drag from his pipe. The scent of tobacco makes your eyes sting. His nonchalance was chilling. You were only a bargaining piece for him.

“So nothing changes between us if I pick her, right?” 

You saw your cousin's shoulders relax, relief snapping the string of tension in her as she realized she would be free of this duty. No longer forced to marry and mate a man with the reputation of a monster. The chains of fate, instead, were passed to you. The metal pulled taught, the chains left to rust from the blood that you’d spill from your heart as they wrapped tight around it, squeezing.

“That’s correct,” your uncle’s tone was impassive as always. “If you want both, however, we’d need to renegotiate.” 

“I just want the one.”

The lock clicked into place, the chains now permanently attached to you. The view out the open shoji screen was so peaceful as you looked over at it. The sky stretched on, endlessly blue with faint spatterings of clouds. Serene and beautiful. A single sparrow flitted by, streaking across the sky. Its wings spread wide as it glided through the air. The birdsong chirped joyfully. 

An arrow shot through the sky striking the bird.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The wedding had been a large affair, filled with laughter and celebration, but none you felt privy too. Soft strains of a koto fill the hall. But no one focused on the young omega sitting at the head of the table, kimono splayed out, surrounding you in a vermillion sea. The grandiosity of the fabric and its patterns made you feel ridiculous, like a dress-up doll. Naoya had picked it out. The obi felt too tight against your stomach, digging into your ribs. They had tied it tighter than normal to keep you from eating too much. There was no reason for them to do so, you already felt sick to your stomach. It churned over and over like the waves crashing against the coast, the tide coming in and out. 

Naoya was seated on your right, his legs spread wide, thigh hitting against yours. The warmth of his body seeped through the wall of fabric between the two of you. Even like this, it was like you could feel his skin against yours.

He had kept you close since the ceremony ended, scenting you every few minutes. Possession in his every move. Sometimes a low growl rumbled from his chest, warning anyone who might think to approach you.

He had already placed a few small nips near your scent gland as well, edging you out of when he’d actually claim you. Each bite sent a shiver down your spine, the sensation a mix of pain and pleasure that pooled in your core. Your body reacted to him in a way that had never happened before. 

“Congratulations Naoya.” It was your uncle, bowing deeply to the two of you. Behind him, your mother also bowed. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of unseen burdens. You knew she regretted bringing you back to the family after your father’s death. That she felt she had sealed you to this fate. 

You could see the dark bags under her eyes when she rose. They had been a permanent feature since your father’s passing and you're presenting as an omega, but now they were so much worse. Your neck felt tight, breathing strained, as you looked at her hands and remembered the feeling of them wrapping around your throat. She smelt like baby lotion still.

“Thank you Kimura-san.” You could taste the satisfaction on his tongue. 

“Naturally. I’m sure your union will bring about the finest sorcerers of a generation,” despite the congratulations of his words, your uncle's tone was flat as always. Uninterested and just going through the motions. 

Naoya brushed his fingers over the shell of your ear, down the back of it, pinching the lop between his fingers. “I’m sure we will.”

The two exchanged a few more words before your uncle and mother returned to their table. Her eyes met yours for a few fleeting moments, filled with sorrow and helplessness. As she walked away, her back slumped, as if the weight of her guilt and regret was physically pushing down on her. You watched her go, the distance between you feeling insurmountable as Naoya’s touch lingered on your skin. 

Several rounds of people came around, giving their congratulations until it was time for another course of food. The noise of their chatter and the general crowd sounded so distant like you were hearing it through a glass cupped over your ears. Your own body felt lost to you, afloat and detached. As if you were watching all of this happen from afar, a mere spectator in your own life. The weight of the ceremony pressed down, deep into your bones, making every movement feel laborious. Faces blurred together—smiles, sneers, looks of pity and envy— all merging into an indistinguishable mass.  The red of your kimono grew duller as the minutes passed, a vinaigrette appearing on the edges of your vision as the walls seemed to close in on you. The rich, fatty scent of the meat was overpowering. Overwhelming. 

You felt Naoya speaking against your skin but could barely register it. It was only when his hand touched the back of your neck that everything snapped into focus again. The tensing was involuntary, your body’s memory reacting for you. 

This was the closest to being alone with Naoya you had gotten despite the hall being full. There was no one next to the two of you. No one’s attention on you.

“You’re pretty docile,” Naoya remarks, his voice low. 

You look up at him through your lashes, swallowing hard. Part of you wanted to recoil away from his touch. To untie your obi and run out through the shoji. To break through them and flee.

“I know my place.” you pause, determining if it was worth it to test the waters. “What would you do if I was to act out, Alpha.” 

“Strike you.” He spoke as if it was natural, obvious as if discussing the weather. His hand tightened ever so slightly on the back of your neck, a reminder of his control. There was finality in his words that you had come to know and expect from the Alphas of the great families.

There was nothing more fitting than a disobedient omega beneath him, a deep-seated belief that it was what they deserved. In their world, an alpha’s omega was theirs to treat and punish as they saw fit. The chain of tradition held fast, a rigid framework trapping you. This was your life. There was no escaping it unless you died. Any rebellion, no matter how small, would have consequences.

“Of course, Alpha. You know best.” It sounded like your voice was coming from another person, made soft and pliant. Your pitch raised slightly. All efforts you could make to seem less threatening and more agreeable. Like you were glad to be under his thumb. 

He liked that, a smirk quirking up the side of his mouth. His hand released your neck to trace down your forehead, mockingly soft and gentle. “Well, aren’t you a charmer? If you’re well-behaved, maybe I’ll reward you, Omega, just be the good little bitch you are.” 

“May I be so bold?”  

He raised an eyebrow. “You may.”

“I would ask of you to allow me to continue to practice my curse technique so that I may be of the utmost service to you.” 

The request hung in the air, your heart pounding as you waited for his response. His expression was unreadable. 

“I’ll consider it,” he replied, tone dismissive. 

“Thank you. Alpha,” you dropped low to present before him, back curved, the words bitter on your tongue. “I will follow your guidance happily.”

His smirk widened into a full-blown, maniacal grin. The shine in his eyes reminded you of teasing death. Cold and unwavering, a chill down your spine. A laugh broke out of him, more of a bark if anything. Wicked in every sense.

“Good god,” he patted the top of your head and pulled you up from your position by your chin. “Keep this up and I might let you give me a son.” 

He leaned in to kiss you. His lips were soft against your own. Surprising as you expected them to be rough. It was possessive, a mark of ownership, as the hand on your jaw squeezed down, forcing you to open your mouth. 

───※ ·❆· ※───

Being married to him was one thing, but being marked by him was another. Once the mark was made, it’d take years of rejecting it before it could go away. It made divorce, as shameful as it was, look easy. It wasn’t something that you’d ever be granted; your uncle would kill you before permitting it, but it was in the realm of possibility. With the feast ended and the two of you alone in his wing of the house, the full weight of everything came crashing down on you.

You shifted, an uneasy pit in your stomach, the temperature of the room made you feel clammy, the dark green futon pillowing under your weight, as Naoya sat behind you. One hand was up in your hair, undoing the pins one by one. Each dropped into a bowl on the ground, tiny silver pieces raining down, ringing against the ceramic. It seemed he had a thing for hair, taking the strands and wrapping them around his fingers, giving each a slight tug that you could feel at the base of your skull.

His other hand moved to untie your obi, the relief instant as it dropped away. It felt like you could finally breathe fully again, greedy lungs taking in large gulps of air. Your ribs would likely have some bruising from just how tight they’d done the obi for the wedding. His hands crept up the length of your left arm, pressure applied as if feeling your outline, before sliding his hand under the fold of your kimono and grabbing your breast.

"Just relax," he whispered, his breath hot, fanning over your skin.  His nose brushed your ear as he leaned in closer, lips nearing your neck. You couldn’t help but to tense.

His teeth sank into your scent gland, and the pain that followed was indescribable. Naoya’s canines were large and sharp. You had seen them every time he spoke or smiled. Pearlescent white panes gleamed in the light, but nothing could have prepared you for the sensation of them piercing your skin. It was like a branding iron searing into your skin, burning the flesh and charring your skin. Your limbs turn to stone, trembling uncontrollably as every muscle in your body tensed, released, and tensed again in waves. 

Your skin felt clammy, a cold sweat breaking out across your entire body and your mind struggled to process the sensation. There was slickness pooling between your legs. The mark was spurring on a heat, your body acting in its most primal way. 

“Stop it hurts” You cry out, voice wobbling from the fear and pain, body contorting violently, instinctively, trying to escape from him. 

Naoya smacks your breast with a force that leaves a handprint instantly against your skin. He bites down harder, teeth sinking even deeper in, the wound tearing open even wider as you writhe around. Finally, a white-hot flash of pleasure begins to course through you, biology taking its hold. It goes from nerve-splitting pain to a warm wash of arousal in a second. Blinking feels like minutes. 

He pulled back from your neck, eyes feral, brow furrowed in a savage expression. Blood stains his mouth. It pools around his lips and paints them a brilliant scarlet, before trailing down in a rivulet that snakes past his chin, down his neck, and into the folds of his yukata. 

“Never tell me what to do again. Do you understand?” His voice is a growl, low and menacing, as his grip tightens on your breast, twisting it to emphasize his point. As if the authority in his voice wasn’t enough. 

You whine, unable to bear his disapproval, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Gasping, you nuzzle against his neck. He smells so good. Spice cloves, sandalwood, and cedar on a winter’s night. “I’ll be good.” 

He lowers his head again, lips curled in a cruel grin, fangs bared. His voice drips with a mix of menace and satisfaction as he whispers, “Now, relax.”

This time, you force yourself to comply, doing your best to let your body go limp. It works better than before. Despite the fear you feel towards him, arousal pumps through your veins. A flood of endorphins courses through them, making every touch cause your skin to tingle and send waves of pleasure straight to your core. It makes your head spin and your limbs heavy. Your skin prickles with a heat that feels almost unbearable, making you itch with a desperate need for release.

It's too hard to keep your eyelids open; they are far too heavy, but you don’t trust Naoya enough to close them. What would he do if you closed them? Your blood feels thick like syrup, molasses sluggishly pulsing. A moan escapes your lips, low, breathy, and drawn out, that pitches into a whine as Naoya releases his grip on your neck and licks the wound closed with rough strokes of his tongue. He swirls the tip around each puncture wound, dipping the tip into it before doing so to the next.

“See? If you had just listened, it would have been this good from the start,” he murmurs, his voice a soft, mocking caress. He pinches your nipple sharply. Your head lolls against his chest, too heavy to hold up.

“Oh ho ho,” he laughs, the sound vibrating through your body. “Someone’s going into heat.”

It feels like everything is moving in slow motion as Naoya manhandles you. He tilts your head to the other side. The top half of your kimono is completely off, leaving your skin exposed to the cold, biting air of his room. Sweat beads on every inch of your skin. You struggle to keep your eyes from closing, fighting the overwhelming sensations that flood your body. You feel Naoya’s teeth graze against your other scent gland, the sharp sting of his teeth scraping against the skin but he doesn’t bite down. 

Instead, he laps and laps and laps at your neck, his tongue moving in languid, deliberate strokes as if devouring an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. Whimpers flow out of you like water from a stream, and your pussy flutters around nothing. 

Naoya squeezes you roughly, his hands greedily exploring your body. His touch is rough and demanding, large hands groping at your curves like he’s a man starved for flesh as he fondles your breasts, squeezing your nipples, making them stand erect from the stimulation. He likes you gasps and whines, the fat of your breasts squishing under the expanse of his hands as he toys with them. Likes the heft of them, meaty and heavy, makes him growl low in the back of his throat in approval. He can picture them swelling with milk that would nourish his heir and make them strong. He’d sample the source, suckle straight from your teat, and make sure his heifer was quality.

“My little breeding bitch,” he murmurs, his voice dark. 

Naoya’s hand slips down your front, his fingers finding the slick pool of arousal in your pussy. He pumps a finger in, meeting no resistance, then slides in a second easily, your pussy oh so inviting.

“Fuck, you’re ready for me already.” He chuckles, the wet squelch of your pussy sounding out with each movement of his fingers. “Such a desperate little whore. I bet you can’t wait to feel my knot, hmm? Say it.”

Your tongue feels too heavy in your mouth, the effort to speak almost insurmountable, speech slurred and your words mumbled. His impatience manifests in a swift, sharp strike to your clit, making you cry out in a mix of pain and anticipation. Through the haze, you manage to speak. 

“I can’t wait to feel your knot,” you manage to gasp out, biting the tip of your tongue in the process. It swells fat. 

It's been so long since you’d had a heat. Suppressants had been shoved onto you after your first one almost nine years ago. You don’t remember this first stage of preheat being so delirious, so inconsistent, so in control and out of it as you lean back against him and let him fondle your breasts.

His fingers feel divine as they pump in and out of you, accompanied by a scissoring motion that sends shivers down your spine. The feeling is almost enough to distract you from the rough way he's pinching and rolling your nipples between his fingers. He pulls at them like he doesn’t care if it hurts, like he wants it to hurt, and it does. 

Your hips buck involuntarily against his hand, your body moving on it as you chase your high. Whimpers fall from your lips, needy desperate cries that only egg on his treatment towards you. He likes you like this, all whiny and under his palm.

With a rough tug, he pushes the rest of your kimono off, leaving you bare and vulnerable against his fully clothed body. His hands are slick with your arousal, glistening fingers curled into you and smearing moisture down his forearm as you shamelessly use his hand for your pleasure. Your knees ache from the position, thighs straining with each thrust of your hips, muscles trembling on the edge of release. It's so close that the edge of your vision goes black as you tilt ever so slightly forward, and then it happens.

Your orgasm rips through you, your whole body locks, walls clenching around his fingers as you come crashing down. A flood of slick spills out, drenching the futon beneath you. The sage green is now a deep forest green, damp and warm to the touch from how much came out of you. It’s hard to breathe, chest heaving as you try to suck in the air. 

"Messy bitch. Look at what you've done," Naoya tsks at you, even as you jerk in his arms you can tell he’s less angry and more amused by it. With a push, he sends you forward, your front pressing into the wet spot, his fingers sliding out of your pussy. "Clean it up," he orders, his voice dripping with command.

It takes a long moment to catch your breath, to remember how to be a person and move, but you grab the edge of your kimono to pat dry the area when Naoya smacks the globe of your ass. 

“Not with that.”

You stare at the spot for a second. If not the kimono there was only one other thing that could be it.  

You begin to kitten lick at your slick. It's egregiously sweet, like a potent concentrate of your scent amplified to an overwhelming degree. The flavor makes your stomach turn, threatening to gag you with its intensity. You’ve no idea how any alpha enjoys the flavor this much. 

Naoya's gaze never strays from you as he begins to undress, his movements lazy and relaxed. He’s enjoying the show, reducing you to this. Rising to his feet, he pads across the room to hang his yukata on a nearby stand. He only breaks eye contact with you for the brief moment it takes to drape his garment properly. Your wedding kimono, three times the price of his own, is lying in a pile near you on the floor.

Even with his back turned, you don't stop licking up the puddle of slick. Your tongue scrapes softly against the futon, gathering the lingering wetness to swallow down with a quiet gag. The only sound in the room is your tongue against the fabric and your soft breathing.

A soft, small smile on his face when he looks at you next. His inner Alpha is pleased you’ve kept at your assigned task without being told to. His cocks hard, uncut and dribbling pre-cum, knot starting to swell at the base, eyes going over the curve of your back, the globes of your ass in the air, and the continuous trail of simmering slick dripping out of your needy hole.

He closed the distance, cock bobbing with each step. Dropping to one knee, one hand comes to rest on the meat of your ass, the other pressing down between your shoulder blades to push your chest further into the futon. The fabric rubs uncomfortably against your hardened nipples. 

For a moment he just sits there, massaging the meat of your ass before his fingers sink in, hard enough to leave bruises in the morning. Then, without warning, he reels back, from the corner of your eye you see his shoulder muscles tense before his arm is launched forward, palm connecting with your ass in a volatile crack that rings out in the room. Pain explodes a hot white.  

“Count them,” he orders with a smile as you begin to cry.

"One," you gasp out, the word a struggle to form.

His palm connects again, the blow landing a little higher on your cheek.

"Two."

The next strike comes before you can fully process the previous, his hand falling in a swift, merciless rhythm.

"Three."

"Four." The word is a sob this time, the pain starting to overwhelm.

The fifth smack seems to sting more than the first three, the imprint of his wedding ring starting to dig in. You can feel the metal biting into your skin, a cool counterpoint to the burning heat.

"F-five."

He stops for a moment to collect slick on his fingers. “Fucking filthy slut. I knew you’d be one.” Naoya smears the slick over the burning heat of your ass, his tone approving despite what he says. 

"Six," you manage, the word a broken gasp.

The next smack seems to shatter the air, his hand coming down with renewed force.

"Seven."

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, vision starting to blur. But you keep counting.

"Eight."

"Nine."

The final blow lands, his palm cracking down.

"Ten."

You collapse forward, your body spent and trembling. The humiliation of being treated like this, reduced to a mere object, burns through you. What makes it worse is how desperately your body craves him, even as your heartbeat hammers in your ass and tears stream down your face, snot bubbling at your nose. The omega in you wants nothing more than to please him, to make him happy. You need to make him happy, so he'll know you, claim you as his own.

Biology was a curse. 

"Do you know what you did wrong?" His voice is low, rough with dominance. Oh, how it hurt to hear him so mad at you. Why was he so mad at you? 

Your mind races, trying to answer the question. "No?"

"You came without permission. Are you going to do that again?" There's a warning in his tone, a promise of punishment if you disobey again.

"No." The word escapes your lips, a whispered promise of submission. You whine for him, lower into yourself, pheromones reeking of just how sorry you are. 

Naoya's hand tightens in your hair, pulling your chest off the futon, forcing your back into an arch. Your muscles tremble with the strain, too exhausted from the heat to sustain such a position for long. A whine builds in your throat, begging him to finally take you, to knot you, breed you.

"Then prove it."

He smacks your ass again, one last time for good measure, before dropping your hair. You catch yourself on your elbows, presenting yourself for him. Naoya's hands grab your hips, one positioning you to align with the head of his cock, the other stroking his length. After he's gotten you through this first wave of heat, he'll have you choke on his cock, make you take it to the back of your throat and swallow, see what he's working with and what he'll have to train, but for now, he'll start with your pussy.

The tip of his cock feels too big against your hole, even after he's fingered you. Tensing comes naturally as it catches on your entrance, anticipation, need, and fear running through you. The flared tip feels like it's going to split you in two as he begins to press into you. He flares out in the middle, his shaft thicker there, making you moan as he begins to bottom out in you. His size is almost overwhelming, the stretch bordering on pain. If you weren’t in a pre-heat it would most definitely be painful. 

He's kind enough to insert himself into you slowly, not wanting to damage your insides and ruin his chances of getting you pregnant. You can feel every inch of him as he slowly rolls his hips for the first time, experimenting with how much he can fit inside you. Moans come like spring rain, a sure thing, as he inserts himself. He pushes into you slowly, relishing in the way you clench and spasm around him. He’s so gentle compared to earlier, it makes your head spin. Your cries echo in the room, music to his ears. Once he's bottomed out, he stills.

A mix of a choked moan and a sob tumbles out of your lips. You can't tell if it hurts or feels so good you've surpassed feeling entirely. Your pussy flutters around him, suctioning him tighter as he pulls out. 

"Fuck, you're tight," Naoya grunts, his hands grabbing your hips for leverage. "Beg for my cum, bitch."

His voice is rough like gravel, little pebbles tumbling down your spine. 

"Please, fill me," you moan, tears spilling from your eyes. "Please, Naoya-sama, cum inside me. Breed me so that I might give you an heir." The words spill out of you, a desperate plea for him to claim you, to make you his. You can't even find it in yourself to beg him anymore, the words just spilling out. It all feels too much, overwhelmingly full, and yet still not enough. Your body screams for release, desperately for his knot, for the satisfaction that only an alpha can give you. 

Naoya slams his hips into you, harder and faster than he has before, his balls slapping against your clit. His pace picks up, your arms giving out as he continues to set a brutal pace, thrusting deep and powerful. Each thrust feels like he's close to hitting against your cervix, but he never does. It feels like your whole body is shaking, like you've been set to vibrate. You don't know when one moan starts and another stops. Vision blurring at the edges, the only thing that matters is the narrow point in the world where your skin meets his. All that exists is the feeling of him inside you, his hand on your hips, the sweat on your skin, the need. 

The way that his thick cock rubs against your walls sends jolts of electricity down your spine. Every time he pulls back, you clench down, trying to keep him in you. He's not even fully seated inside of you and your whole body trembles, his cock filling you up. It’s impossibly full, you feel like you’re going to split apart at the seams as your pussy works to milk him. 

He smacks your ass again, the opposite cheek. "You're mine, remember that. Nothing but my little bitch to breed."

He fucks you harder, lifting one of your hips to angle himself deeper. This allows him to rub directly against your g-spot, electric shocks firing on every nerve in your body. Every time he pulls back, you clench down, trying to keep him in you. He's not even fully seated inside of you and your whole body trembles. The sensation is overwhelming, each motion pushing you further and further into the depths of your heat. 

The room is filled with the sound of wet squelching and flesh meeting flesh, your body now rocking back to meet his every thrust, your breasts jiggling with each thrust. Naoya's thrusts become more frantic, his movements more sporadic. He's close, his knot swelling. The thought of being knotted by him makes you gush, juices flowing over his cock and staining the sheets below. You feel your orgasm building, a tsunami approaching the shoreline. Your entire body is a livewire, humming with tension. 

It's then you notice the mirror that faces you. It's huge, covering half the wall, showing everything. Naoya lifts your chest, then hooks his fingers into the sides of your mouth and pulls them taut. It feels like your lips are going to crack with the strain, stings like sand sanitizer in a paper cut. You let out a low moan, drool dripping down the front of your body and pooling on the mattress beneath you. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy, there’s an unmistakable handprint on your breast from earlier, and if you could see your ass, it’d be the same. There’s a glow to your skin from your heat, makes you shiny and supple. Makes you breedable. 

"You're so much prettier when you smile, omega." His voice is low, rough with arousal.

He lets go of your mouth and just props you up, one hand around your chest to do so. It's you who holds the smile instead, a wild look in your eyes. 

Naoya keeps thrusting, and it's like the world around you fades away as his cock stretches your walls, and the edge of his knot catches on your hole with each deep thrust. It's big. Bigger than the toys you've had, bigger than the ones you've heard of, you don't know if it's going to fit. A flicker of fear passes over you, but it's quickly overwhelmed by desire and discarded. 

His other hand reaches around and rubs your sensitive clit, flicking it back and forth. You're so close to cumming, heartbeat hammering down in your pussy. Each pass of his fingers sends sparks through your system, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. 

"Cum for me, slut. Milk my cock. Scream for your Alpha." His words are a command, a demand for your pleasure.

You cry out, your body giving in to the pleasure, wave after wave of orgasm crashing down on you, your entire body going limp. Naoya pays it no mind, only holds your hips up as you fall limp, using you like a fleshlight. It feels like he's going to break you as he fucks you through your orgasm and finally pushes his knot inside you, your pussy convulsing around it. 

A wickedly delicious kind of pain, the type to leave you breathless. 

He keeps thrusting, his range limited, his knot locking the two of you together before he finally comes, his breath hitching. Hot ropes of cum paint your insides. It feels like it's too much cum to fit inside you, like it's going to spill out, but his knot keeps it firmly in place. His grip on your hips feels like it's going to break your bones, his nails drawing blood. He grunts for a few minutes, rocking his hips, milking his cock out with your pussy, before finally stopping.

Naoya bends over you and licks the shell of your ear before nibbling it. "You're never going to get away from me. You're mine to use, mine to abuse. You'll never get to leave me." He rocks his hips again, cock twitching inside you. "You won't be alone for long though, pretty girl." 

©️ uzuzrimisery

a massive thank you to my beta readers @craftycheetah @rii-bows @lovelyroseybunny and my friend cas who i dm'd weekly about this fic for over a month insecure about writing omegaverse

[ackerfics]

my love is mine all mine ch 1 | toji fushiguro x female reader

part one of to the girls who are failed by the narrative series.

series summary:

'the glorified womb', 'the heir bearer', 'the blessed flower of the jujutsu society' — they are just some of the titles given to the women of your mother's clan, and all of them eventually fell to you, the prodigal firstborn who has the misfortune of birthing someone who will be stronger than their predecessors. with the fate of someone's clan on your shoulders, there are only a handful of things told to you while growing up; be as demure as you can be, never open your mouth and squash your thoughts, sit with a posture befitting that of a lady wearing an invisible yet heavy diadem. but the one that rings the most goes like this: your only purpose in this world is to be a silent wife to a man who will give you the opportunity to carry the next generation of powerful sorcerers. you remember all of these as you walk toward zen'in ogi in your uchikake, the constricting material around your waist akin to the gripping hold of your cursed technique.

and in fate's funny little ways of fabricating legacies and stories, you forget them when you are spirited away by the man who always welcomes the coming of the seasons with you without fail.

chapter title: their redness talks to my wounds

warnings: objectifying women, misogynistic beliefs, pregnancy, miscarriage, stillbirth, death, sexual assault/r*pe (but not to reader)

Each time a girl is born in your mother’s clan, a festival is held — flower lanterns drifting in the inky sky, bells ringing each passing second, and rhythms of geta filling in between the beats of the taiko. It is believed that your mother’s family was kissed by the deity of fortitude and fertility; very much like how the Mother and Father of the Shinto gods created the islands of Japan and brought forth a new wave of deities, the womb of the Hanamo clan will bring an heir to a dying clan. When the inheritance of The Glorified Womb is successful, all of the clans gather to get a glimpse of the future Lady of their estates and bid on who would welcome her to their gates. The festival is both a moment of celebration and sending off.

It’s the start of a new era and it is all ignited by the birth of a little girl whose body is blessed by a flutter of Izanami’s forefinger. 

You were told that your festival was the grandest of all the events thrown by your family. No one anticipated the weight carried by your first cry. You weren’t there to witness it but the maids who brush your hair constantly tell you that when you announced yourself to the world like the coveted little Lady that you are, all of the flowers coloured the grounds of the estate with the reverse cursed technique innate in your mother’s bloodline and the utilisation from your father’s. They said that it was the moment the entire Jujutsu world stood still, holding their breath; offers were made, compromises were presented on the table, bounties continued piling on your little fragile head — and you weren’t even a day old. You were the product of a fruitful union between the Hanamo and Joushou clans, they said, a little doll to flaunt and to cradle until a worthy man comes to take you away as his young bride.

You don’t understand it until you accidentally nick yourself while marvelling at the beauty of the blossoms in the gardens of the main family’s house.

The blooming red on the tip of your finger fascinates you, the drops nourishing the soil underneath the carnations intermingling with the short redbud trees. Pain doesn’t even come to you as you tilt your head to follow the trickle of blood on your forefinger, the lines on your palm seeping with the most perfect shade of red you’ve ever seen. The flowers speak to you with the more time you spend letting your blood escape through your skin. You can hear them more — all asking the same set of questions that you pay no heed to. Are you alright, young Lady of the House of Purity? Do you need us to carry you in our petals? Does it hurt you? Who dares soil the most-yearned young Lady? They deserve to shrivel. You don’t notice the foliage of the shrubs going past their trimmed appearance to engulf the bundle of roses right in front of you, threatening to swallow the poor plant whole for hurting you. You’re about to place your bleeding finger in your mouth, curious about the taste of it, when the maids shriek behind you.

“Ojou-sama!”

Your hair follows the movement of your head as you turn around to meet their frantic mannerisms. “Hmm?”

“Oh, my Lord!” One of them swoops down to where you are, unravelling a ribbon from her yukata to wrap around your wound. She then scoops you from the ground, her hand holding the back of your head as gently as possible. “What are we going to tell Yoshiki-sama?”

You place your head on the maid’s shoulder, your eyes catching the retreating shrubbery trying to touch you with their fingers. Slowly, you lift your head to get a good look at them, opting to just wave your small, pudgy hands at the leaves and the twigs and the bark. Curious; they almost waved back. But you discern that it is a product of the gentle breeze entering the large gardens. After all, plants do not talk, at least not in the storybooks the caretakers and maids act out for you. The women around you keep on talking as if you aren’t there nestled in between them.

“Is it bad of me to think otherwise?”

“Mari, his daughter is injured!”

“But he will punish us if he finds out!”

The maid carrying you tightens her hold around you. “Even if the heavens ring malice over us peasants, I would gladly inform the head of this house of anything regarding his prized kin. Mari, I thought you were better than that. We are hired to protect Ojou-sama with every inch of our being.”

A hitched breath comes from the other maid. “Don’t you dare drop my name when you speak of this to Yoshiki-sama!”

“If he brings up the subject of the witnesses, I would speak with utmost honesty.”

The maid whisks you away. It is only when she passes by Mari-san that you take a good look at the troubled countenance wrapping around the worried maid. You don’t know the hierarchy around the household but you definitely know your father is the highest-ranking person here, judging from how people speak of him. You surmise that the maid holding you as if you’re the most fragile thing on the planet is higher in rank than Mari-san and that probably makes her sad just like now. Intending to make her smile a little bit, you raise your hand over the maid’s shoulder to wave at Mari-san, your smile beaming and crinkling the corners of your eyes. The lower maid notices it and her entire demeanour shifts into that of a person endeared. She feels better and you also feel better now.

“Ojou-sama, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“What about Papa? Aren’t we supposed to go to him?”

The maid stiffens. “Right after we clean the wound and put some cute bandages on it, Ojou-sama.”

“Can I pick the pattern?”

The woman chuckles under her breath. “Of course; as long as it is in the box Ritsuko bought the other day.”

Ritsuko must be one of the maids as well. You think long and hard about the design you want, the image of cute cartoon characters filling your mind. With a little pout, you suggest, “I want Sanrio.”

“Let’s see if there’s any of the Sanrio characters in the bandages, then, Ojou-sama. Just a little more and—Mutsuki-sama!”

“I’ll take it from here, Aida-chan.”

The most beautiful woman who puts the flowers to shame — your mother. She was once the most desired bride, even threatening to break the close relationship of the oldest sons of the current head of the Zen’in family in hopes of finally giving birth to the sorcerer who will possess the Ten Shadows Technique they are praised for. Because of your father, the current head of the clan bearing a reverse cursed technique so notorious, that civil war was prevented and the Zen’in married other women from lower clans as a way to swallow their shame. All the funnier it was to the adults having meetings in your house when after marrying their chosen brides, the Zen’in sons weren’t blessed by Lady Luck — the eldest son’s children were never that exemplary (one didn’t inherit the Ten Shadows Technique and the other was an anomaly to your society) and the younger one’s wife experienced miscarriage and false positives.

Judging from the stories you’ve heard of that Zen’in dispute so many years ago, you understand with your little brain that your mother embodies the word pretty through and through — pretty enough to bewitch the young head of the Gojo clan, who is roughly around the same age as her. In the end, it was your father she chose and they were married as soon as she reached the age of eighteen. You graced their life four years after their marriage and she told you in hushed whispers behind a thin shoji that they prayed for your creation — that you are loved way before conception because there was not a night that she didn’t wish to the stars for your existence.

Your mother stands in the middle of the hallway, her maids lowering their heads behind her. The kimono wrapping her figure is anything but simple, one of the many gifts showered to her by your father. Her hair is cascading down her back and her smile is demure yet exuding with so much warmth that it compels you to reach out for her. Her glittering eyes shine ever more at your silent plea to be transferred into her arms.

“Oh, come here, my little petal,” she murmurs while taking you from the maid and in her frail arms. She huffs at the unexpected weight. “Aren’t you getting bigger?” Her voice is soft, almost like she is talking to an easily frightened kitten, even leaning forward to lightly brush the tip of her nose to yours. You giggle at the ticklish sensation and your mother hums a little amused laugh.

You place both of your hands on her cheeks. “Hello, Mama.”

“Hello, little petal.” Her gaze drifts down to the hastily wrapped ribbon around your finger, the red is still vibrant against the muted colours of the material. “Did you hurt yourself while playing in the garden?” Mother tuts under her breath. “We can’t have that now, can we?” The crinkles around her eyes harden into that expected of a Mistress of the house and all the maids present straighten their postures, all the while facing the ground. When the younger women keep their silence, Mother returns to gazing at you with that lovely look she usually has while trailing her eyes over your features. “I suppose it’s expected of children to have a little scratch here and there while enjoying life. After all, my little petal gets her love for nature from me. Isn’t that right, my darling?”

“The flowers talked to me in the garden, Mama.”

“Did they?” Mother glances at the maids before walking toward her room. “What did they say?”

You place a hand on your chin, tucking your head in the crook of her neck. “They were whispering about many things.” You gasp in realisation. “I think they found a little bunny!”

She adjusts you in her hold, her breaths deepening the more she carries you. “We’ll ask someone to fetch that rabbit for you.”

“Will Papa say yes?”

Mother pauses for a moment. The words coming from her throat are carefully crafted to never dim that enthusiastic gleam present in your irises. “Your father is weak when it comes to you; I’m sure he’s going to grant your wish no matter how bizarre it is. A bunny doesn’t even create a dent on anything he holds.”

“I’ll call it Melody.”

“Why the name, little petal?”

“Because it’s the only bunny in Sanrio.”

You watch the long corridors depict the opulence of the gardens of your father’s estate, all of the flowers arranged in a way that is akin to the traditional art of ikebana, making the lifeless plot of land alive. The previous head of the Joushou family decided that for their heir to win the heart of the flower of the Jujutsu society, they have to plant different species of flowering plants to the bland greenery they have in their backyard. It most certainly impressed the standing head of the Hanamo clan, who agreed to give their prized daughter to the man who would least harm her. Now, the garden is a testament to the love sprouting between your mother and father and many maids and butlers say that it is still revered by those who have heard it, all wishing for a love like that to save them from the fate given to them by the higher-ups.

A little honey bee drapes itself on one of the flowers, its wings fluttering rapidly against the purple petals. The flower sneezes though it doesn’t agitate the bee buzzing to get a taste of its nectar. You giggle at the incessant complaints brought by the flower, only to be met by the satisfied buzz of the bee.

“Look, Mama, the flower is talking so fast!” You point at the still-rambling flower, Mother following your finger with her hooded eyes. 

“It’s reassuring to know that I’m not the only one to hear them now.”

You lean back from Mother’s shoulder, her hand immediately flat on your back to prevent you from toppling. “Careful,” she mutters under her breath. The crease on her eyebrows vanishes at the sound of your twinkling laughter.

“Sorry, Mama!”

Mother shakes her head. “It’s alright, petal.”

“Mama says she can hear the flowers, too!”

She sighs at your manner of speaking. “You said you can hear flowers, too,” she corrects without looking down at you, the door of her room right at her reach. “You can easily replace the nouns with pronouns, little petal. It’s not appealing to the ears once you get older. Best to remember to stop referring to yourself from a third point of view as well. It is unbecoming of a little lady of this house to have such impaired speech.” Mother hears nothing from you, so she takes a little peek at you before letting out a huff at the deflated posture you carry. “Your father won’t like it, petal.” She heaves another sigh. “And yes, I can hear the flowers because of our family’s cursed technique.”

“What’s a cursed technique, Mama?”

Once you enter Mother’s room, she pads on the tatami and gracefully lowers herself on one of the zaisu with you on her lap. You don’t see any first-aid kits anywhere that can help her clean and dress your small wound. Instead, Mother unravels the ribbon around your finger and holds it up for her to see. The blood has dried now, the wound stark on your skin. You never realised that the nick made by the roses’ thorns travelled from the tip of your appendage down to the line bordering your first knuckle. Mother remains quiet as she rubs the tip of her own finger over your own, making you flinch at the sting. She glances at the harsh movement of your little body and tuts, the sound echoing through the walls of her minimalistically decorated room. With the tenderness only a mother can have, she keeps on brushing her finger against your open skin, her breathing becoming laboured with each passing second.

The feeling that washes over you is ticklish in every sense. Something is coming from Mother’s touch that has you looking over at your joined hands. There is a pulsating glow emanating from between you two — blinding and warm. It travels from her fingertips to your wound, stitching it together like how she sews the tapestries displayed on some walls of the estate. The pain you felt earlier can be a figment of your imagination because when Mother wipes your finger with a clean napkin on the low table in front of you, the magic she did erases any sign of your injury. And right when she finishes doing her magic, the flowers in the ikebana around her room continue flourishing until more than one blossom can be seen. It’s only then that you realise they are singing in a chorus so heavenly that you have no problems hearing them all at once.

With a rugged pattern of breathing, Mother answers your hanging question, “That … can be classified as a cursed technique.”

You lift your hand to your eyes, blinking every so often and examining it for any scar. “Whoa,” you breathe. “That’s so cool!”

“That,” she catches her breathing, “is the reason why you should never be hurt.” She cups your face with her palm, cradling it like the world that you are. “Our very existence, our cursed technique, the way we were born, is proof of how special we are. They are the reason why your father is quite protective of you. Believe me when I say that you lit up the entire compound when I gave birth to you. In this generation, you are considered to be the most valuable possession of the Jujutsu society. There may come a time when a strong sorcerer will be born, but for now, the world will fall to its knees at the sound of your name. Because you have my blood in you and you know what they say about my family?” You sheepishly shake your head and she takes that as a sign to continue, with a knowing smile on her glossed lips, “Men would go to war just to have us. The near downfall of the Zen’in and Gojo clans hundreds of years ago says it all.”

“I don’t want that,” you murmur, now forlorn at the possibility of wreaking havoc in your world.

“It is the way of the world for us, petal,” Mother says, like an afterthought she always kept ever since.

“I want to watch Sanrio all day and look at the flowers and play,” you pout.

“That doesn’t exactly work for us in the future.”

“Then maybe I should run away!”

Now, both of Mother’s hands trap your head in place. Your eyes take her in — the franticness coating her features, the disbelief in the form of the sneer on her lips, and the underlying glint underneath her pupils. Your little heart starts pounding in your chest. Did you do something wrong to elicit such a reaction from her? Your mouth is about to form an apology when she cuts off your train of thought, “Never think of that again. You are the current flower of the Jujutsu society; running away is something that will have you executed. Do you understand me?” You nod, only jumping when that response rings unsatisfactory to Mother. She grits out your name before repeating, “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mother,” comes your quiet response.

“Now, that’s a good girl,” her words are soft but they carry a weight enough to wilt the smallest of buds. “If you run away, you might as well be a dead woman crawling.”

You’ve always wanted a younger sibling.

You don’t particularly long for a brother to dote on or a sister to frolic in the garden with, all you want is someone to share this loneliness wrapping around every room you venture into. And you have reached an age where you wish you had someone to play with, being eight and now more aware that the attention people give you is devoid of genuine emotion. Father is busy with whatever adult thing he occupies himself with (as usual) and Mother has started becoming ill, staying in her room more than going out to get a dose of fresh air. You’re left in the company of maids, butlers, butterflies, and flowers. With so many festivals that have been postponed, you have lost hope that you will get that adorable little sibling in your dreams — until the spring of 1988 when news spread that Mother is with child and you will finally have the younger sibling she wishes for.

“Congratulations, Lady Joushou,” a passing visitor jovially cheers, their smile reaching the heavens as if it’s their wife who is pregnant with the next heir of the clan. “I hope it’s a boy!”

“Oh, imagine the joy Yoshiki would feel if a boy comes out,” an elderly lady from the branch family gushes with her mouth carefully covered by the sleeves of her kimono.

Mother simply passes them a smile, one that can’t be hidden by the products on her face. Her hand is carefully perched on her protruding belly, just two months away from giving birth.

Father decided that the announcement of the possible heir of the Joushou clan should come at a later date, with the news making an impact on the higher-ups and would eventually give the clan an edge compared to the others. Especially now that the Zen’in clan has failed to produce another child from the oldest couple of the current head, their last child still an odd specimen but a survivor of a room full of cursed spirits. Father said that wasn’t enough for them to be boastful about their prowess, you remember (he adds something along the lines of the entire Jujutsu world would bow before the boy who will carry his Nullification). But you never cared about clan politics or who has the more exceptional children, you just want your baby sister to be out into the world. You want to show her the storybook you created for her eyes and ears only, a story of a little princess in the flowers.

“You should eat more seaweed, dear,” another old lady pads over to suggest. “It would help with milk production if you plan on breastfeeding the future heir.”

“What are you talking about? Of course, Lady Joushou is going to breastfeed the future heir. Breastfeeding is vital for the relationship of the mother and the child after all.” One of the official elders of the clan swatted the lady from the branch family before taking the rein on the conversation, her smile making her eyes crease into lines. “Try some cucumber juice as well! It worked when I was carrying my last child. Your skin will glow when you drink it, too.”

“Dear, now that I see it,” the old lady from the branch family starts while placing her hand on her cheek. “You have been glowing lately.”

“That is wonderful news!”

Mother chuckles ever so slightly. “Why?”

“It confirms that you’re carrying a boy!”

“A boy?” Something lights up Mother’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

The elder of the clan hums, “When a woman looks decayed, it means that they’re pregnant with a girl because all of the mother’s beauty is being sucked by the baby. If the opposite happens like the mother getting prettier by the day, the baby is a boy because beauty is not something he needs.”

Mother blinks out of her stupor. “That’s … informative, Shizuka-sama.”

“But I remember that everyone thought he was carrying a boy when the little flower was born. You had the most noticeable case of pregnancy glow with her that we thought we finally had our heir. Turns out it’s even better — a little lady to carry on the mantle of being the glorified womb—!”

“Enjoying yourself listening to the elders, little petal?” Father’s voice makes you jump from the shoji. You look behind your shoulder to see him standing with his back straight, his long hair that was tied in a low ponytail hanging over his shoulder, and his smile gentle yet firm. Father is a man who commands attention wherever he's placed. You don’t see him without his usual stoicism. Even when he smiles, you feel as if he’s never within your reach. Father was once Papa and when Papa decided it was better for him to long for a child he could pass his technique to, he became Father. When you keep staring at him, Father lightly laughs, something that sounds more like a scoff than anything. “Come here, petal,” he softly says, letting his hands be free from the confines of his kimono to gesture you into his arms. He carries you once you reach him, releasing a playful huff, “You’ve gotten big, huh?” He noses your hair before opening the shoji.”

“Oh, Lord Yoshiki!”

“Did you have a good meeting, Lord Yoshiki?”

“You must be pleased to hear about the possible gender of your child!”

“Finally an heir to celebrate!

“We’ll definitely fix a festival that’s more extravagant than the Hanamo’s—!”

“Ladies,” Father cuts through, his smile glacial enough to make the elderly women freeze. “Can I have some time with my wife? Our precious daughter is asking for her mother and I can’t have our little petal deprive her of it simply because we have a party outside.”

The one from the branch family bows her head in front of the head of the clan. “Oh, right away, Yoshiki-sama! We deeply apologise for taking most of your wife’s time.”

You don’t fail to notice the look of disdain she gives your direction.

“Nonsense,” the higher in position among the ladies tuts.

“Shizuka,” comes from the weak admonition of the lesser lady.

“The girl has her maids, am I right?” The words are like poison on her tongue and her eyes are daggers that pierce through your little bubble. Ever since they didn’t get the heir they wanted the first time around, they find you lowly just like Mother. At the tender age of eight, you already grasp the reason why some of Father’s family look at you in a way that someone looks at an uncoordinated ikebana — with disappointment. Coming from a clan that’s purely known for their blessed wombs, it is easy for the other clans to assume that is all that the Hanamo clan is worth — bearing children with otherworldly looks that can make the entire world weak. The woman continues throwing her daggers, “The child your wife is carrying has more priority than the one you have now. This unborn child may be the next one to inherit our technique—”

“I appreciate the concern,” Father says without saying the name of the elder woman. “But I would like to dismiss you now.”

“Well, I—”

“You have said enough.”

The woman squawks like a chicken and you giggle at the sound. She meets your laughing form and the glare on her face can curdle milk. Your laughter ceases but Father places a hand on the back of your head as if to shield you from her. She chooses to save her life by tidying up her kimono and exiting the room, the other ladies following her like ducklings. Once the room encloses only you three, Father walks to where Mother is and sits at the end of the chaise lounge she is reclined on.

“How is the boy?”

Mother lets out a little laugh. “Not you, too.”

“Is there a problem?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

Father hums, the conversation ending there.

You look at them like a tennis match.

Once upon a time, you longed for a younger sibling, not caring about the sex of the baby. Now, with the weight of the elder’s eyes on your useless form, you start to think that you don’t want a little brother, one that can be a godling among mortals. You want someone to play with and at the same time protect from the harsh realities of the elders — not someone who will take everything from you. It may sound selfish when you let it sink into your brain. You resort to twiddling with your fingers the more silence seeps through the cracks of the room. 

“I don’t want a brother,” your little mouth runs faster than your head. You pout as you fiddle with the material of your expensive kimono, embroidered with the different flowers that stand for your late grandmothers and aunts who married into other clans just like Mother. You don’t know what they mean but you figure that since they look pretty to be placed in a ceremonial robe, they might stand for something beautiful as well. While following the outlines of a chrysanthemum with your finger, you continue, “Brothers are going to be mean even if they’re little. I’ve seen my cousins and they’re rowdy — I don’t want my kimono to be dirty. Once, they threatened to push me off the bridge of our garden.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Father replies, adjusting you on his lap until he can face you while looking down. It’s genuine — the smile on his face; only reserved for his close family members, most especially you. He caresses the fluff that is making your cheek protrude with his thumb, his gaze seeing something that only he can envision. You may be imagining it but Father pulls you closer to his chest. He says nothing for a moment, instead leaning down to press a soft kiss on your hair inhaling that flowery scent your cursed energy pulsates with. “You will have a younger brother, petal. But fret not, your brother won’t be like your cousins because he has us. He will grow up to be sensible and kind and strong. He will carry on our name with him and you will be there as his guide.”

You tilt your head at him. “Won’t the elders do that instead?”

Father chuckles, his eyes fond as he keeps on rubbing circles on the apples of your cheeks. “I know he’d rather have you than those old people. The bond of siblings is something akin to an unsaid binding vow yet there are no conditions to be met because you are connected.”

You turn to Mother and all she does is smile. Looking down on Father’s rather plain kimono, you think it through.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, petal,” she tells you. “I, myself, have a brother and it’s not the end of the world. Every worry you have will vanish when he’s here with us.”

Your tentativeness comes in the form of reaching for Mother’s belly, curious to feel your potential younger brother. It’s almost like beckoning the bunny in the gardens to your hands four years ago; fur as white as snow and eyes as red as the red spider lilies decorating the inner corners of the foliage and shrubs (bad luck, the gardeners say). Confidence pools in your tiny hands upon finally touching the rough texture of Mother’s kimono under your skin because this time, you know that your younger brother would outlive any of you, unlike the bunny four years ago — the red of its eyes matching the blood pooling from its white coat, maggots squirming from its insides and onto the grass. The bunny died but your brother will live.

At least that’s what you constantly tell yourself when the entire estate is ablaze with the news that the baby boy Mother has been praised for for carrying, comes out pale blue as a stalk of delphiniums.

When your little brother never reached a full day of life and was placed with the ancestors the day after his birth, everything died in the Joushou compound. There is a lingering scent of rotting flowers in the breeze, encompassing the entire protective circle wrapping around the compound’s protective barrier. Mother won’t stop crying during the kokubetsushiki (where everyone says their farewells); not even your comforting tugs on her black kimono can quell the distraught her entire body racks with. Father looks forward as the son he prayed to the gods for will be burned — so tiny and so unfair, an image of a perfect clan head. You see the other clans wearing black like your family does but they don’t cry like Mother does nor grumble in disappointment like the elders do. You look over your shoulder at the clan with sharp eyes and you feel the flowers beside them squirm at their malintent, except for one. It’s a boy already staring at you, the deep green in his eyes reminds you of early spring when the greenery is at its most beautiful. The scar on the side of his lips is stark against his skin, so twisted that even without a smile on his face, it is prominent. He keeps on staring at you with so many emotions that you can hardly pick them out until your name is called.

“Yes, Father?” You look up at him.

Without returning your gaze, he says, “Let’s go.” You follow him through the door but Mother doesn’t. “Wife,” he announces, causing Mother to flinch.

“I-I’m going to say g-goodbye to hi—”

“Come.”

Her breathing hitches, having no choice but to always be obedient in front of so many prying eyes. “O-Of course, husband.”

The world carries on but Mother has never come out of her room ever since.

Nobody has ever entered it except Father, stoic but tumultuous, and the screams that follow are enough to give you nightmares at night — bone-chilling and grating.

“What were those screams, Aida-nee-san? It sounds like Mama is in pain.”

The maid finches at your question one morning while rubbing your skin with a soft sponge.

“For there to be blessings, one must suffer first, Ojou-sama — they were just making your baby brother. Your mother will be praised if the union becomes fruitful once again.”

You wish you never wanted a baby sibling at all.

You are nine when you are introduced to members of Mother’s family.

Your uncle, Hanamo Hatsugu, stares at you from across the table with eyes glistening with expectation. The table is painted with a variety of sweets from all parts of Kyoto, some intricate with their decorations (candied sugar moulded into swans on top of whipped cream) while others are the simple desserts that you see in catalogues (nothing but fruits as their jewellery, though also glistening with melted sugar). You have never owned a sweet tooth in your life, courtesy of the maids who think of your health, constructing nutrition charts for each day of the week, something that has to do with preparation. You think through all the possible things you can say to your uncle and all of them lead to him dejected or angry for your lack of enthusiasm at the spread he prepared. The most you can do is sit straight and let nature do its singing outside the window. Hopefully, it will drown out the silence you’re causing. 

“So,” your uncle drawls out like a child, his eyes never dimming — they’re the same as Mother’s, which means they’re the same as yours, too. “Do you want the panna cotta? The roasted strawberry crumble? Ooh, ooh, the black forest cake from this cafe is absolutely divine, one bite and you will see heaven, I would say!” At your wide-eyed reaction to the chocolate-coated frosting on the cake, he pauses with a smile before brandishing a saucer of a smooth cake topped with berries. “How about some angel food cake? No one can resist a slice of good angel food cake!” You make no move and you think he finally reaches his final straw because he leans back and groans in frustration. “Come on, sprout, you have to eat something! It’s been hours since you’ve been here.”

Oh, so, that’s what it is. You look down at the desserts he arranged on the table (at least from what he boasts about earlier, saying that it’s something he comes up with like flower arrangement). There’s nothing displayed here that’s not overly coated with sugar or drizzled with too much syrup. You might as well accept your fate.

You pick the dessert that you assume to be the least sweet of everything here — a dark chocolate glazed doughnut with dried blackberries on top. The eyes drilling on your forehead can be quite imposing but you take a bit of the confection nonetheless. You carefully chew on the bittersweet piece of candy, letting it melt on your tongue until you get a taste of it combined with the blackberries. You can’t even deny that they complement each other.

“Huh,” comes from your uncle.

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You can look like a kid your age,” Uncle Hatsugu muses with his chin supported by his hand, “I’m glad.”

You don’t understand, tilting your head to the right.

“Now that’s downright adorable,” he points at your scrunched-up nose, furrowed eyebrows, and jutted lip. “I understand why some of our relatives spread the word that your father can never refuse you anything. You are like a tiny mouse.” He reaches out over the table and the display of desserts to pinch your cheek but you evade the possible harmful gesture. “And a flighty one at that. You know, that’s useful when harnessing our cursed technique. Do you know a thing or two about it?” While he speaks, he waves at one of the maids stationed at the shoji of the room before signing something that awfully looks like a drink.

With your mouth nibbling on the doughnut, you nod in response. At the sight of you still eating the dessert, Uncle Hatsugu brightens like a child witnessing their first rain of fractals on a chilly, grey day. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

At that, you knit your eyebrows even more.

“Hah, you’re so much like Onee-chan when we were young.”

You gulp down what you’ve been chewing. “Mama?”

He grins when he finally makes you speak. “Yeah, Onee-chan is a curious individual. I never quite grasped what she is like but,” he emphasised the word, “she is the most adept at utilising the healing potential of our cursed technique — actually every woman who earned the title of Heir Maker has the ability to do that. You may be too young to be told this but I guess it’s better than later.” The mirthful air surrounding Uncle Hatsugu disappears and what is left are heavy lines making up his sharp face. “You and all the women before you are considered to be anomalies in the Jujutsu system made by the old gaggle of men who call themselves the higher-ups and because of that, you are unofficially given the title of Special Grades.”

“Special?”

“Yes, little sprout is special,” he forces himself to smile. “And it is because of our family.”

“What do you mean, Uncle?”

“Have you ever felt like the plants around you talk or relay their thoughts?” You nod and he puffs his chest in satisfaction. “Perfect, then, that means you inherited it. Our cursed technique lies in continuously seeing the world in a positive light, which means you will always have the opposite of cursed energy.” He flicks his hand to let blue flames cover his entire appendage, right to his elbows. You gasp at the hostility coming from Uncle but he only laughs at that and erases any sign of the flame from sight. “That is regular cursed energy. This, however,” this time, he cups both of his hands in front of him, putting more concentration than before, and instead of the blue flames from earlier, his hands carry white flames edged with green, “is the pinnacle of our cursed technique — the reverse of cursed energy.”

“Woah,” you gape, forgetting the doughnut in your hand and leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the white flames that only seem to grow brighter the more Uncle looks at you with fondness.

“Yeah, remarkable, isn’t it?”

You can’t help but nod in awe. “Mama healed me with it once when I got myself hurt from the gardens.”

“I heard from our elders that Onee-chan possesses the highest output of our cursed technique in centuries but she can only heal instead of attack,” Uncle Hatsugu ruefully smiles. “Too bad she is pushed to marry first before pursuing a career of fighting and protecting. But now,” his eyes that he shares with Mother gleam and you swear you see flowers bloom in his irises, “this is my chance to teach you how to use our cursed technique — Floral Anima.”

Only the men in the Joushou clan have the right to be sorcerers, that is if they successfully inherit the Nullification. As of now, you recall that there’s not a single woman sorcerer in your family. Being a sorcerer—no, wielding a cursed technique at most—is a figment of one’s dreams. 

“But there are no girls in my family who can do cursed techniques,” you supply with your eyes on the crumbs on your saucer. 

“The Joushou clan is not the only family you have, sprout.”

You peer at him through your unbound hair, trepidation still lingering in your limbs. You can’t even begin to think how Father would react to you dabbling in something only men can do. But then again, Mother has a cursed technique, some of the Hanamo women have cursed techniques, Hell, even the kinder old ladies you passed by earlier in the extensive gardens have cursed techniques (they made some of the flowers extra flourishing as a welcome to the Hanamo compound). All your life, you never wanted anything. Maybe this can be it — the one thing that will carve out who you are. Learning a cursed technique will give you the identity that has long since been stripped from you. The Joushou clan is not the only family that you bear the blood of. You’re a Hanamo as well — the known shepherds of the forests and blossoms of Japan.

With a deep breath, you lift your head and say, “What do I have to do?”

Uncle Hatsugu has that blinding smile again. You can smell the amalgam of floral scents in the air wafting from outside the engawa. “Come here!” He pats on the zabuton beside him.

You stand up and plop yourself next to him, making your hair bounce before framing your face. You look up at Uncle Hatsugu, who sits carefully to face you.

“Now, hold your hands together like you I did.” You do so and await his next instructions. “I want you to close your eyes,” you close them, “and think of what makes you happiest—it doesn’t matter when, whether it will be in the future or stuck in the past; it’s up to you.”

You think of making your own garden, with flowers that you have planted and cultivated yourself. You think of Mother healthy again, skin glowing like she did so many years ago. You think of the baby brother you once wanted, running around the cut grass on his stubby feet. Lastly, you don’t think of Father and his family. Yet nothing happens. You open your eyes and blankly look at your uncle in disappointment.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

You huff. “But it didn’t work.”

Uncle Hatsugu pushes on your forehead with his forefinger, making you cover it up with a glare. “You’re not trying hard enough.”

“Then what am I supposed to think about?”

“I don’t know,” he admonishes. “Happiness is subjective to every person.”

“What makes you happy? What do you think about while making that white fire?”

His eyes glazed over as if he were watching a scene only he could see. A smile painting an arrangement of periwinkles and forget-me-nots creates itself on his lips, blues and purples shifting around each other and creating a sentimental mess. It takes him a moment to reign himself back to the present, with you patiently trailing your eyes over his face. “It’s always about simpler times. Like Mom cutting watermelon slices on summer days, growing my first flower for the first time, or,” he trails off, “wishing for a memory that is impossible to happen because you are here, the proof that it did happen.” His face contorts into a rueful smile, reaching out to pat the crown of your head. “I always imagine my sister never getting married, staying right here in our estate, and not having children — she is—”

“The happiest you’ve seen her,” you finish for him and he pales. “I know.” You look down at the kimono you have, a miniature copy of Mother’s. “I sometimes wonder what it would be like if Mother is not the mother I’ve grown to adore. Maybe I could be a different child.”

“Hey, I apologise for putting that thought in your head—”

“It’s alright, I’ve grown quite used to them.”

“What do you—”

You quickly lift your head. “Can you help me now?”

“U-Uh, sure,” Uncle Hatsugu stutters. “Try another memory. If you don’t mind me asking, what was the first one you used?”

You pout. “Mother being healthy again and my baby brother being alive.”

He nods in understanding. “How about this? Can you think of a place where you feel like you can breathe more easily?”

“I can try.”

“You will,” he fixes you with a playfully stern look, “and I won’t take no for an answer.”

You nod in determination. “Okay.”

“Okay! Now, do it all over again.”

You close your eyes and this time, you’re calm. Suddenly, you feel a gentle breeze covering your hands. The sensation urges you to open your eyes. On the palms of your hands is almost like that heart-fire demon in a movie you once watched. You expect the fire to burn your skin off but you’re thrown back to the memory of Mother healing your wound — that ticklish thing travelling through the lines of your skin. You did it.

“Oh, gods, you did it,” Uncle Hatsugu breathes. “You did it, sprout! What did you think of this time?”

Still mesmerised at the white fire, you say, “A forest. An evergreen forest that seems to know both everything and nothing. It’s like that forest I’ve seen in a movie with cute spirits, filled with life and a possibility of a blight inside.”

Again, you never want another sibling.

The Joushou clan is in an uproar.

Another boy went to the depths of the earth. Fingers pointing at the useless Hanamo clan whose only worth comes in getting bred by strong sorcerers. Your uncle nearly grows poisonous vines at the baseless accusation. Father stoically faces the storm. The Zen’in clan, especially a man with a bottle of sake for an accessory, laughs at Father for bearing the irony of possessing The Glorified Womb yet never having a son—an heir.

Yet one thing remains in your mind.

An image of Mother crumbling to her knees with a pool of blood for a moat surrounding her.

You’re ten when Mother finally departs from the world in a flurry of red spider lilies, leaving behind a younger sister instead of a brother. Both disappointments and blows to your father’s family. Everybody is clad, once again, in mourning black but you feel as if you’re the only one who genuinely grieves for Mother. Her family is not even present at the funeral services, purposefully banned from ever entering the Joushou clan’s gates for sullying their name by introducing their failure of a daughter to their head. You can feel the tension in the wooden panels of the house, the harsh whispers of the elders, and the animosity behind closed doors.

All of the flowers in the estate withered with her, you notice. It is only when you step out to the lifeless gardens that with each barefoot step you make the colours bleed through. You stop in front of the carnations that once made you bleed. They were the flowers you’ve seen Mother plant without using her cursed technique. She talks to them, you once saw, whispering sweet nothings as if they were her children just as much as you are. You realise that you have your younger siblings all along but the role of the protector fell on them.

“Watch over my little petal, alright? She may be reckless but she is kind and understanding, worthy of being the flower who will tend to this garden once I pass.”

You blankly stare at them now while lowering yourself to the ground, sitting like you were once on the engawa watching the butterflies jump from flower to flower, never realising that tear tracks start to form on your cheeks like the trails of fallen stars. With each tear that drops on the soil, a sprout pierces through the soil, growing and growing until a solitary carnation comes from a carefully tucked bud and brushes the tears on your left cheek away. That only makes you cry even harder.

You don’t know how long you’ve been there while the services are still ongoing in the estate but you startle when the carnation squeaks at you to look behind you.

Heartbeat lodged in your throat, butterflies making your stomach queasy, and time standing still, you find yourself staring at a black-haired boy at the entrance of this part of the gardens — his eyes wide, chest too still to indicate any breathing, and scar a sharp contrast to his pale skin. He’s dressed in black and only one colour is standing among the dreary coldness of the once vibrant foliage.

A pair of evergreen forests for eyes.

additional notes:

Joushou — Reader's last name; Mainly from the term shoujou since reader is almost like a protagonist of a shoujou manga (born to be in a shoujou, forced to be in shounen rip). Kanji: 浄聖; 浄 (clean, pure, beautify, unsullied) + 聖 (holy, sacred, imperial); Prides themselves for possessing a CT named Nullification, which stems from their constant renewal and flow of reverse cursed technique, even going as far as creating a barrier that can render any cursed energy attack useless or to break a domain expansion, hence, getting the moniker of the House of Purity.

Hanamo — The maiden name of Reader's mother; Kanji: 花茂; 花 (of the flowers) + 茂 (lush, abundant, thriving, outstanding, diligent); The women in this clan are most known to be Heir Makers since the Golden Age of Sorcery, having possessed the Glorified Womb after being blessed by the goddess of creation.

Floral Anima — comes from the Greek term anima, which means the soul or the irrational part of it. Its principle comes from the belief that all life possess a soul, even plants. By having this CT, those in the Hanamo clan can manipulate the anima or souls of the flora to their liking, with them only influenced if there is a constant output of reverse cursed technique (positive). This allows the sorcerer to grow plants in varying degrees, make them burst forth from spots of cursed energy, and create safety spots or prisons when absolutely necessary. They can also make use of the type of plant they have around them to create a multitude of attacks than can be gentle but highly offensive as well.

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@booblikerlhc @sugutoad

[redsamuraiii]

Saw some posts of people being upset with Shogun because Lord Toranaga does nothing so far but make use of others. As they were expecting him to fight as they're used to seeing Hiroyuki Sanada being a fearless warrior plunging himself into chaos.

But that's what make this show unique as it's different. He's not a Ronin or a Samurai with nothing to lose anymore, he's a leader. One wrong move means the demise of his entire clan like what happened to Mariko's family clan, that's why Toranaga is very cautious.

He's playing the long game that no one understands but him. That's what makes him difficult to defeat as no one knows what he's really thinking and planning, not even his own followers. You can't survive the warring period by being an open book.

Toranga knew that he's outnumbered as more clans flocked to Ishido's banners by the day. As time goes by, a frontal assault would be impossible and suicidal. Especially now when he's branded a "rebel" against the Council of Regents and the Taiko's heir.

Mariko is the endgame as she finally exposed Ishido's true intentions in holding all the retainer's families hostage and wanting power for himself that even Ochiba, the Taiko's consort is powerless. Now it is likely the other clans will abandon Ishido and flock to Toranaga.

This time, Ishido would be the rebel and Toranaga's war against him would be justified as the clans would recognize him now as the rightful Shogun. Yabu will likely be executed for his treachery, so his province will be under Toranaga's control. He's gaining power.

Now he can make his power move to eliminate Ishido once and for all, and claim the title, Shogun. After all, he's based on the real Tokugawa Ieyasu, who is known for his great patience and cunningness in playing politics, that he's able to unify Japan.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

IOTA Reviews: Protection

In this episode, Lila is once again going to test the boundaries of Marinette's bond with her best friend, Al—Kagami. Uh, yeah, it's Kagami, not Alya. Because it's not like we saw that four episodes ago, right?

Let's get into the sixteenth episode of Miraculous Ladybug's fifth season: Protection

We start off with Kagami hanging out with Lila to establish the fact that Kagami still trusts Lila over Marinette for some reason before cutting to scene where Marc and Nathaniel reveal a plan for Marinette and Adrien to have their first kiss. Somehow, they believe kissing will allow them to be more honest with how they feel about each other based on what they've seen in fairy tales, shoujou manga, and Hollywood romantic comedies. I'm not making this up. Marinette and Adrien go on the Ferris wheel to try and have a romantic moment as part of the plan, only for Nino's terrible guitar playing to ruin the mood.

Nathaniel: Nino, have you never touched a guitar before?

Nino: Uh, no dude. This is my very first time!

Nathaniel: Well, then why did you replace Luka?

Nino: Well, it didn't look so hard when he was playing it!

Hey, to be fair, I'm there's at least a few people think Nino and Luka are the same character.

After the plan fails, we cut to Gabriel and Tomoe having tea as they discuss moving up the date of something called the Diamonds Ball. Gabriel claims its a scheduling issue, but Tomoe is able to hear his heart beating erratically. Because like in every TV show ever made, being blind somehow gives Tomoe the powers of Daredevil. Also, check out what Tomoe compares Gabriel's heartbeat to.

Tomoe: Your heart beats louder than a taiko drum!

GET IT? IT'S BECAUSE SHE'S JAPANESE!

After Gabriel reveals that he doesn't have a lot of time left (even dramatically showing his Cataclysmed arm to Tomoe when she can't even see it), we see Adrien and Kagami talking about how long Adrien was in the dark about Marinette for. All due respect, this is actually a pretty good scene. I like how Adrien admits that he doesn't want to force anything while also admitting that this is something he has to do on his own. It shows off their friendship and how far both of them have come. Of course, it's ruined by the fact that somehow, Gabriel and Tomoe never learned that Adrien and Kagami broke up over a season ago. Marinette is invited to Adrien's house, and in another good scene, she decides to stop worrying about what to do around Adrien and plans to go there in her pajamas.

Meanwhile, Gabriel and Tomoe argue about how their children were supposed to be the perfect couple, neither of them acknowledging that they didn't even know they broke up in the first place.

Tomoe: All of our plans are falling apart! You were supposed to control your son, Gabriel!

Gabriel: And you, your daughter!

Tomoe: My daughter's so perfect she doesn't need me to control her!

Gabriel: Well, it appears she does.

Tomoe: It's not my child who's falling for someone completely wrong for her!

Gabriel: But she seems to be the one encouraging him!

Tomoe: Take control of your son, and she'll have nothing left to encourage. Organize the dance as soon as possible. Don't fail in capturing Ladybug and Cat Noir's Miraculous. It is imperative that this situation be resolved before you... leave!

Where is he going to, the Shadow Realm?

After Tomoe leaves with Kagami, Gabriel talks with Adrien. He tries to convince him to get back together with Kagami because they're “Of the same design”, and when the camera shows Gabriel touching his ring, he forbids Adrien from continuing his relationship with Marinette.

Gee, I wonder how Gabriel is able to do this. I wonder what he means when he used the word “design” to describe Adrien and Kagami as if they weren't human. I wonder why we keep getting shots of Gabriel touching his ring whenever he orders Adrien around when this show has already established that creations of the Peacock Miraculous can be controlled with whatever object they were in and—Oh my God, just say Adrien and Kagami are Sentimonsters already!

We also get a scene where Tomoe tries to convince Kagami she still has feelings for Adrien, once again reminding us that she's Japanese.

Kagami: He loves Marinette, and Marinette is my friend. Some knots can't be undone.

Tomoe: When the knot cannot be undone, the samurai cuts right through it.

Ah, yes, just like the well-known Japanese legend of when Alexander the Great cut the Gordian Knot.

Adrien follows through on the order Gabriel gave him, until Nathalie gives him another order to do what he wants to do for his love life. For some reason, Gabriel is shocked even though I'm pretty sure Nathalie has had the ring since the end of Season 4, so this one's on you, dude. Meanwhile, Lila lies to Kagami about Marinette being a terrible friend, and once again, Kagami falls for it. Lila tips Gabriel off to what happened, and decides to send a Megakuma (and yes, I know the English dub always uses the term “Megakumas”, but this is the first time in a while where using one makes sense) towards Kagami, akumatizing her into Riposte Prime.

Riposte Prime is... literally just the same as Riposte, only now, she has a different sword, and not even a cool sword at that. Rather than the sword beams she used back in Season 2, Riposte Prime now has the Turtle Miraculous' Shelter power, which she uses by tapping people with her sword, trapping them in red spheres. Why they're red in the first place when the last time an Akuma used Shelter, it stayed green is beyond me. Even weirder, she can only use one Shelter at a time, and I don't even think she knows about this, since she uses it on Adrien and assumes he'll stay in one place. So to summarize, Riposte Prime looks about as creative as Sole Destroyer and needs the Turtle Miraculous to do something Penalteam had the ability to do with ease.

I also need to point out that the whole reason he did this was to ruin Marinette and Adrien's date. Because somehow, a near-death experience at the hands of Adrien's akumatized ex-girlfriend will convince him that he wants to get back together with Kagami. For comparison, there was an episode of Power Rangers Time Force where one of the villains, Nadira, fell in love with Lucas/The Blue Ranger thanks to a misunderstanding. Do you want to know how Ransik, her father, reacted? Not only was he willing to show mercy to one of his mortal enemies, he showed a level of dedication to his daughter and threatened Lucas to treat Nadira kindly, only going back to trying to kill him after the two broke up. The point I'm trying to make is that it says a lot when a mutant crime lord from the future is still a better father than Gabriel is.

Adrien tries to get Marinette to safety, only for him to be trapped in Riposte Prime's Shelter. The tension from that scene is resolved almost immediately as Marinette is then trapped in Riposte Prime's Shelter, giving Adrien the chance to transform into Cat Noir, who then frees Marinette with his Cataclysm. Marinette gets to a safe place and transforms into Ladybug.

Ladybug uses her Lucky Charm and gets a bottle of olive oil. Her master plan is to... just throw it at Riposte Prime. Yeah, all Ladybug does it throw the bottle of olive oil at Riposte Prime, Riposte Prime then cuts it in half, causing the olive oil to spill on her, leading to her losing her grip on her sword for Ladybug to break.

Ladybug de-evilizes the Megakuma, gives Kagami another useless Magical Charm, but she chooses not to accept it, so both Ladybug and Cat Noir head off to detransform so Marinette and Adrien can convince her that Lila lied to her, leading to her forgiving Marinette.

Marinette and Adrien get another chance to be together, but for some reason, Marinette decides to go home, so Gabriel and Lila call this a win. And so the episode ends with Kagami confronting Lila and telling her that she's not going to fall for her lies anymore.

Kagami: I'll still be your friend if your friendship is genuine.

Oh for fuck's sake...

This is the third time Lila has tricked Kagami, and she's still going to trust her? Why? She caused you to get akumatized three times! Yeah, Kagami claims she isn't going to be Lila's puppet, but it's hard to see this as character development when she was already made a complete idiot for no reason! Hell, for all we know, Lila's next plan is to trick Kagami into handing over her mother's social security number.

But I'm just kidding... because this is the end of the Kagami and Lila subplot for the season. Yeah, seriously. Once again, despite being built up a lot, just like with a lot of stuff last season, the writers decided to abruptly end this subplot, as Lila and Kagami have their own plotlines later on. You know what? Screw it, the episode's over anyway.

Like “Sentibubbler”, this episode actually started off pretty strong, but started to fall apart towards the end. I liked the character moments Marinette, Adrien, and Kagami all had, and it really highlights their friendship, and Marinette and Adrien continue to have some decent romantic chemistry. The problem came from how stupid the conflict was. Not only was it out of character for Kagami to be this gullible, but the entire conflict stemmed from Gabriel deciding to ruin his son's date. The Akuma was underwhelming, the resolution felt phoned in, and once again, the cliffhanger doesn't go anywhere for the rest of the season. It's not terrible like “Illusion” or “Derision” were, but it's still a pretty mediocre episode.

THE BIGGEST IDIOT OF THE EPISODE IS... GABRIEL

While Kagami came very, very close to getting the award, Gabriel ended up edging her out and became the first character to get the Biggest Idiot Award twice in a row. Not only did Gabriel have no idea his son broke up with Kagami, he didn't even know he started a new relationship with Marinette, forgot that he gave Nathalie one of the two things capable of overriding the orders he gives his son, decided to send an Akuma to ruin his son's date after he learned he and Marinette were dating, even though said Akuma was the girl he was trying to make Adrien develop feelings for again, and he did all of this right after the episode that ended with him vowing to be a better father to Adrien for what little time he has left before he dies. He's clearly spending what could be the last few weeks of his life well, isn't he?

[signalburst]

Shōgun Historical Shallow-Dive: Part 2 - Heir Crash Investigations

What happened to Ochiba no kata and Yaechiyo, the Heir, in history? This was the most requested topic for part two. Get ready for failson psych-outs, drag-king, diss-track action. None of that is a joke.

There is a very simple version of this story, and a very complicated version of this story. I'll try and split the difference, but again, if you're interested, best English-language high level overview of the period that is not horribly out of date.

Again! Not a professional historian, never did my PhD, so my opinion is going to colour this.

The simple version: Ochiba no kata in the Shōgun show is quite a departure from the historical Yodo-dono or Chacha. She did a lot of political manouvreing to try and get her son to regain the pre-eminent position in Japan, but ultimately lost out to Tokugawa's overwhelming political and military strength. Nobody knows if she died or escaped at the end of the siege of Osaka castle in 1615 (15 years after the show), so there are lots of cool folk tales about her.

The more complicated version:

Ochiba is depicted as a sneaky, conniving, scary lady who scratches out fate's eyes. Why? Short version, whilst she was a major magnate and power player during the period of the show and after, she was not a brilliant schemer. She also wasn't crazy malicious - she was trying to keep her son alive. Most of her plans came undone because of incompetence, not being a puppet master who bent men to her will with veiled seduction and threats. That's a later invention. (We'll come back to it at the end).

She was the dictator Koroda's (Oda Nobunaga's) niece, not his daughter. As far as is known, her and Mariko's real life counterpart, Hosokowa Gracia, did not hang out.

The real life Ochiba, Yodo-dono, became a nun after the Taiko (Toyotomi Hideyoshi) died. So... less sultry and cat-like, more pious, still an excellent political operator.

She stayed out of the war between the Regents and Toranaga/Tokugawa, and did send a letter to Toranaga/Tokugawa saying the Heir would remain neutral. This allowed the Eastern forces under Toranaga/Tokugawa to present Ishido/Ishida's mobilisation and war footing as rebellion against the Heir, and the Taiko's wishes.

After Sekigahara, Tokugawa (we're past the book now) claimed that he would be 'as a father' to the Heir - real name, Toyotomi Hideyori. Most of the Heir's former fervent supporters embraced the Tokugawa reign.

He didn't hate the Heir or want to knife him in his sleep. 'It must be emphasised that Ieyasu himself bore Hideyori no personal ill will. Although he had once been enemies with Hideyori's father, Ieyasu was sensible enough to acknowledge Hideyoshi's [the Taiko's] unique genius. He acted kindly towards the late Taiko's child.' (Chaplin, 511).

So how did they end up coming to blows? Ochiba no kata's real-life inspiration, Yodo-dono, was deeply suspicious of Toranaga/Tokugawa. She had her pride - expecting her son to inherit the Realm and all - and she was an excellent political operator in her own right. She wouldn't roll over and let Toranaga/Tokugawa throw all these plans away because of one battle between Regents. She stayed out of it to keep her options open.

Tokugawa was well on his way to implementing his unification of the realm plans, post-Sekigahara. He demanded that she and her son go to Kyoto to show they were good and loyal vassals. Yodo-dono refused on behalf of her, and her son, intuiting (correctly) that the Heir paying homage to Tokugawa would ruin what was left of the family claim. This certainly raised an eyebrow amongst the magnates who'd survived the civil war. To Tokugawa, this woman needed watching, as she was clearly not going to just accept that her son was just another daimyo now.

Once Tokugawa was made Shōgun, he installed one of his lackeys in Osaka castle to keep an eye on Yodo-dono/Ochiba, and the Heir. The lackey reported for a decade that the Heir was essentially 'effeminate' (his words) and a failson.

Tokugawa was fine with this. He was busy building a unified empire. He'd married his granddaughter-in-law to the Heir, and given away most of the Toyotomi (ex-Taiko) lands after the battle to lords that flipped to his side.

As far as Osaka went- Yodo-dono and the Heir - Tokugawa was, characteristically, waiting to see what would happen. He was hoping the whole Toyotomi 'remember how the Heir's dad was Taiko?!' thing would fade with time. Wishful thinking, but maybe the son of his late master would accept the way things were now.

Between 1601-1611, Tokugawa Ieyasu hadn't made up his mind to destroy the Toyotomi. After all, most of his ex-rivals were now scrambling to impress him by contributing the most money to ruinous castle-building programs he ordered, in order to keep them broke and squabbling amongst each other. Maybe Yodo-dono would guide the Heir to do the same?

Ding dong, daddy wants to check on his main political rival's kid! Tokugawa Ieyasu eventually remembered the Heir was still alive, and requested a meeting. Yodo-dono requested three Tokugawa hostages (three of Ieyasu's own sons!) before she'd agree to the meeting. She knew who he was, and she knew now what he was capable of.

Uh oh! In 1611, Tokugawa met the now 18-year-old Heir at a neutral castle and found him strapping, manly, and charismatic. His lackey had been lying to him! It turns out, the lackey keeping watch on Yodo-dono and the Heir had a soft spot for the Taiko, and had been deliberately telling Tokugawa not to worry about his son to try and prevent conflict. But this kid was dangerous. Dangerously awesome. If he impressed Tokugawa, there was a good chance he'd impress other busho and daimyo, drawing them to a faction to oppose the new Tokugawa rule.

Rulers hate him! This little moron used time shut away in a castle to develop into a political threat!

It was at this point Tokugawa made up his mind to destroy Yodo-dono (her son's chief counsellor, and the political force behind a growing anti-Tokugawa movement), as well as the Heir. If you've read any history, a leader cementing power can't let remnants of the old regime hang around to act as a magnet for opposition. Especially if they are impressive and cool - Tokugawa was blown away by the boy's charisma and charm. So Tokugawa needed an excuse to take out the Heir. Any old excuse would do.

The excuse was lame, and arcane. The Heir's dad was famous for a sword hunt. Basically, the Taiko was a peasant who became a general who became a samurai, and wanted to pull the ladder up behind him. No non-samurai would be allowed weapons. No one was allowed class mobility anymore. You were what you were born, suck it, and a big part of that was confiscating weapons to ensure no more uprisings... like the Taiko had been a part of.

But because the Taiko was all about glitz, glamour, and what we'd now call virtue signalling, he was going to melt all of these swords down into a giant Buddha! It was a pious thing, honest! This buddha would be located at a temple called Hoko-ji.

It's 1614, and Yodo-dono has gathered a network of anti-Tokugawa daimyo, busho, and - importantly - samurai. Many samurai had been left masterless (ronin) after Sekigahara. Even those with lords had been transformed overnight from professional warriors to bureaucrats (we'll get to this in a later part). They were restless, out of work, and they flocked to her banner for the chance to get paid for their skills again, and lose the stigma of being masterless. With his ranks swelling, the Heir looked more and more like a viable political contender.

The Toyotomi, under Yodo-dono, with Hideyori as the pretty dashing figurehead, began to throw their weight around. They rebuilt Osaka castle's fortifications, and they forged a bell at Hoko-ji temple funded by the proceeds of Father's Great Sword Hunt. It wasn't any old bell though. It was a diss bell. Read in a certain way, the kanji inscription on the bell could be interpreted as breaking the Tokugawa in two, and 'may the Toyotomi rise... again?'

Tokugawa sent an envoy to Yodo-dono, asking that, given this insult, she and the Heir might consider relocating to another province. Say, a less central, less jewel-in-the-crown-with-an-impregnable-castle province. It'd help make up for the insulting bell, after all. The veiled threat was not very veiled. 'Leave while I give you the chance.'

This drew the battle-lines between those who still held out loyalty to the Taiko's clan (or who just hated the Tokugawa), and the Shōgun's forces. The former flocked to Osaka Castle and dug in.

That was enough for Tokugawa, who laid siege to Osaka Castle. Well, he was very old now, so he let his son - the Shōgun whose dad told him what to do - lead the siege. Assaulting the castle was a logistical nightmare, but luckily for Tokugawa and his fledgling Shōgunate, they outsourced much of the work to the lords who had pledged allegiance to the new regime (read: almost all of them). Keeping these lords poor - say, through funding hugely expensive military endeavours - was one of the ways Tokugawa Ieyasu and heirs exerted control. Ieyasu sat on a hill in a comfy tent while others bled gold (and blood) to build the expensive siege works and start the assault.

There were two sieges. One kinda worked, the second wasn't really a siege, but that's what they're called in the sources 🤷

The first siege was very much carrot-and-the-stick. Archers would loose arrows into the castle, with scrolls wrapped around the shafts, requesting the Toyotomi surrender. Politely. Poetically. It didn't work.

Tokugawa Ieyasu (Toranaga) tried bribing famous commanders inside the castle, including famed hunk-hero and coverboy of the Samurai Warriors games, Sanada Yukimura. He told Tokugawa to go fuck himself. Tokugawa tried bribing another general, who considered it, was discovered, and beheaded in Osaka Castle to encourage the others. 🙃

Yodo-dono started dressing up in samurai armor and walking the walls, in full view of the besieging armies. Her son's forces found this 'both unnerving... and condescending.' She was acting like a general, which pissed the generals off. She was also accidentally undermining her now-adult son, and sapping confidence from those who'd pledged to his banner. Read the room, lady. This doesn't seem to be malicious - this was just her first experience actually wielding power in an armed conflict. 'Although she feigned the image of a warlike Virago, she was in fact a cloistered and rather narrow-minded woman who understood little of what went on outside of her castle. As such, Ieyasu knew that she could be manipulated when the time came.'

What's the best way to manipulate someone? Fire cannon at them!

'And now for my most cunning plan. Blowing her up.'

Tokugawa ordered his son to focus cannon fire on the living quarters of Osaka Castle. Yodo-dono's quarters. Twice a day, every day. They were using cannon seized from Portuguese ships, and the gun-crews are likely to have been using training manuals originally drawn up by our old friend, the English pilot. He was off living his best life in Edo at the time. But he trained accurate gunners - one round shot hit Yodo-dono's quarters and nearly killed her. While she and her ladies were having tea. The gall.

This was enough for her. She ordered her son to make terms with the Tokugawa. This wasn't worth dying for.

'Ugh, stop wrecking all my shit you fucking swine. That teapot was from Muji!' - Yodo-dono, 1615

Siege over! Can we be friends? Well, it's hard to go back from that. Tokugawa Ieyasu offered Hideyori/the Heir (well, really, his mom) two options: either Yodo-dono goes to Edo as a hostage to their family's good behaviour, or they agree to fill in the moat of Osaka Castle, making it less a fortress and more of a nice, big, open-plan house.

Option 2 was agreed, and Ieyasu issued a treaty document sealed with his own blood. The very obvious implication - don't fucking break it.

The Heir and Yodo-dono fucking broke it.

Urged on by his mother, Hideyori began to gather ronin (masterless samurai) back to his banner, re-dig the filled in moats, and gathered 120,000 fighting men to Osaka Castle. I forgot to mention how big this siege was, sorry. It was huge. And wouldn't you know it, many of these fighters were būsho, samurai, and ashigaru who were Christian. They saw the way the wind was blowing, and that the Tokugawa were getting wise to Portuguese intentions towards Japan. This might be their last chance (spoiler: it was).

The second siege (called the Summer Siege) began. From the Heir's side, it was much more ambitious than the first. The boy general, son of the Taiko, wanted to seize Kyoto, declare Tokugawa a traitor to the Emperor, and go on the offensive.

Unfortunately, like Sekigahara, many of the forces gathered in Osaka were there to oppose Tokugawa, rather than fight for one unified purpose. The war councils generally ended with disunity, and Yodo-dono kept interfering, which really, really was starting to wear thin with the Heir's vassals and allies. And the Heir himself. Imagine your mom turning up to work every day after you'd got a big promotion (Leader of the Western Armies). Not only that, your mom is literally coming to work in cosplay. The poor kid.

Long story short - Hideyori, the Heir, had no military experience. In a much-mythologised, last-of-its-kind battle between actual samurai - before they hung up their swords and became indentured bureaucrats - the Heir risked it all. His plan to sally forth and fight the armies of the Shōgun failed. They were beaten back by a contingent of 150,000 warriors under the Shōgunate, commanded by Ieyasu's son, Hidetada.

Key commanders were killed during the offensive, the Osaka forces lacked unity and cohesion (Sekigahara called, it wants its overarching lesson back). The Heir retreated back into Osaka Castle, but they didn't have a contingency plan and had few defences and obstacles established. The castle came under massive bombardment and constant infantry assault. The entire castle caught fire.

(Side note: a primary source written by a Dutch trader at the time said that generals loyal to the Heir set the castle on fire themselves, hoping to win favour with the Shōgun. Apparently, Hideyori discovered this and threw them off the ramparts into the flames. We'll probably never know whether that was true, but it's at least plausible.)

The Heir, Toyotomi Hideyori, and his mother, Yodo-dono - niece of Oda Nobunaga, most powerful concubine to the Taiko, most powerful woman in Japan - committed seppuku in the flames.

His body was found. Hers wasn't. You know what happens when this arises in history. There are folk legends that Yodo-dono escaped and lived a happy life in another province, but, hey, we all like a happy ending.

So if the inspiration for Ochiba no kata was a bit of a tone-deaf aristocrat nun who, whilst politically powerful, was not really a sexy, scary woman, how did we end up with Ochiba in the show?

After the Tokugawa defeated the Heir's forces, they had control of everything - eeeverything, including history books, plays, the works. What makes for a better story if you're on the winning side?

A mother was put in a terrible position when her husband, the ruler of the country, died. A group of men promised her husband they would place her son on the throne. One of them lied, stole the throne through force of arms and political savvy, and disinherited the son, despite the mother's best attempts. Her cause failed because she lacked the skills and authority to unify a movement, and her son was an untested youth who, in the end, just didn't have it.

The Heir's mother was an evil, scheming, sexually wanton (!) woman who destabilised the realm and got her son killed. She led them to disaster and without her, Tokugawa Ieyasu and the Heir would have gotten along fine! Her cause failed because she was a malicious harpy.

The Shōgunate chose option 2, and that's mostly the version we get in popular culture. It's hard to undo 260 years worth of character portrayal. Don't get me wrong, she was scheming, she was self-interested, but so was every major player in the period. She used her influence to gather support for her son, tried her best to overcome Toranaga/Tokugawa once she realised what he was, and she failed. To really send the moral message home, the Shōgunate cast her as a wicked woman, making her wickedness the reason she failed, not the complex factors that contributed to the downfall of the Taiko's clan.

So that's the story of Ochiba no kata's real life insiration, and what happened to the Heir - by far the most requested Part 2, and probably a bit depressing for Ochiba fans, unfortunately.

In Part 3, if there's any interest, we could look at the Dictator, the Taiko, and Toranaga and how they unified Japan, or we could look at a really interested question - what the hell happened for the 260 years of Tokugawa rule? How does it live on today (in some pretty dark ways) in the popular imagination? Your call.

[cow-rants]

Fair warning: this post is in regards to the recent Assassin’s Creed: Shadows trailer. I will talk about my thoughts and feelings regarding race. Thank you.

I’ve been a massive fan of Assassin’s creed (AC) since I first saw my uncle playing it at 7 or 8 years old. I’m a massive history buff and the idea of being able to experience the past through the eyes of an ancestor is such a brilliant idea. Not mention the concept of a secret war being fought through out the centuries is always fun. But as of late, I haven’t been really excited for a new entry. Odyssey was the last game I really played and it was alright, but I’m personally not a huge fan of the new RPG mechanics (although I do understand why they were implemented).

Valhalla looked interesting, but didn’t really feel like an AC game to me. So I put it on my “to play later” list. Mirage looked far better and I definitely do want to play it, but I honestly just haven’t felt a super big pull to pick it up. But when I saw that AC was finally going to Japan, I was ecstatic. I adore Japanese history in general and the Sengoku period is full of interesting conflicts and characters that would fit perfectly with the assassin’s and the templars.

Although they went with some pretty standard people to showcase, such as Oda Nobunaga, I still think they have a chance to do something really interesting story wise (of course, reserve all real judgement for the gameplay reveal. But I’m mainly just talking about the story). Especially with the portrayal of Yasuke. From what I could tell, it seems like his story will be one of disillusionment, possibly betrayal, and redemption. Certainly a story we’ve seen before, but it’s still interesting to see Yasuke in something as big as AC.

Before I get into the more unfortunate discourse regarding Yasuke, I absolutely have to talk about Naoe. See, what caught my eye about her was how she and my OWN AC OC have very similar stories. Well, I don’t know for sure. But they certainly share a similar experience, which is watching their families be butchered by Oda Nobunaga’s armies. It’s not much, but by the gods does it make me pretty happy. My OC’s name is Minori Kishimoto and she’s one of my favorites, so seeing a canon character with some similar traits is kind of exciting for me (okay, very exciting).

Anyhow, back to Yasuke. As soon as I saw the trailer, I knew I was going to see people saying something stupid. So I checked both the comments on the video and twitter. And I was certainly not mistaken. So so so many bad takes and ridiculous arguments that, honestly, only go to show either mild racism or straight up hatred toward African people. Not to mention the fact that they completely ignore Naoe as a protagonist. I guess she must be the greatest assassin of all time.

From what I understand, a lot of people are upset that for a Japan centered AC game, there is a black protagonist. Which, again, ignores Naoe entirely. The biggest argument I have heared against Yasuke being one of the protagonists is that he wasn’t actually a samurai. To which I say: False. Incorrect. Mistaken. Wrong. Factually incorrect.

The primary issue here is the fact that many people refer to him as a retainer. A title that he never officially held, as far as I’m aware, but even so that still makes him Samurai! Looking just at the facts of his life, he was respected by arguably the most powerful Daimyo of that time, earned his trust, received a pension, received a sword, and received property. So then the question becomes: what exactly makes a person a samurai at this time? Because I can tell you one thing, it isn’t noble blood.

A peasant man was once hired by Nobunaga to do a multitude of tasks, one of which was to hold his sandals. This man would soon prove himself to be capable of all of his tasks as well as in the art of war. He would become a powerful man and rise through the ranks until he held the rank of Taiko at the end of his life . That man was Toyotomi Hideyoshi.

If Hideyoshi’s story proves one thing, it’s that at this time anyone could rise to become a daimyo. So then, why wouldn’t Yasuke also be considered a samurai? We’re not even trying to claim he was a daimyo, just that he was a samurai. Retainer, bodyguard, slave, whatever. The fact is that the man was 10000% a samurai and was a respected one at that. To claim otherwise is to prove yourself ignorant in the history you claim to be proficient in, and incompetent at backing up your argument.

Not to mention that from a writing point of view, it’s a brilliant move. Yasuke was not super well recorded and thus is relatively unknown to others. Which makes him perfect for being a:

1. Fish out of water character

2. Real person, that can be treated written like a fictional one

All of this to say, I think that this newest Assassin’s Creed has a chance to become one of my personal favorites. As well as putting the series back on the map for many. But, with no gameplay and an already worrying pre-order package, I’m worried to say the least. Only time will tell, but I look forward to it.

[whencyclopedia]

Toyotomi Hideyoshi

Toyotomi Hideyoshi (1537-1598 CE) was a Japanese military leader who, along with his predecessor Oda Nobunaga (1534-1582 CE) and his successor Tokugawa Ieyasu (1543-1616 CE), is credited with unifying Japan in the 16th century CE. Hideyoshi rose from a humble background to become the country's military supremo, and he then reorganised the class system, instigated tax reforms, built castles, restored temples, and launched two invasions of Korea. Hideyoshi's foreign ambitions may have met with disaster but his restructuring of the state would establish the social and political norms which endured in Japan until the 19th century CE.

Nobunaga & Taking Power

Hideyoshi, originally named Kinoshita Hiyoshimaru, was born into a peasant family in 1537 CE. As a young man, he joined the army of the military leader/warlord Oda Nobunaga and rose through the ranks to eventually become a general and the most important military commander in Nobunaga's endeavour to conquer rival feudal lords and so unify Japan. Hideyoshi might have gained his overlord's respect as a commander but his small physique resulted in Nobunaga giving him the unflattering nickname of Saru or 'monkey.'

In 1582 CE Nobunaga was betrayed by one of his vassals, Akechi Mitsuhide, and obliged to commit suicide to avoid being handed over to his rivals. Hideyoshi, first killing Mitsuhide, then manoeuvred to gain the support of Nobunaga's relations and other important daimyo or feudal lords. He was thus able to install himself as the new military supremo in Japan, as yet, still only half of which was unified.

Hideyoshi, now commanding a force of some 200,000 men, successfully combined military campaigns with diplomacy amongst his rival daimyo to establish himself as the ruler of most of Japan in 1590 CE. In a five-year period beginning in 1585 CE, Hideyoshi had attacked western Japan, Kyushu and Shikoku. Success followed success, but there were some troublesome battles, notably the 100-day siege needed to take the castle of Odawara, the seat of the powerful Hojo family. The castle finally fell in 1590 CE and with it the last obstacle to Hideyoshi's rule. Other enemies had proved more amenable to negotiation and were offered to keep some of their lands. Notable amongst these were the Shimazu of Satsuma and the Mori of Choshu.

As with other military leaders before and after, Hideyoshi might have dominated the field of battle but he still sought legitimacy from the monarchy. To gain royal favour from the emperor who had no real power of his own, he gave money for court ceremonies and rebuilt the palace at the capital Heiankyo (Kyoto). Hideyoshi added another, much more bizarre claim to his legitimacy to rule by stating his belief that he was descended from the Shinto sun god. There were even performances of Noh theatre telling this story which Hideyoshi himself performed in. The cherry on the cake came when Hideyoshi adopted the prestigious family name of Fujiwara, began to call himself Toyotomi Hideyoshi, and ultimately awarded himself the title of Taiko ('retired regent'), which was higher than that of the shogun, the title his military predecessors had taken.

Continue reading...

[tamelee]

Hi! I wanted to Say that I love your art and your naruto analisys!! And i wanted to ask You, how You think an alternate universe where naruto's parents and the uchiha massacre didnt happen? I have Seen the anime, other fans and movies try to come with what it might be but i wonder what You think on how it would be. I personally think that the anime and the movie are a bit too exaggerated on the what if when it comes to the teams

Thankyou! 💕

Ah, there are so many things to consider. We'd sorta have to... ignore why the bad stuff happened? Or deal with the consequences differently? (Like, as in, fixing the system, that would be nice.) I'm not sure about the anime, but I do remember seeing it in that one movie where they're all the opposite of their true selves. Where Sasuke is suddenly straight, lol!

If Naruto's parents survived, I'd like to think that Minato as Hokage could've changed things.

What would he do? Would Minato have been able to mediate fairly? Unlike Tobirama or Hiruzen?

How would Minato handle Danzo? Would Danzo still be free to make his own decisions "for the greater good of Konoha, excluding the Uchiha" because Hiruzen took the easy route and let someone else deal with things? And if Minato knew about his plans regarding the Uchiha, would he stop Danzo? 

I'd like to believe he would. I mean, he'd definitely needed to step up way more than the 3'rd "voicing out disagreement" that was weak af. In fact, going soft on Danzo with his flabby-ass, incompetent bs and proving how little power a Hokage has in general is pathetic. 

No, you know what? I think things would've definitely been so very different had Naruto's parents been alive. Minato also had that fight with "the masked man." Had he survived, he could've teleported to Tobito later, no? Actually… the more I think about it, the more I realize how much could've easily been avoided ;-;

What if the Uchiha took leadership over ANBU? Because it seems to me that the villagers view the ANBU as protectors, while the police are more strongly associated with being the ones who will punish you for wrongdoing. That may 'help' a village, but it certainly doesn't help a clan you're singling out. Like Orochimaru said, this authority did nothing to unite the clans or demolish certain boundaries.

Anyway...

Naruto would learn more about the Uzumaki. Imagine Naruto as the second flash junior with his Uzumaki adamatine sealing chain Jutsu's listennnn. In an instant, any enemy would be chained.

He also could've made a barrier rasengan or something, or Sasuke could target thunder or amaratsu from within it as a combi-jutsu and no one would be able to escape. It would color black and white like the yin/yang symbol.

"Is that—"

"Ah.. It's the great, unstoppable dome of death!"

"Oh."

But it would also sprout life because of the yin & yang. Look, what if Itachi trained Sasuke to use his hawk more like he had with his crow, and then he'd be able to send Naruto little memories while he's traveling? Not notes, genjutsu memoriessss. Things he'd like to share. And he'd wear Naruto's teleportation mark so they could always meet up instantly. 

Mikoto and Naruto would create a frog-pond in the garden; this is not negociable. Sasuke would pretend he couldn't understand, but he would sneak off to feed and talk with the frogs while taking advantage of the peace to meditate, and Naruto pretends not to notice, taking food with him anyway and complaining that they won't take it. 

Naruto and Sasuke would always challenge each other during festivals where you could play games. They'd visit other places to play different ones, and they'd be known as rivels through that. Both gaining their own fan clubs, and entire competition days would be held so people can come watch as they go at each other while they toss rings, mold candy, or scoop balls out of water and then think of punishments for the loser. 

Ah yeah Sasuke would definitely play some type of flute, Naruto would play Taiko drums.

Oh stop me now I could go on forever tbh.

[frillsinadress]

WHITE BALL

characters : ace , taiko , tetsu ,  mysterious guest.

warnings : none !

word count : 0.9k

authors note : first post about my doomed poly ship - blood sweat and tears ! tetsu is owned by @elliotrivriv and this was my first major piece on em! heavily inspired by the song by the same name by miracle musical!

winter islands typically were a mixed bag. the snow made it hard for certain islands to get proper resources, so if they had gotten a particularly bad storm supplies may be gone for a while. that is what had happened to this particular island, mixed with a spreadable flu and it made for a terrible trap. 

the cure pirates were welcomed eagerly and within that same day cured the spreading illnesses. all that was left was to monitor the patients to ensure a steady recovery. after a short morning shift taiko had gotten the rest of the day to relax per her crew after a rough day of bloodletting. 

she left the medic building and trudged back to the hotel inn she and her partners were staying at. the coat around her protected her from the frost but to her it would never be enough. on the walk back she caught the sight of a bakery and considered buying something to take back. turning to do so, her name was called and she whipped her head to see the sight of her shorter lover. 

“tetsu! where is your scarf, i’m freezing just looking at you.” she scolded softly once he was closer, only spotting him wearing a coat.he bristled a bit, just as ace predicted she had gotten mad. 

“i was warmed by ace, its good don't worry. just wanted to walk you back to the room since you said you’d only be there a short while.” he replied, and taiko nodded. tetsu and ace were lucky enough to retain heat so well, while taiko was lost to the weather. either way him wanting to walk her back warmed her in an unspeakable way. in all her medicine knowledge and textbook data never did she realized how powerful a medicine love was. her hand wordlessly reached for his, shyly linking their fingers.

“theres a bakery, want to grab something for dinner?” she asked, coughing and looking at the building as to hide her reddened cheeks. tetsus hand was an accepted warmth as he led her into the store to look around. the bakery had some soup they were willing to part with as gratitude for their help, and some meat to throw into it. tetsu had already glared at the slight smile that found itself on her lips, knowing he would be the grill this meat found itself on but said nothing. 

the chatter back was quiet, and light— mostly talking about the patients and how they were doing. but conversation was conversation and taiko was only willing to talk so much if it was either tetsu or ace. she had opened up considerably to them, growing to trust them beyond anyone else. this was not one sided of course, with each of them blooming in their own ways around their partners. taiko still remembers the day marco said she was the closest to ever “domesticating” tetsu. 

she was thankful the inn was quiet, humming softly as tetsu unlocked the lock with a flick of his hand and opened the door for her. the room was pleasantly warm, making her sigh as she took off her heavy coat and boots. this must be aces doing, taiko mused as she ventured further in.  rustling could be heard from the side room and taiko was immediately jumped by her taller lover. she yelped as ace picked her up and spun her around, laughing at her shock. 

“you’re back!” he cheered as taiko steadied herself against him, bluntly glaring at him as she wrapped her legs around his waist. 

“yea not from war, you’re being dramatic!” taiko rebutted, watching as ace trotted over towards the bed. 

“ace no.” she began, her glare sharpening as aces' smile only turned more mischievous. ace held her hips and wrestled her legs off, giggling under his breath as he adjusted her. 

she bickered with him for a moment until he lifted her from him and tossed her upon her, laughing at her playful yells. tetsu immediately weaved his arms around aces waist, lifting him and slamming him into the bed before jumping atop him. taiko groaned as both heavy males were piled atop her and the two scurried to give her some room while not fully getting off her. ace laid on his back and tugged taiko onto him, as taiko latched chest to chest to tetsu. she enjoyed this bundle they often found themselves in, taiko found a blissful joy in being able to catch the typical uncatchable tetsu and pepper his face with kisses. ace enjoyed being around the two, leaning his chin atop her shoulder and making her shiver and complain whenever he got a bit too cheeky with his affections. from his perch he also got to make dumb faces at tetsu, which he typically glared at or on special occasions would reciprocate in the childish act. tetsu relished in the gentle affections of the both, either the whispered words of assurance or the fingers that would eventually weave their way into his hair. 

as the three eventually found the sanctity of slumber, taiko couldn't help but smile at the comfort found in the embrace of her lover’s… 

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

a snicker was heard as teach pulled the receiver away from taikos face, a dark chuckle rumbling his chest. cruel eyes stared down the slumped over form of taiko,

“is that good enough for you little brother? sate that ravenous appetite of yours?” he spoke with grit as he heard the dangerous low growl of tetsu from the other end. tetsus voice crackled, emotions clogging his throat as he was hit with the mixed feeling of relief and despair. taiko was alive - if one could even call the state she was in as truly living. but he hadn’t completely failed yet.

[thaliajoy-blog]

I've been watching Shogun these days and I love it and I'm progressively fixated on Toranaga. Analysis & spoilers here❗

He's made into a rather "good" character at first sight, someone we can empathize with and sort of "rely" on and consider the guy we are rooting for against Ishido & the rest of the council of regents. Like he's got a sympathetic background with his father abandoning him into his ennemies' hands & letting him alone to discover by himself the harsh realities of life, how in the present he regrets & rejects that his promising young samurai must commit ritual suicide, how he was the only man the Taiko seemed to have really trusted, his good interaction with the heir...but then the "three hearts" saying comes back to you, and also lady Ochiba arrives. Ochiba really does seem villainous in some sense, but she tells outright that she thinks Toranaga plotted to murder her father. And we know Toranaga is a cunning man. We also know little of him : we spend most time outside of his private life and his immediate entourage & house life while we get to know more about Blackthorne, Mariko, Fujiko or Buntaro. He's really made out to be hard to know when you get to it, there's really a sort of wall around him.

The last two parts of the "three hearts" saying tell you that there is the heart men keep in their chests, which is just for friends, and the heart they keem burried, out of anyone's sight or hands. There's something daunting about the possibility that no one really knows Toranaga, that even the Taiko who was close to him and trusted him with his son knew nothing of his true nature. That maybe despite claiming that he doesn't want power or war (with his mouth, the heart he presents to the world), he actually desires those, has been ready for them for a long time. That he planted the seeds that led to the death of Ochiba's father to one day take power through his many other machinations, and that the heir isn't really safe with him alive still - Ochiba might be right. That life has made it so that he doesn't believe in true friendship, only in using people. Because he once was a young boy put into the hands of his father's ennemies by that same father, and because then he only found safety in his own cunning & in using and manipulating others.

[yocalio]

so uh. what happened to ishido? and where does the taiko's heir fit in since toranaga becomes shogun?

In the book, Ishido is captured after the battle of Sekigahara and then buried up to his neck with him dying three days later. His head is then severed and put on display. I guess we can infer that that's what happens in the show as well? I already can't remember what was said in the show. 🤦‍♀️

As Shōgun he is has ultimate military authority in Japan, so he rules alongside the heir which as we know is Ochiba, but really Toranaga has all the power.

It's funny you mention the heir. They alluded to it in the show, but we don't get to hear inner monoluges so I guess she couldn't just outright say it. It's revealed towards the end of the book through Ochiba that the heir isn't really the heir but the bastard son of a peasant Ochiba slept with while on a hawking trip. The Taiko was sterile and had no other children with any of his consorts. Only Ochiba. 👀

[chrismas95]

It's funny that Taiko drums are these big and powerful instruments but whenever I hear them I end up thinking about these two instead