#artisan kimono

[kuurareign]

I made a multilayered approximation of a heian era kimono for a finnish-japanese production of Nemuru Otoko, written Ikeda Riyoko, better known as the author of Rose of Versailles; costume design by Maria Sirén

[malinishop]

Kimono Invernale Donna

Progettato per offrire il massimo comfort durante i mesi più freddi, il Kimono Invernale Donna Malini Shop ti manterrà caldo e alla moda. Questo elegante kimono arricchisce qualsiasi completo perché è realizzato con tessuti di prima qualità. Sta benissimo con qualsiasi outfit invernale e ti tiene caldo quando sei a strati. Acquista ora: https://malinishop.com/products/giacca-kimono-di-cotone-da-donna-trapuntata-con-disegno-ikat-e-colori-pastello

[missohme]

traditional wax kimono

[hopebystefanygrieco]

I love ❤️ my LAGUNA SILK KIMONO 👘 This #cotton and #silk kimono 👘 is entirely dyed using local plants 🌱 and #flowers 🌸 and then hand woven just as their #Mayan ancestors did hundreds of years ago. Every product has variations as a part of the #Artisan-made charm! #tradesofhope @drstefanyg @hopebystefany @tradesofhope #ethicalfashion #Guatemala #kimono www.tradesofhope.com/stefanygrieco (at Ashland, Manassas) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cn-ZHA5vXXw/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[shaisuki]

geto suguru splurging the large amount of donations for your kimonos. how nasty and ungrateful of him for the donors but it's well spent and there's no guilt about considering they are monkeys who have money and it's better to use it for you.

he loves how fitted the kimonos are adorning to your plush body. it's like they are second skin to you from how comfortable it was. always the best for you. commissioning artisans whose crafts are honed for a long time with hands that are made for creating that piece of clothing. sewing intricate patters with embroidery attached with stories to suit your style and his tastes. it takes months to complete but it only takes for a second for him to rip it from your body.

not even being able to feel an ounce of guilt despite the time it took to create and the pout in your face for wasting such piece of art. he only shushes you with a kiss. saying that he can commission again from those artisans to create you new ones.

cause no matter how expensive you wear, it's nothing how much you look better naked for him. your delectable body for him to taste while he slowly removes his gojo-kesa.

“it's not a waste nor to be given any attention of. you look better naked, my love.” he would assure you. dipping for a kiss. his large hands caressing your supple body. pinching and kneading the exposed flesh while he spreads your chunky legs and only to reveal what he's been dying to taste. your fat cunt, slick and warm for him to lick and drill his cock in between them.

money's not a problem for him. really. not when there's a lot of monkeys with money at his disposal. they're useless and a waste of space and reek of filth so what's better is he's putting them for a use while he spoils you rotten.

[kiame-sama]

Omega Marechi (Yandere!Upper-Moons x Omega!Reader x Yandere!Muzan)

Warnings; yandere, multiple yandere, stalking, mention of violence, mention of social imbalance, my abo au (less than 1000 omegas world wide and omegas are a commodity of sorts), omega reader, abo social ladder, abo societal structure, unfair situations, instinct manipulation, kidnapping, threat of murder, blood, violence, mention of human consumption, demons, female bodied reader, female reader pronouns (let me know if y'all want a male version).

(It's a personal headcannon of mine that omegas are short & chubby, so very soft and squishy)

(Also, let me know if y'all want a continuation of this, I have a certain idea involving stockades I have been interested in trying out)

~~~~~~~~

Deep within the winding surfaces and ever changing interior of a fortress wreathed in darkness, demons began to gather. Though they were few in number, each demon had their own impressive strengths and abilities that set them apart from the many other members of their brood. Even with their combined presence and strength, their master stood above them in every way possible.

The king of demons, he who sired every other demon, stood watching his upper ranked generals as they gathered beneath him. Short dark hair seemed to swallow all light in the inky abyssal color, bright red eyes glinting like lit lanterns on the darkest of nights. His fair skin unblemished and so smooth it could be mistaken for the marble of a true artisan's finest work. Truly a vision of a true apex alpha with the beauty of a divine being.

The six generals that gathered were supposed to be without company and solely focused on their sire, yet one was not alone. Next to the top general of the king's army was a large rectangular box shape that was draped in heavy fabrics to conceal what may be held within. The fabrics seemed to be soaked in a heavy perfume mixed with the hint of an unusually appealing scent that taunted the senses.

"What have you brought, Kokushibou?"

The deep and commanding voice of the demon king rumbled out with a tint of curiosity in his tone. Where he expected quite a bit from his upper moons, even he had to admit that the actions of his top general were odd. It was not often that the upper moons did something that surprised him- and usually was met with a swift reprimand- but his curiosity had been peaked by the abnormal behavior.

Without saying a word, Kokushibou gripped the heavy fabric and quickly pulled it away, revealing what had been concealed. Beneath the cloth lay an iron cage- much like what an exotic beast would be transported in- with blankets lining the bottom of the cage for cushion. The cage itself wasn't very interesting when compared to what lay within.

Laying bound in the iron cage was a woman, her (h/c) locks strewn around her head and her (s/c) flesh looked incredibly plush and no doubt was soft to the touch. A delicate and fine silk kimono wrapped around her bound form, even that which held her was made of the expensive materials. Her eyes were covered in a long silk ribbon, mouth held shut by an intricate golden muzzle, her arms cuffed together with similarly intricate cuffs in front of her and lower legs cuffed together.

A woman- no matter how decorated- wasn't much to crow about, but the pungent scent that had been smothered by the perfumes was now free and quickly reached those nearby. There was a visible change in the way the other upper moons stood, their nostrils flaring and eyes fixed on the soft woman as they contemplated what she was. The scent reached Muzan last, but he knew immediately what was being presented to him, though he could scantly believe what his senses were telling him.

"No," Douma started, his multi colored eyes wide in disbelief, "that's impossible. Omegas aren't real! It must be a trick."

"Looks real to me. Smells real too. Actually," Akaza sniffed, looking curiously at the bound female, "she smells like a marechi."

A soft whimper came from within the cage, the female inside moving and seemingly trying to pull away from her binds. The muzzle secured on her kept her from speaking and muffled her sounds as she responded to the voices around her. Blindly she turned her head towards the sound of Akaza speaking, seemingly trying to understand where she was and who she was with.

"She was being transported as cargo on a train. From her scent, it was made clear to me that she is an Omega and a marechi. She has no mating marks present on her body. The humans transporting her were on their way to deliver her to slayers, a gift from a small village of fools."

Muzan silently descended from where he had been standing above the upper moons, approaching the cage curiously. The other demons watched in interest as their sire crouched, observing the bound female that had been presented to him. He had not encountered an omega, even in his long life, so seeing such a rare and unusual being in a cage was surreal. Truly, he had thought omegas were just another myth created by humans.

He reached a finger between the bars, his sharp nail gently scraping over the exposed neck of the omega. Naturally, she responded with a fearful sound at the feeling of something sharp against her neck, trying to writhe away from the sensation. The obvious fear was accompanied by an intense scent that prodded at their minds to defend the soft woman from whatever may be causing her distress.

Muzan observed the struggling of the delicacy he had been presented with, red eyes gleaming and unwavering. After a moment of simply watching the omega struggle, he reached his hands forward to grip the cage bars. With one flex, the metal groaned beneath his hands, crumpling like sand and bending out of shape. One of his hands held the cage still as he ripped the bar off of the cage, pulling out several more until he could access the omega.

The loud sound of the metal bending and crushing had clearly upset the omega who let out a muffled scream into the muzzle, body twisting and writhing to escape the frightening sound and its source. Another scream escaped her as one of Muazan's hands gripped the back of the her kimono, dragging her out of the remnants of the cage. A sharp scent made him freeze, the taunting ambrosia of marechi blood filled his nostrils as he moved to examine the omega.

Sitting on her cheek was the smallest of cuts, blood slowly beading along the line of the slice. Within the second Muzan noticed the small injury, a greedy mouth formed along his hand. The elongated tongue quickly stretching out and slowly laving over the gathered blood with an apparent groan of satisfaction rumbling in his chest from the taste.

His pleasured sound only seemed to frighten the omega more, whimpering out and beginning to cry from the terror. It was understandable, she had been in the cage for an unknown time and now was listening to the sound of an unknown assailant flavor her blood. With a quick motion the blindfold was pulled away, revealing (e/c) eyes that were filled with delicate tears and horror.

Her gaze became fixed on the bright red eyes of the predator in front of her, body falling completely still. Much like the way an injured fawn would freeze upon seeing the open jaws of a bear. The body of the soft omega seemed to curl in on itself, as if she were trying to seem as small as possible all without looking away.

He lifted his free hand towards her and gripped her ornate metal muzzle despite her frightened sounds and slow shaking of her head back and forth. She cringed and closed her eyes tightly as his hand gripped the clasp of the muzzle that held it on.

For a moment, things seemed to stand still in baited anticipation of what the demon king would do next. All upper moons keenly awaited their sire's next move as it would determine the fate of the omega they all were interested in. Wanting to get their hands on her if he allowed her to live, or wanting a piece of her if he chose to consume her.

A soft click of metal could be heard in the profound silence as the clasp of the muzzle was disconnected.

~~0~~

You warily watched the frightening man remove the muzzle you wore, seeing how hungrily he looked at you the entire time. He seemed to be contemplating you, much like many others would when first coming into contact with you. The man- or monster, would be more accurate- suddenly grinned, hand gripping your neck and slowly lifting you up.

Even with how you struggled, the man seemed to have no problem holding you until he was fully standing. His expression became more fierce as the veins in his face became more pronounced, tongue slowly dragging over his lips. After a moment he lowered you so your feet were on the ground, no longer holding you off the ground but still holding you in place.

"You are a truly unfortunate human. Luckily for you, I intend to keep you for the time being. You staying alive or not will be determined by your actions."

~~~~~~~~

You had been taken to a large ornate bed that no doubt belonged to the demonic alpha that broke your chains but left your cuffs. From the way he stared at you, you felt like you were being appraised much in the way one would appraise a meal. A yelp escaping your lips as you were thrown down on the soft surface.

In seconds you felt the silk that held your clothing together rip open, the ornate kimono falling open. Your body was completely left exposed to the intense gaze of the man, you had been dressed for meeting several new mates who were top members of the demon slayers. Instead it seemed the demons found you and decided to keep you for the time being.

Part of you was terrified to fight back as you didn't wish to anger the demon that took you to bed. Based off of his scent, you knew you were dealing with an alpha of great strength and willpower. The alpha himself seeming to be above other alphas that you had caught the scents of whenever one would pass through your village. He was clearly the one others answered to as they had gotten out of his way rather quickly when he decided to drag you to his chambers.

You tried to keep your thighs pressed together to give yourself some kind of protection, but the demon was quick to pry them open. His gaze was intense and you felt your body warm in response to how he stared at your exposed figure. A whimper from you seemed to break the trance he was in as his eyes flicked up to look at you for several seconds.

"And still, you are afraid. Tell me, Omega, did the humans you lived amongst even give you a name, or have you always been Omega?"

"My name," you struggled to keep the fear out of your voice as you answered the alpha demon, "it's (Y/n), (L/n)(Y/n)."

"(Y/n)? I am Kibutsuji Muzan, king of demons. You have gained my attention, (Y/n), quite dangerous indeed. I expect you to be an obedient omega, understand?"

"Ye-yes, I understand, Alpha."

"Good."

You whined softly as one of his hands came up to palm your soft chest as if appraising it like fruit. His bright red eyes gleaming in interest as he observed you trying to sit still for him and let him continue what he wanted. Clearly you were a high tier omega as you were so obedient and did exactly what the alpha told you to do.

The village you grew up in must have trained you to be a good omega, taking the word of an alpha as law. In any case, he was quite pleased to have such a treasure in his grasp. He vaguely considered keeping the omega for himself, but he knew the way the upper moons stared, even Akaza showed clear interest.

An omega would certainly be a unique reward and incentive to push the upper moons further. Beyond just that, using the unique human omega sent could throw off the slayers in such a way there would be no one left to stand against the demon king.

[ellas-journey]

From a thing to wear to an icon of culture 👘

There is this hidden detail in Muzan that when I noticed I could not help but smile. Remember how he said that the thing he hated the most was change? Well coming from someone that had to live in 5 different eras is kinda funny, and it's even funny when you realize that he ended up adopting the Western fashion pretty fast. But that's the twist, if you look at Muzan's vest you come to realize that it's the exact same pattern as the kimono he used to wear. The best part? That was a thing that actually happened in history.

Wanting or not, the clothing that the people used to wear represents the history they lived through. "To look seriously at art objects of the everyday, such as clothes - their discourse and practices, their meaning-bearing forms and their codes of internal and external interpretations - in an essential, and often neglected, component of any study of modern aesthetics." - Slade, 2009 Yofuku [Western Clothing] is a type of clothing that is now common all over Japan, but during a lot of time, it was a type of clothes that only selected few grew up with. The 1st contacts with these types of clothing [even if extremely different from what we now call western clothing] was in the 16th century when the Portuguese arrived in Tanegashima. With them came not only different shapes but also different fabrics. But the “true” introduction to western fashion would only happen with Commodore Matthew Perry, catharsis to the Meiji restoration, where Emperor Meiji would start to dress in a typical western military outfit, and soon after the empress would start to aper in the typical victorian dresses. In the Edo period clothing visually distinguished the social classes. "Certain articles of clothing visibly differentiated people of diverse social classes, and simultaneously distinguished an individual within a specific group. The materials, motifs and construction of military campaign coats, for example, marked their wearers as men belonging to the military class." - Milhaupt, 2014; Samurai ranked on the top, followed by farmers, artisans, and merchants on the bottom. What happen was that most of the times the samurai where poor while the merchants lived in economic success. But samurai had the privilege of using certain types of fabrics and patters, even tho most of the times they could not afford them, and so, the merchants would start to adapt the fabrics and patters they were allowed to were and would end up becoming the patrons of arts and fashion. The trends of fashion would later be documented in ukiyo-e, and not only in the work of art sense, but also in pattern books were people could browse the prevailing styles. After the 1st contacts with the westerners, what would start to happen is that slowly but surely the Japanese would start to integrate the western ways of dressing into their lives. The Japanese started to introduce some of its elements with the kimono, shoes, hats, gloves, glasses, umbrellas, etc. Then in the 19th century a full change would happen starting from the man in the highest classes to the man in the lowest classes. The emperor decided to cut his topknot in 1872 and started to dress in western clothing in official appearances, also changing some of the more cultural habits like eating meat and more wester kind of meals. In the official portraits he appears adorned with a French-style military uniform with ornaments in gold and ostrich feathers. Before this, the emperor was never a public figure, so when pictures of the Meiji Emperor became available, and he started to appear more publicly the nation would have their eyes on him and start to imitate him. Women would, for the longest time still dress in the now classic kimono, that would develop as a symbol of the old and traditional Japan. The idea of the western clothing being associated with a modernized Japan and the Kimono [that literally means “thing to wear”] to a traditional country came from the fact that the emperor would choose to wear western clothes in more formal, international events, and for religious national events would choose the traditional Japanese court dress. The western clothes will end up being a symbol of the modernization of Japan, and the Meiji government would use it as yet another tool of national control. For all the Japanese born after 1945 the western clothes became the norm. Most families would end up transforming their kimonos into western clothing pieces, and the patterns sold for kimonos would double for kimonos and western clothing.

But it is funny to notice how despite it all Muzan is the one being presented in western clothing and Ubuyashiki is the one in traditional clothes, always being the contradiction of the other, but also it can also be interpretated as the Ubuyashibi family being "trapped" in the past since in hundred years the corps never killed an upper moon, the history never changed. And Muzan in his ever-changing cycle of his life, in the changing of eras and changing of personas he decided to reuse the only thing he could: his clothes. And just like him, they would adapt through the times.

MILHAUPT, Terry Satsuki. 2014 - Kimono: A Modern History. London: Reaktion Books [Ebook]; SLADE, Toby. 2009 - Japanese Fashion: A cultural History. Oxford, Berg. [Ebook];

[missmyloko]

Does Chiso Kimono make geimaiko Hikizuri? What artisans/names of artisans or even companies make them, and how would a local artisan gain the attention/be allowed to make or dye the kimono for geimaiko and how often does a new kimono being made happen, are they specifically commisioned? I know there are hundreds if not thousands of kimono cycling around gion kobu and the other districts, and many okiya gift kimonos to eachother as a whole, the same goes for obis

Also, who makes the obi dome?

Chiso does not make hikizuri for geimaiko. The artisans who do make their hikizuri, such as Eriman, have been doing so for generations, so they're not new by any stretch of the imagination. Okiya have been clients of theirs for years, so they simply book an appointment to have new hikizuri made. They go over design books to pick out motifs and colors that they like and then the hikizuri is made. New hikizuri are commissioned a few times each year on average. Pocchiri, on the other hand, are made by various jewelers who are willing to take on the behemoth task of creating such pieces. They're extremely expensive and all of the old pocchiri makers have since retired, so this makes it very hard to have any new pocchiri made. This is why 99% of pocchiri that are in use today are vintage or antique pieces ^^

[aut1sm-mess]

“The dragon and the carnation”

My very first fanfic that I am not completely ashamed of YAY!

Modern! Au where Heiji and fowler are just gay old men that live together

It has elements of whump, sickness (flu mostly), and self-neglect.

Idk how to put stuff on Ao3 but I will probably put this on Wattpad soon. Word count: 1056

Usually, Heiji Shindo gets up at around 5:30 in the morning; This is because getting up early allows him to get ready for the day before everyone else.

Today, was not one of those days.

In fact, it was one of the rare occasions where Abijah fowler was, awake, almost an hour before Heiji. That was definitely a sign that something was wrong. Around 7:00, Heiji dazedly and shakily walked out of their shared room, his head pounding. “You’re up late~”, said fowler as he watched Heiji pour himself some coffee. Again, an uncommon occurrence for Heiji as he usually made a cup of his favourite genmaicha (a tea made using leaves and puffed rice).

Heiji grumbled after he took a sip. And Abijah took this as a chance to tease him, “oooh, Heiji, yeh don’t look too hot. Heh..”

“Oh, FUCK OFF, FOWLER!” Fowler was stunned at this sudden snap, “TODAY IS NOT THE TIME FOR YOUR….*coughs* BULLSHIT!…. I’m fine….” “Sorry..”, yelling at his husband really worsened Heiji’s already sore throat. And the fact that he overreacted to Abijah’s innocent enough teasing really guilted him.

“Babe,” Abijah took a second to stare Heiji right in the eyes “if you’re not feeling well, you can tell me,” “because by looks of it, you should be in bed”. Heiji felt shame at the thought of seeming weak in front of Fowler. “No, honey, I’m *sniffles* fine,” “you don’t need to worry about me” He smiled weakly to try and make it seem like it’s all good. Abijah wasn’t buying any of that, but sighed as he didn’t have the energy that morning to protest this. And stared out the kitchen window looking at the snowy, icy weather outside and sighed again.

Heiji made his way over to their room and into the walk-in closet to take off his pyjamas and put on his clothes. He took them off and noted how his body was weak. Sore as if he’d done some sort of heavy labour. Every part of his form felt heavy and cold, like lead… After putting on his kimono and pants, he recounted a mental to-do list of things he had to do that day:

- Walk over to whole foods (important, they just got in some artisan cheese and olives that Abijah would beg to have.)

- Place an order for new ceramic tools, clay and 2 new colours of glaze (very important, he recently received an order for an ornate vase that it’s important to get to work on ASAP)

- Clean up his pottery studio

- Put a special hand-built teapot in the kiln for a bisque fire

- And then, finally, rest…

The first thing seemed easy enough; walking 0.8 kilometres to whole foods. He forgot a key element of this walk. It was about -2 degrees Celsius and Heiji, not wanting to make it take longer, purposely didn’t bundle up.

He made his way to the front door and just when he was about to leave, Abijah said, “Heiji, love, it’s freezing out there! You can’t go out in that!” He said this genuine concern for Heiji. “Don’t say I didn’t warn yeh..” Heiji, flustered, walked out and sighed. He instantly felt the million-needle feeling of the icy air outside. His breath hitched, it went shallow because it hurt to breathe deeply, and his face stung. “It’s not a far walk. Don’t be a baby. You’ll be fine, dumbass” Heiji thought, “sick days are for kindergarteners..” With reluctance, he started walking; pretty sure that he looked fine. In reality, he most definitely looked like he’s dying to anyone who saw him.

“Finally, I’m fucking here,” he whispered under his breath. Canvas tote bag in hand, he put on a surgical mask that he had in his pocket. And made his way over to the whole foods olive bar; “Yum!” Heiji thought as he saw the new kind of both manzanilla and Nyon green & black European olives. “I really hope he likes these.~” He packaged them and put them in his tote. And made his way over to the artisan cheese area. While he was there-“COUGH! HACK, COUGH!” His chest felt tight & sore and his abdomen felt stabby. His face turned red as he saw the people around look at him with worry and apprehension and confusion.

Heiji sheepishly smiled and turned away feeling worse than he already had been. Partially because of embarrassment and the fact that he sounded like he hacked out a lung. But also because he was thinking about what Abijah said and how it definitely true. So, he made a logical-seeming plan. He picked up the god-forsaken truffle Brie, paid for his stuff and got the hell out of there. He used his last millimetre of energy to walk back to their manor. It was warm inside the store and he had acclimated to it and thus, felt that familiar million-needle sensation when he walked out.

Whilst walking, he felt like the earth was pulling him down and his walking was laboured. “Ugh, I wish I had the energy to speed walk, then I could get out of this horrible weather,” he said under his breath “almost home, Heiji, almost home…”

Walking up to his house, Heiji felt a ringing in his ears and his steps faltered. His knees buckled, his rolled back and then…. Thud!

Abijah heard the loud noise, walked out the door and his curiosity quickly turned to shock. “Hm…OH!…Heiji no..no!” He quickly scooped him up into his arms “Heiji, you old fool!”

“God, my head is fucking pounding…,” Heiji thought this as he regained consciousness. “Oh..”, he mumbled “I’m really damn stupid”…

Fowler saw that Heiji had woken up and immediately ran up to him and slapped him in the face. “Heiji, you fool!” “I…I was so worried about you and what did you do?! Go outside and pass out!” Heiji was still delirious, so Abijah reprimanding him felt like part of a weird dream, “Abijah….” He said using all his strength “I’m sorry…I..I,” Abijah stopped him. “HUSH!” “Honey, while you disappointed me by your self-neglect, I forgive you. Now let me take care of you *mwah*.”

WOw first fic where I utilised my above-average English language skills. HOPE YOU LIKED IT SLUTS

[katzkinder]

I can see Tsubaki being annoying by rich people tm, especially when he has to deal with them during like business meetings/parties he may have to go to as a ceo

I think it would depend on his position relative to theirs.

When you’re a certain level of rich and influential, and you meet with someone who is a certain level of NOT rich and influential (but still above us peasants) you have the ability to act however you like and they just kinda have to deal with it because they need you to like them, and if not like them, they need you to still agree to work with them.

This goes both ways.

Tsubaki can only misbehave so much as his own class within the world of the rich and famous dictates, and he can’t misbehave too much even then, because his behavior could get back to and impact further dealings with OTHER rich people he needs to keep the favor of the make running his company go more smoothly.

His reputation is as someone eccentric but smart, imo. A classy, beautifully handsome man with traditional style and investment in preserving Japan’s cultural history, but surprisingly progressive in other aspects that make him a poor fit for much of the space occupied by other rich folk with the same taste as him (you know how old people stuck in their ways are, especially when money gives them so much sway)

He also doesn’t get along well with them for reasons related to surface level understanding of what makes something wabisabi or chic. The excessive opulence can turn him off easily. He is, however, well loved by the artisan community he likes to patronize. The tea houses, kimono shops, textile places, wood workers, dyers, sweet makers, potters, florists… He shows much respect towards their crafts and treats them with dignity. This is, I think, where a lot of his power actually comes from. His ability to network with the smaller people, the masters and apprentices working hard to preserve their arts. He’s particular, but not fussy. He respects their time and their efforts. He has a realistic idea of just how much time and labor goes into these things he loves, but he’s also no rube you can scam and won’t fall for empty flattery.

He loves ink prints and woodblocks, delights in modern techniques applied to traditional art forms, and is very good at chatting up the old grannies at the tea place (lol)

In a sentence. He’s one of Japan’s most eligible bachelors!

They really don’t get why he keeps someone as flashy as Belkia around— Doesn’t that clash? And what’s with the sulky kid… At least the woman is beautiful

Tsubaki really doesn’t like high society

[ruiniel]

Remember

Fandom: Demon Slayer: Kimetsu no Yaiba

Pairing: Kokushibō x fem!Reader

Chapter Count: 1.5K

Rating: 🔞

Chapter tags & warnings: Sengoku period flashbacks, Hurt No Comfort, POV Tsugikuni Michikatsu, POV Second Person, Blood Drinking

Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V - Part VI - Part VIII - Part IX

On AO3

Author note

Daisho: typically a set depicted as a katana and wakizashi (or a tanto) mounted in matching fittings

VII.

He runs a hand down the horse’s mane. “Soon, friend.” He considered not taking a mount at first, but given the need, it might be a significant addition. Michikatsu thinks of the recent days, all of which have marked the final preparations for departure. He does not know the demon hunters’ location, but Yoriichi agreed to meet at a spot familiar to both of them and go from there.

A heaviness presses on him: the inevitable worries that come with leaving a household behind for an indefinite period. He shakes his head. Determination was always a chief quality of his, or so his parents had often said. When one reaches a decision, one must follow through. 

Two more tasks left. He leaves the stable behind, crossing the courtyard. Already he’s donned his travel clothing, and all that’s left to take is inside. 

He raises his head; the thought dies when he sees you. 

You’re walking towards him, carrying something. Michikatsu swallows his regret, facing you and returning your greeting with a slight bow of the head. 

As you stand before him, he sees the objects you carry: a daisho set. 

“My husband,” you murmur with eyes downcast; your face looks tired—he’s not been to your bedroom in weeks, and now wonders whether he should have, if only to urge you to take some rest.  

“Hisami. Where are you taking your father’s swords?” He keeps his voice from trembling with some success. 

Without a word, you raise the weapons with both hands open, palms up, with their edge towards you and the hilts to his right—a customary sign of trust. “Please. I want you to have them.”

Michikatsu stares. The weapons have been in your family for over a century and are an heirloom since your father passed. The matching ebony scabbards are decorated with mother-of-pearl inlay, and he knows the sword smith who made the blades was an artisan of the craft. 

He sighs and places a hand on your shoulder, the other over the cold, lacquered scabbards. “I have my own. You know this.”

“Please take them.”

Your voice is calm on the words, but he knows you, senses what lies beneath. His grip tightens on your shoulder. “They belong with you. I would like you to keep them safe… until next time. Will you do that?”

You bite down on your lip, eyes squeezing shut, wrapping your arms around the set as though hanging onto an anchor at sea. “Michikatsu…” Slowly, you lean forward, with his hand still on your shoulder bringing you closer until your forehead rests against his chest. “Until next time,” you repeat, muffled against his kimono. 

“Yes,” he says, believing it wholeheartedly.

A wind brings with it a gust from outside, dispersing the heavy warmth settling in the room.

“...help?” You move away, watching as he drags himself and props his back against the wooden frame of the fusuma panel.

Between the fresh corpse bloodying your floor and him, you can’t tell which looks worse. 

“Yes… for this…” He points at the gash adorning his throat, then closes his eyes, hands falling lifeless in his lap. 

You pick up the sword again. “Who… What was that? Did you bring it here?”

He shakes his head. “What would I have to gain by sending another demon to your doorstep?” 

“How should I know?! You…” The blade shakes in your hands. “And what happened to you? What do you want?” 

He grits his teeth, barely maintaining an upright position against the wood. He must’ve consumed much of his strength earlier. “I’ve not told you how we die.”

A sigh leaves you, physical exhaustion making itself felt as the turmoil from earlier dissipates. Slowly, you also sink to the ground, careful to avoid the severed remains. 

He speaks of sunlight, or removing the head. But then…

“You can’t do anything this way, can you? You can’t die, but… you can’t function, either.” 

As the conclusion leaves your mouth, he nods, reopening his eyes. “I will be brief. Your blood…” he pauses, hands clamped into fists at his sides. “It is a rare kind, and very potent.”

“You came all the way here to take more of my blood?!” It sounds ridiculous, but he looks frighteningly serious about it. 

“To ask for it,” he says, “this time.”

True, before, it was you who offered, which leaves little in the way of a moral high ground here. It was the manner in which he did it, though, which caused your resentment and wariness. “And what if I refuse?”

He closes his eyes again. “There is nothing I can do…” and to prove a point, he tries to rise and fails. 

You stare at the amount of blood drying on his clothing… You’re no medical expert, but it looks as though anyone else would have bled out a long, long time ago. You shift closer, crossing your legs as you sit across from him. “Maybe you miscalculated. You’ve just told me the certain ways in which I can be rid of you. What makes you think I won’t use those methods instead?”

It’s difficult watching him in this state. It gnaws at you like a new disease, but the situation has all the making of a nightmare, and you desperately need some control. But, how? 

“Hah…” his eyes are red slits as he speaks. “You… are no killer. But I am. And rather than seeking to absorb a number of humans… a feat I’m incapable of, in this state...” he makes a gesture with his hand as though to say ‘here we are’.

This proud, aloof manner, even when so grievously injured, is enraging. “You’re a… a monster!”

Composed, he wipes blood off his lower lip. “Of course I am. What have I been telling you all this time?”

You hang your head. But then… in hindsight, many lives in exchange for a portion of blood seems not as wicked a choice as the alternative. 

Or you could let the daylight take him. 

I can’t. “How do I know you won’t kill me once you’ve regained yourself?”

The demon tilts his head, offering you the remnant of another smile. It looks so out of place on his pale, drawn face. A full-body tremor runs through you. “Have I ever tried to before, when I would have succeeded so easily?”

A side of you hates the way this ordeal is thrust upon you, while the other pushes the urge to get this over with. “Fine.”

No reaction. “... but?” he asks.

“But,” you gesture towards him. “Two conditions. One, you leave and never return here after this.”

He snorts. “You need not worry about that.”

“Two,” you continue, “... this time, we do things my way.” And saying so, you rise to stand even as he looks up at you, uncomprehending. Having a shred of advantage steels some courage.

With one foot, you nudge at his shoulder. He relents, sliding down onto his back on the floor. He narrows his eyes as you grasp your sword with one hand, but makes no comment. 

After a moment’s hesitation, you sigh, pointing the blade at him. “Sit still,” you demand, descending to your knees and moving to sit atop him, thighs grasping his middle. Will this be enough? What else to do but try? The sharp edge of your blade goes to his throat.

A low, guttural groan escapes his lips, but nothing else. His body stays cold and still beneath you except for each labored breath filling the silence.

“Now, slowly,” you say, baring your left arm and slashing at your wrist with the blade. There is pain, but the excitement from earlier must have made you less sensitive to it.

You lean over, your right hand again holding the sword fast at his throat. “Here,” you lower your bleeding wrist to his lips, closing your eyes.

Shaking fingers wrap around your forearm, holding it still. As warmth gently envelops the wound, you feel a familiar sensation, but no great discomfort.

You hiss as he feeds, his grip tightening as time passes. You feel more pressure—his free hand has settled heavily on your right thigh as though to keep you there.

 “S-stop… enough!” Your blade digs deeper into his throat before dizziness envelops your body completely.

The hold on you slackens as you open your eyes, rising to your feet as fast as you can—which, admittedly, is not very fast. You nearly trip over the other body. 

Did it work? You stare at him, but there seems to be no improvement, apart from his chest rising and falling in a faster tempo. You say nothing as he stares back—not at you, but at the sword in your hand.

The expression is as peculiar as that first night you met, tinged with forgetfulness and guilt. “Thank you…”

You choose not to respond. Sometimes, silence is best.

He lies there, unable or unwilling to rise. His own weapon is still abandoned on the floor some distance away. “You…” He says something else, but it’s difficult to grasp his words.

“What?”

“... need not clean… those remains… you will see.”

You can barely bring yourself to consider the scattered blood and flesh behind you. “What are you saying?”

His voice fades, barely audible. “When morning comes… let the daylight in.”

Part VIII

[wildbeautifuldamned]

Japanese antique vintage beaded Kimono Handbag Handmade by Bead Artisans Orange ebay japan-vintage-takara

[missohme]

kimono wax

[whatisreggieshortfor]

Real Life Seb reacts to Season Six Casa Boys

Marshall-

I’m fucking him for sure for sure

Imma be gay for that guy

I will destroy him and I feel sorry for him because I am not a bottom

Also gets no bitches because that’s *my* sweetheart

Sexiest Islander

Kinda guy you gotta beat down into submission

Andy-

Looks like the green kimono guy from Demon Slayer

Andy gets no bitches but he is a bitch

Uneven spray on tan (talking about the fucked up shadowing)

Honestly with that jawline and the the way his hair is he looks sexy but the way his hair falls that’s a toupee

Hamish-

OH GOD ITS KEN

Barbie lost him, we found him, send him back

Holy shit where do I begin

Talk about being a basic bottom bitch

Kind of guy you spit on his face and into big kinks

Wants to be crushed in bed

Face screams I’m powerful but I’m a bitch

Bets he’d lose to Andy in a fight

Francis-

He KnOwS wHaT ArTiSaNaL iS

Not getting laid at the club

Exit stage right pink panther

Kinda guy you’re hoping to see when you go for a tarot reading

Pics for reference:

[hoardlikegoldenirises]

I've been meaning to draw this for... literally the entire month... did it for the Literal Last Day Of Artfight despite compiling most of my reference photos in June (lmao)

I saw @majadraws' Tsukiko and the mention of the Sengoku and Muromachi periods and well, if you know me you know what happened. I will use literally anything as an excuse to draw historical clothing 😂😂😂

Layered kosode (the white ones with flowers) with uchikaku kosode hanging around the waist and patterned with wisterias for moon symbolism 🌙 plus the narrow hanging obi of the time in a brighter color with the same pattern.

and a peek of the red lining

All the patterns are based on real kimono fabric I found pics of thru museums etc. (loosely cause I don't got the patience to painstakingly recreate artisanal embroidery and fabric painting lol)

I dunno what the flowers on the white one are since I was just looking at fabric pics and not searching for a specific flower except for the wisteria one... I think they're different types of chrysanthemums? not sure about the little three petaled ones at all. and the kosode underneath the main white one also has some kind of burst flower i think but it was very stylized so i'm not sure what that is other than round. garlic flowers are the first thing that comes to mind but i know that there are other flowers shaped like that XD

I also drew Tsukiko holding a mirror in her hand (facedown), again for moon symbolism. I didn't give a specific pattern on the back for that, though I did have some refs, but I was more focused on the clothes lol

I also wanted to try to interpret the jewelry the character normally wears into something historical, which was an interesting challenge since earrings aren't historically suuuuper common in Japan but I gave her some dangly earrings based on some ancient Japanese earrings which I believe are from somewhere in the 4th to 6th century (Kofun period)… though I made them silver instead of gold.

Anyway, I figured if they're immortal Tsukiko could believably have some super old jewelry… And the necklace is of course magatama beads, which seemed fitting for a being such as her.

anyway!

i had fun drawing it!

medieval japanese equivalent of wearing your shirt tied around your waist

[usagimen]

here is some kobayashi lore

due to their long standing feud with the zen'in clan, the women of the kobayashi bloodline cannot be near the shadows, it will disarm them or curse their lineage. this is not concrete, many of the sons that are seen are produced from affairs with their rival clan.

boys are considered a rarity; they are not as valued as daughters. by decree, a son cannot become geiko, but they can become an artisan in ceramics, wasai, kimono dressing, hair dressing, all that is important to allow their secretive world to run. becoming a wasai is the highest of honors, like many of the women in the clan, sons are encouraged to wear vibrant colors. the typical haori is intricately woven, lilac && purples are often seen to mimic that of the great wisteria tree.

the kobayashi's are defined as 'flowers waiting to bloom'. their fixture that has managed to live for centuries is their grand wisteria tree. when one enters the estate, they are greeted by a wave of violet. sayuri as a child would hide underneath the petals, most do so to reflect or contemplate, the roots of the true are meant to showcase the life they established throughout centuries.

the wealth of the kobayashi's comes from their cache of kimonos, each woman has their costumes specially stored && guarded. they are presented with a chest uniquely carved for them to store hairpins, jewels, silks, ect. sayuri estimates the amount that has collected cannot be defined. even she has a modest size inventory.

despite all the women representing female yokai, there are only three descendants of hone-onna. Kobayashi Sachiko (ancestor from the Heian Era) Nakamaru Mizuki (Sayuri's biological mother) then, Kobayashi Sayuri. those fated with the bone woman's blood often hide from lanterns or candlelight to shield their features. they are known to harbor a deep tragedy && constantly seek their own fate, each woman is noted to be an outsider of the clan doomed to face their destiny alone. lovers are often marked for death, unable to escape the curse they inflict unknowingly.