#oiran parade

[redsamuraiii]

Oiran Parade in Nikko Tochigi by JP in Japan 

[wildbeautifuldamned]

oiran parade

https://www.gojapan.co.uk/

[kingkatsuki]

Something about Sanemi falling for a woman stuck in a loveless arranged marriage. A marriage arranged for honour, chosen by a respectable samurai that you should be thankful for. The perfect joining of houses, and the perfect way to give him an heir to extend his bloodline. You should be honoured to be handpicked, picked out of an array of noble women all biting at his hand to be the chosen one.

How lucky you are.

The first time you meet Sanemi it’s accidental, running into him while you’re out in the entertainment district with your husband. Walking through the lantern lit streets as musicians and street peformers bask in the glow, the festival in full swing as you mostly keep your head down. Stopping when your husband stops to gawk at the local Oiran is paraded through, standing in his shadow as you feel someone knock into your back.

Turning to see a man with striking white hair that only seems to burn in the flickering lantern light, almost casting an ethereal glow over him as you see the scars that cross his face. The crowded streets more difficult to navigate now as the crowds part like the Red Sea for the courtesan procession. He doesn’t utter an apology, but you can see his lavender eyes staring at you, focused on the darkened bruise against your cheekbone that you’d attempted to cover up earlier that day.

You find yourself muttering your own apology, even though it wasn’t your fault as the man continues to stare. Lips curling into a snarl as he disappears back into the sea of people, but his face is still at the forefront of your mind.

Sanemi would never admit that he keeps looking for you that night, even when he should be searching for the demon that’s terrorising the streets and kidnapping women. Unable to forget the fear that flashed through your face when you met his gaze. Sanemi is used to people fearing him, his job combined with his hostile attitude enough to strike fear into even the boldest men. But there was something about the look you gave him, as though expecting the force of an assault, that had him thinking about you. Remembering the swollen bruise against your cheek as he thought about how it had happened.

And so he finds himself watching you, following you as he notices the way your husbands palm curls around your forearm and grips hard. Tugging you after him as Sanemi feels his hand curl into a fist as his blunt nails dig into his palm, jaw locked as he reminds himself why he’s here.

And I haven’t decided how you actually get together, but picture him remembering you a few days or a week later. This time without your husband in tow as you walk through the quiet streets in the early hours of the morning, glad your husband has left to fight so you can have some time to yourself. Your husband who has come to resent you because after all these months of marriage you still haven’t become pregnant. The expectation of a son weighs heavy, and each night he reminds you how useless and broken you are for not taking his seed and giving him what he wants.

Sanemi finds himself falling hard and fast, wanting nothing more than to protect you— and he’s convinced he’d do anything to do it. And he tells you that perhaps you’re not the one that’s broken, when it’s only ever your husband that you’ve laid with— and that simply not bearing him children does not make you useless.

But then part of me thinks he wouldn’t even allow you to go back to him? Like that’s the kind of shit he wouldn’t deal with after watching it happen to his mother and I sigh.

[helloescapist]

In Another Life | Sanemi Shinazugawa

Word Count: 5272

Setting: Shinazugawa Sanemi x fem!reader (oiran reader), pining, short

Content Warnings: mentions of gore, abuse, and oiran/redlight district, and language

Summary: After hearing about Tengens success in the redlight district, Sanemi has decided to investigate one himself. His analysis leading him buried memories of the girl he had loved, and that faith had abandoned.

A/N: I am admittedly new to Tumblr, and very unfamiliar with how to interact. Until I figure it out, I just want to express how happy I am to see my work being read, and shared. I really do appreciate each and every one of you.

[Art work is not mine, credit goes to the artist!]

Lights glowed across the district; waves of visitors jostled amongst the path. Lanterns glowed in the growing night, bright enough to daze and confuse the senses. Human instincts humming whispers of slumber, and beckoned sleep snubbed out by the intense atmosphere.

Human instincts humming whispers, and beckoned sleep snubbed out by the intense atmosphere. The night delayed as it masqueraded as the day, masked in the glow of lanterns across the district. Incense and perfumes that dulled the senses, claimed the thoughts of men and women alike drawn by the intimate glow. Lanterns danced in the night air, as waves of visitors jostled along the paths that had been abandoned in the daylight. Buildings that loomed in the sky, grandiose in nature, dripping of the wealth of proprietors.  Owners exhibiting their prosperity in embellished fabrics, banners hung intentionally to draw the eye. Windows alit with the readily available oirans. Hair meticulously styled for the run of the mill customer; adorning hairpins and fabrics no longer favored by higher ups. Their very being mere constructions of the tayu classes’ secondhand rejections. Either discarded due to outdated appearance, or simply deemed unfavorable for valued customer classes. Only the luckiest of them having adorned castoff rouge. Farmers and vendors alike appraising them through warped vision; having tossed away thoughts of their wives, partners, and family for the night, willing to overlook the product’s pitiful origins in favor of lust and personal benefits. The merchandize only dared to smile, eyes trained to the ground with the occasional fan pressed against lips. The customers only momentarily distracted from the coos and teases of women on the balcony, hoping to earn a night’s work. Dizzying waves of women who had taken to the streets to beckon passersby to their brothel. Kamuros dashing across the way, bending to the whims of their oiran’s command as they fetched every need one might possess.

                It was enough to piss him off. The overbearing scents to mask the leftover musk of various customers. Perfumes intended to disguise the common prostitute as something angelic despite the usual fierce temperament. The smells burned his nostrils, and left his stomach nauseated. Far too many fragrances intermingling, none willing to compromise to the other. The lights were just as guilty, determined to set an intimate scene despite the obvious façade. The fabrics were bright, far too lavish, and often times revealing to provide a quick slip of clothes before delving into the job’s demands. Just as quick to conceal marks, and set off for their next target. Little more than assassins looking for their next meal ticket, enough to make his skin crawl. Not that he could blame them, their upbringing had been mangled as his own. Sold off by impoverish family members, they had been left to survive, much like the day he had taken to the mountain and left his own family behind. In the very same way, he had wielded various weapons snatched to his back in the dead of night, only daring to rest in the sunlight all those years ago, these women were just as lethal desperate to survive as himself. Parading as gentle, insightful women who tended to their proprietors willing to turn a favor to any coin, very few of them were in fact as kind as they claimed to be. Even less were compromising to their lesser attendants. Only a few baring gifts from their ward, more of them brandishing bruises and scratches. Smacked for the smallest of inconvenience, and baring the ravish of a scorned women confined to the life of servitude. Kamuros and shinzou alike, innocence robbed each night, bearing witness to the realities of the red-light district. He could feel the rage bubbling. He had always feared the chance of his own father coining his sisters off when he was a child, one of the many reasons Genya and he had worked so earnestly to care for their families. Their relief only realized in their father’s death. In his youth he had witnessed so many hardships, but being here. The familiar sear of incense, the telling whelps and bruises that formed at the corner of mouths of little girls, working to the bone despite the tears that threatened the corner of their eyes. Forced smiles, and facades of dreams, only reminded him of the girl he had left behind so many years ago. When his childhood had convinced him that he would experience happiness, a bride to call his own, and the hopes of a family on the way.

You were lovely in all the ways no one could compare. A demure smile that could captivate the heart of any man. Unusual hair color as pale as the sunlight, and as warm as the days of summer. Eyes that dared to captivate the sky, wide and furnished with long, thick eyelashes. Reticent despite such a young age. A gaze that danced across the lavish doll caught between your fingertips as you studied its features, so contrast to your own. Hair long and intricately weaved and pin with lavish hair pins, multiple kanzashi placed, an unusual sight for him at the time. Frozen in his tracks mid-delivery as he studied your delicate features, captivated by the sunlight under a Japanese maple whose leaves had already descended into waves of oranges and vivid reds. Such as the touch of rouge and blush that settled across your cheeks and lips, delicately painted. Brows drawn as you studied the doll, its black hair folded over your fingers. As well as the black painted eyes that deliberated your own. The heavy embellishments weaved into your intricate hairstyle were lavish, but nothing that compared to the many layers your small frame bore. Nearly wore down across the fabric. Vibrant folds and luxurious prints adorned over the fold of an attention drawing obi. He found himself leaning forward, his eyes tracing the stilt of your shoes, giving you height pass your natural frame. The enchanting length of your sleeves, a young Kamuro, he would later come to understand. For someone so beautiful, and obviously well cared for, the undeniable sorrow was visible.  Stained upon your light make up, depicting a hidden hurt that he could not understand. Drawn to touch the surface, it was as though you were as beautiful as an untouched pond amidst this hidden garden.  Only rippling at the boy whose fell forward, rolled off of steps and landed in a heap into your hidden world.

                Your eyes, large and imploring, the startle gasp as you dropped your doll. Your surprise having drawn you backwards as, eyes tracing his silhouette. His clothing, far humbler than your own. The dirty covered samue covered with the day’s filth, and unassuming, a stark contrast to the intricate garments before him.  The working class that derived from sweat and hard labor. The realization stilling his blood as his eyes met the ground, embarrassed to be caught in admiration of you. Especially given the circumstances. His intrusion into your seclusion far louder than he had expected, met with the growing realization that he very well could be beaten for having wandered into such an illustrious place. The growing commotion that grew from within the grand building, the raised voices of inquiring men, and that of shrills of surprised women. Your eyes having fallen to the doors of the veranda before falling back to him, your small steps rushed across the garden. Small, delicate fingers that clasped his own, pulling him from the ground. Tugging him behind you as you sought suffrage within the small grove of flourishing trees. Pressed against him, the shock radiating from his body as your small hand reached up to cover his mouth. Pressing a finger against your lips.

                “[LN]? Are you alright?” a male had called. The clack of shoes again the stone work. The pounding in Sanemi’s heart becoming panicked and nervous, smacking your hand from himself. “[LN]?” the man called, pressing forward. Only to cause you to further lean on Sanemi. As though in some way your small frame could ever hope to conceal his own. Your eyes caught on the advancing man, an attendant he had surmised.

                “Sato, I sent [FN] on an errand.”

                The distinct shift in atmosphere was evident. As though the entire garden had fallen under a spell of a different kind. A sultry voice that commanded attention, grace in her languid movements. Sanemi dared to peek over his shoulder, meeting black eyes that could only be compared to the night sky, and hair detailing’s that mirrored your own unique style despite the obvious difference in color. The hue of the woman before him reflective of the most extravagant ink blocks only afforded by the higher-ups. Elegance tinged on the older woman’s features, carefully painted as she met the attendant’s gaze. A hidden venom that coiled in extravagant fabrics, more than those you adorned. As she tilted her head, peering down at the man before her. “M-Madam,” he had sputtered, quick to bow his head. “I-I had heard a noise, and I thought perhaps [LN] had fallen.”

                “Sato, I will not repeat myself.”

                “Y-Yes madam.”

                The momentary glimpse his way that chilled his bones. Her gaze had softened, especially in comparison to the man who escaped to chores, desperate to evade her piercing gaze. The small smile she quipped before clasping her fan. Her movements fluid as a Tiger Keelback, relaxed in the grass. Evidence of her deadly behavior that had been briefly expressed now stripped from her features. Recoiled under the foundation of a tender smile, and slight nod at the package he had been intending to delivered, dropped where he had fallen through the gardens. The press of your body having slipped from his as the woman disappeared into the grand building, a knowing smile tucked on her delicately painted face.

                Your mother, you had shared to him between stolen ohagi bites. A grand tayu, one of the highest rankings in the area at that. Your smile as wide and delighted to meet him as he had been to witness you. As beautiful as the leaves above you; he had understood your duty. Listened to you explain that you were a kamuro as you accepted his package in exchange for another. For him, you had pressed into his care. Extra ohagi intended for his siblings, a rarity they would enjoy, you had insisted. Promised that the house would not notice their missing.  Ignoring his obvious discomfort and the annoyance his bashful nature had forced upon the both of you. Over redden cheeks, and unable to ignore the way that you had once again boldly pressed into him as you forced the lavish fabric into his hands before separated from him. Dismissed his insistence that he could not afford to replace such delicacies. After all, no one would notice that they had gone, not to worry. Pulling his delivery into your hands, and allowing your shoe to slip from your sock as you pressed onto the veranda. Earnest eyes that captivated the sunset, bored into him. The small, undeniable sorrow that he had witnessed before was beginning to show as you waved to him. “Please, visit me again,” whispered in secret.

                A vow he had not broken tucked shyly to his heart.

Seizing the opportunity to visit you any time his deliveries took him to the pleasure district. Secret rendezvous tucked under Japanese Maple trees, split over tea and ohagi you had snuck from the kitchens. Each encounter growing warmer and more familiar. At times, he would bring Genya along, and others, he would sneak away at the first opportunity. Unwilling to admit that at times, he felt envious of the way his brother could captivate your attention. Your over willingness to lean into him often earning a series of curses, rough in speech and manners, and Sanemi only to receive the softest of giggles. Having thrived at his attention, and company, there were times you would insist on assisting in his deliveries to other brothels. Familiar with the landscape, you had insisted, and unwilling to admit that he didn’t want to depart from you just yet, he would often fold. Determined to preserve his pride. When you had dared to adorn a lesser kamuro’s old tattered kimono and covered your hair in the soot remains of a snubbed lantern of the night, daring to leave the confines of your employment, your fingers tugged at the hem of his samue… he had begrudgingly allowed you to follow after him. A secret just between the two of you. Spitting out a demand you release him before shyly grasping your hand and leading you through the town, muttering that you were far too much like a child. On these rare days out, you would whisper to Koto, and Sumi would assist you in securing him to your back despite Sanemi’s obvious fretting. Concern that his family had asked to much of you, or that such labor would be far too exhaust. Your whispered wishes of a life such as this hushing such worries. Days left to Shuya, Teiko, and Hiroshi’s teasing. The time his siblings would dare to reveal such matters to you. Such as the way he held your hand in a crowd, the way he rerouted his travels around move to avoid mucking your borrowed kimono, or that day at the river. When you had longed to dare to skim across the surface. How shyly you had peered into the water, in awe of him having dared to walk in to its shallows without a second thought. How he had watched you fumble over your kimono, determined to follow after him, but unfamiliar with the workings of fishermen, or how to tie back your clothing. How he had uttered curses, accusing you of being a child. How his knees had met the stones submerged in the river. Without hesitation, his white hair soft and bright, as puffy as the clouds above you. How your heart had hammered in your chest as his calloused fingers, unfamiliar to you as they grazed across your calf. His words as usual had been harsh, yet just like all the other times, his touch was gentle. Calloused from a lifetime of work, yet gentle in the way they regarded you regardless if it was protecting you from a snake that had wandered into a garden, or a patron who had become too casual, he always regarded you with such care despite his tongue. How his eyes had met yours, shy and sputtering a curse as your fingers threaded through his hair, because just one time… just one time, you had wanted to run your fingers through the snow touched strands. Naïve and oblivious to the way the blush crawled down his collar. Although, the truth was, Sanemi had realized that he had been the one naïve. From the blemishes that would be liter your cheeks when your mother was not looking to the day, he had found you cornered in the district.

The rocks that had pattered against your hands as you struggled to shield yourself. Words such as hafu, konketsuji, ainoko, and mutt littered the air. Having been caught in the rain, the soot was washed from your hair. Revealing you to the general public, and how they had scorned you. Rocks thrown from peers, random ones hitting their marks, revealing the depth of malice others outside of the pleasure district had regarded you, why you had insisted on staining your hair at each visit to the outside world. He had never considered, and without a second thought, he had pinned your assailant to the ground. Sanemi’s fists met with his cheek. Forced him to the ground, and berated him with every insult he could think of. Bitter and full of rage and ignorant to the shrill of the neighborhood kids fleeing his fury. The boy who was under him, now snotty and bloodied was still not enough to cool his temper. It wasn’t enough—he would never forgive them. Practically boiling over until he felt the all too familiar tug of fingers on the hem of his sleeve. Biting back the rage that threatened to spew, did his best to conceal his temper. His wide eyes met your own. The sorrow inevitable, that same sadness that he had witnessed so long ago under maple leaves. Your chin dipped to your chest, avoiding his gaze as you quietly requested your assailant’s release. And how he hadn’t wanted to. How he had swallowed his temper, met with your dejection. Your eyes unwilling to meet his own even as his fingers swept across your face. Grazed against the blossoming bruise at your cheek, and caught the tears that tinged the corner of your eyes. His gaze soft and mournful. How naïve he had been not to realize you had been suffering. Not to have realized the implications foreign born imparted on your life as the daughter of a courtesan. How artless he had been not to realized his growing feelings, or to understand the depths of his desires. Nor the nativity he had born as the words left his lips without a thought, a vow. A promise. To stop crying dam nit. Because one day, one day it wouldn’t be like this. One day, one day you would be home with him. That no one would ever hurt you again.

Fucking naïve.

The distant memories plagued him as he sat crisscross on a tatami mat adorned with cushions. His eyes trained on his drink and snacks. Ribbons hung throughout the brothel, lined in a variety of perfumes and incenses that burned his nose, and left him with the aching memory of a life he had longed for, and had abandoned after the loss of his mother. He had hoped, in some small way that perhaps, Genya had taken you for a bride. Although the little shit having made an appearance at the demon corps made it clear that certainly happened. The thought pissing him off as much as the overbearing scents that clung to detailed décor. Hints of gold and lacquered woods, rich in finery and portraying the wealth of the cliental the brothel owners captivated. Tucked into an inner room, his uniform having caught one of the courtesan’s attentions—mistakenly assumed him of a higher rank of the Imperial Japanese Army. Securing him a seat in the inner areas from prying eyes, an opportunity he wouldn’t waste. He had never had the opportunity to dive into the inner world of the district, not like Tengen had—not that the Wind Hashira had even considered bring tag along on his investigation. The underhanded method of dragging his wives into his business was one that had secured weeding the upper moon out, but was a technique he would not employ. In part because his rash decisions had simply taken hold of him, and he had left without much thought. The remainder of this route unavailability to him was that he neither wanted to include others in his analysis, and even less were willing to volunteer to work alongside him. So, this opportunity presented was a valuable one at that, one he would not waste.

                Tucked beind sheer screens, the distinct pluck of a koto beginning to play. Another goddamn memory threatening to surface. You had spent hours practicing—Nope. Not fucking doing it. He bit back a bite of his snack, threatening the memory to remain buried from his presence as his large violet eyes surveyed his surroundings. Ribbons that hung decoratively from a variety of angles, intended to immulate the oiran’s kimonos if he had to guess their reason. Stupid at that, men clearly drowning in saki and desperate to escape their lives, and their wallets were veiled behind their own screens. From what he had gathered, one had in fact been a higher up—likely the reason the oiran who had guided him to this place had assumed he had been seeking a night off. Another, a rice man from a noble family that was bored of his second wife, although from the way he spoke, Sanemi had wondered how he had secured the first one. Brash, and demanding, and certainly not shy about grabbing at the waitresses. Their forced giggles revealing their annoyance as they gently reminded him that they were merely servants, not entertainers. Nothing worth pursuing in either of the occupants. Two places, he had discovered were empty, and available to incoming customers. Perhaps having too quickly busied themselves before big performance the oiran had promised him before ushering him in. Something about the Lady Kazaori’s impending betrothal allowing her only one more night of presentation, he had barbed at the name. Sending the oiran into a nervous fit, eager to be rid of the scarred customer. Fair enough. He had to remind himself that for courtesans, names meant little, and simply because the name bared familiarity didn’t mean… goddamn it this was pissing him off, he bit back another drink. His ears catching the koto and the murmured whispers of courtesans who had been invited to the booths next to him. One of the occupants having bathed in the attention offered, his sighs and teases evident as the drink on his breath and how heavy he sauntered. His words becoming nothing more than incoherent babbling, while the other resident had merely ignored the oiran’s interference. His eyes trained on the sheer screen before him. The courtesians desperate to draw his attention, having accepted that Sanemi was not willing to entertain them, or perhaps they were too afraid to inquiry. Not that he could give a shit, but something about the other man was different. Through delicate plucks on the koto, the enchanting melody that felt familiar to Sanemi’s ears, and warmed his heart. Goddamn it, his ears had managed to catch a snippet of the women’s conversation. “No one is paying attention to me.” A drawn-out pout intended to catch the man at her side’s attention, but fell on deaf ears. The man practically possessed by the performer before him.

                “You should have known they wouldn’t,” one scolded. “He has always been Kazaori’s biggest fan. Besides, it’s Kazaori’s last night, you should wish her well.”

                The indignant snort that retorted. “Why should I wish her well? Fate has done so itself.”

                Pitter back and forth between the two, one clearly reserved and adjusted to her job, and the other ebbed in jealousy at the mere mention of the higher courtesan title the one Kazaori had earned. Bitter spats back and forth as the one woman had demanded the other remember her place, while the other could only lament that the Kazaori had secured a husband to be from a noble family. A second born of some beaucrat, born with a silver spoon his mouth. Apparently so enthralled by the tayu he had sputtered off some poem, and met with the keeper of the brothel without hesitation. Smacked double the woman’s amount without a second thought, even an additional fee for ensuring she would be ready in the days to follow. The woman obviously enamored by the idea of the other being spirited away, and perhaps wishing it for herself, the idea nauseated the wind hashira. The snip of bitter, “a hafu getting married like thaaa”. Hafu, the word barely processing before the woman’s voice had become mangled. The scream of her companion ringing in his ears and silencing the performance. Terror screeched across her features as she pushed pass the screens, desperate to flee the scene.  The toss and clatter of her scatter leaving remnants of the once beautiful performance amuck. The toss of ornate furniture, women screaming and dashing. The imperial officer brandishing his weapon to no avail. Blood that spattered amongst the crowd. The glimpse of familiar sun-kissed hair, ushered by small kamuros before Sanemi had forced his way through the crowd. The demon who had masqueraded as a man having torn after the object of his affections. Leaving the woman whos throat he had crushed in ruins. Not even bothered to reveal in her flesh, discarded as though she were nothing more than mere garbage in his gaze.

                Hand on his nichirin blade as he bolted down the halls, navigating the large building through the fury of screams and crying women who sought to escape. Blood quick to decorate—he was fast, but his trail leading Sanemi to the small form of a child, whose sobs were unmatched. Shrill, and screaming violently as the blood and snot marred her features. Her hair ornaments disarrayed, the hair on her scalp oozing, torn from their placement. The furniture she had smashed into severed beneath her light weight, glass littering her cheeks. He crouched down, his fingers grazing against her throat. Inspecting the bruising that had formed, but no clear abrasion. Nothing that had broken the skin. The bastard having merely tossed her in his wake, eyes too trained on the prize. Goddamn it. “L-Laadddy K-Kaa,” the little girl began to hick up in choked sobs. Her eyes meeting Sanemi’s. Fear marked into her skin, small… a child. She was just a child. “M-M-oonssste-“.

                His found her hair. Gently twining his fingers across her scalp, gently patting her hair with care. “Did he take your lady?” Her tremble confirmed his question as he did his best to sooth her tears. “Where?” Her finger as his guide he offered one last soothing pat, “You did a good job, stay here.”

He was fucking livid. An internal storm that threatened to spew, a volcano that threated to erupt. The demon itself felt like a fucking waste of time, but goddamn it if he didn’t feel like the past was determined to fucking haunt him. The curse that he had spewed at the sight of you. From what he could gather, the demon had attempted to force itself upon you, promising eternity together. An offer you had refuted with a hair pin, jabbed with all of your might. Plunged into the side of his head, buried deep into his flesh, and irretrievable. Making the demon an easy target for Sanemi to slay, but goddamn he was pissed. From the way the bastard had dared to touch you, to taint your features with its very being. To the fact it dared to attempt to drag you into filth, to the fact that the very sight of you. Tears tinged at the corner of your eyes, your pride not allowing them to fall. Kimono torn open, hair unraveled and aslant. It was the fact that he hadn’t hesitated to captivate you in his arms. To trace calloused fingers of smeared rouge, inspecting your familiar face. The years had changed you, you had certainly grown. Merely the ghost of a child he had known before, to the very woman he had given his heart to so long ago. The shiver of recognition, your sky blessed eyes widening as you uttered his name. It pissed him off how he longed to hear you call his name once more, desiring to hear it between broken shudders. Your fingers clasped onto hem of his uniform like you had so many years ago. “Sanemi,” you whispered, begged him to look at you. Gritted his teeth as he attempted to turn from you. What pissed him off more than the fact that he had forgotten himself and embraced you as though you were still children longing for a fate that would never come—was that after all these years, here you were… waiting. Having risen through the ranks, claiming your mother’s title as your own, endured hardships he dared not think of, and yet, yet you looked at him with such adoration. As though you were still that little girl, faithfully waiting her fate… waiting. After all these years, you were still fucking waiting.

                Soft fingers tracing the mar of his flesh, traced alongside the scars he had gathered through the years as you fell through broken sobs. He had told himself to leave, but the purr of your lips, the cries of disbelief that after all these years, he had come for you. You had money, you had sworn. Hidden away from sight, offered to him. Begged him to spirit you away, kidnap a bride before her day, to claim you as his own as he had sworn so many years ago. The press of your forehead against him, breathing in what you could only note as traces of spring that dared to escape your grasp. His heart settled against his ribcage for only a moment, whole and wishing for the day he had longed desperately for, but it was not to be.

                “L-Lady, Kazaori!” a small voice cracked.

                As though the chill of shifting winds had slid down his collar, your fingers still clutched to the hem of his uniform. His violet iridescent eyes found the little girl who charged through the entryway. Her hair still disheveled, the blood of her features only wiped half-assed as she wrapped around your waste. Her sobs staining the folds of your extravagant kimono. The Kamuro he had patted now stared up at him with wide yes, praising him between hick ups and attempting to catch her breath, and in the same fluid motion, she had brought him back to reality.

                Wordlessly, his calloused fingers met your own, delicately unweaving their clutch on his clothing. Detaching himself from you, as though severing an invisible bond that you dared to reach for. Your shattered reality falling into your lap. The tears now falling, and out of grasp. He had separated from you, and in your heart, you knew what this moment was. What you had dreaded, and feared for all of these years. “S-Sanemi.”

                The gentlest gaze, delicate. Fragile. The shatter of the wind of a cold night, distant and only enough to elicit shivers. Danced across snow flurries, and greeted the Japanese maple leaves. His smile curved and warm with all of the love he had held for you throughout the years. “Your husband is waiting.” Before slipping out the door, knowing all too well that he dared not look back. Dared not meet your broken gaze. Nor acknowledge the sound of knees meeting the wood floors, a collapse of distress, and the little kamuro  far too innocent to the world of the pleasure district tired to console a broken woman. No, he did not dare. Because if he did, he would break, and in another life. He wouldn’t have to hesitate. Would not have to bid you farewell. Nor meet the cold air outside, this reality would not be his own.

                No, in another life. His heart would be reeling from the yuinou. He would have been the one to present your mother with konbu, hemp, and dreams, with whatever money he had scrapped together from his jobs, with the hopes of growing old in one another’s embrace. In another life, it would be him beaming into the night air; him to protect you from your inheritance. Him to etch the memory of a furisode into his mind. Him to swear himself to you. Him to embrace you in the night, and his name you would bare, and the children to come. His name you would cry out, his touch you would lust for, and your body he would worship in adoration. It would be him. But in this life, he could only sever the bond of the girl who held his heart, and turn his back on the woman that faith had abandoned.

[thescribeoflostmemories]

At your service, my Harbinger

( requests: closed)

(Oiran/Geisha/Maiko! Reader x Fatui Harbingers) {Yandere is available)

Note: did some liberties to at least make it some sense why or how you’ll get promoted to Oiran if anyone asks for it. This ain’t accurate. Also, do note that this is for people at least 16 of age or above if it gets too serious. To request, please refer to my pinned post or the service menu that would be at the bottom of this post.

The first meeting

" Are you nervous, my lady?" You tried to help and get your master ready for her procession this evening. Tying her Obi to the front of her body, arranging her headpiece like an artist being too conscious of which sides fit the best. You are but a high ranking Maiko who will soon be a low ranking Geisha.

“Goodness gracious, ____. I thought I told you: you didn’t have to do this. We have the other girls to help.” Mada Fuuka, the Tayū who took you in at a tender age of nine (9) years old. You tried to plead to teach you more so you could help around the establishment but got rejected.

House Wong, a Liyue lineage, moved to Inazuma to branch out connections. It appears to be working as the family began to adopt the culture of the nation as if they were no strangers. From brewery to inns, the heart of their blood and silver would be this very building you work in. Soon you and a few others would have to pick up your guest before nightfall.

“I know, but you need to be dressed the most, Mada.” You wanted her to look as perfect as it is, she is the star of the show not a lowly worker like you. If anything the competition for the top ranking is rather stiff and toxic within the Entertainment hierarchy. Witnessing many backed out once at a coming age, bought and or ended themselves of their misery. It is not exclusive to yours but to rival establishments as well. 

“Call me Fuuka when we're alone together, hú dié.” Doing her makeup as well. She has been a parental figure to you, not allowing you to get pushed around within the work circle. You had a small circle of fans for yourself, thankfully the nicer ones than the others. Shuddering at the thought of them being so intimate.

"Yes, Fuuka." She hums at your answer while you try and perfected her hefty wig.

"Shingo won't be alone this time. So the parade would be bigger, befitting at least eight people." You looked up at him, you knew Shingo is wealthy but not to accommodate all of them including himself. Whoever is he trying to please, is certainly a big shot. Which pushes you further to perfect your walk to them.

To spend even a night or two hours of our time with all of them would roughly bill them a few weeks later, more than a million nothing less than that. All to show off their connections and wealth. If you weren't working here, you'd think this is all a waste of time.

Fuuka helped you get dressed too, painting your face with a cold white foundation, applying red lipstick on you. "So adorable." She smiled at the blooming child, clothed in bright and colorful patterns. Hair left in a natural state, though combed and placed hair ornaments well.

"Let us depart, Fuuka." A servant came in to notify us. And so the show begins.

In the streets, the progression of the parade is a slow process. One or two hours prior is needed to arrive on time, depending on distance. Last time it took five hours of walk time to even get there. With every step you take, your shoes make an endearing chime from the small bells inside of it. The sun beating down on the group as people gather around to see the top Tayū and her servants walk so elegantly, it is also good for business. To be shown off as one of the ideal ladies in Inazuma.

There Shingo and his company are, each person unique from each other. Now it makes sense why Mada had chosen an open space instead of the usual indoors. You have heard about these people, each more sinister than the last.

“Lord Shingo. Greetings.” Fuuka let go of the hachi monji’s shoulder to bow so elegantly, that too followed by the apprentices, geishas/maikos, servants and of course, you. Being very familiar with people gawking, but with the Harbingers is very suffocating. You pray that you won’t end up messing up with who you’re servicing with.

With the introduction made, you all went to the pavilion. Mada Fuuka, Shingo and what you assumed is the first Harbinger talking while the rest talked amongst themselves while waiting for dinner to be served. Looking at Mada Fuuka who gave you a wordless gesture to entertain at least one of them. But who? Whoever it is, you’d best pick fast or else your master would lose face if you’re too slow.

Guest Available:

Shingo

Pierro

Dottore

Columbina

Capitano

Pulcinella (*Platonic)

Scaramouche

La Signora (?)

Arlecchino 

Pantalone

Sandrone

Tartaglia

Services available:

"Flower set"- Pouring drinks, sing, dance, talk, play games, tea cer.

Pour drinks

Dance and sing (solo) / (Group)

talk

Tea ceremony

Noh theater

Familiarize customer- Not available right now, rank still Maiko. Reach higher rank (Oiran) and earn at least 3 visits from customer.

Add ons service (+18)

Lovelorn set

Flower:

Giselle's calla Lily

Circlet:

Burning passion.

Plume:

Giselle's Pinion

Sand:

Wedding bells

Goblet:

To be or not to be

Weapon: Kudoku (there's no going back)

"Any additional services, questions and or modifications will be talked through pm, comment and or askbox, possibilities of combining all is possible but difficult. Though, you all know me, bubbles. I do my best. We will wait patiently for your orders." - Scribe

Ps. Not sure if I should add La Signora to this since she’s dead.

How to order

hú dié - Butterfly

Navigation:

Love? (Yan!Pantalone x Geisha) {Pudding}

All I want is to be loved! (Yan Capitano x Geisha! Reader x Yan! Pantalone) {Pudding}

One hand, one heartbeat (Scaramouche x maiko reader) {Mild dessert}

Star-Crossed Lovers (Pierro x Geisha reader)

tag: @youyue , @mellowwillowy

[koridoru]

Hi i can do a request for daki x male reader in a marriage together

Thank you 🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️

(bruh i remember this ask being here since before the long hiatus 😭 im so sorry)

I'm gonna do headcanons because I'm REALLY tired rn.

On the wedding day, Daki insists on wearing the most extravagant outfit, like a junihitoe (12 layer kimono)

Her new husband definitely has to be beautiful

Gyutaro is obviously the best man

Gyutaro wanted to do a prank on his sister and new brother-in-law, so he replaced the ring with one he made from sticks

If her husband is human, their wedding guests would consist of as many other courtesans and oirans as Daki could find

If he is a demon, the guests would consist of the other upper moons and Daki's next meals tied to chairs with her obi

She might arrange a parade down the red light district

[metmuseum]

The Actor Ikushima Daikichi as an Oiran on Parade in the Streets of the Yoshiwara. ca. 1701–06. Credit line: The Francis Lathrop Collection, Purchase, Frederick C. Hewitt Fund, 1911 https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/37098

[386princess]

Yoshiwara: Life of a Kamuro

Negotiations

Being sold to a brothel or Yūkaku (遊廓) was common in the Edo period. There was a belief that a true courtesan could only be one who had lived as such for her entire life. Finding dedicated recruits was difficult, so grooming them from an early age became the convenient solution. Scouts of brothels targeted towns hit by natural disasters or diseases, which were typically already poor and vulnerable. The scouts told the parents that the girl would live in luxury, wear the finest silks, eat white rice, and work in their teahouse, selling sex. They were notoriously famous for lying about the conditions their daughter would live in. However, the parents agreed easily; they were already living in poverty, and having one less mouth to feed was a relief. Socially, it was also completely acceptable. It was a child's duty to help out their parents if need be. And lastly, they were paid. It sounded like a win-win solution: their daughter had an 'amazing' job opportunity, while they made some quick money in their already desperate situation. It was common belief that prostitution, shameful as it may be, is easier than doing back-breaking work on the family farm. However, of course, this could not be further from the truth.

When the girl was sold, they took her to Yoshiwara. There, she experienced the first sight of the gates, which she entered for the first and usually the last time in her life. However, the contract wasn't so simple. They often employed girls specifically for their role as a kamuro, which enabled brothel-keepers to avoid paying large sums upfront for girls who didn't meet expectations early on. The expectation was that once the girl was ready to become a prostitute, her contract would be renewed for the standard 10-year term. Yet, during the contract negotiation, her parents or procurer might arrive armed with a more enticing offer from a different brothel. The brothel-keepers were powerless to stop them from taking her away and selling her to another brothel, along with all the care and investment that had gone into her training. Most kamuro stayed at the brothel they were originally sold to.

Arrival

The first day in her brothel she was bathed, fed and ultimately transformed into the appearance of a Kamuro (禿). They were paired with a higher-ranking courtesan, whom they were supposed to call 'Elder Sister'. However, these sister relationships differ significantly from those among geisha. The relationship between a maiko and her older sister is mainly ceremonial. The geisha introduces her younger sister to society, teaches her proper etiquette, and helps her establish herself socially. However, the maiko's okiya covers the expenses of her training and debut, providing housing, food, kimono, and hair ornaments. In contrast, a courtesan is personally responsible for feeding, clothing, and housing her kamuro. If the courtesan didn't work, the kamuro would starve. In return, the kamuro spends much of her time directly serving her older sister, either as an errand girl or as a splendidly dressed status symbol. Additionally, if the kamuro debuted as a courtesan, her older sister would bear the staggering costs herself.

The new Kamuro was given a name. Kamuros had simple names, unlike the flowery names often given to courtesans. Their names were usually written in katakana, a script considered less formal and more childlike compared to the sophisticated kanji. They were often paired together, like Iroha (Color) and Nioi (Scent), or Chidori (Sandpiper) and Namiji (Trail of Waves).

(An Oiran accompanied by two Kamuro; Torii Kiyonaga)

The job of a Kamuro

As girls aged five to nine, they paraded in the entourage of their 'elder sisters' courtesans when they appeared in public. Kamuros also ran errands for them and attended to them when they met with clients. They dashed around the streets of Yoshiwara, carrying mail for their elder sisters, delivering orders to merchants, presenting gifts, engaging in banter with locals, and purchasing snacks for their elder sisters' enjoyment. They were as integral to the life of Yoshiwara as their courtesan counterparts, often laughing at the uncouth manners of samurai visitors and composing haiku about life in Yoshiwara.

Kamuros were expected to collectively clean the brothel as well, performing chores such as wiping down all the woodwork, cleaning the floors, and sweeping the doorstep of the brothel. Rewards for their work included receiving candy or sweet rice cakes. However, punishment was also common and varied from mild to severe. Mild punishment included physical abuse, while severe punishment could entail burns, restraint, or even being hung by the abdomen from a tree.

Tricks of The Trade

Kamuros weren't prostitutes and weren't allowed to engage in it. However, they weren't clueless. Exposed to it from a young age, they knew what brought food to the table. Their 'elder sister' courtesan would teach them manipulation tactics, what valuable information is and what isn't, essentially how to make it in Yoshiwara. Clients prowled around the Kamuro, asking how to win the courtesan's heart. They believed they'd be truthful, as children. However, they retained all the information, whether good or bad, for their elder sister. They were the eyes and ears of the high-ranking courtesans, running around town spying on people, listening to rumors, and catching cheating clients (as it was a rule of Yoshiwara that a client could only see one courtesan at a time). This however was the mildest form of their manipulation tactics.

Let's say, for example, a patron who wanted to keep his name secret. A kamuro would run up behind him and tug on his sleeve, calling him the wrong name. Clueless patrons would correct the girl, inadvertently leaking their own real names. This could also be done if her elder sister is having a slow week with no clients. The kamuro would beg a previous client, claiming her sister was lonely and how her courtesan sister speaks of him so fondly, missing him, enticing him to revisit her elder sister.

(Kamuro Accosting a Young Man; Ishikawa Toyonobu)

[kidlat-at-kislap]

KNY Trivia: On Warabihime's Kamuro

During the Red-Light District Arc, we see three young girls in matching kimono attending Warabihime-oiran.

These girls are what are known as kamuro, the child attendants (sometimes referred to in English as "pages") of the oiran. In addition to serving their ane-jōro, they were also status symbols among the oiran.

Now, what is interesting about Daki's kamuro is that there are three of them.

In Yoshiwara, there were six ranks of oiran. At the top of this hierarchy is the tayū. Only tayū are allowed to be attended by three kamuro. The rank beneath her, the koshi-jōro, may be attended to by two kamuro. The four lower ranks may be attended by one kamuro.

In the Hōei period (1704-1711), a sancha-jōro (fourth rank oiran) named Miyakoji of the Naka-Ōmiya, began parading with two kamuro — as far as my research takes me, their names were Chieda and Momoya — against the customs of Yoshiwara. When confronted about it by the local authorities, Miyakoji explained that one of the girls was not her kamuro but a fellow oiran's who she borrowed for the parade.

Eventually, it became allowed for all ranks of oiran to be attended by two kamuro.

Except tayū, who may still be attended by three.

However, by the time Demon Slayer takes place in the Taishō period, there hadn't been a tayū in Yoshiwara for over a century. The last tayū in Yoshiwara retired in 1761; although there were still tayū in Shimabara at that time.

Warabihime-oiran could not have been a tayū. But for Daki who had so very little in her human life, it was not enough to become the most popular oiran in Yoshiwara. Everyone had to know it too.

These three girls were symbols of Warabihime's status — or rather, a status she imagined she deserved. They were ostentatious ornaments, and their ane-jōro treated them as such: as possessions that she can mistreat, maybe even dispose of, as she pleased.

Unlike Koinatsu and her kamuro.

[thedepartmentofdiscoveries]

From Asian History Junkie on Facebook:

(Japan) This is a photo of an Oiran, a class of high ranking courtesan in Japanese history. The services of the Oiran were well known for being exclusive and expensive, with Oiran typically only entertaining the upper classes of society, gaining the nickname 'Keisei' (lit. 'castle toppler') for their perceived ability to steal the hearts and match the wits of upper-class men. Oiran fee were extremely expensive (more than a shop assistant’s yearly wage, per night). In some ways, Oirans were also a more “prestigious” and “exclusive” group than Geishas. They were extremely beautiful and ornate, out-of-reach, and over time their interaction with clients became very ritualized. Oiran fashion was extremely ornate (and became moreso over time), their speech retained old court standards.

Outside of Japan, many people confuse Oirans with Geishas (however both are very different).

"Oiran vs Geisha (Prostitute vs. Artist)

During the Edo Period, there were courtesans working arm-in-arm with geisha at the same entertainment districts. They were called Tayū (太夫) and Oiran (花魁). Tayu was the high-ranked courtesans, dressed in amazingly flashy kimonos and wearing heavy hairstyles.

They also used to practice art, so customers paid a lot of money to meet them. Oiran is a term for courtesans in general. The oiran profession vanished around the Edo period, as the geisha profession (not providing any sexual service) became more successful and profitable. During the Edo period, it was more fashionable to please the mind with art, rather than the body with mundane activities. Prostitution was later banned by Japanese law and it marked the definite end of the oiran profession.

Geisha and Oiran look completely different. Unlike the oiran, It is significantly time-consuming for a geisha to put on and take off her clothes.

① Geisha tie their sash (Obi) in the back. The courtesans tie their sash in front

② Geisha only have 1 simple comb. Courtesans have so many turtle-shell hairpins

③ Geisha has a simple hairstyle. Courtesans have a different hairstyle with a half-split in the middle

④ Geisha paint both lips. Courtesans color only the lower lip throughout the whole career

⑤ Geisha wear simple kimonos. Courtesans wear Uchikake coat

⑥ Geisha wear white socks. Courtesans wear no socks

⑦ Geisha has a simple white collar. Courtesans have a twisted collar

⑧ Geisha wear simple sandals. Courtesans wear tall black-lacquered tooth-geta

By the time that the geisha profession became recognized by the government in the 17th century there already existed other professions who worked in the same hanamachi that they did. These include kabuki actors, rakugo performers, and various ranks of prostitutes. The most common type of prostitutes was known as Yūjo (遊女), which means “Woman to Play With,” who would line up on verandas each night to be chosen by customers.

In contrast, the highest-ranking of them, who were the true courtesans, were the Oiran (花魁) and the Tayū (太夫). Oiran, which means “First Flower,” were found throughout the country and were at the top of the hanamachi pecking order.

They wore extremely gaudy kimono in multiple layers as a testament to their status, with the most popular and wealthy five layers or more, each with the most splendid embroidery and decoration that money could buy. When they traveled from their place of residence to the place where they’d meet with their customers they’d hold glamorous parades known as Dochū (道中). The oiran would walk in tall sandals that were 30 centimeters/12 inches or higher in a fashion called the Figure Eight movement, in which she would swing one foot out and around in a figure-eight motion with each step. This meant that she did not walk very fast, but the point was to show off her wealth, which she also did with the presence of her entourage of retainers, maids, and apprentices."

https://mai-ko.com/travel/culture-in-japan/geisha/are-geisha-courtesans-geisha-vs-oiran-tayu/#:~:text=The%20geisha%20was%20considered%20as,poetry%2C%20nature%2C%20and%20literature.

[countess--olenska]

Oiran Dochu, a parade of Tayuu in their gorgeous kimono in the licensed brothel district of Shimabara in Kyoto. Many foreign visitors can be seen in the audience.

Meiji era, 1890s.

[itz-saucrixplayz]

It took me several days to draw this due to art block & school stuff

Also I put some diamonds to look beautiful tho

I hope you liked it @heyhopperart !!!!!!!!!!!

P.S. It's called oiran-douchu which is oiran walk/parade to get some familar guest(tbh I learned from youtube tho)

[thescribeoflostmemories]

I have something to ask of you - Scribe

Dear bubbles, sorry about the short notice. It is true I need a little bit of assistance. It is because my bothersome co-worker.

Hello, sorry about him, my name is Falaila. I was a recent addition to the staff in aiding the archives. And I found a couple of really neat books both are still empty. Would you rather have "Tsaritsa's Faint Smile"?, "At your descretion, my Harbinger." Or "My wish"? Both are Fatui one-shots, it can be continued if you so wish. I'll list the details down below, I'll try not to spoil anything but think of this as a special way of supporting the archives

Tsaritsa's Faint Smile

Saintess(?) Reader x Fatui Harbingers (+Tsaritsa) {Yandere avail!}

Synopsis: You are what's left of the Tsaritsa Faithful, the tiny speck of kindness remaining in this cold desolate place called home. You were punished in exile for a few years for whatever reason. But now you came home, eager to be put to work under new management.

"At your discretion, my Harbinger"

Oiran/Geisha! Reader x Fatui Harbinger {Yan avail}

Synopsis: Pantalone first saw you at Inazuma's red light district, he had wondered why there would be a parade. Then he saw you dressed so gentle and elegant look. He became a frequent customer, probably others following suit(?)

"My wish"

Genie! Reader x Fatui Harbinger (Yan avail)

Synopsis: What if the Fatui found a a strange object and use it to their advantage? You consider anyone your master as long they hold on to your vessel. The wishes may be infinite, but it can be easily swiped. You're no meanie, but they do need to suffer some consequences.

Everyone can vote for this month's theme, but you have until this week's Saturday, GMT+8, if you're unsure of what that day is. Scribe had given me this parchment, but I have no idea what it means. But he said to look at the 'country' you're in and it'll time it from there.

This is Falaila, signing out ❤️

[teravarna]

Oiran Clog | Other by Aomi Kikuchi, Japan

This work is modeled after the clogs worn by high-class Japanese courtesans called Oiran. There used to be a parade called Oiran Dochu, and the total weight of the costumes worn by the Oiran at that time was over 30kg, including the 7kg high clogs. It is so heavy that a normal person cannot stand on it. Chanel liberated women from corsets and bonnets. Thanks to the efforts of her and many other pioneers, we now have the freedom to choose comfortable clothing.

[Visit our website http://teravarna.com or email us at info@teravarna.com]

[breezybeej]

Ukiyo-e History: Torii Kiyonobu, final

As usual, an array to study in silence.

The Procession of the Companies of Firemen Fourth Month (1714)

Actor Uemura Kichisaburô as Nyosan no Miya (undated) & The Actor Ikushima Daikichi as an Oiran on Parade in the Streets of the Yoshiwara (1701)

An Actor Portrait Wearing a Danjuro Mon (undated)

My Ukiyo-e History series (desktop)

Ukiyo-e History series (mobile) (will be in reverse order)

[mysticdragon3md3]

Watch "The Truth of Why Oiran Prostitutes Tied Belts in the Front #Shorts" on YouTube