#yoshiwara in flames

[craftydragonperson]

Happiest Birthday to Yoshiwara’s leading courtesan, Hinowa. ⛅️

I will never understand what prompted such an absence after Yoshiwara in Flames. The arc was done but we definitely could have gotten more from her character.

Continue to light the way, our beautiful sun. ☀️

[seigibathala]

T S U K U Y O

[rosencrantzsguildenstern]

core serious arc = advances plot in a major way or opens up the way for plot to be advanced, excluding short arcs (harusame arc, festival arc, inugami arc) as well as arcs not generally viewed as part of that group (umibouzo arc) and character development/introduction arcs (yagyuu, red spider, mitsuba, etc)

[humanoidtiephoon]

When the comfort anime don’t be comforting

[yamameta-inc]

If umbrella ep beats 305 I’ll be sad but it wouldn’t be a big deal but if it does and then goes up against berserk kagura ep and it’s any sort of contest it’ll literally be so evil like umbrella ep better trounce every other ep boringly

[agroupofcrows]

rare but beautiful gintoki decapitation momente. observe how the statue (kamui) is echoing it

[amalthea-fictions]

hello! i am here to make a request :) could you write Rengoku x Fem!Reader where reader is a demon slayer that has to work as an oiran in red light district to spy on clients. Reader is selected for this job because she is the only one unmarried.

thank you xoxo

AH this is such a cute idea because Kyo is such a GENTLEMAN!

-----

Your fingers are calloused from all of your years as a Demon Slayer, so the scrubbing doesn’t bother you so much.

Your hands are red and knuckles white against the brush. Of course, you’ve been going back and forth across the same spot for over an hour now, so it’s already glittering– but the wall is thin between this room and the next. Perfectly conducive to eavesdropping. So, what’s a few hundred extra floor scrubbings if it means getting valuable info for the Corps? 

“...aren’t as skilled as the ones in Yoshiwara.” The client is sighing.

You hear your manager scrambling. “Ah, that can’t possibly be true! Besides, Yoshiwara is dangerous!” 

The client snorts. 

You have to crane your neck with your ear against the shoji to hear your manager continue. “..’s true,” she says, hushed. “I’ve heard that attractive young men and women turn up missing all the time.”

That’s not the first the Corps has heard this rumor. What you’re interested in, is if it could be a–

“Pfft, ‘demons?’ You really think you can scare me into buying an oiran in this small town?”

You hear footsteps approaching your room from down the hallway. But you need to hear what your manager says next.

“If you want to risk your life, fine…” Her indignant snort is muffled through the wall.

The footsteps are closer. Tip, tip tip. 

“..but don’t come crying back to me when the Red Light Princess eats you for dinner.”

“Red Light Princess.” That’s a new one. Perhaps some of the other slayers should investigate Yoshiwara.

Tip, tip, tip–

You’re able to jump back into a tabletop position just in time, huddled over your floorbrush as the Tayu steps into the room. 

“Ah, there you are, [Y/N],” she smiles. You look up, pretending not to have noticed her entering. “Please, come with me.”

You bow your head politely and leave the brush on the bucket. The Tayu spins around and begins back down the hallway, and you follow.

“Is everything alright, madam?” You’ve quickly put back on the mask of a sweet, innocent courtesan. 

The house Tayu doesn’t look up, but continues gliding forward with perfect posture. “It seems you have made quite the impression in town, already.”

Your stomach churns. You’ve only been here a week, but haven’t been called by clients. There’s no way you could have done anything to blow your cover yet, right?

“What do you mean, madam?” 

She stops in her tracks to turn to you. Her smile is saccharine when she says, “You are being summoned by a client. He has asked for you by name.”

You must visibly blanch, because her gaze turns sympathetic.

“Ah, do not fear,” the Tayu chuckles. “This will be your first, no?” 

The Tayu continues down the hall and gives you “friendly and helpful” reminders over how to entertain the client for the night. You’re not worried about pouring tea, or playing shamisen, or making intellectual conversation. You’re worried about the fact that, fundamentally, a client could ask for… other services.

Of course you understood this when you accepted the mission. It’s just, the plan was always to lay low, and not stand out, so that this possibility could be avoided. 

You’re so lost in your thoughts, that somehow you miss the boisterous laugh echoing from the front of the house.

“That is him,” the Tayu says, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Are you ready?”

You nod and smile. Thankfully, your years of demon-slaying have helped you school your emotions enough for your face to stay blank as you step out of the hallway.

Because there, surrounded by giggling women, with his arms folded, and a smile from ear to ear, is the flame hashira Kyojuro Rengoku. 

The Tayu bows politely and hands you off. “[Y/N] will guide you to your room for the night, sir.”

“WONDERFUL!” Kyojuro shouts, earning another giggle from the crowd of women around him. “Thank you very much!” 

You say nothing to Kyojuro as you lead him away from the entryway and into the house, but you can feel his owl-eyed stare boring into you the entire time.

Finally, when you’re in the guest’s quarters, you slide the door behind you and spin to him.

“Rengoku!” You hiss, and then bow. “I mean– It’s a pleasure to see you– but what’s wrong? Why are you here? I thought I was only supposed to communicate with the corps through crow?”

“NOT TO WORRY!” He booms, and you stare daggers at him. His eyes bulge. “Ahem. Not to worry!” he corrects, now in a whisper. “I am not here on official demon slayer business!” 

You raise your eyebrow at the way he sets his pack of belongings on the floor. “Then… why are you here?”

“To be frank, I was worried about you!” Kyojuro offers you the biggest, sweetest smile. And suddenly your face goes red. And all of a sudden you’re acutely aware of how you’re dressed, all of the makeup plastered on your face, and the fact that you and him are alone in a pleasure room together. 

You brush your hair away from your face, turning so that the flame hashira (hopefully) cannot see the blush flaring your cheeks. “I– I appreciate the sentiment, really. But there don’t seem to be any demons here? And even if there were, did you not think I could handle myself?”

“Quite the opposite!” He assures, catching himself before he grew too loud again. “If it were a demon, I would not be worried at all. But I was quite uncomfortable hearing that you were sent to work undercover as an oiran.”

“B-but–” you stutter over yourself. Kyojuro really came here just to make sure you were okay? Suddenly it’s way too hot in the dress you’re in. “Kyojuro, by being here, you could compromise my cover!”

He shakes his head vigorously. “Not to worry! I had the house women convinced I am but a simple patron who was enraptured by your beauty!” 

Your throat works. 

By all means, he shouldn’t be here. But sending him away now would make you even more suspicious. And yet, you can’t seem to convince yourself that you even want to send him away.

“Moreover,” he adds, and his tone has changed. When you turn up to see his gaze, his expression is solemn. “The thought of you being forced to participate in unseemly activities for the corps is deeply unsettling. I would not want you treated so indecently.” 

Your brain has frozen. 

Your… your duty is to stay and collect information for the Corps. So you should. Right?

Suddenly Kyojuro steps forward and places his hands on your shoulders. Your heart stops. It’s not until he gently guides you away from the wall that you realize you’ve glued yourself there the entire time. 

“[Y/N],” he whispers. “Your honor is more important for me to protect than your cover.”

He slides his thumb across your cheek and you realize you’re crying. And now that you’re aware of the hot tears on your face, they seem to overflow. 

You try speaking but it turns into a shaky hiccup for air.

“I am sorry you were selected for this mission.” His voice is soft and sincere. 

You shake your head. “It’s– it’s alright.” You try and sound confident through the tears, but the truth is, this is the first time you’ve even thought about how you felt being on this mission. 

Kyojuro chuckles. “It does not seem that way to me.”

He smiles at you, and he’s bright and safe and warm. You lean your forehead into his chest. He responds by wrapping his arms around you. His uniform and haori smell of smoke and ash– and it’s comforting, being cradled by his scent. 

He holds you until you steady your breathing through the tears. Finally, he whispers into your hair: “Have you found enough information to leave yet?”

You shake your head. “Kyojuro, I’ve only been here a week–”

Your eyes widen as he presses his finger to your lips. “That is not what I asked, little flame.”

You sigh as he lowers his hand from your chin. “I… I have reason to believe there are demons in the Yoshiwara red-light district.” 

He smiles, and you can practically see his eyes overflowing with pride. “See? I knew you would make quick work of this mission!”

You shake your head. “But, Kyojuro, that doesn’t mean I can just leave–”

“If I recall correctly,” he interrupts, and you feel his arms around your back pulling you closer. Your breath hitches as you’re pressed into him. “A client can request to marry a courtesan, correct? And, with the appropriate dowry, she is able to leave the house.”

You blink. “Are… are you proposing to me?!”

He laughs. “Not to worry! I would actually propose to you in a more beautiful place than this. This is a means to an end.”

You try to process the meaning behind his words. But, between the heat of his arms around your back and the way he’s smiling at you, you can’t seem to put together any logical thoughts right now.

“So, what if I ask the manager to marry you in the morning? Then, once we leave, I will treat you to a dinner! And we can report back to the demon slayer corps together.” 

“I…” your heart won’t slow down. “I suppose that would work. But you’re sure–”

“Absolutely.” He smiles at you again, and cups your cheek. “Unless, the thought of being betrothed to me is that unbearable?” 

You shake your head, perhaps more eagerly than you intended, because he laughs. 

Then, he brushes hair behind your ear, and his fingers are gentle and tender. Every nerve in your body is on fire.

“Then,” he says, voice in a low whisper, “let’s get married, little flame.”

[demonslayedher]

I invite you all to consider

Tamayo & Yushiro in the background of Yoshiwara

--They had to leave their place in Asakusa, which wasn't far from Yoshiwara, but I bet they stuck around the same area if it was advantageous for trying to track Muzan

--Muzan visited Daki mere days before things went crazy, so they might even had tracked him there and were surprised to spot Tanjiro

--very surprised, what with that get-up

--they work in the background with a vague idea, or even definite intel that Tanjiro is tracking an Upper Moon, which they of course have an invested interest in seeing through, but also they don’t say anything to Tanjiro because they can't risk blowing their cover after all these years

--As Tanjiro fights Daki, Tamayo helps Koinatsu-oiran get to safety (this all started because I was curious how they might interact)

--As things get more chaotic they get caught up helping other injured people, which distracts Tamayo from seeing Nezuko in berserker mode

--But Yushiro might notice and then prevent Tamayo from seeing her, because if Tamayo were to try to do anything to help Nezuko it would risk her being exposed to an Upper Moon

--but also it would break her heart to see Nezuko like that, and Yushiro wouldn't want her to know until later. Or ever.

--even if they stay busy helping the last of the people who couldn't get away because they can withstand the physical danger of going through collapsed buildings, they will still be close enough to feel the force of the battle

--and then when Nezuko pops back out to absorb Gyutaro's final attack with her flames, Yushiro barely manages to shield Tamayo and get her to take cover in time to avoid being swallowed up in them

--Tamayo would be stunned to witness Nezuko's power, as terrifying to demons as the sun itself

--which plants the idea in her head that Nezuko may soon have nothing left to fear

[pieroulette]

AS THE RED SUN BLOOMS

[ 赤い太陽が咲くように ]

CHAPTER 1: 炎 (Flame) — short teaser

2023 | 18+ | SERIES | NISHIMURA RIKI (X READER)

SUMMARY scent of sweetened florals bouncing off the tatami mats, ashes of coals puffing up to the air, and pale pink petals falling down to their glory and onto your shoulder as you were greeted by the servants of the famous Nishimura family—for whom you would start working for their confectionery shop from now on despite language barriers, cultural differences, and social status.

GENRE coming-of-age, historical romance, 18th century Japan/Edo period, slow burn romance, drama, angst, graphic violence, family, reader isn't a Japanese in this story.

WORD COUNT : 1.7k

WARNING FOR (CHAPTER 1) : prostitution (red light district), graphic violence, profanity.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is just a warm-up practice for me, since I haven't posted in a long time 😭✋🏻

• bold dialogues means the characters are speaking in Japanese.

2003 [ PRESENT DAY ]

"So, Lia. Who's your role model and why do you want to be like them?" the teacher asked with a hint of enthusiasm in her voice.

The young girl, slightly abashed—spoke in a voice like a whisper. "My role model.. is Grandma."

"What is her profession then? What did she do when she was young?

"S-she's a.." The young girl looked down, fiddling the hem of her sleeves before finally speaking up.

— • —

Yoshiwara District - 1803 [ Edo Period ]

"Bring me the finest lady you ever had here!" the deep voice of a man in a kimono exclaimed amidst the joyous atmosphere in the main quarters.

A high pitched voice of a woman answers back, clearly delighted by the man's call for attention.

"Ah, milord! Which lady would you like for us to bring you for your prosperous day today? I couldn't be any happier to serve you." red lips and flamboyant jewelries adorned the woman's hair, a smile so bright yet so cunning.

With his chin resting on his palms, a lazy look presented on his scarred feature, his right hand raises an index finger gesturing towards the girl from the farthest corner of the room, standing still and obedient; you.

"That young lady, how much is she worth?"

"Ah! Our (Name)-" She looks at you elated as ever, gesturing for you to come forward, "What a perfect timing! She has reached 18 this year, if you want, you could get her for a cheaper price. Yet, I have to inform you that our dear (Name) is unable to speak our language, milord."

"Why so? Hasn't she stayed here for years?"

A smirk blown past the woman's lips after tucking your hair locks behind your ear, revealing your features to the man before you.

"For taming purposes, my lord. A lady of her worth should be able to obey without any difficulties.” the lady suppressed a giggle with an index finger against her red lips, “A yes, a hush with a finger, come here, go there, do this, do that—such simple commands with the help of your finger have no need for her to speak, she must only obey. Likewise, her serving you would be a better way for her to use her mouth in a better use." The woman eventually lets out a dark giggle, brushing her red tinted lips with her dainty finger much to the man's amusement. "Use her as you wish, milord. Should she escape from your hands, no need to break a sweat for no one would help her and she, too, could never utter a word to anyone to understand her."

“She’s perfect to be your one and only doll, sir.” one of your mates came, swaying her hips and hand as she said so.

— • —

"What is this, such a beautiful sweet!"

"Right? It looks like sakura.."

"I heard the Nishimura family is starting to grow in fame because of the delicate sweets they made, plus the competition to make sweets for the royal family are getting closer. I'm definitely sure they could win!"

High pitched voices from afar, laced with definite enthusiasm yet you couldn't understand a thing of the ladies' conversation, making you look like a turtle isolated in your dark shell.

Yet, somehow, the simplicity of this well made sweet in the form of sakura kind of soothes your heart. The pattern has intricate, careful, pushed in curves that resembles a sakura.

You wonder how it tastes, and so you pick the sweet up between the tip of your fingers—placing it onto the tip of your tongue. It's bitterness spike your tongue almost immediately as it touched it, making your eye crinkled and your eyebrows furrowed—yet suddenly the sweetness hits you like waves of the sea washing over your body on the shore.

Like the bitterness of the golden sun setting away from the glory of the sky, only for you to be hit by the epiphany that it will soon rise tomorrow again—akin to the sweetness.

Somehow, somehow, it felt different—you clutched your chest from where your heart let out a tiny rampant of thuds.

Your dark orbs look down to see the folded paper on the wooden platter and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the eccentric look of it. So you leaned forward, picking it up and just as you suspected, it wasn’t a paper used for sweets, almost as if it was a paper used for calligraphy.

Words on paper. Your eyes widened instantly at the realisation.

— • —

"Huh, seems like your eyes had grown somewhat feisty in it? A flame, huh?" He playfully slapped your cheek, as usual.

You opened your mouth, for the first time. "Right, I want to live. That's why."

"What?"

A gut wrenching scream echoes around the quarters—alerting everyone from their respective business. Scattered footsteps approaching from afar and up the hallway—what met their eyes when they frantically slid the door open was you holding the tip of the hairpin against the man’s neck, who was now caged inside your frail arms.

“You- You can’t do that! You can’t do that!”

“Fuck! She won’t understand what we’re saying!”

“Say something!”

“D-darling, hush.” The head of the brothel stuttered, spreading and extending her visibly shakened arms—gesturing for you to come forward, shaking her head slowly, sweat trickling down her powdered cheek and forehead, “That’s n-not right.. Darling!”

A foreboding silence ensues, pushing a magnificent pressure down everyone’s head.

— • —

High above, in the clouds, birds fly so high till they burn their feathers and fly across the blazing rays—signifying the return of the scorching orbs accompanied with the touch of white droplets on your freshly burned hands reaching out for help.

Clouds on the grey sky brought white particles down the ghost quiet town, for people are still in their home asleep. A carriage strolled over at a steady pace across the street. Blooming white consumed the entire pathway, making it difficult for it to pass smoothly—making the old man hissed at the obstacles ahead him.

Yet, his snow-stained feet pauses.

“Am I seeing this right?..” rubbing their eyes and slowly narrowing to the spot of where your unconscious body are laid.

— • —

The massive roof-like mountains adorned with intricate patterns and on its tip rising up akin to a blade, lion statues standing before the gates as if to guard them with their ferocious fangs and the lush garden standing tall, trees so high its branches can be seen behind the gates—as if there were tiny fairies sitting on top of the branches, observing you with lit up orbs.

It gave off absolute serenity as the wind flowed past your hair yet the sight of the sliding door from afar gave you somewhat an uneasy feeling of what is going to happen now in the nearer future.

"I am Yuma." he gestured toward himself. "Yu. Ma. Yuma!"

"Jo! Come on, introduce yourself."

"It's not like she could understand us either."

"Still!"

"This is Jo." Yuma gestured his palms in front of the disinterested tall boy.

"Is she mute or what..?" Sana tilted her head in confusion.

"I don't think that's the case, honestly I had no idea." came Momo who took a bite from the peaches in the basket.

Yuma shaking his head in utter devastation, look over his shoulder only to see a certain someone. "Oh, Taki! Why don't you come over here?"

— • —

You stepped closer to the edge where the breathtaking scene of red fall petals consumed the land, scattering all over the roof and everywhere you could see.

“The current generation of the family now consists of the head, his wife, and their three children.”

It caught your attention, “Three? .. That’s alot.”

“Yes, the eldest daughter, Konon. Graceful and kind, she's the apple of the family's eye. She had a childhood friend who she will marry this fall, not only that, her future husband's family is wealthy enough that it could support the Nishimura's business.”

“Their second daughter and the youngest one is Misola, she turned thirteenth a few months ago. Energetic and beaming as the sun, just like how she should act her age, she often fools around so don't mind it if she randomly comes and pulls her silly pranks on you.”

“I won’t mind.” you said without much thought.

“Finally, their middle child and only son; Riki.” Taki snorted which confused you, “That kid is really tall, and somewhat eccentric than most. Quieter than his siblings, yet he had this humorous vibe that he only shows among those he was close with. Since he's the only son of this family, he's set to inherit this family business."

— • —

White strips wrapped around cut hands and fingers, reaching up to touch the dangling purple florals. Silky black hair with blonde highlights reaching down his neck—blending with the sun rays, robe like coal with an inner white shirt, and a muted blue hakama. Hanafuda earrings, adorned with round red sun with rays swaying along the wind.

"Riki."

"Yeah?" yawning with arms stretched upward, the young man turned with features beaming as the sun, lips pulling up in the brightest smile as he walks forward with the glowing purple wisterias brushing against his face.

"You're neglecting your studies, again."

"Um, did I?" The young boy mumbled, avoiding the intimidating gaze of the older man. "O-oh! I heard there are new apprentices and servants set for the shop, our job is gonna get easier from now on!"

"Quit slacking for once, Riki."

"Yeah, yeah." Riki rolled his eyes, “By the way, how long would it take before we get home though?”

“Judging by the weather, it would take us three months at best.” the middle-aged servant answered, “It will be summer by the time we arrive, milord.”

A long deep sigh emits by the younger boy, “That sure takes long, ah. I just want to slip in to my futons, already.”

“Well, that’s what you deserved for annoying the master."

— • —

With the folded paper on your palms, you look up to the red sun blazing against the freezing winter rain.

"You see, learning how to make wagashi is only for the apprentices.."

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"You, as a mere servant, and even more so—as a new one, are quite hasty and too fast to request for something so bold. The master said so." Taki shrugged, "But he didn't say no. He said.. that you have to do your work first."

Your dark orbs sparked as the sun rays from the sky blended with it.

“He would ask his son to teach you and the rest of the apprentices instead, for the sole purpose of evaluating his skills and to train him further.” Taki raised his index finger, swaying it.

"How long.. would it take?"

"Summer, the master's son will be back by summer. Till then, be patient."

"Right, I'll be patient." you nodded in an enthusiastic manner.

"By the way.." you look up to Taki with curiosity adorning his features, "May I ask why do you want to learn how to make wagashi?"

— • —

[ CHAPTER 炎

1: (Flame) ]

— • —

© talesofyuan on tumblr | 2023 | all rights reserved.

🏵️ AS THE RED SUN BLOOMS MASTERLIST

[saellefanwork]

𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐬

Kamado Tanjiro x DemonSlayer!F!Reader x (Past) Rengoku Kyojuro

Reminder: This Demon Slayer fic is rated Explicit (adults only) for canon-typical violence and, disturbing and explicit sexual content

Return to Chapters List

Chapter 2: The Shadow of the Mentor

Tanjiro and you don't cross paths again for several weeks, until Tengen plans an infiltration mission in the Red Light District.

Author Note: The timeline here is different from the canon story (characters are older, it's implied that Tanjiro has been Kyojuro's tsuguko for a while before his death). That's why Yoshiwara's team composition is also different. Since this is not a fic focusing on the Demon Slayer story, but rather on the relationship between the characters, I skipped the fight scenes. So there won't be any epic battles here, unlike in my other fic "The Tears of Time".

TAGS applying to this chapter: Red Light District Arc, Grief, Sad, Angst, Depression, some Healing though?, Near Death Experience, Ghost, No sex here, only Feels, hints of Tanjiro/Kyojuro's Platonic Love

Several weeks passed without Tanjiro visiting you. Missions kept pouring in relentlessly, and it seemed that the hierarchy, perhaps aware of the changes in your relationship, no longer assigned the two of you on expeditions together. The solitude the young man experienced, punctuated by moments spent with his friends, provided him a degree of perspective on the situation. Despite regularly inquiring about your well-being from the girls at the Butterfly Estate (although they didn't always give him answers), he remained convinced that he had made the right choice.

However, this conviction did little to quell the emptiness he felt without you by his side. While he hoped to reconnect with you in the future, he couldn't envision how to do so without falling into the same patterns as before. After what had happened, perhaps you no longer desired his presence, not even as a friend.

One day, Tengen summoned Tanjiro and Inosuke at the Butterfly Manor. The three of them were tasked with investigating the mysterious disappearances of prostitutes within Tokyo's infamous red-light district. The Sound Pillar had previously dispatched his wives on an infiltration mission in brothels there some time ago, but they had returned with no significant findings. But it seemed the demon living there was active again, as there was an unprecedented resurgence of crimes, prompting the Corps to take action once more.

"We need an additional member, preferably a girl," Tengen declared, his strong arms crossed. "Let's get Aoi," he commanded, pointing toward the main wing of the building, where the butterfly girls were working.

Tanjiro furrowed his brows. He had been raised with manners and harbored deep respect for his superiors, especially his new mentor, who had taken over his training following the Flame Pillar's tragic demise. However, it contradicted his very nature to ignore the call to protect those who couldn't fight.

"Let's leave Aoi alone; she is already making significant contributions to the Kisatsutai," Tanjiro argued. "Can't we request another female Slayer for this mission?"

"They're a scarce commodity. My wives are on another operation, and Zenitsu's late puberty facial hair would make for a terrible courtesan. Your and Inosuke's looks, on the other hand, can still deceive some with some makeup and disguise. Unless you have a better alternative, be prepared to enlist your sister for the task," he concluded.

Tanjiro was about to protest when a voice interrupted him.

"I'm coming with you."

The young man's heart skipped a beat as he turned around, spotting your silhouette in the shadow of the building. You stood there in your Slayer outfit, your katana secured at your waist. His chest tightened, and without thinking, he whispered your name. Despite the circumstances of your separation, he had missed you dearly.

You stepped toward them, fully revealing yourself in the daylight. You had lost weight since your last encounter, and dark circles had formed under your eyes. Your usually well-groomed hair was unkempt, and your uniform appeared somewhat shabby. Tanjiro looked at you with concern, but he summoned the strength to smile gently and offer a greeting, which you acknowledged with a nod.

You couldn't help but notice that he had once again cut his hair short, just like when he had first joined the Corps; you guiltily wondered it was a result of what had transpired during the last night you shared.

"Hmm..." Tengen eyed your tenses expressions alternately with a skeptical expression. "Weren't you supposed to be prohibited from heading on missions together, following Kocho's request?"

"If I volunteer, then it's fine," you replied curtly.

"Well, that settles one issue," Tengen shrugged, displaying little concern for your love drama. "We'll keep Nezuko as a backup. We’ve wasted enough time already; let's go!"

"Wait, Uzui-san!" Tanjiro turned to you. "Are you sure about this? It could be the work of an Upper Moon. I'd rather... have you stay safe here," he admitted.

You were hurt that he considered Nezuko an option for this mission and not you. Despite being in a fragile mental state, you were still a competent Slayer.

"It's precisely because it might involve an Upper Moon that I want to come with you," you declared firmly.

I want to be there to protect you if possible, especially now that I'm stronger than I've been since... the incident on the train. And if you were to die, I want to die alongside you, you mentally added, but you kept your thoughts to yourself, aware that he wouldn't agree with your mindset.

Tanjiro was not a telepath, but your scent and determined expression spoke volumes. He knew he couldn't convince you to stay behind, yet he still felt uneasy about the idea of you joining them. It was evident that you hadn't had a good meal or rest in weeks. His master grabbed him by the collar of his haori and turned him toward their departure.

"Listen to your woman if you want to succeed in life. Her opinion matters the most, second only to the God of Festivities. Stop wasting our time and let's move!"

"Your woman is a pain in the ass," Tengen complained just two days later. "She's exhausted but refuses to sleep. She's like a zombie and is inefficient in her research."

"This mission is tough, and she's doing her best. Plus, I told you it wasn't a good idea in her state, Uzui-san," Tanjiro sighed, not wanting to argue further about the topic. "And please, stop referring to her as 'my woman.' She's... just a dear friend. You know very well that she is Rengoku-san's fiancée."

"Hmm, whatever you say, your heart's melody doesn't sing the same tune when you see her. Besides, Rengoku is dead," Tengen remarked casually.

Listening to his words, one might mistakenly assume that Uzui didn't hold much regard for the departed Pillar, but Tanjiro knew better. The two men had been close friends; the shinobi had simply grown accustomed to burying his loved ones and moving forward.

"That still doesn't change the fact that she's not my woman," Tanjiro responded sourly. He carefully smoothed the folds of his kimono and checked his reflection in a mirror, ensuring that the makeup you had applied earlier remained intact. With night descending upon them, everyone had to return to their investigations separately. "I'll head back to my brothel. I think I've found a lead... I'll reach out to you when I get more intel."

The echoes of roaring flames and crumbling buildings gradually faded into nothingness, as Tanjiro teetered on the brink of life and death, poisoned by Upper Moon Six. His vision plunged into an abyss of darkness. Within this eerie realm, an icy stillness prevailed. Tanjiro wandered aimlessly, guided by an indistinct longing for something he couldn't define – perhaps a way out of this frightening place. He could discern your scent. Maybe you were close to his body.

He longed to return to you so badly...

"Kamado!" a voice called out from behind him.

Surprised, Tanjiro's gaze shifted to the silhouette of his former mentor standing only a few steps away. Kyojuro's arms were folded, a gentle smile graced his face, and his fiery eyes were locked onto his tsuguko.

His white and red haori was draped elegantly over his shoulders, waving slowly behind him, and the golden buttons of his Slayer gakuran gleaming softly. At his side, he carried his trusty katana with the flame-shaped tsuba that Tanjiro had inherited. The Hashira looked exactly as he did in life, radiating strength and vitality. His very presence dispelled the surrounding darkness, providing a reassuring warmth, much like before.

"Rengoku-san, Aniki!" Tanjiro exclaimed, tears immediately welling up in his eyes.

He stepped toward his mentor, overwhelmed with the desire to embrace him before stopping himself, remembering the gravity of his current situation.

"Aniki... I'm sorry. I failed. I slew an Upper Moon with Uzui-san and the others, but I couldn't protect the people of the entertainment district... a lot of people have died. And as for your fiancée, she's alive... However, I couldn't fulfill my promise to take care of her. I did all that I could, but... I just can't fill the void you left..." Tears now flowed freely down Tanjiro's cheeks, and he futilely wiped them away with the sleeve of his uniform.

The Flame Pillar placed a reassuring hand on his tsuguko's shoulder.

"Kamado, my boy, you were magnificent. You fought valiantly, and I commend you. You pushed your limits to the absolute extreme and emerged victorious. Thanks to you and your friends, these demons won't harm anyone else and will face retribution in hell. As for my former fiancée... I know the current situation is difficult for both of you, but she truly loves you, believe me. Hold on to hope. The two of you will find your way through this."

"You're mistaken, Aniki. She has eyes only for you; she doesn't like me that way. I fear I've only made things worse for her by trying to grow closer to her. I... I'm so sorry... I feel ashamed. To think that you had discerned my feelings for her when you were still with us, and instead of resenting me, you entrusted her to me... and yet, I failed..." Tanjiro's voice trembled as he sobbed, his tears mingling with hiccups.

He held Kyojuro in such high regard, idolizing him as much as he envied and begrudged him for occupying such a significant place in their lives, especially in yours, only to leave behind an equally immense void... The idea of letting him down was unbearable.

Kyojuro's spectral form embraced him gently. Though insubstantial, his warmth immediately enveloped and consoled his protege.

"Kamado... have more faith in yourself. She loves you. She chose me because circumstances made her realize her feelings for me before the ones she harbored for you, and I was deeply honored that such an extraordinary woman wanted me. But I'm certain she already loved you when I first met her. Don't try to take my place. You're an exceptional young man. Hold your head high and set your heart ablaze, especially in the face of adversity. She will return to you."

Tanjiro managed to suppress his tears and stared at his mentor, who was so kind and encouraging. His smile and reassuring gaze had the power to reignite even the most dimmed flames within one's soul. Despite the passage of time, this man would eternally remain a role model for the younger Slayer, someone he would forever admire and regret. He vowed to himself that he would heed his master's words and attempt to regain his self-confidence, honoring him in the afterlife.

"I'll do my best, Aniki," Tanjiro promised with a feeble smile. "At least, if I survive... I think I'm dying..."

"You're alive. Nezuko neutralized the poison, and you'll wake up shortly. Take care of yourself and our beloved, Tanjiro. The three of us will meet again in our next life."

The Hashira pressed his forehead against his subordinate's then straightened up, affectionately ruffling his burgundy hair with a broad smile. His silhouette vanished as mysteriously as it had appeared, but the warmth he emanated lingered long after his departure.

Tanjiro gradually regained consciousness. He was alive, albeit severely wounded, amidst the debris of Yoshiwara. The rest of his team was surrounding him, bent over him with worried expressions. He was so grateful that nobody had died... But perhaps his greatest reward was your presence close to him.

You wept profusely, cradling him in your arms.

"Tanjiro! I thought you were gone... I was so terrified." You hiccupped loudly, unable to stifle your sobs.

"Thanks Gods, Nezuko managed to burn the poison with her Blood Art. But you're still seriously injured... focus on your wounds to stop the bleeding, okay? The Kakushi will arrive soon. Hang in there and stay with me, Tanjiro. Promise me?"

He stared at you for a few moments, taken aback by your pleas and your tears. They weren’t for your fiancé, but for him. He turned his face slightly, nestling his cheek into your warm hand.

"Always," he whispered, closing his eyelids with a faint smile.

You were expecting (dark) smut, you got bittersweet relationship development instead. Maybe in next chapter ;)?

Tell me if you want to be tagged for next and last update of this story!

@gyusimp @kimiwotabenakatta-blog

Next chapter: "Closure" (will be released in two days maximum)

[gintama-polls]

Gintama Episode Tourney

Episode 231, "When You Go to a Funeral for the First Time, You're Surprised by How Happy the People Are" At the funeral of the kind restaurant owner, Gintoki and Hijikata are the only ones who can see the old man's ghost.

Episode 142, "Life Is A Series Of Choices" Kagura loses herself during the fight against Abuto. The fourth episode of the Yoshiwara in Flames Arc.

[helloescapist]

Prompt/suggestion you can run with (SFW): Gyutaro x Reader (platonic)

Imagine the reader (GN) as a 15-18 year old demon slayer from the Edo period who, like Gyutaro, suffers from congenital syphilis and has been tormented for it.

Reader is sent on a mission to Yoshiwara, and manages to find and cut off Daki's head, leading to her calling for her brother (She's a lot weaker in the Edo period since she and Gyu recently became demons, which is why she's so easily beat by a non-Hashira).

Gyu emerges and is about to off on his usual jealousy rant when he notices the similarities between himself and Reader. Regardless, he tries to kill them since they hurt Daki, but as Gyu gains the upper hand he feels a sort of kinship with the Reader and offers them to become a demon, like he did with Tanjiro.

Reader declines, since they have completely different values of life despite having similarities, and is killed as a result.

Fast forward 100 years to Gyu and Daki's eventual defeat; as he lays dying, Gyu thinks about the demon slayer (Reader) he killed a long time ago, and wonders if he could've made a better life for himself and Daki if he'd gone down a better path and been more like them.

Turns out, although Reader lost the battle, their worldview was the right one in the end.

I'm incredibly sorry this was so long. I'm excited to see what you'll write for this! If you do write it. Apologies if I broke any of the rules, too

hello, hello!

I'm sorry it's been so long. I truly loved this ask, and wanted to give it all of the love and attention, and research it deserved. I wanted to depict the slayer's memories in a way that was similar to that of how we see glimpses of the demons. Admittedly, my computer is on the fritz (forgive it, the old broad is 12 years old)., and jumping everywhere, so i'm not entirely sure if this piece is what I want it to be or need updating when my new computer is in.

Parallel Paths | Gyutaro

Setting: Gyutaro x gn!reader [platonic/two sides of the same coin fic]

Content Warning(s): spoilers, angst, reflective, depictions of gore/blood, red light district, and STI/STD (reader has congenital syphilis).

A/N: reader is born of a courtesan. As such any child of a courtesan is essentially born into service, regardless of gender.

Summary: It has been so many years since Gyutaro thought of the slayer with the same condition as himself, and in his final moments, he understands the beauty of their smile.

Slate grays dove into waves of charcoal, clouds that dipped across the surface of the moon. Shushing the faint glow of the celestial body. Marred the shadows of the night, and masked the night. The once vibrant night life dedicated to music, and pleasure was now robbed of gratification. Rouge smeared across screams, tears that shattered painted faces. Luxurious fabrics shredded in desperation; extravagant scents spilt into the streets. Marred by the scent of metallic and iron. Hemoglobin that threatened to stain silk. Threads and hemmed littered across the ground, bodies that had been caught in the turmoil. Carnage that littered the walkways, burned flesh caught by the scatter of candles in the attempt to flee. The faint glow of the moon illuminating the horrors of battle spread across the red-light district. Perfumes and incense that threatened your nose, churned your stomach, and caught the nausea at the base of your throat. Muscles that flexed at the overwhelming scent of the lavish Hinoki, delicate noes of jasmine, and rare touch of foreign florals. Hair adornments abandoned in the chaos, gold that glittered against the raging flames. Smoke that seared your eyes, brought tears to your lashes as you forced the tainted air through your lungs. The press of your hand against your abdomen. The chill ebbed across your shoulders, flickered at the touch of your skin as the blood met your fingers. Struggle to whisper relief to your senses, survived. You were alive. Fought the caught of your breath, shook your shoulders as you heaved. Questioned who it was you should pray to, to thank your existence upon this world. Tremble of a smile, no s-so many had been lost.  Alive.  The ache of your bones, of your senses against her screams.

                The curl of long locks of hair rolled across the muck. Screamed insanities, wailed in rage. Strands of a mane that echoed the tricks of her trade, a banshee painted in the finest of oshiroi.  Humiliation that masqueraded as fury, spawned the roll of tears. Sobs that caught at the base of her severed throat. Hair embellishments, gifts from suitors you could only assumed had been fractured in the skirmish.  The pull of your wounds, each step revealing a new affliction. Broken ribs. Eight of them on your right side, easily having been obtained when her pkkuri-geta had caught the side of your torso in your fight. The power of her kick unexpected. Strength, despite the delicate frame she bore, the demon had proven to be as powerful as the rumors had depicted her. Her movements swift, far faster than those of her peers. How she had ever maneuvered the tarnished district in such elaborate foot wear was beyond your comprehension. Daki had been an emerging threat quite capable of climbing the hierarchy. The shift of your heel, drawing the agony across your ankle crawled up the height of your leg. Shattered, your left leg had been shattered when she had flung you through the chashitsu. Scalded flesh beneath the black hakama of your uniform soaked, rattled shards of tea wear embedded into your flesh. Littered your uniform, torn the delicate cloth from a variety of angles. Exposed far more of your complexion that you would prefer, fought back the anxiety of whispers should wandering eyes of victims that had remained caught in the chaos would bear. Childhood wounds that had never properly healed,  and yet, for all the capability your opponent had shown in battle, the loss of sensation in your left arm revealing the failing of your own movements, the sorrow of realization had washed away her sins. The whelp of her tears, round and fitful. Her wail little more than that of a child’s, the youthful round of her cheeks, untouched by time, and cared for by lavish goods—when she had revealed herself to you, you had prayed that her appearance had been maintained by victims. Her demonic state maintained by the blood of her art, or perhaps her meals, but the babble of her bawling revealed a temper tantrum fitting of small children.  The lacquer of binding of your gunbai felt heavier than normal. Although how your heart tried to convince yourself that it was the burden of your battered body, the ache of your chest could not be soothed. Throbbed as you willed your knees to bend fought back the scream of agony as your tarnished zorii sandals struggled to bear your weight.  The excess of ribbons strained at the flex of your wrist as you drew your hand forward. Gathered the excess of your kimono sleeves, bound to your flesh. Concealing secrets that painted your skin, the wiggle of your brow. Heavy and mournful as you delicately lifted her skull between broken fingers. Blood that trickled between the callous of your fingers as you carefully regarded her. The salt of her tears marred across her meticulously painted face, her glare as fierce as the blade of your staff. The fierce glower of chartreuse behind long eyelashes, touched the mourning of her rage, of her loss. Round, doll like eyes that scowled at you, hissed obscenities. The quiver of her pout, swore that you had cheated. “It’s not fair,” her voice shook, trembled at the knot that caught in her throat.

The dawning of all your fears evident in her protests. Unable to fight the pity that captivated your features, the way your voice met her wails. She’s a child. Hummed a distant lullaby, one that echoed your upbringing, faint memories of your mother’s perfume littered across features. Cradled her severed head despite the way she protested, tucked the mangled of hair that had caught against her snot. Soothed the fragments of her hair embellishments from her hair, attempted to hush her wails. Ghost of a childhood, clung to the many linings of your mother’s kimonos dazzled by her hair ornaments that caught the light as she danced under the lanterns. Swept the sweat slicked strands of hair that had unraveled in her state of duress from her brow, murmured reassurance that all would be well. Rocked the shrieking head as memories of hours dedicated to tayu training hummed recollections of a childhood you had abandoned. The faint echo of your mother’s lower rouged lip that trembled, how her touch had recoiled from the pat of your head. The tears she had shed at your parting, far too young to understand the mercy she had expressed to her only child. Oblivious to the great risk she had put herself at the hands of the master, shooed you from her sight, whisked away by a patron that had frequented her brothel. A hashira she had bartered with for your well fare, spirited away in the middle of the day, utilizing the daylight hours to disappear without a trace. Far too young to understand how the scars that blemished your skin had threatened your existence, nor old enough to understand that it had been the sacrifice of a mother’s love that had uprooted you. A child entangled in the horrors of the night, a tangle of sex, and violence, the tarnish of your complexion impacting your profit. Far too young to understand, just as the young girl you now cradled in your arms. Whispered reassurance of the afterlife, of forgiveness, and rebirth.

“I-It’s not f-fair,” she hick-uped between snarls. Thrashed her eyelashes as the depths of her jade-colored eyes caught against your own. Whelps of tears, large and unrelenting as her rage. Humiliation that had nicked at the tip of her nose, fallen to the fullness of her cheeks. A victim of the times, of profit, and of the night, the fury of her tears , and a razor sharp tongue that elicited insult after abuse. The tremble of your brow, how this little demon reminded you of the tayus who had fought for your mother’s attention and affections. Slighted by the warmth she had often provided—they had probably taken your place if she had fallen from grace in your departure. “Y-You cheated. H-How dare you t-touch me. Di-DISGUSTING! L-Look at you! Look at you! H-How d-dare you!!!!!”  the snap of her jaw, the sharps of her teeth snatched at the curl of her lips. Wrinkled her nose as the tears down poured. “O-ONIIIIIIIIIIIIIICH-HHAN!”

Rolling, the revolting slump of her beheaded torso slumped before crackling in a stomach-churning rattle of bone and marred flesh. The bite of chill that threatened to swallow you whole. Senses snubbed, and delayed. The tilt of your vision, blood loss—no. No. The impact met your form eight ten broken ribs shattered by the blunt force. Crunched under the pressure, sending your form clattering through a series of buildings. Wood splintered against your weight, the impact of pure blunt force trauma inflicted from a mangle of bones. A foot that had landed with precision. Fractured any chance of breathing, claimed a lung in the tumble of your limp stature. Devastated the remainder of strength, and robbed you of the ability to grasp your blade. The clutch of your knuckles, your left arm struggled to grasp the naginata between fragmented finger bones; held together by the mere flesh that bound them. Blood that poured from gashes, threatened exposes your rashes to the night air. The drowning terror that caught in your throat, and intimidated your resolve. The flutter of your eyelashes, bruised and lacerated across your left eye. No longer able to catch the vision of shapes from your left optic. Blood that dipped to the lining of your lower lashes as you struggle to your feet. The length of your blade balancing your weight, bearing far more than the naginata was intended. The tremble of your jaw as the faint glimpses of a huddled form flickered in the flames of the night. Rattled words that could only be described as jagged rocks scratched against one another, formed soothing praises. The touch of a tender words, a figment of nightmares. Crouched delicately over the form of Daki’s head. Long, spindly fingers that used their nails to graze across her childlike features, sweet in their regard. Affectionate, and soothing. Tangled, and knotted putrid green hair bound into a neglected node at the top of its skull. Bones that rutted from beneath paper thin flesh, stretched over the skeletal form of famine that rocked in its soothing movements. The touch of blood that bound the two together, the blossom of cellular growth that kissed at the base of her neck, silk that recoiled Daki’s once severed head back to her limp form. Tearfully joined despite the weight of the hand upon the top of her haid. “Oniichan,” she yowled in her snivels, “G-Gyutaro.”

“There, there,” the gravel tone as though his neck bones had caught against one another, “it will be okay. Big brother will take care of it, sssssh. It’s okay.”

Big brother.

Yellow eyes the combined hue of mucus and jaundice, encased in citric orange flickered your direction. Fear caught in the base of your throat, the blink of your eyelashes drawing the monster to your sights. The graze of his fingers threaded through your hair, pruce flesh slashed across his face. The sight of his jagged teeth revealed ins his snarl, reaction time given no opportunity to allow the gravity to hit your senses before he slammed your face into the ground.  The clutch of his knuckles weaved into the tangles of your ponytail, a berating laughter that slammed into the ground repeatedly. Delighted in the crunch of your nose. The cartlidge smashed and deformed beneath the brunt of the ground. Cackles that berated, and rejoiced in your shame. “Such a pretty-pretty faceeeeeeeee."

Daki’s tears caught at the corner of her long eyelashes. The beauty of her jade eyes trembled in her wails. Touched at the depths of her despair, shamed at her short comings. Blindsided by you, the bastard who had dared to touch her. Threatened her peace, assaulted her in the comforts of her own home. Revealed her to the masses, exposed her being, and left her muddled in her own blood. Disgraceful, shitful little worm. Good for nothing who dared to exist in the same space as his little sister.  The curl of your hair caught between his blades of his nails, his snarl of jealousy in the lush care of your mane. Silken, like Daki’s kimono. Disgusting. Wretched little bastard. The furrow of his envy drawing his knee to the side of your cheek, the impact smashing the side of your cheek bone, tossing your form once more. The flutter of bones, and the wounds of your prior battle. The skid of your zori beneath your weight. Gritted your teeth as your left eye cinched. Your vision jumped, and rattled and trembled. The rattle of your knees—scared. Oh you were scared, he could practically smell the piss in your pants. The spread of cracked flesh, the neglect of his lips sprawled into a smile. Shrew and misshapen over his deformed jawline the dip of his chin tucked to his chest. Predatory in his regard, catching at the tremble of your breath. Shattered like a broken, little doll. Beautiful, little doll. Far too weak to do anything to escape your fate, trembled, and delayed. Far too slow to stop the way that his fingers knotted in the bangs of your hair, ripping your gaze to match his own. The tremble of your eyes—oh to break the pretty little—ugly bastard.

                “Y-you,” the growl unavoidable. Flinched across the touch of your lips. Anxious, and exposed. I-It had been so many years since someone’s gaze had flicked across the abrasions of your skin. Appraised as livestock, little more than profit that recoiled in disgust. The clench of his fist, revolted at your appearance. The vile of a past you had prayed to forget, one of lavish kimono and exquisite tea. Paraded women, little more than entertainment amongst war. Casualties of famine, and of poverty, sold to the highest bidder. Lessons dedicated to poetry, to singing. One in which your beauty had once been praised, a mirror image of your mother, a jewel amongst the brothel you had been born into. Cultivated in sweat, tears, and the musk of strangers. A fatherless bastard gifted the beauties of the world, the madam charmed at the prospect of owning a rare beauty, and how quickly all of it had been ripped from your fingertips. The blossom of the rashes that had claimed the high of your cheek, danced across your nose. Blossomed down your left shoulder, and claimed your arms. Tarnished your once cherished face, revolted all those that had looked upon you. The color of puce deformed the otherwise perfection of your complexion, and the jewel of the brothel you had once been. Treasures taken from you, punishment, the mere sight of you an insult to the brothel. Nights locked in a store house, torn from your mother’s side, from the lavish clothing you had known, and the hair ornaments the tayus had coveted. Asunder, bare to the night air, as far removed from your mother’s sights as you had been the madams. The whispers of the courtesans lacking in decorum, pleasured in the fall of status, and delighted in your depths of sorrow. Peace only relieved in the depths of the morning, the shatter of your mother’s voice in the storehouse. Having found your malnourished form lingering to life. The tears that had gathered at her cheeks, and the weight of her throat as she had ushered your frail weight to the back of a man. Whispered her goodbyes, unable to do little more than reach for her as the man tore you from her side. The faint touch of her fingers as she traced your features into her memories. {YN], please. Live, my beautiful little one.

                The memory caught in your throat. You were far to young the fate that awaited those who actively defined the madam or the consequences of the disease that had deformed you.. A sin of your birth caught in the bruised colored rash that had scared your flesh. Plagued your existence. Shuttered touches from strangers, and avoided those of peers in the Demon Corps. Now exposed from your bound wrists, under the gaze of a demon who bore similar blemishes. Laughter that threatened to spill from his lips as his hand met the back of your head. Demanding the diversion of your gaze. “You ugly little bastard,” he cheered, “dare to look down on me, you pathetic little worm. Look at you! Look at how ugly you are! Oh my, the world must hate to have you, disgusting. Disgusting little rat.” The patting of his hand smacked against the base of your skull, over and over before you found the strength to grasp your naginata. Desperate in the strain of muscles, torn and ripped in the abuse. Twirled the hilt across yoru shoulders, kept to the hit of your wrist in an attempt to heave him off of you.

                Futile as the laughter that emerged from his lips. Playful, as a child who had found a new toy. “Ah, I like you,” whiny, and amused, “You know, all filthy things belong to me. What do you say?” Jagged teeth that snickered as they clenched together. Predatory eyes that circled your form, loomed over you and exerting pressure that dared to snub out the breath of your lungs.

                [YN] Please, live.

                “I’m sorry,” you whispered to the night air. Far too aware of the agony that wretched across your bones. The weariness that had long since set in, and the exhaustion that had begun to seep into your pores. Suffering that longed for suffrage, lamented in torment, and prayed for release. To smell her perfume here of all places. A rarity even amongst the red light district. Distinct in her scent, and warm as her silken robes. The bittersweet memory of her soft fingers wiping the tears from your eyes. The small stirring that smiled upon your lips as you gazed up at the creature before you. Scared and broken. The rash that littered across his form, blossomed across his face, a mirror of your own. Painted in depravity, and desperation to survive. A casualty of the pleasure trades, discarded to fate, and neglected of love. “I’m sorry, I-I’m.” my beautiful little one. The ache of your breast as your eyes found Gyutaro’s. “beautiful.”

"I'm beautiful," you whispered to the night air, severed to the after life.

Beautiful, it had been a hundred years since had thought of that particular fight. In all of the years spent in depravity, partnered with his little sister, it had not been an impressive brawl. It left a lot to be inspired, but despite the passage of time, Gyutaro had always felt frustrated at the way you had smiled at him in your final moments. Beautiful. Delicate in the way the rash dared to touch your delicate complexion. The time had not robbed him of the familiarity of your luscious hair. Long, and well cared for, stylish, and extravagant. The lovely shade of your eyes blissful in the way that they greeted death, oblivious to the disgusting crush of the rash that had spread across the majority of your skin. Scarred your complexion, and in the moment when his raged, to hear you dare speak of yourself as beautiful in your state, he was enraged to know that he was envious of your beauty. The delicate smile that you held as your gaze welcomed his bone scythes.

                Far different than how he had greeted death. The chill of absence of the bridge of his existence numbs into his features. Hollowed the realities of his life into his chest, as his feet fell beneath his weight. Daki leaned into his touched, determined to remain at his side in an oath he had made so, so many years ago. In another life in which he had cherished her more than power, more than wealth, and more than beauty. The warmth of her touch, seeking his soothing. It had been, so many years since he had thought of that slayer, time had robbed him of his sense of self. Given way to pride, and contempt. Ensured him status, and survival, and yet, yet, in his final moments, it was the beautiful of the smile that had robbed him of his confidence. Whispered doubt of his choices, of his abilities—of what consequences would fall upon his sister at his side. Linked in death as they had been in life, a treasure he had neglected so long ago. Beautiful in its warmth, in its comfort. Precious as it was in life, a bond of siblings that survived the world. A beauty he had over looked, and was far too young to appreciate. Beautiful.

                Just as that of the smile of the ghost that passed them by.

If you're curious about base notes: here you go!

[seigibathala]

The Heroes of Yoshiwara

Background

A fanart dedicated to the heroes of these amazing Gintama Arcs

Yoshiwara's 1st Born (Seita) and the Sun (Hinowa)

Gintoki’s kids: Shinpachi Shimura and Kagura - When it comes to the title of 'Savior of Yoshiwara', it is not just Gintoki of course but also his kids. 

And of course, our former Shiroyasha and the Shinigami Dayuu.

[rosencrantzsguildenstern]

gintama spinoffs i need in the anniversary announcements:

kaientai fucking around in space

kiheitai and 7th division plotting world destruction fucking around in space

takamagahara host club backstory

anime centering entirely around those 2 siblings from episode 333 life death and shades

[gyusimp]

Thank you for doing my last request (⁠｡⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠｡⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♡

Could you also do a head canons for, years prior to the events of the show, Gyutaro becomes obsessed with a hashira reader, kidnaps her, and tries to force her to become a demon?

°•Gyutaro wants to turn you into a demon•°

⚠️ Yandere content/kidnap and blood mention ⚠️

You have become a very skilled Hashira, you are the role model of many demon slayers and you are greatly admired by all of them. You always wanted to create your own breathing style and being a student of the Water Hashira, Sakonji Urokodaki, for a couple of years served you well. When you knew how to perfectly master water breathing, you began to train more until you created your own style, the Blood Breathing.

You had only been a Hashira for a few months, but your skills put you on the same level as other more experienced Hashiras like your master or the Thunder and Flame Hashiras.

You are a young slayer, having more physical stamina than the other hashiras who were older than you, you were assigned missions more often. You were on your way to a mission, it started to get dark so you looked for a place to eat and sleep.

You took out a folded map that you kept in the pocket of your uniform and checked it to decide your course. You were about a 30 minute walk from the Yoshiwara Entertainment District, not the best place but there was sure to be a place where you could stay all night and have something to eat too. You also didn't like the idea of ​​camping on your own isolated from people where you could be a victim not only of demons but of other dangers. You can defend yourself on your own but you would not put yourself at risk.

You concealed your sword and your uniform with your haori as much as you could as you entered in  the district, you entered at a small local that served food and stopped by to eat a large bowl of udon. You were finishing your meal when you saw several people running wild and heard everyone scream. You got up from your seat and went out to the street to see what's happening.

People from the surroundings pointed to one of the houses where the accident apparently occurred. A masquerading as a human demon, entered at one of the houses in the district where he began to devour the courtesans. You took your sword and went straight to the house, entered all the rooms until you found him, with several bodies in his hands full of blood, ripping out and swallowing the intestines of a couple of girls.

He was a common demon so the fight was hectic but nothing too difficult. After defeating him, you helped injured people and tried to restore order. The owners of the house gave you a small bag with money, you refused to receive it because you were making your job, but they insisted, so bowing you took the bag and thanked them. Taking advantage, you asked them if they knew of a place where you could spend the night, they told you that they knew a lady who rented rooms on the next street, you only had to tell to her that you were on behalf of the Hanada's house and that she would give you a free room.

You arrived at the house that they indicated to you and the owner was a very kind old lady who gave you a room on the second floor with a window but away from the hustle and bustle of the district. The last fight left you very tired and you had to rest to continue the way to your mission so you went to sleep immediately.

The pain and tiredness of walking the entire day invaded your body, making you fall asleep so deeply, you did not realize how it happened, you did not hear any noise but after seeing the open window, you felt a hand cover your mouth with force, squeezing your cheeks to prevent you will scream. It was dark so all you could see was a big shadow in front of you. You thought it could be some pervert who infiltrated into your room but when you tried to get rid of him you noticed that his strength was inhuman.

"Pathetic" said a male voice very close to you while letting out a strange and creepy laugh. "It's so pathetic that you try to get rid of me" you were very scared, you tried to take your katana to the side of the bed with the tips of your fingers but the man noticed this and threw it across the room. He got closer to your face and asked: "What is a beauty like you doing in a place like this?" his breath was heavy and the smell of blood entered into your nose, it was a demon. The demon grabbed both of your hands and yanked you up to knock you out and take you with him. During the fight a few hours ago, someone had been watching you, someone who remained in the shadows of the Kyogoku house. Seeing the skillful and determined way you fought with your Blood Breathing made him scratch his skin excited, he had never felt this feeling seeing a human fight, but seeing how smart you were using a technique resembling yours made him want to become his ally instead of killing you. Taking away an important member of the Demon Slayer Corps and bringing her to his side would make his master very proud od him. He knew you were a Hashira when he saw the buttons on your uniform.

You woke up in an unknown place, it was dark but you could see that it was another room. You felt pressure all over your body and when you regained consciousness you noticed that your mouth and limbs were tightly tied with a long pink cloth. Your sword was missing and your head ached. As much as you tried to free yourself from the fabric, you didn't get anything, instead of loosening they adjusted more to you causing pain, you felt your whole body throb, cutting off your blood circulation. Were you going to die here?

"Pathetic, you're really pathetic" did you recognize the voice, it was the demon that trapped you in your room, was this obi his? You stood still in fear, he mocked you for a while and then praised your strength and power during the battle, he told you that he had seen everything and wanted you on his team forever. He came out of the darkness in which he was hiding, you were even more horrified to see the demon in front of you. His body was abnormally and dangerously thin, although his arms and legs were quite muscular, he was too tall and slouched towards you, some of his green locks crashing into your face, in his yellow eyes you saw the "Upper moon six" rank kanji tattooed on his pupils, you knew you were in danger.

He began to run his long fingers over your thighs where the obi was pressing on your legs, caressing your whole body while talking about how amazing it is to be a demon, he burst out laughing as he imagined the faces of Ubuyashiki and the others Hashiras upon hearing the bad news. He took you by the face with force, he bit his own tongue with all his strength until he made it bleed, causing the blood to trickle down the corners of his mouth and his lips. "It only takes a little of this" he said and removed the obi that covered your mouth to stamp his mouth with yours on a rude kiss, he bit your lips hard to cause a wound and mix his blood with yours. Now it was just a matter of waiting a few seconds.

I had no idea what to write but I think it was a good result lol i hope you like it dear 💖. I WANT to draw Gyutaro but i don't know what the hell to draw about him 😫 pls give me some drawing ideas 🙏🏻

[yamameta-inc]

okay so. i've always thought it was obvious that yoshiwara in flames arc's main relevance to gintama's overall narrative is as the prelude to rakuyou. like it's not thematically very interesting on its own, right? but it exists mainly for kagura and kamui's sake, establishing the sort of parallelism that gintama lives off of. it isn't really that connected to the red spider arc even though at first it might seem to be.

but i had no idea about the meaning of the name "rakuyou" until i saw @suchira 's post about it earlier today. and before that i also hadn't thought about utsuro's connection to the sun, which they've also talked about.

given everything that happens in rakuyou, this has expanded my thoughts quite a bit! i'm going be thinking through this as i go, so this is going to be me rambling.

housen is one of the few big arc villains who don't feel related to gintoki. jirocho, jiraia, oboro, takasugi--these kinds are obviously meant to be foils to gintoki. isaburo functions differently as a character, but even he gets directly compared to gintoki by nobume. but housen isn't really there for gintoki--he's there for kamui. he isn't a particularly interesting character, nor is his death very satisfying because of the wishywashy writing about hinowa showing kindness to him at the end. previously i'd thought that his thing with the sun was just a weaker example of craving something that would destroy you, and/or running away from one's weaknesses and vulnerabilities to the point that you become a sort of husk.

that's probably still a thing, but the introduction of the sun motif on the much more meaning-dense end of gintama adds so much more. because now the pre-existing thematic framework of gintama can do the heavy lifting for housen (who is, again, a pretty uninteresting character), hinowa (who is cool, but suffers from both Woman and Mom in shounen), and tsukuyo (who is very cool, but suffers egregiously from Woman in shounen).

so what is housen, really? he's the guy kamui chose to go with when making his very bad life decisions, the end result of the path he decided to pursue. for simplicity let's call him kamui bad end, though they aren't very comparable in canon itself because housen doesn't come across as nearly self-destructive enough. but the basic logic is that housen is one of those characters who gave up everything in single-minded pursuit of power--he's a flat character because he already "emptied himself out", as kamui says, before the series started. (but then he got scared and lonely, and all that.)

what's funny is that if housen is a bad end, then the guy who he considers his rival automatically comes to mind as an opposed route. i think it would be a serious stretch to call umibouzu the "good end" for kamui, and that's definitely part of the point in how the yato are written. but in any case, kamui clearly looked both ways (insert roads leading to two castles meme) and saw housen stereotypical villain bad end on one side, and his dad on the other. so obviously he chose housen.

rakuyou is a planet where it's always overcast. you could say that kamui chose to leave that "safety" in order to pursue something that shone much brighter to him, even if it would disintegrate him in the end. or, since rakuyou's name invokes the sun, you could say that he chose to flee the place of his weakness and pain, where his family was, like housen deciding to flee the sun and build an underground paradise.

when i go over my gintama cast tarot assignments, i always hesitate over hinowa. is she the Sun? or the Empress? how can i choose? and i think this is essentially the same conundrum. and i think the fact that she's both (thankfully, actual gintama storytelling isn't restricted to 1 character = 1 arcana) also provides us with the best answer here. hinowa is the object of yearning of both housen (as the sun) and of seita (as a mother). obviously, as i said before, the whole seita-hinowa thing is meant to lay the groundwork for kamui's motivations, and is also why he's introduced in this arc in the particular way that he is. but kamui is both seita and housen. he's the child yearning for his mother, but also the warlord who fears the sun so much he'll lock not only himself but countless others into the dark forever. but housen also desperately longed for the sun. kamui looks down on seita for being weak, and he looks down on housen for choosing to drown himself in vices at the end of his life. in the end, he doesn't kill either one of them.

if the sun is what kamui yearns for, he wants to leave rainy "rakuyou" behind--and/or he misses his home, his childhood, his family, even if these things feel like they will destroy him. or, if the sun is what kamui seeks to avoid, he wants to turn away from "rakuyou", all the things that hold him down so that he can throw himself into single-minded pursuit of self-destruction--and/or he's afraid of the weakness and pain that the sun inflicts on him, and desires to be strong enough that he won't feel them. see, a whole lot of words to say the same thing over and over.

i've always assigned housen the Emperor arcana. and i've often wondered, should it be umibouzu instead? should it be utsuro? and that, i think, is another illumination. thank you tarot for being an icon. it's so effective here because gintama is predictably built on parallels, and overlapping arcana assignments are bound to make you think: why?

in the end, housen builds a city underground in order to avoid the sun, but he also severs hinowa's ankles so that he can hold her, the sun proxy, captive in his grasp. he can't bear to feel sunlight, but he can't bear to let it go either. kamui is much the same, but he's young--he thinks he can let it go, his fears and regrets haven't caught up to him yet, because he still has so much to reach for. housen attained the peak of his strength and notoriety, and then there was little left for him.

what else happens in rakuyou? well, oboro and takasugi fight. oboro is sort of a seita figure in his own right, if seita had burned down yoshiwara in hopes that it would drive hinowa running to him. of course, seita didn't know that hinowa couldn't run; and oboro didn't know that shouyou couldn't, either.

but aside from seita and housen, there's another character in yoshiwara who yearns for the sun--not to possess it, but to protect it, to serve it. tsukuyo is an interesting character heavily let down by the realities of living in shounen jump. from my own understanding of sorachi's character, i don't think the following was intentional on his part. but i do think there are real reasons why these parallels are textually present (mainly through gintoki).

tsukuyo is the closest oboro has in this series to someone similar to him. not in the sense of a reflection in the mirror or hole-sided adjacency, but as in someone who sort of has a similar job and background to him. or had, anyway. as i implied earlier, the few, specific, clearly intentional similarities she has with gintoki (hello red spider) bleed over into her similarities with oboro, of course, because gintoki and oboro are... you know. just look at them.

tsukuyo swore herself to hinowa, but technically she was working under housen. she led housen's paramilitary force--fortunately, the hyakka loved her a lot more than the naraku were probably ever able to have an opinion about oboro. i don't think tsukuyo and oboro would ever get along--but they did have the same job. oboro did it in the heavens, tsukuyo did it underground. anyway, hinowa "saved" tsukuyo by teaching her about fighting from inside one's cage, and so tsukuyo gladly walked into the cage, just like oboro returning to the naraku without shouyou. because they thought it would be worth it. and also because tsukuyo had been groomed from a young age for the Hole (apologies to those who haven't read my ouroboros essay), to give up on her selfhood, and also to kill her sensei (hello gintoki). but hinowa remained around, unlike shouyou. tsukuyo never thought she could really free her--but protecting her, being able to see her, was enough.

oboro's life problem is a bit like if hinowa and housen were the same person. but kamui would see in that pairing only a reflection of his parents. and also, kouka is a bit like if hinowa and utsuro were the same person. but utsuro is already like if shouyou and utsuro were the same person--because oboro's actual life problem is that shouyou and utsuro are the same person.

i've spoken a lot about tarot, but the moon in gintama has little to do with the Moon arcana. in gintama it's the backdrop, the symbol of promises--promises made, promises fulfilled, promises held on to dearly whether they can be fulfilled or not. i don't truly think that the sun as represented by hinowa interacts directly with this. but tsukuyo and oboro share moon-related names, and their promises (or rather, their vows of devotion) towards hinowa/shouyou are one-sided. one-sided promises aren't a problem in gintama--our silver-haired protagonist wouldn't be alive if it weren't for them.

if the naraku, if utsuro, if oboro under utsuro is associated with the sun through the yatagarasu, perhaps it's because of the evaporation of the promise through the eclipsing of the moon. shouka sonjuku, after all, burned down, and utsuro emerged from a pyre. and though i think that the sun is overall a motif much more strongly associated with the yato--that which they avoid, are weak to, and secretly long for--i don't think that's incompatible with the crow-meaning.

rabbits can die of loneliness, you know--or they can die from overheating in the sun. i think the question here is, is this a trick question? are those two the same thing?