#wataboshi
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Traditional Japanese Wedding Dress by Wow Japanese
Brides host their wedding ceremony at a shrine wear a shiromuku, a white wedding kimono, which represents "the purity and sacred of the bride," and a wataboshi, a white hat (acts as a veil), is often worn, too.
While western style of wedding and bridal gowns have become quite popular among Japanese brides over the years, Shinto Wedding remains significant as:
Shinto Wedding is often held on a small scale involving the couple, immediate family members and close friends. So not only it is more convenient but more affordable to hold a reasonably extravagant traditional Japanese style wedding.
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#shinto wedding#traditional japanese wedding#shiromuku#wataboshi#shinto#japan#japanese culture#japanese tradition#japan vlog#japanese vlog#vlog
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The thing on Asmo’s head is called a wataboshi, and it’s part of the traditional bridal kimono ensemble. It’s basically the Japanese equivalent of bridal veil.
Ah, thank you! That’s interesting and I can see why it was chosen for Asmo. While the big hood still looks a bit strange for me, I appreciate the cultural meaning behind it, thanks for telling me!
-Mod Lily :)
#lily answers#myfriendscallmebun#obey me#obey me!#obey me one master to rule them all#obey me shall we date#obey me asmodeus#wataboshi
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wataboshi, private pressing, 1979.
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I love Rakna Kadakis design so imagine my disappointment when I unlocked her armor and it was giving kitschy, discount Vaal Hazak.
Design rant under the cut:
Rakna Kadakis Monster Design is clearly based on traditional Japanese wedding dress. So I was really disappointed by her lackluster armor design.
It has a very cheap and kitschy feel to it, which isnt helped by the tacked on roses and rubbery looking spider silk.
Rakna Kadakis Armor runs into a similar problem as some other Monster Hunter armors, I find. Where the armor isnt borrowing enough visually from the Monster its supposedly made of (often times its the color scheme that suffers) and in this case its both.
I'm guessing they went with a western bridal design since Mizutsunes Armor is already based on the Shiromuku but i feel like A: that theres enough visual differences between the Monsters and B: I have enough trust left in the designers that they probably couldve made it feel unique from Mizu.
Raknas Armor design is a missed oppurtunity in my book because the designers didnt cash in on either angle that couldve been taken with this design.
Angle 1: as we've already discussed, is the Shiromuku. It wouldve fit like a glove since Rakna Kadakis Hood already looks like a Wataboshi and her two front legs give off the same feel as long kimono sleeves.
(I feel the need to note that I am not japanese, so my interpretation might still be flawed despite my utmost efforts to get the Shiromuku right. I referenced both the Mizutsune Armor and Chihirohowe's guide about Ofurisode as best as I could)
Angle 2: Especially with a spider design to me, always screams, Bustle Gowns! While not explicitly bridal related, it still wouldve worked better to capture the overall feel of a spiders silhouette. Additionally, it's not like people didnt get married during the Bustle gown Era. I will admit that the Bonnet I used probably(?) wasnt in fashion anymore during the 1870 but not using a Bonnet as an alternate take for Rakna Kadakis Hood is a bigger missed opportunity me thinks.
I tried to make both versions as such that the spidersilk hides the hard chitin that the entire body is covered in. So that the wearer looks softer and appears more harmless.
I'm kissing you with tongue if you're reading this, thanks for listening to my thoughts <3
#monster hunter#monhun#mhrise#mhr#mhrsunbreak#mh sunbreak#monster hunter sunbreak#rakna kadaki#pyre rakna kadaki#redesign#fanart#monhun fanart#artists on tumblr#digital art#mh armor#character design#concept art#my art#ddruxyart#ddruxy
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skew lines
a pair of lines which neither intersect nor run parallel to each other
▸ pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader; word count: 4k
▸ alternate universe: reincarnation; alternate universe: soulmates; multiple lives; fluff; drama; angst with a hopeful (happy) ending.
▸ content warnings: character death, non-graphic suicide, brief mention of infidelity, implied domestic violence, panic attack, indirect reference to the Holocaust of WWII.
▸ read this on ao3 instead! :))
▸ please read the warnings carefully before proceeding to the story!
▸ sincerest apologies for any inadvertent inaccuracy. no disrespect intended towards anyone, least of all towards those who had to face gruesome events in their lives.
▸ many thanks to @pupkashi, @mimiriko, @guccirosegold, @silkylious and @missmeinyourbones for your lovely suggestions, comments and support!!!! ❤️❤️
▸ i don't own characters, gif or divider. please don't plagiarize/translate/repost this.
ONE: KAMAKURA; 1262
“A lady must never dream,” Your mother says as she places the wataboshi atop your head, “She must only ever fulfil her duties to her family, silently and obediently.”
An errant tear rolls past your cheek, washing away the make-up and hours of your maids’ efforts with it. Your mother, however, pays that no mind and raising you from your seat, leads you out of your quarters.
As you walk beside her, you wonder... Were you from a humbler origin... Were you not from one of the Big Three Clans, would life have been different? Would you have been freer? Happier? Or would you still have to walk into a union, knowing full well widowhood awaits you by the next sunrise?
A mangled sob falls past your lips, and you turn to your mother with a pleading gaze.
“Please, mother, I can’t do this,” You clasp her hands in yours, entreating her in a broken whisper, “I can’t do what you asked me to do. Ask me to not marry him, ask me to retire from all this to a nunnery – I shall do so in a heartbeat. I will never question you. But please, mother, I- Brother!?”
Yanking you away from your mother, your brother drags you by the arm across the courtyard, then stops a foot away from the shrine, his eyes narrowed into slits as he glowers down at you.
“Listen, girl,” He seethes, and you wince from the painful grip he has on your arm, “You’re a Zen’in. You’ve been fed, dressed and kept alive by us, Zen’ins, for the last two decades. Not by that sick idiot inside, you fell in love with, like the disloyal bastard you’re. So, you better shut up and pay us your thanks, yeah?”
You nod, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand.
If your family wants you to pay them your thanks, you will do so – you decide, while your brother barks at the maids to reapply your make-up before you enter the shrine – just not the way they expect you to.
Hours later, a small smile lines your lips as your husband enters the room. In a black haori and hakama, the daimyo resembles a deity amongst a sea of mortals – which he probably is, you muse, if the whispers on his prowess in war and court are anything to go by.
“You’re staring, wife,” An amused chuckle draws you from your thoughts.
You give a timid smile back, “You’re too handsome to not be stared at, husband.”
Surprise flitters across your husband’s features, soon followed by an understanding grin.
You realize he must have seen the empty cups behind your back.
“Did you finish the sake your brother gifted us, all by yourself, darling? Thought you weren’t a big fan of alcohol?”
“’m not,” You answer meekly, averting your gaze from his crystalline blue, “Still, I drank.”
“And may I know why, darling?” Chuckling, the daimyo pulls you into his lap and nuzzles into the crook of your neck – then pulls away when a harsh cough racks through your body. Blood at the corner of your lips, you run a trembling hand through his soft white locks, the fondness in your dying eyes contrasting the shock in his.
“I want you to live, that’s why.”
TWO: HOKKAIDO; 1966
“I want you to live, that’s why.”
A tired yawn leaves your lips as you throw the blankets off and pad over to the open window, that singular statement still pestering you from your dreams – or, should you say, nightmares.
Tormenting you for three months now, they have always ended the same – you whispering those words, time and time again, a grim relief settling in your bones as your eyes finally shut, prey to an eternal slumber – until they open again, onto the blood-red digits of your alarm clock.
Initially, you had ignored them, treating them as figments of your imagination – a side-effect, you had supposed then, of watching sad historical romances. However, when the dreams began to recur and blur into a single overarching theme – love, death, love, death – it was then that you finally decided to consult a professional.
“A long vacation to Hokkaido is what you need, you workaholic idiot,” You recollect your psychiatrist friend insisting last Friday at your weekly dinner together. “A relaxing bath in the hot springs, a thrilling ski down the steep snowy slopes – and who knows, you might even find a cute man who can keep those dreams away,” She had trailed off with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle, which had earned her a pillow in the face.
Another tired yawn escapes into the chilling night air and you realize how utterly, totally wrong she was.
Sure, the hot springs are relaxing enough, the snowy slopes are steep enough, the men too are cute enough, still… your dreams seem to have worsened since your arrival here. In fact– Bang!
Startled, you turn around at the sound – when, out of nowhere, a slender hand pushes you into the wall – and the scream in your throat withers away at the sight before.
Hair as white as the snow falling outside, eyes as blue as the ocean you’ve grown beside, features eerily translucent yet eerily familiar...
“Who are you?” Disregarding the warning bells chiming in your brain, the question tumbles past your lips in a soft whisper.
A long second passes before you receive a reply.
“No one nice,” The figure finally whispers back, and you bite back a gasp when their frigid fingers dance across your bare arms, “But tonight I can be yours, darling, if you want.”
You let your fingers tangle in their messy white hair and pull them in for a kiss.
(Years later, you’ll agree with a laugh, you had indeed acted like a moron in the face of a (definitely paranormal) intruder in your room.)
(Years later, you’ll also share a quiet look with your friend after such discussions – for she and you alone, will know how much your lover from that night resembled your lover from that dream.)
THREE: NEW ORLEANS; 1884
“What do you mean by ‘No,’ girl?”
Your brother huddles closer to you – out of cold or fear, you’re not quite sure. Pushing him behind, you attempt reason another time, “Exactly what you understood, Sir. You see, I’m not that kind of woman. I-”
“Nonsense! You are all sluts,” The man roars and lunges forwards at you – only to drop dead an instant later. A frown twists your painted lips as you return the gun to your purse – which deepens when you catch the toddler’s dumbstruck gaze alternate between you and behind you.
Of fucking course, there had to be a witness.
“To be fair, he was the one who attacked first,” You state, whirling around with your gun raised, “And to be safe, I don’t really mind having another’s blood on my hands.”
An amused snicker rings through the stale evening air and you feel your muscles tauten in dread. Years of fending for the two of you have taught you to know a predator when you hear one.
“Or, you could join me, y’know?”
That doesn’t mean you’ll scamper away like a meek doe at its first growl, though.
“As what? Some side-hoe?” A mirthless laughter bubbles up your throat and you shake your head lightly, “No, thanks. I’ll pass.”
A beat passes in tense silence, before the man steps forward into the lamp’s dim light – and you drag your brother closer to yourself, covering his eyes with a palm, whilst your own widen in recognition.
Silky white hair, crystalline blue eyes, ridiculously tall and handsome – the Boss returns your stunned expression with an even smirk, “And if I ask you to be my partner, what’ll you say? Will you still pass it?”
“I…” You glance at the child beside you – his skinny figure, ratty clothes, unkempt pink hair, guileless features – and back at the man who stares at you expectantly. A tendril of disgust unfurls in you as you imagine the crimes the sleazy scoundrel before you might have committed.
“Yes, I’ll pass it,” You answer with an indignant glint in your gaze, “I don’t want my brother to grow in a horrible world like yours.”
“Not even if you get enough money to raise the kid into a proper gentleman?”
“Are you trying to fucking buy me!?!?” You snarl at him, taking a menacing step forward – then stop when you feel a little tug on your dress.
Your hand removed from his eyes, you find your brother peering up at you worriedly.
Taking a deep breath in, you give the toddler a reassuring smile, and lifting him into your arms, turn to the man with a sharp grin.
“He doesn’t need your foul money to grow into a proper gentleman. He’ll anyways be one.”
“As you wish, darling,” The Boss hums with a faint smile at your words, and casting you one last long look, recedes into the shadows he appeared from.
A month later, you hear the man drove his car off the edge of a cliff.
“He drank himself to death after being rejected,” Your co-worker tells you on the way to the bar. You only frown in response.
Feeling oddly bereft, you cancel your shows and head home early that evening.
FOUR: NEW LONDON; 2628
“Get out. Now.”
Reducing your auditory levels to a bare minimum, you continue folding the clothes.
You know you shouldn’t be bothered.
You are a mere housekeeping robot Mistress bought online a year ago.
Your only purpose is keeping the house clean and going on the odd errand or two – not worrying your circuits off for Mistress, every time voices are raised or things are thrown to the ground.
Still… your wired heart can’t help but twist when you hear the front door slam shut and a pair of bruised arms wrap around you. “I was right,” Your receptors detect a choked whisper, “Twelve years of marriage and he has another woman in his life. Guess I’m that unlovable, huh?”
Desperately wanting to deny, you emit a rapid series of beeps, nudging your Mistress to look at the wall opposite – and project your first picture with her there.
In the picture, Mistress is crouched beside you, blue eyes crinkled in a grin while her long white hair flutters in the breeze. On her other side is her friend, a blond man, a polite smile on his face as he looks at the camera.
(The day it was captured is still as green as the neo-grass you water every morning in the lawns.
It was your Mistress’ thirtieth birthday that day – although no indication of the same could be found anywhere in the house. Master had left for work at sharp 7 in the morning, Mistress had secluded herself in her home office an hour later and you were tidying the house – as usual.
With the breakfast over, you were in the middle of returning the dishes to the drawers when the front bell rang. More than a little peeved at being interrupted during your chores, you let the door open after the second ring – to Mistress’ friend waiting with a huge box and balloons in his hands.
It was only when he hugged your mistress and wished her ‘Happy Birthday,’ that the metaphorical bulb lit up in your processing unit – and you let out a chitter in fear – FOR HOW COULD A TOP-CLASS HOUSEKEEPING ROBOT FORGET AN IMPORTANT OCCASION AS THIS!?!? - only to earn a hearty laugh from Mistress in return. At a loss at her reaction, you quietly beeped at her.
Grinning, Mistress crouched before you and placed a hand over your dome head. “Don’t sweat it, silly,” She said with a knock to your head, and you let out an annoyed little beep, “I won’t return you to the factory for this tiny mistake. I don’t know what shitty instructions they fed your system but I'm not like that. I’m way too fond of you and your weird little quirks to do that.”
A relieved beep left you – and you realized, quite contrary to the shitty instructions you had indeed received long ago, you too had grown fond of your Mistress.)
Happiness worms into your heart when you find Mistress looking at it fondly – then, fills your entire body, from the audio-receptors atop your head to your tiny wheels, when she directs that gaze at you.
“Thank you,” She whispers, wiping her tears away, then rises, extending a hand to you. “Now, let’s go pick me a killer outfit before we go kick that cheating ass, shall we?”
An excited chitter escapes you and you zoom past towards the closet – totally ignoring her sudden stillness behind you.
“Hey, did you just smile?”
FIVE: WARSAW; 1941
“Has anyone ever told you, your smile’s really pretty?”
“Has anyone ever told you, you are really pretty?”
The boy breaks into an abashed grin at your question, and you beam back.
A comfortable silence befalling the two of you, you return to your book – though your thoughts stray far from the tale unfurling within it.
The fates must be cruel – you think, dragging your gaze from the tiny letters to a loose thread in your skirt – to give you a life so lonely and quiet, sans family, sans close friends; then bring it close to an end just when you’ve found a person you might want to live it with.
A tired exhale leaves you as you close your book and flop backwards on the cot. A beat passes before a pair of arms wrap loosely around your midsection. Humming softly, you snuggle into a firm chest, relishing in its warmth – both literal and metaphorical.
“Anything worrying you, princess?” A soft voice asks, a while later.
“Not when you’re holding me like this,” You wish to say... yet you eventually decide against it.
Uncertainty already plagues your mind if you’ll live to see the next morning or not – leaving behind a loved one, or worse, being left behind can only add to the woes.
Ready with a barefaced lie, you send him a sweet smile – then freeze when a siren tears through the biting night air. A terrified shiver crawls up your spine and you squeeze your eyes shut. Another siren soon follows, then another – and you realize why they are called ‘the siren of death’.
Dread – the cursed, doomed, endless kind – courses through you like a poison.
Searing. Suffocating. An awful lot like dying.
Before you can register it, a wail claws its way out through your throat, and you wrap your arms around the boy. “I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die,” Clutching his sweater, you say, a silent terror in your wide eyes as you peer at him, “I want to live. Here, with you. Please don’t let me die.”
Concerned gaze sweeping over your features, the boy places a warm hand on your cheek – and smiles when you grow minutely calm at the contact. “I won’t,” He whispers to you, quiet and earnest - and you feel your heart stutter, albeit from a reason different to before, “I too want to live, with you. But preferably somewhere else, yeah? This place is cramped as hell.”
A quiet chuckle escapes you. Brushing his white bangs away, you gaze tenderly into the crystalline blue depths of his eyes. “But do we have the money to afford a bigger place?”
The boy grins at you.
“Once we’re out of here, darling, we’ll have all the time in the world to earn the money we need.”
The enemy forces find your hiding place that night.
SIX: UENO; 2017
“They say time’s the greatest healer of all.”
Gojo’s blank façade shows no cracks, and you grin – though it instantly gives way to a sharp hiss! Wincing, you press a palm on the gash across your abdomen.
Fuck! That damned sorcerer must have cut you deeper than you thought, huh... still, no biggie! Tis but a tiny scratch and you had, in turn, made him and his associates die choking on their blood. Ha!
“I never thought I’d find you here,” A quiet voice snaps your self-gloating in half and you peer at the man leaning against the opposite wall.
Even in the minimal light the dawn has to offer, you reckon he looks an Adonis incarnate – tall with chiselled features, shiny white hair and fitting clothes – add to those, a wealthy background and a flirty persona and you find it's not surprising, really, why Gojo turned out to be the playboy he is.
“Why are you here?” You ask him, a tilt to your head, “Isn’t there a mission calling you now?”
If Gojo detects the scorn in your voice, he makes no comment on it. Instead, he crouches before you and removes his sunglasses, revealing his crystalline blue gaze and the stormy allure they carry.
You frown back at him, unimpressed.
“The fuck are you removing your shades for, idiot? Wanna get a headache later?”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips, you can see, yet it disappears within a fraction of a second – and your frown deepens. He’s so unlike the way he usually is...
“Hey, what’s wrong, Gojo?” You ask, concerned, when a sharp pain tears across your flesh and you swear you black out for an instant. It is then you realize what is wrong – and betraying the fear percolating in your chest, like a fucking leaden weight – you let out a barking laughter.
“Of fucking course, the blade was poisoned,” You shake your head, a sarcastic smile on your lips, “And here I was wondering why my injuries weren’t going poof! like they do. I wonder how they...” Trailing off, you let yourself look at your injury another time, when another realization hits you like a freight train – and the smile slips off your lips.
“You told them, didn’t you?” You whisper, less as an accusation and more as a fact. Gojo averts his keen gaze from you.
Twenty years ago, had anyone told you the arrogant Gojo kid your parents introduced you to at your birthday would one day be your best friend, then your lover, then your ex and finally, the reason behind your death – you would’ve certainly decked them in the face.
Yet now, as you stare at the man before you, drowning in a sea of guilt, shame and regrets, you reckon life can be a fucking rollercoaster ride sometimes.
“I don’t blame you, Gojo,” You admit after a while. Gojo makes no response.
You continue, unperturbed, “You know, it was our fourth year at school when I decided to visit my clan again. They and I were not on good terms then – the absolute worst, in fact... still I decided to visit them. They were my family, after all. But you know what I saw when I went there?”
Gojo looks at you, a faint furrow between his eyebrows. You drag your gaze skywards, “The entire estate still and silent, my parents, my siblings, the servants lying with a slit throat or a stabbed chest in their beds.” Smiling despondently, you return your gaze to his shocked features.
“It wasn’t a landslide which killed them, Gojo. It was those sick higher-ups who killed them – a punishment, they had told me, for my failure at catching Geto.”
A tense silence falls over the two of you, as you finish speaking, a little breathless – and remains so – until the man breaks it with a silent question. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”
You send him a sardonic smile. “And what would you have done then? Killed them? You and I both know, how risky it would have been. And I was unwilling to lose another loved one to the system.”
A pained groan leaves your lips, and you slowly shift your posture a little, in hopes it will relieve the pain. It doesn’t. You continue, still, “Don’t blame yourself, Gojo. I would have joined Geto, even if you weren’t so distant then. Of course, I could see his mission being a failure from miles away – still, I couldn’t keep serving people I lost my family to, and I didn’t want you to create an animosity against them. And as for now...”
A sympathetic smile creeping onto your lips, you ask, “They threatened you with the students, didn’t they?”
You receive no words in return. Instead, a rough palm comes to cover your smaller one. His sparkling eyes now tear-filled, Gojo slowly pulls you into his lap, reminding you of the way he used to do this to you in days long gone – and then used to tickle you mercilessly, like the annoying yet dear bastard he was.
A quiet chuckle falls past your lips and the sorcerer gives you a faint smile – though you don’t miss the wobble in his lower lip as he does so. “Anything funny you find in this?”
“No, nothing,” You bite your lip to hold back a chuckle and reach out a hand to touch the tips of his hair – wondering if they still are as soft as they were; they sure do look very soft – only for it to fall to the ground midway. You let out a mirthless laughter.
“The poison they used was really good, huh,” You muse aloud, then squint up at him, loathing the darkness overtaking your view of him, your time with him.
“Hey,” Calling softly, you huddle closer to the man, an attempt to gain respite from the chill rapidly enveloping you. The grip on you tightens and you let out a soft whisper, "I want to meet you again. Think we can?”
Gojo’s forced grin is the last thing you register before your vision blackens entirely and your eyes fall shut.
“I know we will, darling.”
SEVEN: ????
“Would this classify as a meet-cute or a meet-ugly?”
You’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry.
Your classes will be starting in another minute, in a building a good six hundred metres from here.
Your seminar papers – the ones you prepared till three in the morning on nothing but ten cups of coffee and sheer will power – are flying away merrily with the breeze; a few even rolling, pitching and yawing (whoa!) as they flee from you.
Your crisp white shirt – the only white your wardrobe houses and the only colour the seminar allows - is now sporting an ugly shade of coffee-brown – though, you note absently, it seems to be a pretty lighter shade than your usual’s.
And oh! Last but not the least, you are also nursing a bruised (and perhaps, broken too, if the pain you’re in is anything to go by) ankle on the ground.
And despite all this, this asshole is having the audacity to fucking flirt right now.
You decide, you don’t want to laugh nor cry.
You want to yell.
Maybe drop in a punch too, to knock some sense into the bastard.
Sleep-deprived features thrown into a furious scowl, you look up from your injured ankle – a swear, the likes of which will make sailors cover their ears, at the tip of your tongue – and look into a pair of crystalline blue eyes, partly covered by short white bangs.
The world around you stills.
And you stare and stare and – yeah, you guessed it right – stare at the man crouched before you.
A person you know you have loved countless lifetimes before.
A person you know you will love countless lifetimes later.
A beat passes before the world resumes; you keep gawping at him still – totally oblivious to (or uncaring of) the cobblestone path you’re sitting on, the weird looks being directed your way, your friends calling you and rushing towards you.
Gazing at you lovingly in return, you hear the man whisper, “Meet-cute, it is, darling.”
You lose your balance a second time that day.
#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#satoru x reader#satoru x you#jjk x reader#jjk x you#gojo fluff#gojo angst#gojo fic#gojo satoru#jjk fluff#jjk angst#jjk fic#jjk fanfic#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#kit posts 📝
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garden of forking paths | 四 | part i. guilty
yandere lord tengen x fourth wife, eiji. word count: 7,077. explicit content. 18+ MDNI
man proposes, heaven disposes.
please be mindful of the ample warnings as we're all responsible for curating our own fandom experience✌️
this chapter contains ultimatums & coercion of an intimate nature, deception, forced marriage, dubious consent on all fronts, foreplay, degradation, consummation & deflowering, forced orgasms, self harm (not in the way you might be thinking) & scarification, nonsexual voyeurism, an off screen rape & accompanying aftermath, murder, threats of suicide, and a very apologetic author for taking on another behemoth when she still has works in progress
She’s never worn a piece so fine as her sister’s wedding kimono.
Bathed in white, the shiromuku settles heavily on her body and soul… A chilling wave passes through her as she stares herself down in the mirror. Crown to cunt, settling deep in her gut. Her nerves are at a fever pitch, threatening to boil over and lash out at any moment.
She hardly recognizes the woman staring back at her. Hardly an easy feat for one such as Eiji. The heavens saw fit to bring flesh to her reflection, one she was forced to protect their whole lives.
On their worst days, Emiko was more her charge than blood. A painful reality for the younger of the two. Years spent in her shadow, ready to strike those that would see her harmed. For flowers so lovely as the twins, it was ugly work in the Red Light District.
No. Her looks were always a matter of contempt rather than ignorance. The bride is abundantly aware of what she looks like.
The palette, however, is new.
A traditional visage for a traditional bride. Something the girls at the brothels were never granted beyond the realm of a marriage born from ashinuke or a buyout.
She couldn’t give into the temptation to touch. She wouldn’t risk damaging the canvas, eyes and lips painted as they were.
There was little need for it before all this. It wasn’t something she ever envied or missed. The closest she came to seeing herself with a full face was her sister.
Still. Not a trace of either sibling in the looking glass.
Eiji has never looked so beautiful. Nor as frightened.
Even through the beads of sweat lining her temples, she was grateful for the katsura wig concealing her sparse hairs. Remnants of her days in the Sisterhood, her cut had yet to grow past her ears. Her keeper was generous enough to postpone the marriage until after their wounds had healed.
It wouldn’t do for the ruse to end on such a glaring oversight.
The pins adorning the piece look costly. Too extravagant for one as modest as Sister Eiji. Hazarding a guess, it looked to be worth more than a month’s wages at the brothel.
Cocking her head to the side, her eyes catch on the embroidered flowers that rest upon the uchikake. The sharp angles and thorns give birth to a dangerous suggestion.
“Not enough…”
She gives voice to the intrusive thought before thinking better of it. Seppuku is on the girl’s mind, though she’s not fool enough to follow through. Would that she could and spare herself the devastation of this whole affair.
A delicate touch presses on her shoulder. It’s soft, but there’s an edge… as if the owner doesn’t have the strength for a proper scolding.
“Remember what this is for,” breathes a hushed voice of admonishment. “If I’m to marry him, I’ll never forgive you.”
Standing vigil is her better half. Wrapped in more fabrics than she’s accustomed; her kimono a muted black, with what little she has left of her once prized locs concealed under a zukin. The wimple is an unassuming periwinkle. Nearly so blue as the virgin snow.
While Eiji might dance with the idea, Emiko has every intention of bedding it. Neither sister needs the reminder…
Even once more and I’ll die. By my own hand if need be.
The threat lingers unspoken between them. Emiko draws back her hand, holding the wataboshi with a white knuckled grip to match. Placing the bridal hood upon her sister’s head, she collects herself with a sniff.
They meet each other’s gazes in the mirror, color on their lids nearly matching at this point. While one wore rouge, the other bore far less intent. Her eyes are red rimmed from endless days and nights spent sobbing. The anger and resentment, the fear, the loathing—it’ll end her life before the blade has a chance to.
Placing the bridal hood upon her sister’s head, Emiko nods in approval.
“You’re ready.” Her voice is broken, still shot from the fight.
Drying the twin tracks running down her cheeks, she lets her go.
No processional. No one to give her away. No tears in tribute.
She doesn’t even see their betrothed until the purification rites.
For as taboo as it sounds, she doesn’t consider Lord Uzui to be her husband. All the same, she’ll take her sister’s place as his lady wife. She has no choice, not if she wants to keep her alive and unmolested.
It’s all she can do to keep her sister in her prayers as she draws water into the chouyuza’s ladle, washing their sins clean. Twice, in as many hishaku, before rinsing her mouth with a third.
Uzui works himself over in silent tandem. Much as she’s loath to admit it, his refined montsuki haori and golden hakama make the man striking… gorgeous, even. His starlight hair was worn up when last she saw him. And now it rests, barely grazing his broad shoulders.
This is the closest she’s been to someone of the opposite sex who wasn’t a client. He hardly made a favorable impression to start. She didn’t know him well enough now to gauge his intent. Whether she’s walking into a den of wolves or a field of rabbits strikes her as a mystery she wouldn’t solve until he was already inside her, she’s sure of it.
Their union is a somber affair before the Shinto priest. Intimate. Tense. Almost severe.
The priest gives the blessings.
With the marriage announcement, Uzui bows where they stand. She realizes too late that she missed the prayers in favor of the mounting anxieties taking root. Nudging her out of her daze, she follows suit. Muscle memory and a lifetime of obedience takes her hand and guides the path before her.
The saké teases her lips and she finds herself tempted to drink before long. It’s not until passing off the small and medium cup that they are permitted to imbibe. She focuses on her throat, still burning from the alcohol as they move on to the rings. It keeps her present of mind enough to fulfill the task she’s been charged with.
A ring is slid on her finger. His handling isn’t rough with her but he’s hardly gentle. When she does the same, she notes the calluses on his battle-worn hands—a testament to his years spent honing his skills in combat.
The warmth throws her. She stills beneath his touch… Even worse when he’s cast his garnet gaze on her like that. With that smile on his lips, he almost looks fond. He turns her hand over and gives her wrist a small caress, far more tender than he’d been with the rings.
She has the grace to blush. The watashobi only allows her so much coverage from his prying eyes, so she takes advantage where she can. His vows barely register. When it’s her turn, her voice is a hollow echo of the priest’s dictation.
“I will marry this man,” he says.
“I will marry this man.”
“No matter what may come, I will love him, console him, help him. Until death.”
“No matter… No matter what may come, I will love him. Console him. Help him… Until death.”
“These things, I swear.”
“These things… I swear.”
The shrine maiden presents twin Sakaki branches to the couple. In turn, they place the branches upon the altar. Together they bow twice and clap in quick succession.
With the stinging of her palms and roar of her ears, it’s over.
It’s finally over.
In every other respect, this is only the beginning.
There was before Tengen… and after.
In another life, she might have been simple… a simple girl of simple means, grown into a simple woman.
What bliss.
No simple girl would ever endure the hand fate had dealt her. They’d never even know it’s touch, let alone see the blow coming.
Back when Eiji had a purpose, she was a nun.
Her mandate was as simple as things went for her. Find your sister, they told her. Find her, mind her. The task proved easier said than done for an Oiran in the brothels of Yoshiwara.
No. If she was anything like the girls to grow up not knowing any better, she’d have thought it a heavenly night.
The scene was a deep wash of cerulean and coal; falling snow aglow with what moonlight peered behind the kawara roof. A contoured edge ran crisp over the engawa, shadows and flakes stopping in tandem before she could so much as wet her feet.
It was the tenderest mercy she would be afforded in a place such as this.
The languid stream of smoke bled from her lips, too soon to think over another drag as she set her gaze on the abyssal sky.
Her brows furrowed, eyes pleading the heavens for intervention when she couldn’t will the tragic whimpers and panicked groans from breaching the walls.
The only warmth known to her was the burn between her fingers and the fury in her veins, neither poison more bitter than the last.
If her lungs didn’t fail her, it was bound to be her heart.
After a terribly violent gasp, Eiji tossed the remains of her cigarillo into the mounting snow, the pressing need for quiet far surpassing any desire for escapism. Flush palms ran over the veil concealing her ears.
Enmeshed in a deathbed of white, the snuffed out embers found themselves buried under the fresh flakes.
“Stop it.” A whispered bid—painful as it was fruitless. She broke on the words, knowing they’d never reach the bedroom. “Put her out of her misery, damn you.”
If that fucker didn’t come soon, she was going to have to finish the job. Tear the stuck pig limb from limb, out of the frying pan and into the fires of Hell. He would bleed for this.
She wouldn’t betray her vows. She only sought to avenge her sister’s rape. Nothing more, nothing less.
You can’t afford to fall apart. You know she can feel you. You have to be strong for her.
And before she could make good on that promise, there was nothing. Not a breath, not a sound.
The silence was deafening and nearly so oppressive as the screams.
The divine stall, dutifully prostrate before the raging tempest.
Any relief felt was dead on arrival. She knew better than to get comfortable. Her shoulders were still wound tight as a bow primed for the shot. Tense and waiting.
Rooms away, Eiji could hear the pleas so viscerally…
“Eiji—” she cried, her voice a death rattle that cut to the marrow. “Sister… Help me.”
a crash in the distance.
a whisper of fabric on the
wind.
the final screams to prelude
disaster.
The shoji was barely ajar before she’d pushed her way inside. She rushed past the hall of incredulous voyeurs, all with the same questions on their minds and lips.
She didn’t even know where they’d put her tonight. She had to follow the commotion like a dog after a vendor in the streets.
Desperate. Near rabid with its goal to fulfill. Out for blood.
If she centered herself, she could be by her side in an instant.
But her mind was racing. She had no time, no focus. All of her being narrowed on the sole objective of leaving this place for good.
Ashinuke beckoned with an outstretched palm whose finger curled so seductively, there was no need to ask twice.
The door flew open with a shout, “Emiko!”
She surveyed the room. Save the cowering fuck in the corner, it was a barren sight.
Dragging him by the collar of his disheveled robe, she hauled his sweating hull from the ground.
“Tell me where they took her,” she demanded. “I’ll gut you, I swear it.”
He shook beneath her. When the night air kissed the tracks on her cheeks, she didn’t have to look hard. There was a gaping hole in the screen of the shoji, ushering the cold inside.
You cried for me…
She shook the memory, focusing solely on the path ahead of her. Her entire world fixated on what little she could see from outside the door; a mere pinprick of vision in that busted screen. All she was able to manage were the snapping swords of some third party who’d entered the fray.
The pig squealed, fear coursing through him at the prospect of a fight.
“Useless,” she spat.
Blood came when the words failed him. The blade from her sleeve made fast work of disposing his filth without preamble or mercy.
sank into his ear…
pull out game for
the gods.
…dragged across
his throat.
He slumped pitifully at her feet, exsanguinating below her turning frame. She was already following after the chaos—dried her tears and righted the cloth just under her eyes.
The body was still warm as she made for the biting cold.
Eiji sullied the courtyard’s pristine canvas. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her. Didn’t make it very far in the dark; someone flew overhead, missing her entirely.
What should have urged her all the more only brought her to her knees.
She couldn’t afford to falter like this, not when the wager was her sister’s life.
“No one’s after you,” she muttered to herself. “There’s no time for this… Get up.”
She had to press on. So why couldn’t she move?
Eiji refused to give way to the fear. Surveying the perimeter, there was little to be done and less to be seen.
It had to be now.
Closing her eyes, she leveled her breath. Slow. Deliberate.
She emptied her lungs with a hiss in her throat and put her all into seeking Emiko out.
With the rolling of her stomach subsided, she picked herself off the street.
Nails bit crescent moons into the meat of her palms, arms trailing behind her as she took off into the direction she foresaw.
She felt her. She saw her in mind’s eye.
Smelled the cracked wood in the air. Burnt, not yet ablaze.
Blood… so much blood.
Eiji found her before too long, limbs akimbo under the caved-in front of a vacant business.
Her sister wasn’t alone. Shock coursed through her as she took it all in.
Three women crowded the body. One at her head, keeping her still, as the others made quiet work of removing the debris from her broken form.
She didn’t have to turn to know they were less alone than the moments that had passed. “Is she dead?” The man asked, feckless to a fault.
He was an eager one, wasn’t he. If this had been out of character for the man, if he’d been a stranger to them… surely they would have reacted.
The smallest among the women only threw herself at him with tears in her eyes.
“Lord Tengen,” she sobbed. “We couldn’t find the lair. I’m so sorry.”
He nodded towards Emiko, his eyes never straying from her unconscious frame. “And the girl?”
“An Oiran.” The name fell from Eiji’s lips with the ease and vitriol of a curse, “Kyogoku House.”
Every stranger encountered this night turned to her, suddenly occurring to them she was worth acknowledging at all. Turned on her just as quickly.
“Kakushi are meant to be seen… not heard,” he warned with a snap, all bitterness.
An incredulous echo fell from her lips, “Kakushi?”
He pinned her down, swiftly and effectively cutting the indignant echo from the root.
“Now what did I just say.”
The man towering over wasn’t asking, not remotely. He looked at her nearly expectant, all but daring her for a response.
Thick arms neutralized the struggle, pressing into her to drive the point home. Voice lowered in tandem with his head, the words in her ears enough to fill her gut with coal.
“If you’re going to interrupt, at least make it worth my while. Might just be tempted to take matters into my own hands and modify the offense.”
“Don’t. Please… stop. You can’t touch her. Please don’t touch her.”
Eyes fell shut as she laid witness to the swan song rasping from her sister’s bruised lips.
Tears streamed, hot and itching. Time slowed to a crawl. “Emiko. Forget about me,” she bade. “You have to save your strength.”
Gravel dug into her cheek the rougher he forced her down. A hitch in her breath. Eiji kept her gaze fixed ahead, locked on the carnage.
The women on assist weren’t concerned with lowering their voices.
“The hell’s a nun doing in the Red Light District?”
“You can’t say that in front of her, idiot.”
She burned under the heat of their scrutiny. Even more as his touch grazed her prone form, searching for weapons. It seemed he’d been blessed with brains to match his brawn and beauty after all.
“You’ve got red on you,” he noted. “You must have seen something.”
“Not my blood.” The words ran cold on her tongue. Near metallic as the blood staining her veil. “He’s dead now.”
“And the demon spared you after it fed?”
“Sir, there was no demon.”
He turned her over. Crouched over her thighs, urging her to continue.
“Patron. Something took her and he was a shit witness. I eliminated my sister’s rapist. If you have complaints, I suggest you keep them to yourself.”
“Eliminated, huh?” He pressed, incredulous. His eyes returned to the women tending to Emiko’s injuries. “Don’t suppose she’s one of ours?”
His aubergine companion spoke with unbidden ease. “Lord Tengen.” A pressing gentleness, as if shepherding apoplectic cats in their twilight years rather than the man straddling her. “In polite society, there are certainly ways to extract such information.”
He eyed her beneath his rippling thighs. Considered the account she’d woven for him. “You really don’t know anything?”
“If I knew what you were talking about, I’d tell you.” She met his gaze, beseeching. “Please, just help my sister. Kill me for my crime if you must, but please… She needs to leave this place.”
When the weight on her thighs was suddenly relieved, she had little time to breathe. He loomed over her, making fast work of tossing her over his shoulder.
“Don’t go getting too dramatic on me, Sister. Isn’t blind faith supposed to be your thing?” He gave her backside a condescending slap before taking off.
Too burnt out from the fight to argue, she merely allowed herself to be lulled by his hellish pace.
She hadn’t slept in so long. The push and pull of the jostle took her back to that day.
Fractured memories of the shore. She was no more than a child then. Now a woman grown, the bitter cold kissed her cheeks.
She looked out on the water’s edge. The drag of the waves. The crash as they touched back down.
Walking into the sea, she collapsed. Falling onto her knees, the water soaked her kimono. She abandoned her zukin, letting the habit drift away. When she looked down, there was an isolated pool of blood.
Her eyes widened, hands shaking as she dragged her touch underneath. The source of the bleed was heavy. She pulled desperately, fighting the mounting tide and her own limitations.
When it breached the surface, she was loathed to lose her grip.
She knew that face. She wore that face.
Realization dawned on her and she was all the more desperate to retrieve what the watery grave that saw to claim from her.
Limp in her arms. On death’s door, if she hadn’t crossed the Sanzu River already. When she opened her eyes, they were worse than void—they were dead.
Eiji woke with a start, her own eyes locked on the ceiling of the infirmary with a scream locked in her throat.
The medical wing remained so unclouded, so quiet, there was a small part of her that considered she might be dead already.
Eyes blinking into consciousness, she wondered to herself how everything got so fucked.
“The prodigal daughter wakes,” came a rasping welcome.
“Emiko!”
She nearly tripped over herself trying to reach out to her; the hand beckoning her closer so small under the covers.
Closing the distance between them, Eiji was treated to a slap to the cheek. She didn’t even register it at first. Her expression thrown, ears roaring.
“You’ve killed me, bringing me here.” Her voice was as weak as her will to live. “Good as signed my death warrant, you bitch.”
Eiji stared in shock before it hit her as one thousand blows.
She was asleep.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t protect her. Hell, she was barely able to find her on time. She’d failed her and the burning realization that there might be more threatens to consume her.
“What happened while I was out?”
Emiko turned away with a hiss—either from aching injuries or her own malcontent, she’ll never tell. “You heard what Lord Tengen said,” she groused. “Demons and the like. He works to annihilate them…”
Her throat went dry in an instant. “What?”
“Sissy, I’m tired.”
Already having rolled to her side and brought the bedding past her ears, Emiko’s eyes pooled. She let the tears fall away from view but couldn’t hide the way her shoulders shook.
exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.
Thoughts swirled in a vicious cycle. She was as furious as she was suicidal.
exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.
The unspoken reverie was loud enough to hear even separated from the bond their blood allowed.
exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.
It was all Eiji could do to crawl into bed with her, arms wrapped around her trembling body.
“Are you more angry that I couldn’t save you… or that I did?”
“Don’t be stupid.” Emiko rolled to face her sister, curling tight against her as a babe to its mother.
“Too late,” she teased gently. Her voice is gentle as the touch that ran up and down her back. “Then tell me. What is it?”
“Just cursing the heavens for damning us with this face and body. And all the bastards who came before Uzui.”
Eiji kept her eyes on the wavering fist curled around the sterile linens they both wore. Trailing her fingers up her back, she brings her palm to her sister’s hair. Pulled her in close, stroking her scalp. She said nothing, merely gave her the means to speak.
“He’s a Hashira. Former Shinobi, by his own account.”
“Shinobi,” she echoed, incredulous. Aren’t they meant to be a dying breed?
“I can’t deliver on the promise I made. I was coerced into accepting his hand, it was the only payment he wanted…” Emiko kept talking over her, vision clouded as if in a daze. “I couldn’t just let him kill you… we needed safe passage.”
A fresh tremor coursed through her. The sight chilled Eiji’s blood.
Bloodshot eyes nearly so vacant as her dream stared back. She didn’t have to hear it to know.
“Emiko… look at me.” She was desperate with tears of her own threatening to break.
“I can’t go through this again. I refuse. Even once more and I’ll die. By my own hand if necessary.”
Her head shook, stunned to silence.
“Those women are his wives. Says I should get used to them.”
“I can’t let you go through with this!” She refuted further, “I won’t. Not for my sake.”
Holding her hands flush against her ears, Emiko’s eyes shut. Face twisting in anguish and grief, she pushes away from her. “Sleep first, then dream.”
“I’m not dreaming. I’m pleading… Let me help you.”
“You don’t understand,” Emiko argued. “That night… It left me with scars, scars you haven’t seen. He saw me. He saw all of me.”
Eiji’s face flushed with anger. “He fucked you?”
“No… He only kept me talking while I was bandaged. Said he wants to wait until the wedding night to touch me.”
“Show me,” she insisted. “If he’s seen it, I need to see.”
It’s a beat before either moved, let alone spoke. Eiji pushed herself off the bed to stand on shaky ground. She was wary, but didn’t argue. Her sister looked away in a pastiche of offered modesty.
��You can look,” she prompted, voice faint.
When Eiji returned her gaze, visions of that night returned with a vengeance.
pierced. mutilated. shattered.
Breaking on a sob, she saw her under the roof collapse so vividly as she did that night.
pierced. mutilated. shattered.
Her sister’s skin was tattooed, marred with the visible representation of her own failure. Hypertrophic scars cut around her waist. A contracture piece gnarled on her back. Superficial grazes claw across her breasts.
pierced. mutilated. shattered.
She had to avert her eyes, choking on her own shame. She would never forgive herself.
Head raised to the heavens, she was anywhere else.
“The Madame will never have me back now,” Emiko noted wryly. “At least there’s one good thing out of this mess, even if it won’t last—”
With the shattering of glass, the words died in her throat. It took seconds for her eyes to catch up, watching her sister follow after the broken vase. Eiji was there, already on the ground. There seemed to be no rhyme, reason, nor method to her madness.
“What are you doing?”
She sifted through the rubbish on hands and knees, seeking out the perfect instrument for her needs. She’d have to start soon while the sight was fresh in her mind… The rest were tossed aside.
“I’m not letting you down again.”
“What does that even mean?” She pleaded, “Eiji, stop… You’re scaring me.”
And still, she refused her. Not until hope was secured.
Lord Uzui ushers his bride inside the bedchamber, quickly sliding the door shut behind him.
no prying eyes, no vying wives.
Eiji makes to sit on the marital bed, still lost to the events of the day. It’s an absolute miracle her knees haven’t given out already.
“Not so fast.”
The command chills her to the marrow. He’s behind her before she can react, let alone flee. Uzui pins her in place, a belt of his corded arms wrapping around her middle. Despite the warmth, she’s frozen in place as she stiffly shies from his touch.
His voice in her ears only drags her further. “Let me look at you.”
It’s not permission he’s after. He’s taking what he wants tonight.
Kissing down the column of her neck, he gives her tit a rough pinch. The assault punches a groan out of her throat, “Lord Tengen, please.”
“Look at that. My prized whore acting like a virgin for her husband. How quaint is this.”
“I just don’t want to sully the garments.” She pushes past the fear and finds her voice. “With all your wives, I don’t see you stopping at four… who knows when you’ll need it again.”
The man drops his arms. There’s a soft sound, almost muffled. She looks over her shoulder and he’s laughing behind a manicured fist. Her eyes widen, the whiplash becoming all too much to bear.
He watches her, watching him. He doesn’t react to being caught. Doesn’t scold her or tease. Merely lowers his hand, leaving only a seductive beam in its wake as he leans forward to take the wataboshi hood from her head.
His gaze lingers on her lips. Before he thinks to act on base impulse and desires, he turns to place the hood away for safekeeping. She trails after him and shirks off the uchikake, offers him the robe and fan. Fingertips graze, earning a hum of anticipation from her husband.
“If you’d prefer me not to do the rest, I suggest you undress yourself.”
She bows. “Thank you, Lord Tengen.”
“Your respect and frugality are refreshing.” A sigh escapes him. “With any hope, you’ll rub off on the others… In more ways than one, I imagine. And I can imagine quite a lot.”
Her cheeks flush at the suggestion.
He gropes her ass as he passes, already stripping as he takes his spectator’s seat at the foot of the bed. Uzui watches her as an expectant beast would his prey. She takes a steadying breath when he bids her to start.
Eiji thinks of the shamisen players in the brothels. She wills the strings to the forefront of her mind. Her eyes are closed as she tugs at the knot of her obi-jime…
No more than a feather on the stream, the silken cord spills to the floor with unbidden ease.
Her ivory obi joins the pool of fabric at her feet. She gives herself over to the music, abandoning her nerves.
Deftly unfastening the datejime leaves her kimono hanging loose. She sheds the rest like a second skin, stepping out of her confines in only her slip of a nagajuban.
More than a chrysalis. A rebirth.
The juban is her only defense. She knows it’s guileless to hope, to dream. It’s all she could have wanted just to keep her sister from the bedchamber.
No. She will do what needs to be done.
When the last whisper of cloth leaves her exposed, she’s quick to cover herself. A futile gesture born from her days in the convent.
A hand catches her wrist and she’s far too exhausted to fight him. Neither for her body, nor her modesty.
Fingers curl around her own as he guides her to the bed. Pushing her gently, back flush against the futon, he holds her in check with only his right hand; keeping her arms raised so nothing might obstruct his view.
He appraises every inch of her flesh, taking his left to explore with the pad of his touch.
neck and collarbone. sternum. breasts.
Kneading her aching tit, Uzui nods in approval. “Scratches are gone,” he notes. “Didn’t even leave a scar.”
her ribs. her waist.
He traces the lesion with reverence. “I’m sorry I wasn’t of more use to you then.”
The words tumble from her lips before she can stop them. “You’re blameless,” she says under her breath.
“Come again?”
“My… my sister. She feels every bit of shame for that night. There’s nothing left. Please don’t trouble yourself.”
Moments pass without a word. Just when she’s about to take it all back, he’s pressing kisses into the worst of it.
Eiji chokes on a whine, eyes widening in shock. “Ah!”
“I think your sister would disagree with you there,” he whispers tenderly against her belly. “I only met her once but she looked like she wanted to kill me for even breathing the same air as you.”
Her heart stutters in her chest, conflicted between the sensations roiling through her and the threat of being found out. She keeps her mouth shut. Neither pleasure nor information would pass her lips. Not when she’s come so far…
She would not let her down again.
Once she found the ideal shard of glass, she made fast work of undressing herself.
“What are you going to do?” Emiko asked desperately.
Eiji walked to her sister’s bedside. She caressed her face. “I’m going to protect you.”
She returned to her own bed, drawing the curtains around her.
Before she lost her nerve, she pressed the glass into herself. She kept digging the piece further inside until she was certain it would take.
She ignored the cries and pleas of her sister. She had to do this. She had to make this right.
With a trembling fist curled around the bloodied glass, she took a leveling breath.
“Once more,” she urged herself.
She dragged the piece along her back, piercing herself to the hilt. Eiji didn’t need a reference to know. She’d never forget for as long as she lived… It would take her a great deal longer to forgive herself.
Falling to her knees, she curled in on herself… With her body shaking from the shock of it, the deed was finally done.
“Never… Never…”
He laps at the trail of pink with his lips, relishing what reactions slip past her schooled features.
“Even still, it’s healed up nicely,” Uzui remarks, dragging her back with him. “Clean margins, not a trace of infection.”
“You certainly know your way around a battered woman.”
“If you recall, my girls are former Kunoichi. Scars are a part of the work culture… You’ll fit in perfectly, my little prize.”
Eiji masks her disgust with a breathy titter. “And here I thought I’d scared you away,” she quips.
“Thought or hoped?”
With those three little words, the room chills around her. She won’t allow herself to falter.
“I am but a traumatized woman.” A dangerous answer to feed a dangerous question. “You don’t think they're mutually exclusive?”
He bullies her legs open with the mass of his bicep. Abandoning her arms, he locks her in place with a firm hold on her hip. Rakes his nails against the meat of her thigh, all too quick to soothe the path with his tongue, just as before.
“Answer me,” he growls against her.
Before she can think better of it, she pushes against his shoulder. He buries his face in her cunt, undaunted by her silent protests.
One swipe of his tongue and she’s gone.
“I… I thought!” Her thighs tighten around him, despite herself. “We had—ngg! We had a… a deal—”
A harsh slap to thigh has her opening back up for him. She stifles a cry behind a shaking palm. He carries on batting at her clit in rapid succession, her groan turning helpless when he buries himself past his knuckles.
Two fingers with a wail on the third, too thick as they scissor inside.
She’s anywhere else.
The cacophony of noises bleeding from her lips has her mind racing in tandem with her pulse.
Unrelenting pleasure. Blinding sin.
He makes quick work slinging her legs over his shoulders. Colors her thighs with his affections, cups her cunt. She jerks further into the assault.
Propping himself on the balls of his feet, he suckles his fingers. Uzui laves up the juices, savoring every morsel of her essence.
“And you’d never do anything to rescind a deal, would you, sweet Emiko.”
She doesn’t answer, doesn’t dare dignify him with a response. If Uzui wants to go fishing, he can drown in her silence for all she cares.
Slow to start, he presses down and teases her all the more. Middle finger lapping her juices, he fucks them deeper every time. His wrist twists without resistance. It’s all she hears. He latches onto her clit, a steady staccato of tongue and teeth with his forearm shining with sweat and her own wetness.
Bracing for the forced release, she maintains a white knuckle grip on the sheets beneath her.
Thighs shaking. Stomach tensing. But it’s over before she can fall over that razor thin edge.
He pulls out without mercy, without warning. She sobs at the loss, sweat beading along her temples and brow.
Uzui takes his time spreading her lips, appreciating her cunt twitching around nothing apart from a watchful eye and wandering touch to match. He slaps her tit, diving back into the fray. She’d scream if she thought it would help.
She’s never felt anything like it.
His nose prods her clit while he gives her a tongue lashing she’s never known. He laps up her juices like a condemned man drinking his last.
Hooking his fingers, Eiji sees white. She came under him and he fucked her right through it, fingering her while spreading his idle hand over her middle. His pinky caresses her scar with such care, almost worship.
It takes her far too long to register he’s been grinding into her splayed thigh.
He’s hot on her bare skin, heavy and thick… She doesn’t have to see him to know.
As if he can read her trepidation like a damn book, he takes her hand and drags it encouragingly over his cock. “You can touch,” he offers.
She says nothing, denying him all the more. Pushing against his advances, she means to end this encounter. Any longer, she fears he may see fit to fuck her into the little hours.
He pushes her back no less than three times before relenting. Fed up with her efforts, he scoffs angrily. “Should’ve brought Suma in to sit on your face,” he laments, all petulance.
Tossing her over his shoulder, he settles her before the bureau.
“Hands against the wood,” he instructs her curtly, nodding where he wants her. Damn bastard’s already slotting a knee between her legs. “Forearms, too.”
When she does so, he roughly forces her back into an arch. Eiji hears the whistle of the strike before the pain registers. Feels the dresser’s chill graze her nipples before the burn on her bottom. She grits her teeth, detaching herself from the scene.
His touch roves across the handprint left behind before drawing back to hit her again.
Appreciating the canvas before him is a short lived reward.
One hand with an iron grip on her chin forces her attentions. He pinches and gropes what he can reach with the other, the taunting lilt of his voice never leaving her.
“Open those eyes.” The order sends tingles down her spine. “Let me see my gorgeous bride.”
Another thrashing leaves her crying out. He tightens around her jaw, tears flowing freely now.
She does as he commands, her deep brown gaze at last meeting his scrutiny.
It’s when she catches sight of herself in the mirror that her resolve nearly crumbles at his fingertips.
where did emiko end…
…where did eiji begin?
He takes her in his arms, flush against her back as he cages her against the dresser. Uzui sucks a bruise just under her ear, his eyes never leaving the mirror. He feeds his cock inside her, ears singing with every scratch of her nail against the wood.
A rough gasp tears its way through her. Eiji remains frozen to his whims as he callously fills her to the hilt. Barely four thrusts as he meets no resistance.
He can’t help but groan at the sight of her.
Stuck-still, she’s too shocked to move, to speak or breathe.
It’s not long before he tires of her cockwarming and his grunts fill the room with a renewed pace. One sharp snap begot the rest and her cunt fell so tight around him.
He sets a punishing staccato, the sounds of them filling the room in a symphony gone wrong. Coaxing the cries from her, Uzui kept pushing and pushing… bottoming out until he was coming apart himself.
“How can a whore like you be so damn tight,” he murmurs, nearly slurring his abuses. “All that work getting you open? What a waste…”
Beads of sweat make a mess of his forehead, the silver strands of his hair catching on his skin. She flushes beneath him as he nears his release.
“Keep those eyes on me,” he commands. “I want you to see who’s making you come.”
She holds more than her will as she looks at her husband. She holds her contempt. Her rage… Her every motive and intent. That’s why it’s such a shock to them both when she meets him thrust for thrust for thrust.
even as the wooden borough grates against the floor and wall. even as he works his spit inside her asshole.
“Fucking close—”
He throws his head back with a trembling exhale and stuttering hips. Eiji’s unbidden wails fall on deaf ears as he spills his seed.
His shaking breath echoes off the walls in a strange marriage of ecstasy and quiet discontent. Would that he could, he’d stay buried inside her forever.
Uzui pulls out with a hiss, beyond loath to leave her pristine warmth. Releasing her, his gaze falls to their combined fluids trailing down her legs. He spreads her cheeks, reveling in the sight of his debauched bride.
Spent. Humiliated. Done. Eiji rests her weary head against the wood, between her trembling hands.
No blood, she relishes inwardly… with Lord Tengen none the wiser, Eiji has fulfilled her duty. If there was a shadow of a doubt, it’s gone now. He wouldn’t find proof of her innocence. It was gone by her own hand the day she gave herself her sister’s scars.
Kisses press against her spine, all the way down to her tailbone. He massages her bruised and bruising flesh while huffing in the musk of their consummation. She twitches under his watchful eye and it’s all the prompting he needs to dive back in for seconds, albeit gently this time.
The deft tongue that pleasured her is the deft tongue that cleans her. She doesn’t shy from it this time. He feels the stark contrast as she bears down on his face, grunting his approval as he lazily stokes himself.
It’s not just for her benefit. Tengen knows that despite the closed doors, this intimate moment was always going to be shared.
Not his wives. Not even the heavens.
He knows the nun is sitting vigil at this exact moment, waiting outside those very doors to tend to her battered sister.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure that was her role back in Yoshiwara. Poor girl’s never known the touch of a man, has never come apart by another’s tender care… judging by her disdain that night, she’d likely only ever heard the shameful encounters of brutes and bastards.
Who was he to deny her? To deny either of them?
If the Sister wanted a show, he’d give that holy voyeur the most flamboyant fucking of her damned life.
Emiko sits beneath a wash of indigo, the stars shining bright enough to spite her. She wrings her hands, anxiously praying he’d be done with her soon. The sun was barely set when they arrived back from the ceremony… He’s had her in there for hours.
It’s all she can do to pray he’d leave her soon enough.
“Stop it.” The familiar prayer falls from her lips, a hush of a bid. She broke on the words as her sister had done so many nights. “Put her out of her misery, damn you.”
In the quiet isolation of the veranda, the only voyeur is the moon above. Emiko weeps for her sister. She weeps for herself.
No one will mind. No one is around to hear it.
#yandere tengen uzui#tengen x oc#tengen x wives x oc#can be read as#tengen x reader#tengen x wives x reader#yandere tengen x reader#for my brown eyed girlies#.garden of forking paths#.shi#honestly the tags are down to a marketing issue... please advise if possible
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@thorneprincess wants a starter!
Weddings aren’t Momo’s forte. Not because she doesn’t adore weddings. She’s an envious person. A long time ago, she’d have married Sousuke. Drew herself in shiromuku and everything. Under the wataboshi, she was smiling. But her dreams of a manor filled with kids was ruined the moment she saw him on the eastern wall.
But someone in her division is being married. She doesn’t even know their names, but as a lieutenant, feels obligated to make an appearance anyway.
She can’t be above asking for help this time around. Momo’s fond of Akiko anyway. A scary part of her keeps babbling about how pretty Akiko is in her kimono, and how soft her skin must be. Momo tries to compartmentalize while folding her friend’s obi.
“There,” she announces while eying her handiwork. It’s much easier tying off someone else than it is fixing her own obi. Yet Momo’s done it on her own for decades. She doesn’t even need a mirror anymore.
Momo pats herself down. She has her pipe, tobacco, goshugi... glancing at her vanity, she snaps her fingers. Sake for the happy couple. “I know it’s not traditional to give gifts, but I would’ve loved this if I had the opportunity to wed.” Part of her is relieved she won’t be, even as much as she loved Sousuke. Wedlock seems like a minefield. Men aren’t always the same once cohabitation begins.
#ic; you are my peach#thorneprincess#//i had to do... so much googling#//apparently ur just supposed to give money to the couple#//but like half the fun of going to a wedding is gift giving#//tf else am i supposed to do?#//talk to ppl? eat the entire buffet?
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Wedding Day Bliss
Characters: Hatake Kakashi and Hatake Aina (Oc)
Pairing: Sakumo/Tsunade (mentioned)
Words: 1213
Commission for the ever beautiful @shinobimagpie who asked me for some Kakashi watching his father marry Tsunade. I couldn’t not include some Big brother Kakashi moments.
Aina is the Oc of @shinobimagpie Daughter of Hatake Sakumo and Tsunade 💜💜💜 she’s adorable and deserves all of the love
Betaed by @haethel
Everything was perfect.
Alright, not everything. His father looked like a mess of anxiety bundled up into human form, and he was pretty sure Gai had run off somewhere to tell some poor soul about his ‘great Rivalry with the groom’s son’, but that was ok.
Those things were normal, though. If the two of them changed at all, even for a day, everyone would begin to worry about them.
Everything else about today was perfect. From the elegant decorations, the perfectly picked flowers, and the small but well-selected guest list. Each little detail had been carefully organized, resulting in a day that Kakashi was certain he would never forget.
“Ka!” A tiny voice called out to him. “Ka!”
Glancing downwards, he smiled down at Aina. Usually, she would be attached to Tsunade-sama. Demanding all of her mother’s attention and love at every moment that she could. Today, however, Tsunade-sama was busy and Aina needed someone to watch her. His father had thought about asking someone else to watch over her, but he had expressed a variety of concerns about asking any of his other wedding guests to watch his precious vegetable princess.
Naturally, Kakashi had ended up with the job. Partially as an offer to ease his father’s concerns, and partially because Tsunade-sama had requested that he take the job. A request he found difficult to refuse. These days it was hard for him to find time to spend with Aina. Between all of the missions he was being sent on and the time he spent with his friends, there were few precious moments left for his little sister.
“Big brother is here,” he promised, offering her a gentle smile while he cradled her in his arms. “Everything is alright. Today is a day for cheer and celebration after all. We’re going to see Father and Mama marry. Look around.” Adjusting her a little, he held her so that she could see the wedding venue. With all of the chairs set up for the guests to sit at, and a beautiful arch decorated with flowers hand-picked by the couple to match their ceremony outfits. “Oh,” tilting her back a little, he smiled down at her, “and don’t worry. Mama decided not to wear the wataboshi so you’ll see her face the entire time.”
The scene had been rather entertaining when Tsunade tried on the headpiece. Although Shizune quite liked how it looked, Aina had taken one look at her mama with her face hidden from view and began crying. She only stopped when Tsunade gave in and removed the headpiece, making her feelings about that bit of the wedding outfit very clear.
���Ah, but you won’t notice Mama during the ceremony,” he assured her. “I’ll make sure you’re well entertained. I even brought your favourite thing.” Adjusting her once more so she was cradled in his left arm, he dug into his right pocket and pulled out a little beagle stuffy. A gift he had gotten for her when she was first born, and which never failed to make her light up with excitement. “See? It’s not just me keeping you company today.”
As soon as she spotted the stuffy, Aina reached out towards it with a happy cheer. “Ka! Kaka!”
“Oh my.” Handing it over, he watched as Aina wrapped her tiny arms around it and hugged it tight against her chest. “See? Big brother is here to make sure that you have a brilliant day.”
That was the only job he had today. A special S-ranked mission that Tsunade had given him just a few days ago, with the mission written out on a scroll and everything. There were a lot of aspects of the wedding that she was focusing on of course, but the most important one was that Aina had fun. She had even tried to offer him money for the mission, but Kakashi had made a trade with her instead.
He spent the day taking care of and entertaining Aina so that Tsunade can enjoy her wedding, and he and Gai get the next festival off together. A single guaranteed day for him to hang out with his best friend, play festival games, and watch Gai stuff himself with treats.
“We even have front row seats to the ceremony.” He smiled when Aina lifted her stuffy over her face and giggled. “You’ll get to see Mama in the shiromuku she picked out just for today. Shizune says she looks beautiful in it, though if you ask Father he’d say she always looks beautiful.”
Aina giggled a bit more, staring up at him with cheerful brown eyes.
“It’s an exciting day, isn’t it? Everyone’s running around making sure things are perfect, but big brother has a little secret to tell you.” Lowering himself a little, he brushed his nose against her forehead and listened to that bright, happy laughter of hers. “Everything is already perfect.”
From the wedding favours to the outfits, everything had come together flawlessly. Every bit of work that his father and Tsunade-sama had put into this wedding had paid off ten-fold.
Though, that wasn’t what mattered. For all he cared, everything could be horrible. The world could open up and start raining down on this beautiful gathering and it would still be perfect in his eyes because his father was happy.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile so much,” he admitted, careful to keep his voice down so that only Aina could hear him. “Ever since I was little he’s seemed plagued with regrets. He smiled of course, but it was never as bright.”
The smile that shone on his father’s face when he was with Tsunade-sama, even if they were simply standing side by side, was brighter than Kakashi could have ever imagined. Nothing at all like the soft, fond smile that he would always give Kakashi when he was teaching him a new jutsu, or when he would carry him on his back through the village.
Tsunade-sama brought out a joy in his father that no one else possibly could, and for that Kakashi was eternally thankful. His father was a better man with her by his side. Still anxious over ridiculous things, and tough when it came to training, but more relaxed.
“Aye, I’m holding us back,” he scolded himself. Straightening himself up, he looked towards the altar. The spot where his father and Tsunade-sama would soon make their commitment to each other in front of their closest friends and family. “We should go check on Father. Make sure he hasn’t dissolved into an anxious mess.”
Aina buried her face into her stuffy’s side, muffling the cheerful sounds she was making while Kakashi hugged her a little closer to his body. There was still a whole day of ceremony and celebrations in front of them and Kakashi couldn’t wait for it all to begin.
Sure, he would be surrounded by more people than he was usually comfortable with, but if that was the cost of seeing his father getting married to the woman he loved then it was more than worth the price. As long as he was able to see that bright, cheerful smile stretched across his father’s face, he was happy to suffer for a little while.
#Hatake Kakashi#Friends Oc#Friends Oc’s#Hatake Aina#she’s just tiny and Kakashi will protect her with his life#commission work#Fanfic
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Asian Clothing Figurines Review
Asian Clothing: Japanese Kimono
Kimono Type: Hanayomeishou Kimono: Shirouchikake
Accuracy Rating: 3.5/5
Explanation: Our bride is wearing a modern twist on a very classic version of Japanese bridal wear, known as “shiromuku,” which I’m calling “shirouchikake.” Shiromuku consists of an all-white kimono and accessories, while shirouchikake only requires having a white furisode uchikake. The remaining layers and accessories can be any color of the rainbow in combination with white. These colorful accents are often featured on the uchikake, in places like the padded hem or the inner lining. Her uchikake has a violet interior lining. Her accessories reinforce this with the same violet on the hanao on her sandals, obiage, obi, hiyoku (i.e. false collar), futokorogatana (i.e. katana pouch), hakoseko (i.e. wedding purse), and inner lining of her wataboshi (i.e. cotton hood). Her red and violet flowerball bouquet complements her very modern color scheme. The only negatives are that her uchikake and kakeshita are both missing their characteristic padded hems and that she’s wearing her kakeshita up with her uchikake down—otherwise, an excellent example of a modern bride.
#kimono#hanayomeishou#shirouchikake#asianclothingfigurines#acfkimono#acfhanayomeishou#acfshirouchikake#3.5outof5
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I must be realy tired. I just saw a picture of Ahsoka Tano with her white hood from the end of Rebels and the first idea I had was “it look like the Japanese weeding thing I saw in a book years ago.”
After a recherche in google with the term “Japanese wedding kimono headpiece” I learn it’s call a wataboshi.
It’s more obvious in some fanart. But now I can’t unseen this.
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Inu-oh Part 13
The Wedding,
Inu-oh and Hana waved and to the cheering crowd, along with Tomoari and his troupe. Two of Ashikaga's bodyguards walked over to them with the shogun and his wife. "That was a splendid performance!"
"What are you talking about! That was amazing!" Nariko disagreed with him.
"Thank you." Inu-oh smiled and bowed his head a little to them. Hana smiled as well.
"Yes, thank you for having us." she replied.
"How would you two like to come to the castle for an exchange of drinks? Maybe next week?" Ashikaga asked the two.
"Actually, we have something important planned that week. Would the week after be okay?" Hana spoke.
"That will be fine."
However, a scream filled the air.
"Help! Someone's been murdered!" One of the shogun's guards cried out as he found Inu-oh's father's remains, well whats left of it. "There's blood everywhere!"
"I think that's our cue to leave." Hana spoke. The troupe quickly left and headed back to the village. The group split up and Tomoari went back with the priests while Inu-oh and Hana were left to themselves and they continued to walk back to Inu-oh's home.
"I wonder what happened to your father?" Hana wondered. "I mean, nobody can just spontaneously explode like that."
"Is it bad to say that I'm glad that he's gone?" Inu-oh asked her. Hana stared at him. Inu-oh was finally free from his father's torment.
"No. He was a horrible man." Hana told him. "Maybe he'll find peace in the afterlife after all he's done, but I doubt it, especially making a deal with a demon. You're free from him."
"Not just me." Inu-oh told her. "My brothers as well."
"Your brothers? Yeah, I never actually got to meet them. They were always hiding when your father was around." Hana said. "Hey, how about we invite them to our wedding?" Inu-oh's eyes widened, looking at her, before he smiled at her.
"Yeah, let's do that."
The next week came fast as everyone was preparing for the wedding. It was going to be a small ceremony held in private field surrounded by budding cherry blossom trees, near Inu-oh's estate. The two picked Tomoari to be the bridesman. Inu-oh and Hana invited Tomoari and the rest of his troupe, along with Inu-oh brothers. Inu-oh was dressed in a black kimono, hakama and haori. He stood at the alter with a priest, patiently waiting for Hana to arrive while she was getting dressed. Tomoari was standing beside him, along with Inu-oh's brothers as they waited as well.
"You're not getting nervous, are you?" Tomoari teased Inu-oh.
"N-No, why would you say that?" Inu-oh smiled.
"I can sense you shaking a little." Tomoari smiled back.
In a room in Inu-oh's estate, Hana was sitting down with several handmaidens as they helped her slip into a white kosode kimono.
"I can't believe that you are marrying Inu-oh!" One of them exclaimed.
"He has such an amazing voice!" Another one sighed.
"Yes, he does." Hana pulled down her kimono to put it on, revealing a small barely noticeable baby bump forming on her stomach. One of the women noticed while one started to braid Hana's hair, putting up into a high bun with some red and white flower ornaments.
"You're pregnant, already?" She questioned. Hana smiled, nervously.
"Yeah, we couldn't wait." Another one began to apply lipstick onto Hana's lips while one placed a white silk wataboshi headdress over Hana's head. Then placed a white uchikake on Hana and slipped on geta sandals.
"You are ready!"
They led Hana out of the estate and slowly walked with her, heading to the field. Hana felt her heart beating fast when she saw Inu-oh up head, waiting for her at the altar. He looked so handsome! Inu-oh felt the same when he saw Hana slowly walking down to him, completely speechless at a loss for words. She looked like a goddess; it was the only way to describe her. As Hana reached the alter the priest began speaking out the vows for them to say. Inu-oh took Hana's hands and she took his and the took stared at each other, repeating the priest's words.
"This woman, I marry
No matter what the health situation is.
I will love this person.
Respect this person.
Console this person.
Help this person.
Until death
Protecting fidelity
I swear." Inu-oh spoke.
"This man, I marry.
No matter what the health situation is.
I will love this person.
Respect this person.
Console this person.
Help this person.
Until death
Protecting fidelity
I swear." Hana spoke.
"Inu-oh, this woman you marry and become her partner. Will you in peaceful times, during sickness, this person you love, this person you respect, this person you comfort, this person you help until death, do you promise to fulfill?" The priest asked once again.
"Yes, I promise." Then the priest turned to Hana.
"Hana, this man you marry and become his partner. Will you in peaceful times, during sickness, this person you love, this person you respect, this person you comfort, this person you help until death, do you promise to fulfill?" He asked her.
"Yes, I promise." Hana spoke.
The two embraced each other and pressed their lips upon each other, kissing passionately. Tomoari along with his troupe cheered for them, along with Inu-oh's brothers. Several of Tomoari's troupe were drinking and eating some of the food.
"It's official now, you two are married!" Tomoari laughed.
"Yes, we are." Inu-oh spoke. "It feels like a dream."
"Well, it's real and I'm right here." Hana smiled at him, lacing her arm around his then she glanced over at Inu-oh's brother's who were standing near Tomoari, getting a better look at the two of them. One was taller than the other, had a longer chin. The second brother was a little chubby and heavyweight.
"You two must be Inu-oh's brothers. We haven't properly met, have we." Hana told them.
"I just can't believe that our little brother is getting married before us!" One of Inu-oh's brothers cried.
"How come you're not drinking?" Another one questioned Hana when he noticed that she wasn't drinking sake with the rest of them. Hana smiled, placing her hands on her stomach.
"Well, it wouldn't be good for your niece or nephew." She replied. Both of Inu-oh's brothers eyes went wide in surprise and their mouths dropped a little and looked at Inu-oh.
"You're going to have a baby!?" the tallest brother shouted.
"We're going to be uncles!?" the second one exclaimed in shock as well. Inu-oh nodded.
"Yes, and I've been thinking for a while. I forgive both of you. I want you two be a part of my life, Hana's, as well as my child's." He told them. His two brothers teared up and both of them lunged at Inu-oh, hugging him.
Soon night fell upon the sky as many stars shined above. Everyone continued to celebrate, Tomoari helped Inu-oh and Hana slip away by distracting everyone with a song. He began to strip down, revealing his chest, continuing to sing out loud. Inu-oh pulled Hana with him until he stopped by a cherry blossom tree and laid against it. Hana sat down beside him, leaning against his shoulder. Inu-oh pulled her closer to him.
"Well, my dear wife, we finally managed to get away. What do wish of me?" He spoke. "Name it and it's yours."
"I already have everything, dear." Hana smiled up at him. She laughed a little and so did Inu-oh. This was going to take some time to get used to those words. The both of them couldn't believe that they were married. "I just want it to stay like this forever."
Inu-oh pulled Hana into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist and the two of them stared up at the sky watching the stars. Then Inu-oh frowned, startled, when he felt something strange underneath Hana's stomach and so did Hana. A kick? It was small but the two of them sore that they couldn't have imagined it.
"Was that-" Inu-oh paused still surprised.
"The baby kicked." Hana spoke softly.
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Misplaced Chapter 2
Chapter 2
"On the night of the wedding, the sake will be poisoned."
That's right. During the ceremony the bride and groom pour each other a cup of sake and take nine sips each. The plan was to perform the ceremony in front of all the members of the clan and then later move to the much bigger wedding hall and sit together with Madara and greet all the guests.
Unfortunately for me, I had no plans to stop the poisoning as Kibi was putting the thick white veil, called wataboshi, over my head. Heck, if Madara died I would probably be sent back and could finally try to figure out what happened to me.
"Remember; don't look up." She told me in a motherly tone, before gently guiding me out the sliding doors and into a brightly lit room. The door closed after her with a quiet echo. I felt my legs start shaking when my eyes met his.
He stood in the middle of the room wearing all black, with his hair tied back in a ponytail going down his back, yet still somehow despite this, he emitted an aura of dominance. It made me uncomfortable the more I stood still, drowning in his intense gaze.
He reaches out a hand wordlessly and I can't help but notice how large and rough it feels as I place mine in his. We had led two very different lives. It could be seen in the way everyone's faces light up when we entered the hall, all eyes were on him.
I kept my head down as we separated, with me walking to the left and him to the right to approach our seats at the end of the altar. He sits down smoothly, coordinating the motion with me who took a bit longer due to the bulky dress. The crowd bows before a small table is placed in front of us by a priest.
During the next forty-five minutes I spaced out completely. The old priest gave a sermon on the importance of the institution of marriage and somewhere between "love" and "obey" I noticed a familiar face in the front row of the crowd.
He almost seemed to be sleeping with his eyes open. I cock my head in confusion at the unblinking Izuna staring a hole into the old priests bald head. It seems like the bride isn't the only one bored to death.
"The path of a true shinobi is fraught with perils." Said the old priest. The whole crowd nods solemnly.
Finally, it seems like he's finished. My legs had fallen asleep so long ago I can't remember where they begin on my body.
A young Uchiha girl comes and ties a red string on my left ring finger and Madara's right before bowing and walking backwards to her seat.
I watch Maria, dressed in a dark blue kimono, make her way to us carrying a tray. Kibi follows behind her with a second tray. Maria elegantly places it next to the priest and backs away slowly. I don't miss the looks some of the Uchiha men throw her way as she sits down.
Three red cups are placed on the table in front of us. My body fills with dread.
The priest starts by filling the smallest cup, and offers it to Madara.
He takes it up to his lips and recites a vow between each sip.
The priest fills the second biggest cup, and offers it to Madara.
...
#naruto fanfiction#fanfic#fan fiction.net#madara uchiha#OC#chapter 2#naruto#Hashirama#Itama#Izuna#enemies to lovers#marriage of convenience#Warring clans era#misplaced#romance#petitecherryposts#anime#manga#poison#priest#cup#portal#dropped in another world
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Paradise!Inosuke AU: Kizurenka
Kizurenka
Name: Kizurenka
Kanji: 傷蓮香
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Age: 20
Height: 5’4 ¼” (163 cm), 5’9” (176 cm) [With Okobo]
Affiliation: Eternal Paradise Faith
Occupation: Teacher
Base of Operations: Paradise Faith Cult
Status: Alive
Relatives: Roku/Si-Woo (fiance)
Appearance: Kizunrenka is a young woman with long black hair and light red eyes. She has a slender body and several large scars on the left side of her face, which she often when wearing a takuhatsugasa, and throughout her torso and back. She always wears the okobo geta Roku/Si-woo bought for her. Her makeup is similar to a maiko, or geisha apprentice, and it has red and pink tones. She carries around a gunbai that has a symbol of a lotus engraved on it. For casual wear, she wears a pink edo kimono with a white obi. As a teacher, she wears a pink iromuji kimono with a yellow obi. For being one of Inosuke’s tutors, Kizurenka wears a red hōmongi kimono with designs of pink lotuses on a pond and a pink obi. When she’s working in the temple and monastery, she wears a white button-up dress. To greet new members or visitors who are not in the women’s santucary, she wears a light blue tsukesage with white lotuses patterns and a white obi. For formal events, she wears a pink chu-furisode kimono with designs of violets and a purple obi. Since she got married, she starts wearing kuro tomesode with designs of cranes flying in the blue sky and white and blue obi. For her wedding, she wears a white shiromuku kimono with the wataboshi, replacing the takuhatsugasa, and tabi socks for the ceremony. Kizurenka then changes into a red iro-uchikake kimono for the reception. She isn’t wearing her takuhatsugasa durin this, rather that her hair is put up with bridal kanzashi.
Personality: Kizurenka is a flamboyant and eccentric young woman, juxtaposing with Roku’s humble and quiet personality. She is full of energy and cheerful. She takes enjoy on things that is deemed for children, such as making flower crowns, sing nursery rhymes, and eating the Kashiwa Mochi. Whenever she’s in the temple or monastery, she becomes more reserved, especially around Douma. She can be very extravagant, hence why the monastery had Roku, a fellow tutor and her fiance, to handle finances for the school. Kizurenka loves to teach her students everything from the scriptures of the Eternal Paradise. Her childish personality appears to be a result of her extreme emotional suppression during her childhood.
History: Kizurenka came from a family who had suppressed her emotions throughout her childhood and tried to mold her as a “perfect wife”. Since age twelve, she married into a rich family. She does not like her arranged husband and in-laws as they mistreated her and forced her to work as a servant. They often beat and whipped her regularly, leaving her to have scars around her torso. One day, her husband saw her talking to a handsome merchant. In a fit of jealous rage, he scarred her face by hitting her with a glass vase repeatedly. In shock, Kizurenka quickly ran out of the house and into the wilderness while bleeding heavily. She stumbled onto the gates of the Paradise Faith village and begged for help. Seeing her plight, Douma let her in to take refuge and made sure that her in-laws couldn’t get to her. The young girl was depressed about her maimed face as she repressed mentally and isolated herself. Roku was the first person to talk to her and would visit her daily, helping her recover and improve her health. Seeing her being insecure due to the massive scar, he bought her a pair of okobo, which she loves greatly. As time passes, she studies the scriptures as she starts to taught the children in the village various lessons. These lessons improved the children’s reading and writing as it came from her rich background. Eventually, she and Roku became tutors for Inosuke, for which they are held in high regard. When she was seventeen, she started to date Roku before become engaged to him three years later. Currently, they are planning their wedding.
Abilities:
Enhanced Agility
Enhanced Endurance
Enhanced Speed & Reflexes
Enhanced Stamina
Enhanced Strength
Keen Intellect
Teaching Mastery
Fighting Style: Tessenjutsu
Unlike Douma, Kizurenka’s variation of Tessenjutsu focuses on using on one gunbai. She would use her gunbai as a bludgeon to hit opponents, as a shield, or as a signal.
Equipment: Gunbai
Kimetsu Academy: Kizurenka Fukunaga is an elementary school teacher who has a colorful sense of fashion. She is quite popular among her students and their parents for her mix style of teaching based on each student’s strength and weaknesses. She suffered harsh abuse from her ex-boyfriend, which led her to suffer a scar on the left side of her face. Despite the scar, her students loves her and enjoys her lessons with many saying she loves beautiful, which causes her to cry in joy. She is engaged to the high school social studies teacher Si-woo. They are so affectionate that they are referred to as the “Toffee Couple”.
#kizurenka#paradise faith cult#eternal paradise#eternal paradise faith#paradise!inosuke au#demon slayer#demon slayer oc#kimetsu no yaiba
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fontec, 1988. it's a surprise to see this release date alongside the sound of the album, whose title translates to baby breath. echoing frissons of folk festival oriented jishuban records of the seventies, sustaining the same vocal beams and gossamer twined buildup of affective pull through dynamics, group harmonies, and compositional segues as wataboshi well before them.
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Traditional bride white kimono attire (shiromuku), by Sai kimono.
The model natural hair is styled in formal bunkin takashimada (usually nowadays, most brides chose to wear wigs). You can also see here the two kind of “veils”, the wataboshi (half moon shaped cotton hood) and tsunokakushi (”horn covering” cotton band)
#japan#fashion#kimono#obi#bridal hat#Japanese bridal dress#shiromuku#bride#bunkin takashimada#wataboshi#nihongami#tsunokakushi#着物#帯
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A redraw of a shiromuku piece I did... jeez, 2 years ago? There’s something so romantic and beautiful about the white on white embroidered kimono and wataboshi
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