#vraisetzen

[vraisetzen]

Hello! May I request a short fic or hcs, not directly connected to your long fic, on obsessive/possesive, yandere stalker!au Kokushibo and female reader whose naturally charming & tends to flirt and tease anyone around her to no end😭 (can be both sfw and nsfw, since I don’t think Koku would appreciate his dearest giving away her attention to anyone but him~)

I tried to send a similar request before but it didn’t let me for some reason ;(

𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝑳𝒐𝒐𝒌 — 𝑨 𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆!𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕

Author's Note: Thank you for the lovely ask! I actually received two requests for Yandere!Kokushibo; this is my first time writing a yandere fic, and I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it!

Tags: NSFW, 18+, Smut, Stalking, Obsession, Mentions of death and violence, Yandere!Kokushibo, No use of (Y/N).

Summary: The light in your eyes was both fire and ice to him.

No one could fault a man for being too good at his metier, and as a bodyguard to one of Japan's most prominent politicians, Kokushibo had spent years honing his craft — disposing unwanted rivals, eliminating bothersome targets, ensuring the safety of his charges.

His hands grazed along the small of your back, playing you as a harp while you sang his name in pleasure. You, pinned to the floor as Kokushibo plunged into your depths, relishing every pulsating heat that enveloped his length — you must know, by now, how he worshipped at the altar of your body, your very existence the only thing he ever desired.

"M-more, please," you wailed, looking back and regaling him with the sight of your parted lips and flushed cheeks. "I need more-"

And there it was: the glittering stars in your eyes, just like the very first time you caught Kokushibo's attention — a supernova in a sea of lesser constellations that seared forever into his memory.

The only problem was that the light of the stars graced everything in its vicinity without prejudice.

The curl of your lips that you gave easily to your colleagues as you asked them about their weekend; the radiating heat of your body when you sat next to them and leaned in every so slightly; the tendril of your hair around your finger as you listened to a neighbour's complaints with a soft pout; the perfume on your skin that lingered for hours in a room after you made your leave, capturing the attention of those caught in its haze.

He could not stand the fleeting moments when you cast your eyes on another; the biting, Siberian frost that sawed into his bones, casting a mantle over the lava that burnt and ripped away in his guts as he saw you flounce from friend to colleague to acquaintance, speaking to them with a tenderness that should never be heard by anyone by himself.

Fire and ice — the twin spears that plunged through his faculties of reason and instinct, tearing him apart at the seams even as he betrayed nothing on his steely surface.

Kokushibo was nothing if not methodical, and he needed no grand gestures, no dramatic declarations of affection: an orchestrated encounter at a cafe when you stumbled into him and spilt coffee all over his shirt, a rehearsed rendezvous at the laundromat where he had the perfect amount of spare change while you scraped along the bottom of your purse.

The draping of a cloak of chivalry around your shoulders, pulling the wool over your eyes in one fell sweep of his hand — the back of which noted every detail of routine — as you traipsed gaily over the daisies outside the lion's lair.

After all, to be blind meant devoting oneself utterly to the hand that guided it through the dark, and now that he had lent you an inch, you were more than willing to present him with a mile:

Your breathless moans as he pinched your pert nipples, your essence that lavished over his cock. You were resplendent as the beads of sweat that rolled down your shoulder caught the glare of the lamp, the curve of your back vulpine and graceful as you raised your hip to meet his thrusts.

Would you be blind too, to your diminishing satellite of admirers? Kokushibo cautioned you as much about their hidden intentions: Don't give your number away so easily; don't wear that dress; call me when you get home — he knew worst of the men who would mistake your smiles for affection, your teases for flirtations, and your touches an invitation in his line of work, and he need only to defer to his experise.

As a consummate professional, only he could protect you from these dangers that lie in wait. He could stopper it before they took you away from him, and you would never notice they were there.

The crimson that soaked Kokushibo's hands and crusted his nails, the same hands that now dug into the dimples on the side of your hips as he thrusted further inside your sex;

A flick of his wrist on your clit — the same rhythm as when he snapped the spine of the konbini cashier who you dared share your smile after you made your payment;

The tug of your hair around his fingers — reminiscent of the fibre wire that coiled around the neck of a older salaryman to whom you had been kind enough to offer your seat on the train;

The give of your thighs as he spread your legs further apart — a mirror of his hands on the back of a waiter who smiled as you complemented the tiramisu, his eyes lingering on your glossed, pillowy lips;

Would the wetness between your legs should be enough to wash off these stains?

"Kokushibo," you whimpered, in the moment he brushed against that spot inside you, making you squirm beneath his tight embrace. Your mouth dropped in a circle as he teased your clit once more, sending sparks of thrill dancing across your tense, quivering frame.

How perfectly he fitted inside you, the contours of your body moulding seamlessly against his hands — as if the gods themselves sculpted you for him to hold and possess.

Kokushibo slipped an arm across your front, tossing you to lie flat against the carpet. Red, crescent marks dotted across your collarbone, with others blooming into scarlet flowers where he had sunk his teeth into your softness — the sweet ambrosia of your arousal when drank from your sex, the tenderness your skin as it broke beneath his canines.

Come morning, when those blossoms have withered into violet bruises, you will never know another's man touch on you; Kokushibo will make sure of it himself. He would hide you away from the harshness of this world, and savour every inch of your body with his hands and mouth — as the French did with the caged ortolan, draping their heads with linen to shield their decadence from the judgment of God.

Why would you need to be anywhere else? Or seek the arms of another? He alone was perfect for you, as you were perfect from him.

Your ankles crossed behind his neck, unspoken bliss wild in your dark irises. The cadence of your moans soared as your nails clung to the broad sweep of his back, the pistol of your loins gaining an impatient edge.

"Don't stop," you cajoled, a whimper caught in a hiccup as Kokushibo felt you tense beneath him, your thighs trapping his face in a serpentine coil. The slick heat of your sex enveloped his cock tightly while you reached your climax to shuddering gasps, biting the back of your hand to hide your unrestrained moans.

And there it was once more: the sparkle in your eyes, brighter than before while you rode out your high. The heat of your gaze, together with clenching of your walls was enough for him to spill, too, in a mess of groans buried into your hair. You shivered at the dousing of his cum in your depths, your pleasures mired in a dripping, obscene mess that seeped from your entrance.

Behind closed lids, Kokushibo could behold the afterimages of your torched gaze, and he would do whatever it takes to keep them there, until it became a part of the inferno that raged unabated inside him, stoked by every single distraction you referred your attentions: friends, family, strangers — as he opened his eyes to look down at you, before kissing you.

He would have it — your heart, body, and soul — until nothing remained for anyone else, not even yourself.

"All mine," he whispered against your lips.

For my longer writings, visit my AO3 here.

[kotoffeya]

Inspired by Notte Stellata (author @vraisetzen )

[gojonanami]

https://www.tumblr.com/vraisetzen/760157629296345088?source=share

Aww, Sab, look at this! It’s super duper cute 🥰

link

omg I think I saw this before but it’s so so cute and detailed 😭😭

also poor zenitsu hahha — also I just noticed douma and shinobu 😭

[vraisetzen]

𝑼𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒍 – 𝑨 𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕

Summary: Kokushibo practices; you watch.

Tags: NSFW, 18+, Smut, No use of (y/n)

Author's Note: A short writing practice to assure myself that I, in fact, still can write. Enjoy!

Sometimes, you wake in the middle of the night, and — realising that Kokushibo is not beside you — you find yourself prowling through the dark, unlit halls of his dwelling, peeking through paper doors and pressing your ear against shutters.

And every time you will always find him there, in the final room at the end of the path, his silhouette softly traced by the flickering of candles, its flame wavering to the gusts of wind sent forth by his sword as Kokushibo practices.

You are riveted by the way he moves — surely and silently, swinging his blade in a single arc to meet just a hair's breadth away from the marionette.

Kokushibo is strong, stronger than anyone, anything you have ever seen — this creature of the night who has lived for so many untold years and honed his art to perfection, and you never cease to be amazed by his craft, coming to a stop just shy of the room, crooking your head slightly over the gap in the doors.

There are no flaws, no openings to be discerned in his advance; the certainty of his stance, matched by the rippling of his hakama as he draws back before lunging forward once more in a different swing, the fabric coiling around his thighs–

Those thighs that you have straddled on countless nights as you rode him to pleasure, watching the monstrous countenance below your body give in to the slick, plush embrace of your sex.

How his eyes never leave yours, in the same manner as he is concentrated on the marionette now. His hands that grip his sword as deftly as he handles you, rough calluses that press up against the softness of your skin as he guides you over his cock, each plunge sending you into the warm, honeyed pools of pleasure.

A shiver shudders through your body as you close your eyes, letting your visions pass — no, it will not do for you let your thoughts take control of your faculties now. Kokushibo did not appreciate distractions during practice; he will certainly not be keen on satisfying your urges while he belayed his repetitions.

Or will he?

It was difficult for you to tell, for he did not require rest. With his demonic constitution, Kokushibo could continue without exhaustion, just as how over and over he repeats his motions: side step, sweep of the arm, bringing the sword down, stopping just before the marionette; then, back step, retreat, an undercut, blade slicing through the air. Behind the weight of his motions — light as air, dense as fog — like the collective knowledge of an immortal being, one that can only come with experience.

Just as how he carries you into his arms, folding you at the hip to ease into your sex, your cries breaking into a whine as the tip of his cock brushes that delicious spot inside you.

Your body is a manuscript to which only he can read, and he thrusts purposefully into your core, slipping against your aching walls, coaxing moans from your throat and bestowing sharp, biting kisses across your collar and down to your breasts...

You chastise yourself for getting carried away with your flights of fancy once more. But as you shift yourself to kneel more comfortably on the floor, you feel arousal clinging undeniably onto your sex through your nightclothes.

Your lips catch between your teeth as you fight back a whimper, and then a sigh. Clenching your hands into fists, you concentrate on the sight before you, adamant to ignore the stirrings of pleasure that have unfurled at the mere sight of your lover at his mettle.

From beneath the wide sleeves of his kimono, you can see his forearms; sinew tightening beneath the weaving of veins, green and blue against his pale pallor. There was something indelible about seeing this display of strength and confidence; though you are ignorant in the matters of swordsmanship, the most primal part of you knew danger when you saw it.

More than his being a demon, Kokushibo was an predator, and you his willing creature.

And in many ways, it mirrored his domineering ways in the bedroom when it was just you and he.

Those three pairs of eyes that will not let you out of his sight as he chases your pleasure, running circles around you with the barest flick of his fingers and the nimble swipe of his tongue until you are breathless, protesting for more.

Your slim fingers curling around his arms as he finally moves on top of and inside you, sliding in one motion until he is tuck to the hilt. Your knuckles turning white as you parted your legs further to receive him, your back arching into his heated ministrations.

This time, you do not cast these intruding thoughts aside, indulging a little more as you admire his posture. You could lose yourself in him for hours if your human body could allow it — your sex throbs at the mere thinking of spending the rest of the hours with him, as you wonder how he might take to you being here, watching him. In this dwelling of his, you cannot tell dawn from dusk, only wakefulness and sleep, you and him.

"Do you intend to sit there all evening?" he asks suddenly, breaking your reverie. It takes you one, two seconds to realise he is speaking to you, and then embarrassment washes over as you respond in what can be barely construed as a squeak.

I was only passing by, you try to explain, but the doors slid further open with a bang as Kokushibo takes a step forward to you in a split second, his stature towering over your kneeling form. You look up at him, eyes wide and body frozen at the sudden scrutiny.

Or perhaps he might be kinder than you realise. A beast though he may be, even the most basest of creatures have their needs. And it becomes all the more apparent as his gaze rakes over your body: the strands of your hair that cling to your forehead from stooping in the stuffy hallway, the tense set of your shoulders and knees as you swim against the rivers of your arousal.

"It is just as well," Kokushibo says after a beat. He loosens his own collar as his eyes settles on the open neck of your nightclothes, which betrays but a tiny sliver of your breasts.

With another tug, Kokushibo eases himself of his kimono, and you are regaled with the sight of his bare chest; his perspiration catches the dull light of the candle, its sheen bringing the smooth muscles into sharp relief. You lick your lips as you imagine its salt on your tongue, before letting your gaze lift to his face gingerly, testing the waters.

In a flourish, Kokushibo grabs you by your arm and pulls you to your feet; before you can protest, he is steering you towards the centre of the room.

"I was starting to wonder when you might wake," he continues, tipping you back with a simple nudge of his finger on your shoulder. Your legs crumple as you sit obediently on the floor; Kokushibo parts them with a firm hand on your knee as he descends on you, closing the distance between your bodies. He nudges his hips against yours, and you feel the tent in his hakama, heavy and hot in the valley of your sex.

The thick spell of his musk — raw, animalic, like a beast in heat, floods your senses. You palm his chest, the pads of your fingers catching on sticky sweat and gooseflesh. Kokushibo grouses as he dives for your neck, unfastening your clothes with ease. You respond to him readily, slipping out of the fabric like clockwork to give him your bare body.

The spark he sends across your bodies is pure electricity, far brighter than the new fangled lights they have on display in the city. It is neither daylight nor moonlight, but an abstract under which you contend with basking, a tantalising glow of the inferno that is to come.

This too, you think gaily, is practice.

For more of my writings, check out my AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vraisetzen/pseuds/vraisetzen

[vraisetzen]

𝑨 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕 – 𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Summary: As Kokushibo does the laundry, he stumbles upon a pair of your underwear.

Tags: NSFW, 18+, Modern/KimeGaku AU, No use of (y/n)

Author's note: A short writing exercise. And I've been obsessed with writing about men jerking off lately...

It comes as little surprise that Kokushibo is fairly adept at doing the laundry – as Kibutsuji Muzan's designated secretary-slash-bodyguard-slash-handler, he is more than accustomed to managing his employer's collection of silk shirts with Italian labels and wool trousers with double pleats and monogram stitching along the inner lining.

When it comes to your clothes and his, Kokushibo has a system down pat, from sorting out dyed fabrics from his dress shirts, to polyester blends from cotton fabrics, and special netting bags for delicate garments. It was a language that only he spoke, with a frazzled attempt once on your part to take over the chores leaving him more than a little disgruntled as you turned his white boxers a darling shade of baby pink.

Hence, it has become a routine for him to find himself kneeling by the washing machine every Sunday, pawing through the laundry basket quietly and efficiently. His shirts and your pyjamas; your shorts and his gym towels. He tosses them into the washing machine, making a mental note to himself on how high he would have to set the water and rinse levels when he is finished.

And then, Kokushibo comes to your intimates – this is not foreign domain to him either. At this stage in your relationship, he is more than familiar with what you wear: the wireless bras, a unisex thong that your friends gave to you as a joke on Singles' Day, lacy pieces that you wear infrequently on special occasions. Kokushibo finds nothing embarrassing about this; he has already seen you in a far more revealing state, and this is, once again, routine.

What is not routine, however, is the strange curiosity that takes root inside him as he holds your panties in his hand, pausing for a long second. It is nothing special – a grey hipster that is a little loose around the elastic from wear – but Kokushibo hesitates as he lingers just over the metallic ring of the laundry drum. Perhaps it is the piece's simplicity; something you throw on without caring for seduction or looking pretty, something that is just there as you go about your day, beneath your clothes, something you hardly think about.

Kokushibo turns the underwear inside out, where there is a slightly darker mark on the crotch, the remnants of you on the cloth. A shot of arousal twinges through his cock as he wonders if you have ever fantasised about him while wearing this particular pair, staining the cotton with your wetness while you are at work.

Did your cheeks flush with the thoughts of him pummeling into you, stifling your moans through clenched teeth and bitten lip? Did you need to excuse yourself from the presence of your colleagues, escaping into the bathroom, checking each empty stall before choosing the one at the end? Did your hands tremble as you fumble with the lock, before pressing your back up against the door as you lift your dress up and slide your fingers into your aching depths?

Kokushibo presses his nose up against the underwear and inhales, and is greeted by the faint scent of sweet-salty musk – the same notes that he finds when he dives between your legs. His hand reaches for the tent in his trousers, rubbing himself through his sweatpants. This feels wrong – debased, even; jerking off to your underwear like some pervert lurking around the laundromat.

And truthfully, if he wanted, needed, you so badly, then you are but a text or a phone call away; but as Kokushibo growls into his hand, thinking about the silky wet of your folds, the threads of glistening juices that clings to his fingers as he strokes your cunt, there is very little regard on his part on what is right. And right now, he is stroking himself swiftly and firmly; it is not like how you do it, with your languished motions and endless patience for teasing out his pleasure – but he is not here for prolonged foreplay. The rough texture of his sweatpants makes for excellent friction, and he runts up against his hand, angling himself precisely to glide his cockhead over the fabric.

It does not take long for him to climax, and he does so with a jerk of his hips and a ragged growl into the inside of his boxers. A dark patch blooms over his sweatpants, mirroring the faint mark on your underwear, and for a few seconds Kokushibo simply stares down at his lap, dazed by the quickness which he brought himself to completion. His cock is still twitching weakly as he thinks of you, and what you will say if you were to come through the doors right now, arms full with the groceries for the week ahead. Will you scold him for making a mess? Or will you let him bend you over the washing machine, paper bags and laundry basket equally forgotten?

Alas, these questions will have to wait as Kokushibo gets up on shaky feet. He pulls off his trousers and boxers with his clean hand and washes them in the basin; and when he comes back, he gives the offending piece of garment – that wicked, ordinary pair of grey panties – a final look before chucking them all in the wash.

For more of my writings, check out my AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vraisetzen/pseuds/vraisetzen

[vraisetzen]

𝑨 𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖 – 𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Summary: Kokushibo wakes up from a dream about you.

Tags: NSFW, 18+, Modern/KimeGaku AU, No use of (y/n)

Kokushibo opens his eyes, the muddled colours of his dreams swimming into and eventually replaced by the dull greys of the bedroom. He shifts slightly on the sheets, long hair rustling on the pillows as he tries to revisit the images that flooded his mind all but a few seconds ago — now, they seem to linger beyond his fingertips, slipping away from him.

Your curves, the softness of your skin, the scent of your hair that billows softly into an elusive cloud as you disappear into the realm of his unconsciousness.

Distantly, he is aware of a nagging ache in his groin, the pulsing of an arousal that brings his cock to full mast. In the back of his mind, he curses you and your name — the reason why he has been unable to rise peacefully in the past few days ever since you appeared more frequently in his life.

The pointed dip of your Cupid's bow, stretched taut as you swallow his cock; the wrapping heat of your throat as you inhale and moan along his length; and most of all, the furtive, slick depths of your sex as you astride him, knees trapping his hips — your head thrown back as you surrender to pleasure, the arch of your back trembling beneath his hands.

These hands that now have nothing to hold onto as he grasps firmly on his cock, a pitiful imitation of the heat he can only imagine you giving him. There is nothing honourable about this — jerking himself off to someone he has only met on a few occasions — and he knows. But Kokushibo cannot help himself as a groan falls from him, sliding his hand along his length.

How will you stoke the fires of his erection? Your hands were small, delicate things, a sharp chiaroscuro against his wider, callused ones. Would you drag your fingertips under his frenulum to tease him, as he does now? Or will you cap the flat of your palm on his cockhead, playing with the splash of precum that glistens over the reddened tip? Kokushibo thrusts into his hands, hips stuttering as he envisions once more the tightness that you have given him in his dreams — of your lips, your hands, and your cunt. The sharp, stilted moans as you try to take him whichever way you can, your eyes shut first in pain at his size before easing to pleasure, the waterline of your lashes soaked with tears.

And it is to this enveloping desire — both to have you and have you have him that Kokushibo comes with a strangled groan. His climax spills over his fingers messily, creaming over knuckles and threatening to make a mess over his boxers and sheets – if this were you, he wonders dimly even at his peak, would you lick and drink every drop of his seed while look up at him? Eyes wide and tongue rough as it drags across his skin?

This, he cannot know as he slumps back on the bed, body releasing the final ebbs of tension as sated clarity follows in the wake of his pleasure. The cool air of the air-conditioning prickles the hair of his swear-soaked skin, and brings into relief the stickiness of his spent. Kokushibo looks down at the mess that has drenched his groin and sighs.

He cannot keep waking up like this — he must do everything in his power to find you once more, and make you his.

For more of my writings, check out my AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vraisetzen/pseuds/vraisetzen

[vraisetzen]

𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒂: 𝑨 𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕

Status: Completed ✔️

Tags: NSFW, 18+, No use of (y/n)

Read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48799750/chapters/123102148

[vraisetzen]

𝑼𝒔𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒎𝒐 — 𝑨 𝑺𝒖𝒘𝒂 𝒀𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒆 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕

Status: One-shot ✅

Tags: NSFW, 18+, PWP, Oral sex, Hand jobs, Married couple dynamics 🔞

Read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58790608

[vraisetzen]

An update (on requests and hashtags)

Hi!

I have received and read through all your wonderful questions and lovely requests, and will be starting on them shortly!

For clarity and accessibility, I will be using the tag #vraisetzen for all my fics moving forward. However, excerpts written under Asks will still be tagged under #ask box.

Till then, thank you for your support!

xoxo, V ♥️

PS: this is a repost since I missed out important information in my previous post!

[vraisetzen]

𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑯𝒆𝒎𝒍𝒐𝒄𝒌 – 𝑨 𝑫𝒐𝒖𝒎𝒂 𝒙 𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑰𝒏𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒕

Status: Completed (Oneshot)

Tags: NSFW, 18+, Threesome, No use of y/n

Read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51345730

[vraisetzen]

https://www.tumblr.com/vraisetzen/759944146657148928/hi-v-howre-you-after-reading-notte?source=share

Woah! Oh my god, this is such an awesome response! It’s so thoughtful and well-written! I really love your answer to the first question! It’s absolutely incredibly thoughtful!!

I’m not anon, but I’ve also been curious about the way a meeting between Michikatsu and Tengen would go, too… I wonder — does Michikatsu, on some level, want to impress Tengen? And how would Suma, Makio and Hinatsuru react to Michikatsu? What about Amato?

And how would the rest of the surviving people react to the marriage? Would they know or would only the closest — like Tengen — know?

And also just another thing I’ve been curious… what do you think Michikatsu would do now that he’s human again? He’s no longer a demon and no longer has to think about Muzan’s wishes… and because there are no demons, he doesn’t have to think about being a demon slayer anymore… so what would he do?

You are SO COOL. I cannot believe you provided such an amazing response to those questions. You are so thoughtful. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone respond in this way before on Tumblr.

And can I just say? You’re such a cool writer. You are so good at conjuring the mood, using just the right descriptions, writing believable dialogue, and just being able to replicate believably human behaviour… That is so cool!

I honestly wish more people knew about ‘Notte Stellata’ because it’s fantastic. It’s so well-paced and it’s just filled with some of the coolest imagery and dialogue. You truly have a gift for writing.

Hi Anon! I'm so happy that you enjoyed my answer! It was a fantastic question and I had a great time thinking about it~

I think Michikatsu, firstly as the Reader's husband, and secondly as someone who is naturally competitive and always aspires to be the best, would seek to prove his worth — though more so to himself than to others. As a human, he no longer has the supernatural strength and skill of a demon (though his Breathing techniques will always stay with him), so he is keenly aware that he needs to show his capabilities in other aspects of his life even if the Reader assures him that there is no need for him to do so.

On a separate vein, he also understands that Uzui is not just the Reader's former comrade, but also the closest person she could have to a family; he therefore knows that Uzui expects him to show that he deserves the Reader's husband.

"Still, there was no reason for Tengen-sama to come rushing over, demanding an explanation," Hinatsuru said with a sheepish smile. Amato, sitting on her laps, gurgled in agreement.

"I don't think Uzui-san meant any offence nor harm," you offered, embarrassed that you might have sowed some seeds of discord between the quartet. "We really should have told you earlier."

"You had no obligation to," Hinatsuru assured. "It's your marriage, and we understand that you needed some time with each other."

"And Michikatsu-san has been nothing more than gracious towards us," noted Suma as she carried Amato into her arms, tickling the young boy in his sides. "Amato was so happy when he'd made a little wooden horse just for him!"

"Well, he's good with his hands," you agreed, looking down at your reflection in the tea cup just in time to catch the flash of pride that flitted across your eyes.

"Does he work as a craftsman?" Makio asked, setting down a small bowl of sweet potatoes. Instantly, Amato dove for the snack, using his fingers to prod the mash. Makio pulled his hand away. "Hey, manners!"

"Does he work at all?" Suma joked.

"Well, it's not a bad thing to be idle," Makio noted, feeding Amato a tiny spoonful of the sweet potatoes. "But not as idle as Tengen-sama though..."

"Girls..." Hinatsuru interjected, but you waved off her concerns with a small smile, touching your ears in a bid to quell the heat that has stained it a deep pink.

"Michikatsu does have a job," you explained. "Well, sort of..."

"Sort of?" Makio raised a brow, pausing as she hovered the spoon inches away from her son's mouth. Amato cried in protest, and she turned her attentions back to him. "Ah, sorry, kiddo..."

Michikatsu, to your knowledge, has never had to work a day in his life. In the past, he had been a samurai, tasked with managing his estate's finances and ensuring the discipline of his men. And in the following centuries as a demon, he never needed to worry about accumulating worldly possessions and wealth.

It thus came as a surprise to him, after he had recovered from his injuries, when you suggested that he tried to put his skills to good use. While the pension you received from the Corps was enough to keep you two fed and warm for the rest of your lives, you thought it best if Michikatsu could explore this new world as a human.

The only issue, of course, was that Michikatsu was a man displaced from his time. Any skill he possessed had been outdated for many years; the carrying of swords was banned by the Meiji government for several decades before you were born. While he was a skilled Go player, the game had become increasingly unpopular as many turned to Western chess and other new imported curiosities.

It was one thing to be a demon in a world of humans, but another to be an old soul in a world of modernity.

And though Michikatsu may remain silent, you sensed that he was becoming rather antsy at his alienation from this modern world. You noticed that he would retreat into the study or the woods for hours at a time, and would not emerge till it was minutes before dusk with a pensive look on his face. He never spoke of his worries nor expressed his frustrations to you, but it made the atmosphere at home rather tense.

Anxiety gnawed at your bones as you wondered if your marriage was doomed even before you had time to bicker over chores and sleeping patterns.

But you did not tell this to the girls, of course. What you could tell them, however, was a small twist of fate that turned things around for the two of you:

There was a small bookstore in town which you and Michikatsu enjoyed frequenting for its quaint collection of old books from the Edo period and Chinese classics. The owner was a widowed old man, balding and slight with a pair of half-moon glasses, who always allowed you to borrow the texts instead of purchasing them, in exchange for the occasional afternoon tea.

"A few weeks Michikatsu pointed out that the chapters in a copy of The Analects had been written in the wrong order. The shop owner was rather impressed when he managed to arrange them correctly from memory, that he asked if Michikatsu would like to be his assistant."

At the moment the owner made his offer, Michikatsu had glanced at you, a small flicker of light flashing across his eyes while you smiled at him with encouragement. You took his hand in yours, and while your slim fingers were engulfed by his longer ones, you squeezed them tight.

"Of course, I won't be able to pay you as much as those banks and law firms in the city, but if you don't mind keeping an old man company and an eye out for any thieves..." the owner had drifted off, twiddling his thumbs.

"That is fine," Michikatsu had said, looking down at your entwined fingers. "I can start tomorrow."

"A librarian!" gushed Suma. "How romantic!"

"He's not exactly a librarian," you hurried to explain. "Michikatsu's just helping the store owner with sorting the books and making sure everything's in order. He also helps the customers with reaching for the top shelf since he's rather tall..."

"Oh, that we can relate," Makio remarked, throwing Hinatsuru an amused grin.

Hinatsuru nodded. "It sounds like honest work."

"It is," you agreed.

And it was exactly that Michikatsu needed: something on which he could spend his time learning more about this new world, speaking with other people besides yourself (and Uzui, if and when they decide to talk). Just yesterday afternoon, you managed to slip into town and spy through the windows to see how he was faring, and it warmed your heart to see him engrossed in a game of Go with one of the owner's friends. There was a levity in his posture which you missed seeing, and you were delighted that he had found it in the most unexpected of places.

"Why, isn't it the missus!" the store owner — Tanaka-san, as Michikatsu had so kindly informed you — greeted when you stepped into the bookstore, the bells dangling over the doors pealing in an effervescent chime. "Would you like anything to drink?"

Michikatsu looked up briefly from the game board, and crossing gazes with you. As the sunlight poured in from the open windows, you could see every shade of his brilliant eyes, dancing from a soft heather to a rich violet. His scars, barely visible, creased as he gave you a smile — and at that moment, you have never been more thankful for the small, lucky stars that gave the moon its radiance.

And how would the rest of the surviving people react to the marriage? Would they know or would only the closest — like Tengen — know?

This is a very good question too, Anon! I think for most part, the Reader desires to have a peaceful, quiet life with Michikatsu, with as few people knowing about her marriage as possible. It wasn't because she was afraid of their judgment, but because she simply wanted to move on with this new chapter of her life. Hence, I can't imagine her divulging her marriage to anyone else in the Corps, not even Tanjiro.

Tanjiro had a brief encounter with the Reader in the early chapters on Notte Stellata, and ever since he mentioned that he could smell demons near her, she avoided him like the plague. And while Tanjiro was puzzled by the Reader's sudden absence during the events of the Hashira Training arc, he was unable to write her a letter to her because she had not exchanged her details with him.

It would be up to Uzui, a chronic yapper, to finally reveal with a slip of the tongue — not that she was married, but where she lived. Excited, Tanjiro would write a very polite and well-worded letter, asking her if she was doing well, and — if she so wished — to visit the Kamado residence.

The appearance of the letter would naturally surprise the Reader, who had no idea how Tanjiro would come to know where she lived. She had heard occasional updates from Tengen that the young ones had settled down in their family home, but had never been keen on knowing more.

And as she went over the lines of the letter, taking in Tanjiro's innocent invitation and pondering whether she should reply, Michikatsu came over.

"Kamado Tanjiro," he noted, recognising the name of the young boy written on the outside of the letter. He did not spot its contents, however — nor did he wished to intrude, especially when he noticed that you had gone rather silent.

"Should I reply?" you asked, folding the letter back along the creases.

Michikatsu's eyes ran over the worried clouding your expression, and how you bit your bottom lip as you began drafting a response in your head. He took the letter from your hands, placing it face down on the desk where its sender's name was hidden from you. "Take however long you need."

And "however long" was about a week or so, after you woke up one morning before Michikatsu to compose your reply:

"Dear Tanjiro,

Thank you for your letter. It is so wonderful to hear from you, and to know that you are doing well.

I should quite like to visit your home someday, if I am ever close by."

And that was it. No promises, and no lies — and you had meant every word of it.

Sanemi, on the other hand, would prove to be rather difficult. To begin with, the Reader has always thought him a little unpredictable, despite the good nature beneath that fiery temper. And as someone who had fought Kokushibo and lived (something which Michikatsu would eventually tell her), she just couldn't tell if Sanemi would still recognise the first Upper Moon, and how he would react if he did.

Unlike Tanjiro, Sanemi never made the effort of reaching out to his fellow comrades, and the Reader suspected that he, too, would like to spend the rest of his days in relative peace and quiet. Uzui mentioned that he had met a young woman who worked at a wagashi store; despite your friend's slightly sardonic tone, you were happy for Sanemi, and wondered if he had mellowed out in the wake of the battle.

It was then inevitable that you would receive a wedding invite (no thanks to Uzui who also revealed to Sanemi where you lived). This time, you did not reject the good will shown by your former comrade. In fact, it would only draw unnecessary attention to yourself if you did not appear.

The wedding was set to take place in the far reaches of Tokyo, closer to Iruma, Saitama. It had taken half a day for you and Michikatsu to get there, and throughout the train journey you were thinking of the possible answers you could give Sanemi should he ask about your husband.

"I didn't think you would come," Sanemi said by way of greeting, though his eyes were fixed instead on Michikatsu, who stood beside you firmly and quietly. "Is that...?"

"My husband, yes," you confirmed, and Michikatsu took a step forward, offering a small bow. "Tsugikuni Michikatsu."

"Tsugikuni," Sanemi repeated, and you held your breath, waiting for the barrage of questions, or the light of recognition to dawn in his eyes. Instead, he was distracted by Amato, who traipsed into the scene, still carrying the horse Mchikatsu made for him.

"Hey!" Sanemi snapped, as the toddler hugged his leg as a bear cub clinging to a tree. "Uzui, come get ya brat!"

So much for mellowing out, you thought.

The wedding ceremony began and ended without much fanfare, and the dinner reception took place at a small restaurant in town. Sanemi's bride, whose name was to the tune of Kazuko or Kazuki, was a delicate vision of white silk and powder as she and Sanemi exchanged a cup of sake to mark their marriage.

Thereafter, more drinks were poured as side dishes were served; Uzui entertained a distressed Giyuu and his wives with his signature kappore routine, while Michikatsu disappeared outside, volunteering to take care of Amato. You settled into the corner of the room, seated beside a frazzled Sanemi who could finally sit down for a drink.

"Y'know, your danna..." Sanemi began, and instantly you were on guard, your clasped hands gripping so tightly that it cut into the flesh of your palm.

"Yes?" you asked, the picture of perfect calm. It was something you had learned from Shinobu, and Sanemi saw her face in yours too, as he gulped a finger of sake and poured himself another cup.

"Nah, it's just..." he furrowed his brows, looking at the bottom of his drink. You wondered if he was inebriated enough to forget this conversation come sunrise. "It's strange, isn't it? The people we end up marrying."

You blinked, the unexpected turn in the conversation leaving you a little loss for words. But Sanemi was nothing if not unpredictable, a sweeping typhoon whose trajectory one could never quite figure out. You poured yourself a drink from the bottle, and tipped your sake dish in his direction for a small toast.

"Indeed," you observed. "Love is a strange little thing."

Thank you for the question again, Anon! And sorry that this took me a while to answer; I had a great time thinking about the responses here, and I hope you enjoyed reading it too :D

xoxo, V ♥️

[vraisetzen]

https://www.tumblr.com/vraisetzen/760495338592272384/httpswwwtumblrcomvraisetzen75994414665714892?source=share

Oh, your answers to these questions are absolutely brilliant. I reread them earlier today.

I adore the way in which you crafted this world and the ease with which you navigate this world.

Firstly, you are so fantastic at characterising every single character in your stories. Even Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma feel fleshed out.

Secondly, I adore the little details that you put into this story. Michikatsu creating a wooden horse for the little boy? How adorable. The little boy wanting to steal the snacks? I’ve observed this behaviour one too many times in my nephew. Clinging to Sanemi like a bear cub? That made me giggle! 😁

Thirdly, your… attention to the historical period is really impressive. Personally, I found your exploration of how Michikatsu’s an old soul in the modern world to be utterly fascinating. Of course he’d feel that way! And Michikatsu disappearing in his study or the forest makes sense! I can’t even imagine the level of alienation he must feel — feeling it on two fronts, first by being human once again, and secondly by being displaced centuries forward.

The idea of Michikatsu working in a bookshop is adorable. Do you imagine he’d also just… read during his working hours when no one visited to learn more about the modern world? He’s also… such an impressive man visually, so imagine if he’d attract a gaggle of people visiting this bookshop just to ogle at the superhumanly attractive giant of a man?? 🤭

The interaction with Tanjiro is super interesting and I think it’s hilarious how Tengen let slip the location of Reader’s residence so many times. Would Reader then end up meeting with Tanjiro alone? Without Michikatsu?

And Sanemi’s wedding!!! I actually really, really enjoyed reading that extract! I LOVE the way you wrote it. I think you chose some really cool descriptions to describe the affair!

And the interaction at the end between Reader and Sanemi… my breath hitched in anticipation! And to have it end on that note, with Sanemi saying this remark… I thought it was brilliant. And you know what? As I read it, I thought… you know what? Sanemi would say that. (Also the detail of Reader resembling Shinobu and Sanemi clocking that was fascinating. I wonder what Reader’s relationship with the rest of the butterfly girls was/is like.)

(Also, since Michikatsu takes care of Amato during the wedding… do you think he gets on well with children? Or rather, that he enjoys their company?)

Can I also give a special shout-out to your writing in general? I think you’re currently my favourite writer on Tumblr. I really enjoy reading your writing style. You use some of the most mature, thought-stimulating imagery in the most effective of ways. I love that plotting seems to come easy to you. I love how your writing reflects how observant you are about the world. I love how you’re able clearly and distinguishably grant each character their own special essence, making all of them feel distinct and different.

Whenever I read your continuations of ‘Notte Stellata’, I always get super excited. I think it may be one of the most memorable fan fictions I’ve ever read? I read it weeks ago and I keep on thinking about it. You’re actually the only reason why I check Tumblr in the first place — I don’t have any reason to be on here otherwise.

Thank you for writing these brilliant extracts and for indulging us in making us learn more about the wonderful world of this story.

Oh gosh, Anon — you're far too kind and thoughtful with your responses too! (And I apologise for getting to your Ask this late; each of your questions were too good for me to give a simple reply!)

First of all, I'm glad that you liked the excerpt! I certainly did enjoy imagining the various scenarios and what exactly Michikatsu would do in this strange new world; as I mentioned in a different Ask, I did wonder if he would be a kendo instructor, or perhaps a craftsman, but somehow, a librarian/bookstore assistant felt the most true to my interpretation of Kokushibo.

I would imaging the bookstore owner, Tanaka-san as being quite kindly and lenient to his new assistant; Kokushibo could lose himself for hours in a book, especially if it is one he has not read. While Western books began to be imported into Japan during the Kyoho era of Tokugawa Yoshimune's reign, he did not have the time to fully appreciate them then, being so occupied with refining his swordsmanship. Now, he, as a human, he finds himself occasionally distracted by the occasional foreign title: The Sorrows of Young Werther, Cartesian metaphysics, and even a sprinkle of fables and fairytales. He is intrigued by the foreign language and distant environs, and their morals which seem at once familiar yet alien; occasionally, Tanaka-san allows him to bring them home, and the Reader would find him in their sitting room, seated by the candelight, with his book propped on the reading stand and a cup of tea beside him.

It is an endearing sight to behold; his grand stature towering over the stand which seems almost miniature in comparison. He does not even notice the Reader coming into the room, and settling down beside him to steal a glance at what has him so engrossed.

"It's getting late," you remarked, leaning your head on his shoulder. Michikatsu keeps his eyes on the page as he extended an arm around your waist, tugging you flushed against his side.

"Just one more chapter," he murmured, turning the page. He does not notice you gazing up at him, taking in his profile and the way his lashes cast a slanted shadow across his cheek. In the candle's glow, he looked serene and contemplative, his expression a touch softer than when he was seated before a Go board.

His appearance at the bookstore, of course, draws many curious eyes, who at first believed Michikatsu to be a bodyguard hired to ward off shoplifters. While he did not speak much, leaving the socialising and idle chatter to Tanaka-san, it was difficult for one to ignore his presence.

The children, in particular, seemed taken by his appearance; at first, they were intimidated by Michikatsu's height and quiet nature, preferring to spy on him while he went about his tasks. And for most part, he was fine with them looking at him; in his past he had been a father after all, and he did not think it strange to help them if needed.

"You go first." Michikatsu heard a hushed whisper while he unpacked a stack of old books for the rental section.

"No, you go first!" another voice argued. "You lost the bet, remember?"

"Yeah, go for it, Gen!" egged another.

Michikatsu pretended to be absorbed in his work even as he spied one of the children — Gen, no doubt — emerging from their corner. The little boy swallowed thickly as he shuffled forward, bumping his index fingers together as he asked:

"Uh... mister," he started, looking at Michikatsu. Flicking his eyes downward, he saw Gen take a step back as if in alarm, but the young boy persisted, jutting a chubby finger at the tail of his long hair, where silky black gave way to tips of scarlet "Is, uh, your hair — is it real?"

Michikatsu placed the books down, before nodding: "Yes, it is."

"He speaks!" one of the remaining two would exclaim, before running out of the store in a gaggles of giggles. Gen cried in alarm as he was left behind, the lollipop in his hand nearly falling out of his grasp while he chased his friends down the corner.

Looking with amusement at their small, disappearing backs as they hot-footed down the streets, Michikatsu wondered — with a small, pensive smile — when the time would come for him to look on at his children with you.

This was only one such encounter Michikatsu had at the bookstore — one he did not mind, especially when compared to the other: the older ladies who also heard about a young man working for Tanaka-san, and gained a sudden interest in the works of Murasaki Shikibu and Ono no Komachi.

"My, aren't you a tall one!" they marvelled.

Most of the time, Michikatsu was more than happy to help the older ladies with their romance novels and poems on the top shelf — the townsfolk, it seemed, were endlessly enamoured of his height. And if they had any questions about his scars, and curiously sharp canines, they made no comment, preferring to steer the conversation quickly to other more pressing topics:

"Are you married, young man? I happen to know a charming young lady who would make a very lovely wife for you," they asked.

Michikatsu arched a single, sardonic brow, but kept his eyes firmly on the books as he arranged all six volumes of the Kojidan. "Yes."

"Oh, and what does she do for a living?" they pressed. "Or does she tend to the household?"

Nothing of your concern, was the reply that came most naturally to him. Instead, he offered: "She paints. Occasionally."

"Ah, an artist," they said, a note of derision masked behind a thin veneer of courtesy.

In a different time, Michikatsu would have been unaffected by their tone, but at the moment a spark of irritation flared in his chest, and he was compelled to add:

"Yes, and a rather splendid one."

It is at this point that the doors to the bookstore open with the faint twinkle of chimes, and you, carrying a roll of kimono and a box wrapped in a furoshiki of green and black checks, floated in, looking a little windswept and out of breath.

"Tanaka-san," you greeted, settling the box down on his counter. "I hope I'm not bothering you."

"Of course not!" the old man said, peering over his newspaper to search for Kokushibo. "He should be down the third aisle."

You nodded with a polite grin, ready to set off, but Michikatsu surprised you by emerging first. He wore a cryptic expression as he paced towards you in long strides, before suddenly picking up your hand.

"My dearest," he said by way of greeting, kissing each of your knuckles with a firm press of his warm lips. Your eyes are as wide as saucers as you blinked in confusion at the very sudden, very public show of affection; Michikatsu was a generous lover, yes — but only in private where only you knew the depth of his passions.

"D-danna-sama?" you stuttered, a little lost for words as Tanaka-san chuckled behind his papers. Had he been reading too many of those Western novels? Sordid tales from the likes of Moll Flanders and Don Juan?

Then, you spied a small shape emerging from the aisle — a middle-aged lady dressed in Western clothes, who seemed rather annoyed with Michikatsu. Glancing up at your husband, you enquired with your eyes as to what happened, but he only smiled, and remained silent.

"And what is that?" Michikatsu asked, casting his eyes toward the box.

"Oh," you said, and elaborated no further.

Because, by another strange twist of fate, the Reader had bumped into Kamado Tanjiro whilst collecting Michikatsu's new clothes from the kimono store.

After sending her reply to Tanjiro, the Reader had casted aside her worries about visiting the young man as she fretted over other important matters: making pickles for the winter, registering Michikatsu's name at the city hall — a small part of her, perhaps, wondered if Tanjiro had dropped the matter as she did not receive further correspondence from the young man.

What she did not expect, however, was someone calling her name the moment she emerged from the kimono store with Michikatsu's new clothes bundled in her arms.

Turning around, you came face to face with Kamado Tanjiro, who waved his wasted, shrunken arm with enthusiasm as he bounded towards you. The alarm bells clanging in your head drowned out his greeting while you eyes darted around the vicinity for any place to which you could excuse herself — the bank, perhaps? Or the apothecary?

You were ashamed of yourself for avoiding Tanjiro like this, truly — but the young man, who now stood before you, breathless as he puffed small clouds of fog, was as jovial as ever. He asked: "It's so nice to meetyou here! I was just wondering if I should visit your place some time this week?"

"You were?" you asked, instead of returning his greeting. Your knuckles were white as you tightened your grip on Michikatsu's clothes, but you stretched your lips in a tight, polite grin nonetheless.

Tanjiro nodded, and scratched the scar on his forehead absent-mindedly. "But I suppose that would be a little rude of me, wouldn't it?"

"Ah, well..." you said, unsure of what to say even if you did agree with him. Tanjiro spied the fabrics you were carrying — the dark colours, the masculine, geometric designs. There was little mystery as to who these clothes were meant for; it was common knowledge that you were orphaned and had been living alone until your "illness", as Lady Amane had so kindly told them. You gulped as he looked up at you.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Tanjiro began, as you waited with bated breath for his next sentence. "But I'm just glad that you're doing well, especially since we heard so little about what happened to you before-"

Just then, a young woman, petite and dainty, bounded to Tanjiro's side. With a start, you realised that it was Tsuyuri Kanao — she was dressed in a pink kimono embroidered with small white flowers, with a matching kanzashi that tinkered as she looked lovingly at Tanjiro. Uzui had spoken of an engagement between the two, but it had been so long since you had seen her that the couple still came as a surprised to you.

The stiff smile in your cheeks gave way to something more natural, and you found yourself saying: "Kanao-chan — I hope all is well with you?"

"Senpai," Kanao answered, and you were surprised to hear her soft but strong voice, for she has never spoken to you at the Butterfly Mansion. "It's wonderful seeing you again."

"Kanao-chan and I will be getting married next fall," Tanjiro explained. "It would be great if you could come. It's not special, of course, and it would be held at the Butterfly Mansion with the others-"

"Kiyo, Naho, and Sumi would all be delighted to see you too," Kanao finished. "After all the lessons you gave them on drawing and watercolours. I think they would be pleased to show you their progress."

"Though, of course, if you're busy..." Tanjiro added, waving his bony hand in the direction of Michikatsu's clothes. At their warm words, you felt your grip loosened as well as you straightened yourself, and shook your head.

"No, I'll be there," you promised, looking at each of their young faces, and feeling a clench in your chest as you meet Kanao's clouded eyes and Tanjiro's sightless one on his right. After all that did Shinobu did for you, this was the only thing you could — should — do, for the both of them in return. "With my husband."

And perhaps Tanjiro might known it all along, and was only waiting for you reveal — as he had always been a considerate soul — there was a knowing gleam in his eye as he matched his smile with yours, and nodded.

Then, suddenly and rather flustered, he asked if Kanao had something they could give you; and despite your best efforts to reject their gift, Tanjiro pushed a small heavy box into your hand, claiming that it was nothing much, but that he wished you would enjoy this small gesture.

At present, Michikatsu surveyed the bento, unknotting the cloth and lifting the lid. You watched his expression closely as he gazed at its contents, taking a small sniff.

"Tara-no-me," he observed, closing the box with a small grimace. "They're rare around this time of the year."

"You can still find them in the mountains if you know where to look," shared Tanaka-san from behind his papers. "It's rather green and bitter, but very delicious if prepared well."

Michikatsu frowned as he tied the cloth around the pot. Then, ever so slightly, he pushed the box in your direction, letting you know that he would not be eating it.

"Sounds wonderful to me," you remarked, hoisting the box back in your arms.

I hope this answers your question, Anon! Sorry if it was a little bit of a hodgepodge, but I couldn't resist writing a little scene that mashed everything together instead of it being small separate parts~ Your questions were truly thoughtful and I'm so glad that you took the time to consider my writing! I'm always happy to write more for Koku and the Reader ☺️

xoxo, V ♥️

[vraisetzen]

https://www.tumblr.com/vraisetzen/760157629296345088?source=share

koku baby is looking at his own reflection and crying :(

i just want to give him head pats and reassure him...

Oh dear, I did not realise he was crying!

Also, a quick digression on the topic of head pats and Kokushibo: I think he would be absolutely tsundere about it — he would be weirded out at first by such a show of affection, and even feel like he was being treated as child, but truthfully, the man would be glowing on the inside and would love to be indulged in every so often.

In other words: Kokushibo is a cat.

xoxo, V 💋

[vraisetzen]

https://www.tumblr.com/vraisetzen/759944146657148928/hi-v-howre-you-after-reading-notte?source=share

Your response to this question is so thoughtful. I almost wish the people who had read this story on AO3 could read this because it’s just such an incredibly written snippet.

Thank you, Anon! I would love for the folks on AO3 to read this as well — I might develop this little snippet into a bonus chapter someday and add it as an epilogue at the end! :D

xoxo, V ♥️

[kotoffeya]

Inspired by story Notte Stellata written by @vraisetzen

[vraisetzen]

https://www.tumblr.com/vraisetzen/761468996944035840/httpswwwtumblrcomvraisetzen76049533859227238?source=share

Dearest V,

Thank you so very much for writing such fascinating and beautifully written extracts in accompaniment of your brilliant series. I truly enjoy reading each and every one of your extracts.

I find the idea of Koku being lost in the world of books absolutely charming (and adorable). And the idea of him being unable to turn his attention away from his reading while simultaneously tucking his love into his side is incredibly cute. Personally, I have a hunch as though he’d be a voracious reader — with an incredible ability of being able to read a page and absorb the information into his brain, being able to recall it when needed. I also feel like he’d be a fast reader, too…

I adored the way in which you wrote his interactions with the children! That’s so cute! And asking about his hair and then them running away? And Koku turning sentimental and thinking of having his own children? I honestly thought that scene was super cute. And also… just the way you wrote that scene… I thought it was incredibly charming and funny, and I’m convinced that you have the rare ability of being able to write children well.

I also thought that his interaction with the older women was hilarious. You see, you have this spectacular ability of being incredibly visual with your writing — I can instantly conjure the scenes in my mind, much like a movie/series. Koku coming around to grasp his love’s hand and show public affection made me giggle.

I really liked the way in which this whole scene added up! With R encountering Tanjiro and Kanao, and the knowing look in Tanjiro’s eyes… and also the gift at the end and Koku declining the option to eat it… (I wonder if Tanjiro knows who her husband is…)

I genuinely think you’re a very talented writer.

I wonder — have you written any novellas/short stories/poetry/scripts/etc for any writing competitions before?

Thank you for your kind words, Anon! I'm so happy that you enjoyed the little excerpts!

Michikatsu being a voracious reader is indeed very charming and adorable! I also think he would have a fantastic memory of the books he had read, whilst also being a relatively fast reader; at the same time, I could also see him as someone who would re-read the books that he truly liked again and again (especially if they are the Reader's favourite books, just so he could understand her a little better).

I'm glad the little vignette with the children came across well too! Kids are indeed notoriously difficult to write — thankfully I could tap into my experience of being a teacher and draw out their innocent antics! Michikatsu being a little sentimental as he watched them was a tiny touch that I wanted to include, as perhaps something for him and the Reader to resolve (if we ever get there, haha).

As for the whole Tanjiro business, I kinda knew that it wouldn't be nice for the Reader to keep avoiding them forever, so I needed her to face him eventually. It seemed right for all of them to finally move on with their lives...

Tanjiro, like Uzui, might have a hunch as to who Michikatsu is when they finally meet at his wedding, but I think he, being the sweet, young man he is, would be understanding and considerate. There were many moments in the manga where Tanjiro empathised with the demons (though never forgiving them), so I think he could extend those feelings to the Reader, and see them as her giving Michikatsu a second chance. The Reader, meanwhile, will never fully divulge the truth/timeline of their relationship to anyone — this is something I am very certain.

Thank you again for your kind words! I have indeed written poetry for a literary magazine in my country; fanfic is just my creative outlet since I work as an editor for a trade magazine (very corporate and nothing like The Devil Wears Prada!).

xoxo, V ♥️