❛ You Cannot Know How Frightened Gods Are Of Pain. There Is Nothing More Foreign To Them, And So Nothing

kogami is the type who doesn't think much of valentine's chocolates, just accepts them as long as they're friendly but if it comes with a confession he might turn them down or just say a polite thanks.

gojo however is the type to parade around receiving chocolates because he loves sweets even though he's not going to accept any proposal he just wants to eat so that makes him sort of an asshole but no one cares because he's being cute about it.

geto is the type to politely accept chocolates and kindly reject confessions, but he does it so nicely that there's a line of people waiting their turn to be rejected.

as for liu xiao he will disappear that day, he doesn't exist.

Always vibes~

we don’t rp bc of the bottom allegations.

what allegations? care to show me?

give me a reason why you DON'T rp with me.

🐝  *  ―  𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑶𝑴 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑨 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺. ( all of these are taken from the song lyrics from the musical of the same name. feel free to change pronouns and adjust to your needs! )

❛  remember me once in a while — please promise me you'll try.  ❜ ❛  where in the world have you been hiding?  ❜ ❛  stories like this can't come true.  ❜ ❛  close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams.  ❜ ❛  and you'll live as you've never lived before.  ❜ ❛  let your darker side give in.  ❜ ❛  who was that shape in the shadows?  ❜ ❛  is this what you wanted to see?  ❜ ❛  now you cannot ever be free!  ❜ ❛  fear can turn to love, you'll learn to see.  ❜ ❛  i shall give you one last chance.  ❜ ❛  it's useless trying to appease me.  ❜ ❛  you're only saying this to please me.  ❜ ❛  if he knew the truth, he'd never, ever go.  ❜ ❛  it was an accident ... simply an accident.  ❜ ❛  why have you brought me here?  ❜ ❛  what you heard was a dream and nothing more.  ❜ ❛  i'm here, nothing can harm you.  ❜ ❛  i'm here with you, beside you, to guard you and to guide you.  ❜ ❛  promise me that all you say is true, that's all i ask of you.  ❜ ❛  you're safe, no one will find you.  ❜ ❛  all i want is freedom, a world with no more night, and you, always beside me, to hold me and to hide me.  ❜ ❛  all our fears are in the past.  ❜ ❛  why is it secret? what have we to hide?  ❜ ❛  [name], what are you afraid of?  ❜ ❛  you were once my companion, you were all that mattered.  ❜ ❛  why can't the past just die?  ❜ ❛  don't make me do this. it scares me.  ❜ ❛  we'll be parted forever, he won't let me go.  ❜ ❛  am i to risk my life to win the chance to live?  ❜ ❛  do i have any choice?  ❜ ❛  i know i can't refuse, and yet i wish i could.  ❜ ❛  don't think that i don't care, but every hope and every prayer rests on you now.  ❜ ❛  you! why did you let this happen?  ❜ ❛  but can i trust you?  ❜ ❛  i love her! does that mean nothing?  ❜ ❛  the world showed no compassion to me!  ❜ ❛  did you think that i would harm her?  ❜ ❛  why should i make her pay for the sins which are yours?  ❜ ❛  this is the choice — this is the point of no return.  ❜

⌕ sakamoto days • gaku.

like or reblog if you save/use. 🤍

there’s not a breath to be taken without precaution. whether it’s the will of the hot, sinister flavor of victory or a more primal apprehension, ulquiorra isn’t sure. but he wants to hear the monster growl again, cry if he must. beg, like the rest of them had when faced with something larger than themselves.

it’s hardly a sweet sound, grimmjow’s baritone carried defiance the kind that you could only find in untamed hollows, the misguided souls that are still too raw and persistently detached from authority, save from the chains that bind them to the skeletal forms. there is no placid trolling to it. unlike ulquiorra’s own voice, apathetic, cruel in its manner devoid of empathy, grimmjow’s groans feel more corporeal than ulquiorra’s own presence. the applied pressure burying itself deep into grimmjow’s marrow becomes the only symbol of his wicked existence in a room so wide and empty.

tongue darts out to wrap itself around ulquiorra’s digits, the sensation a shot of liquid fire when it’s met with the hierro layer that always seemed to run cold. curiosity. confusion. the reasons for such action escaped him, though he’d heard bits of it from other espada — desire, lust. it hardly matters now. ulquiorra doesn’t relent.

‘ what are you doing, grimmjow. ’ fiercely, his right hand clasps around the other’s jaw. bones give in, something cracks. it’s nothing compared to the damages of drawn out battles, the sort of commodity that blood-thirsty beings seek and get drunk off on most nights - it always is night time - so he applies more pressure just to make a statement. 

ulquiorra’s gaze doesn’t falter. ‘ how convenient. your mouth taunts and yet you choose to take the punishment with baseless threats. go. try to defeat me. you can’t? or do you not want to? what could you possibly say to make excuses for yourself after this—? ’ the heel that had remained motionless aims a kick to his stomach, sending him back to the floor. ulquiorra is quick, looming over grimmjow’s tall figure sprawled on the ground. slowly, as if testing the waters, ulquiorra lowers his head, locking gazes. here, now, there’s only grimmjow and him. here, only one man could judge him.

‘ your body is more honest than your tongue. what should i do with it? ’ frigid fingers run down grimmjow’s bared throat, down to his sternum, keenly aware of their new proximity, the heightened nerves beneath his touch,  ‘ should i rip it out and feed the troops with it, or should i make you swallow your own sword? show me, i might begin to understand you. ’

THE  PROBLEM  WITH  CRAMMING  THE  ESPADA  TOGETHER  -  WAS  too  much  power  and  too  many  big  personalities  for  the  proffered  space.  they  were  no  better  than  feral  animals  really,  scratching  an  existence  out  of  survival  of  the  fittest.  the  primordial  part  of  him  knew  sharper  teeth  and  claws  meant  victory,  but  ulquiorra  (  despite  him  knowing  better  )  had  a  vast  well  of  untapped  power  -  an  unending  wealth  of  dominance  that  might  sink  into  grimmjow's  flesh  at  any  moment.  he  hated  it  -  loathed  it  through  the  emptiest  part  of  him.  the  bastard  had  no  spark  -  no  fire.  his  cold,  unfeeling  mish-mash  of  souls  was  appalling  to  number  6,  who  felt  unerring  destruction  to  his  very  marrow.

but  that  was  the  thing  about  being  an  arrancar...  sometimes,  the  wires  got  a  little  crossed.

spirit  pressure  swells  around  him  -  a  threat  and  a  promise.  it  writhes  against  his  own,  melding  against  his  skin  and  cracking  his  defenses  far  too  quickly.  grimmjow  feels  that  he  can't  breathe  (  or  at  least  he  thinks  that's  what  this  sensation  is  )  -  each  inch  of  him  grinding  in  agony.  the  weight  of  a  million  souls  presses  down  down  down  -  and  white  teeth  are  bared  again,  the  phantom  outline  of  a  tail,  black  claws  taking  shape  as  he's  pushed,  pressed,  and  bent.

his  knees  hit  the  hard  floor  with  a  painful  crack,  and  the  hiss  he  lets  out  his  predatory.

of  course  grimmjow  tries  to  stand  -  of  course  wildness  and  rage  and  the  thirst  for  a  fight,  fight,  fight  permeates  his  very  being,  pooling  saliva  into  his  mouth.  ulquiorra  -  a  worthy  opponent,  right  there,  ready  to  struggle  for  the  top  spot...  yet  strong  pressure  and  a  hand  keeps  him  on  his  knees,  and  grimmjow  is  about  to  lean  down  and  simply  sink  his  teeth  into  his  arm,  tear  into  him  with  unfettered  savagery  when…

❝ nn- ❞

he's  not  so  much  ashamed  by  the  noise  that  leaves  him  -  not  so  much  ashamed  by  the  heat  that  curdles  in  his  limbs  when  ulquiorra  does  that  with  his  foot  -  as  he  is  by  the  sheer  knowledge  that  he  has  effectively  been  scruffed  like  an  an  unruly  cat  -  and  has  to  stare  up  at  the  fourth  with  a  different  sort  of  guarded  hunger  in  his  gaze.

❝ you're  so  fucking  annoying, ❞   he  eeks  out,  breathing  still  labored,  body  wired.  black  tipped  claws  sluggishly  raise,  coiling  about  his  wrist  again  -  except  this  time  he  forces  ulquiorra's  hand  upwards,  and  the  pad  of  his  rough  tongue,  feline,  skates  along  fingertips.  ❝ all  self-righteous  an'  haughty.  you  think  you've  gotten  the  best  of  me? ❞  yet  his  voice  is  breathless,  whether  from  the  swell  of  desires,  or  the  thorough  disciplining  -  it  was  hard  to  say.  even  so,  he  bumps  his  jaw  against  the  back  of  his  fellow  espada's  hand,  rubbing  lightly  -  the  faintest  rumble  resonating  from  deep  within  his  core.

❝ just  wait,  you  bat  bastard. ❞   the  purr  rises  and  swells,  a  continuous  cacophony  while  grimmjow  dares  to  eek  his  hips  upwards,  and  dares  to  smirk  once  more.   ❝ just  wait,  until  i  get  my  fangs  in  you. ❞

@cursedfell

My Dark Disquite

🏔️ doodle

You'll forget it when you're dead, and so will I. When I'm dead, I'm going to forget everything–and I advise you to do the same.

Cat's Cradle by Kurt Vonnegut

she's not dead , i can see her breathing . (Chrollo at Makima if you’re familiar with hxh!)

‘ are you familiar with blindness? ’ gaze inquisitive, never wavering. there’s no double intention in the topic chosen, though she finds the irony of it amusing enough to let the silence eat at the last syllables, her voice a lullaby in the empty space of the cathedral’s towers.

she moves away from the place where sword and arrow intended to pin her down — perhaps there’s something about buildings of this kind, always craving for a sacrifice. she notices a second scent, too, almost hidden by the soft cologne from his clothes. it’s barely noticeable, though desperately wanted to be seen, to be chased. makima’s head tilts to the side, spirals and his black voids meet in the middle. ‘ i’m talking about the essay. the author has long since passed away, sadly. but his work left an impression on me, when i first read it. i won’t bore you with the specifics, but i’d like to talk about the overlap in our situations. ’

the lights do little to help her, echoes satiate her curiosity and she calculates the proximity as she descends from the stairs, her gait slow and casting shadows, longer and longer the more her figure comes into view beneath the thin veil of the moonlight. ‘ you have correctly discerned that i wasn’t truly dead and by no stretch of the word. just like there is only one person who can see in a world of perpetual blank canvases for the rest of humanity. ’

‘ it’s an interesting work. the author died slowly from an incurable disease. ’ she dusts her clothes off, slowly braids her hair back, wipes the blood from her face. her attention never leaves him, and neither does his. ‘ disease is not something i know. or death. and it doesn’t seem like you do, either. can i know your name? ’

@lustraveil