his black notes;

headcanon blog for Mukuro Rokudo of this masterlist; contains personal headcanons, analyses, and thoughts; subject to change. for entertainment purposes only. characters belong to their rightful owners.

[toinfinityandswann-deactivated2]

I must also have a dark side if I am to be whole.

Carl Jung (via thelindenbuzz)

[indited-blog]

WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST HUMAN MEMORY?

It's a difficult endeavor to open his eyes after everything that's happened; some time passes, and he manages to open his left ---his right eye unfortunately too painful for the petty task--- and is greeted by the brightness of the medical ward.

It's a beautiful Tuesday mid-morning to be alive. Alive and thriving.

But that was not Mukuro. 

There's a slow burn in his muscles, numbing pain that should not be felt by an eight year old boy, could not be tolerated by a normal one. 

But that was not Mukuro. 

What he was-- he was not normal at all. It was proven in the next two weeks, when the pain was tolerable enough. Mukuro saw himself in front of a mirror for the first time and delivered its demise.

In the next few weeks of recovery, he would undergo a series of harsh training regimens, and a nightly session of horrors. Constant exhaustion. He would survive all of it, every ounce of pain, and torture, every whiplash and stab. The nightmares became a comfort, the pain of other entertainment, his ideals became his reality. 

He came out powerful and demented. 

That was Mukuro. 

[bougiecafe]

[indited-blog]

Conundrums and pleasance;

Mukuro's future self would undoubtedly no longer be a virgin. Suffice is to say that the curiosity got the better of him, and he has engaged in a few sexual acts, whilst never overlooking a single detail; he is careful with who he does it with, where and when it is done and for what reason or purpose, be it persuasion or otherwise. To the illusionist, pleasure comes at a price and he has gained many secrets with every lay.

His appearance is an asset, and he is not afraid to make use of it.

He hates bondage, whether it be as petty as a handcuff or a gag or even a blindfold, because it reminds him of the Vendice. Sex, in his belief, should be as pleasurable as possible, and this includes one's comfort.

Though there are some cases that he's let these minor tolerances slip, even so, merely for the purpose of keeping up a facade, and/or adding excitement and not displeasure.

Additionally, he would rather have the upper hand in a relationship, because it ensures him of control, admittedly, something he values greatly and will not give up without struggle.

[indited-blog]

On sex and sexuality;

Mukuro knows sex. To a certain extent, he knows how it's done, how it feels like, and the possible other matters that may arise. Not that he's had sex before-- not with his body, anyway. Indulgent devil that he might be, lust is one of the sins he partakes in on such a minimal amount. It's a sin that involves people, be it contact or attachment, and these can turn the best men into fools overnight.

He's tried to please himself before; curious teenagers tend to do that, and to him, it would be beneficial to familiarize himself with lust firsthand and not with previous memories.

He hasn't found someone worthy of having sex with.

Mukuro identifies himself as male, and with the corresponding gender role. I speculate that in his previous lives, there included at least one female's, so it may not be surprising if he is familiar or knowledgeable with female gender roles, or even how a woman 'stereotypically' thinks. Sexuality-wise, I don't think he cares for what a person's biological sex is, merely because it's a genetic make-up, and does not measure a person's strength, capability nor intelligence, for any matter. This would include his attraction (if there ever were an opportunity to arise); in short, he is pansexual. What does attract him most though, is a person's intellectual ability; he likes someone who could challenge him-- though not to the point of overpowering him. I see no chance of a relationship between him and any of his gang's members; suffice is to say that they are intellectually inferior, and the fact that he treats him as mere possessions still stands.

[indited-blog]

October 27;

Restless sleep, and a heavy chest accompanied him in the nights since yesterday. His first waking thought is the shade of white and the tinge of comforting lavender; resplendent eyes and bright smile, hair that reflected the sun's light; slender fingers, strong arms and soothing warmth. It's only been a day. He missed him. -- He's looking at what messages Byakuran's left (cheesy lines that they are, he finds himself smiling wistfully) that he hasn't deleted yet. And again, he doesn't have the heart to.

--

Out of desperation, he's willed himself to produce a single white carnation, the same one he had given days before.

It's not as pure and as fragrant.

-- Now that he's thought about it, he's realized that they haven't spent that much time together, in those few weeks they had lasted, haven't made much memories that would etch their selves in his mind. But the man has found a way too deep into his heart. It ached, horribly.

[thedistantbird-deactivated20131]

Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people.

Carl Jung (via thedistantbird)

[indited-blog]

October 26;

He didn't like where this was going, not an ounce. Not at all.

The tension was too much, paired with the silence of the spacious library. All too uncomfortable for his taste, even when he's seated daintily on the leather couch, situated opposite the older man. He had just told him what's 'on his mind', what's been running in there, and for a long time now, a disarray of thoughts and emotions he could not possibly label, causing him to do things he's never done before. The illusionist could blame the glutton for jumping to conclusions, but he doesn't have the heart to; he was just in as much fault for not being direct, for not telling him what he needed to know, what he deserved to know. The moment the suggestion even so much as left the Millefiore leader's lips, mismatched eyes flashed with a pent up fear he never knew he had, and his heart rammed against his chest, betraying his composure. Maybe we should stop this Mukuro-kun, he said, I don’t want you to feel bad anymore. Byakuran, though hurting, still thought about him.

Alhough that didn't mean he wasn't hurting as well. Mukuro was distraught, but kept it in, as he always did.

Slender fingers through his dark locks, those lips capturing his. That kiss, soft, lingering, passionate. It couldn't be the last. He didn't like the outcome.

He regretted not grasping that wrist, not kissing back, not stopping him, not murmuring apologies, or sweet nothings, or things he deemed-- whatever it was, just to alleviate the ache. Just to fix what was broken.

The hollowness was back, and greater than before--

[indited-blog]

This may be too far of a stretch, for a still unexplained event in the previous arc. Call it a fan's convenient filter; so be it, then. 

Speculated as it were that the young Millefiore leader's powers were supposedly 'gone', and that he has been in the custody of the Vongola in Italy it still seems suspicious that he has come clean of any of his abilities. What with his involvement in Yamamoto's quick recovery, his Fiamma wings, and his convenient appearance in Japan from a confinement in Italy should be evidence enough that he has indeed, not lost any of his famed power.

Byakuran knew, of course he knew, that Daemon Spade was disguising himself as Julie Katou, and along with that, his motive to possess a certain illusionist's body.

After he had rejuvenated a very weak Yamamoto, he asked the Rain Guardian to save ‘him’. 

[indited-blog]

On origin and names;

Mukuro is biologically Asian, vague and broad it is a term and category, though it would appear that he is also some parts other ethnicities that make him seem rather ambiguous when it comes to his ethnicity of origin. In nationality, though, he is Italian. 

Of course, no decent parent would want to name their child "corpse" in Japanese. I believe his name is self-appointed, and would mean his control over his own personage. Ken and Chikusa's names were possibly also appointed, as it wouldn't do for Italians to dwell in Japan with names so foreign to the tongue; the same way he named Chrome, this symbolizes his reign over them. Whether the Kokuyo gang have knowledge of his previous name is unknown, though they don't address him that way anymore, for fear of arousing unwanted memories, perhaps. 

As to why he knows Japanese, well, it could be possible that one of his previous lives were a contributing factor to his being bilingual-- or perhaps, polyglot. It's also likely that he's learned on his own, what with his books and his striking intelligence, though the latter proposition seems more of a believable scenario. 

[bougiecafe]

[indited-blog]

warranted alleviation;

In connection with this headcanon, one guaranteed way for Mukuro to boost his trust for a person, is if said person touches his back. It's not the most sensitive, but his protectiveness over this particular body part roots deeper from previous experience.

So, yes.

Simply touch, in a non-threatening, perhaps bordering on intimate manner.

[While not limited to just that, there are also his wrists, and his neck.]

Although the smallest of brushes can send the illusionist visibly tensing; years of physical abuse has led to this reaction, and it can't be helped that he displays initial displeasure. But it's with the subtle, possibly teasing touches that send his curiosity alight, as if he's challenged and compelled to predict what the next action might be.

He likes games. Physical games are of no exception.

[indited-blog]

As I've written before here (alternatively, you can browse through his musings), Mukuro's manner of clothing leans heavily towards stylish military-inspired attire, and perhaps nothing would suit him more. The reasons for which, I'll elaborate again, are that because this style in particular establishes rigidness and discipline, qualities which Rokudo Mukuro has come to admire and commit to his personage.

Simply put: he is his own commander.

That aside, his clothing covers his numerous scars rather effectively.

And again, I mention his once fleeting interest in joining the military-- a "job" that requires one to fight and kill has beguiled the young Rokudo Mukuro. Though that was long before, and has long since been forgotten, what with the emergence of a new goal in his lifetime.

[indited-blog]

duo: the absconder's valor

Pickup lines.

The Gesso famiglia’s former leader, Millefiore’s boss, and self-proclaimed god of the utopia he envisioned decided to use pickup lines.

Though a little less suave than what Mukuro would have initially expected (‘Really, are you that much of a dork?’) it had the desired result of gaining his attention— which was the essential part. Aside from the bold attempts at flirtation, Byakuran sent him none other than poetry. The illusionist had always had that soft spot for literature, and this is where he started appreciating the glutton’s various attempts at casual courtship.

The Millefiore leader had him at Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Still, despite words, he was uncertain of the sincerity that Byakuran constantly displayed. Knowing this man, he was manipulative as fate itself, and whatever entertainment presented to him could just as well be a momentary phase of fondness. In the hypothetical situation that he gave in, it wouldn't be long before Byakuran sought something new to occupy his tedium. These were the thoughts that constantly acted as the illusionist’s reminder. His pride was too great; he will not be the one to fall.

What he didn’t know was, and this being rather the understatement, that he already had Byakuran wrapped around his finger.

Initial shock and confusion. The Millefiore boss had been sincere all along, and Mukuro, with all his unadmirable sense of trust and sharp tongue and poison-laced words, was quick to dismiss him and the one-sided affection. The effect he had on Byakuran was too great, and to him, too phantasmagorical, that a person of higher caliber would want his company, would want him. It was overwhelming to take all at once: the promise of affection paired with a kiss; Mukuro felt his control slipping away, his castle walls bombarded with a foe so overwhelming he almost surrendered to the abyss of uncertainty. And so he asked for time, and time he got. He contemplated, and he fought with himself for the proper answer— but decided to do something more instinctual than rational. 

He agreed to a relationship. With the glutton.

It was akin to charging into a battlefield with no firearms. Mukuro thought he was going insane, dating someone from the mafia, and a boss at that. He was expecting to be hurt, to be humiliated, like it was all just Byakuran’s brilliant prank, only to be greatly contradicted, yet again. The Millefiore boss had been incredibly loving. And Mukuro’s first genuine experience of… romance. For the first time in his life, the illusionist felt like an actual teenager, venturing relationships like a smitten pup. 

A part of him was still wary of the dubiety that hung above their heads, because rationally, he hated the glutton (or thought he did), and that this was an unstable relationship headed for the rocks. Another part of him, the deeply suppressed one that was now screaming at full force, wanted him to completely trust this man, with all the ignorance, and let himself be loved. And so he did. Hesitantly, slowly, but he did.

Even so, the still unanswered question was, what was there to love? With all his sins, and saccharine deceit and unpure intentions, there was absolutely nothing, save his skills aside which were more worthy of admiration. If he were any more helpless (before Byakuran, he was on the verge of knocking on death’s door at some point), Mukuro thought that he could never have held the white-haired boss’ attention for even a millisecond. Nevertheless, shoving all this these notions aside, he wanted to take the risk. And if trust was required, it was a small price to pay.

And what was he feeling? Byakuran wasn't asking for his company out of adoration (like his gang did); but for some reason, the illusionist didn't have the heart to push him away either. The haunting state of loneliness was too much, and for once, Mukuro felt like he had a place to belong. 

They both knew this well though; he was a difficult one to please. Mukuro would never admit it when he [silently] enjoyed the attention, but valued his privacy greatly. He would allow small tolerances, and regret it soon after. He reveled, but denied it all the same. Contradictory in every sense of the way. Evidently, Byakuran was making the larger effort to keep them rooted and he despised being the more helpless one.

The illusionist was aware of these tendencies, emanated from years of trauma and unfeeling, but could not help changing so suddenly— and as always, he asked for patience, because believe it or not, he wanted to try.

And he will. 

Because it's only the glutton who can push him to do the impossible, for some reason; it's only the glutton who can both irritate him and please him all at the same time, only him who could get reactions out of the usually insouciant illusionist. Byakuran was willing to wait and change for him. 

It's too big a promise but he wanted to believe. 

Mukuro thinks he's only deeply infatuated.

Or worse. 

He's falling. 

[indited-blog]

unus: unfeeling by default;

He's never known affection before, not fully, and not in the romantic sense; not when all his life, all he's known is helplessness and pure oppression, turned passionate hatred, fueled by trauma. Affection, to him, will be nothing more but a commodity. Considering his power, his notoriety, gaining followers was an easy feat, but to pick worthy ones was the slight challenge. Not that he's ever doubted his judgement-- Mukuro is intelligent, and he prides himself at this fact; his constant thirst to be well-informed has achieved him many a great things. The few people he's kept around, namely, the Kokuyo Gang, he consciously treats as if they were mere possessions and not emotional attachments. Mukuro doesn't dwell on the thought of loneliness, he never has, even when he's left to his solitude (and clearly, there is a difference between the two), thinking of unspeakable evils, planning clever ruses to purge the world. His heart is void of any want for another. When someone is interesting enough to hold his attention, to challenge his authority, to rival his power, he will not think twice of destroying them. He only takes interest in those with potential, but weak minded-- minds he can easily bend to his will with little to no effort, and use at his disposal.  But when he's sparked the interest in someone, he's gained not flattery, but confusion. And in his case, the worst possible person to take an interest in him is the one person he couldn't defeat in the not-so distant future; Byakuran. Byakuran Gesso, the elusive figure with the capability over parallel worlds. If there were any one individual who could completely overwhelm him, it was certainly the white-haired devil. The humiliation he felt the moment his knees gave way and he knelt to the floor was unsurpassable, even more so when his mismatched eyes met Byakuran's lavender ones; eyes so calm and full of amusement and mocking. He didn't know that that soon turned into want and obsession-- and into something more inevitably intimate.

The glutton (as he mockingly refered to the Millefiore leader as, and fittingly so) pursued him, as surprising and surreal the very thought and the very act of it was. But he did, and Mukuro was put in a situation he had never dealt with before; the illusionist did not react well to this disarray, and moreso to the cause of it. His initial responses were that of hatred ('You are the very bane of my existence'), irritation ('You're merely doing this to irk me, aren't you?') and frustration ('Have you not humiliated me enough?'). But feigning ignorance would not work, and for a man so determined such as Byakuran, it was not long before his constant attempts at socialization started to pay off.

It starts...

[indited-blog]

'You're interesting, Mukuro-kun.' The white-haired devil had declared, more to himself than to the person he was addressing, with a tone so sickeningly gentle it almost made the illusionist hurl.

Mukuro Rokudo could do nothing but glare at him with a rage fueled by a crushed ego. If only looks could kill...

[indited-blog]

Of scars and discomfort;

One of Mukuro’s biggest discomforts is being near large bodies of water— and being submerged in said bodies of water. It reminds him of his tank in the Vendice, much to his dismay. Even a tub full of water is enough to bring his mood down considerably.

Among other discomforts are darkness, and eerie silence. Again, both can be related to the demonic prison. As for the former, it's more of the metaphorical sense-- that is, being kept in the dark; before, there was absolutely no way of knowing what was outside of his tank, if it were not for Chrome, and he despises lacking knowledge more than anything. As for eerie silence, although he'll never admit it, there is a hollow feeling of loneliness that resides in Mukuro.

The body part he is most protective of is his back— if one would be able to successfully remove his clothing (as unlikely it is to happen), one would see the scars from his years of torture in the hands of both the Estraneo and the Vendice which has left his complexion completely marred of whiplashes and other punctures long healed. Aside from that, his body is actually covered with an abundance of scars, all of which he successfully manages to all covered up with the use of his illusions; years of doing this has left the action become almost involuntary.

The scar around his right eye is most certainly a telling tale; it holds the secret to both his powers and greatest threat.

In times he is left to his own devices, Mukuro would remove his illusions and observe his scarred body. Oftentimes, his eyes would manifest a mixture of sorrow and frustration. These are the only times he allows himself to feel the emotion 'pity', whether to unconsciously remind himself that he is a 'victim', it is clear that no one else receives his pity but himself.