collapse.

[duww-deactivated20161221]

@taorerou

THE STARK WHITE OF THE WALLS bring out the black of the canvases; rich ropes of flat darkness caught tight across pale chests, across bronze arms and oak backs. as the room expands, leading further inward before becoming a maze of complex corners and puzzles, the images grow twisted and darker, something sousuke aizen was famed for in the most recent reviews of his work. the doorway led into a sea of cherry pink and lime green, the sweetness of grass. the kindness of trees. nothing sinister merely traditional gardens and ambient scenes. really, quite the hypocrisy as far as art went. 

a couple nodded their heads towards the man whose hands had forged such works, his glasses shimmering beneath the dim-lighting overhead and his brown hair curling messily about his cheeks. he wore entirely black; a smart jacket over a buttoned shirt with pants to match the sleek of his shoes. smart. but the same shade as the bondage of his paintings. he stands out against the spaces of the walls, where the paintings part and the displays possess gaps. occasionally, a writer will approach him and ask him about a particular piece.

“ what were you thinking of when you drew this? “ they gesture to the image of a man suspended nude, his chest encased in red rope and black satin ribbons, his arms dripping blood shaded grey. 

“ my mother. “ he replies, with an expression so calm that the writer is unsure whether to laugh or vomit. sousuke moves on, greeting more that enter with a calm “ good evening. “ before nodding his head and walking away. already, he’s made enough money to live well for the next half a year. a highlight spot in tokyo’s busiest art distract was perhaps the final grasp at income before he could quietly return to a life of cigarettes and late night reading. he brushes his chin as he walks back round to the entrance. his hands smell of forgotten ash.

he notices a lonely man, hair of sunshine yellow tucked into a messy style. he seems so unlike the students of his gallery, so unlike the journalists scribbling on the backs of notepads and the mere art lovers who peered with their noses first at his art. he seems, lost perhaps. yes, lost. the way he looks around and seems so unsure of what to make of what’s before his eyes. the naked flesh, the vibrant red on skin, cutting and holding. the hands seizing the throat of the lover’s neck. sousuke’s eyes find themselves following that man, eyeing him as he moves between each piece like a ship wishing to dock. 

“ yellow silk would suit you best, if were you a model for one of my paintings. “ he decides to whisper, standing slightly behind the man and tucking his hands beneath his arms. “ to match your hair. “ he smiles, calm and natural. he bleeds the very charisma of an artist, he knows. he’s famous but not so famous that he is recognised. he’s rich but not rich enough to find reason to move from his shitty apartment downtown. he’s attractive, but not enough to waste his time on people that mean nothing. well, not anymore. there were times, of course, but he finds himself drawn to the possibilities of something fun as opposed to something standard and simple. 

“ well, what do you think of my work? “ 

[taorerou]

you aren’t sure what brought you here to begin with-- art exhibits aren’t usually the type of things to pull you, to draw you in, and really.. this one wasn’t any different. though the feel of it was different than the others you’d attended; for obvious reasons, actually. you certainly do have to wonder how things like this are considered art, but you yourself don’t have the most creative bones in your body so you suppose you don’t have much of an opinion to begin with.

things like this were considered to be more.. well. you won’t go there. we’ll leave it at the fact that you’d wondered whether you’d walked into an art exhibit or an adult hobby store. ‘hobby’ used very, very lightly.

a hand lifts to tuck a stray strand of long blond hair behind an ear as you move from painting to painting, tired brown hues side-eyeing the works from the side. arms cross over your chest in thought and you linger by one of them for a little longer, trying to decide whether it’d be a better idea to leave; well, no, you’d already decided it’d definitely be a better idea to leave. you really do wonder why you’d been drawn in here in the first place--

there’s a knee-jerk response of flinching away, to the side some with shoulders hunched, at the sudden voice directly behind you. it’s barely loud enough to even be qualified as anything but a whisper, and you’re even surprised you’d heard him; if he hadn’t been so close, you wouldn’t have. 

‘yellow silk’ is what you hear first. ‘one of my paintings’, he says.

it’s a little surprising-- this isn’t what you’d imagined when you thought about who was behind these. well, not that you’d given it much thought in the first place, but he really did not fit the description whatsoever. blond eyebrows raise a little and your head inclines, but you don’t turn to face him, a shoulder raising in a halfhearted shrug at the sound of the question. 

anyone would be curious, you guess.. but why single you out?

“should i be thinkin’ anythin’ in particular?” you respond, eyes shifting from the side, to the painting and then to the side once more. you can see him from your peripheral, behind you, and for some reason.. it’s almost funny. “i’m not very interested in things like.. this,” an accentuated motion of your hand to the hardly “safe for work” painting in front of the two of you, “art, i mean.”

you figure you should specify.

[taorerou]

[duww-deactivated20161221]

HE TAKES NOUGHT BUT AMUSEMENT IN SUCH TONES, revelling briefly in the destruction of something he would only ever benefit from. perhaps there is a beauty to his cruelty, masked behind some layer of pity others might have doted on had they been aware of the scene. water spills. paint spreads and colours the mat around them like that of fallen cherry blossoms, pink and cream running along the surface and weeding into the slits of the floor itself. there’s a strong scent, glaring and intrusive yet the smell of skin is much stronger and swells the nostrils where fallen paint cannot. their canvas bleeds merry crimson and dainty cherry shades as the water runs and pools and brushes spin to fan out around their bodies, like the feathers of a peacock proud and vibrant.

[taorerou]

there's no surprise when water spills, when the mat around them is soon dampened and then soaked through with the dirty water that previously cleansed paintbrushes. it's uncomfortable, of course, but shinji doesn't figure it's anything sousuke's willing to pay much attention to. it's not hindering much otherwise. the fabric beneath him is soaked through in much less time than he would've thought possible, and it's easy to tell that the overflow is making it's way through the slits in the floor. the way shinji's nose wrinkles in distaste, yet again, is even more obvious than before; if this situation was messy before, it was only worse now. 

metaphorically and literally.

it's hard for shinji to resist the urge to hide himself, to retract away from the hands that pushes and pulled and prodded-- from the eyes that knew more than shinji had ever said. it's almost funny how eery aizen could manage to be, even in this sort of situation. even when he's putting on such a desperate show; had it been any one else, maybe shinji would've believed half of it. 

and the captain tenses up, every muscle straining for just a second at sudden contact; warm, wet contact. shinji's toes curl, heels pressing into the damp fabric of the mat beneath them, and it's almost embarrassing the way his head lolls itself backwards. there's effort to stay silent, dangerous teeth worrying an innocent lower lip before digging in almost sharply. it hurts, sure, but better physical pain than the shame of letting this guy actually make him moan. at least shinji figured as much. it was pretty hard to keep a solid, connected train of thought when your lieutenant seemed to be having the time of his life sucking you off.

fingers of one hand curl, gripping loosely at the mat beneath them as well, the other stays pinned beneath shinji's own head as it tilts back just a little further. brown eyes half-focus on the ceiling and the captain shudders, a heavy exhale through his nose before his teeth release his lip in the minute worry that he might actually bite right through it. so he purses them together instead, hips jerking almost sharply at the groan that feels as though it's traveled through his entire fucking body from the bottom to the top. 

the sigh that escapes is entirely against shinji's will, and the groan that follows it is more out of frustration than pleasure.

[taorerou]

when u tryna think up cool au verses for ur character but u can barely remember the shit ur into

[bleachmangablog]

[revoistrash-deactivated20190120]

平子 | にっかま

[taorerou]

hands him some documents. " captain. " his eyes grace shinji's expression, dark gaze muted behind spectacles. " here's all of the information you asked me to retrieve for you... since i was preoccupied last night with other activities. " masks his smirk with an innocent smile instead.

“mmhm,” it’s offhanded, more under his breath than anything, cheek pressed to the palm of one hand with eyes focused on the paper grasped in his other. though the usual smile in that tone makes shinji’s eyes lift, eyebrows raising at the words before they click and brown eyes narrow. “y’don’t say,” he’s not amused in the slightest, “wonder what ya could’ve been doin’.” 

                don’t answer that.

“just put ‘em down there. maybe use yer chance to get some of yer other shirked duties taken care of?” 

[duww-deactivated20161221]

HE’S BITTEN AND IT’S ALMOST PROOF. perhaps not a badge or medal but it feels like the first step or something along those lines. the first advance into something so catastrophic he wonders whether the outcome will truly spin from his desired end. it’s a thought built upon flustered thinking and he reassures himself that this has been thought through. he knows his captain as much as the latter wishes it was not so, knows him well enough to forge his responses into the blueprints of something he’s worked upon for months. he knows the meanings behind the sighs, the almost dignity-crushing spin of that exhaled breath akin to that of a confession of defeat; the signed treaty in their war. but there’s no fighting for once, no bitter tongues and no sour words because shinji’s lips are silenced once more. the dragging of his pride will be savoured for another day, sousuke notes as his captain’s burning skin makes contact with his cold own.

[taorerou]

shinji's reactions are ones he really prayed he could control. they're natural, innate; they're reflex, as much as he wishes they weren't. there's acknowledgement in the way the brunet moves after the captain speaks, and shinji's more than aware of the fact this was going to come back to bite him in the ass at some point. well aware of the amusement he knows his lieutenant feels at his own unwilling agreement-- a term used very lightly. it was more of an agreement to back down just barely, to let aizen have this moment to do as he pleased. as if shinji wasn't already aware the lieutenant would have found another place, another time; he always did. 

their lips meet again and the reflexive wrinkle of shinji's nose isn't something he cares enough to try and conceal, but his tongue does flick over his own lips when the brunet retreats-- not far enough. his breathing calms, steadies out in the momentary distance before it's stolen away once more.

it feels more like his mouth is forced open rather than him granting permission. not that he'd expected much different. sousuke's actions tended to contradict themselves whenever he pleased. the act breaks itself here and there, true colours shine through before the cracks are sealed and the 'polite, kind lieutenant of the fifth squad' returns. it's almost funny.

"’understanding’ is an interestin' way to word it," shinji breathes, fingers flexing once his hands are free; the goosebumps that raise along his skin in the wake of the brunet's touch are enough to make his hair stand on end. there's a mixture there, of both distaste and uncertainty. it's not the fact that it didn't feel good, because shinji isn't a bold enough liar to deny the fact that it did feel good, but there's also disgust. letting someone he doesn't trust, someone he knows lies to his face on a daily basis, touch him like this.

letting someone so false see so much of him. 

it's sickening, almost.

he's dragged from thoughts abruptly at cooler lips pressing to warm skin, though this time it's against his chest. shinji's lips purse before he huffs a breath of air upwards to blow blond bangs from his eyes, the fingers of one hand sliding behind his own head comfortably. these reactions are easier to conceal, to cover up with boredom; though the feeling of his toes curling catches him off guard. "mm," it's more an answer to the way sousuke addresses him than anything, though the noise catches sharply, shifts into a gasp and it takes quite a bit of willpower to keep his knees from trying to press together. the previous red that stained his cheeks and ears returns full force, lips pursing, eyes narrowing down at darker eyes that peered up at him.

"what?" it sounds annoyed more than anything else, "is this really the time t'be referring t'me like that?" dirty.

[taorerou]

does shinji hirako is gay

i dont know who you are i don’t know why you’re here but i’m not going to stop until i find you and hang you upside down from a streetlight by your ankles

[taorerou]

U R ONE TO SPEAK SHANNON

dont call me out like this rachel

[taorerou]

STAY OUT OF THIS JESSICA

relax maria

you both look terrible no need to argue

[rhews-deactivated20161221]

“ you assume too much. “ he exhales softly, fingers keeping his head upright and preventing him from falling asleep at his table. “ i didn’t mind that… takemitsu you used t’ play. i suppose you don’t listen to that anymore. “

[taorerou]

“can’t do anythin’ but assume when ya haven’t said anything about it,” and it’s not like his intuition has let him down many times before. both of them know that much. “i’m not particularly picky, y’know. if y’wanna play something else, find somethin’ else and put it on.” 

if it’ll get ya to stop complaining--

[ichimarugin-a]

               ❝ ––––oh my, old age must really be hittin’ ya hard, ne~?  didja really forget aaaall about aizen-taichō accidentally cuttin’ off too much a’ yer hair?  ahaha, maybe ya were jus’ so scarred that’cha went an’ blocked it out.  i wouldn’t blame ya any;  seein’ ya bald as a kid was aaaawful traumatizing… ❞

[taorerou]

there’s almost a flicker of offense to cross shinji’s face even at the insinuation of him ever being bald; of ALL things. absolutely not. “think it’s yer own faulty memory givin’ ya some issues right now,” he’s not defensive, not at all, of course not, “lyin’ ain’t a good habit to be practicin’, y’know. maybe try some honesty now ‘n then?”

[taorerou]

dONT KINKSHAME ME IN PUBLIC

[taorerou]

due to popular demand ive come to shave your head entirely bald

“s’that so? i’d like to see ya try.”

[taorerou]

isavari

the mod era called it wants its aesthetic back

if the mod era understands my hip sense of style i’d like to go back to it

[rhews-deactivated20161221]

“ i thought i heard ya singing. or at least something like that. “ closes his eyes slowly. “ why can’t you play something we both like. “

[taorerou]

“maybe i was. there a law against that?” even if there was, not really like shinji would care. “you insinuatin’ you actually wanna listen to music? i never figured y’were the type. yer usually too busy with yer puzzles.”