ADD INSULT TO INJURY.

"AFTER ALL, WHAT IS IT THAT WE WANT WHEN WE ELEVATE THE LOVE PARTNER TO THE POSITION OF GOD? WE WANT REDEMPTION — NOTHING LESS." ( ERNEST BECKER; THE DENIAL OF DEATH. )

[unscour]

when u mom com home and make hte spagheti

From an objective standpoint, his family didn't seem like the type to order takeout.

He was acquainted with their types in a peripheral sense (if a pair of preppy yakuzas voluntarily making the choice to drape themselves in plaid was an ethical clothing choice instead of a step toward walking fashion disasters, as they legitimately lived and breathed). These were filthy rich, assumably so from their repertoire of exorbitant fabrics and cufflinks, which left Koujaku at quite a loss. It wasn't that he hadn't been wealthy, but he'd side-stepped the role of scion heir years ago, casting it off with obligation and any long-term ticket toward culpability. As such, after that ... admittedly disconcerting conversation with his wife, he holed himself up in the kitchen and set to work on a half-decent peace offering. Koujaku had called them in some indiscriminate hour during early evening, and standing before them with the fingers of one hand deftly twisted around wok ladle, he appraised them with a grin that definitely took the greater portion of his willpower to actively maintain.

"Sorry to keep you both waiting. It took some cabinet scrounging to find a few ingredients. It's a good thing I went out for a quick grocery run before arriving here, or we might've gone to bed on empty stomachs," he announces, gaze squared and zeroing in on his wife and kid with an imbedded assumability for surface-level confidence, "l have to admit — I'm not a very good cook, but is Yakiudon alright? I don't know what your favorite dishes are, but we have all the time in the world to get properly acquainted in the meantime." Gesturing at the table already laid out in a myriad of utensils and porcelain dishes, he reaches back to tap the steaming pot (a by-product of amateur culinary skills and the tenacity of one would-be samurai marginally discomposed hairstlist) positioned at the heart of the display. Dinnertime could go one of two ways, but he was fairly dead-set on demonstrating no ill will towards them or their shared dilemma.

"Well, there's no use in standing around here and letting it all go to waste. Come and eat while it's still hot."

[venvsrising]

Sometimes you just have to dance. Sometimes it feels criminal to not dance, especially when the song is just too good to resist. Which was evidently the case, supported by the headphones clasped against her ears and the phone in her hand — tight gripped because if not then it’d surely fly out of her hand and kiss the pavement.

With fun came consequences. None of which Minako seemed to worry herself over. 

“Gee gee gee gee, baby baby baby ♪ " She had murmured, but that in no way killed her vibe. Although, bumping into another passerby on the sidewalk definitely could. When her nose plowed into their shoulder she had staggered back, hissing and rubbing the offended anatomy. As she did so, her music had been paused and her headphones hanging on her neck. 

Apologetically, she drew closer and checked to see if any damaged had been done. “Sorry sorry! Should’ve watched where I was going, you alright?”

[unscour]

Koujaku's spent the large majority of his life attempting to remain unassuming (ergo, nonthreatening) in the interminable ebb-and-flow of intercity districts under vise-grip regulations. Immigration was a whole different ballpark in the realm of fighting the inevitable, and if they were playing for genuine keeps in the hallmark of petty criminal acts, only a yakuza's woebegone mistress and their illegitimate son could slip beneath the local radar mostly undetected. The cops in Midorijima were lax under enough incentive, all too prone to casting their lots for the faceless gods of commercialism — corruption in a handful of coins and the kind of foolhardy, deep-throated laughter that blistered on the tongue and scalded the tonsils free of the nature of causality. Plausible deniability sure worked wonders for people pinioned in the Toue Corporation.

But Iunctum — Hydread, for that matter — was nothing so avant-garde in flair or methodology. A world gone flipside, barely on the cusp of rebuilding can't be expected to be refined, much less remotely organized, so it's no startling bolt from the blue that people swarm the streets en masse. While there's nothing in particular out there that raises or lowers his expectations, he's sidelined all the same by the sight of headphones, which is cause enough to be temporarily thrown out of rhythm by any plaintive reminder of home. Registering the slight impact, he's quick to halt and peremptorily raise out a hand toward her, sheepishness emanating in every nerve. "No harm, no foul, miss. Rest assured, it'll take more than a bump to injure me. Are you unhurt?"

Breaking free of his chagrin, he falls back into a more than practiced manner of cordiality that's no stranger to head-on collisions. "Be careful. While your humming's extremely catchy, you can't let yourself get too caught up in the moment and forget to watch your surroundings." In an attempt to regain his composure and dissuade all the attention he'd stubbornly fixated on the headphones, he leans forward to take her palm and fleetingly kisses it. It's a transitory gesture with no strings attached, but by all means he's at least determined to alleviate any collateral damage (he'd spaced out long before she made impact, after all). "You could cause an accident anytime you wish with how many heads you'd turn singing out loud. How formidable."

[princemats-blog]

OK CAN WE LIKE, TALK ABOUT THIS VIDEO

[antignosis]

✧; Sickly Sweet || CLOSED

The appearance of another can reveal everything there is to know about them… Or it can be used as a shield to conceal what they are like entirely.

In Sugar’s case, she feels as if she is able to see the beast within others, despite what they may look like on the outside. Though the clothing and general appearance means little to her in retrospect, she is rather observant about such things and even the small cues one might subconsciously do in a conversation or confrontation.

Currently, however, the hidden eyes of the blonde are currently locked onto a stranger in the not-so-far-off distance, Sugar humming softly to herself as she watches him. There’s something interesting about him, she thinks, and perhaps it’s purely because of the mystery factor he holds along with his odd garments… Though realistically, she realizes that she is probably the weirder looking one of the two.

It makes little difference to her, however.

After a few more moments of watching the stranger do whatever it is he has decided to preoccupy himself with, the female decides to run over to him since walking would take a bit too long, she thinks. Just when she comes within a good few yards of him, she flips rather acrobatically within the air, landing oddly quietly on her feet as she goes on her tiptoes for a moment to inspect the stranger’s face.

Ah… Ha ha!!

"Oh… Oh, my my. What’s this? What’s this? Never have I seen someone quite like you, my tall, male friend :-)," as always a smile is plastered on her face as she begins to speak, her tone eccentric yet calm. "How many stories lie beneath your markings? Your face? Hm. Hmmm. :-)"

[unscour]

Out of context, Koujaku's swiping sharp metallic implements next to womens' exposed ears and throats to a degree that could be feasibly be considered hazardous and potentially life-threatening. In context, it's just another day on the job at the local salon cutting hair into deft angles with a silver-bright pair of scissors and an arsenal of stylist tools at his disposal. It's at these times that he's uniformly concentrated on the effort, obstinately allowing himself not a single moment to divert his attention onto other subjects.

Any extraneous thoughts are filed away for later examination. As with anyone harboring a one-track mind, Koujaku keeps his intentions in check by matter of priority. It's only after he's sweeping up after his latest patron that he notes the (rather impressive) acrobatic feat, to which he briefly draws back, smoothing out his nonplussed bewilderment with a brief chuckle. "Oh? Thank you. It's not everyday I encounter someone so cheerful. If you'd like a discount on your next haircut, consider it done."

Ultimately, it's her exultance — a too-wide grin affixed onto such a wan complexion, her heels arcing up in the notion of teetering eccentrics — that he's able to retain his ambivalence. While the inquiry itself isn't anything new, her delivery's akin to absurdly child-like inquisitiveness (or a terrible sales pitch, egging him on to match a high-stakes bet paid in full via lilting coercion). Quizzically surveying her odd take on solemnity, Koujaku feigns mild bemusement.

"I can't say I blame you for being curious. Hm. ... The stories depend on the perspective of the bystander observing them, I suppose. Unfortunately, neither of them make for good conversation." After some contemplation, he arbitrarily backpedals, retreating a few steps to place his pair of scissors with the rest of on-hand supplies. "To be frank, you look like you've got a better story about yourself to tell. I've never met a lady quite so striking to the eye before."

[unscour]

i'll twist your arm .........

[reinaix]

♚█ — ; Vermilion orbs scrutinized what felt like an endless corridor. Apartment 3.018, was apparently where she would be residing in for the rest of her life. Catching an evident frown embedded on the woman’s lips, she briefly wondered what type of family she would be expecting. Alternatively, her mood has already been tampered with simply just entering this place. Hydread sure was … dreadful considering the fact this dump was attempting to rebuild, was quite laughable. For sure, she was incapable of accepting that she ended up moving here and better yet, married with a kid running around between all of this — chaos. Overall, she felt nothing but a tool and part of some denouement of entertainment to the higher-ups. Yet, here she was, wholly living and becoming obedient to every law and rule. Though, there was no sight of familiar faces so the last bits of pride left was somehow existent. Sighing, she twisted the key, a phlegmatic posture held before entering her new ‘home.’ Here she would meet her family and grossly enough care for them. For the last nineteen years, Celest only understood the gain received from those around her, playing with their emotions, performing her own puppet show. 

Proceeding into the halls, an eyebrow raised towards a smooth sheet of paper, sloppily taped onto the kitchen wall. Containing her cool facade, her bottom lip pushed outwards at the information presented. Nonetheless, there were identity images of a fair skinned man and a sleazy grin plastering his visage. She swallowed thickly, examining closer to the portrait, his eyes were just as vibrant, mirroring yet her own pair. For a moment, it shed some hope that her titled, ‘husband’ could be just as intelligent, fashionable and collective like herself. However, taking another glance, he could really work on his fashion taste. Next was a picture of her ‘son’ who appeared genuinely cute but, something about his looks threw an unsettling vibe.

Reverting her steps back to the entrance, a replica of the man came forth to her, an elastic smile never leaving his expression. Indeed, he was a lot older than expected but that only meant he was mature and responsible enough to care for himself - meaning she didn’t have to pay attention to his needs or wants. His comment caught her by surprise, a gentleman type of speech, but it was easy for her to tell, he was quite posh. On top of that, his attire was questionable, there was nobody she knew that still wore a kimono less… walk around practically barefoot. Hiding her sheer disgust, Celestia beams, almost cringing at his words. ”Pleased to meet you, I’m Celestia Ludenberg.” Koujaku, hm? Oh, right. The kid. "Um…sure. First things first, I don’t feel comfortable sleeping in the same bed, sleep on the sofa or on the floor. You’d do something like that for me, right honey?~" Her words stung with a bossy tone, but hopefully minior actions such as eyelash batting and slim digits twirling through lush locks would command otherwise. 

[unscour]

Evidently, it's a case of Occam's Razor: drawn-out succinctness typically won out over manifold complexities, and she had the apartment key with her after all, clutched so tightly in her fingers that she could've hemorrhaged her palm through sheer willpower and petulant ire. No amount of panache and prevarications he'd feasibly dole out from this point on could ever supersede the fact that he hadn't wanted this. To have a family in his own right with someone he genuinely loved wasn't something he'd allow for himself, but a scenario-specific sham of one fell somewhere between plain mockery and caustic goading (a distorted challenge to forthright affection and its components). Home was more than a nuclear family and empty titles. Any time to console himself with final indulgences (the spirit of it, if nothing else) was gone, but even so Koujaku remained in a mild fugue, sifting out a sufficient response for his spouse when she beats him to the punch in a chiming retort.

His eyes widen perceptibly at her counteractive prompting. "... Yes, of course. It hadn't even crossed my mind. You're welcome to take the bed." Truth be told, he probably wouldn't have been able to stomach it — not the hard-pressed act so much as the nuances of sleeping with a complete stranger at the drop of a pin. While he'd devoted most of his life catering to women, he'd at least try to properly court them before taking the initiative. Nonetheless, passive-aggressive toleration was just one bullet on a list of even larger concerns. Omissions would only lead to further complications further down the line, and he'd planned to be blatantly honest in lieu of any intermediary third-party. Guiding their foster child away from the foyer with a quiet apology, he takes the interceding lull to calmly reach behind her (an inevitably slight rustle as his sleeve crinkles against the fabric of her dress) and shut the door. Brows knitting together, Koujaku seats himself on one end of the couch and gestures to the opposing end.

"Considering we know so little about each other, I think it'd be best if we had a talk now. We're going to be living together from now on, after all." There was no sense in prolonging the inevitable. After a beat or two of trepidation, he smiles out of the knee-jerk instinct to alleviate the tension. "While it isn't polite to ask such personal questions — to a lady in her good graces, even moreso — it's better that we clear this up as soon as we can so there aren't any misunderstandings on either end. I can assure you that it isn't my intent to insult you." Taking great, ignominious pains to sprawl back against the chaise lounge in the perpetuated delusion of nonchalance, he angles his flickering gaze toward her, attempt to discern any approximate change of expression as a telltale indicator of duplicity. One issue at a time. "I need to know whether or not you're of legal age, Celestia."

[inferiores]

‹ ｃｏｍｐｌｉａｎｃｅ．›

 ❝  In sickness and in health? In good ti-     mes and in bad? ❞     If Sly recalled correctly, there was even     something on them that mentioned…

    ｕｎｃｏｎｄｉｔｉｏｎａｌ   ｌｏｖｅ ？ 

    Ha !

   A wolfish grin settled upon his countenance at the very thought of being put under such obligations. However… Regardless of the legalities, he found himself far from willing to conform with said vows. After all, unless he was piss drunk and a sudden amnesiac, Sly did not recall ever having a wedding or even saying those two godforsaken words: I do. So it’s not like he had to be faithful or anything. Not like he cared in the first place.

  They wanted him? They could have him. These people who brought him here, however, should already be painfully aware that he isn’t one to comply with every rule in the book. Their loss was his gain, though; he would take every opportunity thrown at him by the balls. Besides, he would take this heaping pile of dogshit over residing in some crusty old man’s skull anyway. To be frank, he enjoyed having his head where it rightfully belonged.

 Promptly after regaining consciousness in this city, he opted on taking it upon himself to get himself situation— yeah, he was interested in seeing who these people hooked him up with, but it’s not like it was a primary concern at the moment. Sly doubted he would be around long enough to even be considered apart of this madeup family he was shoved right into

 Needless to say, after being  " dead “  for so long, his hunger felt like it was insatiable. At this point, he might as well die a second time from starvation, but Sly was never one for such blatant display of melodrama. Rather… He decided to swindle some poor bastard into treating him to lunch. It was either that or dining and then dashing. Starting off with a bad reputation wasn’t the most intelligent approach, but then again, he was indifferent about his piss poor reputation.

 Ambling along the evenly paved concrete of the bustling metropolis, once the crowd had seemingly fizzled for a moment, he had set his sights on someone he deemed worthy enough of stealing cash from. Knowing that, if he was set up to some stranger at random, then other people might have been hitched too— he’d have to approach this with extreme caution and precisi—

 ❝ I'm bored, starving and alone in this shitty place.        How about you and I get to know each other over        dinner— my treat. ❞

 Yeah, give ‘em the ol’ razzle dazzle before you ditch them through some diner’s bathroom window.

[unscour]

Somehow, the part where he'd sworn martial fidelity to someone he didn't even know was slipping his mind, especially at the expense of whatever counted as falsified autonomy and the lack of consideration thereof for free will. He'd taken matrimonial bliss to be a given after tying the knot — Koujaku figured wouldn't be getting married to anyone less than someone he'd work up the intestinal fortitude to propose wholeheartedly to, not a hasty, preplanned slip of an affair with all the trappings of mutual dissent. Any marginally self-respecting government worth their salt wouldn't have taken on the ideals of centralizing stability and equivocated it with force-feeding the standards of an elementary family onto complete strangers.

It was a testament to his passive toleration for third-degree burns in jilted intimacy and the corollaries of decade-long dissatisfaction that he'd kept his sights set on making the best out of subpar conditions. After coming this far, it seemed awfully petty to make generalizations (even if the omission of truth was a better lie than outright deception under certain circumstances). While he didn't have contingency plans for his contingency plans, Koujaku had a knack for resilience like a loaded die. On brighter days (when he wasn't neck-deep self-deprecation and stifling remorse), he'd even be proud of his ability to singularly rise to the occasion.

With a little luck, maybe the odds would turn in his favor. For now, though, he'd kept pace with the city, en route to the row of birdhouses masquerading as apartments and the loosely-knit group of individuals that passed for family. Fulfilling obligation was just that: his steps weren't purposeless, but neither were they spirited, and Koujaku kept his thoughts spun and uselessly revolving on ways to work out a schedule for the next week or so in a way that benefited his spouse and child. On the provocation of a sloppily-directed proposition, he comes to a standstill, skepticism running thick on the breath and tracing every word.

"Oya, oya — it's not that the sentiment isn't appreciated, but I'll have to decline, if you don't mind —" And he cuts himself off at the juncture of a refusal, expression warping into a strange, intermingling mixture of relief and confusion upon recognition (even in light of that new development, it didn't seem right, his longtime friend drawling out the desultory imprecation of free dinners to any bystander on the street as if he'd spent his entire livelihood crashed out in the seedier red-light districts of Midorijima). Out of all of those trailing addendums perched on the tip of his tongue, he aims for the approximate, voice pithy and verging strained. "... Aoba?"

[vnroku]

please watch this

[unscour]

i'll twist your arm .........

It whitewashed his notion of familial relations as he'd known it, getting hitched to a complete stranger so abruptly, then allotted a child like a customary housewarming present under a roof scoured free of personal touches and any pretense of sentimentality (a hollowly generic sort of domesticity that lacked any real substance). Koujaku remained stationary in the master bedroom for quite some time upon his arrival, aimlessly skimming one palm over the bureau and absently rifling through its drawers, seeking out any plaintively vestigial memento of Midorijima between battery cases and safety pins before retracting from the entire prospect with muted dissatisfaction. The clinical sterility of the entire domicile was the figurative nail in the coffin of resignation; past his double-sided recalcitrance, he'd known there wouldn't be anything at all to salvage anymore, never mind return to his possession, but the reality hadn't bled through until he came to terms with the wretched futility of it all.

After a cursory examination, he leaves Beni powered-down and perched on the windowsill, the daylight ribboning out and elongating their shadows along the carpet. There was no immediate use in viscerally shocking his Allmate with their situation from the get-go, and more than that — it was better to prolong whatever semblance of quasi-calm he could afford to hold out for his AI companion as they settled in. Self-indulgence for the sake of it is a lacerating knife, the soft edges of remorse gaining form, attenuating into guilt, but all things considered, Koujaku could afford himself some selfishness on occasion. Padding back into the hallway, he ventures as far as the foyer when he catches the telltale glimpse of a woman standing in the open doorway and comes to a standstill.

"Pardon me for not having greeted you sooner. I shouldn't have let a radiant woman such as yourself wait for so long." She's acutely easy on the eyes, willowy curves and unnaturally vibrant irises, but it's painfully transparent that his spouse is young. He'd memorized their names beforehand, but it exceeded his expectations to finally encounter one of them in flesh and blood, and in close proximity, a more than healthy degree of astoundment spreads across Koujaku's complexion before it shifts into something else entirely. Although it's a mostly superfluous gesture of introduction at that point, in order to compensate for their difference in stature he bows, keeping his eyes level with hers. "I'm Koujaku. I'll be your, ah ... husband, from this point on. Please take care of me." Idly, he notes her affinity for gothic-lolita attire, but makes no mention of it. "In light of everything that's come before, I hope we can learn to work together with our child in making this life a good one."

[unscour]

lmao what's an intro ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

hey, the name's rachel! i only rp weenies on tumblr?? tru, tru, i rp no other personality type on this site. only weens. only weens 

i'm 18 and i've been in the rp scene for a fairly long time! chances are that you've probably seen me elsewhere with another character attached to my name, but this time around i'm bringing in koujaku from dmmd with a reserved app (hopefully!) on its way. 

if you'd like to talk (whether it's about rp or just straight-up chatting, whatever you want, i don't mind), you can grab ahold of me on this account, my personal, or my twitter.

[unscour]

[unscour]

whISTLES DAYUM R U FROM JAPAN BECAUSE ID JUMP ON DAT A$$

[tetsurou]

ドラマダ発売ですって！！！！！ by モギ@通販お願いします

[dobies-secret-joffrey-rp-blog]

always reblog

[mccrum-deactivated20180304]

紅雀の素材とかとか

[wimofthewabbits-deactivated2015]

ドラマダログと漫画２ | しだこ＠ｽﾊﾟｰｸあ89a Please do not remove source