#kuroyrii

[namenoted]

❝ well, here we are, ❞ he says, looking at the spread of books between them. ❝ man, where do we even begin? i guess ... at the beginning, right? ❞

he's putting it on heavy today. while there is nothing necessarily ominous about yagami, no shadow over his shoulder here (not in this world!), there is an air about him. he is a proper, well-put-together boy, and he is oddly helpful, well-mannered, and bred for success. the ultimate academic, an almost teen detective, and japan's top student —— and yet, here he is, sitting in his livingroom cross-legged with his hands on his knees, leaning back to stretch out his ribs against the lining of the couch's base frame and cushions. the tonkatsu he's pulled out is clearly expensive, and despite its use, has been well taken care of.

the general decor is a relative mix of traditional and western —— a nice house —— and yagami is obviously playing comfortable. maybe he really is? still, with company, it's best to keep up appearances. he can't be too comfortable. this person isn't keitaro*.

❝ hey, do you want something to drink before we get started? ❞ their introductory tea is empty, the small pot sitting near their discarded cups and saucers. ❝ water, soda? we also have chips if you want a snack. now that i think about it, i think i need a little 'brain food'. ❞ — @kuroyrii

[hehosts-moved]

❝ you're in luck —— i'm free tonight. just request me ... and i'm yours. ❞ // * @kuroyrii liked for a starter from host!ji-hun !!

[caracarnn]

@kuroyrii liked 🐉 for a starter

"None of this makes sense."

[kuraikyu]

@kuroyrii : Quietly places flowers in his hair, she quickly turns to conceal her laughter only to snicker, "The colors go well with your complexion"

In the miscellany of woodland monoculture, she found him once again in the embrace of solitude listening to the sound of the water falling and the sighing of the wind in trees, malformation of mossy stairs carved to the mountainside reminding of an old stronghold long forgotten. His targets less inclined to drive to natural places for enjoyment, now laying lifelessly on the pile not far than a halfcropped kilometer. There will hardly be an ounce of anything but bones and ashes consumed soon either by flames or rot. Monkeys still refuse to put envy of his people behind them, they may still begrudge Sorcerers in their relics and things of beauty; he remembered such fact with each wipe of crimson from his face.

Blood was a peculiar thing that made even most cultured and neat man look like a wild beast in stillness, it could bore cute pink blush or deep brown spots. His sense for restoration dark yet mighty, carrying visual trademarks like insignia of battle on sword. Eyes like pits of smoldering opiates after ferocity of fresh kill.

A kindred spirit dances among trees, her every cadence a bravado breaking etiquette in moonlit gait, stalwart and dependable from both sundry and mirthful times of their storied history, masterful in the art of hunting and stealth, stiff-necked and suspicious only by wit of her tongue, the black lily that comes seeping with fanged smile more liberated than ever before, intruding reverie of his seclusion with ignorance to the carnage behind. The God Hand must have followed the track from sudden outburst of cursed energy evoked by his special grade. She would not ask what had transpired there, instead, it was her hands that spoke louder secrets in her stead, and he almost understood their unhinged language where he recalled distinct soothing. Captivity may prove too great a strain for bunny, so her crimson rather concealed on him colors that came to life and blossomed with his dark excellence when the odds were stacked against them. Something entangled among straight carbon strands. A brisk blink of fluttering lashes sorting inventory in perceptional warehouse of thinking, evoking perplexion, discarding creeping mildew, and awakening consonance from grim tidings. What is this? There's something on his head. Hand wandered up to test out his new enlightened image, caressing something soft and what's next in line for commendation when he realized what kind of structure formed under his fingertips, touch becomes light as a caterpillar's footsteps, drinking in the aromas of velvets producing scent from each little twist. Those were petals from vivid flowers, from what still left of seasonly green; jewel gift of flora that loomed on him like a black crown. Heartbeat skipped up with increasing pulse into his very throat. Sayuri might be the first step in some scheme crammed into small rooms. He breathed out in realization, '' Today I am all soil and ruin and yet you still can't help yourself but to be personally accountable for my beautification? Thought you'd have more urgent errands to undertake like entertaining snoozy patrons. If you ever decide to repeat such practioning in public be wary; it could make some women jealous. '' From string of defense, chuckle preceded deficit in melting venom. Thank you. Rivulets and bouncing waterdrops provided natural a reflection pool for him to lean in closer and check his new decoration. An apparition emerges from behind large oak; manifesting several meters away from them; offering a lined humanoid grin covered by sleeve of vermilion kimono.

'Well?' - a grin the one she could not see while he seemed so distracted and enchanted by blossoms in his strands. Or he purposely pretended to be distracted. 'You want her, don't you? Try and get her.~'

[sasorikigai]

“Can’t even get out of my grasp? Or is it because you secretly don’t want to?” (modern!)

IN LOVE AND WAR, EVERYTHING GOES || @kuroyrii || accepting

💥 || Perhaps their love is more like a chemical reaction, rearranging his brain, his guts, the blood in his veins. As they touch, their cold skin exposed in the elements, it burns to the touch. Being the killers they are, with capabilities to plunge the glinting silver blade where it hurts the most, where they can get the most blood as the poor unfortunate victim would look at them like a domesticated animal with their severed arteries. They know how to tear apart anyone's skin, see their spine exposed, as they poke and prod every little ridge to cause excruciating, unspeakable pain. They take joy in being an observer; treasuring the ability to take the complexities of the world and make it palpable to their unwilling participants. A simple recoil of the firearm would not bring satisfaction on one of those days, as Hanzo Hasashi yearns to become the paradoxical tenderness amidst the devouring viciousness, digging his mighty claws into their flesh, as if he was ravenously devastate what is his to begin with. Their flesh will shrivel, bones hollow, and lives dwindle to nothing. Even when the teeth of their world remain sharp, they become more resilient and sharper along with it.

And even when restlessness taps away at his exhausted bones, sending cold shivers down his spine and into his toes, how his heartbeat twirls and dances under the gentle spring, and yet - how it could feel like a slap in the face, as he would resent every melodious bird song that needled its way through his duvet tomb. How every resplendent blossom that he used to marble at his zenith would merely seem as if they were flaunting their fleeting life. How he wished to press them down into the newly-thawed earth with the toe of his boot, until the petals were torn and muddied by the dirty feeling of false justice settling like a blanket around his bones. But in the end, all of it would have been completely uninterrupted by the devastation in his life. When at first he found it to be mocking, he would find comfort in its steady force.

His memories are mere fragile dreams woven from near-inaudible whispers, and Hanzo no longer becomes torn apart by either the harsh light of reality or the ungraspable perfection of idealized dreams. In all, Sayuri Kobayashi has an inner beauty about a woman who believes in herself, who knows she is capable of anything that she puts her mind to. Equipped with such manifestation of a beauty in the strength and determination of a woman who follows her own path, who isn't thrown off by obstacles along the way. Her confidence comes from experiences; just as Harumi Hasashi had been a woman who can fall, pick herself up, and more on. "I believe I have already revealed my heart's content, haven't I?" For once, he doesn't have this gut-wrenching pain in his chest when he thinks of his bereaved wife. His head isn't racing with thoughts of her going a million miles a minute.

How metaphorical fire dances across Hanzo's solemn face as he feels his heart and soul burn. How he once thought he'd never get this far, but even as he felt as if he was going to be burned all to ash, he'd start all over again. Whether it had been a newfound love, or absolute unyielding devotion and trust towards his beloved. "You may be the sun that's governing and contributing to life, the air that I breath, bringing vitality and life forces, the water at my feet bringing my lost ship to shore, and the earth; strong and confident, a formidable mountain I could climb forevermore. And I hope to become the fire; sacred light inside you, a flame that will never die." How he yearns to show all of him; unhindered and unbidden, all of his light and dark, flaws and imperfections, grit and resilience through agony and despair that he won't ever hide. 💥 ||

[recitedemise]

Gale listens, his expression screaming his sheer captivation. It's more personal than he cares for, echoing too plainly his too-raw heart, and silently, he thanks the ambient lighting rippled soft and golden; to it, he can almost believed his heart's not seen. But unfortunately, being subtle was not a Dekarios art. Still, he gathers his bravery, walking forward in the babbling cafe, the piano inside it crooning to her fingers--something soft, somber, and so, so grey.

"I've heard my ample share of frightfully inspired if not misguided attempts at Chopin," he starts by greeting, "but in one short evening, you've cast them all far from mind." Managing to pitter on those chords of soul... "I'm inclined to believe that piece was an original. Still in the works, discovering itself, and all the rawer for it." Right? He looks at her, feeling suddenly several emerging things: first, too daring; then entirely too presumptuous; before last but not least, all sparking nerves. Smiling, though, Gale holds firm, peculating coffee trickling behind them. He walks up to the piano, his own fingers watching her fingers dust the keys. A song of yearning... And maybe ache. "It's a lovely rhythm. Should you be at all amenable, might I suggest a chord to consider?"/ @kuroyrii ♡'d.

[chiratsuku]

She eyes him cautiously, curiosity flickering in her venomous gaze, from behind the rabbit mask Alice tilts her head. Button nose wrinkling as her pout turns into a grimace, even in a sea of luxury, she can pinpoint that smell of decay anywhere. It is permeant within a ghoul's being, even she, glamorous as ever could not escape what they naturally were. "What's a handsome man doing here? I think your lost" the hostess calls out, though she stands clad in her small posture, there is an air of intimidation. "Tsk, brooding while surrounded by beauty? What a shame, perhaps I can help" // renji!

@kuroyrii

Hunger is what cripples either a man or a child no matter if ghoul or a human. Through cold patches of life in the world full of vassals of blood triumph upon absolute inevitable taught him much on the matter, his was full of compromises where sacrifices must be made to live free from the demands of accursed lines of descent. To record what befalls the warriors in future songs that never properly mourn sisters because of living legacy.

Months after having enlisted the aid of Yoshimura, his task was simple, groceries, or shopping those necessary things for Anteiku to function under its gown of guise. He recalled the old man's ever-jesting tone, something Touka would grin about: 'Adding a treatment masque to your cleansing routine works wonders.' - of course, such words oil the wheels of a sense of purpose, which wasn't a bad thing; he sought it, the purpose. Given to frequency of wandering Renji was difficult to find except for those few who knew how to sniff out his lane. Focus becomes temporarily aimless as he would not refuse navigating command of guttural intuition, and would not, even if both legs were wounded as one. Stubborn and hard-headed, thinking always of duty to honor the service! First, indeed, second? Questionable ... Pulled further and further, teeth biting on iron, seething melodies, and fluttering ire, wayfaring carried him into the known unknown. He was supposed to fetch coffee beans and a few other things given the location and address described by the senior. --- Sound of heavy boots getting lost and braving danger in strange assembling of diverse tongues or whatever arrangement of sorts it was -- no, a party. Among rows of gilt buttons and fancy suits, the valiant intruder was not the most impressive figure, soaked from outdoor downpour, and within periphery accentuating his dressing mostly of grey tones. Coffee filters in his pockets being the only dry thing. And suddenly he found himself unable to trail back in his footsteps and find shoulders of doors to exit. What is this place even? Why is he here? He shouldn't be, couldn't be. This was nothing of a market or store. The Raven sits still on a branch, unsure about detecting establishment for landing. Patrol soon happened upon his location, leaving no pondering or reverie to linger, that kind of encounter that yielded insight into going ons and awareness that the brooding stranger was a 'static' matter demanding attention. A rabbit — a glamour on needles of fire clad in decay, easy to fool anyone. Don't they symbolize luck and advancement? Menacing. Hopeful and equally foolish would wish that she may have been blinded to the truth.

' I think your lost. '

Certainly. ㅤㅤㅤYeah ...

The unknown visitor has finally shown some sense. There were more words, hidden; not made to leave.

'' ... '' '' Sorry, didn't mean to intrude ... - had to get the building wrong, '' words tempered with pensiveness but mind becoming clearer as he spoke, deft eyes under spikes of dirted silver inquiringly fastened at lean speaker behind masque, '' but apparently I got a wrong turn and wandered even further in. '' As dry and hardly believable as it sounds it was at the same time strangely convincing thanks to his unfeigned perplexion. Nothing worth drama to do one's heart good and get momentarily enraptured by ambient enchants, even a man with a rigid heart couldn't fake it.

Yomo wonders if she can turn a blind eye to his presence and keep this meeting a secret - if only it wasn't kinda late for that.

But what now? Would he follow the rabbit further into the maze of the unknown and right down the rabbit hole or she'll help him out to the exit?

[phantombs]

you’re here every night ,  aren’t you ?

𝑨 𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑬𝑹 𝑹𝑶𝑺𝑬: no longer accepting.

He is. "And that's not a complaint, is it?" Well, he wagers not. Again, as is his wont, Cường, gazing up unto her window, is caught entering through her sweet little garden. He wanders here often, peruses the beds with its April-growing sprouts, and he takes stock of the fragrance of early blooming daffodils and the vigorous growing of climbing trees. Here, he always, always finds it calming. The air saunters differently about her home, shimmery with the afterglow of the now-slumbering sun, and in its dark, shadowed wake, he feels the fingers of the stars. He feels held by the nighttime... And tenderly kissed. It's appropriate, he imagines, as he paces slowly toward her window: Sayuri, last he daydreamed, was always like the moon.

(And he can't keep away. After all, he's a wolvish thing, hasn't he?)

Cường hums. With her window drawn up, he can see the slow, slow shiver of the breeze through her curtains. Rifling quaint her hair, too, she, torched by the lamplight, sits in watch so gauzy. There's something ethereal here. Is he dreaming? "You should sound more grateful," he starts, plain as ever. What a nuisance! "I'm making old dreams you used to have after watching your soppy dramas come true. I'm here to remind you that it's okay to get lost in your head little. And to dream very boldly and boldly of me." How annoying -- and, still, comically familiar. He looks at her backdoor and waits. "I came to visit. I worked late." He always does.

[kuraikyu]

@kuroyrii

[hehosts-moved]

❝ i heard your song, ❞ he says simply. he stands still, hands pressed together in front of his abdomen with hair loose and eyes closed. an almost tender smile, canines splitting pallid lips. head tilts before he speaks again, saying that he ❝ came to listen. ❞ // * @kuroyrii liked for a starter from yong-sun !!

[impishsensei-a]

@kuroyrii asked: “Don’t worry. Things just seem bad because it’s dark and rainy.” shrek 2 sentence starters ┆ accepting

satoru  enjoys  the  rain.  he  loves  the  scent  of  it  in  the  air  before  it  falls  and  the  way  he  could  almost  feel  the  dew  on  his  skin.  he  likes  the  dark  clouds  slowly  rolling  in,  followed  by  the  inevitable  lightning  and  thunder.  there's  something  that's  almost  soothing  about  the  rain  and  how  it  washes  everything  away.  at  the  end  of  it  all,  too,  he  enjoys  the  sunlight  that  always  ends  up  breaking  apart  the  sea  of  clouds  and  the  occasional  rainbow  here  and  there  as  the  storm  eventually  leaves.

❝ that's  alright  with  me.  i've  never  been  one  to  dislike the rain, ❞ satoru  speaks with  a  slight  shrug  as  a  small  smile  graces  his  lips.  a  finger  traces  over  the  rim  of  the  steaming  cup  of  tea  before him,  and  he  glances  outside  once  more  to  admire  the  steady  descent  of  the  rain.  just  as  soon,  though,  he  returns  his  attention back  to  sayuri.   

❝ i  didn't  hear  anything  in  the  forecast  about  typhoons  or  devastating  storms, so  i  figure  it  must be  a  small   shower  passing  over  us.  but  what  about  you  —  are  you  the  more  spiritual  type?  do  you  think  the  rain  could  serve  as  a  bad  omen? ❞

[kuraikyu]

Stares at @kuroyrii . Smol.~~

[sasorikigai]

@kuroyrii stabbed the heart.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || It is such a rarity that giddy moments pulse like inspiration within him; exemplified through a garish display of an internal flame. How Hanzo's heart flickers between the ribs, as rapid cadence steadily and vigorously knocks. In this fevered internal hum of circulation, he relishes each heartbeat becoming a reminder of their fortified trust and resilience against the suffocating world. Even in the wickedly intoxicating lull of submission, his soul finds release through Sayurk Iwasaki's presence.

Amidst the dance of pleasure, where boundaries as a somber, resilient, and defiant warrior and a traumatized, still-grieving mortal cease. For love's sweet caress transpires to become a tender salvation, as two souls entwine in erotic elation. With every touch, symphonies unfolded. As bodies merged, stories yet untold would unfurl. They are equilibrium; maintaining a delicate balance and a power exchange, where trust and desire forever arrange and rearrange.

"So daring and bold of you to take charge into a journey of pleasure tonight, my love," even in his arms of masculine dominance, it is Hanzo Hasashi who is aching for release, aching to be free in this sacred space coalesced simply between them two, where desires decree. His heart is a vessel of trust in this exquisite, yet ephemeral moment of vulnerability, as his love's pure connection surges to take flight. His reveled gaze remains intoxicated in her, as dilated umber of his eyes sharpen, then transfixes onto her as thunder traverses down south. Sayuri is a force to be reckoned; with a voluptuous dance of power, where his pleasure would simultaneously beckon as he would depend on her for true ecstasy. "I have been rather hesitant and resistant to such love and devotion so deep, but in this tough surrender of control, I have found that such act caused to transcend all bounds I have placed in my heart and soul." ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

[recitedemise]

Wax poetic // pls!!

Send ‘wax poetic’ for Gale to work some poetry; his muse is you: still accepting.

She bleeds. His hand hovers over her, his necromantic spells suturing the rupture. For him, he'll remember. She'd taken that for him. Slowly and wordlessly, the battle's roar fades.

Yes. Bleeding and hemorrhaging and coughing on pain... It's an affliction to creatures as bare as them. To those lovers of literature and to those paramours of poems, the learning toward harm is like a flower to the sun. You, he reckons, will chase what hurts.

Why? Because it is home, familiar like bed. Because she knows it like those books she's long since devoured. She's scarred rather plentifully, skin marred with fissures as though her body's the earth, and Gale's weak to gawp at all that he sees, a patchwork of a lifetime all raised, gnarled flesh.

You're chapters upon chapters, a sordid history, one without its share of something warm. Where is the kindness? Where is the patience?

Gale's hand so summery feels like sun. Oh.

"Come now," he haggards. "Up on your feet. So long as I've still a spell left in me, your body won't bear another grisly tale on my account."

[ofovertime]

@kuroyrii liked for a one-liner

"I don't think you understand what kind of hell I've been through."

[spydcddya]

↳ @kuroyrii !

❛ not to be a pest, but i'd like to move my table. some place a bit more reserved preferably. not all of us are HERE TO MINGLE. ❜