Color Pinups Of The Crew Three Years Ago

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.

gojo's sakamoto days verse is literally just him and nagumo being roommates. that's all there is to it.

I’m not about…to let you be the only one who dies!

gojo's bleach verse... he's a captain (haven't decided the division yet) that comes from a noble family. his zanpakuto is called six eyes, all that jazz and his abilities remain relatively the same with the exception that the six eyes is actually an acute sense for reiatsu that is passed among those of the gojo clan bloodline. his existence is an anomaly, so naturally he still grows emotionally isolated from the rest, geto being the only other captain he truly became close with and whose deflection of the corps made him spiral into insanity (though only inwardly, no one knows about this being his only weakness).

his bankai is unlimited void.

the vice-captain seat is still vacant as no one really keeps up with him and they resign or request to be reassigned, not to mention he values strength and goodness of heart, influenced by geto's own morality from the past days.

Always vibes~

❛  the only path that’s left for me is forward.  ❜ ( kenjaku & teacher!geto? )

shared brain-bits let him know where @hharau’s proclivities lay. it explains the taut line of his shoulders, eyes turned dark, unbridled with fury - he wonders if geto knows, not the extent of everything but instinctively understands that what ties them together isn’t mere cursed energy but the flow of something more sinister, vicious.

by way of introduction, kenjaku had traced a single line across surgical wounds, calling for geto’s attention, smiling through bared teeth, and said: ‘ does it bother you? or why are you looking at me as though you’d seen a ghost? ’

it gained him little, all things considered, but he did always enjoy a gamble, much more so when the rewards came in floods: a glare, violent jabs and despair; anger he knows how to work with, easy to map out. he remembers farmers, their housewives, kids and their friends, all of them fell into patterns, led by their hearts and not reason and things became simpler, weaknesses poorly disguised. humanity doesn’t change: then and now, it’s all relatively the same, and suguru geto he’s come to understand more than anyone alive - the ones who mattered anyways.

it takes a moment for kenjaku to part his lips, smile fading into a displeased frown. what is that supposed to mean?

‘ ah, i see. that is exactly like you. ’ words echo, he feels something perilously close to affection, like watching a house plant grow, or a pet; it brings him closer to inspection, the way that, although their faces are copies of each other, the skin lacks blisters from rot that’s carelessly swiped away, or the pallid undertone of a body that has once been lifeless and brought back to roam about the earth. it puts a new smile on his face, lighter, but ever-present. 

‘ you must pardon me but i haven’t the faintest idea what that entails. or rather, it doesn’t matter. mutations between dimensions are rare, but not impossible. the path forward you’re talking about exists solely for you, though i doubt it leads anywhere beneficial for someone who’s technically a storage of cursed energy. don’t get me wrong, it’s an excellent ability, otherwise i would not be here. ’ the gesture beckons geto to watch him, head to toe, expecting appraisal. he gets the opposite. kenjaku shrugs, tongue darts out briefly and playfully. 

‘ its only drawback, i daresay, is the price that comes with it. there’s flashier deaths than self–immolation, in the literal sense or not. i suppose you’ve overcome it, for now. i’m not entirely convinced, though. ’

Someone save me from the things they do to me

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. ❞

no one is allowed to talk to suguru if you've seen him before no, you haven't, erase him from your memories trust me it's better if you do he's a wanted criminal and a very dangerous curse user stay away from a man with long, black hair dark as night beautiful honey-tinted eyes and bewitching smile do not speak to him and come to me asap and share his location this is important for the nation's safety, government orders not mine. please and thank you.

“ I’m sorry. I couldn’t keep my promise. I wanted to go into a line of work where I could protect people. That’s why I became a detective. But Makishima changed everything. That man will continue to kill people. And yet, the law can’t judge him. As long as I’m a detective, I can’t touch him. This case made me aware… that the law can’t protect people.” - shinya kougami.​

Happy Birthday, Selle! ♦