GLORREICH.

i’m never getting over any of these images

especially this one

ooc:     OKAY LEMME SEE [ @fletschte | @kenmazai | @taubc ] 

In light to what Vi just asked: “ How many times has maru been an impromptu babysitter bc arima and chika are busy “ - often, like honestly, for Itsuki’s personal liking, probably far too often. Chika probably took them to the CCG, let them run wild, and was incapable of catching them before the next meeting [ of course one where also Arima had to be present ] arose, so he had to quickly usher off Maru to actually 1) find them and then 2) get them to follow the uncle, because no way in hell they would do so freely

apropos uncle and aunts - when they were young, he probably told them that a lot of the older investigators [ including the likes of Itsuki, Houji, Kiyoko and so on ] are those they could [ after being asked ] regard with said titles, and those that would give them a bit more freedom: ‘But don’t tell your mother—’ - that’s how he managed to make hell break loose, because ‘Goddamnit, Bureau Director! We can’t keep them controlled like THIS!’ - not his problem, he would just get them back with this or that promise here and there. 

that likely extends towards the servants in the estate as well. and makes it close to be unbearable sometimes for them to work. He would let his children run off, no matter what they have to do, and then when the maids come along to search for them [ because they have some lessons in fighting or for the piano/violin ], he would just shrug and point the other way, of course he knows where they are.

he’s probably tried to get them, more often than not, to go out and meet the children of other higher classed families [ that just in, of course rank-wise like their own ], just to make sure they wouldn’t be too alone. often enough, he came along - sometimes pretty unknowing to the fact that, outside of his own job, he could be a rather embarrassing father [ and never believes it anyway when he’s told that uh - ‘can you not come… please’ ]. 

generally, I would say Chika is pretty calm and accepting of whatever his children want or have a problem with. Of course, Washuu-regime and rules go above anything else, but I don’t think he would have been beyond simply bending them [ even out of shape ] if they came to him and asked for it within good reason. He’s obviously a family man, even that the CCG has a high priority too, his family has a higher one [ and he’s good at keeping up a mask in front of his job ]. 

as we’ve seen in some omakes, he’s rather keen on making ‘trips’ with his close ones, in that case it were Maru and Matsuri, but I think it might be some sort of actual tradition that doesn’t particularly move itself on the II Division, but also was a usual hobby for them when his children were younger. enabling them to see whatever they wanted and take some days off.

alas, everything aside, it’s pretty bound to happen that he was a strict and rigorous father, not allowing too many shenanigans, and when the time calls for it, he would order and shoo his own children to fulfil their schedule, for slacking off in their family was not only a pain for those looking at it from the outside, but generally dangerous as well. They needed to be able to fight, they needed to be able to be fluent in different languages, to be able to communicate, to know about science. 

It’s only an hour till midnight to pass, and so, by the time he takes to wonder: how far could they go? Could they truly drag it out? The feeling of mutual interest, settled deeply, tingling light beneath each other’s skin as they go on about flirting, dancing, engaging with one another, while not quite engaging past smiles and wandering eyes at all? It would be a lie to say that Marciano hadn’t seen the other man around him here or there on shows about conceited arrogance and the exposure of beauty. It would be a lie, as well, to say that he hadn’t realised gaze glued to his form whenever he walked by in this or that expensive garb, coloured and clad in unknown sumptuousness. With all those shared glances, trickled by { the likes of Mailand, Rome, Paris come to mind } in times and every once again, they had managed to gaze upon one another, riling up delicious thoughts. The young man wasn’t the only one who held such stark interest in a mogul like himself, but how many would even realise, that this all was but just a game? That he merely just—

     ’ Oh, Mister Washuu! May I introduce you? ’

          ’ It would be my pleasure. ’

     ’ Mister Marciano Lazarus, the head of the Lazarus Trading Company, he walks the runway sometimes for us just as a little pastime. ’

          ’ I see, I am very pleased to meet you, sir. ’

     ’ The pleasure is all mine. ’

—so the night turns and ticks and eats away at the hours tolling with quiet noise along beautifully crafted face of a clock, announcing the dying of time, that none the like of them pays attention to. Only midnight, the sound of a chime was miserably trying to tell them the truth. It would be a lie to say, that not many a man had tried to garner interest of a grandness clad in the likes of smoke and fire. Drifting just from open lips, tingling and singing around him, as if shrouding in mystery who had brought upon the eternity of desires to be told. By that darkened voice of his, soft and melodious, the sound it sang similar to the scents of herbs and nicotine, enveloping whole who had only desired to reach for him { men and women alike, they all had shied away once his gaze was lit like hellfires }.

He could have laughed about it all. Laughed and called them fools in trying to reach for something they could not hold. Could not tame. Could not control. And their minds wrapped around the idea that pretty faces, pretty forms, would be enough to twist and turn him about in spinning closer into a net of lies and machinations, while he was the master of them all. Ash that flies and tumbles from crown of cigar, even only this bit of his own culture filling to the brim senses all present, was of immeasurable worth.

          ’ So, you are probably away from your wife and travelling a lot— ’

     ’ No, I’m single, actually. ’

          ’ I wouldn’t have guessed. ’

     ’ Really~? You are a little too observant to not ‘guess’ the answer to your question. ’

          ’ … This is not what I meant, sir. My apologies. ’

     ’ It is quite fine. ’

And as the day dies, to be crafted into the next morning. As the hand of horologe slowly approaches the first hour in another era they were meant to spiral around one another with a cigar that had passed and changed the owner, and both men now acquainted by nought but simple talk, would find themselves abandoning self-congratulatory amassment of the worthless and forgotten. It’s about both of them by now, the many different ones that had tried to push and press through others in finding their presence, while the presence quite in itself is only to be shared by a select very few.

Laughed and ridiculed { finally just }, when excusing who didn’t even need to offer up any apology at all. For they were of power, of unbidden desire, of those little bits and goods so many would want to hold in greedy hands - and if they had been allowed to? It scorched and destroyed and left behind a trail of blood and flesh, torn open and apart, such deliciously to comfort whatever hunger and thirst may cling to pleading eyes. And yet, once again, a power immeasurable as just Marciano’s own had captivated who was near starving for that bit of well-needed attention { and so Matsuri would get it. was the one chosen for the night }.

They had long since left that party behind and went towards their own little adventure into the heart of the city that devoured a thousand different ones by day and night. While each and every time, a drink or two { wine, vodka, whiskey the taste }, would coat throats, and relish a starving soul.

          ’ Aren’t there some that will be disappointed in you leaving, sir? ’

     ’ Possibly, but I generally do what I want. ’

          ’ Spending your time with a stranger is one of those things? ’

     ’ But how strange and unknown to me, might you truly be? ’

And their touches become a bit more daring. Breaths they share a bit closer just in mingling about breathlessly without truly whirling and turning into one another at all. It was the second hour this day had devoured by the ticks of minutes worthless their shared togetherness and rhyme. Ticking mercilessly away, in the relished privacy of a far too expensive nighttime club and bar.

Where it mattered not anymore: supremacy of a person’s wealth, to be brushed away and crushed to dust, drowned out in the exquisiteness of alcohol finely coating tongue and playing as a fine and delicious film upon graciously smiling lips. It mattered not anymore: the soft and silken feel of masterfully crafted garb, of each and every piece of jewellery, if they wanted { just so truly wanted } they could bargaining it away. As two gamblers for the night, and gambling just turned all the more important with their harsh grasps and lingering graces upon that fragile and easily captivated soul.

They wanted. Wanted. Wanted and desired { a need like none other the like, and how they craved it just with hitching breaths all exchanged in the heavy lingering smoke of invaluable toxic vice }. And they wanted, wanted evermore, in the breaking point that was their discarded gentleness coated in deceit.

          ’ Why— are you still so interested? ’

     ’ Ah~ Because I love it. ’

          ’ You— ’

     ’ Yes, I love it. The three am version of people. Vulnerable. Honest. Real. ’

          ’ —Me. ’

And the clocktower overshadowing the streets in all but breaking lights flickering back and forth through empty streets had just serenaded the very hour of confessions. The time it would take for one to be shattered into fine crystalline shards. Built anew and created by hands all but masterful in their idle grace and touch. And so they think and breathe and feel while feeling all but the rough brace of a wall against a back and a palm placed flat to keep in place.

Outside of that ludicrous display of bloated depravity, away from music faintly ringing inside one’s ears. Gone for all but a street or two at the side, meant to be so close with one another, that breath is meant to be of utmost delight. Was it the alcohol just, that had meant to rush to both their heads? Or was it nought else but a hidden, hard desire, that makes to pump blood through braced veins, coating and rushing inside of both of them with deliriously singing heat. The cold and chill, enveloping forms pressed tight against one another { chest to chest, he could have kept the youth eternally captivated by all but dark shine of grey eyes }, a soothing cadence to blanket them for this night.

And so tempting and alluring was the tick of a clock that lulled into a storm of thoughts and wants those who had been able to be so controlled. So composed. So restrained. While all restrains fall with the loosening of buttons, having shimmering white of firm fabric cling tightly to toned form. Dominating, engineering a collapse that this night-time partner of his, would be so eager to fall into. “I’m—”

So the leader breathes in that smoke that lingers and wanders into lungs, while he waits for whatever words he could have been provided with and finds himself offered nothing but the subtle rise of a voice as dark and drowning as his very own obscurred and lingered and painted with the gratifying softness of a velvet sheen of smoke. “Yes?” No answer needed, none the like wanted, when he tilts and turns enough to the side to close lips in a softened kiss.

To stop and make surrender who could have meant to halt the act, and wanted to stop it not at all anymore. Passing the fine and toxic harshness of captivated gasps back and forth and feeling strong form shudder beneath his very own. It urged itself enough with what the older man wanted, urged itself with parting lips and letting him in { inviting deep inside }, to bestow even more of the sought-after breath with an exhale he made to pass upon what Matsuri clearly refreshed himself upon. For they felt it, felt the greed and avaricious want that tumbles around them like the taking to the air deliberately catching off the ash he had been about to tap off from glowing crown.

And by the fourth hour of the day. With its hard tune rushing anxious and forlorn souls through barren city’s streets glittering in the newly pouring rain—

@fletschte​ | @daturida [ gotta tag Furuta too, so you see it~ ] ♡

♤          Such a gloomy expression. Surely unexpected. With eyes downcast and brooding, having his partner being quite so averse to finding comfort in company. Shown so easily with hiding in personal office, away from him for sure. It’s nothing he had surely questioned in the time that had passed by. It’s nothing Jura had tried to approach, wordlessly ushered to remain patient, and leave him to think. Alas, a few hours by now { such a long time } had passed to have the scientist deem himself tired of watching and waiting. To stir himself to stand. To knock near carefully against wooden door, realizing soon enough that it was not even closed.

♤           He’s silent enough to not be disturbing. Loud enough to be heard and sent off and away if need be. Not happening, so he’s sauntering closer, humming a softened tune while attending to the hunched over figure, the one to soothe a headache that was brewing beneath grieving whirlwind of thoughts. Careful just, when slender arms move to wind around shoulders, hook upon one another around neck with the well-known { all loved } softened purr to be released right beside his partner’s ear. It’s enough to make broad figure twitch, to draw him out of undesirable thoughts, to lift one hand and carefully trace along the exposed skin of arm.

♤           He’s displeased, unhappy with happenings, and finds himself so truly incapable of voicing opinions, sorrows, fears. And still unneeded to find any voice for it at all. How delirious { perchance } that this was and had grown to be a commonly shared normalcy - and is just crumbling to dust by this or that frightening endeavour, so truly settling like a heavy veil upon beating heart. He’s careful enough to move. Shift clothing spun tightly over chest, against the arched and pulled fabric of his lover’s back.

♤           Fine noise dispersing into thin air and trailing out into absolute nothingness. Like brushing away any worries in softened breaths drawling over top of head. Perching chin upon it staring into the blankness ahead. He could have - of course - read whatever letter unfolded placed upon table, with fidgety hand with pen slight trembling over it, would tell of a story that was clouding minds.

♤           He could have—

♤           —decided so easily not to at all.

♤           Tumbling thoughts, racing ideas. Trying to find an offer for help, an explanation for everything else - before finding surely nothing at all. He could have said something in that low and droning voice of his, said something to usher the man in his grasp to finally announce of what troubles him so. And does nothing at all about it. “I will prepare a bath.” Easily untangling himself from tightening hold, only a second, an instance, a breath as soon gone as his own faint smile would ghost over visage.

♤           It’s gentle with hands how he maps out each and every tense piece of form so surely covet, and gentle enough how he bends and bows to dust but the softest kiss along Matsuri’s neck.

♤           And by the time this all happened, he was already gone again. The perceptible footsteps to echo around the room, as quiet as they truly had meant to be, as much does the young man not desire to leave noise at all. To ground in the here and now, who so surely might get lost upon him the tantalizing disarray of wants and wants - and the needs that, for the leader { above all else }, had been surely destined to happen.

♤           Flowing, rushing water, the only noise of a soughing purity. Fog of heat clouding vision, while vision is as clear as it had never been before. In watching said picture perfect arrangement of slender physique and well-rehearsed, elegant motions. The low echoing hum of a song unknown { something to be found rooted deeply in customs and forgotten vices }, filling the air and cutting clean through all and each of every other twitch and turn. He’s knowing - and furthermore unknowing to the fact of being watched by that man standing in doorway, arms crossed, expectantly waiting for whatever the doctor would like to fulfil.

♤           And fulfilment is only to be found a few fleeting seconds later, when he rises from crouched position, stands tall and high and wanders absentmindedly to and fro. As if searching something. Searching for an explanation that would never come - and looked all the more peaceful in this design of gathering a multitude of little items. Trinkets. Oils and salts. And lotions to be found here and there.

♤           Thorough in his preparations, all to be done for just one figure in need to find that needed bit of salvation for the night.

♤           He knows eyes are trained on his form. He knows that each sleek cut of muscle shifting beneath slightly dampening clean cotton of shirt, was like a dream and aching touch need to settle it into stark reality. That soft tune wandering past any sounds rushing through the grandness of this room. Black ground and walls, the low bathtub in shining white, flush-mounted into the ground. It all allows a stage when the scientist moves. Bends and turns and twist. He smiles subconsciously at the knowledge, that all mindful thinking and all troubles soon to be dispersed, would be quietened and calmed just by these few movements alone.

♤           And it’s just a blink in time before Jura’s hand ushers his partner to come that littlest bit closer. Long fingers to trickle and guide, with that everlasting glint deeply settled in his eyes. The heavy red tint shining strongly in his gaze, meaning nothing, appearing like nothing, and meaning everything altogether for them both. Reaches out towards the approaching form with hands to entangle in the softness of shirt. He hears it just, the way breath exhales with the smallest knowledge of tranquillity to finally settle in expecting mind. Slowly traversing along strong form, tingling, alighting nerves tenderly whenever desire flutters along each and every ridge of muscle he was permitted to feel.

♤           That slow and purring noise, intensely chiming, set and embed in the depths of his throat with that low and soothing cadence coming to life.

♤           Words were so sure, so truly unneeded { a chore to have, what sounds and feelings could all convey }. Pulling apart button by button, to reveal more of perfect skin, of sculptured forms his hands were just so eager to touch. He feels it just when eyes would travel over dips and curves, feels the softness of lips brush along his forehead, teasing along the line of hair, further and further with the silent exhale of a sigh. He wonders just, what so truly had been a catalyst for a man as grand as the one being so surely pliant beneath prying hands, to fall into silence of shattering verdict of mind.

♤           He could have asked { and wouldn’t, surely wouldn’t - ’ just be with me ’ } and regardless just, sings out with a subtle laugh into the night.

♤           Their back and forth, could be so sure, deceivingly soft. While softness in that shifting air around them would exclaim and scream and cry of so much danger around { never for them }.

♤           It’s soon enough that he would be able to free from garment who was so sure immovable before him. With a twitch to said figure given when coils of air would hit exposed planes of skin. As if waiting for that electrifying pulse, and given when arms limber and lift, move to wrap around that slender form, to pull close within eager and guiding grasp. Strong. He’s so surely strong and quite so gentle in holding him near. Showing just that this slender ghost so surely coveting in his own grasp, was nought the like and could be held for eternity, with a curl of lips attached that speak of reverence and the need to never let him go.

♤           So Jura’s laughing again, before placing hands against his lover’s chest, pushing himself away and bringing only marginal space between them, enough just, as if rehearsed and perfectly learned, so that he went to take off what clung so tightly to perfectly sculpted form. Peeling it off, letting it flow towards the ground in soundless distraction and diversion for clouded eyes.

♤           Soundless as much as all else does flutter to the ground within a few well-placed tugs and pulls, before both men were bare before one another, and mean nothing at all, but silent comfort within these walls of sacred privacy. Only for them, and only for the man that seemed so lost in what he was meant to do, and all that he does was taking those steps guided a bit closer and those few noise-filled trails, shifting and turning and chasing the water away from them that was meant to envelop and cherish them whole.

Untitled (You Construct Intricate Rituals Which Allow You To Touch The Skin Of Other Men)