oculusomniscius:

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Independent Bleach OC roleplay blog
8+ years of RP experience
Single ship, multiverse—friendly to crossovers and AUs, as well as to different RP styles: para, script, novella, with or without icons, etc.
CST (US & Canada, -6 GMT)
Mun and muse 18+, NSFW includes violence and other mature themes—explicit content will be tagged and placed under a read more as necessary
Senior in college, activity is generally on a daily basis but replies can be slow
Up to date on Bleach but lacking knowledge on anime-only arcs and the Fullbringer arc

Home    ||    Bio    ||    Rules

oculusomniscius:

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

Independent Bleach OC roleplay blog

8+ years of RP experience

Single ship, multiverse—friendly to crossovers and AUs, as well as to different RP styles: para, script, novella, with or without icons, etc.

CST (US & Canada, -6 GMT)

Mun and muse 18+, NSFW includes violence and other mature themes—explicit content will be tagged and placed under a read more as necessary

Senior in college, activity is generally on a daily basis but replies can be slow

Up to date on Bleach but lacking knowledge on anime-only arcs and the Fullbringer arc

Home    ||    Bio    ||    Rules

Once you’ve been tagged list 6 things you and your muse have in common and 6 things you don’t. Then pass this along to some other people.

Tagged by: oculusomniscius 

image

6 Similarities between Mun and Muse?

 

  1. …… tbh we’re both pretty short LOLL mayuri’s 5’8” and a half while i’m abouttt 5’3”
  2. we’re both hermits to a certain extent, though obviously he’s more-so than me (what a loser)
  3. i guess you can say we’re both pretty tech-savvy? ’ O’ idk if that counts but—
  4. both of us are pretty introverted i’d like to say, but mayuri is definitely more introverted than i am
  5. PAINFULLY SPECIFIC ABOUT EVERYTHING AND DETAILS ARE VERY VERY IMPORTANT THNX
  6. everything we wear is poofy and makes us look like fat owls.

image

6 Differences between Mun and Muse?

 

  1. life is a competition to mayuri so he must win it whereas i’m just happy to be here
  2. i hate conflict, and i’m pretty certain he goes out of his way sometimes to generate it
  3. ……. well i hate wearing any kind of make-up. ’ -‘
  4. he gets angry at every little thing, but people tell me it takes a lot to make me genuinely angry
  5. he has no problem whatsoever with gore, but i’m a total dweeb when faced with bone trauma tbh!
  6. i am not a ruiner of fun. i encourage it.

Tagging: ┬──┬◡ノ(° -°ノ)

ooc

gomen about sparse activity!!

i’m gonna be hanging around on quilge for a good majority of the day to work on his drafts!

you’ll probably catch me on mayuri and shunsui later tho! ’ v’/

Saving Grace, Death. | closed for scientific-method.

sublabor:

image

          {—; Time did little to sooth him now. In fact, it ate at his aching body much easier than it should have been allowed to. Perhaps, in obvious ways, he should not have challenged his ex-comrade to a duel. Like always, Ichimaru should’ve taken off and hid away for as long as possible, only to reappear when his body was better suited to withstand the unexpected blows.

Alas, trust Mayuri to become stronger since the last time Ichimaru had seen him as up close and personal as before.

Luck, however, was not on the serpent’s side.

Not only was his zanpakutō fractured—though thankfully not broken completely—but his old injuries had easily been split open, and the poison that coursed through his body after having been stabbed by Mayuri in the scarred location kept him pinned. The taste of blood returned to the surface of his tongue, coating it uncomfortably whilst he lay in wait. Where was he?

          That man—that very same person that disturbed even the snake in a way that made him most distraught. He was lurking somewhere, anywhere, but there was no way for Ichimaru to move to tell. His limbs were numb and tingling, sensations pulsing throughout his entire lithe frame that kept him from moving any significant measure.

Slowly but surely, however, Gin managed to tilted his head back upon the ground, sky blue eyes opening in search for the scientist.

       "Hidin’ now, ne…? Why don’t ya come finished me already—…?"

Once he had his foot on his chest. Another time he had smashed his bare knuckles straight into the serpent’s throat. Then another time he had grinned against his cheek, nearly mashing his teeth against the other male’s cheek. Personal space no longer mattered. All that mattered was ruining the other male’s will to live. He would let him live, of course, but he would not let him go on with the desire to live. It was a paradox in of itself. One could have called it an experiment, as well. Head tilted to the right, though, in regards to the question. He could smell blood. It was a very and easily recongizeable smell. It was almost as if Ichimaru was close to dying. Lips curled into a familiar smile, soon pulling their selves apart into the form that of a grin. It was all very familiar and almost characteristic of the scientist. Whatever put the silly notion that he was hiding into the silver-haired male’s head was laughable at best. Merely, he stood above him. Everyone and everything deserved nothing short of being below him, and so he sat. Making a large structure that resembled the most of a rock his temporary home, he pulled the left leg up with its knee pressing lightly into his chest.

"I’m waiting,” he called back down to the traitor, having a relatively good bird’s eye view of Gin. “Waiting, waiting, waiting,” the painted Shinigami chattered, repeating himself in that of a slow almost drawl. Head tilted left to right before his snapped his fingers, eyes falling down onto the top of Ichimaru’s head. “Hurry up.” Leaning ever so slightly forward, he looked almost like that of a child. It was that of an impatient child, as well, and implied that he wanted to see what would happen but, at the same time, had little to no patience to properly wait it out. A quiet sniff occurred as he wondered, at then, how long it would truly take for the serpent-like man to finally collapse. He was certain the results would be interesting nonetheless. “Don’t make me do all the work,” he nearly huffed, purposefully taunting him now.

striinkla:

How true, Her words were like acid. How she hated admitting this man was right, it made her ill and his tone did not help that feeling either. Of course, she shouldn’t be too surprised with the condescending tone of his.

     As she spoke, her eyes were directed upon the ground, almost appearing closed from the angle that her skull had. She was rather surprised that he hadn’t brought her with him. It seemed as though they had quite the bond. Saying that you are collecting it simply a polite way of saying you’re going to steal, even if the owner is dead.

image

I suppose stepping aside would be the best option.❞ 

     She wasn’t going to let him be alone in his lab. Not like he could destroy or steal anything too important, though. There wasn’t much of anything left do to his previous “collecting" days. It just didn’t seem appropriate leave him alone within the lab this time. She couldn’t exactly explain why she felt this way this time.

Of course he was right. It was not surprising to know that she recognized his superiority. He was, after all, on the higher level in regards to the food chain. Head tilted to the left. A grin tugged almost obnoxiously at his lips as he observed her like the rightful prey she was. “I refuse to rephrase my words,” he spoke moments later, eyebrows raising in false empathy in regards. He was aware of how she stared at the ground. To him, it was usually a common response of feeling awkward or not wanting to relate, at all, to their conversational partner. This was understandable but, at the same time, rather irritating. Perhaps he would have to correct that when the proper time would come. “You catch on fast. I prefer that in my subjects,” the scientist talked as if had already claimed her as another guinea pig for his laboratory. That would be of the utmost flattery, however, and he simply could not allow for that to happen. An upwards quirk of the lip before, suddenly, they managed to pull their selves into a neutral line that resembled, rather vaguely, a frown. Soon he began walking towards her.

image

Maybe he was walking at her would be a more appropriate phrase, because with how he stared at her it implied that he was almost looking through her. It was like, to him, that she was nothing more but an obstacle. “Well then—” he started, stopping with almost a full arm’s length betwixt the both of them, “—move.” If she did not choose to move, he would make due with what he was given and properly inform what happens to disobedient pests.

predatorio:

   A fresh memory, so fresh that he could almost hear the ‘drip, drip, drip’ sound of every drop of dark crimson liquid which splashed with that sickening squelch against the cold floor. One of his men’s blood. Their floors were always painted with this red, symbol of life, but also of death, but this case was worth of the attention the Kenpachi paid to it. The aforementioned man had to be taken immediately to the fourth division’s barracks as the large wound which opened the left side of his torso from shoulder to waist was not something their men could handle. Surprisingly, he was alive. Alive, but standing on the verge of death. To think that he would survive that, only because the Kenpachi managed to suppress his reiatsu in the very last moment. A fresh, yet not so pleasant memory. And now he came personally to this man’s barracks, this maniac, captain of the 12th Division, to solve this issue. The broken artifact in hand and feeling like a dog between cats. Cats ten thousand times weaker than him, but also smarter. And now before him he had one truly sly cat. One that could only anger him. 'It's now his responsability', he thought, this eye-patch was made by Kurotsuchi after all, and now that little monster was at its creator’s mercy. The sooner it was repaired, the sooner he would leave this gloomy place. And in the meanwhile, his fellow captain would have to bear with the barbarian’s company. Whether he wanted it or not. He supposed the genius who now stood in front of him could repair the eye-patch in no time. More like he expected it to be that way.

   He caught a hint of the deeper meaning the scientist gave to his statement, when he repeated his own words. But he could not decide whether he was stating that it was his own fault that one of his loyal men nearly died, or that it was, as he said, one of his men, and he didn’t care about him, nor his situation. Both might have been true, yet Zaraki managed to shove that thought to the back of his head and focus on the words which then came out the other’s painted lips. And now the responsability and fault were again on his back. He overwhelmed it, yes, it was completely possible. But he wouldn’t stand there while being accused of murdering his own soldiers. “T'fuck did ya' say? Don't try to blame me, ya' made that thing, an' it failed to fulfil its task. One important task.” Sweat ran down his forehead, maintaining his reiatsu at a reasonable level was hard for the likes of him, he was never good at this kind of stuff. Sensing reiatsu, controlling reiatsu, too complicated. Which is why he had that eye-patch in the first place. He witnessed many shinigamis falling unconscious to the floor because of his spiritual pressure, somewhat annoying, and gave him a nostalgic sensation. But for now, he wanted to get the eye-patch fixed as soon as possible.

image

          “I don’t give a flyin’ fuck if ya’re pleased or not. Just repair the goddamn eye-patch.” He demanded with a slight tilt of his head. “Or else I’ll just let my reiatsu flow an’ everybody in this building will go to sleep.”

"Alright, alright,” he very nearly forced out when the Kenpachi chose a good opportunity to fight back. It hardly bothered Mayuri as he already began the, in his own humble opinion, quick process of fixing the eye patch. “No need to get so hostile,” the scientist piped out in that odd, almost wrong sounding voice. There was something casual and almost lackadaisical about it, but it was hard to pinpoint exactly why it sounded the way it did. It was probably better to be left to hang in the dark either way, because it was a definite thing that both captains had better things to attend to. Mayuri, especially, had a bigger and better procedure and, by extension, specimen to take care off. If the smell of blood did not give away as to what exactly he was doing, it was the fact that he was more agreeable than normal. Perhaps he took Zaraki seriously, or it was maybe because he had no need to see if the Eleventh was bluffing. To a certain extent, everything was taken seriously, because he preferred to have everything as in tact as possible. “If you proceed to shout, who knows what would happen?” the researcher drawled, head tilting from the left and then to the right in a broken sort of rhythm. Nothing he did seemed to look proper nor appropriate. Everything he seemed to do appeared as wrong to a bystander nor to a witness. That was how he preferred it, after all. Fingers busily plucked at the cloth. At times, the smallest sound would omit itself but from what exactly, it was hard to tell.

Maybe it was from the eye patch itself. The original model, after all, was possessor to several mouths. It would not be at all surprising if Mayuri progressed on this artifact of cloth with an even more elaborate and gross method. “Of course, I'd be prepared for it but the rest of my men… Hmm,” pausing for what could be dramatic effect, the Twelfth looked up from his work and towards the ceiling. Contemplative thought filled his eyes for a short moment before shoulders bobbed in that of a shrug. The procedure was then continued. “Actually…” he began only to trail off, the sounds of cloth and, perhaps, leather ripping gradually coming more and more into the focus of his ever so frightening attention. For the next few minutes, he would work in complete and utter silence, save for the attempt of “conversation” or whatever comeback Zaraki wished to respond to him with. Whatever it would be, Kurotsuchi already found himself exhausted and somewhat annoyed by the brute’s presence. It was not an unknown idea that the Eleventh and Twelfth, especially, would potentially never get along, but it would be wiser to say that Mayuri only made it worse the more he insulted him. It was not because he was blunt about it, either, but because he was underhanded in his methods. Constantly, he implied that it would be his fault had one of his subordinates died already. It was not difficult to imagine what the scientist would have done and said had they actually died, nor would it be hard to imagine the grin he would be giving at the prospect of a new body to experiment on.

"… I’m almost interested to see what would happen," he murmured a moment’s while later, finally finishing his comment from earlier. "Imagine all the blood and— ah, the screams,” the captain rambled for a short while, all the while his fingers continued to work. Occasionally, a hand would reach to pull back something sharp. It was hard to tell what it was with how fast he worked.

venomous-revenge:

image

     “—Oh? What exactly is ‘off’ about me, though? I’m certain I woke up with my head on straight this morning.”

"No, no."

"You’re still alive, that’s what.” A tilt of the head occurred. “I should’ve killed you by now, considering the circumstances.”