HAPPY LINK CLICK ANNIVERSARY - THEY DROP THIS???

*

day bled into night, unusually warmer than the previous days, making it easier to smell the humidity off the soil and grass within the first minutes of darkness. it’s the perfect combination to make insects of all kind drop their guard, like now. 

suguru stands below the lamplights, only a step away from the vending machines and his face is lit with the artificial lights but he doesn’t mind the reflection. his attention is focused on his palm, which lays open in the air as he watches a big, brown moth land on its surface. a piece of its wing is missing - bitten off, more like. the little thing struggles to even reach a vertical line with them, before they collapse back at its sides.

this place is full of broken things, he thinks.

sorcerers were a rare breed and so much rarer it was to make them submit to the rules and formalities of jujutsu society as it was. yaga’d been vocal about it, just the right amount to keep them aware, but leaving out any personal bias that could put him in a bad position with the higher ranks. they pulled boys and girls from across the country, the dregs of sorcery, until they filled up the classrooms with the bare minimum attendance. he figured they brought Haibara from the countryside, judging his accent. Nanami? he supposed a witch or two could be traced back in the family tree. if the letter came now, he doubted it would convince him the same way it did back then.

bitterness coats his tongue in a dull flavor. his fingers curl instinctively and the moth is crushed beneath. it’s late when he notices, the creature resembling pieces of torn paper, no hint of its previous nature. suguru clicks his tongue and wipes the remains lazily against his pants.

he hears more than he notices footsteps coming from behind. he’s pulled from his position before he can do anything about it, ‘  satoru? ’ 

stale air is replaced by a familiar scent, the solidness of a body pressed against his back and satoru’s arms are fast to wound around his waist. needy? probably, but he doesn’t mind. his gestures have the petulance of a kid whose favorite toy has been returned to him, though he knows satoru’s attachment has more depth to it than ownership. suguru’s head tilts only slightly, until he can make out the messy hair haloed by the moonlight.

‘  did yaga send you to find me? or are you that enthusiastic for conversation? both seem likely.  ’  he lets out

Mad scientists will be like "I know a place" and then strap you onto the autopsy table

@vzmky

' you're not an exorcist, '

nor akuma, nor any other monster she was aware of. bloodied candles float in the air, their victims scattered across the ground in an almost unrecognizable mess. they accused her of being some kind of cursed spirit, whatever that was.

being called names hurts my feelings

they were weak, not even lasting a few minutes against her. they were no exorcist, otherwise they may have tried begging once they learned who she was. this other one however had the unmistakable stench of blood, and their smile was all but merry.

' you positively reek of death. were they friends of yours? they weren't much fun. will you be more fun than they were? '

🌸♥️

❛  this is the choice — this is the point of no return.  ❜ / grimm to ulqui

🐝  *  ―  𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑷𝑯𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑶𝑴 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑶𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑨 𝑺𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑪𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺. // @chipen

words are too abstract for reprimand. ulquiorra sees no fault in honesty, however quaint. what drives his senses into alert is the prospect of a fight: grimmjow isn’t the type of creature that will sit and obey, not without a baseless display of strength and the back row of teeth clenched and ready to bite authority. that is the charm of carnivorous species, their mouths are made for mauling.

though his voice attracts ulquiorra’s attention, bringing his steps to a halt, there’s little else to tempt him into wasting more time than necessary to hear an explanation.

‘ so you say. ’ patterns are obvious. bait is dangled in the shape of a discussion, perhaps he wants to divert ulquiorra’s focus elsewhere, using provocation. very well, two can play this game. ‘ or are you implying desertion? neither lord aizen or i have any interest in wayward soldiers. ’ 

cowardice is too direct, and he still hasn’t gotten the answer he wants to hear yet. grimmjow can’t hide truths for too long. the other espada have since scattered, each to their own section of the palace, so the only remaining figures in the hall are the two of them, separated only by the empty space and a couple of steps that, if his temper were any similar to grimmjow’s, he would’ve crossed the bridge moments ago. he’s more manageable when hungry, not like this.

ulquiorra eyes him once more, unsure what to make of this talk, ‘ for argument’s sake, let us believe there is a choice. what is your intent? i had assumed fighting was your main drive. you’re unpredictable as always. ’

think of a young boy disconnected from the spiritual world as sorcerers know it, an ordinary human who upon gaining consciousness he realized that he's able to see what others can't and not only are his eyes unveiled to the creatures roaming in the shadows, he's also able to consume them, to dominate them, to make them hurt when he wants to wound others, what exactly does it take for him to realize it and when does he do it? Who was the first person that he hurt, what did the first ingestion taste like : vomit, garbage, a wet rag? we really know very little about geto and yet he's still a constant presence in the narrative, the ghost that's constantly at the corner of your eye or clinging to your back. thinking hard about this tbh

kogami vc: no

⌕ sakamoto days • gaku.

like or reblog if you save/use. 🤍

@cursedfell

My Dark Disquite

❛ You cannot know how frightened gods are of pain. There is nothing more foreign to them, and so nothing they ache more deeply to see. ❜ pspsp from gojo

@chipen // BOOK STARTERS VOL.56    CIRCE    MADELINE MILLER

his eyes travel across the mountains on the other side of the glass, the wagons rattling with their metallic sound as the city retreats and disappears in the corner. rarely does satoru follow, busy as he is on solo missions, so between the growing mountain of curses disposed by his hand and perfection of his reverse cursed technique, there’s hardly any chance for their paths to cross for longer than a brief glance or a good morning, have you eaten? wave.

satoru’s voice lures him in and out of his thoughts.

frightened. i don’t think i’ve ever seen you truly scared. he doesn’t say.

‘ hah, isn’t that funny to hear. you’re a half-god yourself. ’ prodding at his ego is easier, so he goes for that, masking the tiredness weighing down his shoulders with a low chuckle, voice gone soft, ‘ …going in headfirst does little to keep pain at bay, that much is obvious. you don’t seem all that affected by it - the pain. might be part of being made of halfsies. ’

suguru finds the irony amusing, a sort of innocent arrogance that never fails to paint a smile on his face as he listens to satoru ramble on. this time, though, it leaves a bitter aftertaste. it’s partly distance — the division that separates a god from human, strength from anything broken —, the other bigger part is despondence and it’s getting harder to hide it behind the illusion of a fox-like smile. some days, his muscles don’t follow, frozen into an expression that he can hardly call indifference because the embers of something akin to anger linger.

this time it spills, briefly, not enough to stain the room but just enough to rekindle the conversation, words rasp like sandpaper, ‘ what does it take to make you into a God, then? the fear, having something that scares you to death, or wanting it more than anything else? you don’t have to answer, i’m just wondering. ’