#angerify

      𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄, 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐎𝐀𝐌 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐂𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄. somewhere in the recesses of his mind, there were wind chimes echoing. he wonders if gojo can hear them, as well. surroundings were peacefully admired : watercolor horizons, and brush stroke structures that distorted when focused on for too long. everything seemed like an 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐘 of memories intricately pressed together into one singular canvas, certain aspects didn't belong to him. such as the quaintly patterned kimono this man had materialized. it may be that they are influencing one another's perspectives ... like a shared conscious space. however, the millisecond that leaf caressed an ivory cheek, his stare would eerily veer to acknowledge it. a realization similar to a pin dropping.

      pale water withdraws once more, then immediately expels back in the same gentle grace it had carried moments prior. this time, it arrives a deep crimson. viscous, swirling around their ankles like 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐒 lurking below the depths. ❛ is this realistic enough ? ❞ nonchalance to mask rearing malevolence. sukuna gives the false impression that he's unaware and incapable of inflicting harm. by the grace of cruel gods, there is nothing separating them. dismembered limbs sloshed above the now rippling tides, decomposing and contorted into unnatural poses. ❛ need i remind you that many are dead thanks to you. ❞ attention averts from the unpleasant sight, not completely facing him but adding a physical 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇 to the end of his sentence.

      the other may find it difficult to keep his blindfold in place, as if someone is continuously tugging away at it. a force that wasn't visible, but ever present in its persistence. thick fabric is becoming thinner, sheer enough to reveal that crystalline glow. he wants to see @angerify's eyes.

@angerify / p0rn WITH plot!

wei wuxian's hands tremble with the force of his grip on lan wangji's back. somehow, he needs to hold onto reality to prevent his soul from leaving his body; each thrust from lan zhan into his core puts him closer and loser to losing it completely. control yourself, lan zhan ! he hears himself tease, his words interrupted by his own cries of pleasure. ah! you're going to split me in half if you keep going like this ! as usual, lan wangji knows wei wuxian's words are just words, and he is merciless in his physical response.

↳ 𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗘: HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHISHIYA!

Most people celebrate the approach of midnight for their birthday. Chishiya plays a death game instead. Not because he needs to, but because he chooses to play despite having several days on his visa still. There's something poetic in the idea of dying on the day that you're born. ( It's statistically more likely to die on one's birthday, although mainly due to alcohol consumption and increased risk-taking behavior. ) But he comes back, like usual. Birthday brought in with the sounds of lasers and Congratulations! and cold winter winds. Kuina's thankfully caught up so he can slip to his room before she screams HAPPY BIRTHDAY and draws attention in the busy lobby of the Beach and he's long gone by time she does. Safe in his room with the plan to avoid tomorrow. Or technically today. Just treat it like any other day. Insignificant, unimportant.

THERE'S A KNOCK. Chishiya stills, staring at his door for a moment before he walks forward and opens it. It's Niragi, with a very unimpressed expression that earns a dead-eyed stare from Chishiya until something is being tossed at him. His attention darts towards catching the unexpected item instead with a cloud of confusion. But he succeeds and he tears his eyes away from Niragi to look at the object instead.

It's his favorite snack. The Beach has been out of them for weeks now, and Chishiya hasn't seen them in any of the stores or gas stations that are sometimes visited after the games. NOT THAT HE'S LOOKED HARD ; Chishiya isn't very food motivated , but he knows they aren't very easy to find. But somehow Niragi's gotten ahold of them. Niragi remembered. Even if Chishiya had only offhandedly remarked that they were his favorite after Niragi had half taunted, half teased him about snacking one night.

And then the explanation as Chishiya looks back to him. Happy birthday, I guess. Chishiya wants to point out the fact that HE NEVER TOLD NIRAGI THAT. And he regrets telling Kuina because she MUST be the culprit. Something flashes in his eyes ; a rare vulnerability of UNCERTAINTY and something else before it dies in the void of his eyes. Chishiya doesn't celebrate and he didn't think Niragi would be the kind to either. But here he is. Niragi spent who knows how long finding his favorite snack that he somehow remembered and there's a wound splitting somewhere under the ice. A whisper of warmth trickles through his chest like blood under gauze but he won't admit that. His throat tightens a fraction, his mouth a little dry for a moment.

" I didn't realize you would be so intent on being the first to say that. Congratulations. " Chishiya settles for a familiar style of tease for BOTH of their sakes even if it lacks his usual bite. He drops his gaze back to the package in his hands and that wound is still bleeding inside ; LIKE A GAS LEAK. " First time I've heard that in years. " Spoken, but it sounds more like a thought to himself than necessarily to Niragi. Not sad, not happy, only detached like an observation. Which is was. His family never celebrated birthdays beyond any major ones that society expected a big event for. Too sentimental and pointless ; the date of birth was no more important than anything else as he'd heard said. Chishiya probably should have cared, at least as a kid. But he hadn't, despite how other kids babbled about loving family and times filled with cakes and candles and laughter.

Chishiya studies Niragi, and then steps back to leave space for him to walk in if he chose to. AN OFFER FOR HIM TO COME IN , but not a request. Chishiya does not beg and he won't with this. But the offer sits there, a rare opportunity given without asking or build up. Only Chishiya choosing to in his own way.

"Ah, so you actually came. I was starting to think you were planning on standing me up..." Suguru senses him before he even sees him, recognizing the sensation of his cursed energy as Satoru approaches him. As always, they have to meet in private, tucked away from the prying eyes of Jujutsu society's higher-ups, but the view is beautiful - a trail overlooking the thick forest that surrounded his temple, frost glimmering off of the branches in the afternoon sunlight. One might even say it's romantic - not that Suguru would ever admit that's why he chose to meet his 'old friend' here. He's forsaken his usual cult robes for a more casual look today, black sweater and baggy pants, and a light jacket for the cold - it's been a long time since he's allowed anyone but his family to see him without his 'godly attire'... His gojo-kesa. He wonders if Satoru knows what those robes are called, that he wears his name around like a protective charm...

It's the crack of dawn, and Eren doesn't remember how long he's already been awake for. Sleep fades you in and out without ever truly letting you know how many hours you were sacrificing for it. And if most of them were dedicated to flashes and sounds from memories he's yet to make, he can't exactly say they're hours well-spent.

But it's better to lay and pretend, than wake everyone up.

Supposedly.

It's not quite yet the crack of dawn, and Eren is thinking about the time Reiner and Berthold had guided him through the woods to unwittingly teach him something about camaraderie and friendship they probably never thought him to be part of.

It's safe out now. Not really, but the others don't really understand that yet.

It's odd to still be knocked about like soldiers, considering the circumstances. But maybe old habits die hard, and it's easier to have bunks and huts around these parts than go back to sleep in actual beds. Doesn't matter. Eren is thinking about a life that feels like it belonged to someone else, and finds it amusing that in spite of it all, he somehow still ends up here.

junseo doesn't know why he's been left in charge of entertaining a mob wife, but he doesn't like it. he doesn't like being away from minchul, either, and the amount of guards flanking the room has him feeling twitchy. surely jihoon would have been the better choice for this, as a fellow mob wife, but junseo knows well enough that he tries to stay out of the business just as much as minchul doesn't like putting him in harm's way. he just... wishes it didn't have to be his job instead. it's not like he has any idea what he should talk about, and the silence is starting to linger for a little too long.❝ so... ❞ he trails off, awkwardly stalling for time as he tries to come up with a topic of conversation. ❝ what do you do for fun...? ❞

He knew that it wasn't rational to hit someone after an incident like that, even if they had it coming, yet Sieun couldn't shake the thought from his mind. Suho wouldn't want his grandmother to worry, and they had likely faced similar situations before.

"It's not fair," he murmured, not pulling away from the playful ruffle of his hair as he usually did. It felt childish and silly to say. Sieun had been aware of the world's unfairness since childhood, thanks to his parents' emotional distance, but that didn't mean they should simply accept it.

Suho's question about him going home went unanswered as Sieun stood from the table to grab some paper towel squares from the roll. All he could do was quietly mop up the mess from that man's outburst—he had also spilled a full glass of water—so that Suho wouldn't have to deal with that along with the burger mashed into the floor.

He knew Suho would likely object, his teasing yet gentle tone already echoing in Sieun's mind: "Ya, Yeon Sieun, stop that. You don't work here." But he wanted to lend a hand simply because he hated the thought of Suho doing it all on his own.

After a moment, he spoke up, the wet paper towel wadded in his palm. "The burgers aren't disgusting. They're the best in the neighborhood." And he hoped Suho's grandmother heard him despite how naturally quiet his voice was. Once the table was dry, he disposed of the wipes in the nearest bin.