[ the slice never stood a chance. it yields under choso’s grip like a perfect sponge, fluffy and light as a cloud and about as sturdy as one; as his grip tightens into a fist, the strawberries layered into the shortcake spurt out between his fingers, followed by the slower drip of delicate cream like the ponderous march of magma.
the colour overtakes his whole face. ]
I— you—!
[ listen to him sputter, Toji, hands clenching and unclenching like he’s still in review on what exactly to do with them now that murder isn’t allowed to be on the table. cake bits rain to the floor in spongey confetti chunks.
no subject
the colour overtakes his whole face. ]
I— you—!
[ listen to him sputter, Toji, hands clenching and unclenching like he’s still in review on what exactly to do with them now that murder isn’t allowed to be on the table. cake bits rain to the floor in spongey confetti chunks.
he has never been so [REDACTED] in his life. ]
It’s unclean! I would not!
[ nuh uh, yuh huh, et al. ]