Hollow echoes belay the softer steps of shoes against pavement, nary a suspicious note to resonate in familiar footfalls. Swan neck cranes, cracking from stiff posture whilst shoulders slump beneath ebony cotton. Her jaw clacks, teeth grinding, and nose crunching with forced disgusted – a hard hand is what she has to work with, a rapport second to none and a serious drive unbeknownst. His training falls to her, amongst others, but it’s with a measure of pride she takes in it – their skill together a synchronized beauty. If not for his sake she does this, then certainly her own.
Anonymous: "Psst. May I ask where you read your Tokyo Ghoul chapters? All the sites I've been on only have up to chapter 50!"
☓. if i’m not mistaken, i believe mangahere.co has more than 50 and I believe mangareader.net as well. i’m currently on mangahere and unless they labeled everything wrong, they have up to chapter 80. hope that helps! :>
Well t h a t certainly explains it (the nameless mass that laid in a heap ‘pon the floor.) Gore is painted in splendorous sheen across visage true and fingers trail through sanguine hue that coats the surrounding objects akin to dust. The … questionable construct which had been so-far made from various (unrecognizable, AND unmentionable) body parts. The form which they were attempting to take was rather… ambiguous, at best. It looked more like a meaty worm than a dragon.
A finger raises to point out a certain point of discretion on the meat-mound, as a silent word of advice. ( ‘Don’t you think it would look far better if that severed arm were moved further to the right?’ )
❛ G H O U L noun \ˈgül\ – an evil creature in frightening stories that robs graves and eats dead bodies.
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indie Touka Kirishima from the Tokyo Ghoul series. selective, multifandom, multiship, & multiverse. styles include: novella, banter, and poetry. over 8+ years of roleplay experience. adores au’s, crossovers, & most plots. always tags triggers & nsfw. completely oc-friendly. does not want to eat you, wants to love you forever. – written by freyja
Customers day in and day out were a commonplace feature amongst the throng of people populating the city. Yet how unusual did it seem each time people filtered through, bustling bodies unawares of the tragedy and horrific sights that surrounded them. And how rarely oft did they get individuals of foreign rapport to sit in their café. But she does her job all the same, the usual guise put on for the folks who dwelled in a realm of some normality.
The garish femme regards a petite girl of flaxen tresses and bright, lapis irises – voice slightly perkier than usual for the sake of customers,
❝Can I get you anything? Coffee. Tea. Maybe a pastry.❞
Perplexity dawns in features darkened by sun and wear, umber brows drawn taut. Still, there’s a reflexive snap of fingers at the hostility noted in forborne timbre of the stranger, stiffening straits of muscle and digits that clench fast ‘gainst calloused palms. And though she gazes onwards with nary a word spoken, the routing roll of shoulders as spine lengthens for her full height to be achieved is clear. Stance affirmed is not bellicose in nature, but, rather, wary; she’d no sooner harm them than they would find worthy to do her harm. (And, unfortunately, the bitter harsh of words that assaulted her eardrums seemed to breathe enmity —— an attack was not so fanciful a notion.)
Harsher tidings warrant no brevity. Merely a warning, not a judgement warily so devious on her part that gnarled design fixates itself on the soft tug and sheen of sinew. It’s noted, with keen observation the posture and perplexity posed, tongue clucking. Only seeing the threat ( not so ) lingering before in carmine and garish shade, not the one that coils around corners or slithers beneath gravel – h u m a n s . She is not such a predator, not such a monster, though one wouldst not deny the claim if it came forth. After all, the tang of iron laid thickly upon a tongue made for exactly ghoulish intent.
