ouch!

[worthwriiting]

 i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  i’m sorry.  I AM SO FUCKING SORRY.           it should have been me.             i know it should have been me.   

[nithe-blog1]

@keiotik

           the earth shakes when death brings his blade down upon war’s neck, years and years of torture finally coming to one painful end. the sky weeps onto hanbin’s back as, halfway to their home in the middle of seoul from the convenience store three blocks away, they drop a bag full of sour candy and strawberry milk cartons onto the sidewalk and stare blankly into the distance.

           they knew it would happen someday. but they didn’t know they’d feel it so intimately. pain lances from their heart through their veins, gasps making them stumble back. it’s too late for there to be anyone who cares around, which is good, because they’d see them disappear into thin air. that would be difficult to explain.

           one second they’re in that back alley with their fallen snacks, and the next they’re collapsing to their knees next to a still-warm corpse, hands grabbing at his arm, shoulder, chest, tears blurring their vision and blood smearing their palms. they whine when they process the sword in war’s esophagus, the gurgle of blood in his mouth as he exhales his last breath. pestilence keens out their sadness and envy screeches their anger and their mind is a cacophony of thoughts and not-thoughts and their skull hurts with it.

           death withdraws the sword, and they sob.

           ❝ i’ll kill him. ❞ it’s just a mumble, hidden between shuddering sobs. they press their palms, bloody as their are, to their eyes to stem the flow of their tears, smearing it on their temples and forehead, and then down their nose to wipe away tears that have already fallen and slipped down the bridge of it. they don’t care. it’s not important. they push off the ground, vision twisting as they sway and repeat themself, more force behind it this time: ❝ i’ll kill him. ❞ more determined. more angry. a hundred voices in their head say, don’t make empty promises. they have no intent to.

           death tries to say something, possibly to try and stop them, and they respond by turning and disappearing mid step. their boot leaves blood-soaked dirt and lands on tile, echoing down the hall as they storm through, thoughts racing too fast to focus on anything around them long enough to care. what they do care about is getting revenge.

           ❝ CHAOS. ❞ it is not a friendly greeting. it’s shouted, three voices, three separate drives for their anger in one. it echoes through the place, bouncing back at them and reverberating in their rib cage. it flashes red as the blood on their face and hands, angry, hurt. and yet, it will never be able to properly express just how much they want him DEAD.

[jeonify]

too pretty