@skarletchains asked:
💣
[accepting so long as this works - here's the source for reblogging.]
King held it together admirably. Oh they were so very strong, because it was him. If they lost it around him, he would be forced to act in some way. It would disrupt his job, his entire mission. Oh, but the fallout that occurred when they were behind closed doors, it was like someone threw a grenade, and that grenade was King. BOOM. There was a literal hole punched into the outside of the hotel pillow, King's fists trembling at their side, threads falling from one of their fists. Red irritation around the knuckles of the fist that the threads fell from. Their eyes glowed vividly under their thick bangs, but because of the downward tilt of their head, Kurapika could see it easily without strain.
"I know you have to listen to that garbage thing to get information, but I wish you'd know not everyone with incredible wealth is like that. Not..."
Whatever King was about to say died on their tongue, mouth agape as if in the process of speaking, only to close again as they thought better of the impulsive words. King's fists trembled from containing their rage, and the pillow that had a hole in it was squished and turned over, and abruptly another fist was crammed into it. Instead of making another hole, it just shot-gunned the stuffing out the first hole, spewing fluff everywhere on the bed.
"I hope they die. I hope they die. I hope they die. I hope they all die for this."
King could remember the feeling of one of their past deaths, the terror that they felt as someone got the same sickening desire for their blue eyes that the corrupt of this world craved for Kurapika's clan's red eyes... They could remember the sickening feeling of dying from such a slow blood loss, the inability to fight back, the loss of sight as their eyes were carved from their sockets... Their stomach turned and they bit their tongue, blood in their mouth as they snarled.
"I'll kill them. I'll rid them of their feet first, peel their skin back like a fucking fruit, make those fucking collectors and harvesters the same fucking fear they are so desperate to inspire. I don't care. I'll kill them. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care."
And yet, they seemed to care very much, the rage that boiled in them had them destroying another poor unfortunate pillow, knuckles reddening and palms bloody from their nails digging into their own flesh.