#utopiaofdeath

[ladydesperado-blog]

[Drunk Mo being too adorbs... And blatantly FLIRTING...

I can't take it.

/valley girl spazzing]

[ladydesperado-blog]

[imminent “girl talk”/ heart to heart part 2 between Mi and Mo from what’s happening on Mo's side... ]

[little-john-ask]

Daddy and big scary man...

Why do you two fight... It makes me upset... Q~Q I get bullied and I don't know why they do it.. It's like I don't understand you two fighting.. Daddy.. if you're reading this... or the big scary man.. please no more. *whimpers*

[armstech-drebin]

"Ah, one of ya boys. Well, I know I can't sell much to ya. Somethin' ya need?"

[iamraiden]

[ Wake-Up Call ]

What should one do, if given the choice to either kill, or be killed? What should one do, if no ideals, no philosophy and no petty mantras were applicable anymore? Man is a selfish beast in a tarnished suit, who remains stagnant, poisonously idle, until he awakens to reveal his true form.

Because of him, he had to do everything he had strived to avoid.

This was Raiden’s awakening – the void he had feared ever since his childhood, a heinous manifestation that began to unravel in shreds, bit by bit. Grown up without a place to call home, without faces to call his own, the little boy had sprouted from frightfully parched seeds, in a hollow room, where death was lingering underneath. From the moment he’d first heard its mischievous whispers, he knew the only way to escape was up, even if it meant butchering hundreds on the way.

There were no justifications, no regrets, and no mercy.

It didn’t matter.

His precision seemed to improve with every passing minute, electric jolts hissing with thirst every time he parried. There was no border between his defense and offense; it all came in a single flow. With swift, well-paced strikes, he had managed to spiral into carnage of blood-lust, red as his crimson eye. Every now and then a groan from his opponent was audible, to which he responded with a scoffing snort.

Raiden was there no more; the tool in his hand had no purpose but destruction, and the weapon’s place was taken by no other but the soldier himself.

Nothing mattered anymore.

The grip on his sword was tenacious, his blows sharper and more persistent. It felt good, real good. He was clearly in his element, with boundless persistence. It was the only way to fight, the only way to win. In order to come out alive, he realized, he had to beat his enemies at their own game, use their system against them – even if it meant following their blood trails for the final blow.

Even Monsoon’s remarks did nothing but put an eerie grin on his face; Raiden was definitely no longer in touch with himself.

And his rival could tell, for it was all Monsoon’s fault. He triggered everything. He robbed him of all his choices, leaving him with nothing but murder or death. He blinded him with fury and bitter determination, took the small drop of justice he had left in his cup of ideals.    And for that, Raiden swore, he would pay with his life.

[iamraiden]

MONSOON GET OUT OF MY SON'S ASK BOX

[little-john-ask]

Little boy, tell me, is there anything you're dreadfully afraid of?

0.0 ….. I-I’m…. afraid of… losing my daddy….

[iamraiden]

◙ ((do it))

I have a feeling this guy's trying to lecture me to death here.