Mar 20, 2018
Când te doare.
Oamenii sunt îngeri, oamenii sunt bestii,
Mulți te folosesc ca pe-un obiect
Si rămâi plângând salcie-ntre trestii,
Fiecare crede că-i cel mai deștept.
-@bucatidesufletsblog
seen from Brazil
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Brazil
seen from Canada
seen from Japan
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from South Korea
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Yemen
seen from Italy
seen from Brazil
seen from Malaysia
Când te doare.
Oamenii sunt îngeri, oamenii sunt bestii,
Mulți te folosesc ca pe-un obiect
Si rămâi plângând salcie-ntre trestii,
Fiecare crede că-i cel mai deștept.
-@bucatidesufletsblog
Viitorul, aceasta stranie amenintare.
Necazuri cu scoala
Bleeding Viitorul
Why are they tied to a chair? More importantly, why is DeDe tied to a table? A table with a tray of tools they know too well next to it.
DeDe’s deathly pale, and barely breathing, scars glaringly apparent on his skin now. “DeDe! You have to move, you have to wake up!” He doesn’t respond. But he hasn’t in days, what do they expect, a fucking song and dance? Footsteps echo down the cold corridor outside where they are, and they want to scream. But screaming will make it worse for him if he doesn’t get out. “DeDe, DeDe please, you have to wake up, have to hear me. Please. I’m.. They’re gonna hurt you. Even more. Please!” Desperation enters their tone as they fight the ropes tying them down.
The steps get closer as tears pour down their face, as they beg for their brother to wake up and do something. But the door opens. They look up expecting Bleeding Heart. But it’s not. It’s Viitorul, clad in leather, boots, weapons along their side. They’ve taken their favourite dragon blade out of it’s sheath. “No! Stop! Please, stop!” Viitorul does not respond. It’s as if Heart isn’t there at all, just as a spectator, a ghost forced to watch.
Viitorul flicks their knife around before setting to work, dipping it in an unknown substance. Except it’s not unknown to Heart. It’s poison. And they know exactly what Viitorul is about to do. They start to panic. They know Viitorul can’t hear them, but still they scream. “Stop! STOP PLEASE! He hasn’t done anything! Stop!” Viitorul sets the knife down, hesitating. Heart almost hopes that they heard them. But Viitorul just picks up a syringe, filled with what is probably the exact opposite of a pain-killer. In a manner that screams Bleeding Heart, they inject it in a spot in his neck, and almost immediately, it pulls a scream from DeDe, effectively waking him up.
His voice screams terror and pain and almost a wish for death with how much he is hurting. But he doesn’t try to escape the bonds he’s trapped in. Even his shadows aren’t appearing right now. “No! Why are you doing this? Please! Please, Viti, stop! Please!” Heart could hardly breathe because of how hard they are panicking as they speak. They wish their vision would be impaired too now. They don’t want to see this.
“Let’s see how much it will take for you to drop like a fly, DeDe.” Viitorul’s tone is malicious and cold. They look over the options, the methods they could use right now, hesitating before they pick up the knife and blow their own flames at it until it’s red hot. It wouldn’t bother them, but with the poison and heat combined... Perhaps, Viitorul is feeling merciful, choosing the quicker route. After all, he’s already been in so much pain already.
Viitorul starts slicing into his skin every inch they don’t see a mark, and reopening old ones. And as soon as the blade touches his skin, his scream turns into one of bloody murder. It echoes through the entire castle, louder than all the moans of pain from the cells down the hall. Louder than the falsely cheerful music being played in the courtyard for Mother lest she force another punishment on one of her many.... children.
It leaves a ringing in Heart’s ears that echoes and makes it hard to hear anything else for a moment. And they can’t watch any more. No. They can’t. But all they can do is close their eyes, because they’re tied down whether anyone can see them or not. And then the ringing stops. And they can hear every slice of his skin, the sizzling. Every time Viitorul redips the knife into the poison and heats it up even more.
And his breathing. That’s the loudest thing they can hear. Because it’s slowing down. And it stops.
The ropes fall away from them and they’re still and they’re in shock. No. Not shock. Shock isn’t enough to describe what crosses their face. DeDe is no longer recognizable anymore. Half his skin is burnt away. And it’s in shreds. There isn’t an inch of it left untouched.
Their vision blurs, maybe from how hard they’re crying, how hard it is to breathe for them. But when it finally clears, they can hear Viitorul shouting in their head for them to wake up.
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