it's so good, it just won't last, i know it won't

Janaina Medeiros
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Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
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@zkaixry
it's so good, it just won't last, i know it won't
it's so good, it just won't last, i know it won't
we were children, thrust into war. once it ends, what will we become?
will i live to see the end of it? do i want to?
My warm breath erupts from my mouth in clouds. They're short-lived, disappearing almost instantly into the white snow. The cold wind bites my cheeks and carries clouds far away, someplace where I cannot go to. My hands, red and blue and purple, are a stark contrast against it.
I look at them: the nails are short-trimmed, splintered; cuticles torn; red slowly washes away.
Snow feels like a warm blanket. I cover myself up with it, and with wide eyes look at the sky.
Earth swallows me up. Wind kisses my cheeks lovingly.
Clouds no more erupt from my mouth.
Look, I'm slicing my silk skin open. See? The blood — fine wine, quarter of a century old. The yellow fat — same yellow that you see in the sunshine. The blue veins — rivers on your map. The white bones — birch trees in the quiet forest. The electricity, playing on the ends of my neurons — stars in the vast, dark space.
Look at me, closely, drink me in, drink me up. I open myself up for you. See, how beautiful I am.
I need someone to draw or write about Z-team understanding that Sonar is literal big fluff, like, he has fur and he's big, and if that's not a perfect recipe for a 10 hour cuddle session, idk what is.
So they take turns cuddling with him, and everyone involved fucking love that shit, because: a) comfort b) bonding c) everyone is touch deprived
I would be so much better as a star. Just burning, continuously, eternally. Always radiant, always warm, always beautiful. Scientists would explore me and know the secrets of man-making, lovers would look at me and see the faces of their beloved ones, poets would serenade my shine and their poems would live for centuries. And then I would explode into brilliant supernova, scatter my iron for people's blood and my carbon for their bones,
and even in my death I would be
beautiful.
but i am not.
I liberate myself.
It's snowing.
The sound of falling snowflakes whispers on me, lands on my wet hair, fogs my eyesight. Perfect scenery unfolds in paper thin slices: people sliding in and out; dove gray skies; yellow streetlights.
It doesn't feel real.
The only real feelings are the glide of muscles against my bones.
The skin - a sweater, scratching me.
The hands, attached, not belonged.
I want to shed my skin, rearrange my ribs, brush the nerve endings out, so it could stop feeling wrong. I'm trapped in a body that I don't belong to.
The snow is falling. I want to scatter into it.
Haechan just puts up a game for public, while Yuta is endlessly obsessed, he's first circle of hell deep in his obsession, his love is scorchingly, heart-shatteringly intense in a way only Scorpio's love can be, the man would rip limb by limb anyone who dares to harm his loved one with his bare hands; when others would die for their love, he would kill everyone, set the whole world on fire and lay its charred remains to Mark's feet, and then the blood of their enemies would rain down on them; and on this pyre, in the midst of flames and storm, he would break his ribs open, tear out his burning heart and give it to Mark
And his last words would be "ah, kiyowa!~"
Haechan, being The Love, was a cruel creature. He made people fall in love with those they can't have; he shot with one bullet three people; he shot crowds en masse, but never gave a shot to the one those people ended up in love with. And then he watched, amused, how hearts got broken, how lives got shattered, how people steeply turned their fate towards immeasurable danger just because of these neverending, raging, piercing feelings.
But today he was especially bored. Sitting on the roof of the bus, he absentmindedly watched people running about their business... Until he spotted that one guy. Haechan remembered him: shy and gentle data engineer with round eyes and sharp cheekbones. And he remembered the feisty artist, short both in height and temper. That was brilliant two-handed shooting: clean and quick. These two would be just the perfect pair of lovebirds that everyone envied.
If only he wasn't bored today.
So he made himself visible for a fleeting moment only to that one data engineer, slowly raised the revolver, locked the eyes with the guy, and shot him right in the head.
Mark noticed the boy on the roof of the bus and frowned. What was he doing there and why no one didn't notice him? What...
Oh. 𝑶𝒉.
Something shifted deep inside him, and the shift was tectonic, earth-shattering. But in the blink of an eye the boy disappeared as if he had never been there. Mark stopped in his tracks there, dumbfounded, in the middle of a busy road, and put a palm on his chest. What was that? Blip of imagination? Early signs of heart failure?
A car honked deafeningly, making Mark jump and hurry to the other side of the road. But wait, where was he going? Ah, yes, to see Renjun. The date. He rubbed his forehead, frowned once more and decided not to pay any mind to what had just happened,
not knowing that the image of the feisty artist soon will be replaced by sweet smile and caramel cheeks, and twinkling eyes, and soft curls, shining coppery in the rays of the full sun.
NCT HORROR VHS TAPES
jaehyun is ctrl+c cnltr+v leon
it was only right to add doyoung as ada
mine mine mine
Dead. Unmistakably, irrevocably. Death painted his throat, splashed ugly colors on his face. Even his hair, silky smooth as ever, was tainted with it. His last breath was just seconds ago, and then seconds unfurled into eternities, and he was not breathing.
Maybe if I wait long enough he'll suck air in, he'll blink, say my name again?
But he was lying here, unmoving, not breathing. So I shook him and shook him again, violently, begging him to come back to me. His head was lolling back and forth, but those movements were made not out of brilliant red life that once was flowing through his veins, no. They were made of black and blue imprints that death had scattered on his body.
So I lifted the death off the floor, carried it to the kitchen and sank a knife into its heart, for it took away my one true love.
And then unmoving silence fell onto our house, and then seconds passed since its last breath, and then seconds unfurled into eternities
This piece is about domestic abuse. The victim will always be the one to protect, and the abuser will always be the one to blame, but abuser was also once a victim. I don't believe that people are inherently bad; it is other people that make them evil. And this chain goes on and on, until someone breaks it with love.
But sometimes anger takes away the better of person, and they hurt their dear ones, because someone hurt them long ago so badly that damage was irreparable, and no amount of love could heal it.
And here love fought, fought so hard and relentlessly that they even were happy from time to time; but hurt overpowered it, and killed the victim, and then love turned into grief, guilt and more pain, and killed the abuser too.
I just hope that there's enough love in me to keep fighting against pain, because this is all I have