ᵗʰᵉ 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑.

doesn’t seem to matter how far i travel, my destiny is always followed by blood and gunsmoke. the result is always the same every time, mountains of death and debris.

[ post rescue ] huddled into the side of bus shelter , barely escaping the rain . hands were stuffed into the pockets of an oversized hoodie , and a hood pulled up . the bus was twelve minutes late , the prospect of walking home wasn’t an inviting one .

gun to your head would you kiss me

.. it’s not worth the risk. it still doesn’t feel right.

i don’t know why any of you would want to fucking fly again.

i wanted to in the first fucking place!

to me? yeah, actually.

as if anyone will treat us normal ever again.

better than going home.

I’ve got another pair, I’ll be good.

I’ve got some spare gloves around here somewhere if you’d like ‘em?

good.

i don’t want to go home, go get your thanks from someone else.

guess you shouldn’t have tried to play hero then , huh ?

i had a brother who was my savior， made my childhood bearable.

the blood that drips down from your chin is sickly sweet and metallic and， oh， so familiar. you are not sure you remember who it belongs to anymore.

the god of fire descends to light the forest， to fill you with what hollows. everyone you meet you scorch.