LadyNyxRavus

Mister



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    “I don’t get it,” Gon said numbly, staring unblinkingly at the vibrant and blood-smeared flower petals scattered across their lunchroom table. They were as beautiful as they were deadly. “How can someone not love you, Killua?”

    “There are different kinds of love, Gon,” Killua answered, and his tone held the faintest trace scorn. “Being in love is different then just loving someone, and that’s what causes Hanahaki.”

    ((Hanahaki Disease- an illness in which unrequited love causes the patient to coughs up flower petals, eventually leading to suffocation))

    Language:
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    19 Sep 2020

  2. Public Bookmark *

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    When it comes to Killua, Gon has a right to know these things

    Language:
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    19 Sep 2020

  3. Public Bookmark 87

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    “Um,” he says, and behind the desk the clerk looks up. His eyes, Gon sees in surprise, are a startling gold. They shine like candy-wrapper foil in the low light. “How much is the tea?”

    “Price varies by weight and selection,” replies the clerk in a soft tenor. He flicks his fingers towards the shelves; his nails are long and sharp like a mountain lion’s except that they’re painted pale blue, his fingers narrow and shapely. “The price is listed at the bottom of the label,” he intones as though he’s said it a thousand times. And yet somehow Gon can’t see many people stopping into this shop and even fewer interrupting the clerk to ask.

    Or: Hisoka runs a tea store as a front to a hit man business.

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    18 Sep 2020

  4. Public Bookmark *

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    Killua stares and stares and stares at the beating space of skin at Gon’s throat. Beneath that skin is a fresh stream of blood, ever flowing, full of life. Killua has torn throats wide open with his bare hands but this is the first one he’s ever wanted to kiss. [Two boys talking in the dark as they fall asleep, entwined. Killugon, cuddlefluff. Set during episode 37.]

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    19 Sep 2020

  5. Public Bookmark 62

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    The abandoned way station out by the slip road was just as Iwaizumi had described it, which was how his uncle had described it, for even Iwaizumi himself had not laid eyes on the place since they were children. It was a glorified shack badly in need of three new coats of paint and a coffee machine.

    Iwaizumi had the latter, and Oikawa, fortunately, the former. He had picked out the paint himself, a sight for sore eyes in mint that made Iwaizumi raise his eyebrows.

    Oikawa hopped off the truck, breathed, “It’s perfect,” and meant it.

    In which Iwaizumi and Oikawa run a way station for travellers off the Joban Expressway, go stargazing, and aren't quite sure what to make of the vine growing up their wall.

    Language:
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    18 Sep 2020