#stkr

       “Cry for me.” 

Maybe Tsukiyama will let Bum keep his used tissue if he does.

     NORMALLY ANGELO WAS QUITE skilled at taking note of people watching him. Pickpockets were supposed to be unspectacular, and he knew how to be a forgotten face in a crowd. As long as he kept his head down, none would recall ever seeing him. Everything had been going rather smoothly today until someone caught sight of him doing his ❛job❜. Angelo had not called attention to his little spy, although he could have. Instead, he waited until his client was gone before he dared turn those golden eyes back in their direction. 

     They reminded him of a mouse.

———— this sinking feeling of regret. he hates it. hates how he feels trapped, as if wrong turn will have him leading into dead end. not a dead end where he’s flush against the wall having to turn back, but a dead end, where he’s face to face with a figure, their blade whet, ready to pounce. it leaves him trembling, heart weak, faltering in his step and ready to turn back.

        ❛  h-how? there shouldn’t be anyone in here. maybe you’re just hearing  things?  ❜

             A sheep snarred between a wolfs broken jaw ;                       he dangles before her . A bruised apple of                       eden to pluck for his sin would rot teeth                        && sour flesh.

                    ,,though she was no maiden but a abscess on the                      wolfs diseased back. Filled with humanities                      sin a angel shall rise { god rest their souls }.

    betrayal.   it’s still on his mind like a drum bleating his his mind   (   you thought you had him,   you thought you could keep him...   ).   how could he ?   after everything sangwoo has done for him,   he betrayed him.   he never thought after all his years of murder he would be the one stabbed in the back.   now he knew why they’d always scream...

    he needed to be more aggressive.   he needed to be more stern,   gain his trust truly this time.   that was the key,   trust.   he wanted to go back,   revert things to how they were.   what happened to the “ yes,   sangwoo, ” “ no,   sangwoo, ” “ anything for you, sangwoo. ”   it was all just a fallacy wrapped in layers of fake smiles and feint kisses.   he was smarter now,   though.   no,   he wasn’t going to let something like that fool him ever again.

   lately,   he’s had his eyes on a small lass from seoul.   just out of highschool,   breasts barely big enough to fill out an a cup.   though sangwoo would go for something bigger,   in cup size and age,   he was desperate.   he had to keep his cool,   though.   his internal panic would have to wait another time,   a time where he wasn’t so entertained by this chick’s horrible attempts at flirting.   she’s probably a virgin,   he assumed.   like most of his other victims,   he lured her back into his house.

    he let this one fight...

    he stripped the corpses clothes down to just a pair of red lace panties.   he folded her clothes neatly and set it aside.   time for the main attraction.   sangwoo dragged the bruised and indifferent corpse to the basement,   the thump of her head hitting the stairs ringing through the room.   he tosses the body to the floor and follows after it.   he ignores the living body in the room   (   he’s dead to me anyway    )   and grabs the bone saw.   he examines,   contemplates,   hesitates,   then takes it back to the female.   almost with surgical precision,   he starts sawing off her arm,   his face void of emotions.

   about halfway,   he stops.

                              ❝   ...   hey,   bum,   come here.   i want to show you something.   ❞

kisses yumbum on the head.

remembers diesel and smooches him too. 

“good boy.” 

       An unusual stench had found its way into his flat. It lingered in the air without warning, carrying its unsavory fragrance to his bedroom. Human, no doubt -- Although, Tsukiyama wouldn’t be feasting on this rotten flesh. Without any hesitancy, he swung open his closet door and peered down to the pathetic figure on the floor. No other words left him, merely fixated on the pair of shoes within the other’s grasp.

       “Are those my Armani loafers?”

Original Character (Not my! Belongs to Kiri)