#barking and panting like a rabid dog | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theheartofone · 11 months ago

Text

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Thirty-Seven

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Thirty-Seven: Washed Up

Kozuki Raya

I have to throw him into the lake, I tell myself again. Throw him in the lake, and the water will do its thing.

That’s what Aragnus said to do before he flew away, planting the rest of my crew and allies all across his thick back.

For the millionth time in that hour, he had to assure my enraged ass that he wasn’t going to harm anyone. That they were going to be taken to rest, and that I would be able to see them after dealing with Zoro if that would make me feel any better. Acting as if he wasn’t trying to obliterate me and everyone I knew only a mere minutes ago.

I stare down at Zoro. His entire body is paralysed, his arms and legs splayed on the floor like a dragged across puppet. I try to stifle down a smile as I look at the priceless reaction on his face. Oh, he’s definitely pissed off about the whole thing – and unfortunately for me, Zoro notices the weird contortion on my face.

“I swear if you start laughing, Tenguyama…” he grumbles.

Even though I do bite down on my tongue, I can’t help but teasingly cock my head. “Or what? You gonna suddenly jump right up and fight me?”

He calls me a not-so-nice name that I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear.

Whatever Aragnus did to Zoro… well, his body just wasn’t cut out for it. My small smile starts to fade as I think about that.

This is probably the first time I’ve ever felt afraid for his pain in the ass. And I didn’t like feeling like that.

It’s not like I’m doing this against my will. It’s the opposite, actually. When Franky offered to take Zoro off my hands, knowing I’m going through the worst identity crisis of my life, I had the audacity to bark back at him like a rabid dog.

I guess that sounds pretty on brand, with who I supposedly am, the incarnation of Retribution – whatever the fuck that even means. I can’t admit it to anyone else, but I’m scared. I’m really fucking scared about what that means about myself.

Do you even know who your mother is? Your father?

Aragnus’s weathered voice echoes in my head again, thrumming against the sore walls in my head. It infuriated me. Back then, he was toying with me, trying to pick at the gaps of my history with his enormous chicken claws. Provoking me to turn into a monster.

But Aragnus was right. Gramps, as much as I loved – no, love him - he’s still alive, Raya, don’t be an idiot, he was always so vague with his answers. He didn’t want to say anything, do anything, almost as if he was trying to fool the fates themselves.

Who really are my parents? Where did I even come from? I’m not sure I want to know anymore.

I frustratedly sigh out loud and force myself to take in my surroundings, trying anything to block out my thoughts. I can’t deal with these thoughts right now. I can’t.

I stare, my jaw clenching, at the trickling lake. A large body of surreal, illuminating water drifts within the cavern - yet another vast tunnel that connects to the rest of the Draconian colony - immediately making my body groan and claw desperately for its comfort.

I begin to tug at Zoro’s lean shoulders, drifting his paralysed body into the water with as much care as I can. He lays there silently, his eye staring up at the glittering stalactite ceiling. I let go of him, beginning to unfurl my pants that’s been cindered into pieces, buttons clinging onto them for dear life.

Zoro attention then crosses back to me when he hears a ruffle of clothing coming from my direction. He chokes on water, looking completely pale.

“What the hell are you doing?” he exclaims, making me yelp and jump in surprise. His alarmed voice takes all of the space of the hollow room, echoing over and over again until all I can hear is a dozen of aghast Zoro’s.

I annoyedly give him a look, my fingers pausing in the middle of unbuttoning my shirt. “What do you mean, what am I doing? Don’t you bathe with your crewmates?”

“Yeah, separately, we do.”

“Sorry, Roronoa, you’re so right. I’ll just let you wash your completely paralysed self first, with your completely paralysed hands, and then I’ll jump in straight after!” I muse sarcastically. “How about that?”

Zoro glares at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. His frustration is palpable, but there’s not much he can do in his current state. I grin at him, sticking my tongue out.

He kisses his teeth. “Get in, then.”

“It’s not like you’re seeing anything new, anyway,” I mumble under my breath, slipping my half-burnt shirt over my head. My fingers go to my bra, my eyes awkwardly averting to the ceiling as I undo the last latch.

Zoro tries to maintain his angry face, but I can see the faint flush of colour creeping up his neck as he averts his gaze. His eye flickers back towards me occasionally, despite his best efforts to look uninterested, his jaw clenching and unclenching quickly.

“Damn it, Ray,” he mutters, his voice rough and strained. “I said, get in.”

“Okay, okay.”

And then I slip into the body of pure warmth.

When I tell you I can’t even describe in words how captivating this liquid felt against my skin, brewing within my bones, it’s a complete understatement. I gasp heavily, my cracked lips parting. It feels like hope kissing her lips my thighs, her arms reaching for my waist with a melancholic look in her eyes.

Zoro’s presence, however, still lingers like a wounded predator, drifting in the corner with his back facing down. His eyes follow me as I wade deeper, and I can sense his gaze lingering on me, assessing, calculating, perhaps doing something else I can’t put my finger on.

A thrumming waterfall behind me plays endless tricks with the light, casting restless shadows across Zoro’s face. His jaw glints like a sharp-edged blade, constantly refining the line connecting to his shoulder blades and the sinewy muscles running through his relaxed arms. Even the grassy curls that lay across his wet forehead look like they’re pulsating with new colour, more energy.

I tread towards him, not knowing what to say in the midst of the silence between us. All I can do is feel the water rush and lap over my bare body, my lips parting again from the tumult of sensations. Roronoa glares at me, his jaw clenching with restrained frustration, the muscles rippling beneath the surface of his skin like coiled springs waiting to be released. Every movement he makes is deliberate, controlled, yet there’s some sort of intensity that threatens to break free at any moment.

I can feel the heat radiating off him, from his breath, his skin overcome with streams of teardrops over the curve of his muscles, and I can’t help but lean closer to him. My wet brown curls snake over my bare shoulder, pressing across his chest like a string of unfurled ribbon. He releases a breath he was trying to restrain, which makes me suddenly hold mine in.

This is so… intimate. I haven’t even yet touched him, and yet the slightest touch of my hair on his skin feels like we’re breaking boundaries.

Neither of us wants to break the silence as we lay here, allowing the small trickles of waterfalls be the only source of sound within this large cavern.

For a moment, I tip my head backwards, feeling the heat of the liquid flow through me. I sigh dejectedly. This was a painful day. A stressful and a lonely one, to be honest. I’ve never felt so vulnerable and uncovered in front so many people until now.

I raise an arm from underwater, staring at the water that chases past the honey hue of my skin. And for the first time in a while, I notice that my skin is smooth. Bright. Full of life. No colourful bruises, no spurting blood, no torturous metal caging its way into my veins like some kind of hell-spawn.

I hold my breath as the image of myself flashes into my head.

I became light.

I transformed into some sort of thing in shades of gold and black, metal encasing my whole being as if that was my original form all along. My mind starts to race.

Retribution? What does that event equate to? A punisher? A torturer? A Goddess who demands revenge and destroys all for her personal gain?

All I’m missing is a scythe. Then I’d be the fucking Grim Reaper.

Gods, I’m a monster.

“Okay,” I snap out loud with my eyes closed, quickly plunging my arms back into the heat of the water. My voice echoes with no end within the emptiness of the room. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“You really don’t need to do this,” Zoro quickly says, his eyes trained on the ceiling.

I cock my head at him, frowning. “Come on. It was my fault for getting you into this.” I stare at his beautiful, tense face. “If only I’d shut my mouth and let that bird talk, I wouldn’t have put everyone in danger.”

“What you did was pretty fuckin’ stupid, yeah, but you weren’t making me do anything against my will.”

I shake my head, and finally decide to trace my fingers over one of his rough hands, my skin brushing against his delicious warmth. I cup some water in my palms, sifting some over his coiled, hard biceps and admiring the way the water beads off in harmony to his form. When all of a sudden, I feel his fingers curving over mine, catching my hand into a loose squeeze. I gasp a little.

“I wanted to fight that chicken freak so bad, you know,” Zoro breathes out heavily, his chest rising in reaction to my cold fingers. He’s trying his best to train his eye on the ceiling and not on my bare form that hovers above him.

I snort, cupping more water over his neck and shoulders. My hand doesn’t even manage to wrap even halfway around his bicep, so I decide to use both. My palms slowly ripple over his tense skin, lathering over each surface with silent admiration. “The both of us could’ve skewered him.”

“Given that damn cook something to barbeque.”

I laugh out loud. My burst of joy envelops each and every crevice of the cave, making Zoro’s mouth slightly twitch in return. “Well, you should be glad he wasn’t. You’d be stuck here, motionless, forever.”

There’s a defiant glint in his eye as he locks his gaze onto my face and says, “Would’ve been worth it.”

I lean towards him even closer, slightly drunk on the joy of the water. I hold my breath, taking a moment to stare at him and the thin sketch that runs over his other eye.

Wasn’t I supposed to hate him?

A few other green curls have found its way to rest over his eyes, the heat of the water tracing over his face in dewy drops. My fingers are itching so bad to touch more of him.

Snap out of it, Ray. What the hell am I doing?

I instantly turn away and busy myself with cleaning him up.

Zoro stares at me with an unreadable look as I focus only and solely on his neck. “You don’t need to do this,” he hoarsely says.

I hesitate, my fingers pausing right above his Adam’s apple. “I mean, if you’re so hell-bent on doing something, there is one way you could repay me.”

“And what’s that?”

“Um…” I swallow, avoiding his questioning stare. My fingers begin reaching for his warm chest, my palm softly drifting across his muscles on its own. I hear him take in a quiet, yet sharp breath as my fingers come into contact with his skin. His eye darkens instantaneously with an edge of wanting.

Obviously, that didn’t last for long as I release the next sentence from my mouth.

“Well, you mentioned somebody named Kuina.”

If a paralysed man could become even more paralysed, that’s exactly how Zoro reacts.

He doesn’t respond for a few moments, almost as if he’s brewing on what to say.

“What… about her?” He asks, his low voice warning me to tread carefully with the topic.

“The Kuina you knew served the Wado Ichimonji, right?”

He gave an approving grunt.

“Short hair? Blue?”

“Yeah.”

“Her dad own a dojo? Was she strong? Fucking amazing with swords? Was always a little bit defiant, but could still act all cool and collected when she had to? Did she—”

“You knew her.”

I pause. My chest feels tight as I force out a fake smile. “Small world, I guess.”

“You knew her,” Zoro repeats, still taken aback by the information. “How? When? But…”

I’m an actual fucking moron, then. I release a bitter laugh from my lips as my fingers clench into fists, resting firmly over his hard chest. Since when had I turned into this thoughtless air-head?

Because the Kuina I knew, the Kuina who would drag her Wado across the deserted fields of the island we would meet up on, would complain to me. How her father couldn’t see her as anything more than a female. That she had noticed herself, how her own limits were only multiplying; her breasts were forming, her body slowing its growth in height and strength. And.. And she’d complain about…

“She’d tell me how this one green-headed, snotty-nosed kid was always running up to her for a fight,” I mutter, my voice cracking. “She’d gloat about it, too. ‘Lil’ fry didn’t know what hit him when his sword flew across the room.’”

“She said that about me?” Zoro snaps.

There’s an uncomfortable silence after that. I can’t bring myself to reply, terrified that if I do, I’d probably just cry.

Zoro’s breathing is harsher now. I can tell just by staring at the way his chest is dramatically rising, trying so hard not to blow up.

Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe it was a mistake, digging up a part of Zoro’s past, because I’ve never heard him ever talk about his life before the crew in much detail. There must be a reason why he doesn’t.

I needed to know, though. Because no one in my life besides my Gramps knew about Kuina, and now knowing that someone else does… it makes her existence more permanent. As if she wasn’t a dream I made up all along, and now I can honour her more by knowing that.

Zoro’s still breathing heavily. “I’ve…never told anyone about her, not even to Luffy,” he mutters. “I can’t… I don’t even know how to deal with this. I didn’t even deal with her…” He stops himself, gritting his teeth hard.

I don’t know how, but I just knew what he was about to say.

He didn’t even try to honour her death.

“I guess that’s where you and I differ,” I mumble, furiously trying to suck in the tears back into my eyes. “I made my own small burial for her, with all the things she liked. Made this tiny-sized shitty dojo out of bamboo, with a sword-shaped locket I made for her placed beneath. There were pictures of us inside, acting like dumbasses in front of my snoring Gramps.”

I laugh out loud, my eyes glazing over. “Man, we attached balloons to his arms and threw darts at them until he woke up. Got into so much trouble with him that day…

And the Wado - it was supposed to be the finishing touch to her burial, you know. And maybe then, I’d honour her by wielding her sword later. But when her father told me that it was gone – given away…I was furious. Enraged. I screamed at him. Sobbed. I told him, who else deserved his daughter’s sword, besides him or…”

I stop myself, biting my lip hard until I feel blood seeping across my tongue. I was about to say, ‘someone who promised her they were forever sisters, regardless of blood.’

I shake my head, moving away as to hide my face from Zoro. “That’s why I hated you so much when you came to my shop, with those three broken weapons by your side. Not only did I think you stole Kuina’s possession, but defacing it like that, like it meant nothing…”

My voice breaks and I dejectedly let myself take a few breaths. I don’t have the heart to continue anymore, so I wait for Zoro to reply.

It’s unbearably silent. I don’t even hear him pause to say anything. The silence feels like an ending more than a continuance, and for some reason I feel dread run cold through my body.

I raise my head up to look at him, and my suspicions are confirmed.

Zoro shakes his head unforgivingly, glaring at me with hatred in his eye.

“What?” I ask.

I notice that his arms are moving by his will now, his legs drifting underwater to steady himself upright. His body’s slowly gaining back sensation. “Who are you, Raya?”

I freeze. I feel like a thousand poisonous daggers are raining over me, a tumult of all my worst fears stabbing me through my skin. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” he spits out. He steps towards me, making me stumble backwards until my spine hits the edge of the lake. “I never saw you at the dojo, meaning that every time Kuina said she was off for the weekend with her dad, she was seeing you. People don’t travel across islands to meet just anybody, Raya. So, who are you?”

I press my hand against his chest, forcing him to take a step away from me. I instantly turn from terrified to angry, scowling up at him with defiance.

“You answered your own question. I’m Raya, asshole.”

“Tenguyama Raya?” He pushes. I bristle, feeling his large hand cup over mine on his chest. He swipes it away and advances toward me, his gaze darkening. “That right? Or have you been lying to us the entire time?”

I can’t tell him. I can’t tell him, my mind furiously hisses, whispering over and over again the million different possibilities that could happen if I did reveal myself to them. I’m afraid that things will only get worse if he knows, what could happen to the crew if they all did figure it out.

A small part of me still doesn’t trust any of them. I hate that I feel this way, but it’s true. I don’t know who to trust, and frankly, I don’t want to be known as a Kozuki anymore. I want freedom from that cursed name.

“I’m…” I hold in a breath and furrow my eyebrows in irritation. “I’m just Raya. Can’t you just accept that answer and move the fuck on?”

“No. Not if you’re going to hurt my crew,” he simply says.

Hurt my crew. My crew.

I feel I’ve just been punched in the face.

“You don’t trust me.” I don’t pose it as a question, but instead say it matter-of-factly. I search his gaze and purse my lips. “You never did trust me, did you?”

He scoffs, leaning his head towards my face, his hot breath landing against my cheeks. “You think I want to be this close to you? You think I want to be spending my time, watching you, following you, like some sort of fucking dog? No, Raya, you don’t trust me either. Don’t be accusing me of distrust if you have it.”

I suddenly feel an odd sting to my eyes but I’m not sure why. Blood is rushing through me so quickly, and I’m immediately in a state of fury.

“You should’ve decided that when you kissed my hands, Zoro.” He stares at me with confusion, and I scoff, pushing him away from me. “That day, when I was losing blood and then passed out? I saw you. When you put me to bed, and before you left, you kissed my hands as I was bleeding from them. Why?” I wryly look at him when he doesn’t respond. “What, was that last minute guilt?”

Zoro's expression shifts, a mix of anger and contemplation flickering across his features as he meets my gaze. He considers my question. The silence stretches between us, thick with fury and fear.

Finally, he speaks, his voice low and measured, each word weighted with anger. "I did it because..." He pauses, as if searching for the right words. "To show you I’m not afraid of you."

He takes a moment to stand in front of me, his fist opening then closing by his side as if deciding whether to reach for me. He heaves out a frustrated sigh before turning his back to walk to the other edge of the pool.

I don’t move; I don’t look at him or try to even understand what he meant by saying that. The water trickles across multiple broken rocks, calmly fluttering into the lake with a discontented sigh, and all I can do is sink my shoulders deeper into the warm liquid, hoping that maybe it’ll wash even my memories away.

Zoro in the distance begins to dress himself, throwing on his shirt and pants with unnecessary aggression before grabbing at his two swords. He doesn’t offer a look back to me as he storms out of the cave, except he leaves me with a few parting words, the words that will stop me from going to sleep at night.

“You don’t scare me, Kozuki.”

25 notes · View notes

kingkatsuki · 1 year ago

Text

When a guys pants hang low enough to show the hem of their boxers it has me barking like a rabid dog.

39 notes · View notes

messy-gemini1 · 2 years ago

Text

A break

A break.

that's all they needed was a damn break.

But this world was not kind to the wicked, no. There would be no breaks for them. not for people who've committed sins such as theirs.

But...

Fate allows only small chances of a break, if you are brave enough to grab it by its thorny vines, as blood drips down your palms and you scream and pull on it...

A lit cigarette sits idly between your fingers, the glowing embers flashing off onto the concrete below. Your shoes are scuffed in blood and dirt, laces undone.

A truck pulls into the driveway, Vincent stepping out with Jonesy in tow. The dog barks happily at seeing your form, trotting happily to lay at your feet.

fingers snapping causes you to look up at your older brother.

'You shouldn't be smoking.' He signs, fingers caked in wax and dried blood. You smile and take a puff of the cigarette, stubbing it out. ' If Bo catches you, he'll throw a fit' he signs once more. Speaking of his twin, here comes Bo stomping his way up the driveway, his hat is off, showing off his wild brown hair.

"What're you two, gossipin' about" he said, sweat is along his brow as he pulls out a cigarette and makes a hand motion for you to hand over his lighter.

he lights the cig between his lips and groans, scooting you with his shoe before plopping himself down on the stairs next to you.

It's quiet, cept for the crickets chirping or Jonesy panting. the air is crisp and cool, a sign that fall is on her way to Ambrose.

"You did good today" Bo speaks up; he was never one to say 'I'm proud of you' but you knew it was his way of saying so.

You send a small smile his way, scabbed knuckles sitting atop your knee.

'Maybe next time don't beat their faces in? makes it hard to wax' Vincent Signs, you only grin. "Sorry, kind of lost control" you say, leaning back on the wooden steps. Bo pops his joints beside you, causing you to grimace at the noise.

A horn honking causes your heads to jolt up, Lesters rust bucket pulling into the driveway. He pops out with a grin.

"who's up for a food outtin" He offers. Your twin brother looks at one another before they shrug. "Fine, but we're takin' my truck" bo says. You smile and jump up, ready to have something hot in your stomach.

"go grab a jacket, I don't wanna hear you complainin about the cold" Bo says, grabbing the back of your shirt as you groan. Vincent shuffles his zip up jacket off his form, holding it out to you. 'here, now lets go, I'm starving' He signs and makes his way to Bo's truck, letting Jonesy into the back seat with you and Lester while he rides shotgun.

The food from the dinner you frequent is like heaven to you, better than Lesters cooking but you don't say that.

You offer to be the one to go inside and order, the boys seemingly tired from today's work as they wave you off with the money and order.

After getting everyone's food, you all sit inside the heated truck, after Bo complains about not getting food everywhere. You smile as you munch on your burger and fries, it's not Everday you get to eat out with your family, so you take it with a grain of salt.

Bo relaxes in his seat, hat tilted over his face, having scarfed his food down like a rabid animal. Vincent is slowly eating his fries, along with whatever was left was Bo's. Lester and you share your food between each other and Jonesy, who sits on the trucks floor.

"Alright, everyone done?" Bo says, sitting up. you all reply and throw your trash away before heading home. You find yourself slumping against the window of the truck, eyes slowly falling close before your body succumbs to sleep.

Only waking up slightly when someone puts you on their back. You can tell its Bo from the way he's cursing and mumbling.

"getting to damn big for this shit" he mumbles, as if trying to not wake you.

You nuzzle into your older brothers back, mumbling before he puts you into your bed, basically throwing you.

"Now go to bed" he says, leaving the room and turning the lights out. You kick your shoes off, slipping out of your grass-stained pants and pulling on a pair of short before you slither back into the comfort of your bed, nuzzling into the pillow.

Your phone buzzes beside you, eyes squinting as you look at the text from Lester.

Lester: 'went home, goodnight lil sis. also took Jonesy with me :) '

You huff when reading that he took Jonsey with him, hoping to use the dog's warmth for your cold feet. You send a quick goodnight text and curl into the bed, nuzzling the pillows before falling asleep.

Even if it was a small break from Ambrose with your brothers, your glad you all took it.

#House of wax #house of wax 2005 #vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #lester sinclair #sister sinclair

17 notes · View notes

sweet-as-an-angel · 2 years ago

Text

MW2 Reaction to You Calling Them Submissive and Breedable

Warnings: 18+, Implications of Smut, Implied Dominant Reader, Implied Submissive Reader, Some Submissive MW2 Characters, Some Dominant MW2 Characters, No Pronouns used for Reader Except for ‘You’, Gendered Spanish Terms of Endearment (Fem-Leaning), Petnames, etc.

Ghost

“Careful, Darlin’,” he says, slowly, lowly, almost hushed. He has you backed against the counter, his hands flat atop it, thick, bulging arms caging you.

He presses his front against yours, his bulge catching you in just the right place.

“Pretty little mouth like that’ll send a man wild.” His breath is hot against your lips, with his just shy of yours. Ready to silence.

“And I won’t be held responsible for what happens when I lose control.”

König

“My, my,” he says, his voice heavy, eyes half-lidded. All the while, he’s approaching you, slowly.

“My little maus is being rather brave today, aren’t you?” He’s condescending. Deceptively so.

With a growl, he pounces, wrestling you down onto the bed, his weight both an unstoppable force and an immovable object as he bunches your hands in one of his, his other at the base of your throat. A warning. He grinds against you, his panting breath quivering at the friction. All the while he’s making dead eye contact with you.

He brings his mouth down beside your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “There won’t be an inch left of you that isn’t mine by the time I’m through with you.”

Soap

“Don’t tempt me, Dolly,” he whines, giving you a pleading look.

When you continue to tease him, to mess with the bull, he gives you his horns.

He pins your arms above your head, a rabid tint in his eye. Feral.

“I warned you,” he breathes, his grip tightening. “Whatever happens now is on your head.” His tone is as serious as death. “And my terms.”

Valeria

She won’t give you the chance to even finish the sentence before she has you pinned against a wall, her chest to your back and a hand around your throat.

“Don’t fuck with me, Querida,” she says, her voice low and hissing. You can feel the darkness settling over her eyes, feel the simmering, bubbling concoction of lust and rage overflow in the way she rocks her hips into the back of yours.

“Because you know I’ll fuck you twice as hard.”

Needless to say, she’s not letting you go until you are perfectly aware that it is you who is the submissive one in this relationship.

Price

“Is that so, Love?” Price’s voice carries, aromatic. His eyes crease and trail your silhouette as he hands you a smile. Throws you a bone. Gives you a chance.

His arms are folded over his chest, the image of strength, resilience, and resolve.

“You sure you don’t wanna take that back?” he says, voice lowering. His head tilts, and his smile begins to retract into a smirk. There’s a hunger to his demeanour. His voice husks.

“Before I make you.”

Horangi

Initially flabbergasted. Then, abashed. Though, he doesn’t want you to know that.

“Negative. A baseless accusation.” He says, humourless. Though, that is his effort to try and hold back the storm, to fortify the floodgates. To keep the excitement in his chest from boiling over.

He stands toe to toe with you, his eyes sharp, dark and unwavering. A look of reproach, though he was from far above it with the thoughts racing through his mind right now.

“And I’d suggest you keep them to yourself,” his hand slithers up your side, takes your shoulder, mock reassurance in his grip. “Before someone decides to punish you for your transgressions.”

Alejandro

“Oh?” His tone is playful as he turns to face you, leaning against the countertop, his arms folded and his smile a signature upon his face.

“Well, then, you’ll have to come and dominate me.” His grin is a disguise. “Only, of course,” he pushes off, walking towards you, intent in his gait. He’s before you now, his chest touching yours. “If you can get me to behave.”

His hand wraps around your hip and squeezes you. His smile is sly. “Else, you’re just a dog whose bark is bigger than its bite.”

“And I can assure you,” his other hand slides around your shoulders, pulls you closer. “That my bite is bigger.”

Rodolfo

“I have no doubt about it, Mi Amor,” he tells you, still carefully crafting you the sandwich you requested. When finished, he passes you the creation, the lack of double-sidedness to his words reassuring. Or inviting. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Little did you know that beneath his butterscotch exterior lay the heart of a lovingly maniacal masochist who, after your little conversation, took to trying to poke the bear, to feed the lion between the bars of the cage.

And you repaid him in kind by giving in to his trap and straddling him, late into the evening, pinning his arms above his head, making vibrant conversation of the obscenities you were going to perform on him.

And he didn’t resist once, instead soaking up every ounce of love you had to give.

Graves

“Sure thing, Doll Face,” he says, blasé. Dismissive. He doesn’t even turn to face you, instead making a mild hand gesture, looking down at his documents.

“Though, let’s be honest,” he flips through his papers. “There’s nothing I can’t make you do for the right sum.” The tinge in his voice is equally as void as before, as if he were stating a fact.

Graves’ fetish for finance (and its many persuasive effects) did little to protect him from your wrath.

And you told him as much – that “No amount can save you now,” before wrecking him.

Truer words were never spoken; especially now as he sat at his desk, his body and pride sore after the fact. Though, he can’t help but crack a smile at the memory. Perhaps he’ll invoke your dominant side more often…

Gaz

“Oh, really?” he says, almost challengingly. He hands you a skeptical look, smiling all the while. Practically chuckling.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Regardless of how capable Gaz is in physical training, he truly is powerless against your advances. That much is proven when he’s pinned beneath you, breathless and whining and clawing at your thighs.

He never challenged you again after that... Well, except when he wanted to.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

9K notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 3 years ago

Note

(trans man)Ngl that homophobic childe ask awakened smth in me and it got me barking and foaming at mouth like a rabid dog ik itd be physically impossible but god what i wouldnt do to beat the shit out of him to kick yell and bite one thing is a weird kidnapper making u submit but a homophobic one? Augh i wanna rip his dick out and spit on his face anyways id do a bunch of "stereotypical" toxic gross male things to "prove" yourself to him but they all fail, u are his lil wife now like it or not!

no because he'd just be more into that!!! if you ever actually manage to overpower him (or if he gets horny enough to let you overpower him), he'd just start panting and blushing and making weird, pitchy little whimpering sounds while he absolutely pleads with you not to do anything that maybe involves dressing him up in one of the dresses he bought for you maybe or calling him your little wife or fucking him half to death if you'd be into that because he's definitely not, i mean. he's gross!!! and horny!!! you literally cannot win!!!

#personal #anon ask

138 notes · View notes

ahkaraii · 3 years ago

Text

el hubiera no existe (disco elysium fic, 2000 words)

cw: cops being bastards (ACAB), graphic violence, character death, alcohol abuse; harry is in his late 20's here

It was bound to happen, sooner or later.

“Coach?” The armed man suddenly appears child-like; his ugly sneer turned juvenile from frank disbelief. “You became a fuckin’ narc, man?”

Oh, God. It’s one of his kids. One of his gym rats. Think, Harry! What the fuck was his name!

“You know this A-hole?” mutters Sergeant McCoy around a cigar. His finger, notably, does not leave the trigger.

“Vargas,” you gasp as it comes to you. Pepe Vargas, alias La Verga, excellent at weight lifting but god-awful at sprinting. You’d successfully conned him into doing a stint at shot put by telling him to imagine it was his momma’s head he was flinging, and he’d scored second place at Le Petit Couron– you’d shed a manly tear in solidarity and tried to cheer him up passing around a bottle of Pilsner, explaining the pitfalls of counterfactual thinking while he sneered this very same sneer at you–

“Wow, Doobie,” Vargas says coolly, as his pilfered 9mm pistol gently turns in your direction. “How the mighty have fallen.”

“Put your gun down before I put you down,” barks McCoy, and you have the overwhelming urge to yell DON’T! but your vocal cords are paralysed, your legs shaking. This is your kid, Du Bois. This is one of your fucking kids!

“Nah, I know how this ends,” Vargas says, and McCoy is tensing beside you, and you have to do something, you have to fucking do something!

“Do you remember–” you pant, like you don’t have enough breath, “–do you remember Le Petit Couron?”

“He isn’t gonna listen to reason,” McCoy says coldly, but you plow over him because fuck you, Sergeant Triggerfinger–

“That shot you made then–” you say, and you slowly put down your gun, because you can’t point this manmade horror at a boy you’d known for two fucking years, “–the one that got you second place?”

“Fuck you,” Vargas says.

“We talked about counterfactual thinking, and you said something to the effect of– ‘what-ifs don’t exist, Coach.’”

Vargas’ hands are shaking, minutely. “Shut the fuck up, you chota piece of shit.”

“You were right, kid,” you say, because back then you’d waxed about the Pale and retrograde entroponetics and you’d lost him, but you sure as hell aren’t gonna lose him now, “We can’t change the past. But we can change–”

A loud sound explodes in your ear, and for a second you’re stunned by the pain of it– the deafness that follows– have you been shot?!

No–

It’s Vargas that has fallen, and McCoy has pounced on him like a rabid dog.

Vargas is screaming, McCoy is striking him, and blood is pooling below them, and you’re standing there like the idiot you are, in shock, the world roaring back to life–

“And stay down, you Puta Madre piece of shit,” McCoy says, barely out of breath. “Du Bois, radio this in, will ya? A-Wing’s gonna cream themselves over this.”

“What,” you warble.

“Fuck’s sake, rookie,” McCoy says, and snaps his fingers at you. “Call. This. In! D'you want Verguitas here to bleed out, huh? We need him alive!”

But you shot him, you want to say, you’re the one who bashed his head in after– six times with a closed fist, your brain says helpfully, probably shattered the kid’s temporal bone if the ear-bleeding’s any indication– and yet your legs are dutifully taking you back to the ramshackle LUM '22, to the radio, and your hands are dialling from muscle memory alone, static resolving–

–to form Pepe Vargas’ tear-stained face; to his shaky, watery sneer; to him saying, ’El hubiera no existe, Profe’–

When you come back to yourself, Jules Pidieu is calmly taking your call, coaxing you to breathe, Officer, do you need backup? Over.

“Yes,” you say, and then course-correct, “No. I mean. Man down. Suspect down, I mean. Fuck. Sargeant McCoy and I are fine, it’s the kid’s that’s down. Over.”

“10-9, Message unclear, repeat message please, sir.”

Your scrambled up brain is screaming in twenty odd directions, so you slam your fist against the car to wake yourself up. You dent the car and probably dent a metacarpal in the process, but the pain aligns your neurons long enough for you to fucking focus.

“I’m requesting an ambulance to the corner of DeMettrie and Reunion for young male who sustained a GSW while resisting arrest. Over.”

“10-4, Officer; Requesting an ambulance to your location. ETA 12 minutes. Anything else, sir? Over.”

You glance over at your superior officer, part of you wanting someone to tell you what to do and the other needing to make sure the kid isn’t dead– and of course John fucking McCoy is perched on top of Vargas like he’s a giraffe-poacher out in the Valley of the Dogs–

“A-Wing, 'Doobie’ dipshit,” McCoy says, waggling his cigar at you. “Tell Oldboy to tell Berdyayeva we’ve got ourselves a new peone.”

A wave of pure, unadulterated loathing shoots through you. You’ve never wanted someone dead like you want McCoy dead, at this very moment.

“Sergeant John McCoy wants to inform Lieutenant Berdyayeva that the kid he shot may become A-Wing’s peone,” you say coldly, “if he doesn’t fucking bleed out first, or end up braindead from repetitive head trauma. Over.”

“Real cute, Du Bois,” McCoy sneers, and flips up a blood-stained middle finger. You want to take his hand and break it in five places.

“10-4, sir, I will 10-22 the Lieutenant on your, ah, proposal. Anything else, sirs…?”

You automatically thank Jules and hang up. Your hands are shaking. “Get off of him,” you hear yourself say from afar. “You’re hurting him.”

“Boo-fucking-hoo,” McCoy says, but swiftly gets to his feet when you approach him. “Jeeze-louise, calm down! You’re such a bleeding heart, DB. He had a fucking gun pointed at you!”

“I could have talked him down, asshole,” you insist, and kneel down beside the kid– he’s still breathing, thank Dolores Dei-- but wetly, his eyes roaming and getting glassy– “Fuck– Pepe? You with me?” You can see McCoy’s gunshot got him in the gut, and it’s bleeding pretty fiercely. “Fuck,” you repeat, and cover the wound with your hand. “Fuck, if you kill him–”

“He killed himself,” McCoy says from somewhere around you. “Choosing to point a gun at a cop. It was bound to happen, sooner or later.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you spit, “shut the fuck up, you child-killing piece of shit–”

“That man is no child,” McCoy says coldly. “He’s a gun-wielding drug dealer, who was coordinating the manufacture and distribution of adulterated Hunch–”

Hunch, a synthetic opiate with a high lasting a couple of seconds due to its rapid first-pass metabolism–

“Does he have any on him?” you interrupt. “Maybe it’ll help him–”

“I can see why he called you Doobie, now,” McCoy drawls. “Maybe you’re the peone, huh?”

A hysterical laugh comes out of you. “Yeah, that’s me, Coach Doobie graduating Puta Madre peones–” then your voice distorts, “–now stop fucking around and get him some goddamn Nosaphed, McCoy!”

“Coppo loco,” mutters someone that sounds very much like–

“Vargas!” Your head swivels back down. “Vargas, kid, god–”

“Fffuck you,” the kid slurs, though he doesn’t really look kid-like anymore, face bashed all to hell and blood everywhere. “Fffuck…”

“Keep talking, kid,” you pray. “Keep talking– d'you remember that day when you threw a twenty meter–”

–you can see it now; you can hear it– everyone cheering– Vargas’ disbelief turning into a huge, dimple-popping smile, saying ’Viste eso, jefe?!’–

“I saw it, I saw it–” you’re saying, “You were magnificent, that day–”

“Pinche… joto...” are the kids’ last words, because after that, his every breath starts to turn rattling, horridly wet, gasping, and he’s choking, and you’re choking– what do you do?! First aid, dumbass!– Airway? Obstructed by blood– Breathing? stopping– Circulation– failing– Pulse is fluttering and fucking gone, Coach–

So you start chest compressions, five centimeters deep like you were taught– you hysterically hum an old Disco classic to maintain the rhythm of a hundred beats per minute– and you do so relentlessly, even when you hear a crack, even when you feel the bones go pliant underneath you–

Whether you’re a brother or whether you’re a mother, your brain sings on loop, you’re stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive–

You break the boy’s sternum in three places giving him CPR, and later McCoy will tell you (half-admiringly) that you did so for ten minutes, not stopping until he had to forcefully pull you off so the paramedics could take him off your hands. He accepts the first punch you give him without complaint, but punches you right back after you follow through– to the point that you’re both sporting nasty shiners by the time you get back to the Precinct, just in time to hear the news: that despite your best efforts, Pepe 'La Verga’ Vargas is dead on arrival.

It’s your first kill. You insist on it, actually: double-down on it when John 'the Archetype’ McCoy tries to claim it– because the fucker would take it as a badge of pride, and you’re taking it as an oath to never let it be repeated again. He has the gall to laugh at you for it, but backs down with a lazy two armed surrender when you turn up the heat. He invites you for a drink, after, “'Cause you owe me for the black eye, jackass”, and you’re so tired and worn down and exhausted that you can’t find it within yourself to say no.

The rest of the evening turns sour, hazy, facilitated by a steady stream of Semenine grain spirit– “Best swill tastes of blood sugar,” McCoy says, and, for once, placidly lets you ramble about the war crimes committed on the sugarcane fields of Banaital– a concession, you think bitterly, for the goddamn rookie cop crying a river over a dead Mesquito– it all blurs– your words, McCoy’s coy smile, the alcohol– you think you might remember McCoy’s hand stroking your hair out of your face as you hurl, saying, “You’re a real bleeding heart, DB”, but that might also just have been the kindness of your brain, making shit up after the fact– a beautiful what-if that never existed, also known as fucking counterfactual thinking, Coach–

–and so it goes.

By the time anything makes sense anymore, you’re laying horizontal on something soft and the world is spinning lazily. You’ve lost time, you think drowsily. Where are you? It smells powerfully of puke and piss– your oldest friends. But something else layers atop of that, floating like a dainty raft in a sea of shit. Something warm, and sweet…

“Dora?” you croak, hoarsely.

The soft thing you’re laying on shifts, and grows arms– pale white arms that encircle your aching head like a flower crown, fingers like thorns.

“Hey, baby,” Dora whispers. “You awake now?”

You bury your head into those arms. “No,” you warble. “’M still sleeping.”

“Okay,” she says softly, and pets your head just as softly. The strands of your hair are brittle and matted with god-knows what, but she’s still carding her beautiful fingers through it, as lovingly as she is able. “Sweet dreams, Suzerain.”

Your dreams are apricot-sticky, mind like molasses. Vargas’ sneer morphs into McCoy’s smirk morphs into Dora’s soft, sad smile, and their voices overlap like the demons in your head, like the crowd in Le Petit Couron Stadium, loud, louder, till you don’t know if they’re screaming from joy or from pain, and it blends and blends and blends until it’s everything all at once, like it felt when you went spelunking into the catacombs of Filippe the Opulent and stumbled upon an underground spring of Pale, and your baby brain experienced Porch Collapse for the first time, six year old mind fit to bursting from the whispers of the long dead– the future dead– all as one, in that singular moment– saying–

It was bound to happen, one day.

You wake up some time later choking on your own spit, on your own vomit, which you promptly upchuck to the side in a well-practiced motion. Oxygen comes rushing in like Dolores Dei herself has kissed it back into you, and you're gasping, heaving self is finally, finally awake.

And Pepe Vargas is very much still dead.

Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life, you miserable kid-killer cop. One down, how many more to go?

#karaii fic #disco elysium #been thinking a lot about patrol officer harry #and what it might've been like to go from teaching rowdy kids gym #to seeing his colleagues shoot them down as adults #:(((((

102 notes · View notes

nil-the-glitch · 1 year ago

Text

oh boy i get to mildly infodump about the MMA/self defense stuff i know!

ok so, first you gotta pick one - fist, or palm strike. i'm personally a fan of the palm strike because it minimizes the risk of breaking your own thumb from having it tucked inside your fist (you can still hyperextend it on accident, though, if you don't have it up against the side of your palm snugly and miss your target). and, as mentioned, if you choose fist please DO NOT place your thumb inside of your fist. you WILL run the risk of breaking it. instead, have your thumb placed on the outside, snug against your curled fingers.

(side note: if you are a particularly Fem Presenting Person who happens to have Long Nails, then palm strikes are your best bet, and if you have nails that aren't exactly Long but are still Uncomfortable In A Plain Fist, or have long fingers in proportion to your palm, then holding a tube of chapstick or other small cylinder in your fist will keep you from cutting open your own palm and make sure your fist is much more solid.)

secondly, you should always be aware that in a Genuine Fight where you are in Actual Danger, there is no such thing as a low blow. go for the nose, the throat, and if they have one, the dick/nutsack. if you opponent happens to have tits i can attest that a nip shot is also pretty painful, especially if twisted with nails engaged. you can also twist with nails on the nutsack, rip that shit off as hard as you can, it WILL put them out of commission long enough for you to run (keep in mind this isn't the best tactic if they're wearing jeans or other pants that are thicker/more durable/less flexible/not baggy).

speaking of running, disengaging and seeking shelter/assistance is ALWAYS your first priority in an Actual Dangerous Situation. act like you aim to maim/kill in order to intimidate, but do not make it your actual goal. disengaging and getting to safety is always your main priority. safety is often in populated areas, because even if Bystander Effect takes place, no predator likes an audience/witnesses.

speaking of audience/witnesses, BE LOUD. scream, screach, bark like a rabid dog, laugh loudly and obnoxiously if it hasn't escalated to physicality yet, do ANYTHING to draw attention to yourself and put yourself in the public eye. this makes you a bad target because now People Are Paying Attention To You, and predators Do Not Like That.

i also like the tactic of "Loudly Parroting What This Man(tm) Just Said To You In A High Pitched Baby Voice", if you have low enough anxiety levels for it. it draws attention, puts you in a spotlight, and calls out exactly what he's doing ("CAN YOU WHAT?? CAN YOU TAKE ME HOME?? IS THAT WHAT YOU SAID MISTER?? DID YOU ASK IF YOU CAN TAKE ME HOME???") in a way that everyone is now alerted to exactly what is being attempted.

also please look up "Villain Life Coach" Kitti on tiktok, she has great tips and tricks on how to call out Men (Deragatory) on the creepy shit they pull and get outta there before they get You.

yknow i have tussled some in my time but i cant throw a punch for shit. i should learn to do that because my main source of threateningness is the fact that im so often Armed With A Deadly Weapon and i feel like i need a skill thats somewhere in the midrange of the tiers between "if you're lightweight enough i can knock you around" and "i will literally end your life"

11 notes · View notes

decayandfanfics · 4 years ago

Text

Willing curse

Part two of Spellbound

Warnings: angst. gore Explicit. Mentions of necrophilia. General reader. Tomura being Tomura. Mutual pining, yandere themes.

____________________________________________________

Tomura thinks he’s going insane.

He feels his bones burning inside his body, ribs and spine twisting into a vision of ivory, meat and pumping veins that curls and bleed all over the floor, the walls, the ceiling.

It bleeds, it bleeds, it bleeds, and he can’t talk, he can’t scream, he can’t do anything but watch.

Then he’s not inside himself anymore. No, he’s outside, seeing himself become something he can’t recognize, something he didn't agree to be. Something he didn't agree to feel.

Red eyes meet red eye, and he swallows hard, holding the nausea that burns his chest and numb his limbs. Is useless, he can’t beat the pressure, he can’t beat this feeling.

Tomura chokes with words he can’t articulate, a name that refuse to leave his throat, so he tears into his neck trying to take them out, trying to open a gash wide enough to breathe or to bleed out and finally die. It would be worth the try as long as the itch is gone. As long as the itch is gone, as long as…

He watches himself in the mirror, a sight of hatred, bones and scars that look back at him with bloodshot eyes and sharp crooked teeth behind bleeding lips.

He hates it, it’s disgusting. He is disgusting.

And the insufferable fucking itch is driving him insane.

“You are a creep, Tomura. You are a creep.” He murmurs out of his mind and his jagged nails tear into the bruised skin, leaving droplets of crimson all across the sink, until he has to bite his fingers; shove his own fist into his mouth to stop the scratching, or else he’ll be clawing at raw meat.

“You are a creep, Tomura. You are sick.”

He hates everything, including himself now.

“I’m a creep.” He says again, his other hand holding one of your shirts, careful not to let his fingers slip through it and decay it by accident.

He buries his nose on the fabric, soft fibers against his naked chest as your smell fills his lungs, making him dizzy on visions of you taking him in, your body full of his, crying and screaming and scratching under his weight as he collapses over you, leaving marks of sunking teeth into your soft flesh to remember his touch.

He hates you so much it makes him sick.

How dare you fill his head with thought of you? Who gave you the right?

You shouldn’t be this bright, you shouldn’t be this warm, you shouldn’t be this beautiful.

Certainly, you shouldn’t be calling him to you, haunting his dreams and poisoning his reason by just existing. It’s like the light is made every time you enter the room, outshining everyone else and blinding him with your sight.

And you are so fucking kind. So fucking quiet and sweet.

You are sunlight over the valley of his hatred, soothing his wounds and stealing glances from dark corridors and open doors. Diligent, clever, trustworthy, all while inhabiting the soft curves of your body that drive him to the edge by just passing close to him, leaving a trace of your warmth behind.

Fucking perfect.

And there he is, disgusting and hideous. The line of his spine showing disturbingly like some kind of monster trapped withing his milky skin. Gruesome, twisted and hateful, unable to even spell your name without making his gums bleed.

What would you do if you knew the things he’s done thinking about you? The things he does to you in his dreams over and over again?

When he lies panting and throbbing over his bed, bedsheets damp in sweat as he humps and twist to the thought of you open and wanting, giving him a smile that’s not quite yours and more like those of sex tape stars he watches looking for your resemblance, hoping for a release that never truly comes because what he truly wants is sleeping next door.

Would you run away if he told you he dreams of fucking you stupid against the mattress? What about him splitting you in half? doubled over the sink as you cry his name to go faster and harder? Would you be scared of him if you knew he wants to fill your every hole? Stuffed full until you leak and bleed and spit and gag for him.

Until you say you want him.

Until you say you need him.

Until you promise you are his and only his to hold, and love, and kiss, and fuck; finally opening your arms to cage his body against yours and driving him closer to your heart, encasing him under your chin to crown him with kisses, giggles and promises of loyalty and love he swears he would return every day of his miserable life.

Would you stay with him if you knew he’s been entering your room to watch you sleep? That he’s been smelling your clothes like a total freak to get off on your scent? That sometimes he scratches his neck in front of you just to make you stop him?

To have you close and make you touch him.

Tomura pities you.

You’ve been cursed with him and his corrosive hatred. Failing to say the soft words people dream about hearing from their lovers and incapable of touching you without killing you.

Even more, he’s incapable of giving you the kindness and love you deserve, no matter how many times you press your luck to close the gap and clean the scratches across his neck. He never gets to caress you back. Words stuck inside of him as his hands hang loose at his sides, completely dumbfounded by your touch.

And just like that, you slip off him again, forever out of his reach.

Is a shame, a total tragedy, because he’s not going to tell you anything. You’ll never be nothing but a distraction on his path to destruction. His goal is bigger than you and your soft hands and your calming words. Your beauty holds no threat to his purpose and yet…

There are nights when passion grows too unbearable, smothering reason under the weight of his feelings as his thoughts grow jarring inside his head. Nights where he swears feverish, maddened, and hurt between barks of bitterness and impossible longing; as his gums bleed with sharp heretic words that leak black down his chin like foam on a rabid dog.

“If you aren’t mine, you’ll be no one’s.

I’ll kill anyone who dares to touch you.

And i will murder you before letting you go.”

His mouth bleeds and his fist clash against the mirror in a fit of rage, caustic jealousy dripping between his torn nuckles and this is part that scares him the most because he knows he will.

Not even decay you. Tomura will strangle you with heavy heart and burning tears as he watches life slipping from your eyes before finally taking your body as he drools and cries and howls over your skin for what you’ve made him do, your flesh growing cold under his frantic thrust and trembling grip, until he goes empty between your legs because he’s sick and evil. Bawling regrets and curses before branding you with five fingers, forever guarding the secrets of his monstrosity deep inside you.

Then he’ll throw up the words stuck inside his throat.

Then he’ll be able to say your name.

_____________________________

Let me know what you think!

#shigaraki x reader #tomura x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki #bnh academia #bnh fanfic

108 notes · View notes

sidetongue · 4 years ago

Note

I absolutely adores all of your dogs but seeing Henry never fails to make me smile. I had a springer spaniel similarly colored who we lost 2 years ago to cancer when she was 12. Seeing Henry makes my day. Can you share some fun facts about him and a few adorable pictures?

Oh my darling Henry. He truly is a work of art. Some fun facts about Hen: when he’s super duper excited he will nip at the clothes you’re wearing, so loose pants need to be worn with caution at the risk of being dacked!

He doesn’t play with other dogs often but when he does he is OBNOXIOUSLY loud. 99% of the time he’s this quiet little fairy who never says a word, so it’s hilarious to watch him BORKING like a rabid hound dog.

Henry refuses to go out for the last toilet break of an evening. The other 4 go out without issue, but Henry flat out refuses and will hold his pee all night. His paranoia tells him he’ll be locked outside. (Okay, maybe it’s more than paranoia… one time I let the dogs back in after a wee break and went straight to bed with everyone in tow.. or so I thought. Next morning I woke up to let everyone out and to my surprise there is poor old Henry all alone on the top step. He had been too slow to come in the night before and I’d forgotten him. He was so quiet and didn’t even bark or scratch to come in).

He ALWAYS sleeps at the head of the bed curled up beside my face like a cat. Sometimes Harold will get there first, as he also likes this spot, but hen is patient and knows Daz will hop down eventually (he doesn’t like to sleep on the bed all night). Henry will then resume his rightful place. He sleeps there all night, every night. Except of course on the night where I locked him out lol

81 notes · View notes

atiny-piratequeen · 5 years ago

Text

Against the Tide: Tenth Voyage (Ch. 10)

Pairing : Poly Ot8

Genre: Heavy Angst, Action, Fantasy, Smut, Fluff

Rating: 18+

Tags: DemonPirate!Au, Supernatural, Eventual Poly Relationship, Violence, Blood, Elemental Powers, Past and Modern Day AU, Mythical Creatures, Character Death, Slow Burn, Happy Ending Endgame

Chapter Specific Tags: Repeated Main Character Death, Reincarnation, Emotional and Psychological Manipulation, Graphic Blood and Violence, Brief Mentions of Mental Health Concerns

Chapter WC: 10k+

A/N: There could be tags added later, especially if there’s something I write that potentially triggers my readers. The last thing I want is for that to happen, so please don’t hesitate to give me feedback if there’s something I write here you’d like me to tag.

**A/N: Thank you Riza @not-majestic-bluenicorn for helping me out with the tarot card readings, ilysm

Taglist moved to the bottom of the work. If you’d like to be added to the taglist for this or my other works, feel free to fill out the form here after reading the full post. AO3

Taglist

← Last Voyage Next Voyage →

The sound of Seonghwa’s screams from that night still haunts the crew.

They’re fortunate, Yunho thinks.

Though, he’d never say it aloud and Geb is kind enough not to call him out on the bitter, spiteful thoughts when they arise.

Anyway, the crew was fortunate.

Most of them are lucky that all they heard was the screams of their First Mate- no -their new Captain. The crewmembers below the deck and the ones unconscious didn’t have to deal with the sight of their captain, the one who held them all together, breaking down.

The fear on his face. The defeat. The pain. The terrified, yet resolute tone in his voice.

All that haunted them was the screams of the ex prince, which, coupled by an explosion of ice, creating a fortress of frost around them, was a beacon in the night for what had happened.

Yunho had to drag him out of the ocean. Nearly got stabbed doing so. It took an hour of Seonghwa diving into the depths, freezing everything around him and reaching fruitlessly before Yunho snatched him back to the surface.

He’d nearly been frozen and stabbed for his efforts and the crew watched on as Yunho pinned Seonghwa to the deck, thick vines keeping him still as he screamed and thrashed.

Just behind him, Mingi stood back with an unconscious San in his arms. Wooyoung was at his side, eyes wide as tears rolled down his cheeks while Yeosang leaned over the taffrail, emptying the contents of the dinner he’d worked hard to make into the ocean. Jongho still lay unconscious under the broken planks of wood in the hold, sea water soaking his clothes and Whiro noticeably absent from his skin for once.

“LET ME GO! LET ME GO! HONGJOONG! HONGJOONG!” Seonghwa screamed, his voice raw and cracking as he thrashed in Yunho’s arms.

None of them had ever seen the level headed ex prince fall apart like this. He bore his teeth at him, trying to wrestle his way free, freezing parts of his body to try and get Yunho to let him go. The sight of the raven-haired immortal coming apart at the seams broke everyone’s heart and Geb gently whispered into Yunho’s ear so he could settle Seonghwa down the hard way.

They weren’t getting anywhere like this.

So Yunho sighed and created a small flower near Seonghwa’s head, tears slipping down his cheeks. Seonghwa looked up at him, eyes bloodshot from crying.

“H-Hong-”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Small spores wafted out of the flower and slowly Seonghwa’s thrashing slowed down. He felt his body grow heavy as Yunho put his head in his lap, crying quietly as Seonghwa’s pitch black hair slowly went back to it’s natural blonde color.

“N...o...Hongjoong...putois…”

Yunho wished all that haunted him was the screams, and not the guilt of not being strong or fast enough to keep him from disappearing. That Hongjoong’s quivering, terrified voice didn’t knock around his head as much as the anguished howls of Seonghwa.

Unfortunately, that was all it was. Wishful thinking.

-x-

- I finally get what you've been saying

Now that we're knee deep side by side

The storm clouds are circling above us

As we struggle against the tide-

-x-

There are intricacies that come with warfare, the king knew these well.

Though, even he may admit that this was an... unfortunate miscalculation.

Getting to a point in Hongjoong’s mind where he was distracted enough for him to actually affect his powers was leagues more difficult than he’d ever let anyone know. For as much as he antagonized the pirate, the dragon inside would admit he had much more mental fortitude than he originally gave him credit for.

Stupid mortals and their useless sense of ‘love’.

Though, technically, he wasn’t a mortal anymore.

Whatever.

Regardless of what the little captain was classified as, the fight with the one called ‘Priscilla’ had left him in such a panic that the dragon was able to break through, tap into the core of their-no, his -powers, and snatch it from under him while he was fighting for everyone’s lives.

Disgusting.

He figured he’d distract the foolish captain long enough for him to kill him mentally and rid himself of the beast.

Oh, and sink that damned ship and rip it’s crew to pieces. For fun.

He’d never expected a curse to be placed on him because of his intervention. Not only did the she beast strip the captain of all of his knowledge of who he was and his crew, she had inadvertently banished the dragon to the farthest recesses of the captain’s mind.

As the king stood, he couldn’t see light in either direction.

He had to get back to the front so he could take control. He had to break out before the captain remembered and broke the curse. He could handle Pricilla later.

With a scoff, he turned into his dragon form and snorted.

A minor misstep. He could outsmart some stupid immortal wannabes and that grotesque bastard child.

Then, he’d create havoc.

For fun.

And revenge.

But mostly fun.

-x-

-I feel your grip firm on my shoulder,

But this fear in my head won’t subside,

They patiently circle around us,

As we hold out… -

-x-

“Do you see those men there? They hold your entire fate in their hands.”

Hongjoong panted, blood running into his eyes as his hair was pulled back roughly. On the other side of a clear glass bubble, he could see seven men in a room. There was a tall blonde man pacing. Every time his boot touched the floor, it would freeze before the ice melted.

There was a taller man holding onto two smaller men who were crying.

Something was said and the blonde turned suddenly, his body rigid. A buffer man stood between him and the group, reaching for something on his person. The blonde man crossed the room and took his hand, the tips of his fingers frosting around the man’s wrist as he glared at him, saying something.

Hongjoong couldn’t hear a word either of them were saying, nor did he care. He pivoted on his heel, elbowing the monstrous woman behind him in the face before he broke off into a run.

He didn’t know where he was going, but he figured if he ran far enough, screamed loud enough-

Something hard slammed into his back, knocking him forward. He rolled, his clothing soaked by the water as he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. When he looked up, a rabid dog was staring him down.

He screamed in terror and backed away, eyes wide.

Who was she? Why was she doing this to him? Where even was he?

Fangs sunk into his thigh before he was dragged back towards the woman, kicking and screaming.

A dark smile came to her face.

“Get real comfortable, little pirate. With how your sorry crew looks, you’ll be stuck here with me forever and ever~ You’re here because of them, at the very least, you should know that they’re the reason you’re here.”

-x-

- Oh, father why have they forsaken me?

You warned me that they would,

The curse is passing down the bloodline,

Misspoken and misunderstood.-

-x-

“Seonghwa, all I’m saying is we can try it out-”

“We’re not calling that woman!”

Jongho pursed his lips, annoyed at the older immortal raising his voice at him, while Wooyoung flinched and whined behind him, sitting with Yeosang in Yunho’s arms as the two of them cried.

“What else are we going to do? How else do we start? We don’t even know what happened to Hongjoong fully or where that witch took him!” the Maori man snapped back.

Seonghwa paced like a caged animal, but eventually scoffed, admitting temporary defeat.

“Fine. Call her.” He hissed. Jongho eyed him for a moment before reaching for the feather dangling from his hip. Whiro curiously shifted along his skin, but Jongho focused on the feather, holding it out in front of him.

“Hyuna!”

Seonghwa and the others stood and waited.

And waited.

And waited….

And...waited….

“Why...isn't she coming?”

Seonghwa’s nostrils flared in anger before he barked out a laugh.

“Oh, look at that. She’s not coming . You wait around for her and we’ll never find Hongjoong. Right now, we can start by finding out who fucking stole that fucking staff.” He hissed.

The temperature in the room drastically lowered as ice cold grey eyes scanned over everyone in the group.

They lingered on some more than others.

“It wasn’t me. Don’t stare at me like that.” Mingi’s voice was hurt as he looked down at the floor. Seonghwa’s jaw ticked.

“I didn’t say it was you.” He stiffly informed him.

“You didn’t have to. I was raised around Bella Rose, I know an accusatory look when I see it. It wasn’t me.” He muttered, his voice quieter. San noticed the clench of his fists and the tears welling up in the boatswain’s eyes and moved to place a hand on his back. Seonghwa clicked his tongue, keeping his eyes on the duo. Yeosang began to hiccup through his sobs in Yunho’s arms, so the man stood, catching Seonghwa’s attention.

“I don’t...think that should be our top priority. Not right now.”

“I disagree. One of you stole the staff, and Hongjoong is gone now. That seems pretty damn important. Which one of you did it?” He spat, malice dripping from his voice. Even Jongho flinched back, his brows pulled together. Whiro shifted along his skin and tutted before lifting upwards.

Jongho moved to reel him in, but he was met with more than the usual amount of resistance and Whiro’s voice in his head.

‘For once, trust me, kid.’

Jongho pursed his lips and let Whiro form into a mirror image of himself aside from the blonde hair, red eyes, and ta moko. He rolled his shoulders and looked at Seonghwa, who looked unimpressed and fed up before anything even left the fragmented god’s mouth.

“If you’re going to talk shit, save-”

“Nah, you’ve said enough the past few days. Shut up and listen for once, prince.”

Seonghwa snarled, but Whiro ignored him, keeping his thick arms crossed as he spoke. Even Jongho looked on curiously as Whiro continued.

“What exactly are you gonna do with that information? Hm? Hurt one of them? Kick them out? Is that what the old captain would have wanted?”

Seonghwa looked taken aback-and he wasn’t the only one.

Seven pairs of eyes watched Whiro in shock.

“Whoever stole it doesn’t matter right now. What matters right now is whether you like it or not, you’re the captain now. From what I understand after Jongho and I got knocked the fuck out, you were told to protect this ship and it’s crew. Last time I checked, this temper tantrum you’re throwing isn’t protecting shit, not even yourself.”

“Am I not allowed my hurt? My anger? Hongjoong was...Hongjoong was my first love, he saved my life-”

Whiro rolled his eyes.

“Listen, I’m stuck here in this body for all of eternity and I feel what he feels,” He jabbed his thumb in the direction of a shocked Jongho before he kept talking. “Get your shit together. Stop your sniveling, and start being the leader the shortstack knows you can be. The kid is strong. He may have lost this, but at one point, he had eight spirits inside of him and didn’t fall completely to ruin. Instead of doing the exact opposite of what he said to do and tear this crew apart, wipe your nose, wash your face for fuck’s sake, and go find the shortstack. He needs you, all of you. It’s been a week and we’re still in Greece. I’ll give you a day or so longer to get those tears out before I expect all fucking seven of you to quit bitchin’ and start searchin’. Do I make myself clear?”

Seonghwa blinked before he ran a hand through his hair.

“Gods, is it that bad that the literal God of Evil is trying to help?”

“Yes, actually.” Whiro responded without missing a beat, drawing an involuntary laugh out of some of them.

“I’m stuck to Jongho for all of eternity. I’d rather not to deal with all of these stupid ass gushy ass emotions normally, but since I have no choice now, I’d rather we pull ourselves together. Oh, and when I get my hands on that serpentine bitch, you can all step aside. I’ll take care of her myself.”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes, but turned to the group, sighing as he bowed himself down.

“I...I’m sorry.” There was more sitting on his tongue, but that was all he said for the time being, turning to leave. Once the sound of his boots on the wood retreated down the hall and out of earshot, everyone let out a relieved sigh, turning to look over at Whiro.

“Holy shit. You helped us.” San muttered.

Whiro cocked a brow.

“Helped you? Please. I’m just tired of the back and forth and even ol’ Jongie boy here is getting affected by all this more than I’d like, for us to share a body. I helped myself, nothing more.” It was a lie, and all of them knew that much, but no one called him on it. Before he disappeared into Jongho’s skin, however, he did have something else to add.

“Though, my words will only light the fire under his ass and distract him for so long. You all seem content not knowing who took it, and that’s strange to me, but whatever. I suggest you all find the pipsqueak captain before blondie starts getting in his own head again. I can’t assure you all I can step out of Jongho every time Seonghwa becomes overwhelmed with anguish. I put these emotions in the world, I know their power. You don’t want the ice prince coming after you because most of you won’t be able to stop the rage that kid has inside from this. So find him. And quit feelin’ so damn sorry for yourselves.” With that, Whiro settled back onto the skin of Jongho’s arms.

Everyone glanced at each other before standing to go to their own respective rooms except Yunho, since they had gathered in his room.

As one of them left, his shoulders slumped lower than the others, his heart thundering in his chest.

‘I’m sorry I took it...I’m so sorry, I didn’t know...I didn’t know it would be this way, please forgive me, I just-’

-x-

-We're losing light

And strength of will

The darkened depths beckoning still

And we hold on

Against the tide-

-x-

Dawn pursed his lips.

“The pirates called for you. Should we get going?”

Hyuna lifted her head from the tub of water she was mostly submerged in.

“Can’t. They’re in Greece. If I stepped foot in Greco-Roman territory again, Zeus would surely come down from Olympus himself to strike me down. He’s still bitter I didn’t just accept my role as the harbinger of evil to mankind and then die off like the toy he created me to be. Whatever the boys need me for, I’ll just apologize next time they call on me. I’m sure it’s nothing. Besides, the last time they called me, I got my ass kicked. They’ll live if I just take a rain check this once.” Hyuna pouted from the tub before sinking back into the water, her inky hair making the water seem like it was pitch black.

Dawn watched her for a moment before humming and turning to sharpen his sickles.

Maybe she had a point.

-x-

-Beneath the storm and left to fight alone

Remember son, you're reaping what you've sown

Under the waves and sinking like a stone

I'm sorry son, you're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

When Lloyd answered the door that one cold night in January, he wasn’t expecting his son on the other side of the door. His lips parted in surprise.

“Jesus it's cold, Lloyd, why is the door op-YUNHO!”

Yunho laughed through his tears as Robin shot out from behind Lloyd, nearly knocking him down as he hugged him tight. His dreads, though graying, were much longer than the last time Yunho saw him, and he couldn’t help the big smile that crossed his face as the sound of thundering footsteps followed by excited screams pierced through the night air.

The smell of sapodilla and of Barbados lilies flooded his nose with the smell of cerasee clinging to Robin’s clothes.

Before he knew it, he was crying, relieved to see all four of his parents in good health.

Lloyd observed them with a small smile on his face, before he noticed the men standing just off behind him.

“I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Lloyd, one of Yunho’s fathers. My partners will introduce themselves once they’re finished hugging the daylights out of our poor son...though...there seems to be more of you than last time, and I don’t see the captain…?”

Yunho tensed immediately, and it didn’t go unnoticed by his parents. Mei pulled away first, noticing the wobble of Yunho’s lip and Valeria cupped his cheeks.

“Ay, lad...what’s wrong baby?”

“I’m...I’m the captain now.” Seonghwa spoke, though he didn’t meet any of their eyes. Robin pulled away, as well, and Yunho sighed, rubbing his arm.

“I...I came home because we need some help.” He murmured.

All four of them exchanged a look before Lloyd stepped aside.

“Come inside from the cold, boys. Mei will brew some tea, and you can explain what happened.”

-20 years Later-

Mingi sat in silence as he sat in a cathedral. He had taken some time away from Yunho’s island to visit another, picking up a few books to read from a shop on curses and the like. Was it the most ideal place to be reading something like this? Most likely not, but he had to do what he needed to.

The crew had stayed near the Caribbean Islands, doing their absolute best to find somewhere, anywhere to start.

It was stifling, with tensions so high. Some members from the original crew had either moved on or passed away trying to help Seonghwa and the others locate Hongjoong, and the blonde captain had been adamant about not bringing new members in.

There...was no love lost between the seven of them, Mingi liked to think, but he’d be lying if he said Seonghha hadn’t put up a wall between all of them and himself. After Whiro put him in his place, he seemed to mask his true anguish and hurt, and they all could tell it was taking a toll on him, though he always put on and front when he was around them.

He was the leader. The captain. He had to keep himself together, lest they all fall apart. Hongjoong trusted him to do this much. To protect them. If that meant suppressing his own emotions for the betterment of the crew, so be it. It wasn’t like it was something he didn’t know how to do already.

He was raised as royalty, next up for the throne and title of a king. Kings couldn’t show any cowardice and weakness. Seonghwa could hide away his emotions well enough.

Though, that was a lie. They could all see it. The chips in his icy exterior. The tremble in his lips when he kissed them. The slight, barely there crack in his voice when he went to reassure them. Seonghwa was falling apart and masking it with layers of ice, but none of them had the heart to call him out.

Not when they were falling apart too.

An air of failure and guilt clung to them and no amount of sweet words from Yunho’s parents could hold it back for too long.

Speaking of parents...

Mingi’s fingers trembled on the page. Right. He had to return to the island soon. Lloyd had passed away of natural causes from his old age and they would be having a celebration of life for him tonight.

The four of them all but put a pause on their work to help out with locating Hongjoong, studying everything from mythology, to curses themselves.

For two decades, they tirelessly helped them, and Mingi was forever grateful. Honestly, it was all four of them that kept the boys from completely losing hope. From the Irish, foul-mouthed tongue lashings they (lovingly) got from Valeria, to Robin taking their mind off of it with teaching them capoeira, to Mei gently telling them Korean folktales over cups of tea when the stress was too high, and finally, old Lloyd teaching all of them the way of herbal medicine and always lending an ear when they needed to vent.

The four of them had all but become the in-laws to the group, and Mingi was forever grateful.

“You look troubled.”

Mingi jolted, closing his book as a nun walked up to him. Mingi scooted over as she sat beside him, placing her hands on her lap as she looked forward past the pews to stare at the beautiful organ at the forefront of the hall.

He subtly hid the book behind his thigh, clearing his throat.

“I’m sorry, I just needed somewhere quiet to read and-”

“You’ve been staring at that page for half an hour. Either that passage is really good, or you’re troubled.” She laughed lightly. Mingi stared at the side of her face. His brow furrowed.

Why did she seem so familiar…?

“Would you like someone to lend an ear? We have a confessional, or I could just listen.” She offered, kind brown eyes staring into his own. He lowered his gaze to his hands and sighed.

“I’m just...looking for someone close to me. They were taken away and I don’t know if I can find them or where to start.” he muttered. The nun tilted her head before crossing her feet at the ankle, sitting up straighter.

Mingi expected her to mention God, they were in a place of worship, after all.

“I think you should take time to clear your heart and your mind. You’re very troubled and you won’t be able to focus on your objective when you are so conflicted. Life...throws lots of hurdles at you. Take time to catch your breath and don’t be afraid to ask for help. You can be surprised how asking different people for advice will steer you in the right direction. Sometimes you need to take a step back and look at it from a different angle. Remember that, and I hope you find your friend.” She smiled and stood up, waving to Mingi as she turned to leave.

“Wait!”

She paused.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry if this is...a weird question, but what is your name, Sister?” He inquired. She blinked in surprise before sending him a kind name.

“Mine? My name is Sister Gracie.”

-x-

Seonghwa stood in front of a mirror, looking at his reflection. His jaw was clenched tight as he wiped his eyes. He had to pull himself together. Two decades and they haven’t found him yet.

He looked into his own grey eyes, his voice tense.

“I’m not giving up on you. I’ll never give up on you. I’ll find you, mon petit putois.” he muttered, adjusting the buttons to his shirt.

What he couldn’t tell, in a plane beyond the one he was standing in, was Hongjoong was looking back at him.

Panicked fists slammed against the invisible aquatic wall that separated the two of them.

“Hey! Hey!! I’m screaming at you, please!” Hongjoong looked behind him, finding something slithering in the depths of water behind him. Bubbles erupted from his mouth as he screamed louder, his voice getting raw as he reached desperately for the vision of the blonde man. He pressed his palm to the man’s image, tears in his eyes.

“ Please! I’m screaming, I’m begging! Why, why can’t you hear me?! Help me!”

A thick tentacle wrapped around his waist, pulling him roughly. Hongjoong scrambled, pressing both hands to the barrier. A laugh echoed from behind him before he was snatched back, away from the image of the blonde man.

In the guest room, Seonghwa placed a palm on the cool mirror, eyes downcast.

“I’ll find you. No matter how far you are, Hongjoong.”

-x-

-Beneath the storm and left to fight alone

Remember son, you're reaping what you've sown

Under the waves and sinking like a stone

I'm sorry son, you're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

He can feel it. Every time he dies. Every time he’s reborn and has a different name.

~1668, the first death after the curse was placed on him, he’s trampled by a horse.

1690, he can feel his throat closing after a fatal allergic reaction.

1712, an accident while trying to help create the first working steam engine.~

Hongjoong feels it all. It doesn’t help, the she-beast likes to toy with him. Sometimes she lets him roam free, in the vast expanse of...wherever he was trapped in. He had no concept of the passage of time anymore while he was in here. Everything felt...stalled and floaty. The woman told him he had been there for almost a century, in her clutches, but he paid it no mind.

That was absurd.

~1734, flash, then it’s gone with a lightning strike.

1756, huddled up for warmth, only to die by the morning from exposure getting lost in the mountains.

1778, blood loss from a carpenter accident. He was a careless man in this particular life.~

Sometimes she leaves him alone. For very long periods of time. He doesn’t know if he prefers that or not. On one hand, her torture was agonizing, between the way she’d wound him, leaving him on the brink of what surely should have been death, but unlike his selves on the outside, he couldn’t die in here.

No, he had to slowly power through the pain, slowly heal in this god forsaken place, and then she’d come back, and start all over.

He envied the other ‘hims’ on the outside. They got to live lives, all of which unfulfilling and mostly in poverty, but they still got to live them, and then they all died on November 7th, only for the piece of his soul to be cast away to another part of the world, into a newborn and reborn once again.

Then the cycle continued. He watched it all from this space. His lives, his deaths, over and over again.

The woman never called him anything other than cruel names and ‘Captain’, though he had no idea of what anymore.

Hell, he was pretty sure he’d forgotten his own name while trapped in here.

~1800, a casualty in the Quasi War.

1822, a fall from a moving locomotive.

1844, a fatal encounter with a wild boar.

1866, a mine shaft collapse.~

When he’s alone for decades at a time, he feels a bit of his sanity slip. Like he’ll never get out of this place. Like he’ll be here for all of eternity. Sometimes, he lays on his back, with his eyes closed for as long as he can, and waits.

Nothing ever happens, but sometimes it's easier to just...exist. Rest his eyes and his tired body. He hasn’t given up. Not yet, anyway, but sometimes it's better for him to just... be.

He’ll never admit to that woman that sometimes he looks forward to her arrival when she comes back from leaving him for so long, just because her presence grounds him into reality.

Or, rather, whatever hellish reality he’s found himself in at her hands.

At her hands, and as he looks out at the bubble she forces him to look at, finding those same seven men. Or, rather, two of them, this time.

They’re in Paris, the one with the dimples has an arm around the other one’s waist, muttering something into his ear. He nudges him before a tender smile comes to his lips and the two share a kiss before disappearing into a hotel room.

The brunette looked away, not sure why he was made to follow these people along though his time here. She always sneered in his ear that they were to blame, that they were the key to getting him out, that they were all happier without him and had forgotten him at this point.

She never showed him the seven of them tirelessly searching for him. He didn��t even know how hard they were working. She carefully picked out the rare moments they took time to themselves to catch their breaths and try and stabilize themselves, painting them as people who didn’t have any sense of urgency or care in the world.

The cook who made large meals with a big smile on his face. The inseparable duo, always attached at the hip, in each other’s space, bringing love and comfort to one another. The tall man with his nose in the books, glasses perched on his nose as he spent days engrossed in his books. The other tall one, filling out his notebooks with whatever hasty, nearly illegible sprawlings came to him as he sat amongst plants. The rugged one with the curious markings on his arms and legs that sometimes shifted and formed some dark being. Hongjoong would be surprised, but he had an aquatic beast breathing down his neck with tentacles for legs and rabid dog heads extending from her waist, so he would be lying if he said he was truly surprised.

The only one that never looked like he was relaxed was the blonde. Pricilla didn’t show him for long, but whenever he was in the background of those visions she’d hand picked for him, he looked like his heart had been ripped out of his chest. An air of guilt and anguish always settled underneath whatever expression he happened to have on his face, and it always made Hongjoong tilt his head and gave him a small flicker of hope.

~1888, a fall during the construction of a new building.

1910, a stage accident during the production of a play.

1932, burned alive saving a child from a fire.

1954, starvation.

1976, a hostage, taken out in an unsuccessful negotiation.~

He’s exhausted. He wonders if Pricilla is too. Doesn’t it get exhausting to do this to someone? Was what happened that led him to this point really that bad?

He watched his soul go into another body, sitting down and watching this one grow up. Quite the rebellious one, this version of himself. From his mullet, to the dark makeup around his eyes and the piercings littering his ears.

The trapped man watched him, grateful Pricilla had chosen to leave him alone for the time being.

He looked at a calendar on the wall behind the other him as he walked by one day, spotting the ‘1997’ on the wall.

Ah, only a year left until he’d die and another incarnation of him would come.

One day, as the other him is looking in the mirror, the trapped soul stands and stares at him. He knows he looks like hell, though he’s grateful Pricilla never showed him what he looked like. Hell, at this point, he wasn’t sure if these versions of ‘himself’ were really him, or if it was all just an elaborate lie.

“I’m right here. I’ve been right here. You’re lucky, living on the outside. You don’t even know I’m here, do you? You can’t see me, they never can.” He muttered bitterly.

The man on the other end paused the application of his makeup, his cut brow twitching.

“I can hear you. I liked it better when you were just some weird, fucked up version of myself in my dreams, though. I have enough on my plate without worrying about if I need to see a shrink for voices in my head.”

He froze.

“You can hear me?! You can hear me, really?!”

The other him narrowed his eyes.

“Jesus, you’re loud. Yes, I can hear you.”

He stared wide eyed at himself and for the first time in centuries, he had a flicker of hope. He wasn’t sure what changed, but for once, he got the fire in his whole body to get up and fight with his whole body once more.

-x-

-You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

“You still haven’t forgotten the pirate from Delphi?”

Grey-ish blue eyes opened slowly and looked up at a pair that were identical.

“I could have done something, Tem.”

A small hum came from her lips as she crossed her legs and stared at him. She reached over, smoothing down his blonde hair before she pulled him into a hug.

“Why do you cling onto that immortal? He was only with you for but so long.”

“He made an impression. The way he spoke of his family and his crew, it was honestly the most genuine and pure emotions I’ve seen in centuries, and still, I haven’t quite seen anything like it.” he muttered.

He was met with a small hum.

“So, centuries later, several incarnations of him later, and you still want to step in and help? Is it because of Hyacinthus?”

He pursed his lips, looking down at her collar, biting his lip.

“I-”

“He’s gone, Apollo. But I see this means a lot to you. Father and Uncle have their hands tied with their...ugh...escapades, so I doubt you’d find much resistance. I can...I can try and help you. I hate to see my brother like this.”

Blue eyes widened and he pulled back.

“Artemis-”

“I said I can try . You and I, there is only but so much that we can do. This may even require you to step out from Olympus, out from our domain, and into the domain of other deities. Some of them may not be too privy to actually help out. Our father hasn’t left the greatest of impressions on the other sky deities and they tend to run the show. But, I will try for you.” She kissed the top of his head and sat back.

“We should get started. We should look into this curse a bit more. If it was our...darling cousin that put the curse on the man, I wouldn’t be surprised if she put in some hidden stipulations.”

He stood, eyes determined.

“Right, then. Let’s get to work.”

Artemis smiled and led him out of the room.

“Let's start by talking to the Fates. Maybe they can tell us where we can start.”

-x-

-We're slowly losing ground

And hope is harder to maintain

When all the prayers we've prayed

Feel lost like tears in the rain-

-x-

The king snarled, exhaustion pulling at his form.

Really, how fucking long had he been there? Was he even going in the right direction? Which way was up or down?

The heavens themselves wouldn’t save that damn beast of a woman when he got to the front of the pathetic pirate’s mind. He swore it on his own pride and honor, he would revel in breaking her in half.

Then those incompetent ass pirates. He was certain if they had gotten to the kid sooner and broke whatever curse was inflicted, he would’ve already been at the forefront of the captain’s mind once more.

Instead, he was here, swimming in the inky blackness of this idiot’s mind, unsure if he was even-

“-member me?”

He blinked, hearing an echo. His scaled head snapped up, pausing momentarily.

Was that…?

“I have dreams, yes. Of past ‘mes’, I guess. You’re really kind of persistent.”

“I’m sorry, I just...I need you to remember fully who you are, who we are. You’re the first one of me that can see and hear me. I think maybe...Maybe we can break the curse?”

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

The king’s fangs glinted as he looked towards the sound of the voices.

“F i n a l l y.”

-x-

-The waters pulling down

The moon's eclipsing the sun

The ending that we knew would come

Has finally begun-

-x-

Joong wasn’t much.

He lived his life poor and disinterested in life. His only friend was a fortune-telling, self proclaimed sun witch, and his only real interest in life was his motorcycle.

Nothing more, nothing less.

The dreams that plagued him since he was a child, of past lives and their subsequent deaths, none of it interested him.

They, like this persistent voice in his head for the past year, harping on a ‘curse’ or whatever, were just an inconvenience. He hadn’t heard from the ‘other him’ in a while, so maybe it was just an illusion from staying up late too many nights or something.

Either way, all this talk of mythical creatures and curses was truly a bother.

“Ah, you’re here. I was wondering when you’d show up.”

He ducked under the beaded curtain of the fortune telling shop, sitting across from a gorgeous woman with feline eyes.

“I told you I’d come, Siyeon. It is your birthday.”

Siyeon smiled softly and reached for his hands, gently rubbing her thumbs along the back of them.

“Yeah, but you never let me read your cards.”

Joong shrugged a shoulder, running a hand through his sandy brown mullet.

“Yeah, well. Happy birthday, how do you want me to do this?” He inquired. She laughed and pulled out a beautiful deck of tarot cards.

“You can shuffle the cards. Pull three of them and place them in a triangle formation and flip them one by one for me, okay?” the witch seemed excited about him participating, so he sent her a small, kind smile. He didn’t quite believe in any of this, but Siyeon was someone incredibly important to him, so just this once, he would go along with it.

He shuffled the cards, humming a birthday song to Siyeon while he did so before he followed her instructions and plucked three of the cards from three different sections of the deck, placing them in front of him in the shape of a triangle.

“Okay, flip them.”

Joong nodded and flipped the cards one by one.

Siyeon’s smile immediately fell.

A Reversed Emperor, The Tower, and the Three of Swords.

“Well that doesn’t look pleasant.” Joong tried to tease, but Siyeon’s expression didn’t crack. She looked up at him, brows pinched together. Joong shifted in his chair, the chains attached to his leather pants jingling from the move.

“Well? You gonna tell me what my fortune is, Si?”

“Right...right. Um...First is the Reversed Emperor. This is normally a symbol of power and being the king of kings, of sorts but um...reversed, there seems to be a lot of turmoil within you. You don’t have as much control as you’d like to believe you do, and it’s left you with a fake sense of safety and security.” She stared at the card before looking towards the second one.

“The Tower...there is chaos brewing for you, Joong. Chaos and destruction, and soon, something will happen that will absolutely turn your whole world upside down. The last, the Three of Swords, means heartbreak of some form is coming. It can be interpreted as something to do with the relationships you have, but it also can be in reference to some kind of terrible pain and suffering.”

“Well, that sounds welcoming.” Joong hummed, shrugging a shoulder. Siyeon looked at him, her face conflicted.

“I-”

“Hey, it's alright. Maybe your cards just don’t like me today.” He teased. Siyeon opened her mouth to tell him that wasn’t how it worked, but he put a hand over hers, sending her a disarming smile.

“Hey, it’s your birthday. Don’t worry so much about this stuff right now. I finally let you read my cards, so let’s go out to eat or something.” He offered. Siyeon resisted the urge to scold him and tell him to take what she had read more seriously, to caution himself, but instead, she only nodded and stood from her table.

“You’re taking me to the Latin place down the street, right?”

“Only the best for my best witch. See what I did there?”

“Because I’m a witch, hardy harr, let’s go nerd.”

-x-

“What do you mean there was a curse placed on him?! How long was it gonna take before you found me?!”

“We tried days after it happened! You didn’t respond!”

Hyuna paused, staring at Yeosang in surprise before she squinted.

“Wait...in Greece…?”

“Yes!”

“HE’S BEEN GONE FOR THAT-” a hand covered her mouth and she nearly bit San, eyes narrowing at him. He sent her a dirty look, wiping his hand off on his jeans before he looked at Dawn.

He was the calmer of the two of them, so they’d get answers from him.

“Hyuna can’t step foot in the Greco-Roman territories. Zeus would skin her alive. Since you all were in Greece when you called on her, she didn’t come for her own safety. And I imagine because of her not responding that time, none of you called on us again until right now?” the weasel spirit inquired.

Wooyoung, San, and Mingi shook their heads. The three of them had stuck together this time.

Somewhere at the turn of the 20th century, Seonghwa had suggested they start splitting up to try and find Hongjoong, since all seven of them looking in the same spot in such a vast and ever changing world was...impractical, at best. Downright idiotic at worst.

It made sense, but all of them knew that was the kindest way Seonghwa could tell them he couldn’t stand looking at some of them as much as he could anymore. They had begun to see the cracks once more. The barely concealed tick of his jaw when he thought no one was looking. The way he sometimes scanned their group when they were together, silently hoping whoever took it would come forward.

At the very least, he needed to know who did it. Whiro be damned.

Speaking of, he and Jongho had become exceptional trackers, which came as no surprise to the group. After all, Jongho had tracked down Hongjoong with the minimal information and tech that he had from before, so this was progressively getting easier.

He just needed to be faster. He’d found Hongjoong once, the last time, but by time he got to the city he felt Hongjoong was in, he could only stand by in wide-eyed shock as the sound of a gunshot rang out into the night.

He didn’t tell the others that part. He and Whiro would bear that one alone.

Regardless of their failures, they often grouped up on the 22nd year, to try to fruitlessly put together the pieces they needed to find him this time before his birthday passed and they inevitably lost their opportunity once more.

It was 1998 now. The 22nd year. He’s birthday was in a week and he’d die once more if they didn’t find him.

Hyuna frowned and looked at her box on her hip.

“I don’t have any spirits for searching, but I can find some. For...y’know, the next time.” She cringed. The boys did as well before hearing the door to the loft they were temporarily staying in open.

Seonghwa must have come home.

Hyuna gauged the looks on their faces and cringed.

“Right, then. I imagine this won’t be a good look for me to be here if that’s how all of you are looking at me. Dawn and I will go and I’ll get back to you as soon as I find a dog spirit suited for the job. I’m...I’m sorry.” She bowed her head down and the two of them disappeared as soon as the door opened.

Seonghwa stared at the trio for a moment before pointing behind him, his voice having lost nearly all of it’s usual sass and coyness.

“Come, I brought food.”

The three of them exchanged a look before trudging out of the room.

-x-

“Apollo, you really are impressive.”

Alistair, or rather, Apollo, wiped sweat from his brow and looked up from his spot on the floor before Hera, blood running down his temple as he tossed the head of some beast at her feet.

“Will you help me?”

“I haven’t seen you so determined to do anything since Hyacinthus’ death. And even Kaliopel is helping out-”

“I spoke with the Fates, I’ve spoken to Aunt Persephone and convinced Uncle Hades to offer up assistance in locating where the soul goes...even Nana Styx offered to pacify my father. I just need your help this once.”

Hera arched a perfectly curved brow.

“And if I say no?”

“I assure you, I can find someone else who will help me in my plight. This could be your chance to get rid of me, but if not-”

“I’m listening.”

Apollo exhaled, looking at the sun disk charm in his palm. He had retrieved it from the sea shortly after Hongjoong disappeared into the depths all those moons ago.

“I offer up half of my godhood for your assistance. All I ask is your assistance in distracting my father and for your aid in my wife and I finding him. It’s too late this time for us to intervene, but I think a soul toiling around in this cycle without the acceptance of the gods is already means enough for someone to step in. If he is out of our domain, I shall go to him. I just ask that you help me, this once. You’ll never see me again afterwards.”

Hera looked at him in genuine surprise.

“All this running, and it’s not for another consort?”

“No. It’s to break the curse no one authorized my cousin to make. Even Uncle Poisiden doesn’t seem to recall giving Scylla permission to do such a thing. It has caused conflict between him and Uncle Hades.”

Hera stared at him for a long while, looking at the offering he’d so graciously tossed at her feet. She tutted and stood, her sandaled feet being the only sound in the room as she descended the stairs to her throne. She plucked a peacock feather from her robe and pressed it to Apollo’s forehead.

“Get up off of your knees. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but your words and determination have appealed to me. I shall take part of your godhood in exchange for my assistance, but it shall be restored in full if you can complete your task. I will only help you once. If he dies again, you’re on your own.” She warned him before humming.

“I’ll even see about getting you some extra assistance.”

Apollo perked.

“Extra?”

“Don’t get too excited. It won’t be easy. We’ll see how determined you are. Go speak to Mnemosyne and her daughter Klio and refresh yourself with what you have missed. Then go.”

Apollo nodded and stood, a resolute look on his face.

“Thank you, Hera.”

“Tell anyone I was kind to you and I’ll find a way to kill you myself. Now go.”

Without another word, the Sun God turned on his heel and left, looking at the sun disk in his palm.

There was a lot of work to be done.

-x-

-You're reaping what you've sown

It's finally begun

You're reaping what you've sown

I'm sorry son, you're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown

You're reaping what you've sown-

-x-

“JOONG! JOONG HOLD ON, PLEASE!”

The biker looked towards the sky, his body growing numb as he felt Siyeon’s hands shakily cup his face. Somewhere off to the side, his motorcycle lay in pieces.

So this was it? A car collision?

Ugh.

“Joong! Joong please!”

He knows Siyeon is yelling, but all he can hear is static. Above her head, he can see the sad reflection of himself, looking down at him.

Oh, so that’s where he was.

He stared at it for a long time before blinking slowly, letting out a terse laugh.

“Don’t have such a horrible look on your face. It’s only another life, right? You looked so hopeful. Find yourself again.”

Siyeon’s brows pinched together in confusion, but the other him’s eyes grew.

‘Find yourself again.’

In the depths of the eighth sea, between the planes of this world and the next, the captain grits his teeth and nods, swimming away from his dying form.

He couldn’t give up. It was a slow time coming, but he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t let her win. Hell, he had even made a breakthrough with himself, something he couldn’t fathom happening before.

He was close. He was close to doing... something .

The king was also getting closer.

‘Pricilla’ had chosen to leave him alone for the first few years of his next life, it was nothing extraordinary. He was an orphan, lonely just like he had been for all sixteen of his lives before this one.

Everything changed in 2008.

“Melody, look!”

He swam to the edge, peering out.

What is this? Someone noticed him in the orphanage?

No one ever noticed him before.

“Hey there, buddy. Do you wanna come home with us? You and your siblings?”

The child frowned and looked at his feet, a small beret hiding most of his hair.

“I don’t have siblings.”

The massive man sent him a smile, tucking his hair behind his ear and as the spirit watched on, he could see he had lots of tattoos.

“You do now. If you’d like to come with us, Hongjoong.” He offered. The ten year old blinked.

“My name..isn’t…”

“George is a bit boring, don’t you think? I like Hongjoong better. It means you’re the center of the whole world, y’know.”

Hongjoong looked up at him, then the woman standing behind him who sent him a gentle smile as three other children clung to her dress, staring at him in anticipation. They looked desperate to get out of the orphanage and have a family.

A happy family.

Hongjoong smiled shyly and walked up to the grey-ish blue eyed man, gently squeezing the little harbor seal plushie he kept with him at all times. He stepped in front of the man, shifting from foot to foot.

“You won’t...you won’t throw me away, will you, mister? Not me and my friend Angel, will you?” He inquired, hugging the seal tighter. The man shook his head.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Hongjoong. Do you accept? Will you come with us?”

Hongjoong paused for only a second longer before he nodded, all but jumping into his arms with a wide smile.

The tall man’s arms closed around him and he smiled, picking him up before picking up one of the other children.

She stared at Hongjoong with wide eyes before smiling softly, her hair up in a ponytail.

“My name is Suzuka. I guess you’re my little brother now?”

Hongjoong nodded eagerly.

“Yes! My name is George-ah no...d-dad said my name is Hongjoong!”

The spirit of the captain watched on with tears in his eyes and disbelief.

Even he didn’t remember his name anymore, but somehow, when this man appeared, he felt a familiar sense of home and warmth when he uttered the name to the child.

The captain watched the child and his family (that word felt so new to him. Family. He hadn’t had a family in ages) grow together. He expected the worst. Expected the tattooed man and his wife to be demons. That had to be it, there was no way he’d have a happy life when the sixteen leading up to this point were so miserable.

They...never treated the four of them with anything other than the purest form of respect and love the captain can remember. He watched on, as the mother sang lullabies and told them stories before bed. As their father taught them how to play music, tattooed fingers working over a guitar, or the keys to a piano.

This...was honestly such a happy and energetic life.

He had friends and family. He smiled every day, got to perform on stages.

Hongjoong...was happy. For the first time in centuries, he was truly happy.

Years later, Pricilla returned, wrapping her limbs around him.

No, no, no, he couldn’t let it end. He couldn’t let the best version of himself die again.

So he turned and fought with all his might. He clawed and scratched and bit down on whatever he could.

No more, he was tired. He wanted to live, he just wanted to live!

“Captain! What’s gotten into you, hm? I haven’t seen such fight in your eyes in a while~”

He’d fight. Harder than ever before. He couldn’t let her win.

Hongjoong thrashes, slamming his fists against the wall. He can see himself, just beyond the water, blissfully unaware.

He’s laughing with his friends, celebrating new years as the calendar rolls over from 2019 to 2020. The captain feels his throat close slightly. This was the 22nd year. He was going to lose again, wasn’t he? He was going to lose his life again if the curse wouldn’t be broken.

Sometimes he screams at his own reflection, hoping somehow he can hear himself. The last one, the biker named Joong, heard his voice. So maybe if he could get through to this one…

He needs to know, he has to find out who he is.

“Hello!? Can you hear me?! Hello!” He screams out to the college student.

“Remember them, remember yourself!” He shouts. It's almost funny in a tragic way. He in spirit can’t even remember the names of the men that held his fate in his hands. The seven men from before. He needed them to help unlock his memories. They were the key as much as he was, he thinks.

Golden eyes watch him, impressed. A clawed hand snakes around his body and squeezes his face so hard it hurts. He glares at the woman, his lips curled up into a scowl. She tuts at him, shaking her head.

“You’ve been fighting for so long, Captain. Wouldn’t it be easier to give up? They look close to calling it quits. How could they not? Centuries without their precious leader, their precious lover-” She spits the word out like a curse, but Hongjoong only pushes past her, swimming to the opposite side of the vast space. He can see the men, six instead of seven this time.

“You want to give up on him?!” Seonghwa snarled. Mingi’s nostrils flared in anger as he stood nearly chest to chest with the ex prince.

“I didn’t say that! I’m saying you need to slow the fuck down and breathe for a bit. None of us have gotten anywhere like this. We’re tearing ourselves apart like this!” He hissed. Seonghwa grit his teeth, ice frosting over his fingers as he glared at him.

“None of this would even be happening if-” He stopped himself short, clenching his fists. Mingi glared at him.

“If what? If someone didn’t steal the staff? You keep bringing it up, you keep looking at me different than the others. You still think it’s me!”

Seonghwa lowered his gaze, but didn’t deny the accusation. Mingi clenched his fists so hard it hurt, before he raised his voice.

“I didn’t do it! How many times do I have to tell you I didn’t steal it?! Even if I did, do you think I wouldn’t have come clean by now?!”

“I never said you did steal it!” Seonghwa barked.

“You didn’t have to!”

The two of them began to argue and Jongho stood, letting out a sigh.

“Fuck this, we’re going for a walk.” He grumbled, sliding on a leather jacket. Yeosang watched him in concern before standing to retreat into the kitchen, five fox tails swaying behind him as he began cooking. Yunho sighed and laid on the floor out of the way. He was too tired for this today. Geb rumbled in silent agreement while Wooyoung shook in San’s grip.

“Cheese, c’mon boy.” Jongho beckoned and a black and tan Jindo ran up to him, nuzzling his thigh and letting him put a harness on before he walked out, slamming the door with a bit of force behind him.

Whiro rumbled in his head.

“You got the cloth for the dog, right?”

“Never leave home without it.” Jongho held out a small cloth, dangling it under Cheese’s nose. The dog was given to them by Hyuna as a search dog for Hongjoong. He was still young, but with a bit more training, Jongho was sure he’d be a good supernatural sniffing dog.

At least, he hoped he could sniff Hongjoong out before November. They were running out of time.

Seonghwa and Mingi continued arguing and the captain screamed from beyond the invisible walls, pounding on the wall desperately.

“What are you doing?! Stop it! Stop arguing!! Please!!!! Find him! Find me!” He screams, watching Seonghwa and Mingi argue. San and Wooyoung are holding each other, eyes downcast. Yeosang is busying himself in the kitchen, distracting himself from the argument. Yunho is curled up on the floor, an arm over his eyes as he keeps himself from intervening.

Hongjoong felt his heart sink, biting his lip as he watched the men. The hand comes back, fingers wrapping around his ankle as she pulls him down like she’d done time and time before.

Deeper, deeper into the eighth sea, the sea of time itself.

Deeper, deeper into the abyss.

Hongjoong reaches out at the wall, tears rolling out of his eyes and washing away with the salt water.

“Please, don’t give up on me.”

-x-

-This sorrow weighs down on my shoulders

This fear is getting harder to hide

You’ll leave me alone in this darkness

Left to hold out

Against the tide-

-x-

Jongho sighs as he bundles up. It was March, so the chill of winter still clung to the air in South Korea. Whiro stretched across his skin under his jacket, providing an extra layer of insulation that none of the locals could see.

Amazing how close the two of them had become.

Cheese tugged at the leash, barking once before pulling him forward. Jongho blinked before jolting in surprise at how persistent the dog was.

“Cheese, what the hell-”

Cheese ignored his protests and pulled the Maori man into a crowd of people. He was about to scold him when he heard a voice.

His heart stopped.

“People want it

People dream about it

It can be different to every individual

It can complete us

Or it can destroy us

And it can change the world

People call it 'treasure'”

Jongho’s lips parted in surprise as he watched a man walk forward on a stage, his hair a sandy brown color in a mullet. He held a microphone to his lips as a few other people and even some kids moved around behind him. It seemed to be a street performance of some kind.

Jongho had his eyes focused on the small brunette the whole time.

“The sound of wind blowing from the horizon

The warmth of the sun hitting the ocean waves

The vibration of sand beating like the hearts of youth

We're at the starting point of this long journey”

“Holy fucking shit, kid.” Whiro’s voice snapped him back into focus as he tugged at his hand. “Get the phone, Jongho! Close your mouth and get the phone!”

Jongho shakily plucked his phone from his pocket and held it up, eyes wide as he recorded, nearly dropping it.

On the stage, the brunette dressed in modern clothing that was clearly supposed to resemble pirate attire, walked around the stage, smiling at some of the kids and some of the other five adults on stage.

“The freezing winds may make us shiver

The heat of the sun may make us thirsty

The vibrations of the sand may swallow us

But we'll never stop.”

The group grew closer to him, and Jongho watched a woman with feline features raise her microphone next, posing prettily.

“Gold~”

A man with piercings through his eyebrow and bottom lip put an arm on her shoulder, speaking into his own microphone.

“Eternal life~”

A blonde man with a distinct accent put an arm around the brunette’s shoulder, grinning at him before he winked at the crowd, sending them a smile that made his eyes crinkle.

“Honor~”

A slightly shorter man with a deeper voice wiggled under the blonde’s arm and grabbed his mic, his accent matching his as he chimed out his own line in a deep baritone.

“Love~”

A person with pink hair with yellow and blue chalk highlights eagerly bounded up behind them, all but throwing themselves onto the brunette’s back in the center, their long legs stretching outward.

“Fame!”

The six of them laughed before the brunette in the center held his microphone up to his lips.

“It doesn't matter what you dream for,

So let me ask you

What.is.your.treasure?” he extended a hand out and for the first time in centuries, as the sound of people clapping around him echoed through his ears, tears slipped down his cheeks.

“Hong...joong…?”

“Will you join us?”

------------Taglist-

@kimnamshiks @angel0taiyo @atiny-dazzlinglight @phasephoenix @eversionic @itsatinyworld @prettyjoongs @unatempesta-dipensieri @lonely10vely @yunhosblackgf @not-majestic-bluenicorn @moonmin-miya @girlcarma @kpopthingzsblog @delphinium3000 @just-a-starfruit @mireyth @skmoonchild @queen-of-himbos @allthestarsrcloser @sneaky-ash @im-what-iam @thereal-smolchild @arohatiny @smallfrye @atinyteez @takitaro @hunnibxbe

#fie writes #against the tide #kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #kpopuniversenet #atzinc #kconnet #AtT Ch.10 #ateez fic #ateez fanfic #kpop fanfic #ateez fanfiction #ot8 #ateez ot8 #member x member #ateez ot8 fic #polyteez #hey look i posted and its not 3am look at that pls reblog if you like it thx ily

90 notes · View notes

chase-mccarthysaxton · 3 years ago

Text

#3 - The Junkyard

location: the junkyard

mentions: @odessamcsaxton @havencurriere

notes: teamwork makes the dream work. also is chase about to adopt a junkyard dog?

Chase hadn’t felt too panicked, pun intended, as they piled into the back of the vans at the party. Of course having to pull his pants up quickly and kiss Odessa goodbye once his phone went off hadn’t been pleasant but it wasn’t the first time they had been in that scenario. So he had tried to just settle into it, even as they instructed them to strap on their cameras and laid out what the rules of the game where. Even when the vans drove away and he was left standing there with the rest of the group in confusion.

As he and Haven found each other, he was grateful to have a partner, especially some he trusted so fully and it boosted his confidence even more. They moved their way through the junkyard slowly, almost as if following others tracks to avoid getting caught up in too much trouble. But the further they got, the harder it got and junk pile after junk pile proved useless until he caught a glint of silver hanging from a fence near an abandoned shack. Without causing too much noise he signaled to Haven, his heart rate only spiking as he got closer and heard the low grumble of what could only be a dog.

“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna make a run for it, grab the medallion and then throw it to you. You take off and I’ll lure the dog away, okay? Haven, we’re not arguing about this anymore, just..just be ready to catch it. And don’t wait for me, okay?” They went back and forth in whispers before Chase went for it and took off towards the fence, the loud bark following after him. But he managed to grab the medallion and just as the dog caught side of him, he chucked it towards Haven, only just catching himself so he wouldn’t cheer like they had just won a football game.

“Run!” He yelled out and did just that, faking out the dog the way he would in a video game before he started running in the opposite direction that Haven had, feeling like the dog was right on his ass before he found another pile of junk and started to climb up it as best as he could. But as he started to climb, one of the flattened cards had started to slip from the pile and just as quickly as he had climbed up, he was falling down, holding onto the sliding hunk of metal until it hit the floor and he heard a whimper as it crashed to the ground.

Almost worse than getting bitten by the dog, he had actually injured one of them, the bottom half of the dog stuck under one of the cars as his head was stuck out.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” Chase breathed out, thinking of Titus at home. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered over and over again, trying to get closer to the dog but it only barked and bit at him as he did. “Listen, you want me to leave you here to die? What the fuck, this is fucked!” And for the first time that night Chase started to panic, the sight of the injured dog making him feel beyond guilty. He instead focused on pushing the car off the dog, using all the strength he head to allow it some space to crawl out from under but it was clear that the once beastly thing no longer had any energy in it. As much as he was trying to fight it, Chase had turned the tables and he watched as the dog got too tired to struggle anymore. And it was then that Chase was able to get close enough to realize the dog had a medallion hanging around his neck.

“Looks like it was meant to be, friend. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Even rabid dogs deserved care and he’d be damned if he was about to have a dead dog on his conscious.

So with the dog turned into just another injured puppy, Chase took his chances and left the medallion on the dog, instead lifting the dog on his shoulders to carry him out of the junkyard.

And it wasn’t easy, considering he wasn’t the only one there and he couldn’t exactly just stroll his way through. But after a near miss with a shotgun, the dog turning out to be a big baby, a quick tussle with a fence - Chase finally found an exit to the junkyard, only allowing himself to feel relief when he saw Haven further in the distance.

#chwpanic #i didnt proofread but its not terrible

4 notes · View notes

aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 5 years ago

Text

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤

Rowaelin modern AU ▶ Masterlist

note: sorry for the late, but this chapter is longer than usual so hope that makes up for it!

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

Aelin loved playing with stray dogs when she was little. Two days before her seventh birthday, Aelin had tried to pet a particularly wild dog. It was huge, and it chased her around the mostly empty park until she locked herself in the ladies bathroom. The hours passed in a blur, but the relief she'd felt when she'd heard her cousin's footsteps, his voice as he tried to shoo away the growling creature nearly overwhelmed her. It morphed into pure terror when she heard Aedion's pained shriek as the rabid animal bit him.

It was that odd combination of relief and terror she remembered when she heard her cousin scream that night—the sound that compelled her to unlock the door. She stared at the sight before her in horror.

Arobynn lay on the ground, breathing in short gulps. Blood—there was so much blood, splattered on the floor, on the walls, on the carpet. And standing above him, panting through his teeth was her cousin, covered in blood himself, his baseball bat clutched in his hand. Thr tip of the bat was coloured crimson like the formerly white tiles—now yellowish because of disrepair. Aedion was shaking all over.

"I didn't mean to," he said, though she didn't think he was talking to her. "I didn't mean to hurt him—is he—"

Is he dead? she read the unspoken fear in his eyes as clearly as if he'd said it out loud. But there—Arobynn's chest rose and fell ever so slow. Not dead, just unconscious.

Aelin said, "We need to leave." Aedion nodded, but he made no movement. "I'm sorry, so sorry. I shouldn't have called, I'm sorry."

She enveloped him in a hug, clutching onto him as if she could fix all the shit with her tight hold over him. She mumbled muffled apologies into his shirt, blinking back tears.

She called a cab, unsure where they could go. Aedion's mother had died in an accident five years ago, and Gavriel had no knowledge of his son until he attended his ex-wife's funeral—so while their professor was her cousin's guardian on papers, Aedion lived alone in the house he'd been raised in. She couldn't leave him there alone now. It was how she found herself knocking on her uncle's apartment door, aware of Aedion's resentment towards Gavriel in the middle of the night.

She rang the doorbell twice, then slumped against the wall in exhaustion.

Aedion stood silently, staring behind her with a blank expression. She'd expected him to rage at her—her cousin detested asking favours from his father. He wanted nothing to do with the man who'd left his mother to raise him alone for years, and he'd made it clear. He didn't make so much as a sound of protest now.

The door opened. "Aelin, what are—is that blood? Aedion?" he gaped, eyes flicking between the two of them.

"Could we, ah, stay here, maybe?" Aelin asked, then amended: "Just Aedion, I mean. I can go crash on Dorian's couch, I just—I can't leave him alone—"

Gavriel held up a hand, shaking his head a little. "Don't be stupid, you can both stay here as long as you'd like." The shock was replaced with concern and he opened the door wider, ushering them inside. He offered them water, then fetched the first aid kit, movements fast and panicked.

"You're hurt," Gavriel observed, looking at her. Then he turned towards his son, "and you too."

Aedion said, "The blood isn't mine. Aelin—she needs help." His voice was thick, hoarse from lack of use. He shifted on the couch, looking more aware of his surroundings than before, without the usual displeasure in his voice.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

Gavriel cleaned her cut, and bandaged it, making her flinch on occassion. Once she was treated, he turned to his son.

Aelin was grateful he hadn't asked questions yet, letting the events settle in. Aedion returned to himself with each passing minute and with no more need to clamp down on nerves, she let tears flood down her cheeks. There was a dull ache in her head, and she was so exhausted, she didn't know when sleep claimed her.

...........

Aelin woke up in an unfamiliar bedroom, the lights dim and curtains pulled shut. Someone knocked softly at the door. "You awake yet, Ace?" a familiar, not unwelcome voice asked. Dorian.

She groaned, sitting up in the bed. Her heart skipped a beat when the events from last night came rushing in. "Aedion—where is he?"

"Here, ma'am," her cousin answered, leaning against the doorframe. Though he tried to smile, his eyes—eerily similar to her own—had a haunting look in them. She supressed a shiver. Red-rimmed, swollen eyes were lined with dark circles, cheeks sunken in, hair sticking up strangely, as if he'd been running a hand through them. But alive; he was alive and unhurt—

"You're fine," she breathed out.

His face softened. "I'm the one who should be asking that. How are you?" She made a face at the concern in his voice, making the cuts on her face throb worse than before.

"Hurts like a bitch," she said, then scrunched her nose up in distaste. "You look like shit." Her cut hurt more from talking, but as the dark mood lifted a little, she couldn't regret the expression. "Did you—Uncle Gavriel, he uh...?" She didn't miss the twitch of displeasure in her cousin's eyes, though if he felt she shouldn't have brought them here, he gave no indication of it.

"He's in school, we all skipped when Aedion told us—everyone's in the room." Dorian explained, then winked at her. "We thought it best to have you wake up to a pretty face."

Aelin rolled her eyes; despite herself, she couldn't help but grin back. "And where is this pretty face then? I don't see anyone except you and Aedion." Dorian pouted in a fashion that had her grinning harder. Even Aedion's lips twitched upwards a little, though he tried his best to resist. It was hard not to smile; she was safe, Aedion was safe—it was more than she could've hoped for. Before either cousin could retort though, animated voices travelled to the room.

"Everyone's waiting outside," Aedion gestured to the neatly folded clothes on her bedside. "Dorian's clothes. He's the closest to your size so it's all we could get for now."

"Everyone...?" she tried not to sound anxious but failed.

Aedion nodded. "Lorcan, Lysandra, the twins. I wasn't sure if you wanted Sam to know." Aelin shook her head vehemently, feeling guilty Sam wasn't who she wanted to see now. Disappointment surged inside her chest at the thought that Rowan hadn't come.

She wasn't even sure he knew, or if she wanted him to know.

Aedion nodded in understanding, then went to take his leave. "Be quick, you don't want to scare others."

Aelin's answering curse was everything that shouldn't be repeated in polite company. Chuckling, Aedion left the room to presumably give her some privacy and greet his girlfriend.

She raised an eyebrow at her best friend, who was still in his seat, looking very much amused. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"I need to change, so leave," she raised an eyebrow. "Unless you want a show, of course."

Dorian's eyes shown with mirth, the laughter barely contained. "Meh. Won't be anything I haven't seen before." The answering pillow hit him square in the face and Aelin congratulated herself on the perfect aim.

When Dorian still made no move to leave, she warned, "It'll be the slipper for you if you don't leave now."

It was only when he'd left, his cackling a faint sound from the living room that she changed into the loose, comfy sweatshirt and joggers, and thanked the gods for elastic waistbands as she left the room. All eyes turned on her when she reached the living room, conversation came to a halt and the atmosphere buzzed with awkward tension, everyone falling silent.

Before Aelin could decide she'd rather retreat to her room rather than enduring this, Fenrys observed, "You look ridiculous in that. Who even wears clothes like those?"

Dorian narrowed his eyes in displeasure. "Clearly, moon-moon, you need a lesson in fashion. Nothing is wrong with those clothes." He huffed, knowing Fenrys was aware those were his clothes he was talking about.

Fenrys was saved from finding a retort when Lorcan barked, "If either of you talk fashion more, I'll throw you lot out of the window myself."

Aelin instantly moved to his side, thankful that someone in this apartment wasn't being a complete clown until he turned his attention on her, brows furrowing immediately when his dark eyes flicked towards the cut on her cheek.

She huffed, prepared for the fuss that was about to be made on her account. She wasn't disappointed when Lorcan made her sit on the sofa, handing her a cup of coffee. The smell delighted her senses but she scowled at being treated like an invalid. Surely, a few cuts on her cheek hadn't made her incapable of standing on her own two feet? There was little use in arguing though, and she bore her friends' concern with as much grace as she could muster.

Lorcan surveyed her once more, jaw set and fists clenched. "Is it hurting? It must be hurting—we should probably get that checked out today. Conall is in the kitchen with your uncle, he's making soup and Lysandra brought chocolates—though I don't think that helps—"

"It does," Aelin said in a firm voice, fighting to hide the amusement from her tone. "Where are they then? My chocolates, I mean."

Lysandra dropped a box on the sofa beside her, then swooped in for a hug. The dark-haired girl held her in a tight embrace, unwilling to let go of her friend for a good while before she pulled back. "I'm so glad you're fine. I'd hate to be left with these morons."

Aelin grinned. "I would never," she promised, ignoring the whines of protest from behind her. She leaned over to grab the box but Lorcan was already there, handing it to her. "I'm still capable of picking up a box of chocolates! I'm not an invalid."

He conveniently ignored her statement, flopping down by her side. He looked as sullen as ever. "You should've called all of us. One of you should have. Why didn't you call?"

"I was capable of calling a cab," Aelin answered, trying to forget how scared she'd felt, like the cab driver would somehow drop them right back at Arobynn's and Aedion would get hurt and she won't be able to do anything about it—"And it was like, middle of the night! You were probably asleep! I didn't know who to call."

Lorcan scowled. "I don't care if I was in the middle of my own fucking wedding! If you'd called, I would've come."

"But now it's fine," she said with a bright grin, launching an assault on her chocolates. She steered the topic of conversation away from herself, and soon they were all cackling. "Aedion called you here?" She hadn't yet decided whether she wanted to hit her cousin or thank him for it.

"He did," Dorian confirmed, reaching a hand for the chocolates. She swatted his hand away. In the background of her head, a voice asked: Did Rowan know too? She clamped down on it hard.

Lorcan made a face but he didn't speak further, shifting closer to her. Aelin leaned into him with a satisfied smile until her best friend spoke, "What are you planning to do now?"

"Uhhhh, sleep some more?" Aelin asked.

Lorcan gave her a blank look. "I meant your living conditions. You're not an adult yet," his voice grew quieter still, "and you're not going back there." He held up a hand when I began to speak. "You've always said you can handle him, and I trusted you, but it's never been this bad before."

"We can't go to the police, he's got them in his pocket—" she started.

Dorian cut in. "We're not out of resources either, Ace. If you'd let me, I'll tell my parents, or you can crash with one of us until you're eighteen and legally inherit your parents' house and business," his voice was firm, unrelenting and serious—so unlike him, it shut her up. "But either way, you're not living with him anymore."

"We've gotten extra room in my house, you can live with me," Aedion declared. "I talked with Gavriel too—as your nearest living relative, he can claim your guardianship if you choose to file a report against Arobynn."

Lorcan squeezed his shoulder for comfort, and she was grateful for his quiet strength. "I'll need to think about it," she admitted, sighing.

And she did think about it for the next hour, while the overprotective bastards hovered over her. She was grateful when Lysandra drew Aedion away to the bedroom, trying not to think about what they were going to do in his father's bed. The rest of the group chatted merrily, ordered takeout, played video games and made stupid bets and stupider plans. It was Aelin's ideal day—spending time with people she loved so much. Then why did her thoughts revert to one person?

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

tags:

@thesirenwashere // @courtofjurdan //@fangirltrash74 // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @rowaelinforeverworld // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @morganofthewildfire // @aelinchocolatelover // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @hizqueen4life // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 // @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @curlyredqueen06 // @moondancer-204 // @thesurielships // @witchling-leonor // @ladywitchling // @amren-courtofdreams // @ifinallygavein // @jlinez // @faequeenaelin // @df3ndyr // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @superspiritfestival // @xx-fiona-xx // @stardelia // @maastrash // @sanakapoor // @louisleblancdiggory // @abookishfreak // @maddymelv // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @flowersinvegas

note: does anyone know if there's a limit to the amount of people that can be mentioned in a post? cause I couldn't, until I removed a few tags that weren't working, and then it worked.

this chapter is like, far from my usual standard for a good chapter but it's satisfactory enough, tho i think there are some inconsistencies in the plot, which if you see, please don't hesitate in pointing out. 💖💖💖

#throne of glass #sarah j maas #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #dancing in the dark #aelin-queen-of-terrasen #aelin galathynius #lorcan salvaterre #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction

88 notes · View notes