#biting and ripping and tearing and clawing and killing and maiming and screaming and crying and throwing up and keeling over and dying and

[ab-horror]

theyre changing our bonus program at woooork ahahehehehehhdhd I CANT WAIT TO MAKE EVEN LESS MONEY YIPPEE WAHOO YAAYYYY YAY YAY YAY

[pupsmailbox]

HORROR ID PACK

NAMES︰ abyss. adelaide. alex. allure. alluria. amnesia. amnesty. annabelle. archer. ash. asher. ashton. athena. axe. axette. bates. beal. belial. belladonna. bellatrix. bellow. billy. blade. blair. bleedesse. bloodiesse. bones. bow. briar. brute. bubba. buffy. butcher. cain. caliburn. calyspo. carcass. carna. carrie. carrion. casey. casper. chainette. chains. charley. charlie. chase. chi. chris. chucky. claire. claymore. clear. colt. connor. corpse. craven. cross. crypt. cybre. cynthia. damien. danger. derry. desdemona. dove. dracula. drow. elisabeta. elm. elmira. elvria. em. enigma. erin. eros. ethan. evelien. eventide. falchion. finale. finalis. finn. fleur. freddy. galatine. ghost. ghostesse. gladius. graves. grim. guts. harker. haunt. hound. howl. hunter. hush. ikino. jace. jane. jason. javelin. jekyll. jesse. john. julie. kateline. kille. killer. killesse. killette. killire. killyr. knifesse. knifette. krueger. lamb. laurie. lavender. lenz. lillith. loomis. lorraine. lucien. lucy. machete. mal. malice. massacresse. massacrette. max. maxine. megan. mia. michael. mike. mikey. molar. mors. morticia. mortis. myer. myers. necro. nephi. night. noir. norman. nyx. nægling. obsidian. onyx. ophelia. pandora. pearce. pike. pin. pointe. pointette. pridwen. pyper. quentin. raven. reaper. renfield. retro. revenant. river. roadkill. rosemary. rot. ryker. sabel. sabre. sacrifesse. salem. samara. sawyer. scum. scythe. seraph. serene. sharpette. sharppe. shaun. shelley. sidney. slash. slasher. slashesse. slashette. slashine. slashire. slashyr. specter. spite. survivesse. survivette. sybil. syd. talia. thomas. vein. verity. vesper. visage. viscera. vivo. warden. weaponesse. weaponette. weaponne. wendy. whisp. william. wraith.

PRONOUNS︰ aby/abyss. alien/alien. amnesia/amnesia. axe/axe. bat/bat. bite/bite. bla/blade. blade/blade. blood/blood. bone/bone. brain/brain. brutal/brutal. bull/bullet. bullet/bullet. camp/camp. carna/carnage. chain/chain. chain/chainsaw. chainsaw/chainsaw. chase/chase. choke/choke. claw/claw. co/corpse. content/content. copy/copy. cor/corpse. corpse/corpse. cry/cry. cryp/cryptid. crypt/crypt. cut/cut. dae/daem. dae/daer. dark/dark. de/demo. dea/death. death/death. dec/decay. decay/decay. die/die. eldritch/eldritch. elm/elm. evil/evil. fear/fear. fie/fire. fien/fiend. final/final. flesh/flesh. fog/fog. freak/freak. fury/furious. gau/gauze. gauze/gauze. gho/ghost. ghost/ghost. gloom/gloom. gnaw/gnaw. go/gore. gor/gore. gore/gore. gra/grave. grave/grave. gun/gun. gut/gut. hallow/hallow. haun/haunt. haunt/haunt. horr/horror. horror/horror. house/house. hunt/hunt. hush/hush. k9/k9. ki/kill. kill/kill. kni/knife. knife/knife. lash/lash. lethal/lethal. live/live. machete/machete. maim/maim. mallet/mallet. mask/mask. massacre/massacre. med/medical. medi/medical. monster/monster. murder/murder. night/night. no/none. pin/pin. point/point. point/pointy. pois/poison. prey/prey. pyr/pyramid. red/red. reveil/reveil. revive/revive. rib/rib. rip/rip. rodent/rodent. rot/rot. run/run. sacrifice/sacrifice. saw/saw. scream/scream. scythe/scythe. shadow/shadow. sharp/sharp. sharp/sharpen. sharpen/sharpen. sin/sin. slash/slash. slash/slashe. slash/slashed. slash/slasher. slasher/slasher. slice/slice. sly/sly. sni/snipe. sound/sound. stab/stab. stalk/stalk. steel/steel. step/step. survive/survive. survivor/survivor. tear/tear. thon/thon. tomb/tomb. trope/trope. vamp/vamp. victim/victim. voi/void. weapon/weapon. weep/weep. whisp/whisper. wound/wound. wra/wrath. ☠️. ⚰. ⚰️. ⚱. ⛧. ⛨. 🏥. 🏹. 🐀. 💀. 💉. 💣. 📿. 🔪. 🔫. 🕳️. 🛡️. 🥀. 🦴. 🧛‍♂️. 🧟‍♂️. 🧨. 🩸. 🩹.

[rock-n-onyx]

TW: Descriptions of violence, blood, intent to kill, featuring my old version of my rottmnt oc Tintoretto (he's now a turtle, but he used to be a dog)

Tint watched in horror as Donnie flew across the room, hitting the wall with a sickening crack. Leo rushed over to him, dropping to his knees, hands flitting across his body as he assessed damage. “Shit,” He heard him mutter, “His battleshell broke! Cover me while I get him outta here!”

They nodded, forming a defensive ring while Leo opened a portal and teleported himself and Donnie out of the fight. Tint looked at the bull yokai. He was beefy, tall, and had very sharp, very long horns that had hit Donnie and hurt him. There was blood dripping off of one of them. Blood, which means Donnie’s shell had been hurt. His brother’s softshell, which was weak and leathery. His shell which was hurt so easily.

Tintoretto bared his teeth and snarled, his instincts screaming at him to protect his pack, his family. His eyes laser-focused on the bull yokai, he fails to notice his brothers looking at him worriedly. Kill, maim, protect, KILL HIM. The normally reserved and calm mutant dog was furious. This yokai had hurt his brother. He was going to pay for that.

Tintoretto charged, naginata held out to his side in one hand. His eyes were crazed, honing in on the bull yokai’s arm as he reached out to punch him. As he swung wildly, no form to the punch whatsoever, Tintoretto lashed out, latching onto his wrist. The yokai screamed in pain and with it brought a grim satisfaction.

He relished in the metallic taste in his mouth, the sound of cracking bone as he bit down harder, eliciting more screams as the yokai ripped his wrist out of his mouth. He could hear the skin and muscle tearing, the spurting of blood as he let go of the wrist in his mouth. More, more, MORE. KILL HIM.

The bull yokai was enraged now, lowering his horns in preparation to skewer him. As he charged past, Tintoretto side-stepped, grabbing his horns and swinging himself up onto his back. His naginata long forgotten by now, he latched onto the yokai’s neck with his claws, marveling in the blood trickling down from the puncture wounds.

The bull yokai reached back and grabbed him, throwing him into a wall, similar to how he threw Donnie. The pain barely registered in his mind as he got back up again. He must have looked like a monster, blood staining his jaws and dripping down his hands, a crazed look in his eyes.

KILL HIM DAMMIT. He charged forward again, and the bull yokai fled. He tried to give chase, run him down like a predator, rip him limb from limb for what he did to his brother he should pay- but a hand grabbed his arm. He yanked and pulled and screamed and tried to bite but the hand didn’t let go. It pulled him into a hold that he couldn’t escape out of and he growled, deep and menacing, hackles raised.

A calm voice, shaken but soothing, began to speak. It muttered things that didn’t matter, but it was calming. Slowly his struggles slowed and he took great heaving breaths. His vision cleared and he saw Mikey in front of him, looking extremely worried. He gulped, cringing at the taste of blood and fur in his mouth.

His voice rasped, “What happened?” And the flood gates broke. Mikey started crying, burying his face into his chest, grabbing onto his fur.

‘Don’t-” He hiccuped, “Don’t you ever do that again! You scared me, Tint, you wouldn’t listen to me or Raph and you were acting so crazy and-” He buried his head again as he was cut off by a sob. Tint’s mind was reeling, what on earth had happened? All he remembered was blood, screams, and a feeling of rage so intense he had never experienced it before.

Raph’s voice was calm and soothing as he picked them both up into a more comfortable position, “Raph’s got ya, let’s head back home first, yeah? Then we can talk about what happened once we’re all comfy and calm.” Tint nodded silently, still processing all that happened. He couldn’t have been… feral? Yeah, that sounds about right, feral. He couldn’t have been feral for more than a few minutes, but it felt like a lifetime.

All he wanted to do was have a shower, sleep, and forget this ever happened.

[grody-cosplay-n-crap]

As soon as I realized Praksis was a Scorn I knew I would have to bite kill rip tear cry sob maim puke weep bite punch kick scream cry retch beat kill gag weep claw crunch terminate destroy mangle maim cry whimper sob heave choke gag rip scream yell tear bite kill kill killl kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill kill ki

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

sir, you should only gamble for fun

“start talk with the demon under the table.”

cater x reader

gender neutral reader

synopsis: what is love?

Love.

A word unfamiliar to Cater. He’s used to the word “like”.

The heart underneath a Magicam post. A notification on his blank phone screen. A pursuit of the temporary in hopes he could chance his way into longevity. After all, there’s nothing in the world that could be powerful enough to ground him: at least, enough to wipe away the empty film that rests above his eyes.

Except for you.

What makes you so different? Cater doesn’t know the answer to that himself. Maybe it’s the way you look at him. Maybe it’s the way he unconsciously finds himself reaching for your hand whenever you aren’t around. Maybe it’s the way you look at him with pity, rather than love. Just like how everyone else does.

Nothing about you is really different. It’s him deluding himself into thinking you’re special. That he’s special.

You’re the only one who would tangle your fingers in his hair and tell him that his locks are the same color of the sun. You’re the only one who would bite his fingertips to make him wince and whine. You’re the one who would press a kiss right on the diamond stamp on his face and then drag your lips away, the crimson streak across his cheek a scarlet letter.

The diamond screams, “He’s in love! He’s in love! He’s in love!”

When he lies next to you, he wonders if what he feels is the same for you. Do you whisper his name like he does yours? Do you kiss him with the same intensity, hoping that you could taste the words he’s swallowed back so many times? 

Love.

It feels so foreign to Cater. It feels so good. It feels so horrid.

His heart hurts when he looks at you. The hourglass has already been flipped over, and the sand has already started falling. Cater doesn’t know when the last grain will slip through his fingers, just like the previous ones that escaped him. You’ll take flight, just like the wandering soul you are, and you’ll assimilate into a distant past.

Would it hurt less if your face blurred over, covered with his tears in a futile attempt to kill and bury the emotion that claws so monstrously inside of his chest? He would be content to keep this distance if it were anyone else, but he can’t be satisfied.

Because it’s you.

He kisses you carnally. His hands are tools of destruction—his mouth a weapon meant to slice and maim, his palms akin to the cracks on the earth. You should be afraid when you can feel his confusion tumble into the inside of your cheeks, and Cater wants you to be disgusted and yank yourself away from him.

But you don’t. You never do. That’s what wounds him the most. He almost wishes that you weren’t so kind to him. It would be easier for him to come to terms with himself if you hated him, spat at him, told him that you couldn’t stand to see the sight of someone so pathetically incapable as him.

No. You don’t do that.

You grab his collar with the same vigor that he does, pushing him towards the edge and sending him spiralling even deeper into the personal hell that he’s built up. Like dominoes, they always come crashing down, landing in a reckless clattering cacophony on the floor.

Why do you do this to him? Why do you make his heart hurt like this? What is it about you that makes it so impossible for him to do anything?

You kiss him. You kiss him back, and Cater’s nothing but a wisp of air between your arms. 

Love.

It hurts. It hurts too much for him to bear. He wants to rip his heart out of his ribcage and shred it to pieces. He wants to lay the fragments at your feet, knowing perfectly well that he can’t bring himself to throw them at you like he had done with others. He wants to snivel and cry and beg with his head in your lap, looking up at you as if you’re something to be worshipped.

The cadence of your lips on his is unbearable. 

It’s hot—so hot—and Cater’s a sinner in hell, too far beyond salvation to save himself. You can’t save him; you can pretend that you can all you want, but you can’t save him. How can the one who stole his wings and made him tumble like a deadweight through the sky be the one to save him? 

You are by the far the worst and the best thing Cater has never had. Your kiss is like molten lava dripping down the inside of his throat, and yet, Cater does everything he can to not waste a single drop. It burns and it makes his stomach turn and it forces him to yearn.

How pathetic.

But you don’t care. You never did. 

It’s you, after all.

You’re one and the same with the crowd that blurs over in Cater’s mind, yet you stand before him, so prominent and clear. The hands that grab at his collar are as real as his frustration, and the mouth that seals him into silence are as real as the twist inside of his body.

He can’t take it as it is. He doesn’t know what this is, but he knows it’s poison. You’re poison, flowing underneath his skin and tainting him. You’re tearing him apart and setting him on fire to turn him to ashes, and he’s so close to enjoying it. This is what you do to him. This is how you destroy him slowly and surely: from upside down to inside out, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, from the bottom of his heart.

When he kisses you, it hangs on the tip of his tongue. Threatening to spill over his lips and to you.

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

x

[pjoseries]

“i bear it so they won’t have to” + curse of achilles percy

oh this one’s a doozy, thank u emma 😋

(TLO AU)

══════════════════

Percy doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it—the bloodlust. It starts out as a whisper, a simple low hum drifting across the nape of his neck. It crawls in his ear and settles inside his brain and every time he uncaps Riptide, a single persistent thought crosses his mind: Show no mercy.

And he doesn’t. Not when a hoard of monsters comes barrelling through their ranks. Not when he sees the other campers on their feet, but flagging, exhaustion bogging them down as monster after monster charges at them. Percy holds his own on the front lines, raising his voice to be heard, “Fall back!”

He repeats it again for good measure and the piercing, confused stares from them quickly fade as he gains the attention of every monster in his vicinity. A grin slides across his face and he gives Riptide a twirl. 

“How many of you do I have to kill before you get with the program,” Percy taunts. He lets one of them come close enough to sink their claws into his skin, but it just slides right off, ripping through his shirt instead. 

The monster gapes for a moment and attempts to slice through him again, but Percy just tsks and tilts his head. “Nice try, but no dice, man.”

He impales the monster in a quick movement, leaving him in a shower of dust. He grimaces and looks at the others. They march towards him, but Percy doesn’t even think. He blocks and jabs and slices his way through the dust and the dirt and he feels nothing. The curse really works. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes to slay the last monster. He just knows that at the end, he’s drenched in monster dust and sweat. Percy finally rolls his shoulders, taking in the damage. The borders are safe for now. He spots a few campers a ways away limping and handing each other ambrosia. Footsteps come towards him and he whirls and points Riptide at empty air. 

It takes him a moment, but even that’s too long, before he lowers his sword. It’s Annabeth, of course. He furrows his brows. He knows it’s her. She wipes the sweat off her forehead and tucks her cap into her back pocket. 

“Percy, what was that?” she asks, gray eyes glinting in the afternoon light. 

“I, uh,” he says, pocketing Riptide back into his jeans. “I’ll tell you later. We have to check on—”

Annabeth stomps towards him and grips his arm. Logically, he knows how tight of a grip it is, but it’s weird that it doesn’t even sting. “Did you… gods, you didn’t. That trip with Nico… Percy, that is stupidly dangerous.”

She knows. Of course, she figures it out. Percy’s just a fool for thinking he could have broken the news to her later. 

“I did what I had to do.” Percy grits his teeth and steps back.  

She tugs him closer. “You could’ve died.” 

Percy makes the mistake of looking into her eyes again, shiny with unshed tears and he falters. He can’t stand to see her cry. He musters up a wry smile and shrugs. “I’m here, though.”

He tells her nothing of what he saw as he made his way out of the River Styx, doesn’t say a single word about how the first time he ever felt like he would drown that her voice was the only thing he grabbed onto. All he does is loosen her grip with his free hand and gives it a small squeeze. 

“I’ll tell you more about it later, okay?” Her hand is warm and callused from training and it takes him a few seconds to remember he has something to say. “We need to go to the Big House.”

Annabeth just nods and he lingers for a moment before he lets go. As they make their way to Chiron, their hands brush and all thoughts of the fight vanish from his mind. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

It’s on the bridge when he gets an inkling that something is wrong, not with the curse or with the battle itself, but him. It’s similar to the last fight, Percy yelling at the Apollo campers to retreat, but the last of the monsters are dead. All that remain is Kronos himself and his demigod army. 

He slows himself down, aiming to knock them off their skeletal horses and send them running, not maim. Their swords bounce off his skin harmlessly and Percy vaguely notes that he’s ruining his already low supply of shirts. 

The voice is louder now, but still the same. Persistent as a tic: Show no mercy. 

Shut up, he wants to bite back, but he already looks insane just charging through a swarm of demigods and coming out completely unscathed. They make their way almost to the middle of the bridge when Percy freezes, like a lightning bolt just jolts through his body. Then: Annabeth screams. 

“Annabeth!” he yells and turns. A guy stands over her, his knife bloodied and dripping. Percy sees red and the voice persists louder again and he’s almost tempted to take its advice if it isn’t for Annabeth’s weak gasps. 

Percy would’ve died, if not for Annabeth and Annabeth’s dying because of him. Because he’s too damn focused on that stupid voice in his head that makes him want to tear the bridge apart and everyone in it. She doesn’t even know that’s his weak spot. 

He locks eyes with the demigod—Ethan, his mind supplies—and stalks towards him. In a beat, Percy slams his sword hilt into his face and feels a bitter sense of satisfaction as he grunts out in pain and moves away. A couple of other demigods try to come closer, but he swings Riptide as a warning. 

“Get back!” he growls. “No one touches her.”

Kronos merely hums. “Interesting.”

Percy just scowls and steps closer to Annabeth. Suddenly Achilles words come back to him: The heel is only my physical weakness, demigod. He was dumb enough to ignore Achilles’ warnings and now his weakness is staring him right in the face, her face turning ashy as her breaths weakening. Annabeth. His tie to the mortal world. He should’ve known. Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind, he always knew, but the war took precedence. Now look where it got him. 

She’s dying and he’s surrounded by enemies. 

“Bravely fought, Perseus Jackson,” Kronos says. “But it’s time to surrender, or she’ll die.”

Annabeth sits up and groans. “Don’t.”

Percy clenches his jaw and bites back the panic at the sight. Her shirt is soaked in blood and he has to get her to a healer. His mind swirls for an escape route and, in a second, he yells out, “Blackjack!”

The pegasus swoops and carries her out and away from any immediate danger. Percy’s glad he knows what to do because he doesn’t have any time to explain. Luke—Kronos’ face twists. 

Percy meets the scythe with Riptide. 

Then their battle begins. And for once, Percy lets the voice in his mind take over. 

Show no mercy.

Percy smiles. He won’t. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The voice stays with him, long after the war ends. Despite how many hours he’s clocking in that affects his sleeping schedule, or the lack of one, he notices that he’s itching for a fight. 

It makes no sense. He wants to rest, but the voice tells him he has the curse for a reason. What use is he to his friends, to his family if he lets them go off on dangerous quests to get injured or worse? A couple of extra more hours of sleep is a petty consequence when it means saving everyone the trouble of getting hurt. 

So despite Annabeth’s warnings, he volunteers to guard the fleece, or to head training, or to do any of the more dangerous missions. There’s an undisputed agreement amongst the campers that they’ll let Percy do whatever he wants which is kind of weird but it works in his favor, so he’ll take it. Well, unless their names are Annabeth and Grover, that is.

But after this one quest—if he can even call it that, maybe just a favor for his father—Percy lands back on the shore, sitting with his knees tucked to his chest. His hands tremble as they flex over his own legs. The water rushes to his ankles, an attempt to calm him down but he just flinches. It just makes things worse. 

Percy’s no better than the monsters he fights. 

He wonders if monsters never exploded into dust, if they bleed like he does. He wonders how much blood he’s spilled, how much it stains his hands, his heart, his soul.

“Percy?” Annabeth says quietly. She pads over to him, settling down right next to him. The water drenches her shoes, but she just places a warm hand on his. “Percy, hey. Are you… okay?”

Her tone is awkward, but there’s an earnestness to it that makes him soften slightly. So he lifts his shoulder in response and stares out into the water. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Percy clears his throat. “Do what?”

“Go on all these quests. Try to save everyone. The war’s over, Percy. You can just enjoy camp like everyone else, too. You don’t have to do everything. You’re not Atlas.”

“Annabeth, this curse… I have a responsibility. Why let everyone else get hurt if I can do it? They’re just kids.” Percy unfolds his legs and lets Annabeth’s weight ground him. It’s like the voice gets muffled when she’s near. “And besides, I bear it so they won’t have to.”

Annabeth’s fingers find his cheek and he crumbles under her touch. He turns and Annabeth has this expression on her face that he can’t parse out. He closes his eyes and lets her smooth out the wrinkle between his brows, lets her trace a swooping pattern on his cheek. “You’re sixteen, Percy, not sixty-five. You have to let yourself take a break, Percy. The others need to know how to survive out there without you. You’re not always gonna be there to protect them. You’re gonna run yourself to the ground and I’d like to see my boyfriend awake once in a while.”

“Guess my eyes have to be open for that.” Percy smiles into her fingertips and blinks exaggeratedly at her. She giggles and it sends warmth all the way down to his belly. She stands up and brushes off the sand from pants before she holds out her hand. 

Golden light shines behind her, circling her like a halo. He’s suddenly reminded of his dip in the Styx, the way dream-Annabeth held in her laughter as she grabbed his hand and pulled him up. Real-Annabeth wiggles her fingers and he lets her haul him up. 

“Promise you’ll take it easy?” she asks. 

And his answer is an easy one. He kisses the side of her head. “Promise.”

Then they walk back to camp, their hands swinging between them. 

[vannahfanfics]

May I request A current in-character canon-compliant, soft, angsty, romantic soowon x yona endgame fic please 🙏 thank you very much!!

Hello, dear! Very sorry it took a while to get this request to you; I’ve had a lot going on with the semester and my 200-follower event and such. However, at long last, here it is! ^.^ Enjoy!

Mad World

The wooden floor of her palace room groaned and moaned with her feverish footfalls as Yona paced back and forth, back and forth, back and back and forth and forth and back again. That was all Yona could do, was pace and think and think while pacing and pace while thinking. Back and forth, think think think, riddle on what the hell she was supposed to do basically imprisoned in her bedroom like this. No dragons, no Yoon, no Hak, just Yona. Yona, alone and pacing and thinking.

It was maddening.

With a sudden, deranged screech of lunacy, she whirled on her heel to tear into the curtains framing the large window overlooking the palace courtyard. Her fingernails ripped into the silken fabric, reaming into the threads and pulling them asunder as she yanked on the curtain with all her might. Little, angry screeches spilled from her mouth while she tugged and tugged, rattling the curtain rod mounted into the stone wall. The linear metal piece desperately tried to cling to the rough surface, but with Yona’s continuous and manic assault, dust began to rain down as the brackets began to wrench loose. Yona wasn’t sure why the poor curtain was the object of her ire, but nevertheless she tore into it like a mangy feral cat, dropping shreds of torn fabric around her slippered feet. Very soon the screws could bear no more and jumped from the wall; the heavy, decorative metal ball welded to the main body made the rod’s plummet all the hastier. Yona jumped violently as it collided into the wooden floor with a massive thunk! and the curtain slipped from her hands to puddle like white milk at her feet. She stared dully at the half-destroyed, dismounted curtains with burning red eyes. It was not satisfying at all; her fingers still itched to maim, to tear into everything in this room and leave it a maelstrom of silk and cotton and splinters.

“Princess! Are you all right?” Of course the noise would attract whoever happened to be nearby. Yona hadn’t much cared of the consequences of her actions at the moment; she was boiling with boredom and anxiety and frustration, and desperately needed an outlet. Normal people might cry, but Yona had elected that tears wouldn’t do. She was beyond tears now, or so she told herself. But…

Why did it have to be Soo-Won?

The young king stared with wide eyes at the curtain rod hanging at a diagonal angle from the wall, the one set of brackets struggling to support its weight, and the tatters of silk curtain surrounding the hem of Yona’s pink kimono. Her eyes were lidded and cold as she just watched him gawk. This was all his fault, really. Sure, Yona had decided to entire an alliance and come to the palace, but if Soo-Won hadn’t set off the chain of events that resulted in that alliance, this wouldn’t be happening.

Yona immediately regretted the thought. She knew better now. If none of this had happened, her people would still be struggling and Yona would be living in blissful ignorance. Sometimes, however, she just couldn’t help but crave that ignorance��� Especially when the lingering flames of her love for Soo-Won decided to rear their ugly heads.

Yona’s mouth curled in on itself as her heart lurched in her chest just at the sight of him. It was maddening, the way her desire to dig her fingernails into his cheek mixed with her longing to softly caress it, the way her desire to rip every one of those flax-golden hairs out of his head mixed with her longing to run her hands through him, the way her desire to scream and yell and curse him in a thousand tongues mixed with her longing to throw herself at him and sob and beg and surrender. Maddening, yes it was. It was driving Yona to near insanity, and as she stood there, she was wide-eyed and teetering on an abyss from which there was no return.

“Yona.” His voice was soft and full of concern as he uttered her name. His eyes, still huge with the sight of Yona’s shredded prey, finally flickered up to meet her own fiery ones like dawn. To his credit, he did not flinch away at the inferno there; he just stared, measuring, waiting for her response. “Are you… displeased?” he said finally when she refused to respond. Really, Yona was still so embroiled with her own feelings that she couldn’t formulate a response. His question returned some sense of normalcy to her mind. The fire died in her eyes, cooled by the sheer incredulity at his question.

“‘Displeased,’” she echoed. Slowly, like water trickling from within rocks piled high, her wits returned to her. Her head dropped to do as Soo-Won had, stare numbly at the carnage she had wrought on the poor, innocent drapery. Her hands began to sting terribly with the weight of the own violence she had wrought, as if they were coated in hot, sticky, burning blood and insides. They were just curtains; it wasn’t like she had killed someone. Still, Yona’s stomach flopped about with the unsettling possibility that if someone had stumbled upon her in her mania, she might very well have unleashed on them like a woman possessed. It made the bitter acid of shame flood her tongue. Yona had never been so violent before. Sure, she had done violent things, but always with good reason. This was wanton destruction, and the fact that it was borne of her own hands rattled her to her core.

Well, it wasn’t entirely without reason, she rationalized. “Displeased,” she repeated in a hoarse voice. “Displeased” didn’t even scratch the surface of what she was feeling right now. She didn’t have a word for what she was feeling right now. Silent, teeth clenched, she just stared at the mangled curtains and lamented her own sorry state of being. How had it come to this? Cool, calm, collected, and strong to manic, deranged and mad?

“Yona.” His voice called her with maddening power. Of its own accord, Yona’s head rose to obediently meet his beckoning gaze. She hadn’t heard his footsteps, but he had closed the distance and was standing in front of her. She compulsively swallowed. His eyes were the one burning now, pulsing with a soft yet furious heat that made her tremble. It wasn’t anger, or disappointment, or disdain; it was something else entirely, and it both frightened and excited her. He tilted his head to the side slightly as he smiled that gentle reassuring smile that she missed so dearly but wanted to slap off his face. “Tell me what happened.”

 She wanted to lie. She did not want to admit that she had just had a psychotic fit and wrenched the curtain rod off the wall and destroyed the curtains like some kind of beast. Yona, however, felt the pitiful attempts at falsehoods dissolving on her tongue under Soo-Won’s gentle yet critical stare. There was no point in lying and he knew well enough what she had just done. “This alliance isn’t working out the way you wanted it to, is it?” he asked her with a degree of amusement in his voice that made her skin itch with fury.

“No. No, it is not, Soo-Won.” The steel in her voice was sharper than the finest-crafted blade. At the iron on her tongue, the king exhaled deeply and his body sagged sadly. The reaction disquieted her; was he acting for her benefit or truly displeased that she was going crazy cordoned off in this bedroom? His eyes shut for a second, and when they opened, Yona felt electric shocks pulse over every single one of her nerves. The way he was staring at her, apologetic and guilty, was a look she had imagined every day since she witnessed him drawing a bloody sword from her father’s limp body.

It was not satisfying, not at all. Somehow, she wanted more. The madness began to scratch and howl in her ringing skull again.

“How dare you. How dare you look all sad and guilty when I’m stuck here with nothing to do but pace and think and fret all day!” she screamed at him suddenly. She lunged at him, fingers clawing into his kingly robes like they had done the curtains, but rather than shredding them, she only clutched onto them with an iron grip. Her red eyes burned as they bore into his, as if a glare alone could make his combust. “How dare you. You want to know what happened? I am losing my mind! I can’t take it anymore!” A dam erupted inside of her, releasing long-held feelings and tears. They were like rivers of ice and fire as they flooded down her cheeks, and her voice cracked as she hissed again, “I can’t take it anymore. I don’t know what is up and what is down. My mind is reeling. I don’t know what I’m doing, and I don’t know what you’re doing, and the one single comfort I could be afforded while I’m all but your prisoner in here is barred from me!” Her head dropped, chin banging against her chest. Her quivering hands held onto his clothes like the were the lifeline preventing her from being washed out to sea. She hated herself right now, admitted all this to him. But if she didn’t release it to anyone, even if it has to be Soo-Won, she really was going to go insane. What was her country? What was her fate? What was Soo-Won’s plan and how should she respond? These questions plagued her, maddeningly so.

With the weight of her on psyche mounting on her frail body, her knees finally buckled. Soo-Won reflexively caught her under her elbows as her legs folded in on themselves. Sobbing and groaning, she just cried pathetically while he held her up. “And you know… you know what the worst part is?” she choked out between sobs. “I hate you, but I love you. I despise you for what you did but I love you still. I thought I had grown so much, but I came back here, and it all has come crashing down upon me. I’m still that naïve, foolish little girl who wasn’t worth killing.”

“Yona!” She did not expect such harsh bite from his voice. It made her head snap up to look at him with wide and watery eyes. His lips were drawn into a taut line and his eyes were their fieriest yet. “I did not let you go because you were ‘not worth killing.’”

“Then why?” she demanded in an agonized cry. Her fingers dug further into his clothes, probably bruising the skin underneath. “Why, Soo-Won, I don’t under-”

The rest of her words came out as a surprised squeak muffled by his lips crashing into hers. It was not at all kingly, the way he kissed it her; it was passionate, carnal, desperate and mad. If Yona’s legs had been able to support her then, her kneecaps would’ve been obliterated to dust the instant their mouths smashed together. Her eyes fluttered shut with a low, needy whine; as if responding, Soo-Won’s tongue pushed into her mouth and tangled feverishly with her own. She didn’t object. She got drunk off him like she was partaking in the finest wine in the world, her tongue savoring every little bit of his essence. She could vaguely feel his fingers in her dawn-colored hair, caressing and twisting, but most of her senses were dominated by the explosion of feeling fireworking over her body. Oh, oh, how she had wanted this, and how much she hated herself for it.

She lamented the loss of his warmth and touch as he pulled away, and despite herself, her lips involuntarily chased him. She wanted to spend forever in that kiss. In that hazy fog, she didn’t have to think about the circumstances or how wrong it was; she just had to think about him, her mouth on hers and his hands on her body. It was simple. Easy. Uncomplicated. He permitted her pursuit for a moment, giving her another softer kiss with more feeling, but pulled back again after a few seconds. He said her name and it pulled her out of the fog, back to her confusing and complicated and maddening reality.

“Does that answer your question?” His voice was breathy and laced with a fair bit of irritation. Maybe with himself, maybe with Yona- maybe both. She swallowed and licked her lips, mouth suddenly drying up. Was she supposed to be satisfied with that? A kiss that seals the deal and makes everything all right? The trouble was that she was one hundred percent satisfied with that.

She stepped away from him, trying to hide the tremor in her still-recuperating jellified legs. She felt that her hands needed to be doing something so she smoothed out nonexistent creases in her kimono. Her brain whirled desperately trying to make sense of everything, but nothing made sense anymore. That was her problem to begin with. “I’ll take that as a ‘no.’” He sounded amused, like he had expected it.

“What do you expect?” she huffed. The fight was dying from her voice and spirit, replaced with indescribable weariness. She was so tired. She was so tired of fighting whatever this fight was, but that was the only thing Yona could think to do was fight. Surrender simply was not in the meek, naïve, ignorant princess’ blood, apparently. Her hands continued to fix her perfectly fine kimono while she refused to look at him. “I just… I can’t…” God, she couldn’t even explain herself. This is not how she wanted to look in front of him, flustered and stupid. It was like her previous self had been taken captive and replaced with a bungling imposter, and she was trying so desperately to get it back with little luck. Her hand began stringing through her hair, which was crimping uncomfortably with sweat. All the while, Soo-Won watched her, thankfully without pity. “I hate you,” she grumbled finally, because it was the only thing that sort of made sense.

“I know.” Oh, hell, no, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t get that sad look on his face and think that it made it all okay. But it did. In Yona’s stupid, manic, mad mind, it made it okay. Defeated, she kicked the curtain rod aside and sank down on the cushioned seat that sat below the windowsill.

“I love you,” she simpered as she put her flushing face in her hands. She didn’t have to look at him to know he had that other look on his face, that soft, gentle smile that made her heart sing and wail simultaneously. That smile that carried a hint of sadness that never faded.

“I know that, too.” A period of silence settled between them. She peered through her fingers to see his own twitching, like he was trying to figure out how to comfort her but arriving at no conclusions. She couldn’t blame him. She didn’t know what to do with herself, either. As she sat there, the moonlight cool on her back as it flood through the unshielded window behind her, Yona finally began to feel a sense of normalcy returning to her. She partitioned off the confusing kiss and focused instead on her situation and what she ought to do about it, and was beginning to feel that clear-headed determination return to her. I just have to keep fighting. That is all I can do. I will resist as long as I have to and find out what Soo-Won wants…

She felt the cushioning dip beside her and heard the slight ringing of the metal as it rolled over the wooden floor when Soo-Won seated himself beside her. “I wish things were simple.”

“You’re the one who made it complicated.” She kept her face buried in her hands because she didn’t know what would happen if she looked at him.

“I suppose that’s true.” His laugh was hollow and mirthless. “I wish I could explain it all to you. I really do. But if I did, I didn’t know if you would believe me.”

“Can’t fault you for that.” Another hollow, joyless laugh that rang through the quiet bedroom, followed by a slight sigh. “I’m not giving up, you know. Don’t think this changes things. I just needed to get it out of my system.”

“No, I expect you won’t.” She finally lifted her head to look up at him, finding him smiling as he looked at her out of his peripheral vision. “You wouldn’t be the girl I loved if that happened.”

Surprisingly, her body garnered no reaction from that bombshell of a statement. It felt more like she had known it all along and she was vindicated now. It made a funny taste tingle on her tongue, one she couldn’t quite place; possibly a mixture of things. He smiled more as he pushed himself up from the seat and began heading for the door. “I’ll send someone to fix that in the morning,” he said with a lazy gesture to the destroyed curtains. Yona watched him go with confliction and a heavy heart.

“Yeah. Sure.” Once the frame of the sliding door clacked against the threshold, she exhaled loudly and flopped onto her side; the cushion embraced her, sinking her down into its fluffy softness. With the adrenaline no longer pumping in her system, her muscles now felt the strain of torturing the curtains. Dully, she stared down at its wispy corpse spread out over the wood floor.

The Celestial Dragons. The usurper King Soo-Won. The displaced princess. The Thunder Beast. The unknown battle for the world as they knew it.

Maddening, it all was to Yona. Somehow, though, the one thing that should be the most maddening was no longer maddening at all. She smiled thinly to herself and rolled onto her back, the moonlight washing over her like enclosing her in a blanket.

You drive me mad, Soo-Won… But still, I love you so.

Enjoy this story? Here’s Part II! Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents! 

[rock-n-onyx]

Tw for Blood, descriptions of violence, and intent to kill

Fandom: Rottmnt

Characters: Tintoretto (my oc), Donnie, Mikey, Raph, Leo, unnamed bull yokai

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Tint watched in horror as Donnie flew across the room, hitting the wall with a sickening crack. Leo rushed over to him, dropping to his knees, hands flitting across his body as he assessed damage. “Shit,” He heard him mutter, “His battleshell broke! Cover me while I get him outta here!”

They nodded, forming a defensive ring while Leo opened a portal and teleported himself and Donnie out of the fight. Tint looked at the bull yokai. He was beefy, tall, and had very sharp, very long horns that had hit Donnie and hurt him. There was blood dripping off of one of them. Blood, which means Donnie’s shell had been hurt. His brother’s softshell, which was weak and leathery. His shell which was hurt so easily.

Tintoretto bared his teeth and snarled, his instincts screaming at him to protect his pack, his family. His eyes laser-focused on the bull yokai, he fails to notice his brothers looking at him worriedly. Kill, maim, protect, KILL HIM. The normally reserved and calm mutant dog was furious. This yokai had hurt his brother. He was going to pay for that.

Tintoretto charged, naginata held out to his side in one hand. His eyes were crazed, honing in on the bull yokai’s arm as he reached out to punch him. As he swung wildly, no form to the punch whatsoever, Tintoretto lashed out, latching onto his wrist. The yokai screamed in pain and with it brought a grim satisfaction.

He relished in the metallic taste in his mouth, the sound of cracking bone as he bit down harder, eliciting more screams as the yokai ripped his wrist out of his mouth. He could hear the skin and muscle tearing, the spurting of blood as he let go of the wrist in his mouth. More, more, MORE. KILL HIM.

The bull yokai was enraged now, lowering his horns in preparation to skewer him. As he charged past, Tintoretto side-stepped, grabbing his horns and swinging himself up onto his back. His naginata long forgotten by now, he latched onto the yokai’s neck with his claws, marveling in the blood trickling down from the puncture wounds.

The bull yokai reached back and grabbed him, throwing him into a wall, similar to how he threw Donnie. The pain barely registered in his mind as he got back up again. He must have looked like a monster, blood staining his jaws and dripping down his hands, a crazed look in his eyes.

KILL HIM DAMMIT. He charged forward again, and the bull yokai fled. He tried to give chase, run him down like a predator, rip him limb from limb for what he did to his brother he should pay- but a hand grabbed his arm. He yanked and pulled and screamed and tried to bite but the hand didn’t let go. It pulled him into a hold that he couldn’t escape out of and he growled, deep and menacing, hackles raised.

A calm voice, shaken but soothing, began to speak. It muttered things that didn’t matter, but it was calming. Slowly his struggles slowed and he took great heaving breaths. His vision cleared and he saw Mikey in front of him, looking extremely worried. He gulped, cringing at the taste of blood and fur in his mouth.

His voice rasped, “What happened?” And the flood gates broke. Mikey started crying, burying his face into his chest, grabbing onto his fur.

‘Don’t-” He hiccuped, “Don’t you ever do that again! You scared me, Tint, you wouldn’t listen to me or Raph and you were acting so crazy and-” He buried his head again as he was cut off by a sob. Tint’s mind was reeling, what on earth had happened? All he remembered was blood, screams, and a feeling of rage so intense he had never experienced it before.

Raph’s voice was calm and soothing as he picked them both up into a more comfortable position, “Raph’s got ya, let’s head back home first, yeah? Then we can talk about what happened once we’re all comfy and calm.” Tint nodded silently, still processing all that happened. He couldn’t have been… feral? Yeah, that sounds about right, feral. He couldn’t have been feral for more than a few minutes, but it felt like a lifetime.

All he wanted to do was have a shower, sleep, and forget this ever happened.