Hey I write too (more than I do edit these days but its whatever).(2 out of 3)
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It’s finally up!
Read Dog Days here
Been sitting on this one for awhile. Ever since reading @chronophobica’s headcanon, it’s been plaguing my mind until it became the form it is now.
Enjoy, Violet/Puppyshippers!
#rising from the dead to post gay yugioh ships… go figure#i go here i promise it’s just been years#puppyshipping#violetshipping#kaijou#yugioh fanfiction#my writing#this took me too long to post because i forgot how tumblr works
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….preview….
_
He awoke in a cold sweat.
Wait. No..waking? That didn’t sound right, after all, he had just died….the last thing he remembers being the cold touch of a man’s fingertips running over his pulse before he fell into a deep sleep. A deep death.
And this, this was the darkness that enveloped every dying soul before they inevitably crossed over to the light, as it would soon do to him-\
He gags, suddenly aware of the thinness of the air around him, of how stale it feels as it clogs his lungs.
The speculation of heaven or otherwise is no longer important, not when a panic so strong takes a hold of him.
Gasping, he writhes in his wooden encasement, hands flailing and running down the wooden walls of the casket, his casket.
He was in a casket. He shoved forwards with both hands, cursing when the doors only pushed back against him.
Desperately, he kicked out, buking up until he was digging his back into the wood, until he was coughing and spitting up dirt when it fell between the cracks.
The warring anxiety and confusion fueled something else within him then, right alongside the panic and the stench of manure and death. A frantic set of instincts break through the surface and, with strength he didn’t remember possessing, tear open the doors and even its iron clasp, only for him to choke on the dirt that avalanches in.
It burned. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, could only taste the disgusting soil of the dead but he couldn’t stop.
So he dug, dug and dug and dug until he was kicking the earth out from under him and it caked under his fingernails.
He was almost there, he could practically taste it—
He knows he’s breached the surface when the biting cold nips at his skin, its moisture telling of the slight fog in the air as it curls around the burial grounds.
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