stains coming from my blood

Every single one's got a story to tell Everyone knows about it From the Queen of England to the Hounds of Hell

[nxmbervii]

xyunaxxx​:

(...)

“How old are you, Seven? Are you in school too? You’re like me, right? When did you get your powers?” A stab of pain in her heart as Yuna thought of her family. “Did you run away? Where is your family?” Maybe after this, they could find their families together! Yuna could only hope.

A curious young feline, but their kind often died that way. 

Fortunately, Seven was in a fantastic mood and happy to indulge. He was still glowing from the look on serious Mr. Stan’s face when he got sucker punched - it was such fun. 

“How old am I?” He wrinkled his nose, thinking. It should have been an easy question for most people, but he was raised in a cult where they only celebrated certain birthdays, like five, ten and fifteen. At five one was doted on by the organization as a child, at ten they were considered full members and expected to help out with most chores and occasionally run outside errands. At fifteen, one was considered a proper adult and must focus on bringing value to the family, one way or another. 

“Well, I became fifteen a few years ago.” Exactly how many years was that, he really wasn’t sure. On the road, Seven didn’t count the moons. Time passed quickly when one was stuck in a blur, whether from loneliness, guilt, or sheer elation. “I am probably eighteen now?” He guessed. “I’ve never been in a public school. My family homeschooled all the children and greatly valued those who developed powers, like me. I must have gotten it when I was twelve or thirteen.” Unlike some of the other kids, Seven tapped into his power easily and gained control fast. Teleporting was such a simple task - as easy as it was to breathe or eat or walk. 

As for if he ran away... 

“Yes, I ran away.” Seven grinned as if it didn’t hurt. “It’s a lot more fun being on your own, trust me. No father to enforce a strict curfew or nagging sisters and clingy brothers.” He wrapped an arm around little Yuna. “I am better off without them, and they are better off without me.” He spoke those words with confidence - surely the cult was operating fine enough without him. By now, they would have chosen a new leader and continued on with the blissful life of orgies, drug dealing and other quite illegal and only semi-religious activities. 

“Are you thinking about going back home?” Seven asked, a hint of disapproval in his voice. “There is no point.” By now, police would have discreetly surrounded her place and kept it under careful surveillance. “You can stay with me for a few days. I’ll show you some really cool places. Do you like fireworks? Music? Fruity drinks that can make you see colors moving in weird patterns?” 

[nxmbervii]

msqxadr​:

(...)

“Well, it’s not like you’re not good at that.” Adrian muttered munching on a fry, eyebrows raised as Ji Ho visibly recovered from his display of temper.

“Or you can fucking stay. You know, deal with it. Like an adult.”

Fair enough, he really was great at disappearing on people. 

Great, but not perfect, because if he had truly mastered the art of leaving everyone behind, then how would anyone be able to catch up to him? Even clever Adrian with his multiple faces, should not be able to capture more than a corner of his sleeve for a second or two. And Yuna, dear sweet duckling with future sight, would not be able to track and follow him. 

In the end Jiho was swayed by tears. People’s need or expectation. His own feeble sense of justice and this strange little voice in the back of his head saying he could be more...and that he should try to reach higher. Perhaps it was the arrogance that he thought he had mostly left behind. 

Or maybe he had simply gotten weaker in terms of managing his emotions? Had he allowed this organization called Rebellion form a chain and wrap around him despite having vowed to never let anything or anyone control him again? 

“Fine, I’ll stay.” He mumbled. “Let’s deal with it like adults.” But not in the healthy way.

Jiho stole the plate of whatever it was that Adrian was scarfing down and placed it aside. “Want to fuck on this table instead of talking at it? I am bored.”

[nxmbervii]

mireuxs​:

(...)

As if his eyes and the blood on the knife are magnetically connected his gaze locks on it, his lips parting unconsciously, his breathing getting heavier and deeper as he stares. “I- I can’t.” But god does he wish he could. 

What a sweet child, to be so concerned about a tiny injury like this. Jiho had suffered much worse before he even reached his pre-teens. Back then there were no powers too, and no healers, so the body fixed itself on its own, leaving behind long scars that could be used to weave bonfire tales. 

At least the other didn’t drop those cookies - that would have been a real shame. 

“Don’t worry about me, cutie patootie.” Jiho smiled indulgently, his eyes fixated on Mireu while the other’s gaze remained glued to the knife. He wanted it so badly, poor thing, but was obviously trying to hold back. For what? Did the thought of tasting a fellow human’s blood disturb him? Or perhaps he was scared he’d develop a taste for it? “Our powers are a part of us.” Jiho took a few steps towards Mireu, closing the gap between them. “To deny it - any part of it - is to go against nature.” His free hand, the one with the self-inflicted stabbing wound, found its way under Mireu’s chin. 

“I always encourage people to follow their desires, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone...” He chuckled. “I mean anyone who is not a willing participant.” Jiho’s thumb inched up, brushing past Mireu’s bottom lip and tugging it down. “Don’t worry, it’s okay to have this. I am a happy donor.” His grip tightened on Mireu’s chin, because he wanted the other to be very still when the knife was brought forward. “Now, say ahh.”

Gently, carefully, he swept the edge of the knife over the younger man’s tongue, coating it crimson with his blood. 

“Good?” He inquired, withdrawing the knife. “Want more?” He gestured at his wrist, where blood was beginning to trail down his arm. Any moment now, a droplet would hit the ground. “Wasting food is a sin.”

[nxmbervii]

xyunaxxx​:

(...)

Yuna felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to bury her face into Seven’s jacket, seek comfort in him like she used to with her mom when she was little. Her mom would stroke her hair and coo to her, saying everything was all right… Yuna hadn’t hugged her mom like that since she was 11. A preteen, she thought she was too cool for that type of coddling. And now she might never hug her mom like that again. Yuna tightened her arms around Seven desperately, seeking his warmth. She couldn’t meet his eyes, it hurt so much. She thought of a million things to say; to break away and apologize for her rash behavior; to thank him profusely and look for instructions to the nearest shelter, to not bother the kind man anymore than she already has.

Instead, only one feeble phrase left her lips.

“I’m hungry…” 

Dependence, expectation. He felt both in the girl’s touch as she leaned against his body. Seven was immediately uncomfortable, his shoulders stiffening at the contact. It was fear - the girl called Yuna feared the unknown while Seven was afraid of forming emotional connections of any kind. Yet he did not step away from the girl or shake her off, and he certainly could have - nobody could ever put a hand on Seven when he didn’t want it, even when he was younger and without a super power this held true. 

“Everything will be okay,” he reassured eventually, bringing a hand over her head and stroking her hair gently. Yuna really did remind him of a kitten - one that had lost its way. He encountered such a creature in the past, and held its tiny shivering form between both of his hands. Pitifully it mewed, seeking attention from a mother who was likely never to return. 

Alas, Seven must admit his weakness. He had a heart that was as soft as a marshmallow, especially towards the young and innocent in need of protection. “Let’s go get dinner then, I am hungry too.” More like he was feeling nauseous from drinking on an empty stomach again, some food would definitely hit the spot. “There is a fast food place a few blocks down.” It would be weird to just poof into a public place full of customers, so they shall be walking. 

“Why don’t you have this for now? To tide you over.” Seven dug into his pants pockets in search for some sort of snack. The first thing he pulled out was a chocolate bar, and he was just about to hand it over when he saw the small writing at the bottom of the package.  Oops, almost served this kid some premium quality edibles. “I meant this.” He tucked the bar away and placed onto Yuna’s hand instead a slightly wrinkled packet of salted crackers. 

“This way.” He walked on ahead just as a cold breeze stirred. Seven turned back and looked at Yuna, once again reminded of the small shivering kitty. 

Shrugging off his jacket, he silently handed it to her. The jacket had the most hideous leopard print and smelled like alcohol and cigarettes, but it should be warm. 

[taehyung-bw]

🤍.

[nxmbervii]

It was around noon time and he was half way through a bottle of whiskey. Jiho’s stomach felt like it was on fire, which he supposed was justified since he had missed breakfast and last night’s dinner. To shut down his stomach’s angry wails of protest, he fetched a cookie from the tray cute little Mireu (@mireuxs)  was carrying. This kid was such a good find - loyal, hardworking and friendly. Much better than some of their other recruits. 

“Ten out of ten,” Jiho complimented, consuming the still warm cookie in two massive bites before helping himself to another. He waited to see if his stomach would be happier with this peace offering, but of course it was too soon to tell.

The kid was staring at him, or rather, the wound on his wrist. 

“Huh? Don’t worry about this, it’s just a scratch.” Jiho couldn’t even remember where or when he got that cut. 

The kid was still looking, and then something in Jiho’s drunk brain finally clicked.

“Right, I have eaten, but you probably haven’t.” He heard a few things about Mireu and his special dietary needs. “Here,” he mumbled, licking the cookie crumbles from his lips and wiping his greasy fingers clean on his gold leather pants. From his jacket pocket, Jiho retrieved his knife, and after verifying its sharpness by tilting the blade under the sun, stabbed it into his wrist with no hesitation. 

The cut that was barely healed in the first place was widened and blood bubbled up immediately to the surface. “Not sure if my blood would taste any good...here, have a sample and see if you want it.” Instead of his wrist right away, he offered Mireu his bloodied knife tip.   

[nxmbervii]

msqxadr​:

(...)

“You were the golden boy, how fucking hard would it have been to take father’s place? He made it look like a gods-damn throne. Instead you blew it all away and for what?” He sneered at the mug in Ji Ho’s hand. “Cheap thrills and piss-poor alcohol?”

Oooh, golden boy. What a title.

“You know nothing, Adrian.” He finally put his mug down. “And I don’t know how much I should tell you, but let me put it this way...” Jiho flopped down on the table, nearly kicking over a plate of truffle fries over with his sudden, graceless movement. “It was indeed a throne that our former leader prepared for me, but it one fit for the devil himself.” 

His mind drifted towards the past, and for once he didn’t immediately halt his train of thought. 

The first thing that Jiho saw was himself as a teenager, hair neatly combed and smoothed back with gel. He was dressed in formal wear, fit for both the funeral in the morning as well as the wedding in the evening. The outfit was tailored to fit him perfectly, but for some reason he found it difficult to breathe. 

In the distance, there were bright flames of orange and red. Unbearably hot despite the fact it was barely spring. Though he stood so far away, Alex felt like there were ashes on his lips and smoke in his lungs. 

Enough. I am going to get them out of there. His frown deepened when someone snatched his arm. Dangerously disrespectful. At his glare, the man apologized, but did not release him until he pulled back the foot that had taken a step towards the shed. You want to try and stop me? He questioned. You and what army? Alex’s grip tightened around his red handled axe, a mixture of irritation and arrogance clear in his voice. 

Except when he lifted his gaze, he realized there was an actual army. They approached politely, eyes down - a sea of men and women dressed in white. These were his father’s people, and until the man’s last wish fulfilled, they remain the dead man’s to command. Alex clenched his jaw, despising the situation - the ring sat heavy on his finger, but it shall have no power until this final sinful deed was done. 

“Fuck, this isn’t strong enough.” He tore his thoughts back to the present and threw the beer mug onto the ground where it shattered into three pieces. It wasn’t like him to lose his temper, especially these days. See, there was a reason the past must stay buried. “I am going to leave.” Jiho raked a hand through his bangs and took a deep breath to recover. “Anyway, you keep eating. Don’t let all the food go to waste.” 

[nxmbervii]

round two.

(...)

"did anyone ever tell you that you feel like that mr d from percy jackson?" she blurted out halfway, the passing thought having taken its precedence in her mind compared to that of most others, even with a knife in hand and the heart to completely stab him.

“Who?” Jiho squinted. “Sorry, been drinking too much and completely lost my ability to read. Nice to know that you still do though.” He heard reading was good for the mind, useful for regenerating lost brain cells. 

Now, the situation at hand. 

You must be wondering what the hell is going on and why Jiho’s life was once again threatened. Was this person a debt collector? A bounty hunter? A cheated-on side chick? A grieving family member of some government officer he had killed? No, this was another one of his five abandoned cult wives. Actually, should he even call her that since the ceremony never completed? Arabella was the twin of Amara, who would have been his First Wife. Though the two looked identical, they were completely different in terms of personality. 

Luckily for Jiho, so far the only damage inflicted upon him by Arabella was from her excessive yelling. Which, honestly she could do less with since they weren’t filming a Kung-Fu movie.

“You know what skill I did manage to retain though? Waltz.” He struck a pose. “I can still dance like Riccardo Cocchi.” Which was part of the reason he hadn’t even used his power during this entire encounter. Dodging was much like dancing, only your partner had bigger, more aggressive movements. Sure, there was less predictability and you might actually die, but that only made it more fun. 

“Darling, can we stop fighting for a second and just talk?” He requested at some point, scratching at an itch on his leg before taking a swig of his wine. “There’s something that’s been bothering me and I really just need you to answer me truthfully.” Jiho’s eyes shifted towards Arabella’s knife, studying its handle and side with obvious interest. “Did you buy the knife at the same place as Adrian? Because that shit’s identical.” Was there a murder weapon sale or something? If so, hook a brother up, Jiho could use a few things. 

[nxmbervii]

msqxadr​:

(...)

“All am saying is,” He narrows his eyes at Ji Ho as he pulled a plate of chicken towards him. “In case you forgot, with all your…adventuring. You weren’t there when all things went to shit.”

Ha, adventuring. That was certainly one way of putting it. 

“To be fair, I did not anticipate for everything to go to shits just because I walked out of the front door. That situation was never covered in my cult leader instructions manual.” He sat down on the table, cross-legged and yoga ready next to all the neatly piled plates. 

This was a restaurant with private dining options owned by a guy that he helped out a few years back. See, Jiho just so happened to be strolling by with a bottle of vodka when a car was about to hit the man’s daughter. Naturally, he decided to blink in and yoink the tiny wailing chickie out of the way. Jiho was going to just leave, but the guy insisted on repaying his kindness...and for some reasons absolutely refused to buy him more booze. So now, whenever he or his buddy wanted a nice meal, the owner would usher them into the back booth and serve them whatever. 

“Had I known, maybe I...” He considered his options for a moment. “No, actually, I think I will still run.” Jiho said, what little brain power he used to come up with that statement already causing a headache the way alcohol never would. Beers were his friends and thinking was not. 

Adrian probably thought he was a heartless bastard. While Jiho would not agree with the statement because he secretly cared way too much about everyone, he didn’t mind letting the kid keep that idea. Negative relationships were safer, more familiar. If one never got to know him, care about him or have expectations of him, then they would never get hurt if he was to disappear. 

“If anything, I am glad the cult is gone.” He put down his mug, eyes darkening for a second before he found his grin again. “That place was fucked up. More than you will ever know.” Little Alex’s first serious crime was theft, as he raided the contents of the cookie jar, which his caregiver Maria had placed on the upper shelves. 

His second was murder. 

[mavalencia-deactivated20230724]

[nxmbervii]

xyunaxxx​:

(...)

“I’m sorry,” Yuna whispered frantically to Seven, clenching his hand so tight her knuckles were white. “They must have followed me here, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize–I led them here. I didn’t know. I–I can only see a few minutes into the future.” They were trapped in the worst possible location, halfway between the stairs. Suddenly, a string of futures flashed through Yuna’s mind, one after the next–no matter which way they turned, they would be caught. There was nowhere left to run–they were surrounded on all sides.

"Options, options.” Seven mumbled to himself, still perfectly relaxed with his goofy grin despite the girl’s words. “There there, tiny kitten, no need to worry.” He ran his free hand - the one that wasn’t held in an unconscious death grip - through the girl’s hair, making a fine nest of her silky strands. “Daddy will take care of this.” 

The question was how. 

What was that? No, don’t be silly. Of course they weren’t in an actual pickle. Seven was fantastic at escaping tight situations, even before he’d discovered his power. To this day he had yet to find someone who could actually stop - or even slow down his foot steps. Sorry if all of this was making him sound like an arrogant prick, but teenagers often were, especially ones who were raised to rule over a whole fucking cult. 

Ah, but that’s a story we shall save for another time. 

“Have you ever been in a bar fight?” He asked with interest. “Do you want to be in one?” Seven tilted his head as he awaited for the response, though he was fairly certain he already knew. This girl was too sweet - a lot of thank yous and prone to blaming herself. She was a good girl, who was unfortunately cursed with power and must now be on the run for the rest of her life. Was she aware of this yet? Probably not. “Wanna see me knock Stan’s teeth out?” They dawdled for too long, and people got impatient. Stan was the nickname Seven decided to bestow upon the first one he saw. The guy looked like a Stan, all square chinned and serious looking.

"This way.” Seven pushed the girl into the women’s washroom behind them, a windowless place with seemingly no exit. When the men pushed open the door, however, they would find their target gone, along with the strange boy she was holding. 

Outside, approximately two blocks away, Seven re-appeared with the future sight girl in princess carry. Setting her down on her feet, he bid her to wait before vanishing once more. 

Dear Stan, who was on his way out of the bathroom, felt a tap on his shoulder. When he turned, he was greeted by a fist to the nose by the ghost of the pink stalls past. 

“Now I feel better,” Seven said when he returned to the little lady, shaking blood from his knuckles. He decided to save her eyes from violence this time, though he had a feeling she’ll need to get used to it eventually. “What’s your name? How do you feel?” Some people felt rather sick after their first teleportation experience while others were fine. “If you need to throw up, there’s a trash bin right there.” He pointed at the half-lidded can helpfully. 

[nxmbervii]

[nxmbervii]

❛ why does it feel like this is goodbye? ❜

&. 𝐡𝐢𝐭 ‘𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬

Because it probably was. 

People come and people go, that was part of life. Seven never quite figured out how to stick around the same group for long. It wasn’t like he got bored...he just, didn’t need the attachment. 

“Will you miss me?” Seven asked, flashing his teeth in a goofy grin. “I like you, Grey. I mean it.” This guy didn’t pry for his background information or develop a desire for excess closeness. If anything, the two of them were similar in that fear of need and often hung out in comfortable silence. 

He hopped over to the other and wrapped his arms around the man in a tight hug. “Want to fuck me farewell? I got an hour to spare if you ask.” He offered with a light wiggle of his brows. It was a joke, of course, because it wasn’t like that between them and Grey would never ask. “Maybe I will show up randomly in your closet again some day, darling.” Just like how they first met. “It really was wonderfully cozy in there.” 

[nxmbervii]

lxxhyxnxx​:

(...)

It’s then that he finally stands up, dusting himself off before letting out a loud and heavy sigh. “Listen, I appreciate the help and all, but I’m not interested in going back to your safe house. Or is it maybe that you need help getting back because you’re drunk off your ass right now?” Hyunwoo’s gaze is glancing the male up and down in that moment, still curious as to how someone as drunk as the other is able to even stand, much less function properly in this situation.

God, he was drunk.

It was very difficult to focus on the other person’s words, despite his solid effort. All Jiho could really gather was the guy wasn’t taking him up on his offer, because otherwise there would be a hand on his. 

“Do I have to persuade you?” Jiho looked like he was in actual agony, because heaven knew persuasion wasn’t his strong suit. Deep down he was a lover of freedom, alright? The do what you want, say what you want, dance with hobos in a dumpster-lit rave type. “Okay, you know what, why don’t you just chill here and think about your next move. I really gotta go.” With that, he was gone, only to appear half-a-second later with some guy in a hoodie. 

Guy was unconscious - no external injuries, probably inhaled too much smoke. Jiho gently slapped him twice in an attempt to wake him up, and when that didn’t work, he simply disappeared again. This time, he returned with a girl tossed over his shoulder. 

“Know first aid?” He laid the girl down on the grass and unbuttoned her pajama top. Bullet wound on the shoulder. Clean exit. “You can help this one, whoever she is.” Oh, but the guy needed supplies. So Jiho disappeared again, and this time he took a little longer to return. He tossed down a first aid kit that he found in the basement after some searching and then rolled over to the nearby bush to throw up. 

Whoaaa, the world was spinning. He thought retching it all out would help, but not really. This really couldn’t have happened on another day, huh? “Terrible day to be looking for my [INSERT ILLICIT SUBSTANCE HERE] stash.” Jiho mumbled to himself, rolling back over so he could have a look at the three rescues. “It’s a mess in there, shit. I think they already left with some people and the mansion owner is dead.” He ran a hand through his sweat matted bangs. “Are these two your friends? Can you speak for them? Because the girl really needs better medical care - she should come with me, unless you want her to go to a regular hospital where they’ll turn her in to the government.”  

[nxmbervii]

❛ their blood is on your hands. ❜

&. 𝐡𝐢𝐭 ‘𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬

"Aw, baby, don’t start that again.” Jiho rolled his eyes, dumping himself on Adrian’s lap. “I am drinking - let me be happy.” He raised his mug, which read I am not an alcoholic, it’s just that when my wife drinks, I do too. I am supportive like that. Where did he get such a fine mug? The dumpster, of course. Can you believe someone threw this out just because it was slightly chipped near the handle? How shamefully wasteful. 

"No blood and death chatter around the dinner table. That was daddy’s rule.” He laughed with a hint of bitterness at the past. “You know what, you are right, fuck his rules.” Jiho hooked an arm around Adrian’s neck and pulled the other closer. “Didn’t I become the new daddy? I say we can talk about whatever the fuck we want at the dinner table.” He took a swig of his wine. It was not as good as what he typically had. See, this kind came in one of those cartons so it was easier to just hide from little Yuna. She was getting quite good at hiding his stash, that kid, and he was forced to get tricky. 

“Their blood is on my hands, and my blood can be on yours.” He lifted the mug and pressed it against Adrian’s lips. “Tell me how you want to kill me, but like, in graphic details.” Jiho chuckled, eyes curving with clear affection as he invaded the other’s personal space with his alcohol-scented breath. “Lower your voice, I need you to talk like a phone sex operator, okies?”

[nxmbervii]

❛ you already know how this will end. ❜

&. 𝐡𝐢𝐭 ‘𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬

He had his funeral outfit on for the night, ready to dance in the dark, under the pale moonlight. 

With the absence of alcohol he was capable of forming thoughts, which meant he understood exactly why Minseok was taking this stance and sympathized. Understanding, however, didn’t necessarily mean agreement. There was too much at stake and sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good.

Who was he to decide?

Fair, but who else was capable of completing this task? In this organization, not many could stand against their leader, especially over this particularly sensitive topic. 

Red was the color of Jiho’s axe handle, and it was the glow at Minseok’s hands.

“Fine,” he conceded in the end, lowering the axe. “But think about what I said, Minseok.” For once, Jiho wasn’t laughing out the silly title of O Fearless Leader. His serious voice sounded unfamiliar, even to himself. “I need you to be reasonable.”

[nxmbervii]

lxxhyxnxx​:

(...)

“Are you sure you’re even capable of saving anyone with the current state that you’re in?” Hyunwoo questions the other with a raised brow, his expression blank as he does. 

The little silver key worked like a charm. 

“Voilà!” He declared the mansion resident a free man with a light sweep of his hands. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this before. In fact, I think I do most of my rescue mission intoxicated.” Granted, for the sake of staying focused, he usually only allowed himself to be tastefully tipsy. Tonight, he was closer to full on smashed. 

Tossing the handcuffs aside, Jiho tried to get a better look at the person he had just helped out. Since his vision was still blurry, he decided it was okay get a little bit handsy and grabbed the guy’s face. “Sorry baby,” he apologized, squinting and leaning almost uncomfortably close. “Hyunwoo, right?” Contrary to popular belief, Jiho did actually read all of the files on the mansion residents. This one should have some sort of electricity related power, if his memories served him correctly. 

“Nice to meet you, I am Jiho, from the Rebellion.” He unhanded the guy and stepped back. Normally he would have a longer intro, but tonight they might be a tad pressed for time. All the pleasantries could perhaps wait. “I need to get the Kang brothers and a Miss Myo fast. Do you know where they may be right now?” Looking at the utter mayhem before them, Jiho highly doubted Hyunwoo would be able to provide him with any useful information, but it was worth a shot. 

“Come, maybe I should get you to safety first.” Jiho extended his hand towards Hyunwoo. The thought of asking the other for assistance did cross his mind, but most of the mansion residents had no combat experience and would be better off evacuated. “I’ll take you to one of the safe houses in the city and we can talk in the morning. You will not be forced to join the Rebellion.” His eyes narrowed at the fire. “We are not like them.”