if you had been the moon / joining

an island. a piece of land, surrounded by ocean. ocean. one of the things he loathed about the world, having nearly killed him at a young age. and where was his father for that? off some place fucking the void, or whatever his husband was. eros couldn't have cared less about that guy. perhaps if the two had been around for his childhood he wouldn't have been such an ass—then again, maybe not. it was hard to rid yourself of assholery when it seemed to run in the family.

the wolfdog tromped through the water, glaring at the gate stretching into the sky in the distance. who the hell thought it was a good idea to live on a deserted island, miles off the mainland? it was stupid, he thought, and yet he was still headed there for reasons unknown. maybe he just wanted a change in scenery; or maybe he just wanted some people to bitch to instead of yelling at trees and plants and frightened little forest creatures that were unfortunate enough to witness him. the stupid little beasts weren't good company, anyway. they were only good when he snapped their necks and ate them for lunch or dinner, whenever he seemed to be having his daily screaming fits.

having daddy issues was no easy task.

eros stopped just past the gate, whiskey eyes glaring into the jungle. a grumble escaped him at the feeling of sand between his toes. fuck, he hated sand. beaches were the worst. islands were the worst. why the hell did he decide it would be a good idea to come here? it was stupid, even for him. in the act of aggressively shaking a paw to try and rid it of the uncomfortable grit, he smacked a bell, sending it swinging and ringing loudly. "ah, shit—" the canine hissed out, paw shooting out to cease the thing's noise. he supposed that was one way to get their attention. if not simultaneously making them all immediately loathe him.