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samstree · 3 years

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You are too well tangled in my soul (2/4)

Inspired by The Time-Traveler's Wife.

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Geralt is a time-traveler, and Jaskier falls in love in a slightly misplaced order.

Warnings: referenced child abuse and mentions of chronic pain

Read on AO3

Calling the Witcher ‘old friend’ at the tavern was probably a mistake. The Geralt walking in front of Jaskier looks exactly the same as he remembers: golden eyes and rugged jawline. And yet, this is the furthest Jaskier has ever felt from him ever since the first sunset at the lake.

There is no warmth to greet him, no knowing smile or softness, only indifference that bleeds into annoyance. The gut-punch is as loud a declaration as it gets. This Geralt is the youngest Jaskier has ever seen him, hardened with weary travels and open night skies, and yet seasoned enough to have settled into distrust and isolation.

As they trudge through Dol Blathanna, the notebook filled with their encounters sits in Jaskier’s pocket, every date recorded with the utmost carefulness, burning a hole onto his mind. How does he explain it? How does he explain that he’s been friends with the Witcher for eight years while he only glares at Jaskier with derision? No, that is too unfair.

Besides, even if he dumps it all out, Geralt is unlikely to just…transform into the person in Jaskier’s memory. This Witcher is not the ever-present friend of Jaskier’s childhood, not yet. He knows better than most that you can’t force people into becoming someone they are not.

Jaskier leaves the notebook at the bottom of his pack.

At the edge of the world, he witnesses the heartbreaks of an elf king. The second-hand stories he knows by heart now pale in comparison. A taste of the real world, of the real pain humans have been ignoring is all it takes for Jaskier to be sure of his path. He is a storyteller. Destiny has decided that when it brought the amber eyes into his life at the age of eleven, so he tells the story. He writes the song.

Jaskier starts following Geralt.

They settle into a routine: monsters, songs, and nothing more. There are no mythical powers that can bring his best friend to him anymore, only the newly acquainted Wolf Witcher who now tolerates him with glowers.

It shouldn’t sting when Jaskier sings their adventures at taverns and Geralt only grunts as feedback. It shouldn’t sting when his chatter is only answered with silence or an absent-minded hum. It shouldn’t sting when Geralt flinches upon hearing Jaskier refer to him as friend while begging to see the hunt himself.

“We are not friends, Jaskier.”

It shouldn’t because it is where their story begins, properly this time. And yet it does.

Seasons pass. Jaskier cannot stop searching for recognition in those amber eyes. Nothing comes up. Still, he searches.

Geralt notices.

Of course. As subtle as Jaskier would like to believe he is, his companion is too perceptive. We can tell by the heartbeat when someone is lying or hiding something. He learned this long ago by the lakeside, when Geralt indulged his curiosity by debunking all the Witcher myths. No, Julian. We cannot read minds.

His excitement that day reflected in the Witcher’s eyes that were amused by a child’s wonderment.

Can he tell what Jaskier is hiding now?

Jaskier stares long at his form on Roach when a throw-away comment from the Witcher brings him right back to the lake, all the words stuck at his throat.

“You’ve been quiet, bard.”

“What? Miss my lovely voice?”

“Glad for the silence.” Geralt drops it, but his gaze lingers for a moment.

At night, Jaskier helps the Witcher remove his armours, a newly formed habit as their travels settle into a familiar rhythm. His fingers untie the complicated knots. Geralt’s breaths brush by his ear.

A warm hand comes up to steady Jaskier by the elbow, the thumb drawing small circles on his chemise. It’s a comfort that he has received so many times before, a reassurance that he can trace by heart. And yet, Geralt is unaware.

Jaskier’s breath hitches in his chest, his heartbeat suddenly rabbiting.

“Alright?”

He cannot acknowledge the concern, scared that more will be revealed. Muttering something about being late, he fumbles away to his bedroll and burrows deep. As the churning in his mind subsides, Jaskier falls asleep hoping that it never comes up again.

It comes up again.

They sit by the glowing campfire, Geralt having just returned from a hunt in the forest. Despite the Witcher’s reluctance, Jaskier nudges him to spill the details and takes them down for new songs. The scratching of his quill fills Geralt’s contemplative pauses.

“This is all very good, Geralt. It’d make a great song. But what was the wyvern like? Come on, help me paint the picture.”

“It was…big, and green.”

Jaskier chuckles, his quill hovering mid-air. So many times before has Geralt only described a monster as ‘big’ or ‘fast’, even the older, more mature Witcher he met in his teenage years sometimes struggled with more adjectives. Being the curious child he was, Jaskier pestered incessantly for more during their short encounters. At night, he would lie in bed, playing out the scene in his head, clashes of magic and steel lulling him into sleep. Now, almost a decade later, he sits in the exact same spot in front of the Witcher, desperate to learn anything from a quest, just to be stunted by Geralt’s inability to form words.

“Some things never change.”

Jaskier smiles to himself and continues to fill in the blanks with more theatrical touches. A song does not become the greatest hit on the Continent just with plain facts and verbs. Chewing on the quill, he barely notices that Geralt’s posture has stiffened.

“Why do you say that?”

“What?” Still distracted with composing a melody for the words, Jaskier looks up at Geralt, whose expression now full of alert.

“What never changes?”

“Um…Just you?” Jaskier stammers, “Stingy on the details, as usual.”

“It’s not just today.” Geralt scowls and stands, pacing around camp irritated. “You talk as if… as if you know me a great deal, Jaskier. You look at me as if you see an old friend. You were familiar with me from the very first day. You didn’t run away in fear like so many others.”

Oh well, subtlety is not exactly Jaskier’s forte.

“You know me,” He tries to gloss it over. “the ever so friendly bard.”

Geralt considers him skeptically. Under the intense scrutiny, Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat. The Witcher finally relents.

“Whatever you see in me, bard,” Geralt lets out a resigned sigh, “it’s not there. So stop looking.”

It’s too late for that, Jaskier thinks. Or too early.

“I mean, why can’t I just tell you everything?”

Geralt walks beside Jaskier, his hair in a simple pony. A long scar runs down his left eye, barely missing it.

That one’s new.

It’s so jarring that Jaskier cannot stop staring at it from time to time. Added with the well-trimmed beard, framing his rugged face, Jaskier is almost looking at someone else. Witchers don’t age like the rest of them do, but the years are clearly showing on Geralt’s face, giving him more gravitas. The White Wolf, indeed.

He has a slight limp in one of his legs, also something new. The breastplate of his armour is worn and beat after what looks like decades of use.

A strange sight. Jaskier has only witnessed the man’s younger counterpart buy the same plate a week ago at a market in Cidaris, brand new and shiny. It was right before Jaskier decided to stay and perform at the local court and Geralt traveled on by himself.

The small garden behind the main hall is where he has found the older Witcher, who embraced Jaskier immediately without a beat. It is when Jaskier breathes in the familiar pine and leather that he realizes how much he’s missed his old friend, even though he’s been traveling with the same person for the past year.

Keeping the secret has taken a toll on Jaskier, as he only notices now that he is completely relaxed. He desperately wishes to unload it.

“You are going to know anyway. When you inevitably end up in Lettenhove, pimpled teenage me in front of you.”

“Jask,” The endearment comes out of the older Witcher so naturally, his voice deep and rich as wine. “You have seen me in my younger days. I was quite…let’s say, untrusting. I was determined to be alone. Telling me that destiny has bound me to a bard with no self-preservation instincts would only send me running away screaming.”

Jaskier teases, “Now that’s something I’d like to see. The mighty Witcher running and screaming because of a bard.”

“Hmm,” Geralt smiles in return, “There are things that we have to experience for ourselves. Just wait a bit longer. I’m unlikely to be pulled away when we are together. It’ll have to be when we part ways. As I said, it’s like a homing beacon.”

An anchor.

“And now, you are only here when Geralt is gone. I mean, you. The younger you.” Jaskier muses, “Destiny has a way of keeping you from running into yourself. Hah! Probably a good idea. Imagine the brooding doubled.”

Geralt stays oddly silent and guides them both to sit on one of the benches, his knee stiff and slow to bend. It slipped Jaskier’s notice that now there is a sheen of sweat on Geralt’s forehead, his brows furrowing in pain. He starts rubbing at the knee with a wince, breathing through the discomfort. His right elbow also creaks like an old ship, followed by a pained gasp.

With the fast healing, it must be a particularly bad injury for it to affect Geralt this much. Jaskier rubs his hands together to warm them up and places them on the Witcher’s elbow, slowly massaging it to ease out the tension. He’s quite unsure of his touches but judging from Geralt’s gradually relaxing posture, it is working nonetheless.

“What kind of beast hurt you like this? Can I warn you when the day comes?” Jaskier’s worry clenches in his chest. After a moment, Geralt places his larger hand on top of Jaskier’s, an unvoiced thanks. So Jaskier lets go.

They are sitting too closely together. Jaskier can see the tiny scars on Geralt’s face, thin lines that disappear into the thick beard. Leather and pine, the most reassuring scents in the world, overwhelm his senses and draw him closer.

“I wish we could take away all the hurt that will happen.” Geralt says with regret, “But no, Jask, I’d rather not. Some things need to happen for us both to be here today. Not to mentions many others.”

“I can just warn you about this one thing.”

Geralt’s gaze meets Jaskier’s, the long scar prominent. “Some things are too important to risk. I now have people who are dear to me. They – they’ve all come a long way. I wouldn’t change it for the world if it means they are safe. Even if I have to go through this.” He rubs at his knee again.

The wight behind the words settles in Jaskier’s chest.

The Geralt he has been traveling with is so determined on isolation and detachment, rejecting even simple friendship. He cares, in his own silent, brooding way. Jaskier sees it when he refuses payment from people who are struggling to make ends meet. He sees it when he buys Jaskier new boots when a pair has worn out. And He sees it when Roach’s coat is always kept pristine when the Witcher cannot afford new clothing for himself.

But the man in front of Jaskier speaks of people in his life with love and openness, all his rough edges softened and smoothed. Whatever happened in the years in between, Jaskier is eager to learn.

“You are a self-sacrificing idiot as usual.” He jokes.

The adoration in Jaskier’s heart unfurls into something more, something he does not dare to name. The same something, he realizes, is the gravity behind Geralt’s golden eyes that he’s been unable to name.

Jaskier is twenty-four when Geralt finds out.

He has just spent a winter at Oxenfurt after being offered a teaching post while Geralt returned to Kaer Morhen as usual. The job is exciting and the students cannot be more pleasant. Adding the occasional visits from Essi and Shani, Jaskier doesn’t have many complaints.

And if he lingers too long in the greenhouse, standing wishfully for something to happen, that’s no one else’s business.

Usually Jaskier waits until the ground begins to thaw before departing for Kaedwen, where he will continue to roam and perform in major cities and possibly run into Geralt. Their shared journeys are never planned and they never agreed upon any meeting places, but somehow the bard can always find the Witcher in the springtime, so that they may resume their on-and-off travels.

This spring, however, an unexpected cold spell hits Oxenfurt after buds have sprouted from bald branches. A blanket of snow covers the cobblestone streets overnight, driving students and staff alike indoors with sniffles and shudders.

Jaskier is intending to retreat into his bedroom with a cup of steaming ginger tea, when he hears of two professors talking about the famous White Wolf being stopped at the city gate. Perplexed, he puts on a heavy coat and walks across town, blowing at his frozen fingers to desperately warm them up.

Geralt never seeks him out when the season turns, despite Jaskier’s attempt at hinting at his wintering plans multiple times every fall. If the Witcher is here this early in the spring, he must have left the Blue Mountains when the howling wind of winter was still raging. Traveling across the continent in the cold cannot be easy even for the Witcher, especially when contracts are still scarce.

Jaskier’s boots crunch the snow beneath them, his vision filled with the clear, grey sky and snowflakes scatted in the air. Outside the city gate, a tall, cloaked figure is being told off by a guard. A chestnut mare waits loyally in the distance.

Geralt is right there, snowflakes peppering his dark cloak. His complexion is sour as ever.

Gods, Jaskier has missed him.

“Geralt! What brings you here?” Jaskier shouts to get his attention and jogs on the slippery road to embrace the Witcher. The hug is brief and impersonal, and when he steps back the misery is still present.

“Aren’t you happy to see your best friend? After all, you’re the one who traveled in this sodding weather just to see me.”

Jaskier expects a rebuttal of the claim ‘best friend’, but it never comes. The Witcher’s comprehension is mixed with travel-weary, souring him even further.

“I have something of great importance to discuss with you, Jaskier.” Geralt gestures to the guard. “But this man won’t let me into the city.”

Jaskier turns to the guard and explains that the Witcher is an esteemed guest of the university, before they are both let in with Roach in tow.

The walk to Jaskier’s lodging is silent with a tension in the air. The Witcher looks tired, disheveled from the wind and cold. Jaskier will warm them both up with a fire and ginger tea then.

“So,” Jaskier tries to make conversation, “Before we discuss the thing of ‘great importance’, how was Kaer Morhen? You know, the mythical Witcher keep nobody knows anything about.”

“It was…fine.”

“Masterful conversationalist as ever.” Jaskier takes in the curt response and fills the silence with stories of his winter at the university. He chuckles at the funny bits himself when Geralt seems deep in thoughts the entire time.

Once they have put Roach in the university’s stable and entered Jaskier’s warm bedroom, the tension can be cut by a knife. An inexplicable nervousness bobbles up in Jaskier’s throat as Geralt puts down his pack by the door and begins to speak.

“Jaskier –”

“Before you say anything,” he interrupts, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. It seems that ginger tea might not be enough to get him through this conversation. “We should warm up a little. Can you believe the weather!”

He puts one glass on the table near Geralt and downs the other in one go.

“Jaskier,” Geralt reasserts himself, the golden eyes determined. “Why didn’t you tell me you’ve met me before?”

Jaskier studies his glass as if it is the most interesting thing in the world. The Witcher continues.

“There was a lake, in the woods. You were young, and you…you greeted me by name. You knew me.” Geralt’s brows scrunch up in confusion. “You knew me before we met.”

“Um…yes?” Jaskier grimaces.

“Why haven’t you told me before? Damn it, Jaskier. You knew this whole time that I –”

“That you can magically time travel to my childhood?” Jaskier puts down his empty glass next to Geralt’s untouched one. “What was I supposed to say back then, Geralt? ‘Hello, you don’t know me but I know everything about you. And that includes your secret power because I’ve met you twenty times before –’”

“Twenty times?”

“Well I haven’t counted in a while so I could be off.”

Geralt sighs, palming his face. They both look away. The weighted silence in the room is only interrupted by the occasional crackling in the fireplace.

“Twenty times.” Geralt mutters to himself. “How – why?”

Jaskier tries, “You told me yourself. Your powers have this…pull. It’s like –”

“Gravity.”

“It pulls you to certain places or certain people.” Jaskier vaguely gestures around himself.

Realization dawns on Geralt’s face.

“That’s why you followed me. That’s why you weren’t scared of me, why you look at me…” He trails off. “Because destiny already forced me into your life.”

Geralt’s features morph into a stoic resignation, something Jaskier is too familiar with. It’s what Geralt looks like when someone chases him out of an inn or throws things at him, or when mothers yell at their children to get away from him.

No. Jaskier won’t allow it now.

“No,” His voice is desperate, “It was because you were my best friend. You are my best friend. You were there for me by the lake when no one else was. I followed you because you are kind and brave –”

“Because destiny already decided for you.”

“No –”

“Gods, Jaskier. You were so young. You shouldn’t be bound to me by something I cannot even control.”

Jaskier takes in a shuddering breath. “It’s too late for that.”

He doesn’t know how to convince Geralt, who looks so guilty through Jaskier’s blurred vision. He feels weak and hollow.

The conversation continues but Jaskier pays no attention. Geralt says something about traveling separately for a while and begins to leave. Golden eyes meet Jaskier one last time before the door clicks shut.

Running away while screaming indeed.

Sagging into a chair, Jaskier remembers the worn-out notebook sitting on the shelf, untouched.

Once again, Jaskier is left alone, his best friend disappearing right in front of his eyes.

Jaskier tries to find Geralt but always falls a step behind.

He travels and plays, pleasing tavern audiences so he may get a place to sleep. He asks about the white-haired Witcher everywhere he goes, hoping he can catch up with him just like so many other times. But the Witcher is gone whenever Jaskier sets foot into a town, as if sensing his presence.

“Isn’t that your Witcher? The one from your songs?”

Jaskier tries not to wince.

“He was here days ago, but I heard he left for Novigrad.” The innkeeper says in confusion, “Why aren’t you with him?”

Putting on a bright smile, Jaskier answers, “Even the most talented artist cannot stay with his muse at all times. Lest the creativity runs dry too soon.”

He sets out for Novigrad, but never reaches it.

Jaskier does not see the bandits coming, nor is he capable of fending off all five of them. The dagger he hides in his boot and the sword fighting lessons that tutors once forced upon him can only do so much against these fully armed men.

After stabbing one of them in the shoulder, causing the man to yell and cuss, Jaskier is knocked out from behind.

Jaskier wakes up flung across the back of a dark horse. The pain at the back of his head throbs with every step it takes, the moving ground makes bile rise in his throat. The men talk about ransom from the Count de Lettenhove for his only son.

Oh, dear.

There is no way to tell how they learned, since Jaskier is gagged and tied to a tree when they set camp. He doubts his kidnappers are willing to indulge his curiosity anyway. A growl comes from his stomach. The fire and roasted dinner warm in the distance but clearly these men are not the sharing type.

Frustrated, Jaskier dozes off as night falls, listening to their constant chatter about how to spend the ransom. Too bad for them, Jaskier thinks half-asleep, they are not getting any money. Father will probably thank them for stopping the family embarrassment from tarnishing the Pankratz name any further.

Jaskier wakes up again, to the sound of yelling and weapons clash.

Bodies are flung across the campsite; his captors scream in pain and scatter. The startles horses gallop away with some of them on top. A flash of black and silver moves with an elegance that can inspire songs after songs.

A hand comes to remove the gag in Jaskier’s mouth and continues to undo the ropes around his wrists. Concern sparks in the gold, the softness overlapping with Jaskier’s distant memories. He should greet an old friend, or it’ll seem rude –

“Julian,” Geralt says, “That’s a terrible name for you.”

Jaskier blinks. Now Geralt is reaching to untie the knot behind Jaskier, their breaths only inches away. No scar. These are the same eyes that left him in Oxenfurt months ago, with the click of a door.

Not an old friend, then.

“That’s why I changed it.” The rope burns on Jaskier’s wrists sting when he tries to flex them. He states the obvious, “I see my Witcher in shining armor has come back to save me, again.”

“It’s like you are looking for trouble, bard.”

“Not like it was my fault.” Well, only a little bit his fault.

“Hmm.”

“I was looking for you.”

“I know.”

Of course, he was avoiding Jaskier on purpose.

“Why did you have a change of heart then? Missed my charming personalities?” Jaskier intends a joke, but the old name reminds him. “Wait. You were at the lake again?”

Geralt hums as Jaskier gets up to rummage through what his kidnappers left. Thank the gods they thought his lute and bags might be worth something and didn’t chuck them in a ditch.

Neither the lute case nor the instrument inside received much damage, to Jaskier’s relief. He should check for his bags as well –

“You kept asking when I would be back.”

Jaskier pauses. “And you couldn’t answer.”

“You asked me not to leave. You cried.”

Yes, he desperately grasped for any semblance of certainty as a child, and when he couldn’t get it young Julian spiraled into a panic, begging the Witcher not to leave. He remembers trying to hold back the tears but it came out with snot and hiccups. The embarrassment is still fresh after a decade.

“Well, there’s no need to remind me.”

“No, I –” Geralt struggles with words, “You said you kept records for me. I don’t want to disappoint you again, if I go back there. When I go back.”

The leather-bound notebook is still sitting at the bottom of Jaskier’s bag. He can feel the shape of it through the fabric. It is what Geralt came back for, just so he can have an answer for that child, so he will not disappoint him next time.

“That’s sweet.”

“Jaskier. I would never choose to entangle your life with mine, a Witcher’s. It’s –” Geralt breathes, “You were so young.”

So he said, months ago. Jaskier digs into the bag and retrieves the notebook, walks up to Geralt, and presses it on his chest. Geralt catches it, his gaze never leaving Jaskier’s.

“I wrote down the dates after each of your visits. All you need should be in there.” Jaskier suddenly notices how tired and hungry he is, the headache flaring up once he’s upright. He sways as a clink of metal hits the ground and Geralt’s strong hand steadies him at the elbow. “Oh, thanks.”

Geralt only hums, but his amber eyes keep studying Jaskier.

“You said you didn’t want me bound to your life.” Jaskier tries again, “But Geralt, you were the best part of my childhood. You were the reason I could leave that wretched place. You were the only person who saw me when no one paid any attention. I – I cannot imagine my life if you weren’t in it, if you hadn’t shown up by that lake in Lettenhove. So please…don’t turn away from me.”

He’s begging again, just like ten years ago. He’s begging for the little boy waiting by the water. He’s begging for himself now. It doesn’t matter that it’s embarrassing because after a beat, Geralt nods.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I said okay,” Geralt’s expression sags with softness. “I – You were so excited to see me. You asked about my hunts. And Jaskier, you were so unhappy in your own home, but my stories – There was a spark in your eyes when you listened to them.”

Jaskier’s breath hitches. He looks into the sunlight gold boring into his with warmth.

“Does that mean you’ll stop running from me?”

“I would never want to snuff it out. That spark.” Geralt sounds apologetic, “I see now that you decided this life by yourself. Travelling and adventures. They suit you well, Jaskier. So yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Because there is a boy in Lettenhove, and he really, really looks forward to seeing you. In fact, he is counting the days right now, for your next return.”

Geralt chuckles, “That’s not how this works.”

“You know what I mean.”

Jaskier grins in return, patting the Witcher on the arm. Geralt looks at the notebook in his hand and says solemnly, “I won’t disappoint him again.”

The door of their shared inn room creaks open and it sounds like a bag of coin is dropped on the table.

“Ah. I see you collected payment for the Griffin.” Jaskier looks up from the music sheets spread out on the bed.

“I was at the lake with you.”

Jaskier feels a big grin spread across his face.

“You made me tell you about the hunt.” Geralt says.

“Yes, I remember. And I composed my very first Witcher song two days later. Well, only in my head and it lacked a bit polish, but you know, I was eleven.”

“Does that mean I’m spared now?”

“Yes, my dear. You may be spared of recounting your mighty battles for now. I still remember it quite vividly. Did you tell me you bit feathers off its wing and choked?”

“Fuck off, bard.”

Jaskier chuckles and gets back to his composing. It might be time to revisit an old song yet.

“I was at the lake with you.”

“When?”

“Last month, when we were apart.”

“No, when for me?”

Geralt looks down at Jaskier, who is lying in the meadow of wildflowers next to the Witcher’s crossed legs, trying and failing to braid a flower crown of dandelions. The afternoon heat is relentless, drenching them both in sweat before they have to take a break.

Tall shrubs cast down a cool shade where they are sitting, shielding away the scorch. Roach is nibbling at some flowers in the distance, the same flowers that Jaskier cannot seem to bend into shape without crushing.

“You were…older.” Geralt says after considering, “You braided flowers into my hair.”

“Oh yeah. That day. Can I do it now?”

“You are not a child anymore.”

“No, but this is not working.” Jaskier throws away the dandelions that are now in pieces, pouting. He lies back on the grass, inhaling the fresh smell of grass and letting the breeze cool him down a little. Above him, Geralt looks refreshed after a short meditation.

“You were getting restless. In your own home, about your own future. You kept asking me if you were going to leave Lettenhove.”

“And you distracted me by letting me braid your hair. I totally forgot about pestering you for the rest of the day.”

“It worked.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier is almost impressed.

Geralt pauses for a moment. “You were so unhappy, Jaskier. You couldn’t see a future for yourself.”

“Well, that’s why I left. It’s all fine now. I’m living my best life with my favorite time traveler. Don’t worry, dear.” With his forearm placed on his eyes, Jaskier is completely relaxed.

“Should I have told you, just so you had an idea?”

Sometimes Jaskier still thinks about his childhood in Lettenhove, how miserable he was under all the expectations that he was never going to meet. No, he couldn’t see a future for himself as the Viscount, neither did his father, as the falling of canes and sticks proved. Sometimes Jaskier still wakes up from nightmares rehashing those beatings.

Would it have been better if his younger self had known what the future had in store?

“No,” He says, “Don’t tell me anything. What I went through put me here. It made me what I am. Telling me the future might change things, and I would never take that risk.”

“Hmm.” Geralt sounds apprehensive. “I’ll have to keep you in the dark.”

Sitting up, Jaskier places a hand on Geralt’s knee, the one that’s going to retain an injury that doesn’t heal well, the one that’s going to creak and spasm on a rainy day. Geralt from the future is willing to endure the hurt just to make sure everything goes right, young Julian will have to as well.

“I wish there’s another way. Believe me, I do. But…it’s too much at risk.” He squeezes, hoping it’s reassuring. “I know you don’t like this, Geralt. But time is too tricky, you can’t tell me anything about my future. That’s the rule.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“It might be the first rule anyone’s had about time travels.”

“Right,” Jaskier smiles tightly, “The very first one.”

They go back to cooling off in a companionable silence before moving on again. Geralt rides on Roach’s back while Jaskier strums his lute on the ground, playing a song in Elder absent-mindedly.

For what it is worth, Jaskier’s past is already too well tangled with this beautiful Witcher in front of him. There is no changing his fate now.

A comforting weight unfurls in his heart whenever Geralt is near, regardless of which version of him it is. It unfurls even further with each step they take together over the years. In the blazing afternoon sun, it blooms into something else.

Oh.

He loves him.

He loves him with all he is, was, and ever will be.

No matter. Their days ahead will be just as entwined as the past.

Jaskier strums his lute again, the song turns into something bawdy. The amber looks back at him with mirth and a mirrored smile.

#geraskier #oxenfurt #not oxford #the witcher #time travel #geralt x jaskier #the time traveler's wife au #my fic #jaskier #geralt #hurt jaskier #hurt geralt #chronic pain #jaskier whump

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laceymorganwrites · 3 years

Text

The damn jacket

Word count: 2,210

Pairing: none rlly

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drugs, like a sentence of Mötley Crüe slander xD, um bad structure??

A/N: this is a mess. modern AU, kinda character analysis, idek but it was fun. Inspired by @pirate-shrimp (if any of u catch the MSI reference I will marry u on the fucking spot)

Kid had bar vibes. He was the kind of guy you found sitting in the corner of your local pub, just far away from the others not to be forced into a conversation but also not far away enough to seem lonely.

He was the local phenomena of the man you didn´t want to get close to but whose story you wanted to know at the same time. The guy who pushed people away because he was more scared of hurting them than being hurt.

Hell, he doubted he could get hurt anymore at this point, over the years he´s lost so many friendships, been betrayed so much by the people he considered the closest to him, it was laughable.

Maybe that was why he didn´t let anyone get close anymore, why he always seemed so distant, his thoughts stuck in a past long gone or perhaps a future he knew he´d never have.

A good for nothing college drop out, those were the hard facts he had to face every day.

It wasn´t because he was dumb that he quit, far from it. Kid wasn´t thrown out, he quit himself because college was too restricting for him. There were some classes that were nice enough, but working towards exams really wasn´t his style, he wanted to do something, anything really.

People like him didn´t have it easy, society measured your worth in degrees and results. But what if the way was so much more fun than the end result?

Kid had a lot of jobs to make a living, never staying in one though, he got bored so easily. How could anyone expect anyone to keep doing the same routinized thing for over 40 years? It was insanity. To him anyways.

Being punk, never fitting in, living the life of sex, drugs and rock n roll…. It all seemed so much more fun than it really was.

Kid´s band was a bad ripoff of Mötley Crüe, though some might argue that the band itself was.

Yes, he fit into some stereotypes that he was so sick of hearing: playing in a band, being that eccentric lead singer that caused too much trouble for his own good, though the second part wasn´t true anymore. Lately he just wanted people to leave him alone.

It was nice being a small town band, the bonds with your audience were so much stronger, it felt like hanging out with friends rather than playing a show for money. Kid never wanted that feeling to end, he never wanted to end up like those big bands who lost their spark, who lost that glimmer in their eyes, their racing heart when Killer counted and initiated their first song, the immense feeling of belonging whenever the crowd would sing his words back to him.

This.

This was what he was made for. Passion. That was what was missing when he was studying, he needed to do things, be that sketching or tinkering with his car or writing everything down that was going on in his head.

In truth Kid started writing because it all got too much, too many fake people around him, too many people acting like his best friend and leaving him cold the next day, too many people telling him they loved him and then spitting at him, gossiping behind his back.

A part of him missed the times when he cared, when he was shocked and hurt by this. By now it´s become so common, like the energy drink before work.

Kid didn´t have the dream rockstar life, not the one where people looked so cool shooting up in those movies, that shit was fucked up and society was sick for portraying it like that.

He only had bad experiences with drugs, living in a small town like this he saw the addicts everywhere, sad creatures who couldn´t support themselves anymore, who got dependent on things that destroyed them because nobody would help, because nobody gave a shit about them. Why would they? They were good for nothings who couldn´t work ten hours in some shitty job that didn´t pay them enough to pay rent.

The system wasn´t corrupt? Yeah, bullshit.

The problem he faced was that of a fleeting society, a society that sped up so much, never once slowing down and looking around to see what was out there. They never thought about expanding their horizons.

Schoolings were looked down upon, but at the same time cheered for. It was so strange… the craft was dying but also needed.

Nothing held value anymore, nothing lasted, nothing strove to.

Kid was happy with his life as it was now. He hated being selfish and arrogant but learned that a certain amount was needed to survive, you needed to look out for yourself before you could look out for anyone else. A local rockstar, frequent bar visitor, the best mechanic in town. All those fit him so well but at the same time he looked the part, oh how he hated it sometimes. The acquaintances he made because of his looks, because people spread rumors about him, making him more myth than man, it was pretty tiring.

Especially when they all were disappointed by the rather bland truth.

Not that Kid was bland in any way, it was just that people expected so much more from him, they wanted him to be this rebel, this punk, this heartbreaker.

Expected him to have tattoos and piercings but the truth was that he had such a low pain tolerance it was embarrassing. Yes, he bore every punch and kick he ever got without any complaints because there were parts of him that told him he deserved it, parts that hated him more than anything else.

Just try it…. there´s nothing you can do that I haven´t already done myself, you can´t hate me more than I hate myself.

Ah yes, the typical phenomenon of this generation: being way too soft and overly sensitive.

That was it, they weren´t more considerate and aware of their mental health and other people´s wellness, of identity and morals, of things that got swiped under the rug because ´it was always this way´. Why the fuck would people so desperately try to keep something misogynistic, racist and homophobic up? Just because it existed the majority of time doesn´t mean it was a good system.

Fuck, it never was.

And Kid was sick of everyone playing down those things. So what if he was a fucking crybaby and didn´t get humor? He wouldn´t take this shit anymore, yeah it mostly didn´t affect him but he got angry beyond belief for the people it did affect.

It wasn´t fair.

He couldn´t do anything? It wouldn´t matter anyway? It wouldn´t make a difference? So fucking what. He´d never know if he didn´t try.

Just now Kid finished up his work at the garage, closing up shop for the day. It was a busy day, many people who were driving through came to him to do a check up, others came by for their regular reparation. He loved that busy meant fun in his world. He was so fucking happy that he could do the things that brought him joy, that burned like a fire in his heart. And no, he didn´t care how cheesy that sounded.

Washing his hands and closing the door behind him he called Killer to let him know he was done. Killer was also just now finishing up his shift at the record shop. Now was their time to rehearse, band practice was always the best part of the day, though quite honestly most of the time it was just the guys hanging out and having a good time. And they wouldn´t have it any other way.

Kid grabbed his jacket and locked the doors before making his way to his car.

The jacket. That damn jacket.

It was where it all started. He bought that old thing from his first ever pay at the garage, his boss told him to spend it on something nice for himself, something that´d make him a man. He didn´t ever ask what he meant by that, his boss said weird things at times. But this was true, at least in a sense.

It was the first time Kid ever stepped foot inside of a second hand store and it was like heaven revealed himself to him, it was pure paradise. Just going through the aisles, finding treasures like no other, it became one of his favorite things to do.

The jacket was the first thing that ever caught his eye, the firs thing he purchased. The black leather with the yellow and dark red details, the skull on the back… it was calling to him. Those were his favorite colors, he didn´t even have to think about it before he bought it.

But what about it made him a man? It was just a jacket after all. But that´s where you´d be wrong.

It was so much more than that.

The very next day he started wearing it religiously, he noticed people staring at him at the streets but this time it wasn´t because he was a loser, it was because he looked fucking cool. The jacket boosted his confidence immensely. And it showed.

His boss complimented him and said that from this day on his journey was only beginning, and how right he was with that.

It was the day he reconnected with his high school friend Killer, he didn´t even know he was back in town, let alone working at his favorite record shop and searching for a band to play drums for. So Kid got his first guitar and played it to death, jamming with Killer and searching for others, thus meeting Heat and Wire, the coolest guys on earth.

He grew so much, finding more and more passion in his life, only his jacket stayed the same. He decided that it was time to change that.

Kid went to the crafts store and bought red leather protectors with a quilting pattern, sewing it to the shoulders of the jacket. He also decided to pimp the skull, making it his own personal jacket in painting on the goggles he wore at work, two knives as a cross because it was edgy and of course: his hair. His untamable hair that would never hold up so he got used to wearing any sort of silly glasses, sometimes even the goggles from work. Hair gel was a lie to him, so was hairspray.

He painted bright red flames in homage to his dyed hair, yeah, it wasn´t just a phase.

Everything was coming together.

He grabbed his stupidly large square blue sunglasses that made him look like a dad. Yes, Kid had a dad style. He loved second hand shirts more than anything, not the boring ones, the ones with the stupidest prints, he wore dad shoes like no one´s business and he was proud of it. He was the cool dad, the cool dad with the big car and puns that were so bad they somehow got good again. But damn, did he have talent with words. Screw not being able to formulate shit in speech, that man could write like a god, or rather the devil. Because, let´s be real, the devil sounds so much better on the mic.

Starting the engine, he drove home to at least make some room to sit for his friends, on the way he shopped for groceries too. Now that he was home he got the snacks, drinks and notebooks ready as well as the tons of pens where he never knew which one worked but never threw any away because somehow he thought he´d exchange the mines. Yeah, as if.

He threw on a black shirt and some black joggers before tying his hair up into a tiny ponytail, still his bangs fell in his face as always. It was annoying so he clipped them back with some black hair clips. He didn´t care if he looked stupid with that, at least he could see clearly now.

But getting a hair cut? No way, he looked too cool for that.

Kid opened the door when the others came and sat down on the couch with his acoustic guitar, lately they decided to play around with reimagining their songs after supporting and motivating Kid to sing rather than growl. He had such a nice guttural and gruff voice, these imperfections when singing, the edges just made the song that much more genuine.

Listening to Kid you just couldn´t help but get mesmerized, the way his biceps flexed when he held the guitar, the emotions in his eyes, the way he frowned and squinted whenever the lyrics got emotional and close to home, it made you want to protect him, to keep him happy, to keep this alive, this wonderful world he created for himself.

The others also scribbled down ideas and practiced new melodies, tried out new lyrics and solos. After a while work mixed in with private chats and the night faded into distant, nostalgic laughter and the crinkles around Kid´s eyes that showed how much it all meant to him.

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece oneshot #one piece scenario #one piece drabble #one piece fic #one piece kid #one piece modern au #one piece writing #op #op imagine #op oneshot #op scenario #op kid #op drabble #op fic #op writing #op modern au

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wickednerdery · 3 years

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Title: LaSiren Author: @wickednerdery Fandom: Kong: Skull Island Pairing/character: Captain James Conrad/OFC Rating: Teen Summary: “You’re not what I expected.” Notes: Because I’ve been dying to write one of my OCs and finally thought of something that would work and not interfere with future submissions lol! Also, yay, I finally wrote a new fanfic and, haha, consider this my way of celebrating Tom’s birthday, I guess. There’s some violence and blood, but nothing too extreme really.

Conrad’s breath stalls, the air stills, as the woman turns to him. “You’re not what I expected.”

Lips part in smile that reveals small fangs. “We never are.”

“We?”

It steps away from the bloody shore, back towards the jungles he emerged from. “Are you here to kill me?”

“My mission is to observe and report.”

“And then?” Up close her skin is pale with a strange shimmer, like a snake fresh from the water, when the light strikes at an angle. Tongue flicks across lips. “You’re scared.”

“I’m alert.”

Eyes soften, brighten. “Is it because I’m a woman or because I’m not what I seem.”

“You need leave this place.” He orders, then offers. “Hunt somewhere else.”

She steps forward, he steps back. “Cities are too busy and islands filled with tourists...” Her attention drifts off into foliage. “It was easier in the beginning. When people didn’t question the cause or nature of death. Now everything is investigated, everything must be uncovered.” Eyes lock back to his. “Occupied and civilized.”

He cannot say why he cares - perhaps it is because she looks so human - but he’s compelled to warn. “After my report, this becomes a capture mission. Kill, if you fight.”

“That a fact, soldier?”

“I’m not a soldier.” Not any more.

“And I’m not a damsel.” She steps forward, he stands firm. “This is my home.”

“I can find you another.”

“Can you?”

He thinks on the hallowed grounds where Kong may still roam, but holds back. “Give me forty-eight hours.”

“Then what?”

“Then do what you need to, defend yourself.”

James is surprised she lets him go, unsurprised his employers seem only too happy to move ahead. What he senses is mercy, they read as weakness. If it will hear a man out rather than destroy him, it can easily be moved, taken. The former captain warns this is a mistake, but they dismiss him. Diplomacy not an option, the man shifts tactics.

At nightfall the next day he slips from base camp back into the jungles. He retraces steps, but finds no signs of her. Perhaps she’s taken his advice already, slipped away, but senses tell him no. That she is not so easily made to run.

Something stirs to his left, stalking him, and Conrad begins a steady backtrack. He hears it breathing, closing in, and halfway between darkness and civilization it lunges. He’s able to fire shots before the jaguar makes contact. Claws gash shoulder, dig in, before being torn free in another direction. James lands on his back, weapon in the brush, as blood pours. He tries to sit up, reach for gun, but his position in the world wavers before it goes dark in a wail.

Coated in blood she stands over him, holding him, as he floats on the tides. “You’re wounded.” Her voice is soft, but grip strong. Inescapable. “Don’t move.” Muscles shudder in pain so that reality starts to slip from him again. She leans down, jaw unhinges, and there’s flash of fangs...but no pain. Only a rush of calm, peace, and heaviness of the body.

He wakes on the shore, bloody shirt folded in lap, wound now closed. Conrad groans soreness, but not pain, as he forces himself to sit up. There is nothing to greet him but the dawn. At slow pace and with delicate steps he makes his way back to camp.

Base camp is all but cleaned out, abandoned, with no occupants and debris scattered across the grounds. Conrad scans carefully, catching hints at the reality of things. Smears of deep red, drag marks, things smashed that should be handled with care. Survivors unlikely; they didn’t stand a chance.

Movement from the mess tent brings rifle at the ready. “Show yourself.” It’s a command, despite voice shaking in wary weariness.

She steps out only enough to be seen, keeping to the shadows early day provides. “I told you, Conrad, this is my home.”

“You know my name.” This registers before all else. This being knows his name, without him giving it. Without him having clear identifiers on his person. What else does it know?

“You’ve been kind to me, thank you for that.”

“I had twenty-four more hours.” The rest registers. “You killed them all.”

Her smile is soft, her approach carefully skirting direct sunlight. “I am not a native that can be relocated. I was here before you came, I’ll be here long after.”

Conrad takes deep breath. “They won’t stop, you know. Even if this business backs out, others will take their place. Then there’s the scientists, governments...”

The woman is on him in a second, weight crushing him despite a small frame. “Let them come. Let them meet the same end as the others.” He should be afraid, but remains confident she will not end him as she did the rest. “This is my home. If you come with a crew again, I will consider you a trespasser.”

“And if I come alone?”

Reptilian eyes fade, gaze softens. “My name is Renata.”

I don’t know guys, I’ve been working on my undead OC babies for submissions, etc, and this shit just popped in my head, lol!! I made the first gif off two I found on Google, all others selected from Tumblr gif search results. LaSiren is from a Haitian myth - I just imagined that’s what the locals might’ve called Renata without having ever seen her, only evidence of her by the shores and word-of-mouth stories from survivors.

In case you’re interested: @holykryptonitekitten @lady-crowned-with-stars @ultrarebelheart @chibiyanai

#captain james conrad #kong: skull island #fanfiction #tom hiddleston #my writing #james conrad #conrad x ofc #original character #vampires #not my gif

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vesperlionheart · 4 years

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Vesper’s Quarantine ‘Finished’ Reading List

If you’re stuck indoors and feeling anxious sometimes the best thing is to drown your brain in distractions until you’re able to function again. Thus, I’ve put together a list of Sakura centric stories to entertain you. There’s a lot of shameless self promo here, fair warning, but it’s my blog and my blogpost so that’s where we’re gonna start. Some of my favorite fic are ones still being updated but this list includes only stories marked as [complete].

[Finished personal fic]

Obelisk: Kingdom of Man By: VesperChan 'She could swear she smelt sulfur when she exhaled. Nothing good ever came from boys who smelled like sulfur.' An ancient Egyptian curse and a world of dreams opens Sakura up to a life devoid of safety. In the darkness her nightmares bow themselves to her. In the morning they feast on her heart. AU SakuraMany Obelisk: Kingdom of Beasts By: VesperChan One Kingdom down, three to go. Carrying the scars on her heart, Sakura must brave the dreams again as this time, there are more sinister things then men waiting for her when she goes to sleep. The wolves have come to feast and her body will know their teeth. AU SakuraMany Obelisk: Kingdom of Monsters By: VesperChan More than halfway through the curse, Sakura's nightmares hold nothing back as fangs and spells seek to drag her down and bury her with the dead. Monsters have come at least to feast on what is left of her bones and devour her wounded heart. Beyond the scars and bloodshed, her soul is beginning to fade under the dim lights of another enchanted speakeasy and ruby eyes. AU SakuraMany Obelisk: Kingdom of Gods By: VesperChan Entering the final kingdom, Sakura stands atop a castle of sand to face down the gods who first orchestrated the curse and began the bloody tradition of collecting human souls in a little black obelisk. Gladiators, Egyptian gods, and blood thirsty pharaohs paint a vivid picture on the inside of her mind as she sleeps, dreams, and struggles once again. AU SakuraMany Total word count for Obelisk series: 565,292 (just over half a million words)

RED KING By: VesperChan In the wild country where it never snows but always freezes, the Red King marches his armies against the White Tsar. That is why Sakura is swept away from the lonely streets and the empty barracks into a car with a bastard prince and a promise of redemption, but if only she can face the demons that chased her in the first place and be what the king needs in his war. SakuraCentric

Touken Revolution by Vesperchan (rated E) Sakura, a sword smith, is nearly killed for what she really is: a sage, one who can animate weapons into warriors and give bodies to the souls she hears inside swords. Now a refugee in the land of Kiri she's building an army because it's her only hope for survival and maybe even happiness. SakuraKiri Sakura centric

Things We Lost in the Fire By: VesperChan Years later, living alone in the woods with half a dozen dogs, questionable reading material, and crippling non-attachment issues, Sakura realizes she has turned into her teacher. Agebent Sakura Sensei ShiSaku

Jealous gods by Vesperchan When a coup takes the lives of the king and the rest of the royal family, Sakura, the sole surviver, escapes to the edge of the world with Kakashi to strike a bargain with an old god. Her worship in exchange for his power. She's warned he's a dark and jealous god, but that's not enough to sway her. ItaSaku Kakasaku darkItachi AU

Lindworm & the Tam Lin Love a Changling by Vesperchan Sakura travels as a curse breaker across the land, doing what she can to put some peace back into the world. She doesn't think much of it when she breaks the curse on a lesser dragon or a fae knight, but maybe she should have. MadaSaku, HashiSaku Poly

A Confluence of Stars by Vesperchan (my WitcherAU) With the war over between two princedoms, Sakura, a sniper, returns home to celebrate Confluence with her grandmother, the local Story Keeper. She had expected it to be nothing more than just another celebration when the star rivers overlapped and the poor people partied. But, along with the rest of the world, Sakura soon realizes that Confluence did more than just give people a reason to celebrate. A wicked new world filled with monsters and magic straight from Baba's tales spills into theirs, and Sakura is forced to turn to her rifle and her stories to make sense of it. Sakuracentric

Sugarplum by Vesperchan "They will use you up, and love you all the while, until there is nothing left of the girl you used to be." Sakura had been a chosen one, once upon a time, but that was years ago, and all the magic has left her. Still, the world calls her back and she has a new role in supporting the next girl savior many years her junior. ItaSakuSaso

Stag by Vesperchan He was a wizard with a tower and a set of rules he should never break. Sakura was a girl with just a bit of budding magic he decides he can't ignore. Some things were made to be broken. TobiSaku

[Finished general fic list]

Hollow Point by Sariasprincy @sariasprincy Arms dealing is her trade, but young and in a man's world, it takes a criminal mastermind to play with the big dogs without getting bit. TobiSaku/ItaSaku. Crime!AU. Rated M for mentions of adult themes.

Where it Happened also by @sariasprincye He was the new head of Cardio and her new boss, and though she thought him a little full of himself, it seemed there was more to the famed Uchiha Itachi than he led on. Not that she could claim her life was that uncomplicated as well. ItaSaku. Modern AU. Grey's Anatomy AU. Rated M for mentions of adult themes.

Nightmare in Red by @sariasprincy Haruno Sakura used to think the eyes were the windows to the soul, but after witnessing the horrors of the Sharingan firsthand, she's convinced they are the doors. ItaSaku. Nonmass. Rated T

Blurred Lines by @sariasprincyHe was an international criminal. She was a federal agent. And she wanted nothing more than to arrest him - or shoot him - if only he would stop providing her leads to more desirable criminals first. MadaSaku. Rated T.

The Man in Black A man in black haunts her hospital. But what does he want and why is it that Sakura is the only one that can see him? ItaSaku. Modern Myth AU. Death AU

The Choices We Make by @sariasprincyHe was the Head of the Uchiha Clan and she the fearless discipline of the Hokage, but how the hell was she supposed to find the strength to tell him she was pregnant? MadaSaku. Rated M for mentions of adult themes.

halcyon days by jaylene @thefreckledone Sakura sees dead people. Well, two dead people to be exact. Everything changes. Sakura-centric. Indra/Sakura/Ashura.

hands like houses by @thefreckledone Sakura finds herself trapped in the past and discovers a new family along the way, however unwilling she may be. Time travel. Fix-it fic. Sakura-centric.

Borage by @thefreckledone Sakura is in search for answers. What she finds doesn't please her.

Forest Fire by Moor @kendochick-moor Mod AU. Sasu x Saku x Ita. A small spark can launch a forest fire.

Forest Fire II by Moor @kendochick-moor Sequel to "Forest Fire". University AU. Sasu X Saku X Ita. After Sasuke inexplicably broke up with her when he leaves for Oto, Sakura throws herself into her school and social life. Friends like Ino, and surprisingly Itachi, are there to help her along the way. Meanwhile another threat, in the form of unbalanced Uchiha Madara, stalks her, ever nearer.

Tipsy series by Moor @kendochick-moor Mod AU. MadaSaku. The 1-5 part of the "5 Drunkfics" prompts. (Rated 'M' for language & themes)

Akatsuki Sakura AU by moor DeiSaku, ItaSaku. Konoha-verse AU. Akatsuki Sakura AU. Raised by Uchiha Madara as part of the Akatsuki, Sakura is sent to infiltrate Konoha's ranks. Things become complicated when she is promoted to a team with one of Konoha's most well-respected ANBU captains, Uchiha Itachi.

Soulmates by Moor - KakaSaku. Age-swap AU. Based on the "Soulmates" prompt from the October 2015 tumblr KakaSaku fest. Kakashi has a reputation as an enfant terrible; at least, until Sakura sensei takes him under her wing. Rated M for later chapters.

Fancy Footwork by silverfootsteps @silverfootstepswrites For Sakura, there's always been dreary days of schoolwork and unreliable people. Who knew a clumsy womanizer, an accidental pervert, a soft-hearted glutton, and an incredibly sexy virgin would light her life up like this? A friendship founded on dancing and the strange threat that tied them all together: "Fiji". AU

Equinox by silverfootsteps Sakura is half-siren, half-human, and 100% unprepared for what waits for her when she moves to a little seaside town. A place where calling someone a monster always receives the answer: "….well, duh". Monster AU. Multisaku.

Lullaby by Silverfootsteps Sakura is part-siren, part-human, and learning how to deal with a nest of lovable dorks. But nothing seems impossible in the sleepy little town of Old Pines, where magic hangs heavy in the air and a certain werewolf has learned to stop pissing everywhere. Sort of. Sequel to Equinox. Monster AU. Polysaku af.

Butterfly by silverfootsteps After winning her first and only Olympic gold, Haruno Sakura shocks the world by announcing her retirement from skating. When she returns to her little hometown of Konoha, she finds that not much has changed. The same old temples, the same old persimmon trees. Resigned to a quiet life, she settles in for what she hopes will be an uneventful retirement. Skating AU. Itasaku.

Five Kingdoms for the Dead by Evil Is A Relative Term After the Forest of Death, Sakura comes to realize that being weak is no longer an option. However, she finds that change is sometimes painful and that truth doesn't always come easy. Luckily, she'll have some help along the way.

Vertigo by Cynchick Sakura accepts the most critical and dangerous mission of her life, but the price of success may very well be her soul. When your entire world turns upside down, how do you keep from going under? DeiSaku.

An Indispensable Assistant by TayMor Professional. Intelligent. Intuitive. Haruno Sakura is the assistant every boss wants. She is smart, she is capable, and she is experienced. Operating with her own hard and fast rules, Sakura has one, very important personal rule. Never fall in love with your boss. However, being indispensable to Uchiha Itachi will put that rule under heavy duress. AU.

The Third Chance by TayMor reviewsJust because he died didn't mean he got to stay dead. The Rikudo Sennin reincarnates Uchiha Madara as his 26 year old self and he begins his third life broken, humiliated and full of despair. But things change as Madara finds himself competing against Sasuke for the attention of Konoha's favorite medic... MadaSakuSasu Set after the final battle and during the blank period.

Rainy Days by Wynth It took her a while before Sakura was convinced that she was once again in her twelve year old body, but by that time it was too late. •Time-Travel / AU•

Consequences of Saving a Life by BelleDayNight reviewsAt the end of the war, Neji is revived by Sakura. She has saved his life, now she is responsible for it. The Hyuga clan leader covets the power that Naruto and Sakura could bring the clan with unions with Hinata and Neji. Can they survive the politics of the noble clan? Naruto trains with Sasuke and Hanabi for CPE while Sakura and Neji embark on a mission together for the Daimyo.

Take It or Leave It by kc-archive Akatsuki & Sakura. After a moment of shock, Sakura realized that two fully grown, fully naked men were sitting squished uncomfortably together in her bathtub. (dubcon warning)

Till Death Due Us Apart by SpeedDemon315 Ever since he was gone, she never was the same. The world was warm and cheery while she was cold and dreary. She thought there was no hope left for her…or was there? Oneshot, character death [SasorixSakura]

Bringing Back What's Dead by SpeedDemon315 Sequel to Till Death Due Us Apart. She made a promise to herself to discover a way to revive him and have him finally see his son. What happens when your greatest enemy from the past is the only one who can grant your fondest wish? SakuraxSasori

Time Flies Like An Arrow by katlou303 Sakura traveled back in time with the intent of changing everything, but something went wrong, and now she's a four-year-old civilian having nightmares about impossible monsters and losing friends she has yet to meet.

Uneasy coexistence by DeGlace One grinning shark–man. One pink–haired medic. Ankles. Teeth. Kisame x Sakura. Yes, you read that right.

The Art of War by leafygirl Entry for the LJ Kakasaku AU contest. Sakura gets stuck following her teacher after a bet with her friends. But his mysterious life is nothing she ever expected.

Vespertine by Cynchick Two enemies strike a bargain to save what they both hold dear. He will reveal a truth that shakes her beliefs, drawing her into a web of lies and betrayal. She will offer the redemption for which he never hoped and show him how to be human again. ItaSaku.

Caught and Set Loose by Celtic Oak AU. On a mission, Sakura and her companions find themselves in the custody of the wildest clan of the East Province. Forced to accept their hospitality and a redheaded escort, the medic must make the best of her situation, wherever it leads her. GaaSaku.

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captain-yeet · 4 years

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Strange, Sleepy Human (Felix Volturi x Reader One Shot)

Summary: You’d agreed to help your favourite giant vampire out with some research but sadly humans were never built to go without sleep for too long. An overtired human among never-sleeping vampires makes for an interesting night, cue said giant vampire’s reaction to your antics.

Word count: 1.26k

Warnings: Implied mutual feelings with pining. Other than that? Zero. Zilch. It’s Fluff!

This one is kinda inspired by my own over-tired antics as of late. I am terrible at sleeping at regular hours at the moment and anon requested Felix floof so LET THERE BE FLOOF.

You considered yourself a semi-avid reader. You didn’t mind curling up with a nice book for a couple of hours and losing yourself within the pages, absorbing the story of whatever you were reading at any particular moment.

So when Felix mentioned to you that his current task of researching other instances of half-vampire children being born you figured sure, why not? And so you made yourself at home on a big comfy chair in the library and read, book after book scouring for any snippet of information you could find mentioning the hybrid children up into the wee hours of the night.

Another bonus to agreeing to help Felix was also getting to spend time with him.

Letting out a yawn that slowly turned into a sigh, you squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to stave off the tiredness you could feel coming on. "Would you believe that while there are no instances of half-vampire babies being born recorded in this book, there's a lot of mentions of a group of succubi that live in North America."

Peering at you from his own book, Felix grinned. "You know it's actually a small group of female vampires that began that myth? We've had a couple run-ins with them."

You let out a scandalized gasp, the dramatic way you did so fueled by your oncoming insomnia. "No, really?"

He chuckled. "You'd be very surprised to learn just how many of your myths, local legends and such are based upon the antics of certain vampires."

You continued to read more books searching for knowledge. Page after page, the words began to warp before your tired eyes and slowly they changed from being eloquent pieces of history to jumbled garbage. Eyes growing heavier by the second, you let out another yawn, involuntarily slumping over the book you had in front of you.

A coldness arose on your forearm from something icy and firm touching it, making you let out a small whine in protest.

“Is someone ready for bed?” Felix's teasing voice made you lift your head. The sleepy lucid look in your eyes made the tall vampire bit his lip in an attempt to stifle a laugh.

“Make me,” you countered, followed by a fit of hysterical giggling. Oh yeah, I am so very tired.

The laugh he tried to hold back came out in a loud snort, out of character for the usually composed guard. “Come on Y/N, I can take it from here. You should get some rest.”

“But I was almost done with this book!” you whined as your head fell forward into the open book. “So very almost done...”

Felix had spent time around many humans in his past couple of centuries of living, but when you came to reside in Volterra his perspective of them grew even more as he began to notice little things about you. How you let out a raucous but pure laugh of happiness when someone would say something funny, how he’d walk past your room and he’d hear the soft sound fo you humming as you went about whatever business you were up to.

Additionally, having you around helped him brush up on the modern-day terms and slang. The other day the two of you were giving each other sass - Felix being the one to chastise you for sleeping most of the day away - and you had simply countered his argument with “It’s Saturday you old boomer, now let me sleep.”

You were confusing yet a breath of fresh air for him.

And now here you were, lucid and overtired, face pressed into your book. By the change in your breathing, he could tell you had begun to drift off.

“You truly are a strange little human,” Felix murmured, mostly to himself. He bent down and gently lifted you into his arms effortlessly. You stirred but you didn’t complain; to Felix’s surprise, you wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into the nape of his neck.

He could have easily used his enhanced speed to quickly drop you off in your bedroom and that was that, but instead, Felix opted to carry you back at a more leisurely pace. A part of him enjoyed this. He couldn’t remember the last time he had ever had to take care of someone like this; granted being in the Volturi and having a permanent position as both a guard and executioner doesn’t offer many opportunities to do so. Somehow, however, here you both were. Perhaps it was some of his old human emotions beginning to stir in him that made him enjoy the innocent yet intimate moment?

Whatever the reason, Felix couldn’t deny that he was enjoying this, too much than he should.

And unknowingly to him, you still barely clung to the threads of being awake and you were thoroughly enjoying being in the strong vampire’s arms.

From the day you first saw him, you’d developed an immediate crush. It didn’t help that Marcus himself had assigned Felix to be your own personal bodyguard while you resided within the walls of Volterra, for reasons you weren’t aware of. You were helpless. Whenever he was around you tried to control your erratic heartbeat thumping away both in want and in excitement; in your mind’s eye, he saw you as just his human ward and nothing more so you did your best to act natural.

Entering your bedroom, Felix carefully pulled the covers on your bed back while holding you still in his arms before laying you down. Now fast asleep, you let out a happy content sound and curled up against your pillow, hair now splayed across your face but it didn’t phase you. You wore a small smile on your lips.

A chuckle escaped him as he watched you get comfy. “Strange adorable little human,” he murmured, too low for your ears to pick up.

Hesitantly and with the lightest touch, Felix brushed back the stray hair that was in your face. Letting his fingers linger a moment on your cheek, you surprised him yet again when you let out another contented noise in your sleep. He took this moment to study your face more closely; every little detail, from how warm your skin was against his ice-cold fingertips to how your lips parted of their own accord as your face was smushed up against your pillow.

Marcus had told him of the ties you two shared; though on your first day with the coven they were faint but prominent enough for Marcus to notice and pull Felix aside and tell him. And as you two spent more time together, the strands grew thicker.

“She’ll quickly become an important part of your life, Felix,” the old vampire had told him, wearing a very faint but small smile on his lips; a rare sight that made Felix remember the moment vividly. “Do be sure you care for her not only because it’s your duty, but because it’s something you yourself wish to do even if you deny it now.”

His master’s words played in his head like a record at this moment as he watched you. He did try to deny the growing feelings that were more than just the steady relationship of two people that became friends, but now it seemed like a lost battle.

He cared, deeply.

Leaning down, he pressed a light kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well, Y/N,” he whispered, savoring the feeling of his lips against your skin.

And just within that little moment, unknowingly to you, Felix found himself wrapped around your finger and he knew it.

#this took a while to finish I apologise!#hope y'all like it #felix volturi #felix volturi x reader #volturi #the volturi #twilight saga #twilight saga fanfiction #my fics

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giftedclairvoyance · 3 years

Text

Lorraine/Ed (gift for you)

She is surrounded by darkness.

Lorraine blinks, and tries to get her eyes to focus, but the pitch black remains. Her muscles feel cramped, and when she tries to extend her legs, her feet hit something metal with a reverberating clanging noise. She tries to raise a hand in order to rub her temple, a strange ache running through her head, and realizes in an instant that her wrists are tightly bound, although she can’t see with what.

Memories slowly trickle in, replacing her confusion with fear when she begins to remember what has happened.

Three children had disappeared - a group of young boys who were best friends and enjoyed playing out in the forest. One of the parents had called her and Ed in desperation, clinging to a local myth about demons stealing children away amongst the trees. It had been several days already, and the police were shifting their search from a rescue to a recovery, although they were trying to be discreet about their declining hopes. It’s not a case that they would have normally taken, but one agonizing phone call from a mother missing her son made Lorraine and Ed look at each other and agree immediately, both thinking of Judy and what they would be willing to do to keep her safe.

Even so, Lorraine had not expected to actually sense anything as she walked through the forest, her rosary wrapped around her hand as she held it out, seeking anything unusual that her gift might show her. The police were stomping through the leaves behind her, with some disgruntled muttering and one or two mocking words. She knew they thought it was all a waste of time, but they were still wanting to search the area themselves, and had reluctantly agreed to allow her and Ed to join them for another sweep through.

Dusk was beginning to fall, and Lorraine had heard Ed’s voice rise in annoyance as he confronted one of the officers about what he was saying - Ed was always protective over people’s opinion of her, despite her being used to these judgments for her whole life. She had tuned it all out, continuing to walk deeper into the woods, when suddenly the connection had opened.

It wasn’t a demon, she could tell in an instant, but a human who was trying to work with dark forces that no person should be accessing. Lorraine could see the house clearly in her mind, a shining vision pointing the way to the children, and she had taken off in a sprint without another word, so focused on finding them that she didn’t even warn Ed or the police.

She doesn’t know how long she had run for, but the house emerged from the evening shadows like an ominous beacon. Perhaps it would have been wiser or safer to call for help, but Lorraine knew in her heart that the children were still alive and inside, and she had only hesitated for a slight moment before running to the back of the house, looking for a way in other than announcing herself through the front door. A window was ajar, and she had hoisted herself up onto the windowsill without a backwards glance, pulling it open enough for her to crawl inside.

The crying was obvious as soon as she was on the other side - soft sniffles that rose to a wail and back down again as another tiny voice made shushing noises. Lorraine had walked quietly through a sparsely furnished sitting room, following the noise to a large room which must have once been a dining room, but now had no furniture except for a large metal box in the middle of the room.

‘Hello?’ she had whispered, crouching down next to the box. ‘Peter? John? Michael? Are you in there?’

‘Hello?’ a small voice floated out of the box. ‘Are you here to rescue us? Can you help us before the witch gets back?’

There had been a large lock on the box, Lorraine can remember now. She remembers dashing back to the sitting room, looking around wildly for a moment before grabbing the fire iron, and then running directly back to the boys. She had smashed at the lock with all the strength she had, until it sprang apart and she could fling open the lid. She remembers three pale faces staring up at her from the depths, and how she had reached down to pull them out of the box and into her arms one by one.

She remembers the unholy screeching as the woman who had captured them stumbled into the room, her eyes burning in anger and her lips beginning to form some chant. The presence of evil had slithered into the room with her, and Lorraine had backed away, brandishing the fire iron as she pushed the children behind her and towards the open window.

‘RUN!’ she had screamed, hearing small feet dashing across the floor towards freedom. One of the boys tripped and fell for a moment, and she had half-turned to see if he was getting back up again. Her moment of distraction had cost her - she remembers a pain in her head, and then nothing beyond that point.

She shifts slightly now, raising her bound hands up until they hit a metal ceiling. She’s been locked in the same box the children had been in, and as claustrophobia begins to rise in her chest, she tries to breathe deeply. Her one solace is that the children are not in here with her, and she hopes desperately that they all managed to escape.

She’s not so sure how she’ll be able to save herself, but she closes her eyes and can hear Ed’s voice in her mind, telling her that she’ll be alright. He’ll find her.

- -

Lorraine has been missing for four hours.

There has been an icy grip of terror around Ed’s heart since the moment he realized she was missing; offset only by the anger he feels at himself for not paying closer attention to his wife. Earlier she had seemed confident enough that she wouldn’t sense anything, but that they had needed to try and help anyway. Ed had agreed - had willingly followed her on this case, but his guard was down. A young police officer had been mocking Lorraine’s gifts, and Ed allowed himself a moment to send some cutting words back at the man.

In doing so, he hadn’t seen Lorraine enter her vision, had lost her in the darkening forest.

There is a flurry of activity going on. The police have doubled in numbers and resources, now searching for ‘three missing boys and a woman’, as he hears the captain announce to the search parties. Ed stumbles along with the lead group, a police-issued flashlight gripped in his hand as he scours the trees, desperate to hear the sound of her voice calling out to him. It’s been four hours, and he doesn’t even know if she’s alive any more. He doesn’t know the fate of Lorraine or the boys, and it makes him feel sick.

Just then, there is a rustling from afar, and the police officer at the front of the group raises his hand, halting them all in their tracks. Several beams of light shine in the same direction, and then everyone is calling out.

‘Michael?’

‘Peter?’

‘John?’

‘Lorraine?’ Ed calls, moving forwards again. The rustling noise is louder now, and then three young boys burst through the bushes, one of them leaning heavily against another.

‘We have the boys!’ Someone yells out, and suddenly there is movement all around Ed as the search party surrounds the boys, holding the exhausted bodies upright and checking for injuries.

Ed pushes through the crowd, and kneels in front of the oldest boy, Peter.

‘Did you see a woman?’ he asks, his eyes searching Peter’s face for answers. ‘My wife Lorraine, she was looking for you.’

‘She saved us,’ Peter whispers, as a medic wraps a blanket around his shoulders. ‘But the witch got her. She’s at the house, I think.’

He points a finger back the way him and his friends had come, and Ed is off, running.

‘Follow him!’ he hears an officer bark, but he doesn’t care about backup right now. He just has to find her.

- -

Lorraine is determined not to die here in this box. Indeed, it’s a ridiculous notion - she refuses to leave Ed and Judy, and she refuses to be beaten by some woman dabbling in powers she shouldn’t be touching.

She’s spent the time productively as possible, moving around in the box until she is flat on her back, her feet, luckily not tied together, pressed into the floor firmly so that she can push herself up in a moment. Her knees brush the metal lid, but she’s become used to the enclosed space considering the hours that have passed, and she makes sure she tenses and relaxes her muscles enough that they won’t become too stiff if she needs to fight her way out.

Her rosary had still been wrapped around her hand when she was captured, and at some point, she must have clutched it so tightly that it’s drawn blood. She can feel the warm liquid trickle down her wrist, and she uses it to her advantage, grimacing at the pain as she works at the rope around her wrists, the blood making it easier for her to finally slip one hand free. Immediately, she flings the rope off to the side, and shakes her hands out.

It’s not much, but it’s all she can do for the moment. She’s tried pushing and kicking the lid, but it’s firmly locked again, and right now she can’t see another way to break free.

From outside the box, loud noises suddenly arise. There is yelling and chaos, and Lorraine can’t be sure what is happening. Have people arrived to rescue her? Has her captor brought reinforcements?

There is a bang against the side of the box, and she can’t help but jump slightly in fear. She thinks she can hear someone calling her name, but her head is still aching from where she was hit, and she’s tired and confused.

‘Ed?’ she whispers, and then there is light pouring into her face as the lid is raised.

Lorraine reacts with instinct, kicking both legs out and hitting someone firmly in the chest so that they fall backwards onto the floor with a loud grunt. She’s scrambling upright, half falling out of the metal box when a pair of arms wrap around her shoulders.

‘Lorraine, it’s me,’ Ed is saying, his hands gentle as he helps pull her fully out of the box. There is a surprised police officer sprawled on the floor, but she pays him no heed as she sinks into the arms of her husband, relief surging through her.

‘The boys?’ she asks hesitantly.

‘All safe. You saved them,’ Ed reassures her. ‘And the police have captured the woman.’

She wants to be strong, to let Ed see that she is fine and there is nothing to worry about, but her legs are betraying her, weak from being cramped for so long. He follows her down to the floor, still holding on to her shoulders as she rests more of her weight against him, exhaustion taking over.

‘We need a medic,’ Ed calls out, his voice tight with worry.

‘I’m fine,’ she protests quietly, her eyes slipping shut. She can feel the brush of his lips against her temple, next to the patch of dried blood from her wound, and then he kisses the fingers of her bloodied hand one by one, his breath warming them.

They separate only for the paramedics to help her to the ambulance, and then Ed holds her hand all the way to the hospital, refusing to be separated again.

#submission #yall #do yall see this perfection #imma post it so many times cause its so good

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moonbelt · 5 years

Text

»worth the wait

↳ soulmates au | somewhat bootleg coffeeshop au

pairing » jeon jungkook | reader

genre » soft angst + fluff + sexual themes

word count » 9.280

» on Earth V12 everyone is born with half of their emotions – the other half is safely kept within the soul of their soulmate. however, its been a few wee years and it’s safe to say that you don’t have one. or at least you dont think so. but the universe cant possibly hate you so much as to leave you without your emotions for the rest of your life, or can it?

authors note » yeah yeah, it’s been a while. but soulmate aus are literally the only thing that give me joy and hope about love so.... hope you enjoy it!

The doctor at the local health clinic tells you that there's no use in holding out for a soulmate. Giving up is the best way to ensure less heartbreak, she diagnosed. It’s much better that way.

You've already passed the age criteria to find one, she said. Typically, a year or two after nineteen is the maximum time it takes for you to find the one, she'd told you with a tone of neutral candor. Your doctor probably felt sad – pitiful almost, at that fact. But she was careful to not let it show. That although there was nothing biologically wrong with you, the hard-cold truth remains that you can't feel what she does, what other seven billion people in the world feel — emotions. Or at least a subset of them.

To emote, you believe, is a privilege that not everyone receives. However, history and biology books taught you, just like it did to everyone else on Earth V12, that once you came of age you earn that right. That once the universe believes you've merited it, you get to experience the wild, wide and boisterous range of emotions.

You've read about it. Oh, how much you've read. Huddled and bundled up in thousands of blankets on the window seat in your bedroom back at your family home. Even now in university, in between study breaks and long hours of researching on metaphysics. You read to feel but you don't know exactly what you should be feeling. You read to understand, to know the differences between being sad and being upset. Am I sad that the Universe has decided I'm not worthy of a soulmate? Or am I upset that I believe I need a soulmate to begin with? You don't know. Like a thousand other things that simply just do not make any sense.

They told you not to worry. After all, everyone has a soulmate. It's unfathomable to believe otherwise. That's just the way things are. The way things have always been. The beginning and the end.

You watched, a little wide-eyed, disoriented and mystified as your closest friend and associate, Taehyung, became a different person in the five seconds after he met his soulmate, Eden. It was like a dam had been bust open right before your very eyes. It's a little hard to explain, even now that it's been a couple of years, you'd never quite seen anything like it.

The books say that eons ago gods, back in the time when they walked amongst us, granted wishes. But they also took gifts away. And one day when a fight broke out between two demigod children which resulted in one of them dying, the Sun god came down from his place on high and decided with a few other gods that the human emotions within us — the ones that spark hate and contempt and love and weakness — were to blame. Emotions, the god argued, did not play into reasoning or knowledge. And hence they needed to be earned back. Or at the very least, we needed to recognize their value.

But he couldn't just hoist billions worth of people's emotions into thin air. Instead, what he stripped from one he placed in another. The very essence of soulmates. By splitting the emotions people carry and making them search for The One with their other half, the god decreed that he had made the most beautiful creation. The Sun god ruled this as a magnificent feat, tooting his own horn about his generosity to break humans apart.

To take something apart and then put it back together again, just as you found it — perfect in all its nature, is something you long for. Something you yearn to understand. How is it possible to place jagged pieces back together and get something so phenomenal in return? To get something whole?

To experience Love the way the novels and books you devour describe it. To feel that Sadness that can cause people to cry rivers. You want to know this whole other world that everyone seems to get but you. You have Apathy — loads of it. You understand what it's like to be Disinterested; very much so. Frightened and Scared, you know. However, Hope and Serenity, you do not.

It's a struggle because it makes you insensitive. You simply can't understand what others are going through if you've never had an inkling to what they feel. And you have no idea what to say to comfort them because everything you say comes out wrong, everything you try to emote comes out forced and makes you feel like a bad liar.

"I just don't get why anyone would do that, you know?" Taehyung sighs loudly and over-dramatically before he takes a sip of his macchiato. "Like I hate when people take my stuff without asking. It makes me absolutely livid."

Eden nods in agreement. "It's the principle of the thing."

"Exactly!" Taehyung cries out in joy of being understood. Of being related to. "I swear I can't wait to move out and get a place with you. Everyone in that frat drives me up the fucking wall."

An odd third-wheel is what you feel like. So out of place next to your friends that you've known for years. You don't quite get why Taehyung is so mad at his frat brothers for borrowing his stuff, typically if he told them not to, they wouldn't. That's just how communication works. But nah, Taehyung is livid. And Eden agrees. He’s been livid before too.

"You could always tell your roommate to not touch your stuff," you say, interrupting Eden and Taehyung as they throw around other instances when people took their shit without asking. "I would do that."

Taehyung rolls his eyes, not in a condescending way like the other people in your university, but it still very much rubs your spine the wrong way. "The thing is; I have told him. Repeatedly. He’s got like, I don’t know, cement filled in his ears or something. He never listens."

Every soulmate pair is different in their mannerisms and the way they flow into each other. For Taehyung and Eden, it's like they complement each other and always have to add on to what the other says. Like a sign that they are there, and they've got their back. You guess it's adorable, in the same way little cats pawing at your ankles is adorable.

"It's like common decency," Eden tries to explain, his mop of ashy-white hair haunting over his eyes. "People generally just don't like other people touching their shit without permission."

And see, this is where your problem lies. You understand the principle of the act; you understand why someone would get theoretically mad at it. It's an inconvenience at best and rude at worst. But is it worth getting absolutely angry over? You're not sure. You're not even sure how someone can get angry with it. That's the big distinction between the people with soulmates and the people without.

Taehyung looks at you with pity swimming in his light brown irises and smiles. But it's without humor, without the type of light he reserves for Eden, without feeling. "Oh, you just don't understand."

There was a time when you understood your friend and he understood you. There was a time that both of you scoffed at the imperfections of the soulmate enigmatic system. And for a moment it leaves you in a state of disarray with how far he has evolved from you. How different the two of you have become.

You spend the rest of the hour focused on your hot chocolate and reading your Mythology and Folklores That Absolutely, Factually, Most-Definitely Happened book. You leave Eden and Taehyung to discuss whatever it is they discuss about. You so clearly can't simply understand what they go through, it makes no sense to dawdle in their conversations then.

It's the last week before the university closes for winter break but the snow has been piling up for months now. Hanging out at cafes felt like a good idea at the time, what's not to like about baked goods and the smell of heady caffeine? But now you wish you'd never come at all. Or at the very least, that you'd come alone.

So, when Taehyung and Eden start packing up – they have work to get to – you don't budge. You look them in the eye and tell them that spending a few more hours in the cafe sounds like something you're craving. It's been a while since you left your apartment for something other than school and volunteering.

Taehyung scrunches his nose and pouts his lips. "You're coming out to the party tonight though, right? It's the last one before break and it's time you had some fun. Today is your birthday, after all. Maybe you'll find—"

Before he can finish that sentence, you force a grin onto your face and a pep into your voice to try and drag him off that course. You're desperately tired of remembering your own birthday. Nothing good ever comes out of it. And you doubt the ripe old age of twenty-one would do anything different. "Don't worry, I'll be there. Your fraternity is the one hosting, yes?"

He nods his head as he slings his messenger bag across his shoulder. "Yeah. Don't be late, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you guys then." You long for them to go already and leave you to your lonesome. You have a very interesting book to get back to. "Bye Eden, have fun in the studio." You wave them off on their way out and hope to the gods that they do not drag this outing any longer.

Once they are gone and the chatter around you falls into a nice subliminal background noise, you peel open the pages of the myth and folklore book and begin to read again.

Ah, yes, the Sun god. The creator of soulmates and the one that cursed all humanity. You wonder now if the god regrets his decision. What about the people like you? The ones that seemingly never find that other half. Are you just supposed to swagger through life with one leg oddly bent? Did the god merely not give a flying crow-shit? How come it was so easy for Eden and Taehyung to find each other whereas it's become exponentially hard for you? Are you not worthy of your own emotions? Are you not worthy to experience that all-encompassing love? Is it simply just an haute club that you could never even dream of barging into?

You sigh and lean back in your chair. The book gives you more questions than it does answers. In fact, it barely gives you any solutions. All it does is relay what happened ages upon ages ago in hopes you will understand. But you don't. These days it feels like you don't understand a thing.

You were meant to have found your half exactly three years ago and nothing of that sort has even thought of happening. Sometimes you feel little bursts, like your half was feeling so much intense emotions that it filtered through the cracks into your side. But nothing to write home about. It leaves you with a lingering sense of hoping for something… more.

Maybe it's because you're not paying attention — after all, you're too busy lamenting on your disproportionate life — that you don't notice the chime of the bell as the café door is pulled open. You don't notice the swells of oohs and ahhs that erupt from the shops teenage companions like they've witnessed the second coming of a god, or better yet some YouStreamer.

You do not notice the slow, creeping feeling of madness that is seeping into your bones. No, you could never notice that when it feels one and a part of you. You don't notice anything really, not until a voice above you lets out a sound of admiration and awe all laced into one exhale.

"Oh," the voice says. "That's a good book."

Your body isn't made to be twisted around but you do it anyway. Testing the limits of how far it will go. And when you crash into deep, soulful brown eyes that look to you like they hold all of the world's greatest mysteries, you freeze. And even though you know time is a theoretical construct and there's no way to actually stop the passing of it, you believe that in this tiny secluded café, time with all its boundaries, halts.

Academically, you know this isn't true. The world still turns, and as much as you wish it, it does not revolve around you. The snow still falls softly to the ground outside, the graceful music pumping through the coffeeshop's stereo is still playing. Nothing truly stops, but something inside of you does.

It takes all you can give to break forth from the haze cast upon you to speak. Speak, dammit! But you're in awe, mesmerized by a sight you've never sensed so well before. You've met countless people, some conventionally attractive, others more idiosyncratically beautiful but none have made you feel like this.

Taehyung describes attraction as something that is either there or it is not. The books describe attraction as a feeling that can make you desire somebody. You've never felt attraction, not like this. You've felt the vague need to be intimate with another but never like this. Like you crave something – someone – you don’t even know.

The person is tall with hard, crystal cut angles and visible confidence. It's with the way he holds himself like he knows his place in the world. Like he never has to question it. It draws you in. Makes you examine him thoroughly from the tip of his fluffy black hair to the heel of his patent leather boots.

He cocks an eyebrow and for a shy of a second, you are highly embarrassed by the fact that you've spent gods-knows how many moments just ogling him. You never ogle. You've quite literally never ogled in your life… until now that is.

You clear your throat and attempt to come off as blasé. Which is hard considering the awkward positioning of your body and the rigorous pounding of your heart in its cage. "It's not a good book. It's a great one. Probably why I read it so much."

"Debating the existence of the old gods, are we?" His voice is laced intrinsically with mirth and amusement.

"More like debating the existence of my life, really."

He chuckles, a sound that fills all the jagged crevices of your soul and body. He moves and you do the same, shifting from your oddly angled position to look at him better. You don't really know how to explain it, this feeling coursing through your veins. Like you know everything there is to know about him, even though you clearly have never met him before.

You clear your throat and will your mind to stop. This is honestly atrocious, outrageous and, frankly disconcerting. It feels like some random spaz has possessed your body and is making you mewl and purr like some damn cat on the street.

"I'm Jungkook, by the way," he finally says when you find the courage to look back up at him. You respond with your name, pronouncing the syllables clear enough so that he doesn't mess it up. But he gets it. And then he tries the name aloud, twisting it around on his tongue. "It is a good day to question our existence, isn't it, __?"

You smile up at him, a different smile from the one you gave Taehyung and Eden earlier. This one comes easily, and it tilts the corners of your lips without feeling faux and fraud-like. You don't even have to try.

"Depends," you say. "Do you consider a cold as shit day in the middle of Winter to be a good day?"

The tips of his lips upturn into an uncanny lopsided grin. One that feels like he's withholding more than he lets on. "A little."

The line in front of him moves and you find yourself watching the way his body propels forward almost gracefully to order a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and extra salted caramel drizzle. It's then that you turn your head back to your table and busy yourself with fiddling with your fingers.

You feel something nudging your chest as if begging you to listen for a hiss in the wind – of a window or door being carefully opened. But you push that away. You have no idea what it means. And now, you're too busy focused with reeling your cheeks back to a substandard level of hot. You're not sure why basic communication with this dude has you channeling the same emotes as one of the schoolgirl children in the movies you watched when you were younger. You're an adult for seven heaven's sake. You are better than this!

Your cheeks and your ears do not agree. Instead, they inflame themselves hotter than ever. What is it about Jungkook that has you willing to sell a piece of your soul just to talk to him? You've never felt like this. Like nothing you say could surprise him, mind the fact that you just met him.

This time you are aware when he strides over to the seat that had Taehyung had previously occupied. You look up at him, into those deep russet eyes that hold flecks of something so beautiful and then you feel it. The magnetic pull of someone enigmatic. Someone that holds simply more. Maybe not for others, but to you.

His backpack loosens around his shoulders and his veiny hands clutch the Styrofoam cup with an ardent need as he speaks. "Would you mind if I sit here?"

Normally you would be repulsed by the question. What would ever possess someone that you don't know to act so familiar? But you don’t think as you motion for him to take it. After all, it wouldn’t feel right to just send him away. There’s a thin thread tangling and stretching between the two of you and you would be damned if you cut it on your own accord.

Jungkook finds himself lowering his body nimbly into the chair in front of you. And then you find yourself discussing more with Jungkook than you’ve spoken with anyone else in years. It feels relaxing — freeing. But also like a cruel joke from the Sun god. Here’s someone that makes you feel somewhat whole but there’s no indication that the two of you are even meant to be. How sad.

He talks as if his mind has no filters; effortlessly switching between topics. Do you play any sports? Piano is about as rigorous an exercise as you can handle and Jungkook laughs as he tells you that he’s Vice-Captain of the Baseball team, although now they’re not participating in any tournaments. The air in your lungs turns frigid when you ask if he attends the same university as you and then the air is goddamn stolen from your lungs when he responds with a yes.

“No way,” you cry. “I would have seen you on campus.”

Jungkook sends you a lazy grin. “You would’ve but I doubt you take your head out of your books often.”

You concede. “Okay… maybe a little. But still, isn’t our school defending champions or something? I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of the team doing well before, just not you in particular.”

“Ah, I get it. I’m not popular enough.” He jokes. “Perhaps I need to print out a flyer of my face and paste it around school?”

“That’d be fun. There’s no way I’d miss you then.”

He laughs, a loud sound that expands the more seconds pass. He laughs as though you’re the funniest person in the room, which you doubt. But you laugh along too.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Jungkook asks.

“Other than the obvious reading and playing the piano?” You tilt your head to the side and scratch the nape of your neck before you continue on. “Well, I’m studying Metaphysics and researching the fundamentals of soulmates. Why some find theirs and why others don’t.”

“That’s fun?”

You shrug, a small smile playing on your lips, but you refuse to apologize for your interests. “To me. I guess it just helps me understand.”

Jungkook seems to soak in your answer, his eyes drifting from your eyes to the top of your head, down to your gray turtleneck and glitzy star-shaped earrings. And you take your time to truly examine his face. How perfectly in line his nose is with the rest of his bone structure. How perfectly his jaw and cheekbones accentuate his physical beauty. And how for some reason he reminds you of what you believe the children of gods looked back when demigods were a thing. His face makes you think regal and heavenly all at once.

“What’s your theory?” Jungkook finally breaks you out of your ogle match.

“My what?”

“Theory,” he repeats. “On why some find their other half and others don’t.”

You bite your lip. Not sure if what you say might offend him. There’s no sign that he has found his soulmate or not and you don’t want to be increasingly insensitive. You do not want to hear another ‘Oh, you just don’t understand.’ Especially not out of his lips. You reckon you won’t be able to bear it. At least not today.

“It’s simple, I guess. It all boils down to has the person merited it? Earned it? The Sun god split us apart because he believed we needed to find the value in our feelings. I guess the ones without soulmates simply haven’t attained that understanding yet.”

Jungkook frowns and your heart thrusts itself into a deep panic. See, now you’ve gone and done it. This is why you hate talking, hate speaking. You ruin people’s moods (much like you do your own) without a second thought and honestly, now that you think about it. This must be why you have yet to find your one. You barely understand the emotions you do have; how can you possibly comprehend others?

After a minute or maybe three, Jungkook takes a big sip out of his drink before he focuses his attention back on you and you feel yourself burning. A light excavating through the muggy mess that is your mind.

“Have you merited it? The other half of your feelings, I mean.”

Is he asking you if you’ve found your soulmate?

“No. Not yet.”

“Oh.” Is all he says but you hear the unsaid meanings. “Personally, I think the god did something terrible by rupturing us apart. What good has it really done anyone?”

You don’t answer. Not only because you don’t have a good response but also because the topic of soulmates has you on edge already. Someone like Jungkook obviously has all his emotions and has found his half, you think. You doubt the two of you are even on the same wavelength on the matter. So, instead of answering you change the direction of the conversation to him and his collegiate baseball career.

And everything after that clusters into a ball of yeses. When he asks you for your number, when he asks you if you’ve heard of Beta Tau Sigma, and subsequently when he invites you to Beta Tau Sigma’s end of the year party later today even though you already promised Taehyung you’d be there.

Suddenly, you wonder if Jungkook and Taehyung are friends, you guess they should be since they are frat brothers, but he never mentioned his name before. So now you wonder if Taehyung has separate friendship circles for those with and without soulmates. You don’t get mad or angry at the thought. But your mood dampens anyway.

“Wanna know what I think?” Jungkook speaks up just as the two of you are packing your stuff from the table. He doesn’t wait for you to say yes; he presses on almost immediately. “There’s no time limit on soulmates. And to believe so is to believe there’s a time limit on life itself. Our whole lives we’ve been told that the old gods exist and that the old gods did this and that and blah, blah, blah. But then they tell us that if we don’t find our other half by eighteen, better yet seventeen, there’s something wrong with us?”

Jungkook laughs but there’s not a shred of sparkle in it. “Us… the people born out of the happenings of gods? Okay, riddle me this. If we are so clinically incapable of finding our soulmates, then why do we long for them anyways? Why would there be pieces of my very soul that feel so incomplete?”

You’re dumbstruck by him. And again, you feel the little tilt in the wind that sounds to your ears like someone is knocking on a door that you can't see. But this time even though you do not have an answer for him, you force yourself to spit something out.

“If I were to find my soulmate this very second, I’d believe you.”

He smiles down at you, the one where his eyes fold into deep crescent moons and again you think that he’s holding out on you. Holding onto a secret that only he knows. “Won't that be amazing.”

The day goes by without you paying attention to much else. You meet with your philosophy professor on the advancement of your thesis paper even though you have no idea what you want to base the paper on. Almost every relation between soulmates and reality has been explored and at times you find that your professor and you clash on too many issues. You grunt through the meeting, walking on thousands of eggshells before you finally head back to your apartment but once you put your feet up on the couch, you get a text from Taehyung.

TAE » Remember, you promised!!

You » ...

TAE » Don't tell me you've forgotten Beta Tau's party slash your birthday bash? You promised!!! People might start thinking I made you up L

Although you know deep in the deepest crevice of your heart that Taehyung doesn’t mean anything harmful by his statement, it makes you squeamish.

You » What's that supposed to mean? Now I'm the token soulmate-less? Bragging about all my deficiencies to your fraternity brothers that I've never met? Be my guest.

TAE » Oh fuck. You know that's not what I meant __. I'd never do that. I didn't mean for it to come off that way.

But it did.

And you’re not sure where this surge of despondency is coming from. Almost like a switch in your psyche has been flipped. Some part of you acknowledges that earlier today, you would not have read that message as anything but harmless. But the situation has changed. It’s like your body is thrumming with unshed resentment. Resentment at who? You don’t know but Taehyung seems to be on the receiving end of it.

It’s this feeling of deep antipathy that propels you into getting dressed for the damn party. Not the fact that it is your birthday, not the fact that there is a slight possibility of finding your soulmate at the wretched place. No. You get dressed because there would be free booze and people stupid enough to pick a fight with you in your current state. Well, maybe not a real fight. But there’s a thrumming in your veins and you don’t know how to curb it. You’ve never felt anything akin to it before. Oh, and maybe the small huge chance that you’ll see Jungkook again.

By the time you get to the Beta Tau Sigma house lined up on Greek Row you are quite literally ready to burst at the seams. The weather is cold as fucking shit and although it stopped lightly snowing, the breeze has you tightening your hold on your navy jacket. What is up with everyone today and being a major dick to you? First, it was your professor, and then it was your neighbor that stopped you on your way out of your apartment to pity the fact that you hadn’t found someone on your twenty-first birthday.

Fuck off, you almost screamed at her. Leave me the fuck alone and go shag your boyfriend in the back of his termite-ridden Honda!

But you’d smiled through it, bearing the stinging of your cheeks as you stretched them past your limit and fisted your palms so hard that you created crescent shapes into your flesh.

And gods, you’re tired of smiling through it. Tired of being told that you’re not allowed to feel anything other than your predisposed emotes. Exhausted with having to always be passive. Nothing is supposed to hurt you. At least not emotionally. But you feel a swelling in your chest like your heart is about ten beats away from finally asphyxiating itself.

You push through the frat house and find Taehyung almost immediately. And you watch with a hint of simmering hatred as he cracks joke after joke and his brothers and friends laugh and you feel more and more isolated between their world and yours. And then the hatred comes to a boiling point when you catch two lovebirds giggling and making out on the sofa next your foot.

You blink and blink and blink again. Coming here was a bad idea. To be surrounded so much by the one thing you desperately want but can't have. The irritation and animosity that’s been brewing within you transforms into something more solemn. Dimming itself down to a feeling of major disappointment. At yourself, at the world, at the cursed Sun god.

The second you're about to pivot the fuck out of there, a pair of eyes to the side of the room fixes on you and you are stunned into a halt.

His eyes say a thousand things at once and you hear it deep in your soul. His eyes rake over your entire body as if looking for the source of your imminent distress but when he comes up short, his pretty lips squeeze together and form words that you suddenly want to be etched onto your very being.

“You okay?”

No one – and you mean this without irony – has ever asked you that in all seriousness. Not your parents, not your friends, and certainly not you. Your parents try, you guess, they know how hard it is to not have a soulmate, but they found each other early and never had to question themselves. Never had to question the essence of their souls.

And that’s when you feel it; a quiver in your lips. You open your mouth in an attempt to say something – anything – but nothing comes out and you close it, only to repeat the motion with no improvement.

Jungkook crosses the room in long strides and before you know it, he is everywhere around you. All black. Black tee-shirt, black cargo pants, black sneakers. You didn’t realize how big he was before but now that you have, you can un-see it. Lean and lithe but strong and sturdy. A walking contradiction. Especially with the light shining from his eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks as he puts his hands on your shoulders and centers you.

You hate, absolutely despise, how watery your voice sounds when you say “Nothing. This party is just so lame that I’m feeling a little off.”

The both of you know how bad your lie is but for some reason, he rolls with it. “Yeah? I was thinking the same thing actually. This has to be the worst thing Tae has ever put on and to think he said it’s supposed to be a birthday party. I could do much better.”

And now you feel utterly terrible. You’d been so ready to rip Taehyung a new one, assumed his prejudice against you for what? Awful. You’re so awful as a person that of course, you haven’t earned the right to find the other half of your emotions. Of-fucking-course.

You’ve never felt so out of your own body before. Who is this impostor that has possessed you and when can you get your body and appropriate feelings back? You need it back before you completely annihilate all your relationships.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually act like this.”

“Why are you sorry?” He seems genuinely confused.

“I… You probably wanted to have fun with your brothers and all. And here I am just – “

Jungkook squeezes your shoulders hard which forces you to raise your attention from staring at your shoes to gazing at his face. It’s a much-needed distraction from the wobble in your voice and the feeling of cotton in your throat.

“You need some fresh air?” He poses his statement as a question, but you don’t really have a choice in the matter anyway because he slides his warm fingers into yours and although you feel a momentous spark, you let him drag you through the house.

Taehyung notices you then and begins to rush towards you. Perhaps he’s glad that you still came out tonight even though you had a fight with him earlier. Perhaps he’s relieved that you don’t utterly hate him. But you attempt to give him a watery smile that is both apologetic and reassuring, but his eyes fly down to you and Jungkook’s conjoined hands and he pauses.

And it’s not the smile he usually gives you. No. This one closely resembles the ones he reserves for Eden. Like maybe you’ve found your sanctuary. Maybe you’ve come to finally understand.

You scoff at the thought just as Jungkook snatches two Margarita cans from a cooler and pulls you up the stairs and through a hallway that leads to a balcony. When you're outside, he motions for you to take a seat on one of few white benches. Without saying a word, he passes a can to you. You clasp the cold drink between your fingers and revel in the iciness sipping through your flesh.

You've never experienced this feeling of tranquility meshed with a creeping sense of foolhardiness with another person in your life. And you're struggling with how to process it.

“Wanna talk about it?” Jungkook finally breaks the silence, sitting right beside you. The warmth emanating from his body warms you down to your toes and you revel in it.

No. Yes. Fuck. “I don’t know. I’m just being stupid, and it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“I know you're not stupid and it does matter. It matters a lot.”

Great, you think. One more person in the grand universe that you're destined to disappoint. You sigh and stare out at the starless sky. You always hold your feelings in check and rigorously work to not let the few emotions you do have to get the best of you. To not cloud your judgment. But during the course of this whole day, you’ve felt like you're on a ledge. On the precipice between falling and drowning. Like your mind is waging a war against itself.

You are not a crybaby. But even as you think this, you feel wetness at your eyeballs and a stinging in your cheeks, and you blink and blink to try and push it away. But it feels like your body is burning with never before experienced sensations and it scares you. You open your mouth and the choking feeling from before returns, it muddles everything else and you panic. You refuse to cry in front of Jungkook. Not now when you feel so downright weak.

“P-pieces of my –” Against your will your voice cracks. “Pieces of my very soul are so incomplete.”

The corners of your eyes fill up more with tears that you desperately do not want to shed. And it takes everything in you to not raise your hand to swipe the madness away.

Stop! Stop, goddammit! Stop this very instant! You’re above this. Better than this. You didn’t cry when the doctor told you that there was nothing biologically wrong with you, you didn’t cry when your group friends slowly diminished as they found oneness with their partners and others more attuned to them. You didn't cry then, so why are you on the verge of it now of all times and days?

And even though you're trying your damn hardest to not have a full-on breakdown, you feel your body heave and then sniffle. Gods this is so embarrassing. You turn your face away from the sky and instead focus it on the cold can in between your fingers.

You pushed away your feelings until they were stuffed in the darkest parts of your mind and now it seems, they are breaking out without a care in the world about the consequences.

“Remember I told you that my theory has to do with some of us earning the privilege of someone else? I haven't earned it. Heck, I haven't earned anything. I'm passive. I try not to be but investing myself into others has never worked in my favor. All the emotions I do have feel so negative that when I'm around people I can't help but not connect. Because I don't understand half of what they are saying or feeling, and I hate it. I hate it so much.”

You're a piece of work, __, your ex-partners had said. You've dated around before; scavenging for love in uncanny, dim places with people destined to be with others until they finally realized that you were not theirs.

Because everyone eventually did. Realize the oddity of not being empathic. There's something defective about you. You can't seem to find anyone willing to be around you for two weeks talk less of forever. But everyone you'd been with magically happened to find theirs. The stars seem to gravitate away from you like you exude such a power that is so repulsive.

And it hurts. It hurts so fucking much. Like hot coal sliding down your spine and marring flesh. But you can't stop your mouth from speaking, the words tearing the edges of your lips with each choked up sound you exhale. "A part of me doesn't care if I don't have a soulmate, I mean, my life shouldn't be dictated by whether or not I have someone tied to my arm. But the other half of me desperately wants it. I get this ridiculous chasm of sadness when I think about every emotion that I can't experience because I'm not worth it. I've never been worth it."

Your throat is burning. Your eyes are burning. Every part of your body is aching madly but Jungkook doesn't say a thing. Your chest begins the act of carving in on itself and if you didn't know any better you would reckon that your heart is cracking into two halves.

Gods, this is pathetic. You feel so pathetic. All your life you've never felt like the world had conspired against you until this very moment. Like the Sun god had taken a special hatred on you and dumped all these folds of resentment into your soul. You wanted to claw it out.

And for some reason you will never understand, you keep going. As if the cracking of your voice and the upheaval of your shoulders wasn't enough, actual tears started to slip and slide down your cheeks.

“Why the fuck does our society bank on soulmates anyways? What's so great about them that everyone acts like if you don't have one you've been done a great disservice? Why me?" A whole bunch of unfiltered anger bursts inside you and propels you from the bench and a graver sniff infiltrates your voice. "Seven billion people on Earth V12 and you would think that I would be able to find someone in this mess of a world but no. I've wasted twenty-one years of my life without knowing anything. Without feeling anything. I can't do it anymore. I don't want to do it anymore. I want to feel something. Anything. I'm tired of being like –”

Oh, seven hells, you feel like you are dying. Decomposing to dust on the balcony of a fraternity house in the middle of winter in your favorite jeans and so-so high-tops.

It feels like every section of your body is withering away. Rotting. Falling apart and there's nothing you can do to stop the trajectory. Tears pool beneath your chin before they cascade into the neck of your shirt. Your lips quiver so badly you're afraid they might never be the same. If this is what sorrow feels like you hope you never experience it again. It makes you feel gutted.

Your vision becomes so blurry that you can barely make out the dark sky in front of you. Can barely even think. And try as you might, the tears just keep rolling.

You’re not sure of when Jungkook stands up but you feel him wrap his arms around you – tentatively, all-encompassing and fully, and rest his chin on the side of your head. He doesn’t say a word, and maybe it’s because he doesn’t need to. You feel him. The budge on the window sill that leads to your soul. You feel him there. But you want him to let go. There are certain things you acutely feel like you do not deserve, and he is one of them.

“Let me go,” your voice sounds like two trains grinding against each other and it makes you pull away from his embrace. But Jungkook’s arms stretch around your torso.

“No.” Is the soft reply that weighs on your ears. His body is warmer than you want it to be because it's making you feel at home.

“I –”

“It’s okay. You can let it out.” In some kind of way, he feels even closer than before. Like he's impressing himself into your lungs. Like he's giving you the very air that you so desperately need to breathe. Like he's forcing you to bloom and he doesn't care if he has to be the one that solely weeds away at all the nonsensicalities in your chest to make sure it happens.

And maybe some part of him just knows that a part of you is desperate to run away from the unknown because he hugs you harder, tighter, and firmer. So much so that now you can't breathe for different reasons. You don’t know what to do so you let him.

“You don’t need to prove your worth to anyone. Not me, not the gods… no one. And –” You make a move to interrupt him but Jungkook cuts himself off. “Do you feel it?” He asks with his torso pressed against yours and your heart syncing along with his.

“Feel what?” You croak out.

“I can't explain it, that’s why I need you to feel it. It’s every around us you have to, I don’t know, listen.”

You don’t want to, but you do it. You squeeze your eyes shut and wrap your fingers around the Jungkook’s shirt and wait. You wait for the madness in your mind to calm down. You wait for the apprehension in your heart to subside. But nothing happens and you feel worse than before.

“Jungkook,” you start.

“Don’t.” You swear you hear a slight tear in his voice. “Just listen.”

Listen, he says, but what are you even listening for? Here you are, miserable than ever and being told to listen. To the universe? Or listen for that goddamn hiss in the wind again? But all you hear is the sniffles that your chest is releasing and the slight exhale of Jungkook’s hot breath against your cheek. And you don’t know how to explain it. But it is then when you are doubtful and least expect to hear – talk less of feeling anything, that you identify it.

And it’s a beautiful thing. Like two halves of a comet melding into each other to crest a dynamic explosion into your very being. Something that lifts the burden weighing down on your heart and helps you to finally breathe. Breathing in through your nose feels better. Feels easier.

The thread you’d felt before in your mind that had been so tangled and messed up that you could barely discern what it was suddenly fizzled, expanded and stretched out and when you feel for the force at the other end of the cord and come in contact with an aura that reminds you so much of the person in front of you, you are shocked. Better yet, surprised.

You don’t know to explain it. Heck, you’ve never experienced such a colorful array of emotions in your life that for a minute or maybe three, it leaves you dazed and disoriented. It feels like your body is in a vacuum and is receiving dangerous sensations at the speed of light.

It’s burning. Oh, how it's burning. It’s burning through every fiber of your existence but unlike before, this burn doesn’t make you want to choke up and die. Instead, it revitalizes you.

“Do you feel it?” Jungkook asks again.

This time you have an answer that you don’t have to scour for.

“I feel it. I feel it so much. I feel it everywhere. I –” you don’t know whether to cry even harder or laugh at the oddity of the situation and that leaves you in an awkward limbo of both. “Oh, gods. It’s you.”

All the haphazard sensations you’ve been feeling all day. The anger – no lividness –at your neighbor, the overwhelming sadness, the uncharted pettiness at Taehyung with a bare minimum reason to be. It all finally starts to make sense. Everything – or at least, all of that – happened after you’d met him. After you’d been exposed to someone akin to a livewire.

This is nothing like the books said. You’d gone your whole life thinking, believing, that when you met your other half, you’d instantaneously know. Like the skies would crack open and some kind of bell would resound. Now you realize how ridiculously absurd that would be, but it had made sense at the time.

Words lose their meaning in an effort to explain what you feel. Your body is being put back together again. Pieces that you hadn’t realized were even missing suddenly fit into each other. You welcome the tingling in your veins and instead of ignoring the sparks igniting beneath your bones, you embrace it. And oh, it is magnificent.

In this loud, beer-infested fraternity house with slovenly college students pushing against each other downstairs and on the day you turn a striking twenty-one, you find someone that the history and biology and mythology books could have never predicted.

Jungkook’s voice is much softer than before. Is that possible? But it is. And he holds you tighter, holding you like you’re unbreakable.

“To me, you're the moon, the sun – the whole fucking galaxy. I’ve always known you existed, and I’ve waited to find you for a long time. I carried your half with me for so long, how could I not? In the depths of my mind and when I really concentrated about it, I could feel you. Somewhere close but sometimes distant. I held out for you… always. So, you’ll forever be worth it. And you don’t need to earn me, you already have me. You’ve always had me.”

The stain of his words etches itself onto your soul and becomes a part and parcel of you. They quiet the chatter of your heart and bring subliminal teardrops to the crooks of your eyes but this time you don’t mind it. How could you ever mind it?

“So, you’ve always known then?” You don’t sniffle or sob and your voice doesn’t pathetically crack. Instead, you maneuver your face away from his chest so you can see his eyes. In the process, your bodies disentangle and you miss his warmth but this is really happening. And you’re desperate.

He smiles. It's blinding in its glory and it blitzes straight into your core. “Always. It's destiny; you and me.”

You and him. Him and you. You like the sound of that.

“Even though we had to wait for so long.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes like he’s tired of you thinking about time as some enormous continuum rather than the now. “We have the rest of our lives to be together. I don’t think knowing you a bit earlier would change that. It is what it is. And even if I had to wait five years, fuck, even ten. I wouldn’t give up. Not on you, __. Not on my other half.” He spits the last words out so vehemently you don’t have the audacity to doubt it. “What we have is more sacred than anything in the world. I’d be stupid to let that go without trying.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“And you’re not unloved by anyone in this world so stop thinking that.”

“I was not –”

He sends you an exasperated look, one that you immediately identify because the bond the two of you have defies all logic. One that says that he knows you. He knows that the tears that sprung to your eyes earlier were not simply because you were overwhelmed by everything in the universe but also because you felt like you had lucked out of the love train. Watching your friends find havens with their other halves and seeing that couple giggle on the couch like it was the end of high school all over again, it made you feel desolate. And Jungkook felt that. Somehow in some way, he knew.

“I love you. I’ve only met you and I know that much. So, what about your friends? Your family? They love you too albeit in different ways than what I'm feeling. But no matter how much the Sun god split us apart, I, you – we – have always known that we were made for each other. So, yes. I love you.”

You’re pretty sure your mind all but blows up into a tiny clusterfuck of a mass because you can’t even hear what Jungkook says next. You’re hyper fixated on what he had just said. He loves you? How does he even know that? What was this? Had your brain and ears finally imploded on themselves? Was this alternate reality?

“Do you need me to repeat it?”

What? Huh? What?

“I don’t know what to call it. Maybe love at first sight?” He carries on like you’re not having a self-induced heart attack right before his eyes. “Never believed in that before but then I saw you and gods, you’re the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my life. I sure hope when you saw me it was the same because I have no idea how to describe what you do to me.”

But you understand what he’s saying because you did feel it. You felt so much when you first looked at him and you still feel it now.

“Like everything suddenly made sense. The whole craze about finding soulmates finally made fucking sense. I finally understood.”

You blink and blink so fast that you fear your eyelids might not keep up with the action. You never thought your other half would be a huge, spectacular talker and that they would know just how to steal the breath from your lungs away. But Jungkook knows. You're finding a lot of new things this night and one of them is that Jungkook is a hopeful romantic. It almost makes your body bring on another set of waterworks.

“I love you.” He says the soul-breaking words again. “And I already know that love is malleable but what I feel in my bones is for forever.”

In your bones, transformed out of what had laid dormant you felt Love. All around you love. Like you could mess up, you could do the oddest thing in the universe and the love would still be there. You want to shout it out. For the first time in your little life, you feel love and you want it always. And you want to give it always.

And you don’t know how you know but you know that he’s about to kiss you. Oh, gods. He’s about to kiss you right after –

“I love you too.” You hurl out fast enough and it slows down Jungkook’s advancement towards you. “And I have no idea what I'm doing but I'll do it with you. I don’t trust just anyone but what we have is bigger than trust. Like you said, it’s life itself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I would wait forever for you too.”

“I know,” he says and you don’t run away when he steps closer to your body. And his fingers reach for a set of yours. You raise your free hand to his chest and feel the rapid, erratic beating of his heart in its cage.

“And I've never done this before. But I'll do my best I –”

“We don’t graded,” he cuts you off with a laugh. “And I know.”

He knows.

His free hand cups your cheek and you almost hyperventilate. Almost. But you’d rather die than miss this. So, you take deep, long breaths that inflate your system with the mix of sandalwood, earth, and hope. And then his lips press onto yours and give you a happy death. His lips crush yours with a force reserved for rocks and specks of dust breaking away from comets. His kiss wakes you up. And you love it.

Before you can even push further, his lips move to the side of your cheek, barely-there before it cascades to the other. And then his mouth is on your brow bone, a light presence that feels heavenly beautiful and nerve-wracking all at once before his lips rest on the middle of your forehead.

Jungkook’s lips came back to yours and kissed one corner of your mouth and then the other. Oh, seven hells, you can’t think. You don’t want to either. Instead, you open your mouth and kiss him back with more fervor. You lithely raise on your toes and kiss the apples of his cheeks, his temples, his brow bones, beneath his lips and right on his chin. Gods, it feels like you kiss him everywhere.

The hand on his chest feels how frenzied his heart is pounding and it makes you smile because you’re sure your heart is doing the same. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t need to say anything in this moment because what needs to be said is all around you and under your skin. He reached forward and kissed you again. This time harder, and more frivolous and you gave and gave and took and took. And when the two of you finally break apart for air, you feel a tingle of cosmic goodness down your limbs.

Fuck.

He grins, actually no, he does more than that. He momentarily lights up like a firetruck and pulls you impossibly closer. And you think he has the most beautiful smile in the universe. You want to keep that on his face forever.

“You’re worth it,” you tell him, breathless.

“Worth what?” He asks smugly, his smile turning cocky as he acts like he doesn’t know.

You roll your eyes, your shoulders shaking as you laugh. A genuine one that warms your belly. “Worth the wait.”

a/n » hooo my god, this is the first thing i’ve written in about a year? and it feels so good to write and even better to pour my soul into this soulmate au. i really hope y’all loved it!! and please do tell me what you think!

⇢ masterlist

©️ 2019 kai, moonbelt [aka high-on-food]

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phantom-of-decadence · 4 years

Text

God Forbid & the Devil Fears // Chapter One \\

Fandom: Hannibal (TV series)

Characters: Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter, Will’s Dogs, Mischa (mentioned) - more to be added

Pairing(s): Will Graham x Hannibal Lecter

Summary of Entire Works: Moving from town to town is exhausting work to keep your face hidden and your hobbies going, but it's worth it to find that crushing high

Hannibal drags himself all over the country, following specific people to kill and following a strict set of rules he laid for himself, struggling to keep his blood lust under wraps.

He soon finds himself in dreary town called Oak Creek and coming face to face with a local who is too curious for his own good.

Albeit, he intrigues Hannibal too, but he is left to wonder if he wants to kill the local or treat him like a delicate rose, blooming in winter's chrysalis...

Warnings: Blood, gore, description of death, murderous thoughts, hunting, pretentious language

Wordcount: 5,514

Tags: AU!No cannibalism, AU!Bookshop Will, AU!Righteous Hannibal, other tags to be added, Will is autistic, pining, angst, gay panic, subtle flirting, eventual smut, fluff, fluff/comfort, pet names, gay thoughts, hunting, hannibal is the scruffy one, so is will but he has standards for fuckssake, hannibal tries to be polite, he is still a murderer though,

A/N: Because we all fucking love putting religion where it doesn’t belong. Also I tentatively made Will on the autistic spectrum ((I will be doing my best to portray autism correctly and read up on it, please let me know if things need to be fixed. I want to do this right))

The POV is not set in stone, I just wanted to open it with something different, going between first person and second was very interesting and I hope it gives insight on characters. So I will likely switch it to third if the next chapter gets written, or keep it like this. IDK, its a toss up

The title will become so relevant later

Towns all look the same, especially when they were all small and in the middle of nowhere.

I move between them often, just stay long enough to admire my handiwork and then I move on for my next target. Leaving what I had done behind me, before they could figure out who had done it.

Where was the fun in being found?

I try not to show my face in the towns I grace, I play a guise that I am visiting friends, family, relations or on my way to see them.

So I stop in a place to rest, a sleepy village that hides a monster. It’s only for a few days at most, I hardly ever eat in a restaurant unless I am stalking, or I get something quick to sate my hunger. And even then, my stomach will not settle for it.

In all the towns I visit, I find nothing to delight in besides the people that they hold within them, those who have not properly answered for their crimes. They walk among the others with their shoulders unburdened and their minds dark, on the prowl for their next victim, warily searching.

Their faces and names, dragged through the mud and branded traitors to mankind and humanity. Some were even locked up and away from the humanity they tried to destroy. Those creatures were the sloppy and messy, only focused chasing the high.

Others I knew, were more careful, calculated and didn’t get caught, didn’t get their due even though they left carnage in the wake of their high.

I knew that high, I craved it. Like all of them.

The high was something that I couldn’t live without.

Was it an addiction?

Maybe.

I never really thought about calling it an addiction, it was a desire to me. Something I could control, something that I had strength over.

An addiction is an urge that had power over its victim.

I would not let the blood lust that curled in my chest to control me, it tried to. Often times when I looked upon a face too soft for this world, too soft for this time.

I did not often give those rushing thoughts too much consideration in the long run, I knew that I should. When I have the time.

But I didn’t have the time, not now.

I was in a new place, looking for a new face, and finding a new desire.

All these towns looked the same.

They were all sleepy, with aimless people wandering the streets. Disguised in neutral colors, abandoned effects, cobblestones and dirt roads.

Diners, mom&pop shops, locals and hardly hints of modern urbanization. Everyone knew everyone, and they didn’t take kindly to an unkind face they have never seen before.

So you have to smile, blend in, pretend you’re one of them - normal, at least; but on the inside you are screaming endlessly and desperately craving for a rushing, dizzy high. A desperation to see red dripping from a wound you made on their exposed throat as their tongue wagged with senseless words, and to the look of shock and stunned silence on the faces of those that surrounded you, the face in front of you.

The thought of it made my mouth water, my hands shake with anticipation on the steering wheel, and my chest crushed with a weight, like I had been sunk deep in the dark depths and been made to stay there, the pressure choking excited gasps from my lungs until I was drowned by the waves of the ocean.

These are the moments where I was powerless, the crescendo of my high - when euphoria rolled through me in waves, and I lost all sense of control.

It hardly ever reached that point, outside of the smooth slide of my knife against uneven skin.

This town was different. I could feel it the moment I drove past the sign that welcomed me into Oak Creek, or perhaps it was just the sinking unease that trickled through me like an impeded stream when I saw the deteriorating sign of that godforsaken fast food restaurant that so many people fattened themselves at.

It’s yellows and reds well faded over time in this dusty little village that didn’t see fit to continuously update it.

I would’ve considered this place abandoned with its looming and dark buildings that were worn with the years of neglect; but Oak Creek’s residents seemed none too concerned about the gloomy haze and bitter cold that rolled over the sky, holding a threat of snow over them.

They didn’t care. They continued to roam the streets, all bundled in fleece coats. It was almost admiral how people in this dreary town continued their aimless patterns in the cold.

The drive past the buildings and to the motel was a short one, on a winding road that dodged small, nestled grey shacks that remained under maintained.

When I came upon the motel, I took note of how well it fit in well with the rest of Oak Creek with a tilt of my head; sleepy and cold and deteriorated, like the rest of the town.

The roof and grounds covered in a fresh blanket of snow, the dark wooden structure was sparse from decoration, save for a sign that read the name of the motel which I barely registered in the back of my mind.

It was the only lodgings in town, after all.

I slowed my car to a stop in front of the motel, turning it off and slowly resting back against the leather seat as I watched the dreary outside in order to collect my thoughts in a neat line.

I began to wonder why those I stalked, kept to themselves in small towns that were underpopulated. Where people are unlikely to speak about the acts they witness or the people that pass through, because they knew better than to talk about other people’s business.

If my prey wanted a chance, then why not find a populated city?

They would be more likely to be found by someone that wasn’t me, perhaps it was the assumption that small towns like Oak Creek didn’t care. And they didn’t, they kept their nose out of private matters unless it concerned the community directly.

But, I like to think my prey enjoyed the hunt, the thrill of the chase.

Mutual respect, perhaps?

Make it easy to dispose of putrid waste?

Kind of them.

Why do towns exist, little places like these, without much foot traffic or tourism? How do they make their income, how do they willingly feed off of one another and fight their neighbor for profits?

How do they justify it?

Do they?

Or is it something unspoken, untold and unfixed?

No tourist attraction, no myths, legends or killers.

That they knew of.

Towns like this surely had no discourse to them, they were a still lake who never had its surface disturbed by wind, leaf or rock. Intentional or not.

Where was the vibration of enjoyment?

These thoughts careened in my head as I left the warmth of my car and made a hasty entrance into the motel, I feigned a smile as I stepped up to the desk to obtain my key from them, “I’m just passing through, on my way for a baby shower.”

I answered the desk clerk’s invasive questions in a polite manner as they tried to get to know me, a brief guest in a drizzle of visitors.

What was behind the urge to know everyone in these dwellings?

Could I consider it all basic politeness that was due to every human?

They couldn’t possibly know what I was by a singular glance. They were simply ordinary.

I would only be here for only three days at the most, that’s how long it would take. To find him, his pattern and then drag him out of his dwellings and gut him like the senseless and cowardly pig he was.

I almost felt guilty for comparing him to a pig; pigs had more character than this man.

Though, I suppose he wasn’t entirely senseless, he moved often from his crimes, never got caught and made his killings few and far between.

This time, he made an error, he slipped up. Stayed for too long to revile in the chaos that was created, he got a little sloppy. He still retained more intelligence than half of the detectives and pawns for the FBI hunting him, because he crawled away, right under their noses.

He couldn’t crawl away from me, I found him and he didn’t even know.

Yet.

My routine began when I was handed my key and directed to my room.

Once I entered the ‘cozy dwellings’ as described by the advertising, I put the “do-not disturb” sign on the doorknob. Some previously have considered it peculiar how much I value the privacy and discretion in my life.

If they were inside of my skin, shared my experiences, they would understand. A man who soaked their hands in red does not leave hand prints on others uninvolved in their crimes.

I scoured the room, began to measure and map it in my mind. I sat my travel bag down by the bed before I eased myself onto the creaking mattress, listening for how thin the walls were, how much sound would enter and escape.

I could hear the sounds from the road outside of these lodgings; it was mostly silent, no cars rumbling by. Everything was within walking distance, so I understood that people didn’t use gas unless it was completely unavoidable.

No sounds on the road, not many people milling around. No cacophony of noise to cover up the wails of a dying man, questions would be raised.

It couldn’t be here.

I knew the home address of the man I was hunting, I knew a lot about him.

I made that my job to know him, all of his names that changed from town to town and crime to crime; his given name was Peter Martin, not a name that stuck out in a long list of names that the devil keeps.

I wondered why he never kept his name as it was given, too mundane perhaps? Did he want to strike terror into the hearts of others with a frightening name?

Peter Martin would not be giving me that answer, that wouldn’t be the question I was asking him.

I needed to go to his home and watch him, establish his pattern the way a bee would every single day, a drone existing to serve a queen. Existing to serve the chance that a high would be waiting for him around the corner.

Despite having just arrived to my room, I was ready to venture out into the frigid ghost town.

The prospect of a hunt, of a chase - the temptation and soft promise that I would get that depth crushing high in a manner of three days time, was enough for me to rise from my bed and leave the warmth of my lodgings behind.

The sooner I was able to map out Oak Creek, the sooner my hunt could begin and I could move on to the next deserved high.

I stood, staring down my own reflection in the mirror that sat above the desk, trying to assure myself that I looked like one of them.

With the plaid scarf tucked tightly around my neck, leather gloves on my hands, and knit cap pulled down over my ears, I looked less of a killer than what I actually was.

You cannot help feeling what you are in your soul; but for a brief moment of peace, your mind can let you forget what you actually are.

In the end, when it truly matters most, you will always know what you are in the darkest parts of yourself.

I closed the door behind me, taking care to ensure that the “do-not-disturb” sign was on before I left the premise; though left nothing incriminating in my room. I kept that with me, at all times.

Then again, I was a fond of using whatever was within reach of my hands when it came to achieving my high.

Some considered it resourceful, when I used a “Live~Laugh~Love” wooden poster to nearly sever the head of an escaped child rapist. He had struggled too much, knocked the knife from my grip. That was the closest thing I could reach.

The snow crunched under my boots as I trudged along the slate sidewalk that led from the motel and into a graying Oak Creek, it was mostly empty save for a couple dressed in brown and tan winter clothing, too wrapped up in each other to notice that they had passed me.

I didn’t have the desire to quirk the corners of my mouth up when our eyes met for a singular second, I knew my gaze was emotionless and empty even if they didn’t register it, I did.

I found difficulty to fit warmth in my features unless I had reason to do so, a reason that would hopefully benefit me in the end, and people in love is not a reason to show warmth.

We passed each other and that was the end of it.

I passed several stores in the area, none of which I took too much note of. Save for a diner, I would need to eat, after all.

The sky was still as grey and callous, if not more so, from the time I arrived.

Dark skies settled over the horizon, assuring to bring fresh snow and harsh winds that burned my nose and cast tears in my eyes trying to see past the frigid breeze.

I never particularly cared for winter, it was too bitter and gloomy.

Only one aspect of winter was appeasing to me, it was the whiteness of the snow. How undisturbed it fell, the way it gently kissed the earth and how it looked when red spattered over it.

I enjoyed writing my love notes to the earth on pure white.

I continued down the sidewalk for a few minutes longer to take everything in, but I soon found myself looking up at a wooden sign above a shop that read, “Pages and Pawprints, a collection of books and friendly faces to keep you company”.

I don’t exactly remember what called me towards the cobblestone store that was more window than it was building, but I turned my attention to it fully. It looked almost completely desolate, but I approached it all the same as curiosity drove me more than logic.

I knew I shouldn’t be showing my face too much in Oak Creek, thankfully satisfaction brought the curious cat, back from the dead.

I opened the glass door, trying not to notice how the handle was shaped in a dog’s paw; I was instantly greeted by the sound of a bell ringing and a couple of subdued barks from dogs laying down, near a couple of tables and chairs.

My eyes were drawn to the six dogs lying on multiple beds that had been provided for them, they were all of different size and color and all eyes were locked onto me.

Subtly, I wondered what I had been expecting? The owner of this store was clearly infatuated with canines and their hair, whereas, I was not. I considered turning around and leaving, though something kept me there.

Perhaps it was the warmth in contrast to the outside, I paused to loosen my scarf and unzip my jacket. I left the knit cap on, however.

The door closed behind me, ringing out the chime of a bell once more just to announce that I was still there, deciding against the thought to leave.

My gaze remained on the dogs for a second more, but none moved to greet me. I allowed my eyes to wander until I found a man sitting behind a mahogany desk. The only one who wasn’t looking at me, but at the computer in front of him.

I moved in his direction, searching for a conversation, these trips got lonely. Save for the people I gutted; I still valued conversation I could have with people who wouldn’t remember me.

“Hello.” The smile on my lips was immediate as I got close enough to study you.

Your hair was dark and unkempt, tousled, forgotten about. Designed by the way you slept, heavy and slicked in sweat from what I can only assume was nightmares, if Oak Creek was always this cold.

Your head tilted up to acknowledge me, the slightest quirking of your pink lips in response to my spoken word, yet you made no move to respond to me.

Your face was almost the same as your hair, unkempt stubble and a sheen of dampness on your forehead, dark circles under your eyes. Which refused to look up at me.

Your blue eyes didn’t settle, they looked everywhere but at me, darting around in that pretty little skull of yours. Trying to lock on something in your shop that would ground you.

I could smell a lot coming off of you. Most notably, that stink of an aftershave that made me want to wrinkle my nose in disgust. I resisted the urge because I smelled another thing rolling off of you, blatant apprehension of my person.

It would’ve strung my chest with hurt, if I cared in that way.

A quick glance to your hands, in your lap now, were shaking and fidgeting in a looped pattern, told me this is what you were always like with new people.

You got sensory overload quickly, when it came to humans, and their noises, and their energy... you liked your dogs though. That much I could see when your gaze rested on them for once.

I wanted to push you a little bit, I wanted to stare at you and make you squirm with the weight of my gaze until your heart was racing, make you talk to me and answer my buggering questions...

At least I thought I wanted to do that. To test you, see how far you would go.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t find it within myself to do any of that.

I turned my body, my dark and unnerving gaze away from you, and looked into your store to try and figure out the purpose of it really was; dark bookshelves, assortments of books that were organized by color, it looked like.

The walls were a deep maroon and had pictures of people and their dogs hanging from it, small plaques here and there.

I found myself smiling at the ensemble, despite the disdain I held for animal hair - it seemed to complete the look. The shop was neatly kept, it was something you were proud of, something you were deeply passionate about.

I could feel your eyes on my when I turned my back to you, curiously studying the way I held myself and what I wore, too many layers for a local.

Turning my back to people wasn’t something I would consistently do to strangers, but I knew you had no reason to hurt me, that was the last thing you were capable of.

“What are you here for?” You asked me, finally speaking. Your voice was raspy and soft but baritone in your chest, you sounded hesitant to speak because you didn’t know who I was, and I wanted to keep it like that.

To protect you, to protect myself more.

I knew that you were used to the people in your town, you were used to a pattern that repeated itself and I disrupted it. So you were cautious and tiptoeing around me, as if you could sense what I was.

I had to assure myself that you didn’t.

I parted my lips to answer you, politely as my mind turned back to the thought of small town people wanting to know everything, “Nothing in particular, I was exploring town-”

“You’re not from around here.” You stated sharply, prompting me to incline my head over my shoulder to look at you with a brow raised. I was smiling even if you weren’t.

You looked away, apprehensive again.

I didn’t have the time to wonder why I smiled at you, what the reason was that benefited me but it brought a blossoming warmth to my chest.

“No, I’m just passing through. I thought I should find a couple of places to entertain me on my short visit.” I affirmed your suspicion of my ‘wayfaring stranger’ position.

“Oh,” You took a second to try and collect your thoughts before you spoke again, and something stutter in my beating chest as I faced you once more and saw the creases on your forehead, lips pulled into a taunt line as you considered how best to showcase the things you were passionate about.

Your blue plaid shirt was ruffled, coated in a layer of dog hair; pushed up past your forearms, revealing pale skin and faded scarring. You had left your thick jacket and scarf somewhere else, out of reach.

My fingers twitched by my side, not wanting to make you uncomfortable by my staring, but I wanted to touch your skin and inquire how your arms earned those stripes. I remained silent until you spoke.

“I have owned this shop for three years now and I have books imported from different countries and states, I don’t really put labels on what this space is... but you can buy the books, a-and take them home.

“Or you can read them here and put them back, s-sometimes I open it for crafts on certain day.” You explained to me, your eyes still darting around, a smile and a blush decorated your face. For a moment, you met my gaze before you were focusing on your dogs again, “My dogs are friendly as they can be, they like people and it functions as a safe space if anyone needs it.”

As I listened to you speak about your shop, I reflected a bit internally. I concluded that the safe space you spoke of was for you, mostly. You almost looked like you were refraining from telling me every last detail detail of your beloved dogs, you instead turned the topic elsewhere.

My mind turned towards myself after a beat, I wondered what this stuttering in my chest was; it wasn’t the weight that shackled me when a potential high presented it’s face to my keen eyes.

This was something else entirely, like my bones were made of air instead of tension. Hyper fixation sat heavy on my chest, the same way as when the blood lust dripped down my teeth, accompanying the urge hunt, the desire to know you, your soul, and everything under your skin. All of you.

My claws would flex with the want to sink into you and hold you still, only stare into your eyes, your entirety. I wanted to look you in the eyes and see who you really were, but I didn’t meet your gaze.

I followed it to the books, to the dogs.

This feeling was wrong. It wasn’t how I felt when the perfect prey was within the grasp of my talons; perhaps it was the desire of someone innocent, to see them bleeding.

I had not set my sights on innocence for the longest time.

I promised Mischa that I wouldn’t dig for innocent breath or blood, ever again; but these desires made feel stuck and powerless, rooted in one spot as your words tumbled through me.

I only ever knew one way of getting that power back, to take it away from someone else. I didn’t feel the need to take it back from you, I simply let you keep it... whatever made you feel comfortable with me.

I smiled, the corners of my eyes crinkling as you told me about the genres that you carried, several of which, I didn’t even care for.

You looked so enthused, a twinkle in your eye that mesmerized me, so I could only stand there and thank you, telling you that I would go get the books you recommended would entertain me for a spell.

I kept my eyes on you, watching as your face lit up, you smiled and laughed softly, fingers clasping together as if you were shy or astonished that someone would listen to you.

I found that absurd, everyone would listen to your voice if given the chance. I forced myself to look away from your face, I didn’t desire to make you crawl in your skin because of my piercing gaze; somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered why that though struck my skull.

I thanked you again and left my place at the desk, carefully stepping around the many dogs that you owned, they simply thumped their tail on the ground and I feigned a smile to them. If only for your sake.

I disappeared behind on of the shelves so you could no longer see me, and the stutter in my chest slowed down, if only just a bit while I scoured the sections to find ‘drama’, ‘mystery’ and ‘historical fiction’, neatly bunched together.

I could consider these few genres the absolute last thing I wanted to read, but... I was going to grab the books and bring them to you anyway.

I wish my mind would give me a rational answer to why this trembling like a newborn fawn, and sudden airiness of a bird made of feathers came to me.

I should’ve left the store when I had the chance.

This wasn’t the blood lust that coiled within me when hunting my perfect prey, the urge then was unfiltered rage, animistic and primal. The desire to maim as best I could while, keeping my identity restricted at the same time.

This fawn is something else that I don’t know how to care for, a different breed of blood lust that sat on my chest. I knew I would have to do a dissection on myself. I could feel it in the back of my mind, the terror of not being in control of my own emotions.

Mischa in the back of my mind, repeating the words I had said to her, the promise I made to my sister so long ago.

I sighed, defeated, as my hands pulled the four books you recommended, off the shelf and held them in my hands, close to my chest before making my way back to you.

The Hound of the Baskervilles, The Murder on the Oriental Express, The Song of Achilles and of course, Othello. Excellent choices if I were another creature.

You glanced up at me as I came back, your eyes like a lamb’s, wide and curious.

You took a second to look me over as I walked, taking me in as a whole and not a part; I was like a Victorian schoolgirl for a beat, embarrassed I had been caught bathing by the boys as they glanced in awe at me.

I wanted to clothe myself in white satin to hide prying eyes; but in a second beat, I was aware that I was fully clothed and dressed for winter in this dreary town of Oak Creek, standing in front of you.

Nowhere close to what my mind’s eye provided me.

It was jarring to say the least, I almost faltered in my movements under your vision.

Your scrutiny lasted for less than five seconds, eyes finally returning to your computer screen, waiting for me to set the books down on the desk so you could ring up the price.

I didn’t even want these books in the first place, yet you looked joyous that they were in my arms, “I recommend, if you read anything, read The Song of Achilles first, before you leave town...”

You seemed to hesitate on what you wanted to say next, twitchy fingers collecting the books and stacking them neatly, “No-one ever wants to discuss the meaning of it, both within the book or the actual myth.”

You left it open ended, for me. My eyes locked on your wrist, skin pale and almost ashen, and your long fingers stimming below it.

I knew what you wanted, what I was made you curious the same way I had been when I first slunk into your shop. You wanted to find out more about the stranger in your building, like everyone else in Oak Creek.

But you were more forward about it.

“I can come in the day after tomorrow.” My lips parted and my mouth spoke before my mind could finally catch up and remind myself... what rules I was breaking by even offering such an absurd thing.

I blinked, my first solution was to stay away from you, to fight this stutter in my chest and whatever craving I had for an innocent’s blood. If this even was a craving.

I answered your unspoken question and you were a deer in headlights because I gave you exactly what you wanted, you slowly looked up at me, your curls brushed loosely over your forehead and your fingers twitched in uncertainty.

“If you want to talk about the book,” I continued, knowing there was no way I could step back now with my dignity and your feelings intact.

My voice was strained like something was strangling me when I spoke - something invisible to you, but completely seen to me, “I enjoy a lively discussion from time to time.” I offer so it wouldn’t be worse than it was, but I don’t believe it helped the situation.

You stared at me, mouth agape while my chest sunk to the depths against my wishes; then your lips twitched into a smile, “Okay... it’s nice to speak to new people.” Your voice was soft as you accepted my invitation that you prodded from me.

My throat tighten in response, I wanted to verbally agree with you even if I didn’t believe it, I nodded instead to you. I offered to speak with you even though I knew I shouldn’t, I had prey to stalk, catch and gore.

I had to dissect this stumbling fawn inside of me.

Where would I find the delicate time to speak to you?

And why did the thought of not getting the chance, fill my lungs with inescapable breath?

The sooner I left this village and claimed my prize, the sooner I would feel normal again.

I always hated the winter, things were always different and difficult, the ground refused to let things rot no matter how long they had been there.

The amount I owed you for the books I didn’t even want, tumbled from your mouth to distract my thoughts, and I hastily dug into my pockets, pulling out a wad of cash and thrusting it over to you. I hadn’t been listening to you at this point, I just wanted out of this store to cool my buzzing mind.

I needed to retreat from the public and your eyes.

“It’s only twenty-one ninety,” your voice broke through my fog, confusion an undertone in your soft voice.

I blinked in an attempt to get my head right, before I took the money you offered back to me, wanting the right amount because you were a small store who couldn’t cash a hundred dollar bill.

“Oh, my apologies.” I ran through the notes, finding as close as it could get to the total, giving thirty dollars back to you, “Keep the rest.” I struggled out while I gathered my books in my arms and turned for the door.

My pathetic attempt to get away in a haste as if a hunter was on my bleeding trail, though your voice cut me short like a gunshot in a silent forest, “I’m Will, by the way.”

I stopped, my gloved hand on the handle to the door.

I took one moment to look back at you, your cheeks blushing pink and lips turned upward in the smallest smile as you forced yourself to watch me for my reaction.

I let out a shaky breath, preparing myself to break yet another a rule that I set many years previous to keep myself and innocents safe... did it even matter now?

“I’m Hannibal, it’s nice to meet you, Will.”

“Likewise.” You responded immediately, leaving me with your parting smile and I quickly took my leave of Pages and Pawprints, heading back the way I came from, back to my motel where I could brood over the interaction that just passed. Dissect this new, tumbling fawn

I furiously growled under my breath as I walked through the cold, books pressed tightly to my chest and the lingering scent of that horrible aftershave from you, following me all the way to the supposed comfort of my room.

I needed a kill to get you off of my mind.

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loudlytransparenttrash · 4 years

Text

Yesterday marked the 8th anniversary of the death of Trayvon Martin. Oak Park and River Forest High School students walked out of class and marched down the street wearing ‘We are Trayvon’ hoodies before returning to the school where they blocked the main hall’s entrance, chanting they will not leave until their “racial equity” demands were met by the mayor, which included removing police officers from schools and to mark February 26 a day for black victims of police violence. “We don’t need more police or a new police station. We need more resources for the youth of color here. We demand resources go to us.”

Black activist groups and figures such as the The King Center, Black Lives Matter, The Breakfast Club, BET, Common, Kerry Washington, Al Sharpton, along with numerous politicians joined to remind everyone on Twitter that Trayvon Martin was murdered for being black. It blows my mind that even after eight years, nobody seems concerned with the actual facts or the law. It’s obvious how content they are to combine misinformation to reach their own ridiculous conclusion, which is then used to justify their own racism and hatred.

From the very beginning, it was obvious the media and activists were setting up a bad situation by portraying the incident as racially motivated, once that seed was planted, all reasoning was gone. George Zimmerman was already guilty no matter what the evidence showed. Trayvon was black, Zimmerman wasn’t, therefore it just had to be racism and anything that goes against that assertion is further proof of racism. I would bet anything that those high school students and every other race baiting activist using Trayvon’s death as a racial political play haven’t heard the facts that make up their entire misleading narratives. Here they are, make up your own minds.

The Hoodie Narrative

In trying to turn the case into a racial narrative, the initial burst of publicity and activism turned on Trayvon wearing a hoodie. The Hoodie has become the symbol of protests, based on the assertion that Zimmerman found Martin suspicious because he was wearing a hoodie. But transcripts of the 911 call shows Zimmerman mentions a hoodie only once, and only in response to a question by the operator as to what the person was wearing. The dispatcher asks, “Did you see what he was wearing?” which Zimmerman replies, “Yeah a grey hoodie, either jeans or sweatpants and white tennis shoes.” That’s it.

That didn’t stop Michigan Governor Jennifer Granholm wearing a hoodie, the “Million Hoodie March,” Harvard law students wearing hoodies with a sign “Do we look suspicious?,” Congressman Bobby Rush appearing on the House floor in a hoodie, the Hoodie March in Washington, the Miami Heat in hoodies. The hoodie has come to symbolize alleged racial profiling by Zimmerman, yet the narrative is not based on any known facts connected to the shooting. While Martin was wearing a hoodie that night, there is only assumption that Martin was considered suspicious by Zimmerman for that reason.

Even if he was, that’s not racial profiling, unless only black people wear hoodies? There had been eight recent burglaries within the gated community and residents reported dozens more attempted break-ins. It was at night and Zimmerman told 911 that Trayvon was acting suspiciously walking around looking at all the houses. Considering a search of Trayvon’s backpack at his school showed it to contain a dozen pieces of women’s jewelry, including silver wedding rings and earrings with diamonds, as well as a screwdriver, why can’t we even consider the possibility that Trayvon was acting suspiciously and the Neighborhood Watch leader was just doing his job?

The Racial Narrative

The only narrative we ever hear from activists is Trayvon was followed and shot because he was black. That’s as far as their logic meter expands. It’s based on multiple falsehoods, most particularly the NBC News doctoring of police audio in which it falsely made it seem as though Zimmerman said he was following Trayvon because Trayvon was black. But that’s not what happened. Zimmerman only mentioned race when the police operator asked about race. The dispatcher asked “Is he white, black or Hispanic?” and Zimmerman replies, “He looks black.” This is the only mention of race.

There also was the claim that Zimmerman used the term “f**king coons” on the police tape. The activists have used the alleged racial epithet endlessly to paint this as a racially motivated hate crime. CNN had to backtrack after the audio was enhanced and experts gave their analysis after CNN originally stated that Zimmerman said “f**king coons.” In the official affidavit by State of Florida investigators, they concluded Zimmerman used the term “f**king punks” when referring to the recent break-ins by teenagers.

The biggest thing that nobody wants to talk about is the FBI investigation that found no history of racism in Zimmerman’s past. Zimmerman had earlier angrily spoken out against the beating of a black homeless man and started a local initiative to help him. Zimmerman and his wife had tutored black children, he was a registered Democrat and voted for Obama. To further push the ‘white supremacy’ narrative, Zimmerman is persistently portrayed as white, even though he’s listed as Hispanic in his voter registration and he’s very clearly Hispanic, have they even seen him? Yet, he is painted as a white supremacist who assassinated an innocent black male for no reason other than Trayvon was black, it’s this myth that's generating all the hate, violence and division.

Oh, and there was also widespread claims in the media that neo-Nazis were patrolling the neighborhood where the shooting took place, but of course Sanford Police ruled this story out immediately.

Zimmerman Disobeyed Police Instructions Narrative

They say George Zimmerman supposedly was told by the police dispatcher not to leave his car, but did so against police instructions. This allegation is used to claim that the entire confrontation was Zimmerman’s fault, and had he merely followed police instructions, nothing would have happened. Zimmerman was not in the car at the time of the comment “we don’t need you to do that.” The 911 transcript proves at no time was Zimmerman ever told to stay in his car. Trayvon had become aware that he was under observation and started circling Zimmerman’s car while Zimmerman was inside talking to the police. At about the two minute mark, Trayvon runs. When Zimmerman did exit the vehicle it was in direct response to the dispatcher asking him the direction of Trayvon’s travel.

When the dispatcher asked if Zimmerman was still following the direction that Trayvon ran, Zimmerman said yes, the dispatcher said, “we don’t need you to do that” and Zimmerman replied, “OK.” There is not a single piece of evidence, none, that Zimmerman continued to follow Trayvon after this point. In fact, in the audio, he continues calmly talking to the dispatcher, telling him his phone number and even saying, “I want to get out of here, I don’t know where this kid is,” all without any sign he was chasing after Trayvon. Trayvon had more than enough time to achieve the safety of his father’s girlfriend’s condo had he truly been fleeing from a frightening Zimmerman. Instead, it was found that Trayvon launched an attack on Zimmerman from behind as Zimmerman was waiting for the police to arrive.

Stand Your Ground Narrative

Despite constant outrage over Florida’s Stand Your Ground law being used in the trial, calling it a “license to kill,” it was never used by Zimmerman’s defense. It made sense for Zimmerman not to rely on SYG, because Stand Your Ground would only be relevant if Zimmerman had a route of exit, but the shooting took place while Zimmerman was on his back on the grass, his head having been pounded on the pavement and being beaten relentlessly by Trayvon. Witnesses say exactly the same thing. Trayvon was on top of Zimmerman, beating his head into the ground as Zimmerman was screaming for help. Activists claim that it was Trayvon calling for help, but it’s been long confirmed that it was indeed Zimmerman crying for help. Zimmerman had a broken nose, two black eyes and cuts to the back of his head where Trayvon slammed Zimmerman’s head repeatedly into the ground. Zimmerman’s back was also wet and covered in soil. Activists argue ‘but Trayvon was just a kid and Zimmerman was an adult,’ that’s why they only ever use photos of Trayvon as a kid, they don’t want you to know that Trayvon (6’2″) was much larger than Zimmerman (5’8″) and was in far better physical shape and condition.

Forensic analysis demonstrated that the trajectory of the single shot fired and burns on Trayvon’s sweatshirt were consistent with Zimmerman being on his back with Trayvon hovering over him at the time of the shot. Since Zimmerman was pinned to the ground, he didn’t need to invoke Stand Your Ground because there was no reasonable means of avoidance. While the jury instructions did contain language similar, the SYG statutory protection itself was never invoked.

Bottom Line - The Jury Got It Right

Every piece of material and evidence was considered in court including crime scene evidence, witness statements, cell phone data, reconstruction analysis, ballistics reports, medical and autopsy reports and depositions. The verdict came as no surprise to those actually following the evidence. It came as a shock to those who bought into the racially charged false narratives, evident by the eruption on social media, the mass rioting, the outbreak of violence and the eventual beginnings of Black Lives Matter who carried these fabrications and deceit into the Michael Brown case and have since continued to glorify and martyr criminals in their efforts to whip up hate against the police, whites and America. At least it takes the attention off the staggering rates of crime and black lives being murdered that activists can’t blame anyone else for. (1, 2)

It’s sad that cases like Trayvon’s is used to teach black children that they must live in fear and anger because racism and white supremacy is everywhere and that at any point they can be killed, all because they’re black. It’s child abuse. Of course we can mourn Trayvon and remember him, but let’s not use him as a radical race movement’s martyr. Protesting against myths ruins the legitimacy and integrity of any future protest against real racism. If we need to keep fabricating and twisting stories to prove that we’re being hunted and oppressed, shouldn’t that be evidence of the opposite? Shouldn’t it be a good thing that Trayvon wasn’t actually killed for being black? Unfortunately, too many will say no, which perfectly sums up the mental imprisonment and why nothing will ever change.

#trayvon martin #Justice For Trayvon #trayvon

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sugar-petals · 5 years

Text

; sublime (m) ║ reader ✕ merman!jjk

↳ summary: only you can save him.

8k words | smut, action, fantasy

⚠️ angst, themes of persecution & violence, unprotected sex, graphic.

a/n | Needed to reupload, it’s been in an ask format. Second chapter included. request: “Would u be willing to do a merman jk x reader smut?” (rosewell-love)

There’s a dead body on your private beach.

Or so you think. You’ve spotted it going out for your early morning walk with a bottle of water and light trainers. Busan’s late summer has been merciful with the weather so far, so you wanted to tick your two-mile goal on the schedule again.

From afar you already knew that whatever laid there in the silt was nothing of the regular. The colors that struck you against the mellow rising sun seemed blueish, strangely vivid. If it was a water corpse, sure it could be decaying like this. You dare to tread closer, crossing into muddier seafloor now.

Normally, you preferred to stay where the sand was dry and solid to walk on. There is no foul smell as you approach, or scraps of cloth, anything like that. Just algae all around. A few feet away, you begin to understand: This is not a human body.

You’ve heard about sightings of stranded mermen in the news. Authorities were quick to dismiss rumors of violent interventions. They assured that the police would take care of the situation professionally without citizen being able to watch.

The senior locals thought of merpeople as threats or oddities of nature, too peculiar to interact with. There were stories about women who interacted closely getting abducted, bitten, or strangled to death by such creatures. It was treated like a myth while the tabloids and fisherman’s accounts said otherwise.

Mermen were usually described with distorted complexions, crooked bones, and blood-shot eyes. They stink abominably, one reporter said. The universal instruction by the mayor had been equally hideous: Kill, or run. The latter being less preferred because they had to be chased, exploited, and wiped out collectively when you read between the lines.

Last year, there had been gossip about a group of men - designated hunters - sawing off a living merman’s tail and selling it on the black market. Any chopped off hair would bring half a million, too. A million with the scalp attached. The mayor propagated the extermination of these “slimy beasts” when an issue surfaced, all while keeping a trophy fin in his living room, that you were sure of.

But the motionless boy right below you does not appear monstrous at all. His features are almost resemblant to what can be considered human despite that he came from the sea. The upper body, at least. Who knows what kind of world is out there. The contrived stories made you mad, they had been all lies.

Even if your trainers are now completely sunk in, you close the distance entirely.

You look at him with concern. Why is he here, like this, so close to the coast? Your eyes roam up and down, up and down. The cerulean little scales splattered all over his large tail, the sapphire beads around his neck, next to coral lobster claws.

His beauty erases everything in your mind. The teal and silver mane that falls in soft waves and purple braids. They are really, really long and gleaming with an enigma that you fail to grasp. How could anyone be cruel enough to maim him. Everything about this boy had to stay wherever it was.

You inspect his body closer to look for injuries, but there are none. He plainly seems drained, but impossibly beautiful at the same time. His chest is still moving, but both eyes remained closed. You don’t know if mermen can get unconscious.

Perhaps he is just asleep. So ethereal. It all proved the envious locals very dirty liars. They’re conspiring because they know very well how alluring they look like. Since only mermen have been spotted, all efforts to deter every woman in town from getting just one glimpse were rampant.

No human male could quite compare. Except maybe your gay friend and neighbor Taehyung who might just drop dead if he were here. If your female friends saw this boy, the ones who were married would file for divorce. The truly despicable vermin were the conservative men of this town.

Certainly, there are different rules of anatomy and physics that apply to mermen that nobody has ever talked about on shore. You only see that the gills at the sides of his torso flutter hectically. It takes some time until you put two and two together. The falling tide that’s now miles away, it must have left him here. Maybe he lost a sense of direction and got caught by surprise. What an odyssey.

He needs water, desperately. Of course he looks drained, and that’s more urgent than you assumed. You have to hurry up and do something not to see him fade away in front of your eyes. But, where to get it. It would have been straightforward if you hadn’t forgotten carrying a water bottle all along.

You’re hesitant to touch him, but eventually get yourself to rub the sides of his torso, pouring water bit by bit. His skin is so delicate that you don’t dare to apply pressure. His eyes flutter once, and you think he can see what you are doing.

But you did not bring enough water to sustain this moment. At least you know there’s still a chance.

There’s no other option, then. You sprint back to your house, pulse working overtime until you find the long-ignored supply closet key.

An old plastic cover splattered with color comes into sight. It has been formerly used by Taehyung who asked to depict the scenery at your beach. He’s a painter, but too much of a literal fine artist to leave anything sturdy at your house. You keep searching.

At the back, there’s a soiled, but still functional sailcloth with rope running through its eyelets. Hauling that to the beach would not be possible if you weren’t pumped with adrenaline and sheer panic. It has been a huge risk having him left alone out there. This all takes too damn long.

The relief finding him untouched gives you more assurance. The sail sticks to the ground in no time spreading it out next to him. An attempt to roll him onto there using a shove of two hands fails. Only a rope tied around his waist gives everything a decent impetus. Once he’s in place, you pull the canvas tight with the rope and start dragging. But oh my, is he heavy. It’s the colossal tail that probably weighs the most, gravity has no mercy on your arms today.

It takes a few painstaking feet until the cloth starts to run smoothly on the wet ground. Through the dewy lawn of your property, it works much better until your trainers go on a strike. Next time you’ll go to the beach with heavy boots. It’s better with bare feet then, though you encounter another problem. The grass isn’t particularly even, so you have to maneuver around a bump or two. The 10 x 20 feet swimming pool comes into sight quite tardily.

He slumps into the water with a dull splash. You made it by the skin of your teeth and everything hurts. It’s a miracle. The water is uncomfortably icy as you enter, grabbing hold of his shoulders. You have to remind yourself to be careful, washing away all remnants of sand and dirt. The filtration system will take care of it. Again you note how silky the texture of his skin and scales is, clearly not made for life ashore. Before the water starts to paralyze you more with its frostiness, you decide to submerge him completely at the bottom of the pool. Different laws of physics, you remind yourself. For a human, air would basically be like water for him. His own weight sustains him down there well as of now. Begrudgingly, you leave to change clothes.

It’s good that your backyard is surrounded by copious palisades. You do hope nobody observed anything, thinking you transported some carcass or worse, and check back just three minutes later. The garden gate is firmly locked already but doesn’t do much to pacify your feelings of imminent paranoia. So the balcony is a good place to stay where you can sit with your laptop to catch up with pressing work. Any concentration is still out the window though, and any noise snaps you out of typing in emails.

The pool water rouses after the nearby church bell strikes 11 am. You return to the gazebo next to the pool to look if you’re not hallucinating, met with huge, dark eyes. They’re Prussian blue and almost doe-like. He’s leaning at the edge, two arms propped up.

“Thank you, madam. You didn’t have to do this,” he dabbles quite gently, stirring the water with his tail to cause ripples. His voice is very pleasant and friendly, youthful. Never did you think he would be able to speak your language. Everything comes unexpected today.

“Nevermind,” you respond, trying not to show both incredulousness and unease. There is no way in making this sound like a proper conversation, but you try. He called you madam, after all.

”I came to pry for shells and lost my sense of time. It’s my bad.”

You squat down at the edge of the pool at some distance. This seems all too much at once. Yet you have to gather words to let him know.

“Don’t, don’t say that. I can’t let you die out there. To see you become food in a tin can if a hunter or the police come along.”

It strikes a chord with him, and you instantly regret saying it.

“I know who they are. Their prejudice has killed one of my brothers not long ago.” He’s downcast now, impossibly sad. You know who this brother was. A little glistening tear makes its way down his cheek, he picks it up with thumb and index finger. It has turned into a small pearl. “You’re not like them. I can be glad you picked me up without fear or reporting it.”

You enclose the shiny gift with two palms as he passes over the bead. When you tuck it away, it rests in the breast pocket of your blouse. The merman looks very relieved to see you accept it.

“It’s not over yet. But I guess I did the right things so far. You’re alive. I hope I can drag you back at high tide. Or do you need more time?”

“My body regenerated. But my mind, I feel very strange and dizzy, still. Tomorrow.”

“Shit… it’s the chlorine in the water. I don’t think that’s good for you.”

“Chlorine?”

You wonder why he speaks your language perfectly but doesn’t know this.

“To disinfect bacteria dangerous to humans. For you, it might just be nauseating. Maybe because you’re not used to it, or sensitive. Wait, I’ll use the pool filter. I have one.”

While you take care of the pump and also clean away some debris, the curious merman lingers closely.

“Did I tell you my name yet? I’m Jungkook. I have a question, actually. It might sound weird.”

You look up from your task. Jungkook. It’s fitting.

“Just go ahead. I’m Y/N.”

“Why do you have a pool next to the sea?”

He’s a bright guy. You understand where the query is coming from, too.

“I do love the sea like you. But the waves are too high. It’s dangerous to bathe there without a vigilant eye. You’ve seen what happened. I prefer to swim here, especially when it’s warmer.”

“Oh, I forgot,” he marvels at you, “humans can’t swim that well in the cold.”

“It’s true. We have trouble moving around mermen as well,” you chuckle, glad your work at the pump is completed. You stand up to return to Jungkook. His presence is soothing, almost familiar.

In that very moment, hasty knocks and rattles resound from the garden gate.

Jungkook immerses himself in water within a split second. He’s diving down faster than you can say anything, in fact. The pool’s surrounding bushes have saved you from being seen with him, thankfully, but your feeling tells you to hurry to the gate as soon as you can. But you have to stop yourself from being in a rush not to be suspicious. It’s painfully obvious who it is from a distance already. You’re in trouble.

It’s Taehyung.

“Oh hey, hey! I rang the doorbell — nobody responded. Figured you’re here! How ya doin’?”

A hurricane as usual. You keep the gate locked. He’s looking at you through the metal bars with inquisitive eyes.

“What do you want, Kim… I’m busy.”

“Sorry, just looking for my painting cover. Do you still have it? Am gone in a minute.”

“Sure.”

You spin around and race inside without further ado. Taehyung must think you have gone completely mad now, but knowing Jungkook is likely having a heart attack down there you would waste no second. You return breathless, red blotches all over the face. He rolls his eyes.

“Slow down, slow down, Noona. It’s Sunday. God, heterosexual people. Always caught in such a fuss.”

“They are. Now, here. Take it. Just, buzz off now, Kim. Got things to do.”

And again, you spin around on your heel and hear him trot away sulking, but clenching his long-lost cover tight. He said he’s gone in a minute, then he has to deal with it. You’ll have to come up with something very intricate to appease him next time when he mocks you for it. And you are sure he will, because Taehyung notices when something’s off. Telling him the truth would be like being Taylor Swift’s boyfriend, he would just broadcast everything.

You dash back and lean over the pool for Jungkook to recognize you. But nothing moves. He’s right about staying where he is. If the police coerced you to be their decoy, luring him out, he’d be dead. Jungkook, that is indisputable to you, continues to prove being very sharp save being aware of tides. The media never talked about merpeople being this people-conscious and easily intimidated. They’re just drawing them as evil to get hunting permission. Vicious pigs.

You want to make them fall.

There’s something else that strikes you, watching for activity in the pool. There must be a way that merpeople gather excessive knowledge about humans. Or it might be a contact person. But you don’t want to know, it might be a way to trace them back. Such a secret must never be revealed, you know you’ll take all this to your grave to protect him. It would be good to tell your story to everyone so they would change their mind. But the police was hawk-eyed and knew how to press for information.

They’d be hellbent and relentless to slit his throat as soon as they could. Officials and hunters had methods to find him if it was not too far out in the ocean. Or they would just wait until he came back to you sooner or later. You are sure that he will. He’s feeling indebted. And attached. You’re too. You dread the day, and tomorrow’s goodbye if it actually comes.

You have to admit it: This propelled you into a gigantic mess. You already felt your heart burst when Taehyung knocked. You have to guard Jungkook from a greater fuck-up, come what may.

With the entire government of Busan or even Seoul against you when your secret ever goes public. Because they want to keep it on the low, too, and would stop at nothing. You did not go against the law but social customs and conservative morale, and those are by far more powerful.

You rip off your blouse and pants and toss them on the balcony. Your tank top is hardly suitable for the temperature, but the pool water is slightly warmer as you get in slowly. The chlorine has faded. The first good news for today.

Diving down, Jungkook appears curled up in the deepest, darkest corner, holding his hair together so it won’t float up and betray him. Most of the fright on his face dissolves when you give an intent thumbs up. These mermen understand so much about your culture. You cannot let go of this thought. How could he know?

Swimming closer, you seize him by the hands, nodding your head toward the surface. He pulls you up with ease, fast and agile. Emerging, you have to draw several breaths. He looks around frantically. You hope this didn’t traumatize him.

“It was my neighbour friend asking for art supplies. He left and didn’t see anything. Nobody else around. We’re good. Jungkook, it’s alright. It was just a friend.”

It’s Sunday, thankfully.

“I was so afraid… There was a vision, I was bleeding!”

“It’s okay now. There’s no blood. I protect you, nothing will happen.”

It’s of no use. He can’t stop looking around. Jungkook needs something to ground him.

A little kiss on the forehead.

It makes his cheeks turn cobalt blue. You feel how his tail sways back and forth a bit quicker. You part your legs wider so they won’t crush his fin in between.

“I will handle it. If I can pull you out of the mud, then I can subdue them when they ever show up. You just have to hide. Jungkook.”

It’s self-persuasion and hoping for a self-fulfilling prophecy. But you’re beaming at him, and his smile grows just as large.

“Y/N, you’re very strong. I wouldn’t know where I’d be without your help. You hardly knew me, just my kin.”

“So did you. But you didn’t freak out when you were awake.”

He nods emphatically.

“I felt your hands on my gills. It was very nice. Like waves. I knew you were benevolent, you resemble the sea when you move. No bad person does this. Can you… again? Only if you want, I—”

What he said stuns you for seconds. Your hands move to his upper body on autopilot.

“Like, like this?”

Jungkook sighs a mellowed yes when you start to stimulate his sides. His gills are much more relaxed than at the beach. After some strokes, you’re leaning in so much that his arms virtually just have to close an inch around you for an embrace.

He clings to you in a tight hug, your lips coming up to meet his. Whatever magic or trick he is using, they feel curiously sparkling and slightly saline after a while. It’s magnificent. Meanwhile, your breasts are squeezed flat against his chest, feeling how Jungkook’s heartbeat accelerates. Much like his fin that’s bringing more of his tail between your legs. You pull them upwards a bit, but inevitably he brushes against your pubes. You thought it would be awkward. But something about his body infatuates your skin like an ancient charm.

“Apologies Y/N, I didn’t mean to!”

“Don’t be sorry. Just, fuck… do it again. Feels awesome. You can be yourself with me.”

He understands, bringing his tail stark forward this time. Shit. Your clit says yes to that. So does your face judging by how he reacts, a lot keener than before.

“Jungkook, I have a weird question, too,” you brush back against him, “Is it possible, I mean. Can you penetrate me somehow, or…?”

He’s blushing a second time.

“I can peel the scales apart at the front.”

And he does it.

Oh wow.

He has the most gorgeous shaft you’ve ever seen. Clad in lustrous, thin scales sprouts forth a splendid length tinted in jade. It sojourns hard and upright, poking heavy at your clit and entrance only separated by your underwear.

“You can’t impregnate me, right?”

“I can’t. Human egg cells are too small and not receptive.”

That has you wondering, and quite amused how he said that. It means something big is coming. Sounds like fun.

“Can I ride you then?”

“You can do anything, really.”

It can’t get any hotter. Thankfully, you’re half undressed already. The panties you had left on soon float elsewhere just below the surface, and you’re shoving up the hem of your tank top. His chest feels ten times as invigorating when you’re naked against it. There’s hesitation when you reach for his cock. You don’t want to do anything wrong to hurt him. But Jungkook is encouraging the initiative. And the way he’s dipping at you flicks a plethora of switches. So it’s easy. You slip him in and start to move your hips. Soon you realize it’s a bit difficult to go down further.

“Can I use a spell? It helps.” he exhales. You knew it, he has those abilities.

“Mh, love to see it.”

There he goes. You catch Jungkook whispering a convoluted spell to himself before your walls pop open without further trial. He’s dipping in first, then going half the way already. That’s not normal at all. He knows what he’s doing, though. It’s so, so damn good.

Jungkook is completely ecstatic.

Your experience so far has been that sex in water generally… doesn’t go well. No lubrication, no fucking. But no, this has to be the best exception. The practically seamless scales, they’re really doing the trick. The plunge is slick and exciting, going in clean with every bounce. And there’s a quite a stunning lot to slide up and down on, that you get to welcome soon. He’s getting confident to echo the thrust with eyes fixated on yours.

“Give me more of that,” you insist, leaving both legs wrapped around his wavering tail. It’s almost too slippery to hold on to. But good to sink down smoothly while squeezing deeper inside. You’re pushed upwards the more he fucks into you. His tip is broad enough to anchor you, not letting you glide off easily. But you’re dangerous close to it. So you’re letting yourself drop down on him with more momentum which he has to cushion first, causing your belly to bulge out considerably. You’re obsessed.

“Lift my legs more, Jungkook!”

Like that, the insides of your thighs graze at his gills, abrasive and brisk. To your surprise, it eventuates in sharper thrusts going for your sweetest spots. The depth that he pursues now starts to stretch you hard and wide on the glossy scales. Jungkook keeps murmuring spells. If this goes on for any longer, that’s a cock riding that would send not only you but Taehyung and the entire neighborhood to the gates of heaven and higher.

You keep shoving him straight up to dent out your abdomen, and he’s making it so salacious with his little moans. When you’re grabbing for hold at his shoulders, Jungkook warns you about his precum. Indeed it’s not to underestimate when you feel it, making everything two times as sleek. You slump down completely now, surprised not to feel any trace of balls against your ass.

Different anatomy.

Normal men need cooling for their sperm outside of their body, otherwise they would not survive. Jungkook? He’s got something else going on. Busan’s sea is not notoriously warm.

“Intertwine your fingers in my hair, Y/N—”

“What? Can I really do that?”

It sounds like heresy to your ears.

“It’ll stimulate you, do it quickly,” he persists, and your fingers seek a place in his silky mane. And Christ, he’s right. There’s a rapid sedation of the anxious thoughts at the back of your mind. Instead, you’re feeling an immense euphoria descend from your spine down to your loins. Jungkook whimpers while you’re drilling him deeper with all your power. Slowly but surely, you lose yourself in his dazzling ocean hair. You’re so happy now. Nothing matters. Just you together within the blur of everything else.

Fuck society. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.

Jungkook’s moans have grown incomprehensible. Both of your hands soak up more of the sky blue energy. And once you grab the strands tighter, an overwhelming current verberates in your back until you’re ready and cumming. The world is so elated, nothing can bring your hands away from his hair. It’s pushing you to the limit incessantly. Better than any drug trip, better than the feeling after you ran your second marathon. You’re climaxing so vigorously on him that twenty seconds in, something effervescent and tingly begins to pour into your womb like a bursting well. His unearthly groaning gives you an idea of how much it shatters and empties him. You get filled to the brim and it won’t stop. Of course, he’s significantly larger than the average human — much semen to store then, by your logic at least. You do get a glimpse of the proportions as Jungkook keeps cramming loads and loads past your cervix while your orgasm keeps electrifying even the last corner of your body.

The well won’t cease. He keeps moving until you’re entirely pumped full with an all creamy, tickling substance. You try to keep everything in not to leak it into the water. But it’s too much. With each of his last thrusts, the bulk of it just comes spilling out. A shimmering, dark cyan liquid rises to the surface in gradient plumes, mixed with streaks of your cum. It looks like fluid shapes of orchids showing as a supple iridescent foam.

And it turns golden.

The scent gives you a feeling of the hours after rain in spring. Jungkook picks up a decent bit of the foam with two fingers, slipping them into his mouth. He leans in to kiss you again as you reach the aftermath of your peak that threatens to leave you bland. But what happens now makes you tighten around his dick once again, seizing out more to splutter inside.

On your tongue unfold an explosion of jasmine blended with peppermint, thyme, fresh raspberries, wild honey, and even something like caramel. There was no way you would have been prepared for this. You had expected something like a sea breeze, but this beats all that you could imagine. Because beyond approximation, you can’t really describe what it is like.

You swallow fast and retreat one hand from his hair to pick up something yourself. This is the best thing you’ve ever tasted. It can’t be called an actual thing, in fact, it’s more than that. It has to be an artifact. A magic potion that you want to bottle up and drink all day, sweet and glowing.

It’s like alchemy.

And you’re so deliciously stuffed with that now.

Before you pull him out, all the negative pressure culminates. Then, the rest of his seed bubbles up placidly. The gaping feels like you just jammed a baseball bat inside of yourself, reckless abandon with a Himalaya of premium coke up your nose. Complete inebriation.

Water streams in and flushes out the final strands of cyan when his following spells seal you tight. Jungkook holds you firm until you detangle his hair with your remaining hand, then place it on his cheek. If there were mermaids out there, they’d be the luckiest women on the entire planet.

“Kook”, you whisper with an unwinding tremble, “you’re amazing.”

Anchoring an old khaki tent next to the pool takes some time, but you remember something about the manual. This goes here, that goes there, and this is how you zip up a sleeping bag. Jungkook giggles along. You can’t afford to sleep inside tonight. You only move your blouse to the safety of your wardrobe and get a snack, switch on the lights of the balcony to illuminate the garden for the rest of the evening. He’s singing for you.

The next day is grueling because you have to go to work. But before leaving, you relocate Jungkook to the bathtub as fast as possible, leaving him your phone with a short explanation so he can call you and vice versa. The anxiety comes back.

He gets lighthearted leisure magazines and books to spend the time, and devours them. History, art, fashion, beauty, celebrities, health, sports, food, philosophy, fantasy, comedy. He also asks for a globe and celestial map, saying his uncle vaguely told him about it. Maybe it’s good that he knows a bit more about the mainland when he returns. You don’t want to let him go with the same ideas he had before, give him a bit of faith in the good things you had here. The other side of the coin, even if it was just a glimpse of hope.

Though you didn’t expect him to return to your mansion in any way. Humanity is already terrifying enough. Especially after his loss. This should not happen again. You decide to leave him your trusted chef knife and a word of caution. He doesn’t know how to use it so you teach him the technique. He says he wouldn’t be any better than his attackers if there were some. You try to clarify that it’s the way humans act sometimes. Tit for tat. And he has all the right and responsibility to defend himself under threat, otherwise, he would never be able to see the stars again.

At 10 am you give him a short call. He’s fine, quite mesmerized how the phone works, and just a bit hungry. You decide not to spend lunchtime in the city, but speed your car to a local supermarket and deli, looking for seaweed. Returning home Jungkook is still in his place, having managed to drop Terry Pratchett and J. K. Rowling into the water. But all else is as before. In the afternoon, you call him twice. He talks about the invention of the lightbulb, pasta salad, Kant, and how nicely Tolkien writes about Hobbits. Work passes torturously slow, the keyboard in front of you blurs each time your mind drifts away. You go home early, leaving your subordinates Jimin and Seokjin a bit puzzled at a shallow excuse. If only they knew.

It’s way after dawn when you move him out of the bathroom. Jungkook gets the idea that you could just use a wheelbarrow this time, knowing you own one after having had enough hours to glance around your garden already. You fill a bit of water into it and pick boots with a sturdy profile. And it works, the leverage is much better on the arms. You arrive at the beach laughing and joking together how silly of a duo you must look like. Jungkook has already given his word to come back in two days around the same time.

The tide is close enough for you to take him to the water. He parts reluctantly with five, six, seven sublime kisses. You hope he wasn’t missed by his family. Busan’s nocturnal skyline radiates from afar when you watch him swim east ever so elegantly.

It’s hard to find any sleep later. Your arms still ache like hell from dragging him. And so many things are going through your head. You end up outside in the tent after taking a quick shower, pretending he’s still there. Jungkook has last started a chapter from the Chronicles of Narnia, and you put yourself in a tired daze finishing it. Work tomorrow is going to be so hard.

Jimin asks if you’re okay while he organizes some files, but doesn’t comment anything further. You resume typing with the feeling that you are now leading a double life. Taehyung’s words come back: Slow down, slow down. And you do. Wednesday you will see him at the bay, everything is alright. Who knows what you will do afterwards, how often you will meet. Maybe it’s good not to make him cross into dangerous territory regularly, or at least you should look for more hidden places. You’ll make it.

Two days after, you receive an early mail. You’re drowsy but startled, Taehyung and Jin haven’t sent anything for months. It has to be one of them.

It’s only a red envelope and some strangely filled paper bag. You peel open the red letter first.

It was made with a typewriter.

“A million and you get the fish back whole. He has a nice buzzcut already. Friday 1 pm, quay. Pull up with the money or you’ll see him on the news. Tell anybody and we will do the same to you.”

Below, the paper is embossed with a saw and hook symbol.

You drop the bag as soon as you open it.

There are hundreds of tiny pearls on the floor.

chapter two ║ i’m no angel (m)

↳ summary | who do you have to become to get him back?

⚠️ graphic violence, threat of drowning, car accident, aftermath of torture.

There’s an old cage.

Bars bent and crooked.

Not abandoned, just empty since this very day. You know he must have been inside, nothing else makes sense. The lingering smell around here, it belongs to him. The air is spiked with thyme, the scent of grass after it rained. It’s familiar. It’s so painful. You go on searching every corner of the hangar in a fever. It looks like a warehouse from the inside, stuffed with tools and other miscellaneous equipment.

Some wood, nails. Discarded tires. You’ve seen some of them on the SUV you followed to Busan city limits. You try to memorize the letters and numbers on them. AZ1-5986. Whatever that means. It could be of help later since you don’t know the SUV’s license plate.

As you remember that it’d be straightforward to just photograph the tires with your phone, a faint knocking sets your world on fire. It keeps repeating, they are fast and erratic knocks. Not mechanical ones. Not calm ones.

You hurry into the direction where you suspect they are coming from. There’s no doubt in your mind that you should not go. It’s the only sign of life, or whatever it is in this building. Somewhere, somewhere at the back behind two parked up seaplanes, timeworn and half deconstructed, there you locate it. A moss-covered fish tank is jammed between a humongous workbench and a freezer. A tail rests and winds grazing tight against the glass inside. Oh my god.

Yes, it’s him. You unbolt the lid, bring it down crashing on the freezer. Jungkook spins around inside the tank until his face comes to the surface. Pale grey eyes. Charcoal hair, cropped short. Pursed lips and a tapered chin. An Ingenue look. He’s agitated.

“I’ve heard you calling for him, you’re the one Jungkook’s talked about!”

No. It’s not Jungkook. Not his voice, not his face. Too lean, not sturdy at all. It’s definitely not him. His scent is much different, too. Sweet chestnuts, basil. It’s not familiar.

“Who are you, where is he?”

“Yoongi,” the merman blinks, “I’m his friend. They got us both at once at the beach.”

That’s what you feared. Jungkook’s friends and family getting dragged into this. You wish you had just sent him out as far away as possible where the hunters wouldn’t get him.

“I’m his—”

You don’t know what you are to him. A girlfriend? Hardly. An affair? More than that. It sounds weird anyway. Affairs are not that serious.

“He loves you.”

There it is. Jungkook told him. Lovers might be what describes you best.

“Where is he?”

“They’ve taken him to another place from here this morning. This is just the decoy. They told you to follow the car and fetch him here after paying.”

“They did. And now?”

“These are not the headquarters,” Yoongi props himself up at the edge of the tank. “The shipyard is. You have to go there!”

Of course. This hangar is as good as useless for a permanent stay. It’s just for the dirty work.

“And what happens with you? I won’t leave you here like that. But I can’t transport you in my car, there’s nothing like this tank.”

“It takes half an hour until I can’t go without any water. If you drop me at the sea it’s fine.”

“So I can take you with me?”

“I’ll be grateful forever. Jungkook didn’t lie about how you treat us.”

You steer your car into the hangar backwards, get out again with the engine on, rip the trunk open. The size has to be enough.

The high walls of the fish tank don’t permit you to lift Yoongi out of it. He tries to push himself up with the help of his fin several times, but he’s too large, the glass to slippery, and the tank too narrow. As a last resort, you grab a sledgehammer from the workbench to impact and shatter the glass. The handle is long, maybe 17 or 18 inches, allowing you to step back and lunge quite far. The glass doesn’t break right away. You are not used to wielding something like this. It takes three more strikes until you demolish the front wall. You have to be careful not to hit where Yoongi’s tail squeezes against the glass.

The gush of water Yoongi pushes you back, everything goes into splinters with fragments of glass bursting to the sides, then floating everywhere on the ground. Yoongi cuts himself several times at the arms and lower back before you can pick him up. His chest is flat and cold against yours, his body heavy and close to glide far from your grasp. Less so than Jungkook, but still it feels like the weight is tearing off your arms. His skin is like you’re touching soap.

There’s no sailing cloth or Taehyung’s art supplies this time. You try to heave him up as much as possible so his fin won’t touch the ground, glass cracking under your boots until you reach the car. Yoongi howls with pain when you try to tuck him in. His wounds scratch hard at the trunk’s plastic inlet. You show him how to open and close the tailgate from the inside, then shut it and set off.

It takes ten minutes to the bay.

The boatyard towers over the cranes and docks of the harbor. You speed in order to drive around. And there it is. AZ1-5986. They didn’t park the car inside, no. It stands blazen at the rear entrance. And they met you at 1 PM in the middle of the day. You’ve been tricked by absolute amateurs.

Or not.

There’s a scream coming from the inside. Sharp, heartbreaking.

No time to bring Yoongi to the sea.

You seize the sledgehammer from the passenger seat. And go.

You recognize them at one glance. It’s the small man and red-head woman you saw driving the SUV, the woman being the one you gave the ransom to. She gave cold instructions. The man is currently wearing large gloves, dripping with water. To your surprise, they seem to be alone. The vast silence of the dockyard seems too large to house them here. The woman sneers at you, patting the front of her black leather jacket.

“Your envelope’s still right here, Miss.”

“It will be here soon,” you point towards your own jeans pocket at the front.

She only tugs at her necklace in return. It’s made of colorful hair. Gold, turquoise. Teal and silver. You realized something. Only one thing drives them: cash. And since the government still wants the monopoly in the equation, that will be their eternal aim. Hunters are only tolerated for doing the messy jobs. The profiteer is elsewhere. And with the sums that they trade the mermen, your ransom money is only a temporary achievement, gone tomorrow. It’s not what Jungkook is worth to you anyways. Money can’t measure Jungkook. If only you could hold him.

What your instinct tells you at the sight of the hair is: Killing. No matter if it would alert authorities sooner or later, or bring a gang to your garden. But Jungkook’s words are still at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’d be ready to be just as bad as they are. Maybe you’re no angel in all of this. You’ve infringed on the circle of life the minute you decided to pour water on Jungkook’s body at the beach. But there’s no way back. You have to be as bad, even worse. For him.

Because there he lies, in a giant tank with another merman with orange tail and skin. It’s close enough to see what’s inside. Pearls are piling up at the ground, and well from his eyes when they lock on you. His hair looks auburn, the long vivid strands are gone. They picked a lot of scales off his tail, too, leaving bloody spots. All the jewelry is nowhere to be seen. Instead, a heavy chain is wound secure around him several times, weighing his body to the ground. The other merman doesn’t have a chain. His scales and hair are removed entirely. They sawed one of his arms off, too. If you can judge by his face, the decaying process has already started. He’s been here for longer.

Your anger is boiling up. The woman’s shallow smile pushes you over the edge at last. She pulls out a soiled drop point knife. You hate her so much. This place has to be wiped out. Erased, cauterized. The entire gang if you have to. You charge gripping the hammer at the top with the right hand, at the bottom with your heft. Before you reach her, the man is wrapping his hands around your neck from behind, pulling you back from her.

One foot, two feet, three. You can’t breathe, panic. The feeling of his gloves is terrifying on your skin, in your mind. But the thought of Jungkook burns inside. Again you focus all energy in your arms. Finally. He takes your elbow to the stomach, cries out, and topples down. Before the man catches himself, you follow your impulse. It’s good that he dragged you away. This is the only chance. You withdraw your right hand from the handle and take a long swing back with all the might in your left arm. You hurl the hammer forward and send it flying towards her legs. The spin knocks her over right away. This tree got cut down. If you could, you’d make wood briquettes. But not now.

He’s coming at you again. Now that she’s unconscious, your job is easy even if your hammer is gone. Men have more frontal weak spots to hit.

He has his gloved fists up. Going towards you slowly. First he tries to suffocate you, now he’s playing fair, doesn’t he. You’ll floor him faster than her. Suits him, he’s the minion. The prick probably sawed apart Jungkook’s brother.

You wait until he comes close enough, put your fists up in return. Shit, shit, shit. Your arms hurt so much. You play the game despite the ache, dancing from foot to foot as he comes in. Then boot nasty fucker in the groin aimed from below, explosive and direct. He stumbles backward with a yell, falling agonized and twitching. You dive after him, leg extended to land a second kick under his chin. His head snaps back. That beats him senseless for once.

But you worry about Yoongi. The trunk. He’s still in there. Since twenty minutes or more. And even if he knows how to get out of there, it’s of no use. He can’t go anywhere. This has to be fast. At the other end of the scene, you pull the envelope from the woman’s jacket, along with a metal key and her necklace. She doesn’t deserve it.

You hurry to Jungkook, hammer all too heavy in your hands again. At one point, your arms are going to fall off your torso. But now you know better. You dash the tank to pieces in one final hurl towards the right spot, entirely graceless but effective. The water swipes you off your feet in a large outpour. Exhaustion is coming.

The splinters are much larger this time and the float glass appears to almost detonate under the pressure released. Jungkook is too heavy to get carried off by the surge. He lands just feet away next to you crying, repeating your name until you manage to stand up leaving the hammer behind.

“I missed you, Jungkook, what—”

“You, you came,” he winces, “are you fine?”

“Don’t ask about me,” you fumble at the lock of his chain, “we’ll get this off, talk is for later.”

“It hurts.”

He’s looking at you from dulled eyes. They might have put him into water, but the life is still drained out of him. You don’t want to imagine what happened. They bound the chain around him so tight that it left purple traces. After it’s off, you already know what to do with it. Jungkook picks an orange scale from his dead friend in the debris, whispering a last goodbye.

The thirty minutes are long over. The trunk is closed when you come out of the backdoor with Jungkook.

You open to a smiling Yoongi the second he sees you and Jungkook in your arms.

“Yoongi, you okay? Left you waiting.”

“Sure, but you?” he ruffles his hair a bit. You blink twice, seeing that it has grown a bit longer and darker since you saw it in the hangar. You noticed that with Jungkook as well, but didn’t put two and two together, or actually believed your own eyes. It must be magic at work. Or different physics.

At a second glance, there’s a decent layer of water in the trunk.

“Yes, they’re in chains. Where does the water come from?”

“You had several bottles of sparkling water in the corner. I like how it tingles, we don’t have that out there. My wounds... it seems they regenerate.”

Of course! The water. You bought it when getting groceries for Jungkook.

“And what do we do with the two?”

“We could take them out with us. But they’re affiliates, they all know about each other.”

“I’ll decide later by myself,” you guide Jungkook onto the rear bench seat. “We need to go...”

You kickstart the car, turn to head for the one-way lane to the docks. As close as your car permits, you maneuver toward the edge where water towers high. The tide is in favor. But there’s commotion at the end of the street where you came from. It’s a truck.

“Hurry!” Jungkook cries, “That’s the rest of them!”

You can’t drive away with them now. If you’re able to drop both off, then you’re already lucky. You drive closer to the water, preparing to unlock the car with your electric key so Yoongi gets the sign to open the trunk. But you soon feel that the car gets out of balance. You look into the rear-view mirror, estimating how much you could still drive backward, or forward. But it’s futile.

The weight in the back drags the car over the edge. You’re screaming. Jungkook tries to counterbalance. The car tips over anyways. It enters the water.

The door won’t open. Water keeps rising. The signal of the keys won’t unlock the car no matter how many times you press the button. Jungkook can’t manage to open the doors either, his strength has faded. The water level has almost reached the ceiling when he stops trying. You’re so far down and out of air, even if you managed to escape now diving upward would make you run out of air already. Maybe a few seconds left and you can say goodbye to this life. You can’t tell Jungkook how much you love him. It’s all too late. Everything, absolutely everything went wrong. Only failure remains. Fucked up from start to finish. Four lives ruined, two dead. You feel a thumping at the back of your head.

Jungkook intertwines his fingers with your hair from behind, whispering something between bubbles before you can’t hear anymore. An immense heat glues your legs together in an instant, melting the fabric of your jeans. A rousing bolt darts through your scalp, your feet stop moving. It feels like your body is bloating everywhere, soaking up water. Webbing springs forth between your fingers, fiery scales around your hips. Your hair starts growing out scarlet and thick, curling large before your eyes. The sides of your upper body start to open up wide, then close again. A burst of air expands in your lungs.

Now you know why Jungkook knew so much about civilized life.

Merpeople used to be human.

⁕ sequel: dauntless (m) | m.list in bio

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meteor752 · 4 years

Text

Dragon Individuals

Will I ever stop with the Lotr dragons? Nope.

This time I will talk specifically about certain Dragons/Dragonlings, and their lives before and after the title of Dragon Slayer was brought upon them. We will have one person for each type of dragons.

Smaug

Kinda given that I’d choose him, because I love him.

Smaug was known as Sirvil when he was still human, and grew up in an eastern village of middle earth. Sirvil was never a considered a rich or successful person. He was born as the youngest in a family of eleven, with a relatively weak and frail body that wasn’t useful at all on the crop fields that his family worked on, and he was often teased by his nine older sisters and brothers.

What Sirvil did have going for him was his looks however, at least when he got older. As a teenager, both young men and women would try to get it on with him, but he was never particularly interested in anyone. His entire focus was to become something great that everyone would remember, even after his death.

The moment he came of age, Sirvil left his simple eastern village for the west, searching for a way to move up in life. He became a merchant for a while, and worked under a lot of wealthy buisness men, which sure made him money, but no one still knew his name.

It was when he heard a whisper of the great ice dragon moln in the north that he got an idéa. Every great dragon were known through out middle earth, like the Sky dragon Rilva, king of the southern skies and the mountain dragon Diavanta, protector of the misty mountains. So as a dragon, everyone would know his name.

It took a lot of studying in the library of Minas Tirith, until he decided for the powerful fire dragon, more specifically Ember, the resting dragon in the volcano.

I won’t go into details on how Sirvil killed a dragon, he just did and boom he’s a Dragonling.

Sirvil’s time as a Dragonling was...tough, to say the least. A fire Dragonling takes almost five hundred years to fully transform, which was way too long in his opinion.

He started doing stuff that would get people’s attention, like as fast as he could breathe fire he would just burn everything, and as soon as his wings grew out (Which took years by the way, painful as fuck), he would use them to his advantage to spread his fire’s far and wide.

A Dragonling can feel when the time is near. Just a few months before they fully transform, their body starts to itch in a way, and they start to act a lot less human/elven/whatever species you are.

Sirvil was not fully aware of what would happen when he one day woke up and knew that he would shed his old skin and fully spread his wings, all he knew was that it was going to happen.

Just a few hours later, a burst of flames escaped his body and fully surrounded it, making him feel the most excruciating pain he’d ever felt, but not just from the dragon fire.

His mind was wiped, every memory of his past stolen from him greedily, leaving him a confused Wyvern with his mind on only one thing, gold.

His name was replaced by Smaug, a name that just came to him, as dragon names do. Their old ones are replaced by the new, just like their old lives were.

And you know the rest. A day or two later he burnt down Dale, claimed Erebor and became Lord Smaug, the King under the Mountain.

While the world never knew Sirvil’s name, it definitely knew Smaug’s.

Vrilta

Vrilta was a water dragon, who previously were an elf by the name of Elva.

Elva was born to a fisher by the name of Kamarind and an artist by the name of Vivian. Some of you may remember who these people are.

Elva was the first born of the two, back when the two were still monogamous and didn’t sleep with everyone they met. Elva was an only child for a long time, which she loved a lot, and when her younger brother Jessah was born, she showed endless love for him as well.

She showed an early appriciation for her Nana’s art, but her true love was to follow her ada out on the sea, just to feel the waves beneath her feet. She could sit for hours and listen to her ada talk about legends and myths about the depht of the sea, and she always used to draw a thousand different made up sea creatures as a child.

It changed when her parents started taking different lovers to bed, and there was suddenly always someone new that took their attention. It got even worse when her ada got a female dwarf pregnant, and she suddenly had a dwelf sister that hung after her constantly everytime she was around.

Elva left Mirkwood as soon as she could, having no idea what she wanted to do with her life, except that it was going to be near the sea. So she went to the northern coast, not minding the cold as long as she could still feel the sea breeze in her hair as she walked bare foot down the beach.

She started to hang around a northern human village, mostly for food and shelter at the local tavern, but also for a chance to meet a human with a boat that could take her out on the ocean.

It was on a particullary cold night when she sat cooped up in the local library reading about sea life, when she stumbled upon the Water Dragon. She read about it, thought it was cool but nothing more, until she tearned the page where it stood about Water Dragonlings, her her being froze. There was a way to become a water creature, to live under the water without a care in the world?

Elva started researching about the way to become a dragon, which is fairly simple you just have to kill one, and her mind was set. She was going to become a dragonslayer.

The Water dragons lurked in the dept of lakes and oceans, and rarely came anywhere near the surface, so it was going to become a challange to do, but Elva was patient. She started trying to find ways to lock a Water Dragon up to the surface, to get it close so she could kill it.

She made a visit to Erebor to retrieve a Black dagger, a weapon made from the same material as the famous black arrows of Dale. It was not easy to make them make her one, as she was an elf and dwarves and elves were infamous for hating each other, but she eventually had it done for a very high price. It didn’t matter, soon she would be swimming around in the waters depht.

After five years of hunting for a Water Dragon, of being known as the mad water elf by the village she stayed in,of spending days by the cold shores of the night, her luck finally struck.

A small Water Dragon Hatchling, not more than a few months old, washed up on shore. Elva, who’d been there all night waiting and way half asleep, sprung up at the sight of the curious little thing that were inspecting a nearby crab.

She knew she had to be quick, since the Hatchlings parents would be there to retrieve it, so she sneaked up on the turqoise and cerise little creature and stabbed it quickly, ending it’s life.

She quickly fled the scene, feeling the slight tingle under her skin, a wide smile covering her features.

She had a relatively easy five hundred years as a Dragonling. Her parents were horrified by her decision, while their friend Tilda where just vibing by the side being supportive. Her brother Bain, had become Elva’s parents new lover and had brought them their fourth child,a Half-elf named Brand, but he a pretty pure creature and she loved him. The Dwelf was still a pain though.

After two hundred years of Light and Marine blue scales growing on her body and wings spurting out off her back, her lungs started to change to gills, which was more weird than painful. The change from having two legs to having one fin was more uncomfortable though, but then finally she was a water creature.

Elva refused to end the curse, despite the pleading of her parents and siblings (Especially Brand, who lost both his aunt and his grandfather to the curse), because she’d been working so hard to finally be able to swim freely, and even if she would loose her identity, she would still have control of her being.

So when the dragon fire surrounded her, she was calm despite the pain, and she was truly happy when she dove deep into the water, reincarnated as Vrilta.

Moln

No one knows anything about Moln’s past. Moln doesn’t even know his past. He’s one of the oldest beings in middle earth, and is actually kinda chill (Pun intended).

A lot of new Dragonlings that don’t know what’s going on go (Or fly, depends on how far into the dragon process they are) to his ice cave in the far north for advice, and he’s sorta like an old wise mentor, despite the fact that he barely remembers anything and just sorta guesses.

He also makes a bunch of ice puns, because ice puns are cool.

Qrikti

Qrikti is a forest dragon, that was actually the forest dragon that Tilda killed, fun fact. I thought about doing her, but I have so much about her so it would add nothing.

Qrikti was known as Hijami back when they were still human, and they grew up in a relatively small but friendly village in the south. They were a happy single child with two wonderful moms and a bunch of friends, and life couldn’t be better.

When Hijami got into their early teens however, things changed. Their moms and a couple of other people from their village was out on a simple hunt, but never returned. The village found what was left of the group a few days later, and the local healer identified it as a Dragon Attack.

Hijami was obviously devastated about their moms deaths, and during the funeral they decided that they were going to get revenge and slay the dragon

So they literally devoted their entire life to it. While their friends started relationships, got jobs, made a life for themselves, Hijami learner how to use weapons and how to take down a dragon.

Unfortunately they didn’t do much research on Dragons themselves, as they lived in a pretty isolated village and thought the only kind of dragons there were were the ones from the stories, which was huge fire breathing monsters that kidnapped maidens.

Instead, after they’d turned thirty five and went out to hunt it down, they found a pretty small dark green dragon that were chewing away on a giant branch without a care in the world.

Hijami were of course confused at first, but they thought that they could think about that later as they quickly attacked the dragon and slayed it by stabbing it in its eye.

And for them it was fine, they went home to their village, the dragons head in their hand, and got the title dragon slayer.

And then...they were pretty lost. They had devoted twenty years to training to kill the thing, and they didn’t know what to do.

So for a while, they didn’t do anything.

They became a story teller for the village kids, telling them about how they slayed the dragon (Often romanticizing it all of course), but otherwise they mostly just hung around.

Until something weird happened with their skin.

The skin around their neck started to harden and crack, and then suddenly there was a strange green thing there that refused to go away. And then another one. And just a year later their whole neck was covered in them.

No one in their village had any idea of what was going on, not even the healer. No one had seen such a thing before, but how would they? Again, they were pretty isolated from the rest of the world.

But it didn’t hurt or anything, it just itched sometimes, so Hijami just shrugged it off as some weird skin disease that would pass.

It was when the bump started to appear on their back, that slowly turned into their skin breaking open and wings spreading out (that took a year) and they thought that it might have something to do with the dragon they killed.

So they did a little more research about dragons, and found that when you kill one you turn into one, a phenomenon called The Dragon Curse.

And Hijami had the emotional breakdown of the century.

They chose not to inform anyone about it however, as they were too embarrassed that their blind hatred of the creature kept them from actually trying to find out anything about them.

So they just simply left their village, just wishing to wait out the Dragonling part.

Hijami had a rough time as a Dragonling, as they hated how they looked with the wings, horns and tail. They mostly lived in the wild, away from all the people, hoping that it would all be over soon.

Hijami never visited Moln, or met with any other Dragonling, so they had no idea what would happen when they three hundred years later started to transform.

But suddenly all their hate towards dragons, towards themselves, towards their own anger, was turned into hate towards the world.

Hijami was gone, left was only Qrikti.

Qrikti returned to th forest near Hijami’s old village in the south, and they stayed there for a few decades, killing anyone who dared to threaten their home.

It was when the village had enough and hired a woman with the companion of an elk that Qrikti met their end, and another was sent to hate themselves over her blindness.

Yalye

Yalye used to be a dwarf maiden by the name of Remdi before they were turned into a Spike Dragon.

Remdi was a proud Dwarf, with long thick hair and a long thick beard that she loved to style. She was a jeweler together with her brother and sister Reivi and Relli, and the three loved to craft jewelry such as necklaces, hair clips and rings just to wear them. They hoarded it like dragons. Which we will get to.

Remdi and her siblings used to live in Erebor before Smaug attacked (Dammit Sirvil this is why we can’t have nice things), where they lost their home and all they had ever known. Remdi, as the oldest, acted strong though, and did her best to encourage her siblings.

Remdi and her family found a place where they could settle down along with some other dwarves in a particularly dry spot of Middle Earth. The other dwarves would do stuff like mine for silver and gems, and Remdi and her family would turn them into beautiful jewelry they could sell to locals.

Their earned a lot less after the loss of their home, but there wasn’t much they could do.

It was one day where Remdi’s sister Relli needed a particularly sized and colored sapphire for the necklace she was working on, that Remdi followed some of the dwarves down to the mines to look, as Relli was busy crafting the chain for the necklace.

Remdi is though not a dwarf of physical action, but one that is more about careful crafting, so while walking through the desert on the way to the mine she ends up falling behind the other dwarves, which leads to her being lost.

In the desert.

In the middle of summer.

Oh boy.

She decides to stay where she is in hopes that the dwarves would return and find her, but when the night comes and goes, there’s still no sign for them and she starts to get dehydrated, so she leaves the rock she was sitting on in a quest for water.

The water problem is actually not that hard, she finds a water hole after only a few hours, it’s the food that’s the issue.

She had some rations with her, but not enough to last for long, and she’s scared to leave the water hole in case it would take days for her to get back and she would die of dehydration, so she sticks around.

It’s after a day that she sees a small figure move in the corner of her eye, and upon closer inspection it’s a small spiky little wyvern that’s drinking out of the water hole.

Now, keep in mind here, that Remdi is desperate. Like really, really desperate. So she slowly sneaks up on the thing, grabs onto it and breaks its neck with a quick motion.

After peeling off the scales and spikes from the small little thing, she cooks and eats it, and it’s surprisingly tasty according to her.

So continues doing that.

She binds the dragons spikes together to create a knife which would make it easier to kill the small little things.

It’s only a few weeks later that a sandy scale appears on her neck, and she suddenly remembers that the dragon curse is a thing, which is a problem.

The scales spread quickly, and small little spikes start popping out of her neck. She’s forced to quit her beard short because it’s in the way and also really hot, which is devastating to her.

She makes a few attempts to return to her home and her siblings, but somehow she always ends up at the same water hole, and after her wings grow out around her arms (Which only takes a few weeks, lucky bastard), she decides that it’s no use and simply stays at the water hole, eating whatever meat she could find.

She stopped using the knife though, as her claws, teeth and skin is pretty much knives at this point, that aren’t called Spike Dragons for nothing.

Fifty years pass, and the dwarf turns from Remdi to Yalye, which also makes her a lot smaller.

That is to her advantage though, as she quickly finds a tiny crack that leads her to a cave that’s relatively cold for being the desert.

It also leads her to her downfall, as the other spike dragons kill her pretty quickly since she killed many of their pack.

Yeah, Yalye has a short and tragic life.

Diavanta

Diavanta was a Mountain dragon of the Misty Mountains, and used to be known as Jessamine Took. Yep, she was a hobbit.

Jessamine, or Jessie, was your standard Took. Always a glint of adventure in her eyes, and a smile that would make anyone question her motives.

She grew up in The Shire like most hobbits, and was actually a pretty normal female hobbit. She had a curvy body, beautiful locks, big feet, pointed ears, all that Jazz. She wasn’t too different in the personality aspect either. She was just your standard hobbit basically.

But the thing is, Jessie easily got bored. And when she got bored, she would find something to do no matter what.

So one day when she was bored while watching some ponies, she was just like ‘Hey, I’m gonna ride one of those!’

So she rented a pony named Kimmie, got some supplies and took off, leaving The Shire behind. Why? Because she was bored!

Jessie travelled for many months, never really having a goal in mind apart from adventure! which doesn’t really lead to much.

Whenever she felt like it was too uninteresting, she took a new path, that would hopefully lead her to a more fun thing.

Which eventually lead her to the misty mountains, a mountain range that among other things were said to inhabit the great Mountain Dragon Grailli.

So Jessie was all for that.

So she traveled through the mountains with Kimmie, resupplied in Rivendell, neatly avoided any inhabitants of Goblin Town, you know, the usual.

It was when she took rest in a cave, that she first caught sight of Grailli. And with caught sight of, I mean the wall behind her cracked and collapsed, and she looked right into the silver eyes of the dragon.

And Jessie was just welp, I guess this is how I’ll die, it was fun, but everything has to end.

But the dragon simply stared intensely at her, tilting its head a little bit as if it was inspecting her.

After a full two minutes of the two staring at each other, the dragon was the one who broke eye contact by, closing its eyes and leaning its head down, exposing its scaly forehead.

Jessie was very confused at first, but when she tried to take a step away from the large thing it growled in her direction, but when she took a step forward it was fine.

So she walked up to the dragon, and the moment she was close enough the dragon snatched her in the middle of a step and pulled her down through the formed hole by biting onto her arm.

Jessie barely had time to scream as the dragon lead (Dragged) her into a enormous hole in the mountain, filled with gold, jewelry and all of that stuff that Hobbits never had cared too much about.

The second Jessie was placed carefully on the gold by help of the Dragons tail, it started to change. Shrink. Become less reptilian and more like a person.

And suddenly the gray dragon Grailli, protector of the misty mountains, was replaced by a scaly person with wings, horns, and a tail.

The person (Whose species and gender couldn’t make out because of the dragony traits, but she was sure that it was one of them tall folk) kneeled down to Jessie’s height and explained in a deep gravelly voice that they were getting old, stiff, forgetful. That they needed a replecement for the role of the protector of the Misty Mountains and the protector of the treasure.

And Jessie was just like Yeah sure whatever, so Grailli gave her a knife from the pile of gold, and instructed her how to properly kill them.

And sure, that was a little gross, but she still did as instructed mostly because she was curious of what would happen.

And for a long while, nothing did. She would just chill in the mountain hole, look through the gold for something fun, the goblins would bring her an offering of fruit and meat twice a week which was probably intended for Grailli, but it was still nice, and she mostly just talked with Kimmie.

It’s almost a few decades later that the first scale appeared, itching away on her skin. It’s weird, but honestly not that bad. Then they just keep appearing, and spread down from her neck to her back, and then there’s the bump on her shoulder blades and oh Valars the effing pain.

It took Jessie ten years to fully grow out her wings, ten years of barely being able to stand, of only being able to eat when she was practically starving, of spending all that time cuddled up to Kimmie because honestly it kind of helps by having her there.

When she finally is able to spread her wings however (That are waaaaay to large for her small Hobbit body, she has some problems learning how to fly) she takes a trip back to the shire for a few days just to show off.

Which is then that she realizes that her friends from youth, her sibling, all have become old. Some have died. And she’s till in her prime, barely thirty four, flapping around with her enormous bat wings.

When Jessie returned to the mountain, she’d changed. She was less bubbly, less adventurous, less tookish, and more...cold. One could argue that it was the hard nature of the Mountain Dragon that made it, while one could say it was the realization of what her curiosity had left behind. In reality, it was kind of both.

Kimmie passed, she lived a long life for a pony, and Jessie was alone. And bored.

So she took new animals into the mountain hole, just to have as company. Bunnies, goats, an alligator once, some say she had a warg as a pet for a while, but they all died as well.

Jessie went through her transformation a thousand years after she’d first met the might Grailli, and even as Diavanta she felt sad and lonely.

She still do.

King Rilva

This one’s fun.

King Rilva was an ordinary man named Stjarna before he became who he was.

Stjarna has always been a fucking psychopath. Even in his childhood.

He was raised in a pretty large town, with constant buzzing and noise. Stjarna hated it.

He wanted it quiet so he could write his pretty creepy texts and paint his horrifying pictures based on his dreams in peace. He couldn’t do that with the sound of the market from outside or his younger sister and brothers constant nagging on how they wanted to play with him.

So he did what all good brothers do, lead them into the forest behind the town and killed them both in cold blood, before dumping them in a lake.

His parents were devestated of course, and he played the part as a hurting brother perfectly, though he was happy that he could finally write and draw in peace.

Until a new family moved in next door, and they had a daughter around his age that just wouldn’t stop singing.

So he killed her too.

Stjarna normally didn’t feel much, but when he first watched the life drain out of first his siblings and then the girls eyes as they screamed, he couldn’t help but like it a little.

So he kept doing it, stalking someone until he knew he could steal them away to murder them.

He was discovered about the murders in his mid twenties by a small child walking in on him killing its mother, and he didn’t manage to catch up with it.

So instead he ran to his house, grabbed the bag he had pre packed for occasions like this and fled from his town, going south.

Probably the best decision he’d ever done, as he could find plenty of calm places to draw and write in nature, and sometimes someone innocent would be spotted that he could take out just to feel that rush on sensation. And for food, time and time again.

It was after almost two years of traveling that he stumbled upon a castle ruin, where he got captured by a group of people dressed in similar white clothing with face paint.

The group of people were a form of cult that worshipped a beautiful pearly white dragon by the name of Lord Parla, and they were meaning to sacrifice Stjarna to him.

When Stjarna was brought before Parla, just kind of accepting his demise, he was surprised to see that the dragon smiled slightly at him, and spoke that he should be spared. For now.

At first Stjarna didn’t like that at all, especially considering how the people, or Skylings as they called themselves, treated the dragon like he was a gift from above, and Stjarna had never believed in a high mightier power.

But when one of the Skylings tried to steal food they were going to offer, and the punishment for it was public execution by the blue fire of Parla, he saw a benefit he hadn’t seen before.

So he started to play along with the whole cult thingy, acting utterly devoted while planning to take Parla’s place as dragon lord and leader of the Skylings, with the power to kill in seconds.

After almost ten years as a part of the cult, he finally saw his chance to slay the dragon, when he was the one to bring the offer gift of food.

While Parla ate, he took out the knife he’d used on all of his victims, and stabbed the thing right in the eye before the lord had time to realize what he was doing.

So now came the problem of explaining to the Skylings about what happened, but Stjarna had always been a fast thinker and good with words.

So he told the cult that Parla had started to become old, and that he was chosen as to be the replacement for him.

And the cultists actually believed him.

Stjarna had an easy time as a Dragonling thanks to his followers. He barely had to do anything, as they would give him all he wanted, and if someone didn’t satisfy him then he would kill them.

When Stjarna fully transformed and became Lord Rilva, he was at first a bit confused, but the Skylings told him that he was their lord and protector, and they would follow him to the end of time.

And Rilva was all for that.

He loved the power that came with being a Dragon Lord and ordering around his followers, and he quickly became addicted to it.

It got to the point where he started to invade nearby villages with the skylings just to have more land and more people following him.

And so his status changed from Lord Rilva to King Rilva of the south.

And he wasn’t a bad king either, in fact he was kinda good at his job.

As a dragon, he was able to give powerful protection to his people. Sky dragons possess the second hottest flames in Middle Earth, and few dared to threaten that. Those who did were quickly killed.

Rilva didn’t take prisoners either, if someone broke one of his laws then they were executed on the spot, which meant that most people followed his rules.

And Rilva thrived in seeing the life leave his victims eyes, so he didn’t always mind when people did break the law.

Eniph

Eniph was a man by the name of Alleth before his time as a Swamp Dragon, and with man I mean boy because he was twelve.

Alleth was a pretty odd child in comparison to others. He was born in a home just outside of a small village, not too far away from a swamp.

The swamp was something that always fascinated Alleth, mostly because it was different from everything else around it. It had its own unique plants, its own odd animals, its own enviorment that he wanted to explore.

So everyday when Alleth was done with his chores, he would run to the swamp to write down what he saw in a notebook.

It was one day, a month or two after his twelth birthday when he was walking on a soggy path that he stumbled on a root and fell right into the swamp water.

Except, it wasn’t a root.

At first he thought it was an alligator or something and he panicked, until he saw the club like tail, and he realized he’d stumbled upon a Swamp Dragon.

The Swamp dragon seemed to just have woken up considering how it blinked lazily at him, and Alleth knew that there was a big chance that he was going to die.

So he quickly grabbed a nearby branch with a relatively pointy end, and stabbed the dragon with it, and he managed to pierce the eye as it soon bled out and died before him before it had time to fully understand what was going on.

Alleth broke down crying after the dragon had passed, as he loved the swamp and he knew killing the Swamp’s protector really wasn’t a good thing.

He snuck home, burned the clothes that were covered thick murky blood, and decided to not tell his family of what he’d done.

It took two years for Alleth to realize he was no longer aging, and the same went for his parents, but there weren’t any local healers that knew what exactly was happening to him.

It became ever more evident when his younger brother started aging past him.

His parents were frantic, and it got to the point were they had to search up a wizard for aid, more specifically Radagast the brown.

When Alleth sat in front of the odd wizard, technically fifteen but physically and mentally twelve, he was asked pretty standard stuff, if he’d been cursed in any way and stuff like that.

But then Radagast asked his parents to leave so he could talk with him alone, and he started asking more serious questions.

One of which was if he’d ever killed a dragon.

After Alleth told Radagast of the day he slayed the swamp dragon, he was quiet for a minute before telling him of the dragon curse.

Alleth’s heart stopped.

He left his family after that, and was sent away by Radagast to live with another Swamp Dragonling named Reskal. Reskal used to be an elf before he killed the dragon a few decades prior, and was generally just living through the same confusion as Alleth.

Alleth became famous among the Dragons and Dragonlings, as he was the youngest Dragon Slayer that had ever lived. Reskal and Alleth made a home in a large and pretty comfortable swamp, and every other month there was everything from a Mountain Dragon to a Spike Dragonling there, just to see if the rumours were true.

Alleth and Reskal both had a hard time during the wing growth, and they made sure to be there for each other when they each had theirs.

After a few decades a young Forest Dragonling named Tilda visited their swamp, just to ask for advice about what she’d expect from her transformation. Reskal handled most of the talking, while Alleth petted her elk.

It was when Reskal’s behavior started to change, when he became more territorial and more defensive, that Alleth was forced to leave. His wings were weak and his tail heavy so it wasn’t easy flying, but he managed to get back to the swamp that he’d killed the dragon.

Because of the death of the Swamp’s Swamp Dragon, that he’d learned was named Bibban, the swamp was a lot less friendly and cozy and a lot more toxic.

So he made it his goal that he would restore the swamp to its formal glory, and then when he transformed he would protect it with his life.

And when he left his twelve year old body behind, and became a tiny little hatchling named Eniph, he did just that.

And the swamp still stands to this day.

Giftatt

Oh how I love the venom dragons.

Giftatt used to be a man named Poiyo, who was one of those protagonists.

And with that I mean the ones who are all “I work alone” and “I only dress in black” and “Oh I’m so sad the night is my one true friend”.

You know, your Geralt, your Batman, your fucking Thorin.

Poiyo has his tragic backstory of how his parents died, of how he was raised in some abusive orphanage and how he swore to protect those who could not be protected so they wouldn’t end up like him, you get the idea.

So Poiyo gets a request by some random village to take out a large black and purple dragon that had been plaguing their village and poisoning their crops, and he was just like yeah sure whatever.

So he tracked down the dragon, who was huge by the way, and he had a tough time killing it as it was pretty bouncy and its tail constantly wagging back and forth which was really hard to avoid, as he could possibly die if he would have touched it.

But after a long and rough battle, the black and purple dragon finally laid slayn in front of him.

And Poiyo felt a strange sensation in his body. He didn’t feel much anymore, and when he did it was mostly anger or sadness. But the feeling in his chest, it was the opposite of that. He felt warm.

Poiyo found out later that the dragon had been a Venom Dragon, the most dangerous species alive. He felt a weird sense of pride in having killed one, which was also something he didn’t feel often.

The warm feeling continued to appear in his chest during seemingly random moments. Once when he saw a child laugh, when someone smiled at him, when he ate a food he liked. None of it made sense to him.

He found out about the dragon curse and didn’t have too much of a problem with it. To have wings instead of a horse, to have claws instead of a sword, to be a being of pure poison and venom, it all seemed useful to him.

Until he found a perculiar fact about Venom Dragons, and their puppy like behavior.

And he realized what the warm feeling in his chest was. Happiness.

He is disgusted.

As times goes on and he starts to change physically more, his behavior changes as well. He starts to smile more at people, greet them when he walks by, when kids ask him questions he actually answers them instead of snarling.

He barely has any control of his actions, he’s just suddenly all friendly and stuff.

He starts to want people around him more, and he gets sad and lonely whenever he’s alone.

He starts feeling negatve things too, like anxiety and stuff, which he hates just as much as the fluffy lovey stuff.

He even has a lover for a while. Not for long of course, because he starts to become poisonos and he doesn’t want to hurt him so he breaks it off, but still.

(Though sometimes Poiyo thinks back to dark curly hair, pale soft skin and green shining eyes).

After the wings appeared after almost six years of pain, he begins to have the problem of accidentally killing people, which becomes more of an issue when he wants to be around them all the time. But at the same time he still don’t, so it’s just a constant inner conflict when it comes to this boy.

So instead of seeking out people to please his inner dragon, he starts to look for other Venom Dragonlings, which is easier said than done.

He meets quite a few Spike Dragonlings, a Fire Dragonling obssessed with fame (Whom he has a brief relationship with), two water dragonlings, two Swamp Dragonlings, a Mountain Dragonling, and the mighty Moln himself, but Venom Dragonlings are hard to find.

So he just finds a cave in the first mountain he can find and just waits it out, thinking it will just be easier when he becomes a full fledged dragon.

And when Poiyo vanishes and Giftatt emerges, he still has a bit of his human traits by feeling weird everytime he’s happy for seeing someone new.

***

OH MY GOD THIS TOOK TIME

Like I don’t think you understand, I’ve been writing this for weeks.

BRIEF SMALL FACTS ABOUT THESE BOYS.

Sirvil/Smaug is Demiromantic Asexual

Elva/Vrilta is Aromantic Asexual

Moln has no idea what he is

Hijami/Qrikti is Bisexual and Non-Binary

Remdi/Yalye is heterosexual and Transgender

Jessie/Diavanta is Pansexual

Stjarna/Rilva is Aromantic Pansexual

Alleth/Eniph is a god damn child thank you very much

Poiyo/Giftatt is Homosexual

Elva means eleven in Swedish

Moln means cloud in Swedish

Stjarna (Or Stjärna) means Star in Swedish

Parla (Or Pärla) means pearl in Swedish

Giftatt comes from the word Gift, which means venom/poison in Swedish

When I don’t have ideas for names, I just take some random Swedish word.

All the other names comes from me Keyboard smashing

Hijami and Alleth’s stories comes from my uncle

Jessie’s story comes from a friend of mine

Stjarna’s story comes from another friend of mine

Remdi’s story comes from a typo from a third friend of mine

I JUST LOVE DRAGONS OKAY!!!!!!

AU Masterpost

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loveforpreserumsteve · 4 years

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So, You Wanna Learn About Alphas, Betas, and Omegas: Handbook to the Omegaverse

Urban Legends

Disclaimer: these are going to be a mix between urban legends/myths that exist in our world and what legends I think would exist in an omegaverse. I'm not sure if someone has written any a/b/o myths, but I was having writer's block and decided that I might as well get creative and flesh out the omegaverse(s) that I'll be creating a little more.

So, let's begin, shall we?

Black-Eyed Pups: Non-threatening seeming pups, but with something inherently off about them. Typically coming off as polite and well-mannered. Seeming more mature than their guessed ages. Usually, the pup approaches an unsuspecting individual at a supermarket, asking them for something. A ride home, some change for a gumball, or to use their phone.

However, if the person indulges the child(ren), they should expect to hear banging on their door in the middle of the night. The pups will appear aggressive as they attempt to enter the person's home. Under no circumstance should the pups be invited inside.

Usually, the target will feel a chill down their spine while goosebumps litter their skin. They can usually sense something is very wrong with the pups, and then they catch a glimpse of black eyes. No whites visible at all, no irises existing, just complete blackness.

Bloody Mary: Historically, the ritual encouraged young omegas or beta girls to walk up a flight of stairs backwards holding a candle and a hand mirror, in a darkened house. While gazing into the mirror, the individual performing the ritual was supposed to be able to catch a glimpse of their future mate. However, there would be a chance of seeing a skull -- the face of the Grim Reaper -- instead of their intended mate, meaning that the individual would die before mating.

Today, an individual or group looks into a mirror in a dimly-lit or candle-lit room while ritualistically chanting out the name, "Bloody Mary." Some traditions have the individual(s) having to chant the name thirteen times, but most often, only three times is required. Allegedly, the apparition of Bloody Mary will appear. Sometimes described as a corpse, witch, or ghost. Traditionally, Bloody Mary is deemed to be evil in some capacity and is often covered in blood. If she is "seen", she will either try to scratch one's eyes out, scream at the individual(s) that invoked her, attempt to strangle them, or steal their soul(s).

Camp Frenzy: Legend has it that during the 80s, a young alpha snuck out of his summer camp cabin and went for a moonlight stroll. On his exploratory walk through the wilderness, the boy heard a rustling coming from a nearby bush. Assuming that it was other campers trying to mess with him, or two camp counselors getting it on, he decided to head back for camp.

Unfortunately for the young alpha, it was neither campers nor counselors. Instead, it was a wild beast-man. Worse than a feral alpha, this man was more animal than human. Covered in actual fur from head to toe, the creature attacked the young alpha.

The change was instantaneous. His limbs elongating, nails and teeth sharpening, fur -- actual fur! -- sprouting from his skin. His mind reverting back to hindbrain with hunt, mate, and kill being his main priorities as he returned to camp.

Unable to control himself as he attacked the other campers. Each person that he attacked, quickly transforming into a creature too and attacking more campers. The whole camp devolved into an area filled with feral creatures who craved blood and tore the counselors apart to feast on their bodies.

Some claim that their howls and cries can still be heard.

Lifeless Lake: Story goes that during the late 1800s, a beautiful omega man mated a wealthy alpha man. The alpha doted on the omega for years. Giving them everything they wanted and more. The alpha was a jealous man, however, and spent his free time trying to keep the omega at home. All the omega wanted was to go swimming. After many arguments, the alpha agreed to take his omega to the local lake.

The omega, being the looker he was, gained a plethora of attention from the other attendees. With each new curious glance or inquisitive sniff, the angrier the alpha became. When one beta woman got too close, the alpha couldn't take it any longer. Acting on pure instinct -- going completely feral -- the alpha ripped out the throats of alpha, beta, omega, and child. Leaving the soil around the lake drenched in innocent blood.

In the alpha's feral craze, he pulled the omega close. Despite the omega's protests and squirming, the alpha just held tighter. Growing frustrated with his own omega, the alpha didn't even realize that he ripped his bonded's throat out until pain flared in his own neck.

Lifeless, the omega's blood poured into the lake. Legend has it that nothing grows around the lake. No fish reside there. No life whatsoever. It's been said that if you go to Lifeless Lake, any alphas in the vicinity will become aggressive and territorial. Meanwhile, any betas will get a pain in their necks until leaving the lake. For omegas, they will be overcome with a desperate sadness.

If an individual is particularly brave enough to attempt swimming in the lake, they may feel tugging on their limbs. One beta man reported to feeling as though someone was trying to cling to him for their life. While an alpha woman claimed an aggressive force tried to drown her.

Rose Red: In 1918, an omega woman fell in love with an omega man. Although it was illegal, the woman wanted nothing more than to marry and mate the man. Devising a plan to trick everyone into believing that the man was an alpha, so they could wed, she spritz the man with a musky alpha cologne and surrounded him with perfumy flowers. As a florist, the woman had a plethora of plants to choose from and made boutonnieres for her love every day.

The plan had gone off without a hitch. The two omegas in love were about to marry. Only, the day of the wedding, the omega man went into heat. His scent overpowering the fragrance from the flowers. In her attempt to protect her betrothed, she stood between him and the compatible alphas who had gone into rut.

The wedding became a blood bath. With alphas fighting one another and putting down any individual who came in their way. When one rutting alpha woman victoriously approached the two omegas, she didn't think twice about fighting the omega woman.

With the omega woman being physically weaker than a rutting alpha woman, the omega didn't stand a chance. Fighting the aggressor tooth and nail in hopes of protecting the man she wanted to marry. Eventually, the alpha won, and took the omega man. Leaving the omega woman to bleed out in the church, staining her white wedding dress. Turning the bridal gown the same color red as the boutonniere her love was wearing.

The Beast: Allegedly the wild offspring of a feral alpha and a bear. The beast is aggressive in nature, and will murder pets, livestock, and any person that it crosses -- if they don't want to mate that individual, of course.

The Feral Alpha: Allegedly, in the 70s, an alpha man was having a particularly difficult time in college. Being on the Dean's List was more stressful than he had assumed, but he needed to keep his grades up if he wanted to keep his scholarship. Not being able to do anything but work on his exams in solitude, he began slowly losing his mind.

Deciding to clear his mind, and in an attempt to win out over his hindbrain, the alpha went for a hike in the woods. Getting lost, he traveled further and further in while scouting for a way out. With the daylight gone, the alpha was having even more difficulty.

Eventually, he went feral as his hindbrain won out. His hindbrain would know how to protect him. Now, he lives in complete solitude. Disguising himself with animal furs and snatching omegas who wander too far off the trail.

So, pups, listen to your parents and stay on the trail.

The Hook: Two teens, one beta boy and one beta girl, are driving through an unfamiliar area on a deserted dirt road late at night when the boy has to use the restroom. Pulling off to the side of the road, he exits the vehicle to relieve himself in the surrounding forest, out of sight from the girl.

While the girl waits, she turns on the radio to distract herself. Over the radio, a report is broadcasted about an escaped mental patient, an alpha man with a hook for his hand! Unsettled, the girl quickly turns the station. As she tries to focus on the song, she hears a scratching at the back of the car. The longer the boy is, the closer the scratching gets to her. Moving all the way up to the passenger door.

Frightened by the report and the peculiar scratching, the girl jumps when the boy returns to the car. Demanding that the boy take her home. Eventually, they make it back to town and when they stop at the girl's house, the beta teens are terrified to find a bloody hook, hanging from the handle.

Whimpering in the Woods: One afternoon, an unbonded omega decided to take a hike through the forest. While on their afternoon hike, the omega set up to have a picnic in a scenic meadow. While opening their sandwich, the omega heard a distinct pup whimper.

After looking around for the culprit and assuming that some pup had wandered too far from the path, the omega went searching for the pup. Hoping to return the pup to their worried parent, the omega hiked further into the forest, using only the whimpering as their guide.

As the forest started to grow dark, the omega thought about heading back towards the path. Only, they had entered too far into the woods and was too lost. Then, they came face to face with the whimpering pup.

Going to comfort the pup, the omega realized that it was a feral pup. Before they could leave, however, the omega turned to find them surrounded by a pack of feral pups. The pups attacked the omega, ripping the omega apart while they feasted on them.

#omegaverse #a/b/o dynamics #alpha #beta #omega #handbook #guide #urban legends

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sirjustice301-blog · 4 years

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Still stsnading cities

Try as hard to find a man that if u imagine him with ya, the nut fixes and, kinda, ya hair grows/spread forward, not stuck in the middle of ya head or get back as bald and that’s it. if u refuse the former case meaning u r destroying human race and in life after death lands ya in hell cause now u know it, i did not know wont be the excuse. Not kidding girl in any part of the world and even aliens.

With all the explanation as in tumblr sirjustice300, kinda, u see the most standing usa cities are Ny and Atl, which nears Ny as they are not finished with what they produce like Groundnuts, Rye, coca cola and pepsi while all others skyline reducing, New jersy capital also still standing out of Johnson and Johnson babay products as well as North carolina capital

In the small town of New Bern, North Carolina, local pharmacist Caleb Bradham invented the original formula of what would become Pepsi-Cola.

Wanna bomb judgement house in Minneapolis with missile and we got evidence to that as dark blood or if u place coin u see, the who to that city built on the hill that his inhabitants send missile to Europe that was found in Spain, It will be more tolerable than tire and sidion than that city inhabitants during judgement in life after death

Tusker brown bottles are made with molasses as the solution while inserting broken piece of the same in the boom process, while the green bottles are made with cut grinned grass as the solution as the transparent 1 made with outer scratched fish scale solution or white flower grinned solution both in the boom process dude.

If tumblr has an option on the email categories it chooses 4 you, only u look 4 the pas-code to avert the problem i have been explaining, visible to people if they check the a/c above which can be used in examination time as evidence to ya paper now getting the govt in limbo as corruption on that part is eliminated as many families bribed exams official to give their kids marks they ought not to get to get respect in the society or undertake some courses as these monies are heaped together even to develop some investments in the city like with 1-2 skyscraper or hotels or put vans on the road. Reason why Govts are shaken but somehow afraid as many loopholes are blocked so futile if they shift blame to the poor amounting to nothing bro

Click the link below and see china Senegal made arena as well we should have the same for like NBA to attract Continents sports to give the Govt money in tourists and tickets, go that way more than u used to go on all the loopholes now blocked.

https://www.gettyimages.com/detail/news-photo/picture-shows-the-dakar-arena-stadium-in-diamniadio-on-the-news-photo/1036508598

U can place sensor lights/alarm bulb like tips on ya roof by making holes the same size as of the remote control bulb like pointing side to the machine and glue it with gum so rain water don’t leak into ya house to detect foreign materials like E-drones coming directly from above to land on ya roof to use that method to undertake crime or ambush ya and if not bulb like then cut ya iron sheet at intervals where u wanna place the sensor then from below glue a transparent glass on the cut squire hole piece from above and below to hold tight to not allow any leakage of rain water or snow into the gadget or unto ya house. It can be 5-10 cm squire hole depending on the motion sensor size as in the link below

https://www.google.com/search?sxsrf=ALeKk02uAzUOiQYmRPpwCpFZWbKXj0L5dg:1594104287358&source=univ&tbm=isch&q=transparent+iron+sheets&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwj1pqGexbrqAhWq4YUKHUdpBtwQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1024&bih=657

https://www.google.com/search?sxsrf=ALeKk03LHtaySF4yU7kBpBtakoGaQ8dNOA:1594104577097&source=univ&tbm=isch&q=motion+alarm+sensor+lights+china+made+images&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiqsrWoxrrqAhWlDWMBHZ9XB7cQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1024&bih=657

https://www.google.com/search?q=motion+alarm+sensor++china+made+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiLo86pxrrqAhUC3OAKHdqpAOEQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=motion+alarm+sensor++china+made+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1CrdlidiAFgi5ABaABwAHgAgAHlDIgB5SWSAQ0wLjEuNS0xLjEuMS4xmAEAoAEBqgELZ3dzLXdpei1pbWc&sclient=img&ei=AxsEX8uVJIK4gwfa04KIDg&bih=657&biw=1024

The mean part of the kamba i know not exactly if its Saudi Arabia or vice versa as the Saudi which got that get mean kamba blood which luya people got but from far in the long run of wanting ya food but don’t listen to ya words as they sideline themselves as good people not having in mind what they have done previously. Many Kamba got the Serbia blood of not relenting as well as Kuwait people as kebi got that unrelenting blood while Most White-men of Kansas are of Austrian blood of helping hand but in-pretense that helping hand they get it all away leaving u in suffering. They played a good part to let us know of the Austrian blood cause we might have seek asylum their and with money we could have never know that bad character to still destroy the race. While Carli4nia beauties many got Embu blood of joining the bad but in-pretense as they are Venezuelan which got that embu blood while Brazilians got the batak tribe blood of Indonesia. Loving to tuck in the blouses or shirts as always official and somehow sharp in mind as “Thinking man, Tm”

The Dredger as in the link below got collector side on the hind part to collect the debris and soil that is produced while the dredger on its course which if full its allowed to get to the earth surface to empty as the same can hinder its up movement if it has no the dredger mouth on the hind part to let it out dude but if digging from below outside the earth the debris fall off to the outer world and the beauty bro

Transfiguration with Christ, the jew will rise as they will even make big holes like meter wide from below the outer world method as explained above but when nearing the earth surface like only 50 meter to the earth surface reduce that hole size to like sewer pipe 1, mostly with banks where money stored, corporation head offices and houses to kill those people, and on firm lands that harbor much harvest that they produce not like with Netherlands standing on their way to steal that produce or spoil the soil as in weed parable. Where in dark night, the 1 who transfigure many, get into the rye firm or wheat, get out the produce let it in through the hole 4 1 to pick it on the big vent using the E-cargo-drone technology cause they can change to spirit, take soil and trample on the hole not to be realized early morning and it goes on and on that way to make what they have produce much in boom process or in case of a factory serve detonate bombs their so they buy new a fresh servers/machines from producing countries as they got their share of doing their work good. Homey no kidding that was the entire plan with the “Jew will rise thing” cause without that now tucked how will they rice dude, which will be myth.

When 1 is qualified and the nut/bolt thing qualifies him 4 certain women while other women not being qualified by the same as above wants him by force and the man is renowned of positive attributes, if he is grown up yet don’t have that woman 4 long, kinda, makes the ground to want to like capsize synonymous with knowing a Kikuyu blooded man in squatting method way. Christ say take this cup of suffering away from me and king of the jew to cement the reality above and Kids and many people got that feeling as well, either they want to be next to ya or near u or being wild with u if u don’t sleep with women yet grown up. This even makes many building to collapse dude, no kidding girl and if women have refused the love 4 such me while accepting 4 others and even with money giving rise to bad kids which will later disturb the society.

My next tumblr a/c will be a continuation of sirjustice1-300 as i open new a/c from sirjustice301-400 to direct u later if i reach 400 to open again from 401-500 and it goes on and on add-inifitum as described below

With the below machines as in the link provided makes u locate places that grows much soya beans or corn as u locate oil with less side effects and which can be used as baby oil b4 u change another altogether

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=corn+oil+mini-etracting+machine+china+made+images&client=opera&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiaxp6myLjqAhXIxIUKHaKACRoQsAR6BAgJEAE&biw=984&bih=658

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_soybean_production

https://www.statista.com/statistics/192076/top-10-soybean-producing-us-states/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Corn_production_in_the_United_States

https://www.healthline.com/nutrition/are-vegetable-and-seed-oils-bad#oxidation

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_vegetable_oils

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_countries_by_coconut_production

https://www.statista.com/statistics/263930/worldwide-production-of-rapeseed-by-country/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canola_oil

https://www.tridge.com/intelligences/canola-oil/import

https://www.statista.com/statistics/259466/leading-countries-based-on-cottonseed-production/

https://expatexplore.com/blog/olive-oil-production-top-countries/

https://www.abmp.com/textonlymags/article.php?article=977

http://littlegreendot.com/six-supermarket-vegetable-oils-skin-will-love/

https://time.com/5342337/best-worst-cooking-oils-for-your-health/

https://www.facebook.com/oliveplantationinpakistan/posts/top-25-olive-oil-producing-countrieswith-italy-the-largest-importerexporter-and-/1504293696481540/

http://www.genewatch.org/sub-532326

https://www.worldatlas.com/articles/the-top-walnut-producing-countries-in-the-world.html

https://www.tridge.com/intelligences/flax-seed/production

http://textilefashionstudy.com/top-flax-growing-countries-of-the-world-linen-fiber-production/

Google the above per each continent and even USA state and find 1 with less side effect which many middle class household will opt 4 in such middle income nations. Get to see the side effects and as well find the machines used to extract its oil is how much at china alibaba.com and be a man of words/action not Obongo lala listening to obwongo music and drinking mala to lala/sleep as Lazarus did at the Gate. Every household cooks, so get the essence of cooking oil dude

From the above Canada rich dude with oil, USA can sell their to other many small nations that don’t produce the same of less side effect with the newly designed E-cargo airplane as in the link below

https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.ainonline.com%2Fsites%2Fainonline.com%2Ffiles%2Fstyles%2Fain30_fullwidth_large_2x%2Fpublic%2Fuploads%2F2020%2F06%2Fairflow_hero_image_for_pr.jpg%3Fitok%3DqjL4dirb%26timestamp%3D1591788789&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.ainonline.com%2Faviation-news%2Fbusiness-aviation%2F2020-06-10%2Fairflow-launches-estol-electric-cargo-aircraft&tbnid=rfFS6nH7Jjyp3M&vet=12ahUKEwiY9oSNz7jqAhUE_RoKHfX5B3IQMygBegUIARClAQ..i&docid=IhpMVXvLwB7UmM&w=2200&h=1080&q=countries%20making%20electric%20cargo%20airplane&client=opera&ved=2ahUKEwiY9oSNz7jqAhUE_RoKHfX5B3IQMygBegUIARClAQ

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cargo_aircraft#/media/File:An-124_ready.jpg

https://edition.cnn.com/travel/article/electric-aircraft/index.html

Britain top export in the link below, is USA and the same USA u say its poor yet at the same time saying trying saving Britain, which if u look closely when USA has defeated ya will go 4 the 1 they claim they are supporting to ambush to take their lands which harbors rye 4 making durable airplane parts which grows not in their dry nation, the kikuyu blooded and that’s the main worry dude. Signs of snow to bring reality u have refuted that long ago here was not that and this nation as God can do the same, kinda, u see snow collected on road side to believe and make u less rich in food cause can only firm in non-snowy times and maybe whats the white man desires at the back of your minds

http://www.worldstopexports.com/united-kingdoms-top-exports/

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_the_largest_trading_partners_of_United_Kingdom

Now Mr Hindu want what 1 found on YouTube that if he clicked referred him to a pintrest a/c as open link in a new window, now terorazing 1 with locals to as want to stub on on the eye out of the above and they are not relenting while kebi says he has never opened a pintrest a/c this the 1st 1, yet, kinda, they refute to do the above. Still superior liasing with Luyas now wanting ya food as the above explain vice is of 2 fold as explained above. If u see things on ya eye u ought to have questioned me b4 of opening the tumblr a/c of alternator rotated by a dc motor to produce power with cooking sufuria timer to be turned by the motor to start the sequence again as the timer technology is added much strength to rotate the alternator b4 seeping up the power 4 usage in business and households as in the link below

https://www.google.com/search?sxsrf=ALeKk00EnJSKKfqlt_ORBwh7Mebh7CA4mQ:1594039434252&source=univ&tbm=isch&q=car+alternator+rotated+by+ac+motor+to+producer+power+images+site:youtube.com&client=opera&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjf1PHR07jqAhV65-AKHYYSALwQsAR6BAgFEAE&biw=984&bih=658

https://www.pinterest.com/search/pins/?q=car%20alternator&rs=typed

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/611222980664981934/

https://www.pinterest.com/search/pins/?q=manual%20timer&rs=typed

With the bolt thing u ought to know whom u can marry or just have sex with and leave as the same destroys the world if u got kids. Mr Hindu women am talking to ya take heed dude, don’t just get into the habit of wanting others use the method above, don’t make us sick and tire and if u r superior why did u not know the above. Go to hell straight dude, period.

https://www.alibaba.com/premium/12v_dc_motor.html?src=sem_ggl&cmpgn=126060740&adgrp=4641625940&fditm=798840465&tgt=dsa-68290902815&locintrst=2156&locphyscl=9070332&mtchtyp=b&ntwrk=g&device=c&dvcmdl=&creative=160700076226&plcmnt=&plcmntcat=&p1=&p2=&aceid=&position=&gclid=EAIaIQobChMIhYGVoMi46gIVyIXVCh1-YAdTEAAYASABEgJLjvD_BwE

https://www.alibaba.com/product-detail/60-Minute-Countdown-Kitchen-Cooking-Mechanical_1600064000705.html?spm=a2700.7735675.normalList.1.64a819bcTEuYaI&s=p&fullFirstScreen=true

When 1 is approaching u squatted, kinda, u see the ground tilting as landslide, that dude got Kkuyu blood or not hearken but rude and still wants from ya, can use that formula to separate them from people or if they don’t relent, kill them altogether or set an island to take them or another planet. Will not ever disturb us dude, the beauty dude!!!! All of them Aot-a, carries blood to other parts of the body from the heart, oxygenated 1 which is bright red. Brazil with already the dredger as in the link below and cargo plane that can be set as the plot dude. King of the jew, kill them all to ascertain truth bro of yesus sayings

https://www.google.com/search?sxsrf=ALeKk026sqj8q1pUe165V7JG_hi2CwG0Qw:1594040104588&source=univ&tbm=isch&q=portable+dredger+made+in+usa+images&client=opera&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiB9MOR1rjqAhWR3YUKHcGhCuYQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=984&bih=658#imgrc=VIgdaUgj5RTl1M&imgdii=ovaQqGgRqnfxOM

Hair shampoo are made of grinned cat/mad fish mixed with cold water or ice fakes them many spit saliva from loft high directly unto the above and boom such are formed dude which can be used as bath deep cream as a substitute, mostly used in kinyozi and saloons

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