#Going through life hating the very body you inhabit and despising when it's acknowledged that it's who you are

[softichill]

Helen Distortion is so incredibly transgender

[moonbeamsung]

CRΣΣKS

Love, a second glance, it is not something that we need.

member: jeno

au: guardian angel in disguise!jeno x gn!reader, guardian angel au

word count: 3.4k

genre: angst

warnings: character death/loss, profanity, no happy ending, mentions of religion, questioning/loss of faith

recommended song: 715 - CRΣΣKS by the nor’easters

author’s note: Please be very careful with volume when listening to the song (above) that inspired this story! But even without reading the lyrics/listening, the fic will still make sense, and happy reading :)

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @starryktown

The wind is whistling, weaving in and out of the tall river reeds like an invisible needle and thread, stitching itself into each and every crevice of the world’s gift called nature.

Another one of its many gifts is the young boy that’s resting beside a rushing brook, toes dipped into the cool water and face illuminated by the sun as it beats down onto the earth with celestial strength.

Well, a gift from the heavens, that is.

Sent from the endless skies above, Jeno is your guardian angel, assigned with posing as a humble peasant boy in the village, all to keep a watchful eye on you from afar. In his human form, he spends his days wandering the cobblestone roads and narrow alleyways between the quaint buildings, with no family to return home to at dusk. A sunny meadow on the outskirts of town becomes his home, and he takes refuge in the shelter that the overgrown grass provides.

Everything is going smoothly, and he’s doing his job just as he should be. It’s routine now, waking up and rising from his earthen mattress, curtains of copious plant leaves letting in the sun’s rays. He finds you, observes at a comfortable distance, and that’s that. At its core, being a guardian is really an easy job. A predictable one.

A monotonous one.

Until one day you approach him, youthful eagerness in your eyes piercing and nearly painful, even to his invulnerable body. He’s never seen you up close before, only on the near horizon as you’ve gone about your daily chores, tending to the housework just like any obedient child should.

“...Who are you?”

Now, Jeno is faced with a decision more challenging than any that us mortal beings have to make in our entire lives. Engaging with one’s assignment is an extremely dangerous path to take. Unimaginable punishments await, should the guardian make a wrong choice. But Jeno was careless, and he had allowed himself to be discovered by the only human on Earth that the divine forces permit him to be seen by.

He makes the fatal error of answering you, ultimately shattering a future he’ll never get to live out, one that he doesn’t even know he would’ve had. Like a sharp rock being thrown at a church’s stained glass window, the meticulously carved pieces of his worldly existence fall to the ground with a deafening crash, broken beyond repair.

“I’m Jeno,” the strikingly majestic cadence of his words is like that of angel trumpets, the sound ringing in your head and making you dizzy with both fascination and infatuation.

And just like that, in three short syllables, you’re both fated to fall before you can even spread your wings.

From the moment you hear his name tumble from those beautiful lips, you’re hooked, and he knows it. He sees it in the way you look at him, in the way you act, the way you talk. A child experiencing a first and a forbidden love all at once.

It breaks his heart, because he knows it can’t, and shouldn’t last. The churning rapids of the creek nearby weep for him, for they know that in a matter of just a few short years, their waters are destined to mix with the salty tears that will steadily cascade from your trembling chin.

Jeno remembers, although vaguely, the brief amount of time he spent living amongst the clouds, being prepared by the heavenly elders for this expedition of a lifetime, quite literally. He remembers the scriptures, the strictures, and all the times he’s been warned of the severe consequences that come with immorality.

But even the purest of young angels aren’t infallible, still susceptible to compulsions that lead them to sin and defy their creator.

Relishing in the fading daylight, you join him by the water’s edge, listening to his soothing tone as he answers your ceaseless inquiries with harmless little lies as white as heavenly robes and cherub wings.

Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. The first sin.

It’s interesting, he thinks, that despite looking after you in the endeavors of your youth for quite a while now, he knows next to nothing about who you truly are. Actions may speak louder than words, but how can he know that if he’s never heard your voice to begin with?

As the quiet, languid conversation shifts from his purpose there to yours, Jeno learns that you’re very content with your life, taking pride in helping your family with daily tasks as well as assisting your neighbors in the close-knit village with theirs.

Just then, all the smears of dirt and scattered scratches adorning your face catch his attention, gained after hours of hard work. No amount of water is ever enough to scrub them off of your skin at the end of the day, no matter how hard you try. Sometimes, you feel tears prick your eyes as you try to fall asleep at night, frustrated with your lowly appearance and how it never seems to match your relatively optimistic outlook on life.

But Jeno doesn’t care. You’re breathtaking even in his eyes, the eyes that belong to an actual angel. If that fact alone isn’t enough to boost your confidence, he doesn’t know what else possibly could.

Like a fool, he lets himself drown in your sublimity for a moment, marveling at the ethereal glow of the sun on your smooth, ageless face. The faint noise of wisps of air blowing gently through the meadow and rustling the flora makes him drowsy, but the sight of a pure white heron landing gracefully on the opposite side of the riverbank brings him back to full consciousness in an instant.

The bird, an omen of sorts, had been sent down from Heaven, conjured up from a fleeting idea and into a physical reality, by the holy beings looking down upon the earth, indicating that they’re well aware of the threat he poses and just how close he is to making an irreversible mistake in regards to you, his assignment and assignment only.

The heron abruptly unfurls its delicately feathered wings, as if frightened, before taking off and floating away on the breeze, both of your gazes inexplicably drawn to it as it flies until it’s out of sight altogether.

It warns him of just what he’s messing with, exactly.

This is not a part of the creator’s plan for you, for him. Falling in love with the one an angel is supposed to guard is an appalling crime to commit in the eyes of the elders that inhabit the sky, in the eyes of God. Though it doesn’t explicitly go against a commandment or biblical law, it’s just an understood rule. It’s wrong.

Jeno tells himself this, and continues to do so over the many years that he looks after you, never acting on his emotions, only acknowledging them before sending the less-than-acceptable thoughts into the depths of his conscious mind. He only wishes he had a key to lock them up and forget he even felt them in the first place.

Even as an angel, he ages just like anyone else, the both of you going from kids to teenagers and then nearing the young-adult stage of life, with you remaining blissfully unaware of Jeno’s true identity all the while. It’s a miracle he’s managed to keep his secret for this long, honestly, but like grains of sand in an hourglass, your time together is running out, whether you like it or not.

Not even a year before your entire world, your entire reality comes undone before your very eyes, Jeno feels as if his has already done just that. Because you’ve found someone. And that someone isn’t him.

He hates the feeling of jealousy, despises it with every fiber of his heavenly being. But he can’t shake it, can’t bear the way it clings to him like an unwelcome visitor. An unrecognizable emotion, one so foreign that he can’t even put a name to it, is stirred up at the sight of you in their arms, so pure and so unworthy of this person. Boy, if he didn’t know any better, Jeno would swear that you were the angel.

With each day that passes, he begins to feel the final shreds of both his dignity and his self-control slipping away, lost to the familiar breeze that whips through the village, stronger than ever these days. He can no longer contain it within himself. He wants you.

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods. The second sin.

How ironic that a Sunday, of all days, is when everything falls apart.

The sun is hanging low in the sky, just barely grazing the horizon with its bright beams of warmth as it steadily rises, bathing the world in a soft yellow glow. You can also see the moon leftover from the night that ended not so long ago, fading fast but visible nonetheless. Two complete opposites, so close but prevented by the laws of nature for coexisting in the same space, at the same time.

Maybe, just maybe, if you knew just how much you had in common with the celestial objects above, you would have clutched the hand of Jeno a bit tighter yesterday, intertwined your fingers a little more closely with those of someone who had become the closest thing to a best friend that you had ever known. You admit that you wish he could be something more, but you know better than to push your limits.

You got tired of waiting to see if he felt the same way, choosing to fill the void with someone else that you liked, yes, but who just wasn’t the same as the boy who had always been there, waiting in the meadow every morning without fail. Still, your emotions are ever-alert and always searching for any sign of reciprocation within Jeno.

He’s nowhere to be found when you reach the water’s edge, the edge of the creek where you wasted away endless summer days and frosty winter nights, colorful spring afternoons and brisk autumn evenings.

This morning would seem no different than the rest if not for his absence. The knot in your heart loosens, but not by much, when you spot him at the forest’s edge, looking weary.

Jeno notices you and calls out your name with a smile, but something about it isn’t genuine. It’s pained, desperate, like he wants to hold onto this moment forever, unwilling to carry out the plan he’s already regretting. It’s too late now, he thinks to himself, but he’s wrong.

It’s been too late for years.

“Jeno?”

“This way!” He chokes out. It’s somewhere between a sob and a plea, but there’s no time to figure out which is the more appropriate term. He disappears between the trees and amidst their mossy branches, blending in with the shadows cast by the thick canopy of leaves, and you break into a sprint, afraid of losing him to the merciless wilderness and what lies within.

Thankfully, he’s not too far gone. A small clearing greets you less than a dozen strides in, and in the very center of it stands a glass gazebo, run-down and covered in so many twisting vines to the point where the small structure is almost fully consumed by the nature surrounding it.

The scene is beautiful, so much so that it makes you uneasy. What’s going on? Why did he bring you here? Why does he seem so sad? Jeno is never sad, maybe he could be described as brooding or solemn on the rarest of occasions, but never this melancholy, never so utterly hopeless in his expressions and his aura.

None of these questions are answered, even as he takes your hands in his own and leads you inside of the gazebo, its see-through panels catching the light with elegance and ease.

“I need to tell you something.” Just like it did the first time you heard it, his voice still shocks you like a bolt of electricity, your blood pressure and heart rate skyrocketing. All of this is heightened, though, by grim tone he’s speaking to you with.

“What is it, Jen?” There it is. The nickname you made up for him that, although simple, makes him feel like he’s on top of the world. Actually, scratch that: it makes him feel like he’s floating in the sky, up past the clouds and even further away from this cruel planet than the heavens are from Hell.

You’re only making this harder for him. He might as well just spit it out, because all this waiting is agonizing for the both of you.

“We... we can’t be together.”

The sentence that leaves his lips is two declarations wrapped up in one singular statement, the first being that he wants to be with you in the same way you want to be with him. It’s much too hopeful, misleading your emotions down a path of elation instead of dread. The second is unpleasant, a bitter taste lingering on his tongue once he says the words.

“...Yes, yes we can, Jen, because I don’t really love them and all this time it’s been you—”

“You don’t understand,” he tries to stop the confession spilling out from your heart before it overflows, drowns you. “I’m not who you think I am.”

Stunned to silence, he gives you a moment to drink in the implications of his words. “...I’ve known you for over half of my entire life, and you’re trying to tell me I have no idea who you really are? Not a chance,” you laugh softly, shaking your head and glancing down at the wooden gazebo floor, old white paint peeling under your feet.

“But haven’t you ever wondered why I’m always there by the creek every morning? How I turn up throughout your day at the perfect time? How I’m suddenly right by your side when you need me the most?”

You have wondered. Many times, in fact. But the possibility of him being anything other than human was not at the top of your very rational list.

“...Don’t you see? I’m your guardian angel.”

He sees you blink, realization dawning on your face like the sun and stretching your features. “There are laws—” He begins, but your reaction is not the one he anticipated you would have to that information.

Too overwhelmed, you can’t respond with anything other than physical actions, no matter how unreasonable, and you press your dry lips to his soft ones, sealing your fate. Standing there, with beams of golden light infiltrating the space and illuminating your unsteady figures, Jeno is petrified not by your kiss, but by the fact that he doesn’t push you away, and his hands hold onto yours even tighter than before. Nothing has ever felt so right in his entire life. Not when he was in Heaven, and not in all the years he’s spent on Earth, either.

You’re his Heaven, this moment is his eternity. Jeno has endured enough temptation, the undeniable thrill that a deliberate sin promises has become too much for him. If he pulls away now, everything would still be okay, you could both go back to normal and pretend this never happened. But alas, he was doomed to kiss you back from the beginning, and so he does, and you have no idea what the universe has in store when you feel his lips finally respond to yours in the most unholy way possible. For the first and last time, you indulge in each other’s touch and taste, and it does not please the ones watching from above.

The third and final sin, one sin too many for him to remain in this world without consequence.

Several things happen all at once. A clap of thunder sounds overhead, though there are no clouds in sight. Jeno is painfully ripped from your grasp and thrown out of the gazebo by some invisible force of nature, into the grass and dirt on the forest floor.

And inside of you, a piece of your soul is torn from your being, bile rising up in your throat as you comprehend the excruciating sensation that racks your body with pained whimpers.

Stumbling to his feet, Jeno heaves, hunched over and close to tears. Suppressing the agony you still feel, you hurry over to him only for the boy to charge away, heading back towards the open meadow. With a broken shout of his name, you follow.

You didn’t notice before, but now the blinding light reveals the condition he’s in. He looks almost normal, but the edges of his form are becoming fainter by the minute, blurring with the rest of the world around him. He’s fading away before your eyes, and it’s all your fault.

It’s a torturous experience, watching him slowly meld with the emptiness of the air. Making him disappear into thin air in an instant would have been an act of mercy, a mercy that’s apparently beyond the capabilities of the spectators in the sky.

Struggling to maintain your composure, you force a question out. “What’s happening?” You ask, though you know he doesn’t have an answer himself.

He’s obviously panicked, though he tries not to show it. “I... I don’t know, I knew that it was forbidden for us to fall in love but I didn’t think I’d be robbed of my existence like this...”

“What?! No, Jeno, please don’t go...” You beg the gods and angels above, if any exist. You don’t know anymore.

If there is a God, how can he be good if he’s taking Jeno away from you like this, depriving you of the one constant source of joy and comfort in your life?

It’s far too cruel to bestow such a kind and generous heart upon someone who isn’t allowed to love in the first place.

Even Jeno’s touch is faint, making you feel like he’s not there at all. You just barely detect the pads of his fingers smoothing over your cheeks, trying to stop the water spilling from your eyes. He smiles sadly, “Don’t cry for me. I’m not worth the tears.”

“You’re everything to me, Jeno. You’re worth every drop.”

“Remember me like this, okay? By the creek,” he gestures to the turbulent waters a short distance away. Walking slowly, he begins to take steps in its direction, but as he speeds up you’re no longer able to match his pace. “Jeno, turn around...”

Glancing back at you for the final time, he whispers a goodbye that the breeze carries away with it, the sound something only the two of you would hear, one that could never be replicated.

“Goddamnit, Jeno, don’t you dare leave me!” But you know you can’t hold on, you’re not strong enough. A greater force wants you two apart, unable to be overpowered by one human, a relatively insignificant being in the grand scheme of the universe. He vanishes completely.

You fall to your knees, the pain from the pebbles digging into your legs and feet underneath the surface of the creek numbed by your sorrow. The water drenches your clothes, splashing up onto your skin and becoming one with your relentless tears. You’re left all alone, with only the cattails to keep you company. You wish the waves would just swallow you whole so you don’t have to feel this suffocating isolation.

In an unnecessarily harsh trick of the light combined with the dancing shadows generated by the water, you swear that you see Jeno again for a second, sitting on the riverbank like always. You sob louder.

It takes forever for you to find the strength to stand up again, water running over your soaked shoes and threatening to topple you over. You wouldn’t mind if it succeeds.

Inconsolable even to your closest friends and family, you reluctantly return to the village, unwilling to leave behind what you’ve just been through and unable to explain just why you’re crying so hard. Maybe if you stay there forever, spending each day and night waiting among the reeds and the flowers and the grass, he’ll come back someday, but no. He’ll never return, but you simply can’t bring yourself to accept this fact.

You’re never quite the same after that. Part of the curse that haunts you for the rest of your life is this: no matter how hard you try to retain your memories, you’re destined to forget Jeno eventually, leaving vast gaps in your brain when it comes to the years of your youth.

You’re left with only a feeling of inexplicable nostalgia at the sight of the meadow and the creek running through it, the waters still as violent as they were on the day you lost him.

[laughing-with-god]

Pen Pal 1.5

Summary- As a lonely person, the idea of exchanging letters with someone apart from society was actually quite appealing to you.  In a random act of charity and desperation, you sign up for a pen pal and get paired up with an inmate named Jungkook.  The letters were meant to help him cope with prison life, but little did anyone know it was actually driving him more mad.

Warnings- Yandere/Prisoner Jungkook x Reader.  Mature themes.  Mention of mental disorder.

Words; 5.4k

“Have you ever felt so connected to someone that you didn’t understand why they were inside another skin and inhabiting a different body than you?”

He supposed that he should’ve been more displeased with where he landed himself.  

A cage of a jail cell that was six by eight feet and enclosed with brick walls that were so old, the paint was chipping off more and more each day.  The only entrance and exit being the harsh bars of the metal doors where a police officer could always be seen patrolling the passage ways, eyeing inmates with a judgmental glare as if he knew each and every one of their stories and how they were menaces to society.  

But if Jungkook was being true to himself, he couldn’t find any need to relate to his fellow prisoners fantasies of being in the outside world once again.

He had no desire to integrate back into society.  

He hated the world for a long time.

He hated how obnoxious and fake people were in the modern era.  He hated how capitalistic and money hungry the economy was. He hated how surface level and crude the general community was.  

From the time he was born, his peers would only approach him because they had hopes of being friends with the son of a rich power-broker.  

They would smile to his face and claimed to like him, but behind his back they would complain about how ‘boring and weird’ he was.  

Indeed, as a youngster Jungkook had been very introverted.  

He loved drawing, and this caused looks of confusion as most boys his age would enjoy a game of football or soccer more than doodling.  The only reason he got invites to playdates or birthday parties was due to his family’s social status. He was quick to catch on when his ‘friends’ would always push to go to his house, to play with his toys and to drop the Jeon name when bragging to other people about the ‘friendship’.  

However as Jungkook got older, the less he cared about such trivial matters.  As an insecure little boy, it bruised him quite a bit. But as an older teen, he accepted it as a harsh reality.  No one liked him for him, yet it wasn’t as tragic as it sounded. Because, he didn’t accept them for who they were either.  The world and Jungkook had a mutual understanding for each other. He despised them for it used him.

So when he went and got himself locked up, he really didn’t have that much remorse for what he would miss of the outside world.  The criminal psychologist said he had a problem with feelings in general; having a low emotional capacity for settings or situations but a heightened one for certain people in his life.  But Jungkook paid this analysis no mind. After all, how many different settings, situations or people can he encounter while serving a life-time sentence at one of the most highly guarded prisons in the country?

He did what he had done, and he was at peace with everything concerning the matter.  

When other inmates would rant about how they missed very basic things of life; non-cafeteria food, going to parks, having your own home and schedule, Jungkook didn’t care for the sentiment at all.  In fact, he thought they were weak to not even be able to handle prison. Really, how bad was it? You got a bed to sleep on, a toilet to shit in and was fed three time a day. With the way these fuckers ranted, you would’ve thought they were world war soldiers talking about home life whilst serving in the trenches.  Pathetic, really.

One day, Jungkook walked into his cell after a decent work out only to spot a pristine and angelic white envelope on his bed (more like a slab of metal with a cheap blanket on top but what did you expect of a cell?). This caused Jungkook to quirk a brow at the odd sight, he was pretty particular with boundaries and it annoyed him to see his roommate not respect his space.  

“Joon, I told you not to leave shit in my area.”  Jungkook motonously commented to his cell mate that was currently on the top bunk, book in hand.  This caused the older to peek from his spot above and glance down at the lower bunk.  

“Uh...that’s not mine.  Plus it has your name on it and everything, bro.”  

Jungkook sighed and pressed his tongue against his cheek in an angry tick that he had adopted years ago.  He really just wanted to head to the showers and he couldn’t imagine who would be writing to him. His family having disowned him for his crimes and everyone else having forgotten him or shunning his existence like he had the plague.  Not that he was too disappointed with these developments, he could spend the rest of his days without a word from anyone from the outside and he would still die content.

With a huff, he snatched the envelope and opened it with very little grace.  

‘Dear Mr. or Miss. Prisoner…..’

Jungkook’s doe eyes skimmed passed the delicate but noticeably rushed handwriting, soaking in the words with hesitance at such unexpected vulnerability from an utter stranger.  It wasn’t a long letter (Jungkook was finished reading it after 30 seconds or so) but he plopped himself on his bed to re-read the letter when he was done, showers somehow forgotten.

Said person who wrote to him managed to sound very weak and tired through diction alone.  However, this moment of weakness from the stranger was somehow not at all judged by Jungkook.  This revelation startled the prisoner himself, given that he had always made it a habit to look down on those whom lacked the mental strength that he did.  A fucked up social darwinism philosophy that was only heightened by being around meager sheep while he was a full on ruthless psycho. But why? Why did he feel pity this time instead of the usual disgust whenever someone was so bare and raw to him?  

The answer was simple.  

He related to you.

He felt as though you had put it best into words exactly what he felt when he was living out there in the public.  The world was scary and he didn’t blame you for being paranoid or locking yourself up. He could practically feel your fear from where he was; locked in a tiny cell and miles upon miles away from civilization.  He got the sense that you were different, like him. Most people he had encountered in his lifetime have always been okay with how the world was, not acknowledging the sinister characteristics that came along with it.  Authenticity was oozing from your writing as you did way more than just acknowledge the bad; you did your best to stay away from it all together. In a weird way, Jungkook found this cute. You were like a frightened child that hid under your bed to avoid the evil babysitter, escaping was your pure and innocent plan of action.  Which was different from Jungkook’s more violent actions….but he concluded he liked the contrast between you two. While you decided to take it out on yourself and starve yourself from stimulation just to keep away from the barbaric world, Jungkook took it upon himself to make everyone else pay.

“It it that stupid Pen Pal program?”  

Jungkook glanced up from the paper to see his cellmate hang his head from the bed above, watching Jungkook with questioning orbs.  Jungkook just scoffed at the upside down face and nodded.

“I just threw my letter away.  I heard they put all of us in that program because it’s a tax-write off for them.  It’s bullshit.” Namjoon told the younger.

Jungkook didn’t supply the other with an answer.  Instead he carefully folded the letter and placed it smoothly under his pillow. Then, he headed out to the showers while thoughts of what to write back to you filled his mind.  

--

‘Dear Y/n,

Well I would feel rather….accepting.  

I think you must be a very wise person to keep yourself far from the wretched claws of society…..’  

Jungkook tapped the capped pen against his chin, looking over his writing for any errors or mishaps before he signed off entirely.  

His letter was more in response to yours, after all you hadn’t given him that much to reply back to.  But still, some communication was better than none at all. Jungkook wanted to let you know that he understood your fears.  Hell, he even shared them with you. He hoped that you believed him when he told you that he also harbored disdain for your enemy.  And he also wanted to learn more about such a like-minded individual. Surely, you both had to have other similarities too, right?

He added the request for an image of you toward the end of his letter, just out of sheer curiosity for his long-lost twin. He didn’t care what you looked like but he wanted to scratch the itch of placing a face with the writing, knowing the urge to know would never go away until he saw your face.  

Other prisoners watched shocked as they witnessed Jungkook make his way to the mail room to drop off a letter to be sent off, knowing that he never made contact with the outside world.  

--

Jungkook found himself pacing his cell in an anxious manner, arms crossed and brows furrowed.  His stomach was tied into knots and his palms were clammy, hinting at one of the first times that he’s ever been nervous.  

He really was hoping for a response from you.  

He knew that it was very childish and sad to be so giddy for a letter, but he couldn’t help but get excited at the prospect of another note.  It was refreshing to be able to talk to someone who wasn’t a felon. Someone who wasn’t there in person yet still reached out to connect with a corrupt scanderal such as himself.  

Which is why when the usual mail carrier came down the cells, cart in hand with envelopes, pictures, money and presents for inmates, Jungkook found himself holding his breath and wishing for the first time ever that the carrier would stop at his cell.  

He had never been on the receiving end of such transactions, he had no one on the outside to look out for him.  But the faceless recluse that had reached out to him in a cry for companionship had fogged his mind, leaving hims restless and jittery.  

Could it be that he found a genuine friend?  

One that didn’t use him for his reputation (unlike his former childhood friends) and accepted him as the fuck up he was.  

“Letter for a Jeon Jungkook?”  The middle-aged man paused in front of the barren cell, sticking a pristine white envelope through the metal bars.  It was almost comical the joy that bursted through his chest and the way he leaped to attrive the holy piece of material.  As if it glowed bright in the grim and grey limbo that he was stuck in.

Not being able to withhold the anticipation, Jungkook quickly took the letter to his bunk and carefully slit it open.  

‘Dear Jungkook,

Words cannot express how thankful I am that you answered my pathetic call for help…’

The writing was noticeably neater than the first letter.  Jungkook noted with a smile how much longer this one was prior to the last.  The inmate forced himself to pore over every detail at a slower pace, not wanting to accidently skim past any vital information yet also wishing to savor the ritual.  

You seemed very blindly kind to someone who was a wretched crook.  In fact, you claimed to be very grateful to hear from little old him.  The feeling was utterly foreign, the idea that someone was out there that genuinely wanted his friendship, someone who genuinely wanted to know his most bland personal preferences, who was practically pleading for his written company.  It made him feel wanted. After some thought he decided that he quite liked the new feeling. Even at his worst; locked up for a lifetime sentence, you went out of your way to kill his loneliness. He almost giggled when you told him of the disorder that the world had labelled you with, it was awfully funny to him that you both were called mentally unstable.  You two now had that in common as well. He felt a sudden stab in the gut when you mentioned your sister. He guessed if he had to identify the emotion it would be closest to sympathy or guilt. He supposed he felt...bad for your loss. Jungkook smiled widely.

Yes!  That’s it!  He felt bad for you!  

God if the psychologist who said he had no emotions could see him now...

Towards the end of your writing, you mentioned not being a ‘looker’.  As if the paper itself burned him, Jungkook dropped the object with great haste to dig through the envelope.  You had sent the picture! He almost forgot that he even asked for such thing.

And there it was, a small 4x6 printed image of a lovely face smiling shyly at the camera.  

Your face was small and round, skin serene and creamy with its (porcelain/olive/honey/amber/cinnamon) hued pores that was the canvas for your darling features.  Your nose was benevolent and perched regally as well as perfectly centered amidst the sculpture that was your appearance. The bridge of the blessed feature dipped discreetly and softly, complimenting the luminous orbs that were vividly painted with a the crispest shade of (color) that he’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing.  The enchanting irises were artistically framed by magnetizing dark eyelashes that were as long as they were seductive. Somehow he just knew that the colors supplied by whatever commercial printer didn’t do the color-pads of your eyes justice, imagining the shiver that will go down his spine when he could be bare to them in their full and unfiltered glory.  They held a humane gentleness but still….a simmering witt was also bubbling under the surface. Overhead the eyes were carefully groomed eyebrows that were neat and shapely, one was elegantly arched in a expression of somber joy.

Underneath your nose was a pair of nectarous ruby red (or flowery pink) lips that looked perfectly cushioning to any lucky man who would have the chance to collide theirs with yours. Your pristine and snow-white teeth were barely poking out, show casting your shyness even when plastering on a friendly smile.  It’s as if you were unable to let yourself be one-hundred percent bare even in something as basic as a grin. He wondered what kind of mellifluous sound would erupt from such a devine cavern. Your (color) hair was sadly put up, unable to flow freely in the still-frame image. Even though he had very little to study, he still knew that he would want to (straight hair; run his hands through your silken strands) (curly hair; bounce the fluid swirls of your playful mane).  An odd urge to inhale the scent of your shampoo was what Jungkook felt next.

Lost in his own self-induced trance, he didn’t realize that he had been staring for so long until he felt a shadow loom over his figure.  

It was his cellmate and suddenly the infatuated man became all too aware of his slightly ajar mouth and his widened eyes that were stuck on the flimsy printed picture that was tightly held in his grasp (as if terrified that someone would steal the chef d'oeuvre...in an abode of criminals, this fear was somewhat relevant).  Quickly, he masked his expression to that of usual indifference.

“You’ve been sitting there staring for like eleven minutes.  You good?”

He just nodded, not a fan of frivolous speech or furthering conversation with people he cared none for.  Still, the fucker persisted.

“You sure?  Your girl didn’t send you something naughty or something, right?”  This was said in a matter of humor, an attempt to relieve the dark aura that Jungkook seemed to exude in every social interaction.  However, the serious face that Jungkook had on gave the other the impression that he had hit the mark precisely. Joon’s jaw dropped and an eager grin formed at the corners of his lips.  

“Really?!  No way! Can I see?”  The over-sized goon attempted to stride forward, hands already out-reached to grasp at the first smut he would’ve seen in a long time.  Out of primal instinct to keep what was his away from the snubby hands of others, Jungkook pulled back. But the fool had enlarged limbs and this meant his lengthy arms were very capable of plucking the picture off of Jungkook’s safe grip.  

Greedy, Namjoon ran his eyes over the photo.  His grin slowly slid off as he realised that it was indeed nothing sexual.  Nonetheless, his eyes lingered far longer than Jungkook cared for….before promptly returning the image to it’s rightful owner, whose jaw was clenched and teeth now grinding at the recent events.   

“Who is she?”  

“My pen-pal.”  Jungkook promptly answered whilst hiding both the letter and photo under his pillow before placing his head on it, staring up at the bunk above him.  

“Damn, if I’d know that I could’ve gotten someone like that….”  A brief pause as Joon climbed up his bed as well. “I definitely wouldn’t have thrown mine away.”  

Jungkook felt the familiar agitation hit him, tongue pressing against his cheek and he wondered if it was too late to request a cell change.  

The lights went out and ponderings of what to write back filled Jungkook’s mind along with the bewitching photo that was just directly under his head…

--

Opting not to go to breakfast, Jungkook stayed within his cell.

He elaborately printed his response back to you.

‘Dear Y/n,

I thought you were a very smart person but obviously not…’  

The inmate was sure to make you aware of how breathtaking you were, but also very careful in tip-toeing around just how gorgeous you were to him.  He could have written a dozen novels about your exquisite appearance alone, but obviously he was unable to do such thing. He didn’t want you to think he was a creep and halt all communication with him.  In an effort to get closer to you, Jungkook added some sentiment in regards to your loss, adding an anecdote about his mother for dramatic effect.

Now, it was time to fulfill your wish to see him as he had seen you.  

He had no problem with such request.  Not that he ever paid attention to such pointless gossip, but he had always heard whispers of how handsome he was.  Jungkook didn’t consider himself to be a little Fabio on any scale, but he knew he wasn’t hard on the eyes of the opposite sex.  The trouble was, how exactly would he be able to send a photo?

After a year in prison, you get to learn that there are two ways you can survive in such element.  You either adapt or you crumble.

The fittest of the inmates learned real quick how to make prison into their home.  Some men have been here so long that they grew connections and were able to bring some things from the outside world in.  

Jungkook made plans to visit one the older inmates, knowing that he could trade a candybar for a favor of sneaking a photo out to you.  For now, he folded his letter and placed it in the envelope, awaiting his picture before being shipped off to the mailroom.

--

‘Dear Jungkook,

…..I guess you’re not the worst face I’ve seen….’

Jungkook smiled as he fondly traced the words that you have written onto the paper only days prior.  He imagined your endearing face scrunching up into a thoughtful expression as you scribbled your response back to him.  You were funny and he couldn’t deny the sense of pride he felt when you admitted to his attractiveness. In the past, he never gave a fuck if people thought he was the next Ryan Gosling or the ugliest mug they’ve ever seen.  But he felt a weird sense of relief behold him when you said that you indeed thought he was good-looking. He didn’t want to imagine what he might’ve felt if you called him ugly or stopped talking to him after seeing his face.  

But that was not the best aspect to be seen within your writing.  

The best thing that caused his chest to erupt in a warm and fuzzy feeling was when you agreed that you also felt a connection between you two.  That you found him to be ‘marvelous company’ and you enjoyed his letters. This just confirmed his suspicion that you were somehow tied together.  That you two were meant to stumble upon each other in the most unconventional way. Jungkook was sure of it, that you two have defied the odds that cruel reality set against you ‘mentally unstable’ pair and found peace along with understanding within each other.  

Jungkook didn’t know how to describe you.  Surely a ‘pal’ wasn’t it.

You were like another half of him.  

Like you both have fallen from the same star and were unfortunate to fall on this damned earth. Surrounded by the bizzare ‘humans’ and called odd for not being one of their species.  Jungkook decided then and there that you two were mates.

And yes, Jungkook meant it in the primal and borderline barbaric ways that animals did. He would prove his worthiness as a male specimen, he would shelter and feed you, he would breed and produce offspring with you.  Regular people would look at this plan and consider it cave-man like, but he thought it was considerably more romantic this way. Animals mated for life and were not afraid to get murderous when someone threatened this sacred bond.  What was so wrong with such animalistic viewpoint? Humans were the worst type of creature and he was not at all interested in their fake way of obtaining a lover. And he got the sense that you weren’t either. Dates, chocolates, flowers?  How is it that those things were put on a pedestal as a grand show of affection but having a genuine connection with a person was not? Jungkook couldn’t strain his brain to understand such mindset.

This all left the forefront of his mind when he read to the last parts of your letter.  Eyebrows going up in surprise at the ‘P.S’ adage that was never before seen from you. His smile slipped off his face when he saw what you wished.

You wanted to know how he landed himself in prison.  

Now….that was a touchy subject.  

He really didn’t want to scare you away.  

You were too understanding, too alike to him for Jungkook to ever want you to run away.  He knew that no matter how much he could try, his crimes were inexcusable. Even the holiest of saints would hinder their forgiveness.  

Jungkook came to the conclusion that it would be best to tell a white lie until he had more of a connection with you to reveal the truth.  

Sure, he was utterly enthralled by you but he didn’t know how deep your affections lied with him.  He just needed more time to spin a perspective to fill your ear with, he needed to get his claws deep within you, he needed you to be as dependent on him as he was with you.  Jungkook decided to create a fake story to keep you close to him.

Jungkook smirked and grabbed a pen and paper for the next letter.  

--

‘Dear Jk,

My day to day is also lifeless, I’m afraid…’

It was lunch time and Jungkook sat alone in his usual corner of the table, mystery meat forgotten in favor of absorbing the new letter that you had produced for his addiction.  

The first paragraph had the psycho inmate smiling as he pictured you in your tiny apartment, dressed in comfy clothes doing the most mundane things.  He liked to spend his free time just imagining what your comfy ‘nest’ was like, picturing your tiny frame skipping around it. You sitting on a sofa, bundled up in blankets and one of his oversized sweaters, book in hand and steaming hot cup of hot chocolate in the other.  You in the kitchen, humming some tune in your dulcet voice as you attempted to make him a home cooked meal, frowning when you realized that you had not followed a certain step correctly like the cook book said. You laughing at the movie that played on the television screen while you both reach into the popcorn bowl at the same time.  What Jungkook wouldn’t give to live in the little nest with you.  To occupy the same cocoon that you created.

He often found himself fantasizing about being the brave one for you.  

The one who would go to the outside world on your behalf.  He would get you groceries, get a 9 to 5 to pay the bills, go out at 3 am to get you lady products or any random craving.  Wouldn’t that be nice? It would be similar to a caregiver role. Him taking care of you so you just had to stay your pretty self at home, keeping it warm and pillowy for his return.  You would be so thankful for his willingness to go out into your worst fear for the sake of your happiness.

But then, as the letter continued, Jungkook’s mood soured.  

Your mother had violated your space and made you feel awful.  

Jungkook felt rage in that moment.  

He never held so much hatred for someone he had never met before.  

He instantly knew that he didn’t like your mother.  

A piercing sensation thundered upon his chest.  The cursed image of your sweet face covered in tears fogged his mind’s eye.  

God helped anyone who fucked with you.  

Jungkook folded the letter and put it in his pocket, shoveling some tasteless cafeteria food to distract him the familiar hellish itch that screamed at him from underneath his skin.  

Later that day, Jungkook responded with a letter of his own.  

He attached the drawings that he had mentioned to you, somewhat bashful that for the past weeks all he had been able to draw was you.  But he brushed the feelings off and focused on another task; getting you to start calling.

He would often see inmates taking up phone booths, talking and laughing with loved ones from the outside for a couple minutes at a time.  Jungkook wanted that for you two. He wanted to hear the blessed voice that he knew you had, and he wanted you to become familiar with his as well.  After all, you would be hearing it a lot in your lifetime.

--

‘My Dearest Y/n,

I’m sure you must’ve gotten busy, why else haven’t you written in a week?’

Jungkook was slowly becoming irritated at the lack of mail he has been receiving.  It had been five days since you had responded and Jungkook felt anxious at your sudden silence.  You were a sweetheart and would never abandon him. You weren’t like those other wretched people, right?  No! You couldn’t be.

Jungkook shook his head and mentally cursed himself for even thinking that for a moment.  

You must have gotten busy.  

Maybe your mom didn’t give up on pestering you.  

--

‘My Dearest Y/n,

Where have you gone?  You haven’t forgotten about me have you?’

Jungkook couldn’t bear the silence.  He was slowly growing restless. He needed the stimulation that was your communication.  Without it, he had no new material to fill his mind. No new scenarios to daydream about.  NOTHING to get him through the day in the colorless cell that began to taunt him. He attempted to distract himself with the picture of you as well as your 

former letters that now had tear stains because of his new habit of crying over them, knowing they might be the last he ever gets from you.

--

‘Y/n,

This isn’t funny anymore….’

Jungkook was not only uneased, but now he was worried.  Thoughts of what could’ve possibly caused your silence now haunted his mind at night when he attempted to get what little rest he could.  Time was only worsening his growing paranoia each day that he didn’t receive a letter.

He knew you lived alone and had very little outside communication with anyone.  The main ones being him and your mother. Jungkook could only assume that your mother and you would be taking a break due to your mother’s mental breakdown.  And that left him. Stuck in a penitentiary with no way to reach you. He nearly punched the brick wall of his cell when he came to the realization that something could’ve happened to you and no one would’ve known.  If you didn’t answer this letter, he didn’t know what he’d do.

--

‘Dear Jungkook (or should I say Easter Bunny?)

I know what you did.

I know that you lied to me.

I know you’re a murderer.  

Friends don’t lie to each other, Jungkook.

I think it’s best if we find different Pen Pals.

All my best wishes, Y/n.

The letter fell to the ground as Jungkook stared in shock at the absurdly short and cold answer he got from you.  

He underestimated you.

You found out.  

Jungkook felt his temper flare as well as his breathing.  

He’d be damned to let you go.  

You were soulmates….couldn’t you see that?  

Jungkook never thought he’d have to rely on this but he had no choice.  

In the cell block, there were some people whom have been there for 30 years, and other for 30 days.  Prison 101 is to not fuck with the guys who had time under their belts. It was best to respect them and acknowledge that they have connections.  But respect was the last thing on his mind as he stormed into the tiny cell room of an old geezer whose been committing crimes since before Jungkook was even born.  

The older man was used to people coming to his cell, usually asking about how to get hands on a cell phone or how to get the precious kitchen duty to sneak food.  Over time, the man humored many childish inmates with some insider tricks. Almost everyone had talked to him at some point, but Jungkook was one of the very few whom did not approach him seeking an easier ride.  Thus, he was shocked to see the young and deadly figure swoop into the area, eyes dead and jaw clenched.

“You’re going to do something for me.”  Jungkook said this monotonously while maintaining eye contact.  The older man couldn’t ignore the shivers that went down his spine but he still acted calm, knowing you couldn’t show weaknesses to the younger and violent inmates.  

“Is that so?”  The older quirked a brow at Jungkook though the rusty mirror and went back to shaving his face.  The younger was behind him and just tilted his head and stepped forward, still staring at the man through the reflection of the glass.  

“You are going to sneak me out of this joint.”  

This caused the older to laugh, not believing his ears at such a ludicrous request.  

Jungkook came up behind the older, mouth close to his ear and eyes lifeless and inky as they held the older’s through the mirror.  

“Listen here you senile fuck, I know that you know who I am and what I did.  It’s your best interest to listen to what I tell you. Would you like to hear a secret?”  The petrified and frozen man nodded, not having the balls to disobey or look away. “I never told the jury that I didn’t murder those people on my own….I had a partner.  A partner who is still out there and would surely take care of your pretty little daughter I hear you talking on the phone to.”

Jungkook smiled as the man grimly agreed to do whatever he wished.  

Now, he just had to inform you of his upcoming arrival.

--

‘My Dearest Y/n,

I see you found out about the nickname the hideous press gave me.

Well….this type of revelation is best talked over in person.  

I’ll see you soon.’

Author’s note; so....both JK and Y/n have mental problems, just to clarify.  Also, this wasn’t part two bc I think of this as just the other half of part one.  There will still be a part two and three.  Please let me know what you thought bc a full inbox makes for a happy writer.  It’s challenging to write for a Y/n character bc the point is for you guys to identify with her in the story and I wanted you guys to feel like you truly are her so when I did the part where Jk becomes very obsessed with the pic, I wanted to add details but obvi not everyone has the same characteristics so I added diff options...pls let me know what you thought of this.

[lerrengwesten]

Chapter 1

Read it below the cut.

We are introduced to Teltra and he goes on a lovely little trip to a swamp.  There’s a number of characters mentioned here that I haven’t drawn out yet, but will some day as they’re somewhat important (Vitabre, Nlimnumile, the Lbutras)

Warning for characters being jerks to each other, fantasy racism, some kind of graphic, or at least painful descriptions of physical harm, and some very mildly nsfw bits of potty humors and bashing sexual reproduction.  That’s kind of a reoccurring joke in this universe, and actually does sort of tie into coaster history. 

He was the one.  He was no one.  Beloved of the mobbing Ehtstunisa, the minor spirits that were useless for all but complaining and boasting of knowing each and every creature better than their Far Spirits or Creators did.  Beloved of the Nlegera spirits that scarcely knew of a few Far Spirits and a dozen beings in their life time,yet swarmed those in their proximity, propelling them with their spiritual energy.  Yet despised by his own Far Spirit as a mistake, too costly for his own good.  But he remained.   After all, the money was spent, and he was loved by the lesser spirits, so there was no reason to end him in his present condition..   Roughly ten years ago, this being arose in the rough, mountainous Woodlands.  He was the second of his kind, the first a little-known beast of the name Solossco, who towered over every being in the woodlands but the abomination Vitabre.  Like his predecessor, rather than being knit together largely freehand from individual parts, he was assembled. Snapped together.  Why was this done?  To alleviate the shaking and agony that curses virtually all the creatures of the Woodlands with age, in an attempt to keep him decent and reasonable rather than enraged by constant pain for as long as possible, as not to scare off the Nlegera and spell an early doom for him and financial failure for his owner, the Great Banenhaxer. In the same meadow where the wretched creature he was sent to replace had been originally spawned in, he awoke, stretched out his long legs, and sprang away freely.  With this, Ehtstunisa and Nlegera alike mobbed him, and, swollen with their power, he broke into a full run, at speeds surpassed only by Vitabre at that time.  Effortlessly, he sprang over trees and small hills in single bounds, pausing only to pound along the ground without losing speed.  Two white cat-like creatures also owned by the Great Banenhaxer casually jogged into the meadow, unaware of what was taking place.  From what they said years later, they avoided all news of his development and creation after the intital announcement of his coming, driven unavoidable and intolerable envy and fear of his presence.  They resumed life as it had been before, entirely oblivious. Part of this life was crossing the meadow in question.  At first it seemed that though they would pass through without trouble.  Then the new creature suddenly whipped around, and, realizing that his path was blocked, sprang clear over the pair, to the delight of the onlooking spirits. --- Dagnakki suddenly regained control of their body, allowing them to slam down the bundle of papers locked in their tentacles.  A three-headed parasite embedded in their head had just finished its shift in controlling their shared body.   Dagnakki understood well why Teltra, that Woodland creature in question, was so hated by so many, the two cats included.  They were aware that the flame of envy burned in their own heart for their more fortunate, popular relative Tckero, who did not have to deal with such three-headed, time-wasting parasites, the poorer standards of care of the Banenhaxers which resulted in pain and foul moods and even more ludicrous frequency of illness and injury, and painful shoulder spines and a stiff torso due to a misguided and pointless safety restriction.  As they sat in their cave for days on end motionless, unable to move much due to some sort of trouble, writing all that they learned from their subordinates, they sometimes heard the roar of Tcekro sailing along gracefully outside. Many a page of writing was ruined by them shredding it or smashing a bottle of ink in frustration in such situations.  They wished they could fly across the plains at top speed like them without shaking viciously.  Their Banenhaxer's carelessness left them with such terrible shaking that flocking minor spirits often ignored their slight advantage in height and speed to flock to Tcekro's grace and gentleness, leaving them miserable even when they weren't injured or stalled by the parasite.   Similar things could be said of what they had learned from the Woodland creatures regarding Teltra.  He was generally the obnoxiously cheerful sort, the kind of being that offered sincere, but pointlessly general and ignorant encouragement to those in trouble, attempting to make them feel better but giving them only annoyance from positivity that came off as thoughtless.  On top of this, he could become very passionate, but his ignorance and lack of experience painted his emotion with a misguided, foolish tinge that grated upon the other beings even more. His physical condition made things even worse.  His popularity with the spirits and general lack of physical decline infuriated the shaking, miserable creatures who had watched themselves go from stars to lonely sadsacks in a matter of years as their legs began to quiver and movements grow more vicious and unsteady.   It also did not help that few other creatures were made in his design, despite its popularity with the common spirits.  Why so few other creatures like him were created was unknown to Dagnakki, as was most of the secretive Far Spirits' reasoning.  Had his type become widespread and largely replaced the typical style of Woodland creatures, he likely would have blended into the new elite and perhaps been admired for being one of the first of his kind and offering such a good first impression.  However, left alone with his three siblings in design living far away, under the control of more remote Far Spirits, he came off as a "Chosen One" type, the sort so irritatingly perfect that others shunned him for the aforementioned reasons of jealousy.  Dagnakki knew well the feeling of yearning to avoid someone due to the pang of envy and anger felt when forced to be around one hopelessly their superior, and for this reason could not blame the Woodland creatures for feeling the way they did.   But Teltra was essentially alienated and stripped of his title as a being of the Woodlands by them for his unusual method of creation, and condemned even by his Far Spirit.  Dagnakki was owned by the Great Banenhaxer as well, and the strain on its resources to care for it had made it reconsider having Teltra made, as he would be nearly as expensive.  In the end, Dagnakki themself felt a little sorry for him and reluctantly took him under their wing.  He was indeed irritating to be around in his cheerfulness, but they could appreciate his speed, which allowed him to investigate more dangerous beings with lower risk of physical harm than slower or weaker creatures.   He was also doggedly loyal to them, grateful to find a living being with at least a neutral opinion of him.   Presently, he was standing behind them, bouncing up and down on his hooves, eagerly waiting for them to get control of themself again and  tell him what he was going to investigate for them that day. They nodded, acknowledging his silent question and indicating that they finally had the bodily control to speak. "What the fuck is up with those Lbutras' nicknames anyways?  "Bad Bitch"? "Luxury Shag"?  "Yellow Snow"?  "Burnt Toast?" "The Biggest Shit"? Would  it not be nice to know the meaning of them to sate our own curiosity and keep stashed away as fucking blackmail for all eternity?” He shrugged.  Dagnakki’s rough language and harsh demeanor was typical of them.  Particularly after absences like this, as virtually anyone would be agitated by being able to think, but not move to act on those urges. Such unexpected, explosive thoughts were common after Dagnakki got control back. “Well, I think you know what to do, Teltra.  The Swamp is the best place to find a bunch of those guys, of course." Teltra just smiled back and dashed out of the cave, off into the desert beyond. Black sand continued for miles, only interrupted by the occasional oasis and stones, the vast majority of which were stark white.  At the edges of the desert, perhaps yellow, blue, or pink ones could be found, but otherwise there was no escape from the monochromatic expanse.  It would be considered a harsh and inhospitable place to many,  but the inhabitants of the Peninsula thought little of of the scorching heat and associated searing temperature of the dark ground.  It was simply a dull place they had to pass through to get virtually anywhere and a neutral fact of life.  Only the central part of the desert and far northern reaches were considered dangerous.  The  central region was home to Atochengra, a notoriously violent group of beings created by the Archer, a now-deceased creator, that often viciously attacked intruders from other origins out of spite and fear.  Fortunately, their activity had been in decline for several years as they died off.  Few beings could get by them to even know who or what resided in the far north, but legends told of bizarre ghost-white creatures that lived in constant fear of their unforgiving Far Spirits killing them for even the mildest of offenses. Teltra was headed towards the south, though.  The majority of the population of the Peninsula lived in a wide crescent of land that encircled the desert and bordered the surrounding sea.  To the far east was a flat, humid, wooded area dotted with lakes where the Fsemacea, the creations of the Dragons, were based (thought they frequently wandered all over the Peninsula with little regard for borders).  To the west was a vast region of rolling hills that was historically controlled by the Lteiasecl, a loosely related group of creatures all made by the Moon Mimic over more than four decades, a group that included Dagnakki and Tcekro.  Teltra was also arguably a Lteiasecl, but beings of the Woodlands like him were generally considered entirely separate from other creatures due to numerous physical differences.  These Woodlands were beyond a mountain range in the far northeast of the desert, which kept most of the creatures that lived in them physically separate from the rest of the Peninsula.   The place where Teltra was headed to was a swampy splotch in the armpit of the crescent.  At his rapid running speed of close to 70 miles per hour, he was rapidly approaching this area.  The black sand was growing patchier with scraggly white-stemmed weeds, which were soon being replaced with typical green plants.  He found himself slowing down as the ground grew moist and muddy.  Mud and plant scum began to splatter all over his legs with each step, but he didn't particularly care as his fur was already brown. More and more splashed up with each stride and he applied more force to remove his hooves from the the deepening muck the further he went, until he was trudging through ankle-deep water. The sluggish pace irritated him, but he had done this many times before and had oddly grown to appreciate the resistance.   All he could see were trees and water.  Green, black, and brown.  No bright flashes of color, telltale signs of approaching Lbutra or at least any other being that could point him in the direction of any.  His smile faded a little, but he shook his head and started to mentally compare the shapes of tree trunks to creatures he'd met before.  A short, thick tree with harshly angled branches brought to mind Neentis, a Lteiasecl who was almost half his size and had chased him away and tried to sock him in the neck after he asked about what happened to her broken-off horn.  One of them had a trunk twisted into a loop, just like Vitabre's notorious conjoined front tusks.  He turned away from that tree quickly, not wanting them back in his thoughts. As he turned around, his eyes followed some low-hanging branches up the delicate trunk of what must have been one of the tallest trees in the forest.  Its trunk was far paler in color than the others, a whitish silver stained yellow by the sun's rays.  Just like Nlimnumile.  He'd only met her once, but that fleeting encounter was perhaps the best he'd ever had.  She was surpassed as the tallest and fastest and the land mere months after her arrival, but her grace, gentleness, and magnificence endured, and she remained the spiritual leader of the Lteiasecl to the current day.  He had said nothing to her, but even the thought of her presence still gave him chills years after meeting her.   And now, he was getting chills as he noticed a faint, but horrible smell.   For him, it was simply a terrible smell associated with Lbutra #35, known as “Dead Baby”.  To one who would recognize it, it was the reek of dead fish.  Tangled with it was the scent of Lbutra #2, “Skid Marks”, an acrid, burning smell.  Virtually any other being would be fleeing as quickly as possible in water that deep, but Teltra did not stir.  He rather liked the Lbutras. "Hello there, you two!  Mind if I ask you a question?" He wiggled around and tapped his hooves, in laughably slow motion, though, as a large clump of plant matter  became entangled with them.  Still jittering in anticipation for the Lbutra to appear, it took him a second to realize that he was plummeting into the murky water below. The moment he noticed the white sparks of shock, they were drowned out.   The enormous splash produced provoked them.  They were too far away to have heard Teltra's voice, but they knew that any creature that created ripples that prominent was not one of their own.  They hovered high enough that they didn't even touch the water.   #35 was the more graceful of the two, but lacked the agility of #2 and navigated the forest in wide arcs.  Their partner veered and weaved around trees with vicious, shaky turns that often grazed other trees in the process of avoiding others.  But pain was nothing to the second Lbutra ever created, as they were even clumsier than the average Lbutra, and age and poor treatment under a Banenhaxer for many years had done them no favors. All creatures shook in severity from mild vibrations to vicious wobbles, but due to their designs Lbutra were particularly pained by tremors.  Many were of a relatively primitive design and had difficulty moving steadily , which forced them to constantly flail about to balance themselves.  This was also true of other Nepspra, but Lbutra had it worse due to their weak, but very flexible necks.  While their limbs could be locked and steadied, their heads could not, as their necks could not support their large skulls and heavy horns well even when completely still.  The result was constant headbanging and difficulty navigating with their field of vision constantly being flipped and tilted by this.  They blamed this on the Fsemacea since rumors suggested that a copyright claim by their creators, The Dragons, prohibited any other creator from making a floating being with a thick neck.  Nepspra in general were known for their at times violent envy and resentment of other being due to their status as cheap, nasty creatures for cheap, nasty Far Spirits with poor taste.  Since nobody seemed to care for them, they saw no reason to care for anyone else but themselves.  Which was why they were so feared. Teltra's eyes lit up in delight and a dopey grin spread across his face as he saw two blurs, one bold red and the other yellow and black,  approaching.  The prospect of Dead Baby having another enormous sibling was amazing.  He never expected another Far Spirit to acquire another larger Lbutra like her, as the main appeal of that sort of creature was in their small size and ease of acquisition, but he was excited to see who this stranger was.  After all, she had always been white with crimson stripes, and clearly the larger of these strange Lbutra was not.  He did not recognize the red one either.  Solid colorations like that were often the marker of having a cheap or poor owner.  This was also intriguing to him, though, as often the lower-class Far Spirits owned quirky or very aggressive creatures, due to their looser control over them compared to more powerful spirits.   "What are you doing here?" The smaller being spoke first, snapping at him, but in an oddly gentle, thoughtless way.  They weren't even looking at him or their partner, but rather, a clump of moss on a nearby tree.   "Oh, hello there!  Why, I'm here to interview Lbutra like you for my boss Dagnakki's records." "No shit...We're well aware of why already.  We've talked before, bud." "Well, I have no idea who you two are.  I thought you were going to be Dead Baby and Skid Marks based on your smells, but it seems I'm wrong-" The red Lbutra narrowed their eyes and jolted closer, almost up to his face, but still looking unenthusiastic and bored in their irritation. "Don't let me here either of those names ever again.  I'm Painfully Mediocre Serpent and this is Queen Bee.  It's for the best of both of us that we forget who I.. once was.  Don't even call me by "he" anymore. Naeaphid’s been calling me a “she” now, but that would get confusing with Bee here, so just... use anything but that, anything. I want all ties to... that time when I was Marks cut." They rubbed a bony, crimson shoulder.  Where most Lbutra had a long, horn-like spine, there was a flat spot.  It looked sawed-off.   "You guys both got modified and recolored?" "Yes.  Yes we did.  Let's put this aside." She was finally sounding legitimately agitated.  Too many creatures had asked her this question before. She started to turn around to head back to patrolling the area with #35 when she heard Teltra ask something else. "Where do you guys get your names from anyways?  That's what Dagnakki wanted me to ask you this time, anyways. " "Naeaphid gives them to us.  Frankly, they make no sense and it's better not asking it why they are what they are.  Good way to get hit by the headaches or chucked across the lake, that is." Queen Bee shoved in. "I've asked it, you know.  Pain's nothing.  It can't hurt me anyways.  I'm too big and valuable.  I'm named after some disgusting little flying earth creature.  One of the sexed ones.  And "Queen" is one those disgusting old human terms for an... ugh, FEMALE leader.  How foul, to be compared to a sexual organism!" Both of heir faces scrunched up into even uglier looks of disgust than usual. "It's just PROFANE.  Yours has got to be something vulgar, too, PMS.  Or at least insulting.  But face it, it would never stoop that low.  Because we all know by now how much that Naeaphid enjoys its shitty title of being the nastiest creature alive and just how hard it works to keep it." "I remember the day I ran into Voxtre and asked him about the meaning of my old name- oh, Stars!" The smaller Lbutra began pounding her head against the nearest tree to rid herself of the memory.   "Miss having your spines, don't you?" "Only in times like this." Teltra watched the two yabbering, silently amused and mentally taking notes for Dagnakki.  They quickly became aware of this, and suddenly snapped back to doing their actual jobs as guards.   "Well there you go, moo-cow.  Go away now." "You're not going to fly after me and try to punch me today?" "No.  We have more important duties at hand than dealing with irrelevant creatures like you.  You woodies will never understand our conflicts, and you lot haven't got the smarts to even if we did explain them. " Teltra shrugged and walked off.  He'd been called simple by many a creature before and it frankly didn't bother him anymore.  It was a common stereotype about Woodland beings like him, mainly borne from their distance from the affairs of lands outside their woods and the conservative nature of many older creatures.  They in turn often saw the outside creatures as unreasonably nosy and violent, the former of which was part of the reason why Teltra had found himself outcast from them.   Night was falling as the swamp faded to the desert.  Soon the darkness of the sky fused with the ground, and the only way of telling up from down were the stars above.  The words of the two Lbutra echoed in his head and he jogged along.  He found himself chuckling them to himself, sometimes breaking his stride in the process.  It was the kind of bizarre fact that one can't resist but tell to others just to see their reactions, and he felt a nagging desire to hurry back to tell Dagnakki about it.  But he also felt a nagging desire to investigate a noise he heard. It had been an angry whisper and a light clang from behind a rock.  Not many creatures were active this late at night, particularly not those out in the desert, particularly this region.  He knew he was close to the outskirts of Atochengra-controlled territory. That fact alone would send a shiver up the spine of many creatures.   They'd heard the stories.  An errant being that strayed too close to the area could be hideously maimed without even catching sight of their attacker, and Fsemacea and high-ranking younger Lteiasecl were prime targets for them.  All it took to become a potential target was to stray into the line of sight of one of the members.  One could even appear as a shapeless blur.  That was enough for them to lock their eyes on the hapless creature and bend their coathanger until they heard a cry of pain.  Fortunately, the victim was usually recovered by their Far Spirit quickly and taken care of, but after the floating Nlegera and Ehtstunisas were chased away, it often took hours of waiting in agony for the Far Spirits to send down a Necchmia to retrieve and care for the being. Teltra was unaware of all of this and drew closer to the sound out of curiosity and a quiet spark of rebellion. He rarely found himself out this late and all Dagnakki told him of Atochengra was that he ought to avoid them.  Truthfully, he was in little danger, as the coathangers did nothing to Woodland beings like himself.  This was because they were never meant to be used as a weapon.  Before the group became more violent and radical, the wires were only used to bend their own owners' limbs unnaturally as if they were made of wire themselves for their own amusement and utility. Many older Nepspra could also be twisted without pain or injury due to their creator's close relationship to the Archer and their similarities in design to those possessing the coathangers.  However, any other being not meant to be bent with them would find their limbs snapped as the wires' power struggled to conform them to their own shapes.   Woodland creatures were so far removed in design from the creations of the Archer who wielded the wires that they were regarded as an invalid target the same way trees, rocks, and non-created beings, and could not be bent by them.   He could feel himself getting heated up from excitement and fear.  He felt the pressure in his ears from the silence around him.  He crept around the rock to spy on whatever was making that sound.   A disgustingly bony figure was hunched over a curious light-emitting object (a old lantern from a human), messing with a length of wire and another rusted piece of metal and some string.  It was roughly Teltra's height, but its limbs appeared impossibly long due to just how thin they were.  An even gaunter shadow, little more than crooked black lines, was cast by it in the glow of the light.  Skeletal, twisted, fingers  curled the wire around a hunk of black material (a magnet), then strung the length of twine between it and the piece of metal, which was a can.  Shuddering violently as it flexed its arm, it jerked the can to the side of what must have been its head, then threw it down in disgust seconds later and turned around, only to see a wisp of Teltra's shaggy tail.   "Do not act as though I cannot see you, Woodlander.  My matters do not concern you.  I believe it is best that you return home.  From what I understand, you folk do not fare well outside your homeland due to your sensitivity to weather.  Please do not speak of what you have seen, for the sake of my own reputation." He scooted behind the rock, then made off without a word.  He did not plan to obey the being's request. This was something Dagnakki would find fascinating and the thought of getting sent to observe Atochengran activity was too exciting for him.        

[frederickwiddowson]

Genesis 3:2-8 comments: Satan’s ‘con’ game

3:2  And the woman said unto the serpent, We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden: 3 But of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye touch it, lest ye die. 4  And the serpent said unto the woman, Ye shall not surely die: 5  For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.

Satan makes the woman, whom we later know as Eve, part of his deception, his con-game. We learn in verse 6 that Adam is with her, even though it is often told by preachers that Adam could not possibly have stood by and watched his wife get sucked into the con but later we also see that Adam is quick to blame even God for his actions. Adam is not tricked here, as we understand by what Paul said in a letter to Timothy. He stands by and watches what his wife is being pulled into.

1Timothy 2:14  And Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in the transgression.

           Eve acknowledges that she and Adam are permitted to eat of every tree but one. In fact, she goes beyond what God actually said, in neither shall ye touch it. We often do that with doctrine. God ordains a thing and we go beyond what He said to satisfy our own imaginings, making our new-improved rule God’s standard, when in reality, we have played the part of Eve.

Here, then, Satan makes a shocking statement, calling God a liar or calling into question what God meant by what He said. This is one of the most profound examples of wickedness in history, repeated by every drunk and drug addict before they take their first drink or shoot-up the first time, every sexually immoral person considering their lust, every teenaged boy with a heavy foot on the gas pedal, and every hot-tempered man of violence. Ye shall not surely die. Oh yes, you will, Sparky.

Some people might claim that Satan is telling Eve that they have misunderstood what God meant by what He said but what God said was so clear as to not be uncertain at all. Satan simply denies that what God said was true.

Satan basically tells them that God has tricked them and what He is doing is preventing them from being as gods themselves, having a knowledge of good and evil. Their eyes would be opened. But, while what he is suggesting seems desirable, being as gods, knowing good and evil comes at a price too horrible to contemplate, for death is at the end of that road. To disobey God when there was only one thing you could do on earth that constituted disobedience and the consequence of that one thing was too high a price to pay for such knowledge was the great tragedy of history.

We believe that we must have what we want and to get it we are willing to either deny that what God says will happen will actually happen, or as in the following passage, we simply justify it in our mind.

3:6 ¶  And when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat, and gave also unto her husband with her; and he did eat. 7  And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons. 8  And they heard the voice of the LORD God walking in the garden in the cool of the day: and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the LORD God amongst the trees of the garden.

The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil had three qualities that presented themselves to Eve. It could satisfy hunger, was nice to look at, and, at Satan’s suggestion she and her husband would be God-like, being able to discern the secret of good and evil. However, this was a trick, a con-job. Adam and Eve had no lack of food. Food was abundant most likely and delicious. The tree was beautiful as probably many other trees were beautiful. These things drew her like a moth to a flame. But the most important line Satan used was that they would know the secret of good and evil, like God. This was the trick. Good is obedience to God, believing what He says. Evil is disobedience to God in this context, denying Him and His sovereignty over you.

There are warnings and examples regarding lusting for food and not being patient and satisfied with what God has provided, not waiting on and trusting in the Lord God, and there were warnings and examples about worshipping things pleasant to the eyes.

Numbers 11:4 ¶  And the mixt multitude that was among them fell a lusting: and the children of Israel also wept again, and said, Who shall give us flesh to eat? 5  We remember the fish, which we did eat in Egypt freely; the cucumbers, and the melons, and the leeks, and the onions, and the garlick: 6 But now our soul is dried away: there is nothing at all, beside this manna, before our eyes.

 Here, food represented dissatisfaction with what God had provided and a longing for the delights of the time before you were pulled out of a world in rebellion against their Creator as in, I wish I could drink a case of beer on a hot day again. What is enough is far too often not enough to satisfy our lusts.

There were things that were pleasant to the eyes to mankind that he grew to worship in place of God.

Exodus 20:4  Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of any thing that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth: 5  Thou shalt not bow down thyself to them, nor serve them: for I the LORD thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers upon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them that hate me; 6  And shewing mercy unto thousands of them that love me, and keep my commandments.

 Numbers 33:52   Then ye shall drive out all the inhabitants of the land from before you, and destroy all their pictures, and destroy all their molten images, and quite pluck down all their high places:

 In the following we see that this worship of things that our eyes see and admire is the very reason why God unleashed so many sexual perversions on our society today which were commonplace in the ancient world but had been forbidden and pushed into the dark corners of society by the Christian faith.

 Romans 1:19 ¶  Because that which may be known of God is manifest in them; for God hath shewed it unto them. 20  For the invisible things of him from the creation of the world are

clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse: 21 Because that, when they knew God, they

glorified him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, and their foolish heart was darkened. 22 Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools, 23  And changed the glory of the uncorruptible God into an image made like to corruptible man, and to birds, and fourfooted beasts, and creeping things. 24 Wherefore God also gave them up to uncleanness through the lusts of their own hearts, to dishonour their own bodies between themselves: 25  Who changed the truth of God into a lie, and worshipped and served the creature more than the Creator, who is blessed for ever. Amen. 26  For this cause God gave them up unto vile affections: for even their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: 27  And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet. 28  And even as they did not like to retain God in their knowledge, God gave them over to a reprobate mind, to do those things which are not convenient; 29  Being filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness; full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity; whisperers, 30  Backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, 31  Without understanding, covenantbreakers, without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful: 32  Who knowing the judgment of God, that they which commit such things are worthy of death, not only do the same, but have pleasure in them that do them.

Knowledge is a two-edged sword. Solomon said;

Ecclesiastes 1:18   For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.

What Adam and Eve faced and what they did we often have faced and done. Many a young person has not heeded the knowledge given to them by others to not touch the hot stove but has gained the painful knowledge that comes from being burnt in disbelief and disobedience.

Man would have done well to obey God rather than sought out the proof of what God said by painful experience. Many a life has been shattered, diminished, ruined, or lost by man’s sin nature.

True knowledge, though, is different.

Proverbs 1:7   The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge: but fools despise wisdom and instruction.

Adam and Eve sought knowledge of the first kind. Satan lied to them. They learned the tragic consequences of disobeying God. This is not knowledge we should seek if we are wise. Our trouble is so many false preachers and teachers making up what God said and speaking falsely for Him that drives so many young people away from church fellowship. Hatred of and contempt for women, bigotry, paranoia, domination and control, and masochistic self-hatred are not of God and get in the way of our obedience to Him.

In any event we are called to obey Him, not test the limits of disobedience to see what happens, dancing on the edge of the abyss to see how close we can get before we fall into it

Adam and Eve chose disobedience and all of creation has suffered for it so that God could redeem us Himself and that mankind in eternity would know that they did not do it themselves but that it was God alone who saved them.

Adam and Eve gained knowledge by disobedience to God and judgment rather than gaining knowledge by obedience to Him and the joys of a personal relationship with their Creator.

Eve gave the fruit to her husband, Adam, who was with her, and he also disobeyed God. At that moment they realized their disgrace, as conscience was revealed and the bitter vision of knowing that they were undone, without honor, overcame them. As we are wont to do, if indeed we have a conscience at all, they tried to hide their shame and human frailty that had been exposed. Gone were the happy, careless times of joy in God’s garden, the first couple enjoying each other and creation without care or doubt. We mistake this time in our lives for attaining adulthood, becoming a man or a woman, when, all too often, it simply reflects a loss of who we were or could have been. When we follow the world, which is Satan’s bailiwick (2Corinthians 4:4), with our desire to place self-gratification and self-glorification above God and make it a sort of rite of passage into full admission to the world we must take on that shame and self-doubt, that uncertainty and, if you would, low self-esteem, we take steps downward. Often, with each action after that we feel less and less that sense of ‘all is possible’ for us and our choices become more and more limited and less and less satisfying. Shame becomes a constant nagging companion and if we become so hardened that we cannot feel it we just become numb and can only feel a sense of disgust at who we are.

Some will try to hide in an entertainment as an escape, some in a hobby or an employment or some other activity, even hiding from God in church, while others drink or take drugs to numb the pain of their existence. Some will become defiant and proud of their sin, claiming it as a badge of distinction and self-justification, thumbing their nose at God, so to speak. But, that point comes for almost all people who are actually able to acknowledge it, that point when they feel that they have lost something. It is a vague and uncertain pain or it may be a great sense of grief. But it is a sense of loss nonetheless. The only real cure is to trust Christ, to know that He loves you, to acknowledge both your love for Him and His for you, and to depend on His righteousness and not your own for peace with God and peace in your own soul.

They heard God, the pre-incarnate Christ, the visible image of the invisible God, the express image of His person as pointed out in the study on chapter 1, verse 3, with whom they had known such sweet fellowship, walking in the garden, calling out to them as He often did apparently. But, this time they hid from His presence. When we sin we often forgo our prayer, talking to God, and reading the Bible, God talking to us, and hide from Him, because, if we are indeed believers, we feel great shame and that we have let Him down. The more we continue to do wrong the more we try to cut off His counsel and fellowship with Him until we are the most miserable of persons.