#than the endless sea; that it is so easy to get swept away and drown in it

[abyssin]

forming a bond with childe has always been such an interesting moral dilemma when i think about it like. it's not that childe is mentally unstable, it's that he's as stable as can be & knows where his priorities lie. there is no changing someone who knows what he does is morally incorrect, that he will risk the lives of thousands again if he saw it was necessary. but he is genuinely such a sweet, loyal & nice guy outside of being a fatui, moreso a harbinger. it would be so much easier if he were an adventurer like he hoped he would be as a kid. but you do not change someone like childe, not until he sees the endpoint of the tsaritsa's vision. you can't just tunnel vision into thinking he's a good person with a cause. so i think it's always worth asking: will you accept the 11th harbinger, even when he may put you in harm's way, intentional or not?

[curiousconch]

Chase You/Chase Me (Pt. 4)

Part 4: The truth will never lie to me

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Trapped in a conference, Gabe and Alex bask in the afterglow of their interrupted moment by the lake. But before Alex can fully comprehend how she felt, she unravels a truth that may cease the chase altogether.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 1.8k+

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / alcohol consumption, language, implied sexual content. Reader discretion advised.

Author's Notes: Surprise! Yep, it's an early release! I made revisions to fit the ongoing narrative and ended up breaking it down into two parts. Also, this series may span longer than I originally intended it to be, not wanting to rush things. It will probably extend until Part 7, depending on what happens at the finale. I do hope you'll still stick around. If not, I'll totally understand. 😉

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

Late night, Boston

Shoe laces, cool wind and the darkness of the forest enveloping them. His breath shuddering with how close her lips was. His throat running dry.

Wanting, longing.

Just a little taste to find out how intoxicatingly delicious those cherry lips would be in his mouth and to feel the heat of her body against his.

And then a splash.

Gabe blinked as he felt ice cold liquid pouring over his crisp white shirt. He wasn't sure if he was having déjà vu.

"Oh, sorry mate," a man standing nearby had bumped into him, making the glass of scotch he was drinking shake and spill into his impeccable suit. He forced down the tasteless curse words forming in his mouth, groaning in frustration at the dissipating sensations from what he had been imagining.

His mind was stuck in an endless loop, replaying the romantic encounter with Alex just the night before. But very much like after Beau's dive into the lake, his consciousness whipped achingly back to reality.

Gabe was leaning on the mobile bar, set in the middle of the conference reception. Did he just lose himself in a daydream like a fool? He wondered, murmuring through his madness.

The time alone with her provided him a glimpse of what could be between them. And oh how euphoric it had been to have her so near, to watch his body respond to her like no other.

It left him just craving for more.

He was lying to himself if he continued to deny that he has feelings for Alex, and how deep he was already in for her. But he knew it wasn't meant to be, at least until after he admits the truth. Until then, he had to pull away.

Easier said than done.

For now, he settled for a view of her, his eyes scoured the room for the subject of his fancy. When he found her, Gabe couldn't stop his smile and the fluttering of his heart, or the warmth growing between his legs.

There she was, in the far side of the room, shining brighter than any star that they had seen in the night sky. Her audience completely captivated as he was with her.

The sight of her in that blue dress swept Gabe back into his fantasies, and how infuriatingly near he was to giving into them. He had to clench his fist around his tumbler, suppressing any trace of his earlier wild thoughts.

Apparently sensing the weight of his gaze, Alex turned to him, their eyes meeting in silent conversation. He watched as she excused herself before making her way towards where he sat.

Half-smiling, Alex's confident expression as she approached him made him swallow hard.

Gabe summoned all his willpower to rein himself in as she got closer. He plastered his usual cocky smile, once again putting up a wall of professionalism. They were in a conference, he reasoned.

"Still watching your wards, old man?" Alex chuckled as she reached a seat beside him.

"Working the room like a pro like that? Very hard to ignore," Gabe interjected, shaking his head. "Had to say Alex, I'm impressed."

"Glad you noticed," she smiled, clearly enjoying the compliment.

"Frankly, you charming the top tier lawyers were hard to miss," he said, with lips quirking into a grin.

"Were you watching the whole time?" she asked.

"Difficult not to, seeing how you're the best-dressed lawyer in the room," he continued, savoring the easy conversation.

She scoffed before turning around, grabbing a napkin from a bartender. Alex offered it to him, pointing at the light stain on his clothes.

He finally muttered a curse, realizing he had been too distracted not to notice the result of the spillage from his own drink. This was one of my best suits.

Gabe almost jumped when Alex started to wipe the front of his suit.

His eyes narrowed, unable to process what was happening. On impulse, he reached out to her, encircling his palms around her wrist. Alex snapped her head up at the touch, the intensity of her gaze enchanting him.

It took all of his strength to break free from it. He cleared his throat and looked away, before grabbing the napkin from her grasp without warning.

It had always been like this. At first, there was this fluidity, a natural attraction between them while they interacted. Then another goddamn minute passes and it all becomes downright complicated.

Gabe wasn't having it.

He briefly shut his eyes closed and released the breath he was holding. When he opened them, he focused his attention on wiping the stain from his jacket, avoiding Alex's questioning gaze. He decided to divert the conversation, robbing her of any opportunity to re-capture him in a trance.

"Don't worry, I don't judge potential partners solely on congeniality. Though I can't speak for Sadie." He then turned and discarded the cloth on the bar. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll have to speak to a friend who I'm sure will be thrilled to know I'm now a partner."

He finally dared to look at Alex with almost apologetic eyes, before swiftly walking away towards a sea of unfamiliar faces.

Alex was left gaping at his hasty departure, uncertain how it all went south so quickly. She wanted to grab his arm and pull him to her so badly, to pick things up from where they left off last night. From that moment when his lips was inches away from taking hers, before they were interrupted.

Her body ached to be near him. Then again, that's not how she usually operates, so she let him be.

She had never thought her idol was such a tease. Or perhaps, traditional? Alex snickered. Oh how I'll make you beg, Gabriel Ricci. She exhaled, the sultry thought of the man on his knees in front of her suddenly hiking up the temperature in the room. Alex had to fan herself to cool down.

Along with the idea of finally spending some alone time together, conjuring the image of waking up beside Gabe excited her. Well, if ever this chase between them actually culminates to something.

But why was she following this trail of thought? In all her conquests, she had never stayed for what came after. She had that with Julian, and look how that ended. For her, it was always just for the fun. So why does she suddenly liked the notion with Gabe? She shuddered. Ugh, weird.

Maybe it's because it's taking the long game with him? Alex didn't want to know.

Leaving that for now, she resorted to ordering another shot of patron to drown the remnants of her heated thoughts. On her third glass, Alex heard a familiar voice ordering a shot of bourbon. She swiveled towards it and caught sight of Lina Reyes, the opposing lawyer from the Willow case.

"Fancy meeting you here," Alex smiled lazily, remembering how temptingly attractive she was. She also recalled the offer of a hook-up, which she politely declined out of courtesy.

But now, seems like she's getting another chance. And with Gabe being annoyingly hard to get, Alex had to have fun somewhere else. It's not like she and Gabe was committed, right?

Lina scooted closer to her, smelling of a heady mix of alcohol. "Speaking of fancy, damn. You look more incredible than I can remember, Alex," she teased, provocatively arching her brows at her.

Alex quickly picked up Lina's attempt to flirt, stoking her bruised ego. "Gotta be dressed to impress, right?" she waved her fingers as if in curtsy. "Enjoying the conference?"

"At this point, things tend to devolve quickly. But I do plan to have a nightcap back in my room," Lina smirked, Alex feeling the heel of velvet pumps brushing along her bare leg. "Maybe you could join me?"

The woman wasn't exactly subtle, though Alex had to give props to her for her confidence. She liked that in anyone. So Alex returned the gesture, letting her fingers hover an inch over her arm while batting her eyelashes. Two can play that game.

"I think we should stay here."

Wait, what? Did she just say no? Subconsciously? Did hell just freeze over? Or did her brain left her head?

Both women blinked, unable to determine who's more mortified between them. They were both quiet, until Lina broke the awkwardness by a chuckle.

"Had to try, didn't expect I'd be turned down twice," she said consuming the rest of her drink in one gulp. "Worth it though." she shrugged, ordering another round for herself.

Alex struggled to compose herself, brows furrowed in confusion by how that went down.

"Oh don't be so bothered, you're not my first rodeo." Lina poked at her jokingly, clearing up the air. Alex thanked her, and the conversation went smoothly from there.

Several more drinks in, the two women chatted on, venturing into a variety of topics in law and in love. It didn't take long before Lina started to slur in her words, to which Alex found amusing.

"Looks like someone didn't pace herself," she observed as she sipped her cocktail.

"Ah don't mind me, had to cleanse my palate after all the boring sessions earlier," Lina toasted her glass on hers, wobbling as she shifted to face her. "We are a rare breed, us fighters," she leaned towards Alex, lowering her voice to a whisper. "We like-minded women should just stick together, you know?"

Alex was relieved she turned her down the second time. Barely listening to her, she started to drift off as Lina continued rambling on, turning around to face the crowds as her eyes tried to locate that handsome man. Alex smirked when she found Gabe's sexy outline.

"Lot of ungrateful dipshits being freed from prison, even after we work our asses off proving they deserved an earlier release. Khan, Kozlowski, those celebrities involved with the Ivy League admission scandal? Hell, even small town criminal Cornell was released in the last five years alone!"

And with that last statement, Alex froze. "Say that again?"

Confused, Lina stuttered as if she can't remember what she was saying. To Alex's annoyance, she went silent, apparent that more humiliation was on the way. Lina abruptly stood, covering her mouth with her hand as she sprinted to the bathroom. Alex let her pass.

Assured that she'll be fine with her colleagues flanking her, Alex started to obsess over Lina's last sentence.

Was that just the patron? Or am I getting too drunk and starting to hear things? She asked herself, bewildered at how randomly Lina mentioned a Cornell.

With an exasperated sigh, she decided it wouldn't hurt to check. She pulled out her phone from her purse and fired up a search engine, where she typed in the godforsaken name. Alex tapped enter.

As soon as the results loaded, she felt the world crumble beneath her.

No, no, no, no, no. This fucking didn't happen.

She clicked on one of the articles from a local news outlet. The picture beneath the headline shoving her nightmares front and center. There it was, the title written in bold stated loud and clear: Cornell Son Gets Early Release.

Alex bit her lip as she fought to gather herself together, speed reading through the article. This was definitely a surprise, but what really got her reeling was the figure of a man walking behind Maximilian. She'd pick up who that was from anywhere within a mile radius.

Alex tried to keep herself rational, but the shock rippled through her, enough to shake off the alcohol in her system. And why did her stomach churned like she was punched in the gut a hundred times over? Why did she felt fucking betrayed?

Unexpectedly, she knew it wasn't discovering Cornell was now walking freely in the streets.

Deep down, Alex was aware it was because Gabe Ricci was involved. Either way, it looks like her high and mighty boss has some explaining to do.

Her blood boiled, a myriad of questions went through her mind. Resolute, she wanted those damn questions answered. Tonight.

She downed her drink and slammed the empty glass on the bar, sending a text to draw Gabe's attention.

She looked over where he stood, watching the frown in his face as he read her message. She clicked her head, beckoning him outside.

Even he can't fathom the fire storm that was about to come his way.

Author's Notes 2: Thank you for your continued reading! 💖 How do you think things will go down next? Let me see your reactions on your comments and reblogs!

Tag list: @adiehardfan @pixelnutrookie @starryjieun @latinagiraffe @sarcastic01lily @spookycolorpeanut @ophrookie @suitfer @thegreentwin @mkatschoicesblog @made-of-roses @lillijill

@choicesficwriterscreations

[laurore-stormwitch]

Post rule of wolves, about Zoya and Nikolai being soft with each other in one of the many moment of hardship they face. Zoya gets a letter that unsettles her and leans on Nikolai to face more of her demons and move on. I love how Zoya is slowly learning to open up and face her wounds, and how Nikolai is there to catch her. Feedback are always appreciated, so much love to you all 

the blood in our veins - ao3

When the sound of leaves crunching under someone’s steps reached her, Zoya did not startle. She knew Nikolai would appear at some point, as he always did, as if he could sense her despair. Or as if someone played the snitch on my escape, more likely. He was the only one to have the key, beside her, and the only one to know she would take refuge here. For a moment, she lingered on what a strange sight she was making; a steel spined harpy perched amongst the wildflowers, her kefta smeared by dirt and pollen, her eyes trained on the ground and a sprout in her hands. She felt his intense gaze on her, his worry. The scent of his skin; Nikolai always tasted like salt and sunburnt skin, like the sea. 

“Who ratted me out?”, she asked. He lowered himself toward her, brushing a kiss on her head before kneeling beside her on the ground. 

“Tamar”, he answered, “told me you got a letter and dismissed the meeting.” More like run away from it. She would have to thank Tamar for her regard. 

Zoya clicked her tongue. A letter. Her hand went in her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper, handing it to Nikolai. She sensed his concern turn into outrage. Zoya knew it was a matter of time before Sabina reached out to her. After all, her daughter had just become the queen of Ravka. There was no hope left in her heart that her estranged mother would not try to exploit this particular advantage. As long as she was not dead, she supposed. Which, as far as she knew of, could very well be. As it turned out Sabina was not the one Zoya should have been wondering about.

“It’s a long list of arrogant pleading. Get to the end”, she instructed Nikolai. Zoya glanced at him and saw him shook his head with a sigh when he came to the last lines. 

“Zoya – “, he tried, his tone insecure, weary of what was the right thing to say. Was there a right thing to say when you lost a father you had already wiped from your mind? The word lost probably was not even fit for the situation. 

“He’s been dead a couple of years, apparently. She did not even bother to say how.”

There was no grief left inside her to tug at. No sentiment to pull and mourn over. Nothing left for them, for him. There was just a void lurking next to the well inside her, in which so many stones had tumbled. It was not endless anymore; it stopped right beside her, where Nikolai’s light flooded in through the cracks in her walls. Zoya tried to look for something to hold on to, something to guide her over this empty sea of nothingness. No love, no regret, no pain. The sorrow in the well had always been for Lilyiana, for Lada. For David, for the Grisha, maybe even for herself. A monument to her solitude. None of it was dedicated to the two young people who had given her breath. Yet she felt the void, like it had form and claws that pierced at her heart. Its fingers tied around her throat, squeezed the air out of her lungs. 

“I thought maybe I should plant something for him, too. I – I don’t know.” 

She murmured. Her voice came out more frail than she had desired to, more vulnerable. Nikolai moved closer, his shoulder brushing on hers. She grasped at that touch that anchored her on this moment, that prevented her from losing herself. 

“I don’t know what the Suli ritual is.” The defeat in her tone sparked a flicker of injustice. It was supposed to have been over; the child that did not look back on a wretched church was supposed to have grown. Such restless waters she had had to navigate. How does one separate hatred from fear, love from abandonment, rage from regret? 

“We could find out.”

“There’s no time. There’s no time anymore.” To know him. To understand. To take the child in her hand and protect her in an embrace. Faintly, in the distance, Zoya felt Nikolai’s hand on her back, his lips landing again on her cheek. 

“Why did you choose this?”, he asked, bobbing his chin at the sprout she was holding, at his light blue blossoms.

“I’m not sure”, she sighed. “When I was very little, there was always a glass of forget-me-nots on the kitchen table. My father used to bring them from the fields at sundown. He stopped before my sixth birthday.”

Zoya never knew what they meant. Her mother told her they were the colour of their eyes, weaving them in her hair. She had felt like a princess in a fairytale, with a crown of blossoms.

“Inej told me the Suli have a saying about love. Her father says that you would know a boy truly loves you when he brings you your favourite flowers. I figured that is why our house was full of them, at first. Maybe these are for both of them. Maybe I should bury my mother too.”

What a sombre, depressing thought, she half expected Nikolai to say. Instead, he just reached for her, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, watching her in silence. So she forced another sentence out, one that stung to admit. “I thought I did that already the moment I set foot in the Little Palace. I thought they could float away like a river in the sea, instead I just built a dam that feels dangerously close to shatter.”

The quiet stretched on. “I don’t know what they are”, Nikolai admitted. “Your favourite flowers. I don’t know them.”

She moved her gaze to him and wondered what he was seeing. If he had already grown tired of her, of her dark moods and brooding tendencies. Those fears clutched her heart on her worst nights. Was he catching the sheer sentiment in her eyes, the fire that burned for him inside her? How she grasped at his voice like it was the thread that tied her to safety, to belonging? Whatever her failings were, Nikolai’s look never wavered. His certainty, affection. He was the one keeping the dam from falling, keeping her from breaking. 

“You told me once I could be branches without blossoms and wait for the summer to come. The way you love…it’s not the fleeting beauty of petals. It’s the strength of roots.”

She spoke before having the chance to think about her words, not sure what she had wanted to convey, pressed by an unfamiliar urge to let him know. Saints, Nikolai was rubbing off on her. His eyes sparkled and he looked taken aback, a fond and surprised smile tugging at his lips. Zoya let his warmth creep into her, before moving back to look at the flowers still resting in her hands. 

“I don’t have a favourite one. I like them all.” 

Nikolai nodded, his fingers lingering in her hair, brushing through them. “Good to know. See? You are not such a difficult person after all.” Zoya heard him move beside her, sensed his fingers draw away. He gently pulled the plant in front of her. “Let me do it for you”, his voice soft, caring. Let me carry this weight for you. Her hands dug into her kefta, clinging into it as if it could make her remember who she was.

Nikolai pulled his gloves away.  She snatched them from him, huffing impatiently. It really was an unnerving habit of his. “Would you stop with these? You do not need them around me. Or anyone, for that matter.”

“Don’t take it out on my gloves”, he grinned at her. Yet, she caught the shadow sweeping through his eyes; the darkness Zoya had never wanted him to hide. He worked in silence, moving the terrain away, placing the sprouts and watering them. Zoya stood still, one hand clung to her kefta, the other tightened around his gloves, watching him as he took care of her garden for her. 

“My mother was loud”, she said abruptly. Water leaking from the cracks. Nikolai’s gaze swept toward her as he kept going. There was no other person she could tell this to. Stories needed to be told, She had learned. “Sabina kicked and screamed her way into our misery. She shouted her wrath; she broke the ceramics on the floors, spewing spite. She weaved sweet lies that stuck like sap into my ears, before wiping my tears as I stood in a ridiculous ruffled dress.” Zoya sighed, seeing her memories flash in her mind. She did not want to feel this. She did not want to know. But Juris’ wisdom was unforgiving. “Her frustration, her selfishness. Everything was like thunder. Maybe that’s where I take it from.” A dry laugh escaped her lips, as she forced herself to say what she knew had been the truth this whole time. “My mother was loud. Yet, it was my father’s silence that broke me. That was what carved the hole inside of me. The way he let everything happen, his head slumped on his shoulders, his mouth shut. The emptiness of his affection. It gave me the guilt of not being enough, of not being worthy.”

Zoya kept going, averting Nikolai’s eyes. “Yelling is easy to counter. It enrages you, fires you up, picks at your pride. Silence is different; it cuts you slowly, drains your blood drop by drop, renders you powerless. How do you fight a wall made of nothing?”

His gentle touch moved to her jaw, tracing the lines of her face, grounding her to earth. 

“I feel it. I can see it.” Every word she got out seemed to force a split into the void. Warmth flood in, rage went out, passing through her like a blade. The dragon's eyes had opened, whether she had wanted it or not. She felt like drowning. “How unprepared they were. How powerless. The hatred that grew around their souls like thorn wood. It’s the same they have set upon me. I do not want that. I do not want this to be their legacy for me.”

Legacy. What was hers, in this life, and what was theirs? Zoya had Sabina’s eyes, Suhm’s wavy black hair. It gave her comfort to think her pride and her strength came from Lilyiana. Her wind and lightning was born from the making at the heart of the world. What, then? What had they been like, when they were just a boy and a girl in love, dancing under the moonlight? She had shrugged her name as if she could be born anew. Tossed the memories of them as if she could build a new life. That she supposed she had done, at least. Even with this new name, this new life, something of them still remained. The poisoned blood in her veins if nothing else. She could not cut them open and change it, and she had spent her life feeling it flow like a curse through her. 

“I cannot go on hating them.” The words were spoken as a shameful confession, as a defeat. As a realization too, however. Nikolai laced their fingers together, making her relent the hold on the kefta.

“Perhaps we should not hate them”, he said, careful and gentle. “Maybe the secret is that we need not pass judgment over them. Maybe the secret is to forgive them.” 

Zoya shook her head at Nikolai’s relentless goodwill and optimism. He had forgiven his mother that day in Os Kervo. He had forgiven the one who was not his father, he had delivered his punishment and moved on. And Zoya? She did not have any forgiveness left in her. The hatred, though. Whatever remained of it, she guessed she could try and leave it here, with the blue blossoms thriving from the earth like forgotten hope. 

Their legacy might have been just thorns, storms, and thunders. It might have been just the spite that had threatened to rot her insides. Still, it was an inheritance she could find the strength to relent. She could keep their eyes, their blood, Sabina combing her hair and Suhm telling her a goodnight story in his arms, even if she did not miss it, even if she did not remember what that felt like. Zoya was not Nikolai, she was not golden nor kind. She could not justify their weakness; she could not pardon both the screams and the silence. Maybe you could let go, though. She wasn’t sure if it was Juris’ voice or her own to cut through the mist of thoughts. Zoya bleeding in the snow. Zoya crying on her own. Let go.

The dam had broken, but the dragon queen did not drown. Hours could have passed, or minutes. Nikolai had put his jacket on her shoulders, the fabric thick and warm. He had not spoken anymore, just sat with her in the quiet as the sun disappeared. At some point, when the chill had started creeping in her bones, he had tugged her up and walked her to her chambers, dismissing the Heartrender twins who stood guard on her door with a wave of his hand. Zoya had let him handle her, leaning in his touch. Only when the lock clicked, she had let herself release her breath, slumping in her favourite velvet sofa. The crackle of the fire was comforting. Nikolai had called for tea, murmured something in her ear she did not remember. He had sat on her desk next to her, working through some documents while she got back to herself. The familiar rhythm of their quiet caught on, enveloping the room, soothing as a cold cloth on an open wound.

Time did not matter anymore. Zoya had the cup in her hands, the fire in front of her, and Nikolai’s jacket still curled around her. His scent was tight on the fabric. It lulled her into a silent calm, along with the rhythmic pounding of her heart, the sound of Nikolai’s pen scraping the paper, of his hands scribbling, the muffled huff of his breath. Peace washed over her in a tide. 

“What is it like?” 

Zoya suddenly spoke, after what felt like an eternity. The tea had turned cold. She kept her look trained on the fire. Nikolai stilled, relenting whatever piece of work he was doing, arching a brow at her. The question was vague, at the very best. “Not being an only child”, she added. Now his attention peaked on her. 

He shuffled back the papers on her desk, got up and came to her. Moving her feet away, he eased himself on her sofa, letting Zoya stretch her legs over him, resting his hands on her calves and leaning his head on a cushion. His careful look never left her face, turned thoughtful as her question travelled his mind. 

“I adored my brother”, Nikolai started, slowly, “Worshipped him. Loved him with every fibre of my being. Until I did not anymore. We were not bound, or tight, and well – we all know how that turned out. It was an embarrassment and a weight, more than an anchor like I desired him to be. And I did desire that a lot.”

Zoya looked at him. She left the cup on the nightstand; as soon as her hands were free, Nikolai snatched one of them in his. “And Linnea?”, she asked. An affectionate smile curled his lips. 

“Linnea is…different. I feel the kinship – and not just because we both have a soft heart for ships. I know she is me, for some part, and I am her. She’s more grounded than me, more quiet, more practical.” He brushed a thumb over her palm, tightening the hold. “I guess that’s why she likes you. I am quite scared at how much you two get along, frankly. And she has this creative, restless energy, she is charming in her own silent way, brilliant. Sometimes it’s like I’m looking inside some sort of distorted mirror. In some life I may have had if I took a different path.” 

Yet, the choices they had been forced to make forged a solitary childhood for them. A lonely boy looking for sounds to fill his deafening silence, a vengeful girl screaming her rage over lost love. Had they been choices at all? When had they stopped being their parents’ sins, and had they become their own? How long can you blame a mother’s failings, how long can a daughter or a son be defined by rage and guilt? Zoya could see the same query behind Nikolai’s eyes. He spoke again, tentative, a vulnerable edge to his voice. The lonely boy, looking for hope in the vengeful girl. 

“I want her to know me. I want her to care for me, to be honest. I feel protective of her. I feel like I cannot wait to show her every wonder I know of. The wonder of life, of adventure. The wonder of romance”, he managed to wink at her, “I wish to be for her the brother Vasily never was for me. To make up for lost time. This is idiotic, right?” 

He huffed at the end, as if he could dismiss the intense desire for a family that still haunted him; there was a slight plea in his look, darkened under the dim light of the fire. Zoya felt an ache in her throat, and she knew there were tears in her eyes. She could feel them clouding her sight. They belonged to the little raven-haired child that silently cried alone in a corner, in all her nightmares. It was not a cry for grief, but one of deluded wanting. She leaned in, brushing some golden strands from Nikolai’s face. He was looking at her like she was his light in the storm, even though he had just been the one to pull her back from a devouring pain. 

“We should have her here more often”, she said. Nikolai wiped one of her tears away. “We should have them here more often. Linnea and your father. You deserve to have this family, Nikolai.” 

Nikolai stopped his hand on her neck, grinning wider at her. 

“Zoya, I already have one.” She frowned at him.

“I hardly count as a family. I am just me.”

“Then I’ll have two. So long as you stop referring to yourself as just you.” Zoya rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance. He started fidgeting with a loose silver bead on her kefta’s cuff. Another unnerving habit of his, the way he always snatched those away. “Why do you ask?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like if I wasn’t an only child. I would have had someone to shield and someone to shelter in. To give me purpose, I suppose.”

A little brother, a little sister whom she could watch grow up and think how much better than her they were, how much softer, how much worth preserving. Though it had not been like that, for Sabina and Lilyiana. It was best not to linger on what ifs. She huffed and shifted, suddenly nervous; time to face this problem head on. “You think I should help her, right?”, she asked, knowing damn well what the answer was. Needless to say, Sabina’s letter pleaded for Zoya’s support, lamenting her misfortunes, and praising her daughter’s victories. Especially the gifts she could share. Even if she had not stated it, Zoya was sure that a jewel or two would be just fine. Greedy and hollow like she remembered. 

“I think you should do what makes you comfortable.” Zoya shot him a threatening glare, and he chuckled. “Fine”, Nikolai added, “but don’t kill me. I think you’ll keep the weight on your chest as long as you do not help her. I think maybe it would bring you some peace to do it. Still, I support whatever decision you make.” He marked the last words, and she knew he meant it. 

“I don’t want to be the bearer of my mother’s misery.” Zoya despised herself a little while admitting it. An exasperated grunt erupted from her as she threw her hands in the air. “How can I feel responsible for her?”

“I guess that’s the curse of being a daughter. You can’t relent the blood in your veins, not anymore that you can ignore the good heart that thrived inside you behind all of your spite.”

Maybe the secret is that we need not pass judgment over them. Maybe the secret is to forgive them.

How she loathed when Nikolai was right. It made him insufferable. And unfortunately, he was right most of the time. Unbearably reasonable. He smirked, as if he could read her thoughts and sense his victory.

Zoya might have been an angry and unloved little thing, but that was not what she was anymore. She had been a soldier, a general, a loyal friend. She was a queen now. And most certainly not alone, she thought, gazing at the confident ball of sunshine seated next to her. Had this happened before the war, before knowing Nikolai, her crueler and colder heart would have prevailed and she wouldn’t have thought twice on this, burning the letter along with her sentiment. The beaming boy had definitely rubbed off on her.

“I can not forgive her, or them. I do not have it in me. And I cannot forget, not for now”, she said, cautious. That was what Lilyiana had always desired for her: to release the hold on her anger. For her, she could try. “But I can start by letting go. We can find her work in a factory, with a salary and some retirement money. I can provide her with a dignified life. That is all I can do. I will not get a letter from her anymore; I will not grant her audience or listen to her words. Someone will have to deal with this.” 

Juris roared inside her, clearly displeased. Hush, you lizard. How irritating of him. Be a dragon, bide your time and stop harassing me. Enough progress for today. Nikolai, on the contrary, smiled at her with relief, nudging her closer. 

“We will arrange it.” He let her rest her head in the crook of his neck, curling his arms around her. “Do you think you can close your eyes and rest for a while now?”. His voice was already coming from afar, as she inhaled deeply in his skin and her lashes fluttered closed with exhaustion. Zoya wished her days as queen would become less tiring, and she also wished they could always end in Nikolai’s safe hold. Her mind fell silent; the last thing she heard was his whisper hovering around her. “I got you, Zoya.”

Zoya could still be a daughter, could take the raven-haired child in her arms. Daughter of the wind. She could still be whole, worthy, and loved. We see you. She could be at peace. The world went black; yet, it was not dark.

[whiptrip]

“I think I need to lie down.”

maybe Scorpion is poisoned, who knows?

fever prompts

      ALTHOUGH THEY LACKED THE CONTEXT OF WHAT WAS HAPPENING, Takeda and Kenshi both felt the effects of the time-merger -- one more so than the other. They were faced against a man that claimed to be immortal, made out of the very sands of time on which they existed. Together, they beat him, dismembered him into pieces... but he pulled himself together again, and took Kenshi captive, disappearing into sand that the winds swept into nothingness.

      THEIR LACK OF COOPERATION couldn't mean possible future interference, he had said, and somehow, leaving Takeda behind on purpose felt like an insult -- one he wasn't going to let slide. He wasn't powerless.

      BEFORE JOHNNY HAD THE MIND TO CALL HIM, Takeda was the one to contact Special Forces, requesting an update on what was going on, and a transport back to base. Yes, this meant abandoning a mission that had been years in the making -- but what good was the mission if their very existence crumbled?

      AND SO WITH HANZO, Takeda traveled to the Netherrealm to secure Kharon's aid -- but they were not alone.

      A PERSONAL DEMON, THE PAST GIVEN FORM. Scorpion blocked their path, and would not listen to reason when it came to his future-self's attempts -- but he faltered, just so, when faced with Takeda. It was easy to call the now rebuilt Shirai Ryu a clan of pretenders blindly, but here stood a young man proudly and pridefully wearing their colors, who fought with valor to protect Hanzo.

The new Shirai Ryu are worthy. It's heart, not blood, that makes them warriors.

      A HEARTFELT, ALMOST MELANCHOLIC MOMENT, no doubt healing for both past and present fragments of his mentor -- but it was not meant to last. The passive noises of anguish of the Netherrealm dull Takeda's physic senses, the endless sea of blood seemingly drowning his awareness in its depths, and he does not feel the Hive until it is too late.

      D'VORAH, THE EVER UNWELCOME PEST.

      IT LANDS A SINGLE HIT ON HANZO, and the fight that ensues is immediate. Takeda's whips tear and snap at the extended appendages, one of which Hanzo has to rip out of his own shoulder, and in retaliation it releases its children to eat away away his flesh -- they do not get far, burnt to ash as Scorpion teleported between them, an act to show that he had accepted Hanzo's words as genuine.

      WHEN IT IS CLEAR THAT IT WOULD NOT BE WINNING THIS FIGHT, like a cockroach it attempts to flee, but Scorpion's chain drags it back, burst straight through the chest, and it is Takeda's whips that divide the Hive's body into oozing quarters swarming with bugs to be incinerated.

      STUMBLING STEPS AGAINST ROCKY GROUND indicate that Hanzo was attempting to move, although Scorpion beats him to the Shirai Ryu Grandmaster's side via teleportation, catching his future-self before his legs gave up from under him. There was a furrow to his brow, a sheen of sweat attempting to cover his skin without evaporating -- something was clearly wrong. As he kneels by his mentor, Takeda's eyes are immediately drawn to the appendage that had been embedded into Hanzo's chest -- and the translucent yellow liquid that oozed from the tip of it.

      "I think you might've gotten poisoned..." The words leave his mouth the moment the thought clicks, but what good does this realization do them? D'vorah had succeeded in delaying them when time was quite literally running out. They had to bargain with Kharon, and then still return to Earthrealm to fetch the others -- but Takeda wasn't leaving Hanzo behind. This left them one option:

      THEY WOULD SEND SCORPION, and they would hope the others knew to trust him. 

      TAKEDA WOULD STAY BEHIND TO HELP HANZO reach Kharon's keep, where he would both be able to speak personally with him, as well as rest in the closest thing resembling shelter in the Netherrealm. Thankfully, it wasn't hard to persuade Kharon, who they found entrapped and recently tortured by D'Vorah -- just saying they rid the realms of the pest brought them good favor.

      BUT OUTSIDE OF THAT, while Kharon prepared the boats, there was little do to but wait and hope that Scorpion would be successful in getting the others to follow him to the Netherrealm, and in Takeda's case, fret over Hanzo's well-being. He had seen the man shake off injuries much worse than this and walk it off, but having lost Kenshi not even 48 hours ago had him somewhat paranoid.

      "How're you feeling?" Being near the man was damn near impossible, a living furnace set to cooking himself from the inside out, but Takeda still hovered around him unless specifically shooed away to help Kharon. "Any closer to burning through it?" Do you think you'll be able to fight was the question he meant to ask, for soon the others would be arriving and they would have to immediately begin their travels across the Sea of Blood... Why couldn't he shake this omnipresent sense of foreboding?

[stellar-alley]

Of Scales and Sea Glass

•Chapter 1•

 Next Chapter >>

(Summary: Eddie deals with the anniversary of his parent's death. After an intense tropical storm, he discovers something has washed up in his pool.)

Also shout out to @ambitiousskychild on tumblr for being my beta!

~

It’s just water.   You’ll be fine   God, why do you always worry so damn much?

“FUCK” Eddie groaned as he raked his hand through his hair. “Fuck…” He repeated, letting his voice trail off this time. 

It’s been a year, you should be over this by now . 

Sure it might’ve been a year, but that didn’t mean Eddie Kaspbrak was any less terrified of the ocean. Its endless blue and unexplored depths made Eddie want to be anywhere else. It didn’t help that the ocean was literally in Eddie’s backyard. All that he needed to know was that exactly one year ago today, that blue, those depths, took his parent’s lives, and that was enough to scare the boy shitless. Only now, on the anniversary of Sonia and Frank Kaspbrak’s death, did he finally decide to do something about it. 

Eddie stood about 50 feet away from his back porch, his feet in the sand and a towel wrapped over his shoulders. He watched the waves fall and crash over the sand. Tonight the weathermen were calling for a killer storm, which seemed oddly appropriate in the boy’s head. It was almost like his mother was giving him a sign. It was like her way of saying “Eddie-bear, go back inside! The world is dangerous, so stay in your room!” because that’s what she did. 

For most of Eddie’s life, he was fed placebos, convinced he had asthma, and practically forced to be straight. It was all his mother’s doings. Ever since her death Eddie has come to terms with all of his fake illnesses, he’s even been able to come out to his friends! Of course, they all accepted him and helped him whenever he needed it. He was really grateful for the losers he called his friends. 

Lighting struck in the distance, it sent a flash of light over Eddie’s face that caused him to shrink into his towel. The dark clouds that loomed overhead only caused Eddie’s heart to beat harder inside his ribcage. 

Thunder cackled soon after. Eddie’s eyes teared up as he looked up and into the waves, “I-I’m sorry,” He choked, barely able to get the words out. 

Eddie shuffled back into his oceanside house before the rain started, which was good cause when it rained, it poured. The first thing he did when he got inside was close all of the blinds, unable to look out into his backyard without his stomach-turning, the guilt was practically eating away at him. The last thing he saw as he closed the blinds were his pool, the water reflected the dark clouds that loomed overhead, creating a haunting atmosphere. 

The realization caused Eddie to sigh, “That’s gonna be a pain in my ass to clean.” Storms like these always brought the most random crap up from the bottom of the ocean, somehow all of it always ended up in Eddie’s pool. He didn’t even want the pool, he lived so close to the ocean, it was kinda useless. Well, aside from the days when it was too cold to swim in the ocean , that’s when he’d usually heat the pool up and swim in there instead. That was when he still swam. Now he hasn’t used that thing in well over a year. 

After Sonia and Frank passed, The Kaspbrak’s residence was passed down to their only child, Eddie. That house included an underground pool, a house way too big for one person, and an almost private beach that only he and his next door neighbours had access to. (His neighbours on the left never used it though. They were an elderly couple. Sometimes he’d find them sitting outside on the warm days, but they weren’t the outdoor type. His neighbours on the right had their yard fenced off). Eddie never used the pool but kept it clean for the days when his friends came over. They'd go swimming while he read in the shade. 

That night Eddie slept with his ear buds in, music on loud and the covers pulled over his head. He hated how scared he was of the water. He missed the way the waves made him feel. It was something he's never felt before, when he swam he was safe, and free. He's tried to overcome it, but nothing has worked. He'd need a miracle to convince him to get back into the water. 

 ~

Eddie woke up the next morning to the early morning sunlight streaming in through the cracks of his blinds. He mentally cursed out God for creating the sun before he turned over and shoved his face deeper into his pillow. After about 20 more minutes of internal complaining, Eddie finally dragged himself out of bed. His head was waterlogged, hazed by sleep. So when he opened the blinds to his back doors all he saw was a mass of sea shit that now crowded his pool. Instead of focusing on exactly what had washed up onto his property, he simply rolled his eyes and went to go back to breakfast. 

Eddie checked his phone, hoping it’d wake his mind up a little but he sighed as he realized he didn’t have any wifi. His realization brought a thought to the forefront of his mind. “Oh no…. No, no, no,” Eddie mumbled as he padded over towards the nearest light switch. “Fuck,” He leaned his head up against the wall when the lights didn’t turn on. This was something else that happened a lot when they were hit by a storm, the power goes out. 

After breakfast, Eddie got changed out of his pyjamas. He opted to put on an older black tee as he knew he’d be cleaning today. He pulled his iconic red shorts on and slipped on a pair of sneakers. He gathered up all of the cleaning supplies he had set aside for storms like these and set them out on his back porch. 

The morning air smelled of rain and salt. The temperature had dropped a couple of degrees from the previous day, which was refreshing, but it didn’t change the fact that Eddie had a whole yard to clean. 

First, he swept off the porch. He pushed all of the twigs, branches and sand onto the ground below. He noticed one of his neighbour’s palm trees had several fallen branches. That would explain the countless leaves that were scattered across his yard and filled his pool. 

After, he collected as much of the debris from the lawn as he could. Stuffing everything into garbage bags, tying them up, then carrying them to his front yard, where they’d sit until garbage day. Once he was in his front yard, he looked around at his neighbour’s lawns and saw they were all going through the same hell that he was. Everyone was out with garbage bins and shovels, cleaning up the mess the storm left behind. 

“EDDIE! HEY!” A voice called out to him. 

Eddie turned towards the voice and saw his neighbour to the right, Beverly Marsh. He was one of the lucky kids who conveniently lived beside one of his best friends. While the rest of their Losers Club lived no more than 20 minutes away, Bev and Eddie lived the closest, which made it easy for the group to meet up. Even if their meetups almost always ended up at Eddie’s house. 

When his mother was alive, she rarely let all of them come over, but now that she was gone, most of their summer break was spent in Eddie’s backyard, in the pool, on the beach, or in his basement watching movies. Eddie didn’t mind, he enjoyed the company. Especially since living alone got, well, lonely. So he made sure to soak up every moment he could get with his Losers. 

Eddie’s resting bitch face was washed out and replaced by a genuinely happy smile. “Marsh! How’s it hanging?” Eddie said in his best surfer bro voice. 

“It’s totally tubular,” She said, followed by a laugh. “How’s your place? No power?” She asked as she put down the bag she was holding and crossed her yard and onto Eddie’s. 

“Yeah, and my yard is a fucking mess. Don’t even get me started on the pool,” Eddie groaned at the thought.

A smug smile spread over Beverly’s lips, “It’s the days like these when I’m grateful I don’t have a pool. Can’t you just get the pool guys to come and clean it?” She questions. 

“I would but it’d cost me an arm and a leg. I’m just gonna clean then get someone to refill it. It’ll be fine,” He sighed. Eddie was gonna ask if she wanted to help but he lost his chance when Beverly’s aunt came outside. 

“Beverly! Oh, Hi Eddie. How are you doing?” She smiled at him. Beverly’s aunt Katherine was always nice to Eddie, she always helped him whenever he needed it, cooking meals and helping with bills. She was pretty great. 

“As good as I can be after a storm like this, crazy isn’t it?” He nods his head. 

“It really is, on that note, Bev, we should be getting back to work,” She said as Bev nodded. 

“I’ll see you later Eddie. Let me know if you get ahold of the rest of our rat pack, alright?” She winked as she slowly began to back away. 

“Yes ma’am!” Eddie saluted and returned to the backyard. 

He sighed. “No better time than the present, am I right?” He asked himself as he picked up the big net that was propped against the porch, then walked towards the pool.

The water had turned a dark green-grey. It didn’t smell too bad, which was a blessing as Eddie has a sensitive stomach and wasn’t in the mood of adding barf to his list of things to clean. He swept the net over the surface of the water for a couple minutes before noticing how there were a lot bigger pieces of debris than he had realized. 

Looks like we gotta break out the big guns  , Eddie left the net on the side of the pool and went to grab some rubber gloves and one of his big grey garbage cans. He stood at the edge of the pool and stared down at the water below him. It was different when he had the net, he barely had to lean over the edge, but now he was worried about falling in.  What if I lean in, fall, and drown, or get knocked unconscious and die? Eddie calmed his breathing down before it got a chance to pick up. 

“Okay, Eddie, you’re fine,” He let out a shaky breath. He ended up laying down on the pavement, flat on his stomach and stuck his arms over the edge, not daring to let anything below his neck hang over the edge of the pool. Slowly but surely he dragged most of the debris out and onto the pavement, which would then be put into the garbage, but right now he just needed to get everything out of the pool. Amongst the trash and green life he found in the water, he also fished out a pair of glasses, although they didn’t seem like normal glasses. First off, they were pretty big, but the lenses seemed oddly fogged and thick. Reminding Eddie of the sea glass he’s collected over the years of living on the coast. He set them aside and made a note to investigate them further once he was done here. 

After a couple of hours of hard work, Eddie stood over the pool and admired all of his hard work. Sure there was still a bunch of shit at the bottom of the pool, but he agreed to clean that out once the pool had been emptied. There had been a particular pile of debris off in the corner that caught Eddie’s eye. It seemed to be a pile-up of plants and what looked to be a fishing net. He walked over to that side of the pool and squinted down at the trash. Something was dimly shining beneath the pile of soggy algae that covered it. 

Maybe a fish got washed into the pool? Hm, poor dude, Eddie shrugged, about to walk away when the pile twitched ever so slightly, Eddie could have convinced himself he was seeing things, but something was telling him he wasn’t. Determined to see what it was, Eddie quickly grabbed the net and poked the pile of debris. He shied away after the first poke, then moved to poke it again. It twitched again. Eddie’s brow furrowed as he poked it again, a little harder this time. This time it shifted positions, allowing Eddie to see a little bit more of the creature that sat at the bottom of his pool. 

The shine came from scales, and there were a lot of them.  How big is this fucking fish? Oh shit- do I have a shark in my pool?! No dumbass, sharks don’t have scales…

Instead of poking it again, Eddie used the butt end of the net to try to move the debris off of the creature. He was able to push most of the algae aside, but the creature must’ve been tangled up in that damned net. The creature might not have been 100% visible, but he had a better view of it now. 

“Is that? No way…” Eddie began to speak to himself as he examined the creature. “That can’t be...” He said as he examined the part of the creature that looked like it had hair. Well whatever it had that looked like hair, it was inky black, it slowly swayed around-  A HEAD?   “WHAT THE FUCK!” Eddie shrieked as he began to stumble backwards. He stammered and wobbled. But suddenly, one of the bricks that lined the pool gave out beneath him, and he fell forwards. He fell into the pool with a big splash. 

He didn’t even have time to think, his mind was overtaken by panic. Eddie thrashed and splashed, he tried to pull himself to the surface but the water was blurring his vision, making it impossible to tell which way was up. He barely had time to take in any air as he was randomly tossed into the pool. So his lungs ached and his head throbbed. He wanted to scream out for help or stop moving just for a second, in hopes that’d he just float to the surface. But he couldn’t stop, his legs kicked wildly in the water, his shoes heavy on his feet and his clothes constricting his movement. 

He was too busy thinking about his own death to notice the pair of arms that’d wrapped around his waist. Eddie’s lungs began to  burn  , they begged for air, but Eddie knew that he was  not  going to let his mouth open. He refused to die the same death that his parents had. With that, his vision began to blur more than it already was. His mind hazed over and his thrashing minimized. His vision was dotted with black spots, due to lack of oxygen. 

I’m gonna die . 

~

Suddenly he was gasping for air. His lungs heaved as he spat up water and tried to breathe in as much air as he could. He rubbed the water out of his eyes. It took a moment for his gaze to clear, but once he did he realized he was sitting on the edge of the pool, his clothes soaked and his hair filled with leaves and dirt. 

What the fuck happened? How did I get here?  The questions overloaded Eddie’s mind as his breathing quickened, there was so much going on,  too much . 

The water beside him splashed, a light spray of water settled on him. He hesitantly looked over, hoping to see nothing, that he had dreamt it all up. But when he turned his head, he saw something drifting slowly towards him in the water. He hadn’t failed to notice how murkey the water had gotten. It’s green tinge now brown, and a little red. He didn’t even let himself think about what made it red. Eddie panicked and jackknifed, hastily shuffling backwards and away from the water. 

Eddie’s eyes were as wide as saucers, his eyebrows practically in his hairline. His breathing practically stopped as he watched the black hair he’d seen previously slowly poke up out of the water. Eddie wanted to get up and run, call the cops,  something , but he couldn’t. He was frozen in fear and anticipation. He couldn’t help that little bit of wonder that filled his head as the creature continued to come up from the waters’ surface. 

He watched as the head moved up just enough to reveal a pair of impossibly blue eyes. They stared back at him, partially covered by the black hair hanging in its face. Something about the eyes seemed hazy, almost as if they weren’t clear, they squinted for a moment before opening up wide again. 

Eddie could only muster a weak “hi,” as he stared at the creature before him. The blue eyes rolled and bubbles erupted in front of him. The head sunk back down into the water.

A splash caused Eddie to tear his eyes away from where the head once was, and look up. Further down in the pool he watched as a fish like tail splashed against the surface of the water. Half of its fin was covered in the fishing net. The rope digging into the scales. Eddie finally saw what was the cause of the red in the water. The net had various hooks still attached to it. They dug into the scales of the tail, causing it to leak red blood. Eddie’s stomach dropped. 

The tail splashed against the surface of the water again. It acted as a reality check for Eddie as he finally mustered the strength to stand up. Once he was on his feet, he wobbled momentarily before marching towards his porch. He didn’t look back as he closed his patio door. He kept walking until he was in his bathroom. 

He turned on the shower and waited until it filled the small room with steam. The boiling water practically burned all the dirt off of his skin. He was too caught up in his own thoughts to even realize he began thinking out loud. 

“There’s someone in my pool,” He started, his voice distant, “And a fish. A massive fucking fish.” He thought about the mess of hair he’d seen at the bottom of the pool. “No one can survive being underwater that long… No one, but not nothing.”

What if it wasn’t two things in my pool…  

He contemplated the idea for a second, “BUT THEY DON’T EXIST!” Eddie shouted in frustration, thrusting his fist against the ceramic wall of his shower. So many ideas floated through Eddie’s head, he hated it, he hated not knowing what was in his pool. And he hated the fact that the only idea that made semi sense, was that he had a fucking mermaid in his pool. 

“But they’re made-up. Stories, fairytailes.  Not real life, ” He countered, recalling movies like The Little Mermaid and Aquamarine. “But what else explains the tail?” He asked himself in defeat. 

Eddie turned the water to the shower off. His skin was red and raw, he could practically see the steam coming off of himself. He rested his forehead against the wall of his shower and tried to clear his head.  In and out… In and out  , he reminded himself as he took a couple minutes to just  breathe . 

After the hurricane in his head finally calmed down, he allowed himself to think back to what he’d seen outside. Careful to not open the dam of memories, he focused on the tail, the head, the water,  the blood . 

The poor thing is hurt , Eddie sharply inhaled. “Shit…” He recalled the net, and how it dug into the creature's tail. He shivered at the thought of what it must be going through. Then he remembered why he took the shower in the first place, he fell into the pool, and that fish thing, it saved him.

With a new game plan, Eddie finished up in the bathroom, got dressed, then got his fist aid kit and all the other supplies he needed. He went back outside, the sun beating down over his head as he stood on his patio and surveyed his backyard. A new level of determination filled the human. He was intrigued to find out what the hell was in his pool, and this was the best way he could find that out. 

He marched down and to the water’s edge, but all the bravery he had mustered died the moment he saw the creature floating on its front at the edge of Eddie’s pool. 

He raised his hands to cover his mouth, his eyes wide, “Fuck,” he cursed. His mind automatically assumed the worst,  death . But he tried to mentally assure himself that it had just passed out as he didn’t want to panic.

Eddie got down on his knees and carefully leaned over to grab the creature. He held his breath, worried about falling in, but he was able to pull the creature to the edge of the pool. He pushed it over onto its back. He wanted to inspect its face and features but Eddie needed to get him out of the water before those cuts got infected. 

Quickly, Eddie laid a towel down on the pavement beside the pool, worried about what the heat of the ground would do to the fish’s scales. When it came time to pulling the thing out of the water, he hadn’t thought about how much that fucking tale would weigh. He hooked his arms under the arms of the creature and tried to pull him out. He heaved and tugged. 

“Holy shit- you’re  so  fucking heavy,” Eddie gasped,  half way there , he thought to himself. All of the human part was out, and half of the tail, now all he had left was the rest of the tail and the monofin. Eddie took in one sharp inhale before he pulled the rest of it out in one final tug. He gasped as he suddenly landed on his back, the fish flopped down onto the towel beside him. 

Eddie didn’t take too long to recover, he was too interested in seeing what exactly he had just fished out of his swimming pool. He sat on his knees and surveyed the creature that laid uncious before him. 

It was indeed, a mermaid. 

The upper half of its body was made of pasty white skin, as smooth as a shark's skin. It shined in the afternoon sunlight. Its arms were long and fairly skinny with a little muscles. Eddie carefully lifted up one of its hands. He inspected it, noticing how there was an almost translucent webbing that connected his long and bony fingers. Then he let out a small gasp at the claws that laid at the edges of his fingers. They looked sharp, one swipe would surely draw blood. With that, he carefully laid the hand back down by its side. 

Eddie leaned forward a little to examine the creature's face. He lifted a hand, gently pushing some of the soggy hair out of his face. He frowned at the slash that ran across its cheeks, cutting through a wild pack of freckles. His pale skin allowed the freckles on his cheeks to shine like stars on a clear night. Eddie thought about counting them, like he had the stars, but he opted not to as he knew he had more pressing tasks at hand. He took one last glance at the face, allowing himself to soak in the mermaid's features in all its beauty. Yes,  beauty. Even Eddie couldn’t deny it, the creature was fairly beautiful. But now isn't the time for crushes, Eddie shook his head as he finally made his way down to the tale. 

Eddie examined its chest. It was fairly skinny, not malnourished, as in he could slightly see his ribs, but it wasn't too concerning. He noticed a couple bruises and various scrapes that would need to be disinfected. He followed the pale skin down. Suddenly Eddie’s brows furrowed together. The creature had no belly button. But if he had, then the scales would have started just below it. 

Now without the water blurring their colour, he was able to see the scales in all their glory. They were a pastel blue, some places darker than others, the shades varying as the tail continued. The tip of its monofin shined a sparkly silver that could give the real stuff a run for its money.

Finally, he got to his feet and overlooked  all of the creature’s injuries. Sure he had some scraps, cuts and bruises along the upper part of its body, but its tail got the worst of it. The net was tangled up in its monofin and dug into its scales, causing some of them to flake off. 

He raked his hands through his hair, tugging at the ends. “Fuck,” he sighed, realizing how much work he had to do. Without wasting any more time, he leaned over to the abundance of supplies he’d brought outside and grabbed the exacto knife to cut the net. Just as the blade popped out and Eddie leaned in, something cold and slimy grabbed his wrist. His body went cold, head snapping towards the mermaids. His eyes locked with the fish’s. The blues of his eyes were wide and determined. Eddie looked down and realized it was the hand with the knife. Quickly he grabbed the knife with his free hand and tossed it to the side. 

“Hey-Hey, it’s okay,” Eddie motioned his hands to show that they were empty and he meant no harm. Only then did the creature release Eddie’s hand, his head flopping back against the towel.  Eddie leaned over and saw that its eyes were still open, but they were hazed, almost unfocused. Eddie didn’t think too much of it, probably the salt water making him go blind or something. 

“Okay, I’m just gonna try to remove the net, alright?” He asked, but received no response. He leaned back over and pulled his bifocals out of his second fanny pack, then leaned back in and began examining the net. 

The mermaid’s head tilted upwards, it watched the human’s fingers traced along the edges of the net. Its eyes grew wide at the sight of the spectacles on Eddie’s face. 

Eddie noticed the movement and glanced over at the creature. He hummed lightly, wondering what it was looking at. The moment didn’t last too long as when Eddie leaned away from the tail, the creature lunged at him. Its arms out and claws sharp, its eyes filled with determination. Eddie shrieked and fell backwards, his hands flew up to his face. 

After a moment of heavy breathing, he realized he felt no pain. He slowly moved his shaky hands away from his face and looked up at the mermaid. He was surprised to see it carefully holding his bifocals. 

It held it in his hands as if they were so fragile they’d break. The creature slid them onto his face as if it was a second nature. The blue eyes blinked a couple times before its face scrunched up in confusion. It took the glasses off and held them once again in its hands. Now its face was filled with disbelief and worry. 

“What?” Eddie asked, unsure of what was happening. 

The creature looked up at the human with sad, hazy eyes. For a moment they just held eye contact, as if they were having a conversation with their eyes in a language Eddie didn’t understand. Then the creature held the glasses out towards Eddie with one hand, while the other pointed towards its own chest. 

Eddie’s face scrunched up, he hated charades. “What about the glasses?”. 

The creature pointed to itself once again. 

“Your glasses?” Eddie suggested, and the blue eyes widened to an impossible size. A new emotion spread over the fish’s face, excitement. “Yeah?” Eddie asked, and nodded. “Yeah!” Eddie said happily. “Yeah…” he repeated, this time with fear laced in his voice as he had no clue where its glasses were. 

Since when do mermaids wear glasses anyways? What the fuck?

“Wait- You can understand me?” It finally dawned on Eddie, he’d been talking to a mermaid, and it was responding… technically. 

Its eyebrows lowered and their glare became sharp, as if to say ‘ Yeah, so? ’, followed by a slow nod. Now it had used its free arm to prop itself up on it’s elbow so they were almost at eye level. 

Eddie smiled softly at the fish, his cheeks a little warmer than they were before. He nervously chuckled, “Oh, cool”. He rubbed the back of his neck, diverting his gaze around the backyard so he didn’t have to stare into those ocean eyes any longer. His sight landed on the pile of trash he said he’d sort through later that laid on his lawn and he noticed a piece of glass that shined in the light. 

Eddie gasped, he jumped from his sitting position up to his feet and ran to his pile of trash. He snatched the object up off of the lawn and ran back to the mermaid, practically falling down beside it. Eddie got situated on the ground, a wide smile on his face. He held them and carefully opened them up, without any further wait, he leaned in and slid the glasses on the mermaid's face. 

The fish was confused at first, unsure of how to feel about the human being so close. But the small boy didn’t give it much of a chance to react because before he could flinch, his vision cleared. Its hands moved up to its face and felt around, touching the glasses that they knew all too well. 

Finally being able to see clearly, it looked up at the boy in front of it. Its lips curved into a wide smile that got a little giggle out of the human. 

“So I guess those are yours?” Eddie asks. 

The mermaid nods proudly. The moment is cut short when a bolt of pain cuts through the fish’s tail, it grimaces and hisses.

Eddie tenses at the sound, “Oh shit! Sorry, but can I  please use the knife?” He beged, eyes wide and worried. 

The mermaid lies back down on the towel, eyes forced shut. It nods. 

Okay, okay, okay  . Eddie’s thoughts pick up at the thought of being so close to the creature. Not because it’s like- cute or anything,  no  , it’s because he doesn't want to hurt it.  Yeah, that’s why . 

Eddie gripped the exacto knife with enough strength to make his knuckles go white. His eyes skimmed over the net, deciding on where to cut. He found a spot he claimed to be a good start and began cutting. He sliced the net up and into pieces, slowly freeing the tail from its grasp. Soon enough he was just left with the pieces that had the hooks attached to them. 

“Sorry this is gonna hurt,” Eddie said before he carefully pulled the fist hook loose. The fish’s breathing hitched and filled with pain. “ Sorry!”  Eddie grimaced as he pulled another one out. This one leaked a lot more blood and the mermaids hand smacked around the ground, causing Eddie to jump at the sudden sound. It felt like it took hours to fully free the tail, but soon enough the deed was done. 

Eddie leaned back on his hands and tilted his head up towards the sun. “I’m sorry,” he breathed before looking back down at the mermaid. It sat upright now, carefully examining its tail. It reached out to touch one of the cuts. Eddie jumped into action and slapped the hand away. It hissed at Eddie. “Hey! Don’t do that, I’ve still gotta disinfect them, okay?” His tone grew impatient as he cracked open the first aid kit. 

His back began to ache from the hours he’d spent hunched over the blue tail, disinfecting the scrapes and bandaging the deeper cuts. He moved on to the upper half of the creature. 

“Tell me if this hurts, okay?” Eddie requested as the mermaid gave him a side eye look. Eddie began to slowly put pressure on different places on the fish’s chest, mainly the places with the bruises to see if- The mermaid let out a loud hiss. Eddie’s hands shot up and away as its claws came into view again. “Sorry! You have an injured rib, so that’s why it hurts. You won’t be able to move much until it heals,” Eddie explained, his mind going through the healing process when he realized it won’t be able to swim in this condition, and it certainly can’t stay on land in Eddie’s backyard. 

“Oh…” Eddie’s graze dropped, a sudden wave of fatigue washed over him as he realized what he’s gonna have to do. But before he allowed himself to think over the idea too much, he finished cleaning all of the cuts that needed it. 

“O-Okay, so I-um.... I can’t leave you here, and I can’t bring you back to the ocean cause you’re hurt and you need to properly heal. So i’m gonna bring you into my house and keep you in my bathtub, okay?” He rambled in hopes the creature understood what he was saying.  God, I sound fucking insane. This is insane! I can’t keep an oversized goldfish in my tub. But I can’t leave him out here… the pool guys are coming tomorrow and if they see him we’d be in so much shit- It’s the only way  . Eddie finalized his plan with a sigh.   

“You,” he pointed at the creature, “stay,” he demanded before he got up and went back inside. He ran upstairs and into the bathroom, flopped down beside the big bathtub, and began running the water. He set the temperature to warm then took a moment to catch his breath. 

Everything began to settle in. The mermaid, the scales, the storm, the future, the creature’s eyes, its freckles-  Okay, Eddie stop it. It’s a fucking sea creature, you can’t have a crush on it . He huffed and rolled his eyes at his gay thoughts. Eddie’s been out for a couple months now, to his mother's dismay, and he’s been happy. Sure he’s had a couple crushes before, but he’s never had one on a fish person… So he wasn't too sure what to think of that. 

The white noise created by the running water created a soothing atmosphere for the boy, and for a moment, he sat in silence and just  breathed . Though the moment was short lived, a low whale-like sound erupted from his stomach, reminding him about the fact that he hasn't had lunch yet. He looked down at his watch and saw it was already 3 pm. 

Holy shit, time flies when you're with a merman. If I’m hungry then imagine what it must be feeling, when was the last time it ate? What does it eat? Do I have anything to feed it? Okay let’s just focus on getting it inside first- Also? Finding a fucking name for this thing, I can’t keep calling it, well, IT!

Eddie shook all of the static out of his head and pulled himself to his feet. He turned the knob to the bathtub and turned the water off, he hoped the temperature would suffice, he’d find out soon enough. 

Going back to the mermaid in his backyard, he found it in the same place he left it, which was a relief. Still on its back, with an arm on its forehead to shade its eyes from the blaring afternoon sun. It sensed the human before he approached. It moved its arm and tilted its head to look up at the towering figure. 

“Hi again, so I need to pick you up to bring you inside. So you don't… die. Is that okay?” Eddie asked awkwardly. The creature simply shrugged, as if to say ‘Do what you need’. “Okay,  well , you need to help me out cause you weigh a fucking ton and I am not strong. So wrap your arms around my neck and don’t-don’t fucking eat me,” Eddie instructed as he got down on his knees, bracing himself for the weight he’d soon carry. 

The mermaid sat up. Eddie moved his hands underneath the tail, he didn’t wait for the mer to move its arms because he knew if he waited any longer he’d convince himself not to. So he sharply inhaled and lifted the mermaid up bridal style. He wobbled slightly as he gained his balance on his feet. The wobble sent a shiver down the mer’s spine, he jumped to wrap its arms around Eddie’s neck in fear of being dropped. 

The sudden motion made Eddie smirk. “Oh,  now  you do it,” he forced a small laugh. Eddie began to walk forward towards the house, each step harder than the last. 

When they got to the stairs, Eddie’s breath hitched when he went up the first stair, his arms almost gave out from beneath him. 

The mermaid shook and buried its face in the crook of Eddie’s neck. Eddie felt the glasses dig into his neck. With the sudden change of proximities,  the mer’s breath sent shivers down Eddie’s back, it was slow and warm. 

The muscles in his arms burned before he even started up the staircase to the second flood. “Fuck… me,” Eddie murmed, as if it was going to take away the fiery pain that ran through his body. 

Eddie was practically dragging his feet as he walked, unable to bring them up from the ground. His vision was set on the staircase in front of him, so he didn’t notice the one floorboard that was slightly higher than the others. The toe of his foot collided with the floorboard and they went toppling forward, hitting the floor with a big  thump . 

The creature let out a ear bleeding shriek as it fell, then pain erupted from its tail as it landed on the ground. Certainly the extra weight of a human on its torso didn’t help at all. 

Eddie was in shock for a moment, unsure of what had just happened. Looking around he turned and saw he was now face to face with the mermaid. Their eyes locked, both of them wild and concerned. Eddie snapped himself back into reality before he could get lost in the ocean eyes again. 

“I-I’m sorry.  Shit , I’m so sorry,” Eddie stammered, his body weak and his arms aching. He rolled off the creature and onto his back. “I’m sorry,” He croaked, the failure settling in. 

He didn’t move his gaze from the ceiling over his head. He didn’t want the mer to see his eyes as they filled with tears. Something cold rested on top of Eddie’s hand. Hesitantly, he dragged his eyes over to the creature beside him. The hand held onto his own as the mermaid’s lips offered a tight but comforting smile, as if to say,  it’s okay, really . Eddie shifted his hand ever so slightly so the mer’s hand fit more comfortably in his. The webbing that lined the fingers of the mermaid’s hand tickled Eddie’s. Its thumb rubbed slow circles over Eddie’s knuckles. 

“A-Are you okay?” Eddie whispered worriedly. 

The creature was in pain, for sure, but it nodded anyways, for the human’s sake. 

Neither of them were sure how long they stayed like that, hand in hand, breathing laboured and heavy, eyes on the ceiling. Although at some point Eddie’s arms felt a smidge better, and his breathing had returned. That’s when he knew he had to try again. 

“1....2...3!” Eddie lifted the mermaid off the ground again. It seemed just a little easier than last time. This time he kept his breathing steady, and kept his eyes going from the stairs in front of him to his goal, the bathroom. 

Once they stood in the middle of the upstairs hallway, Eddie took a minute and stood and caught his breath. He noticed the way the mer’s eyes drifted and examined his new surroundings. But something caught his eye and Eddie felt one of the arms slowly move away from his neck. Hesitantly he turned his head just in time to see the clawed hand reaching out for Eddie’s own little creature that sat in a fish tank that lined the hallway. It was his pet betta fish, Goldy. (He wasn't a creative kid, okay?).

“NO!” Eddie exclaimed, almost dropping the mermaid again. The sudden motion caused the arm to wrap back around Eddie’s neck in fear of being dropped. “Do  not  eat my goldfish. She is a friend, not fucking food,” he practially growled. 

The creature shrank away, not a fan of the tone Eddie had gained. As much as it wanted to lean  away  from the boy who just scolded him, it leaned  into  Eddie, it liked the warmth his skin gave off. It curled a little deeper into his touch, putting his chin on top of his shoulder and nestling into the side of his face. 

Eddie got the mermaid settled into the bathtub and immediately noticed a change in its mood. Suddenly its eyes had a new sparkle to them and his lips were always semi smiling. 

Eddie sat on the closed toilet seat and took in the sight before him.  A mermaid in my bathtub… This’ll be one hell of a diary entry  . “So! I-er, I hope this isn’t rude, but are you a girl or a boy? I know you don’t have boobs but I really don’t know how this whole  mermaid  thing works,” Eddie stopped himself before he kept rambling. 

The mer lifted two fingers in the air.  Two, second, second option. “Boy?” Eddie tilted his head. The creature nodded. He sighed in relief, “Good, good… I-I’m Eddie by the way.” The creature nodded again then ducked his head down into the water and blew bubbles up at the human. Eddie huffed in amusement at the gesture. 

The human’s stomach rumbled again. He rolled his eyes in response. He didn’t even bother telling the mermaid- merman? Merman. He didn’t bother telling him he was gonna leave cause the mer looked like he was having the time of his life blowing bubbles down under. Once he was in the kitchen, Eddie tried to be quick, opening up every cupboard and checking everywhere for food fit for a fish. The only thing he came across that seemed semi-suitable were fish sticks. Eddie eyed them for about half a minute before ripping the bag open, throwing them into a container then shoving it in the microwave. He made himself a quick sandwich, cheese and ketchup (That was the most unhealthy food Sonia ever let Eddie eat so let him be). He’d barley chewed his first bit before the microwave beeped. He held the sandwich in between his lips and held the container with both hands, moving it between the two cause it was hot. 

Once he was back in the bathroom he took his seat back down on the toilet seat and set the container on his lap. Eddie quickly ate his sandwich, only when he looked up did he notice the merman’s eyes were sitting out of the water, watching him like a hawk from behind his sea glasses. 

“Hungry?” Eddie asked as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

The merman lifted the rest of his head out of the water at the sight of the food. Eddie held up a fish stick, “Okay, I know this is like processed shit but,” he sighed, tired of all the talking and manual labour he’s been doing, “It’s all I have.”

The mer shrugged and opened his mouth, asking Eddie to feed him. The human was taken aback at the gesture, but he gave in and picked up a fish stick, tearing a bite-sized chunk off. Eddie leaned forward and held it out just in front of the mer’s face. Its lips felt soft against the human skin as it took the food from him. It gulped it down happily then opened his mouth up again. The fish finished the whole container. 

He opened his mouth again and Eddie scoffed, “I’m all out fish boy! I guess I’ll go get some stuff tomorrow,” Eddie motioned to the empty container. The fish let out a low grumble as he sunk back under the water and blew bubbles at Eddie, as if showing attitude.

“Oh shut it trashmouth,” Eddie retorted, the nickname just slipped out. 

The water sloshed against the side of the tub as his eyes burst back out of the water. 

Eddie let out a nervous laugh at the sudden movement, “W-What? You like that,  trashmouth? ” Eddie said in a teasing manner. The mer’s lips smirked from underwater. The sight brightened Eddie’s smile. 

“Well,  trashmouth, I have no clue what time it is but I’m tired as fuck. I’m gonna go to sleep. You should too, so you can heal,” Eddie advised. He stood, took a step towards the tub and ruffled the fish’s hair. The mer leaned into the touch, the both of them enjoyed the physical attention.

Word count: 7604

I hope you guys liked the first chapter! Let me know what you think in the comments. I will see you guys next week with chapter 2, Sushi and Speeches. Until then, So Long And Goodnight.

~

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[oisugasuga]

the fall

"You should not be here."

The words hissed from behind him were angry and hot-blooded but cold — like silver, black ice, the moon in the sky in the dead of winter.

Oikawa had been expecting them to be. Still… his heart leapt a little, up into the base of his throat.

That voice.

That voice haunted his nightmares, his dreams. That voice seeped and bled into every inch of Oikawa’s body every time he heard it, melting like poison — like sugar — into his veins.

That voice held everything Oikawa wanted in the shortest of syllables.

He turned around. It wasn’t hard to do, despite the goosebumps crawling up Oikawa’s arms, breathing down the nape of his neck.

It wasn’t hard to do because when he turned the world spun in cold and shadow… but it was the burning, ragged silver at the middle of it all that held Oikawa down and saved him from drowning in hoarfrost and ice, corpse-white fingers and the harshness of sharp piercings and drops of blood on pale lips.

Oikawa’s gaze fastened on it and really, it was no surprise when the breath stopped dead in his lungs.

Sugawara Koushi never failed to stop the breath dead in Oikawa’s lungs.

It wasn’t his beauty… though he was undeniably stunning in the way that destruction could be breathtaking. His voice was the distant cry of a train at midnight, calling out, lovely and haunting. His eyes were the glow of headlights down an empty interstate and they held the depths of everything humankind feared and wanted in the same moment… and his hair…

It was much more than that, infinitely more. Words that had no language to communicate them in — a soundless noise on the bitter kiss of winter’s winds, a poem cut ragged and unreadable by rime, the most fleeting of fingertips down the knobs of a cold spine.

Oikawa exhaled, damp and quiet. A thousand hungry, malicious eyes clung to his words as he spoke them… but Oikawa only looked at Suga.

"I wanted to see you."

That mouth — thin and honest, brutally so — twisted and curved with distaste - no, with regret. Oikawa glimpsed it, that remorse. It flickered once, twice, over teeth too sharp to pass as normal and so undeniably foreign on such a face.

Then it was gone.

"You must go." Train wheels on a track, unstoppable. Oikawa was powerless to resist as chilled fingers wrapped around his right bicep and pulled. Suga’s grip was like steel. Oikawa would’ve followed anyway.

They moved — past the things that lurked in the shadows and those that stood in full view and Oikawa avoided his eyes from the figures in the red haze, sneakers scuffing over the cracked marble beneath his feet. A laugh like dead leaves over frozen ground whispered through the air, amongst the crowd of gleaming hair and predatory eyes, fangs and claws and cold, twisted, beautiful faces with large pupils swallowing up any possible trace of brightness.

And down on the ground where Oikawa trained his gaze carefully, like he had been taught, he still couldn’t help but see out of his peripheral — the twisted statues once alive and the oily shine of nightshade bushes under the frost, the sparkle of dark jewels and hidden alcoves behind thick curtains, and somewhere down one of the endless, twisting halls, someone was singing… a plaintive wail that made Oikawa’s nape sting with horror and his blood rush with need.

Oikawa knew the stories. He knew the temptations.

He knew Suga was the only reason the Unseelie Court hadn’t already eaten him alive, trapped him forever, tricked him into giving away his soul willingly. He was a guest, a pet, of one of the princelings. He couldn’t be touched.

Suga loathed it, Oikawa knew. That word, pet… but Oikawa had been stupid and reckless and unheeding and Suga had warned him and now it was the only way to keep Oikawa safe from the others.

It was the only way Oikawa could get in.

They kept going. Suga didn’t speak. He didn’t relinquish the bruising hold on Oikawa. His subjects parted before them, in case Suga unleashed his wrath. Oikawa had seen it happen only once though he knew it hadn’t been the first or the last time.

He saw it even now, at night while he slept — a bloody affair with a red cap who got a little too close before he was ripped apart brutally by Suga’s own elegant, beautiful fingertips.

The same fingers that were still wrapped so lovingly tight around Oikawa’s all too human arm.

Their path was unobstructed…

… until a familiar figure loomed up out of the haze.

"Move, Suguru. Now."

If a blizzard — subzero and deadly — could be translated to words, it would be the sound of those leaving Suga’s lips. Oikawa’s arm was released, his body half-blocked from view by a tiny instep of the fae prince in front of him.

Still… Daishou was shadow. Where Suga’s hair was bright and burning star-fire, Daishou was the crash of dark waves in a winter storm, the dread of nightfall and the endless cavern down a wet, gaping throat.

Daishou still saw him, Oikawa… and unlike the others, he wasn’t afraid to edge close, dig deeper, push and push until Suga snapped.

Oikawa’s free hand slipped into his hoodie pocket, fingers skating over the cold kiss of an iron cross he had tucked there… further still to the careful, little bundle of St. John’s wort, the velvet petals sticking to his fingertips. He knew the stories, the temptations.

He knew how to protect himself when it was necessary.

"Now, now. I’ve never had to suffer a greeting as cold as yours, Koushi. There’s no need to rush. After all, your pet has only just arrived. Let him have the joy and promises we have to offer.”

Oikawa grit his teeth but stayed still. This wasn’t the first — or the last — time he had crossed paths with Daishou Suguru. He was all too familiar with this little game.

A ripple of whispers and murmuring swept the court. They were excited, all of them. Their anticipation — the thirst for blood or ice, broken skin or the sound of bones cracking — prickled over Oikawa in static.

"I said move," Suga repeated — ice breaking in a frozen stream.

For a terrifying moment — bone-chilling and horrible — Oikawa thought he wouldn’t. Thought that this moment would crack and fracture and be reduced to violence and bloodshed and death. The tension was so thick it coated the entire court in silence. So thick Oikawa wanted to gag on it.

But…

But Daishou exhaled first. He smiled then and it was terrible, beautiful in a way that chilled Oikawa’s blood. Still, he made no move forward. He only stepped to the side, mock-bowing to Suga.

Suga’s eyes flashed in the gloom. The insult in the gesture was clear enough, the way Daishou bent lazily at the waist still wearing that smile while his pale hands beckoned Suga and Oikawa forward with a crude flick.

Oikawa felt the new wave of rage that emanated from the set of Suga’s shoulders. It was like snow in the middle of winter — quiet and slow but steadily growing into something that could prove deadly. A slick of black ice on a winding road, or an impenetrable curtain of white where there had once been landmarks.

But Daishou had stepped aside… and Oikawa was here, where he should never be. Too much was at risk. Suga moved forward and Oikawa followed.

The chill of Daishou’s eyes didn’t leave the back of Oikawa’s neck until the doors of the hall slammed shut behind them.

---------------------------------------------------

“Go home.”

Oikawa paused in the dark of the street. Somewhere, the ocean crashed and broke on the shore and the sound carried under Suga’s words. It enforced them.

“Why?”

Oikawa knew the answer. He just didn’t believe it.

Suga sighed. It was the first moment of hesitation — of weakness — he’d shown all night and Oikawa couldn’t help but drink it up. Here was a prince of Faerie, so out of place in the human world, arguing with Oikawa because he loved him.

Because they loved each other.

Oikawa’s life hadn’t been easy. Growing up with the Sight had been anything but easy.

But right now — watching Suga’s hair ruffle in the breeze off of the sea, his face an unearthly assortment of angles and lines and curves — Oikawa wouldn’t take any of it back.

“Because it is dangerous,” Suga answered finally. He wasn’t looking at Oikawa. His eyes gazed out over the bluffs, like he could see the water and all of the secrets it had accumulated over the years. His eyelashes were spiderwebs spun at night. His face was ageless. “You know that.”

“Anything worth something in life takes risk.”

Oikawa stood with his hands shoved into his pockets and he held his breath after he spoke, waiting, looking, searching…

… and there it was. There it always would be.

The gentlest curl of a smile at the corner of Suga’s mouth.

Six months ago that smile had been Oikawa’s complete and utter downfall. The last nail in the coffin. The second it took for a person to not be looking — at the road, at the signs, at the thing that mattered most — before that car swerved and tipped and everything resting on the fulcrum of their life tipped towards something unstoppable.

This was unstoppable. It always had been.

And when Suga finally looked at him, Oikawa knew he wasn’t alone in the fall.

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

Ebb Tide Chapter One

Description: Nothing ever happens on this island. That's what aspiring writer Jeon Jungkook thinks, at least. Endless scorching summer afternoons bleed into navy nights, and every day is the same routine. After years of helping his ailing grandmother run the only hotel for nautical miles, Jungkook is tired of watching guests come and go knowing he'll never join them. But when newcomer Kim Taehyung arrives, he shakes the whole island in his wake. What is he here for? How long will he stay? And why exactly is everyone drawn to him so magnetically? Jungkook doesn't know, but there's one thing he's certain of; there is something very different - and possibly dangerous - about Kim Taehyung.

On an island where nothing happens, Jeon Jungkook ends up entangled with forces of nature that are far beyond his mortal comprehension.

Forces of nature that may prove deadly.

Genre: Supernatural, Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn

Pairing: Jungkook x Taehyung

Word Count: 9.0k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Supernatural!Au, Siren!Taehyung, Writer!Jungkook, Fisherman!Namjoon

Warnings: Infrequent swearing and mentions of alcohol

A/N: AHHHH here we are fellas! I’m SO pleased to get going with this new story. It’s member x member, so I get it if that’s not your thing, but I figured I’d give it a shot since I was reaching some creative blocks with this blog! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy it. I’m really enthused about it. Please don’t be shy and send feedback, critique, questions, theories, and comments my way. I’ll be sure to respond to all asks I receive within a day of receiving them!

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

No official posting schedule due to graduate school applications!

Jungkook is drowning.

That’s all he knows for sure.

Saltwater traces up his nostrils and down his throat, burning as it slides through his esophagus. His hands flail, desperately seeking purchase. Of course, there’s none. No sea stacks to grab on to around the beach, just choppy water, whipping violent like a living thing. He screams, and only bubbles escape. Straining to keep his head above water, Jungkook gasps for air and chokes on water. The waves crash against his bobbing body, unforgiving.

He’s crying.

Or at least he thinks he is. It could be the rain spitting down from the curtain of clouds hanging in the sky so thick he can’t see any blue. That is, if he could open his eyes for more than a few seconds. But as the rain pelts from above and the water whips him around like a rag doll, Jungkook has the brief but chilling realization that he is, in fact, drowning.

He’s going to die.

That’s the second thing he knows for sure.

And at ten years old, Jungkook realizes it’s not death he’s scared of but dying. He’s starting to sink, more water than air, and as his body loses strength along with oxygen, he finds it harder and harder to summon the will to move his fingertips, his toes. In the pregnant darkness of stormy, endless ocean Jungkook’s last remaining breath escapes in an involuntary panic, a spasm of his lungs.

Fear cripples him and, pleading with the gods for mercy, Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut and braces himself for the inevitable inhale of water that will send him dying in earnest.

Please, he begs, don’t hurt.

And as he finally feels he can no longer resist inhaling, something tugs roughly on Jungkook’s small, cold, feeble wrist. His eyes open quick and the only thing he can see is a brief flash of gold, floating elegantly amongst the dark blue water. Like silk.

But even despite this force yanking him dizzyingly fast back toward the surface, Jungkook can’t seem to fight the lull of unconsciousness, beckoning him to succumb. And this is a feeling he can’t resist.

The last thing he hears is a clap of thunder, his grandmother’s distant shout, and a melody, loud enough to pierce through his foggy mind.

Breathy, haunting, darkly magnetic…

It’s the sound of someone singing.

“Jungkook?”

He jumps, turning with wide eyes toward the one who’d called to him. “Namjoon,” he breathes, gripping his nose bridge with a frown. “You know I hate it when you sneak up on me,” he says with a grumble.

Namjoon chuckles, clapping his friend on the shoulder, and hums. “Well, if you’d been paying attention you’d know I’ve been here for, like, three whole minutes already.”

Jungkook stiffens. Was that really the case? He turns to examine Namjoon properly. Tall, toned, and tan Namjoon stands nearly six feet tall with sea-swept hair and a perpetual dimpled smile. He crouches on the shoreline beside Jungkook, working his index finger beneath the sand presumably in search of crabs. His warm eyes are distant as he pokes around in the damp sand and, as usual, he smiles.

“Sorry,” Jungkook says after a long time thinking. He pulls his knees toward his chest, hooks both elbows around them and sighs at the expanse of ocean splayed out like a storybook before him. “Just thinking.”

“Weather’s no good,” remarks Namjoon, collapsing onto his bottom and mimicking Jungkook’s easy pose. The two boys stare out at the water, at the storm clouds gathering in a ring around the horizon, ready to close in on them and the island. “Wanna get outta here before the rain comes?” Namjoon asks, innocent.

But Jungkook knows better what his best friend means. He turns toward him with a soft smile and nods. “Yeah,” he says, sighing as he pushes himself onto his feet once more, patting the backs of his shorts, loosing a spray of sand. “Let’s go to yours.”

Namjoon chuckles. “Aren’t we always at mine?” he teases with a smirk, and Jungkook only rolls his eyes, giving Namjoon’s shoulder a hearty shove.

“Nan’s just being a nag lately,” Jungkook says with a sigh, stretching both arms above his head. “Why else would I be out here before a storm?”

“You’re all talk,” Namjoon remarks with a smirk as he leads the way up the beach toward the crooked wooden walkway above. “You worship that woman.”

“Don’t call her that woman,” Jungkook says with a disgusted grunt.

Namjoon gives him a look over his shoulder, cocking a brow, and without saying a single word Jungkook hears him loud and clear. Like I said. Jungkook chuckles and rubs the back of his sunburnt neck. Namjoon’s right anyway. As much as he begrudges all the labor, Jungkook would do just about anything for his grandmother.

The two emerge on the cracked, sun-bleached sidewalk as a clap of thunder rings out overhead. Jungkook can’t help but jump, his heart kicking up, and turn back toward the beach with wide eyes. Along the jagged cliffs ringing the sand, the gathering storm clouds have condensed, roiling together as they tumble full speed toward the shore. Is it just Jungkook’s eyes or have the clouds gotten faster?

Another boom of thunder shakes the sidewalk a little, and Jungkook doesn’t miss Namjoon taking a careful look at him over his shoulder. Quick to right himself, Jungkook clears his throat and jams his hands in his pockets, forcing his eyes away from the churning, near-black ocean and the violent waves. He can hear Namjoon sigh and sees his friend’s sandaled feet taking slower, shorter steps ahead.

As a flash of lightning illuminates the dark clouds by the cliffside, a roaring engine drowns out the accompanying thunder and Jungkook’s eyes snap up toward the road, hyperaware. Speeding down the street, kicking up dust in its wake, is a shiny black motorcycle. The thing rips along the road and several of the beachside vendors peek out their open windows to scowl after it.

Jungkook only catches sight of the driver for a split second, and his face is a blur of tanned skin and blonde hair, but Jungkook swears he sees the long-limbed motorcyclist’s teeth catch the sunlight as he smiles. No helmet, blasting music at top volume, the driver speeds away, swerving into the wrong lane to pass a car going too slow for him. The screech of rubber wheels and a powerful engine fight over one another in a cacophony of noise that, once too distant to hear, leaves a ringing in its absence.

“Asshole,” mumbles Namjoon as he turns over his shoulder to scan Jungkook.

The younger boy’s eyes are still glued to the plume of fine dust left behind, arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head with a scoff. “Probably compensating for a tiny d-,”

“Alrighty,” says Namjoon with a laugh, hooking an arm around Jungkook’s neck and guiding him back toward the middle of the sidewalk. “I don’t wanna think about his tiny anything.”

Jungkook sighs at his phone screen as he lies stomach down on Namjoon’s bed. He can hear Namjoon’s parents bickering over how best to cook the fish for dinner through the house’s thin walls, and under different circumstances perhaps he’d have found that uncomfortable. But he’s been here too much to be surprised by anything.

What disturbs him more, in fact, is the text message on his phone.

Nan: I’m not paying you to run around the island with the fisherman’s kid.

How his grandmother knows he’s with Namjoon, Jungkook doesn’t bother wondering. Instead he simply flops one arm over the side of Namjoon’s unmade bed and lets the phone fall from his fingertips onto the uneven wood floor.

“Grandma?” asks Namjoon without looking up from his computer.

Jungkook grunts in response and shuts his eyes. “What do you wanna do tonight?”

He hears Namjoon laugh and opens one eye to peek at him. The tireless clouds outside eclipse the setting sun, so the messy room is dark and grey. Namjoon still shines as he tosses a smile over his shoulder at Jungkook.

“What do you mean? Aren’t you gonna go home?” he asks.

Jungkook sighs. “The hotel’s dead these days anyway. Nan can handle it on her own.”

Namjoon cocks a brow. “Are you two fighting?”

“No…”

Namjoon spins his chair around, crosses his arms, and offers a knowing smirk. He says nothing, but for Jungkook it’s enough. He can’t lie to save his life anyway.

He sighs and runs a hand through his windswept hair. “I may have mentioned my online classes.”

Namjoon eyes widen and he grins. He contains a laugh with his hand and immediately corrects himself, clearing his throat and nodding once, once again somber. “I see…”

Jungkook sits upright with a pout. “It’s not funny!” he protests, but Namjoon only smiles gently and shakes his head and Jungkook knows he’s been defeated. “I know,” he says with a sigh, rubbing his jaw. “You were right. There, I said it.”

Namjoon sighs, shutting his eyes, and nods. “That feels good,” he says before chuckling and crossing his legs, resting his chin in his hand. “I mean…you gotta admit not telling her to begin with was kinda dumb.”

“Well…,” he says softly. Having no rebuttal, Jungkook sighs, smooths his hands against his thighs, and pushes up onto his feet. “Let’s get drunk,” he says with a nod.

Namjoon keeps his eyes on Jungkook as the latter walks sternly toward the bedroom door, swinging it open and lingering with raised brows in the threshold. “You…you’re serious?” asks Namjoon.

Jungkook’s resolve crumbles a little and his shoulders fall. “I…I mean…well, when else am I gonna have the whole night off?”

Namjoon chuckles. “All the time,” he says with a smile. “You’re always skipping out on work.” Nonetheless, however, Namjoon stands and crosses his arms, examining his friend with incredulous eyes. “But are you sure? Last time we went out drinking…”

Images of that night come flooding back and Jungkook suppresses a cringe. He can remember the sting of climbing over the lighthouse fence only to stumble at the top and fall in a heap in the dead grass. What’s worse was when he started crying and couldn’t make it back over, forcing Namjoon to call the sheriff to bring the gate keys.

Jungkook shakes his head. “I won’t do anything dumb this time.”

“He says while sober,” Namjoon jokes, laughing as he grabs two coats from his closet, tossing one of them to Jungkook.

He catches it — barely — and slings the thing over his forearm with raised brows. “So that’s a yes?” he asks.

Namjoon turns to him with a smirk and pats his shoulder. “It’s a hell yes.”

Bora’s Bar, arguably the only place worth being on a Saturday night on the island. And while Jungkook usually busies himself with writing most nights, on evenings he feels prone to debauchery it’s not so bad to grab a group of friends and head on over for smokey air and eighties synth. Red and blue neon signs hang crooked on the dive bar’s peeling wallpaper and the bathroom stalls are riddled with graffiti: some of it more offensive than others. The bar takes up most of the space, with a separate billiards room featuring a pool table and a host of half-broken arcade games. The ceilings are low and they trap in the gritty music coming from fuzzy wall speakers.

Namjoon and Jungkook sit side by side at the bar, tipping back shots between halfhearted bites of undercooked tater tots. “Yeah, well, it’s for the best she rejected me anyway,” Namjoon protests, leaning against the back of his barstool, sweeping heavy lidded eyes across the bar toward Jungkook. He smiles, half-drunk. “Y’know she’s got two babies now.”

Jungkook laughs louder than normal, but then again he’s drunker than normal. He smoothes a hand through his damp hair and tosses his head back, smiling. “Dodged a bullet, huh?” he asks.

And for the first time in a while, he feels like a real grownup. Sitting beside an old friend in a hazy downtown bar, shooting the breeze, reminiscing. It’s not every day Jungkook feels this untethered. And maybe it’s the alcohol, but the adult freedom is intoxicating.

Suddenly serious, he turns toward his friend and grabs his shoulder, locking eyes, severe. “Listen here, Kim Namjoon,” he says, blinking slow. Namjoon smiles, like he always does, and gives a nod that shows he’s listening, like he always does. Jungkook inhales sharply and leans forward. “Someday, you’re gonna find yourself the best partner, alright? And they’re gonna think you’re a hunk and they’re not gonna reject you and you wanna know why?”

Namjoon laughs, inching forward to accommodate someone reaching behind him toward the bartender to grab their drink. “Why’s that?” he asks.

Jungkook smiles, patting Namjoon’s shoulder. “Because you’re the best goddamn guy on this whole stupid, boring island,” he says with a slow nod.

Namjoon rolls his eyes and shoos Jungkook’s hand away, resting an elbow on the bar. “You’re drunk,” he says.

Jungkook nods. “Be that as it may,” he begins, “I stand by what I said. I’m an honorable man.”

“Alright, Mr. Honorable. How about you slow down and take an honorable drink of water?” teases Namjoon, sliding a glass toward him.

Jungkook pouts, but obliges, gulping the water down. “Don’t patronize me,” he says between drinks. He slams the empty glass down on the bar and turns once more toward Namjoon, pointing at his chest this time. “But really, nothing happens here and you know it.”

Namjoon sighs, gripping his nose bridge, and leans away to take a sip of his whiskey. “Here we go again,” he says.

Jungkook shakes his head. “Tell me the most interesting thing that’s happened here in the last week, huh?” he counters with a lopsided smirk. “Try it.”

“Well,” says Namjoon, pursing his lips and examining the wall of alcohol behind the bartender’s bobbing head. “I guess…the lighthouse going out last night was pretty interesting. A freighter was trying to get into the harbor and couldn’t because of…you know…the…lighthouse…,” he says, words trailing into silence. His eyes fall to the bar.

“Precisely,” says Jungkook, tipping his head toward his friend and gesturing out at the bar patrons milling about around them. “You know how many of these people we went to high school with?” he asks, laughing. “I mean, between the two of us we probably know every single person on this island.”

“And?” asks Namjoon. “Is it a bad thing?”

Jungkook pauses only to sigh and return his attention to the bar where his cocktail sits collecting condensation. “I mean…it’s not very…inspiring, is it?”

Namjoon chuckles. “Good writers don’t need outside inspiration,” says Namjoon, pressing his index finger to his temple with a wink. “The brain is his only weapon.”

Jungkook groans, lolling his head back. “But I’m not a good writer yet! That’s the problem.”

“You’re a great writer, Kook,” says Namjoon with knit brows. “Just go easy on yourself, hm?”

Before Jungkook can respond, the bar door swings open to a crescendo of thunder outside, shaking the flimsy walls. The music falters a little along with the neon signs before returning to its retro rhythm once the door clicks shut. Startled, Jungkook glances toward the entering patron and sees with a start that it is, after all, a new face.

And a really handsome one at that…

Between shoulders and heads, Jungkook can just make out the stranger’s strong, beautiful features. His large eyes are even from a distance sultry and captivating, half-squinted as he shakes out his blonde hair, tanned skin glittering with rainwater. As he maneuvers around the patrons toward the bar, Jungkook gets a slightly better look at him through the smoke. He’s built well, lean like a swimmer. He’s dressed sharply with a simple black shirt and a checkered flannel, baggy black pants and…

“Is…is that a Gucci belt?” Jungkook whispers to Namjoon over his shoulder, not once looking away from the strange newcomer.

“I…I think so…,” says Namjoon, but there’s no way for either of the boys to be sure. Not just since he’s too far away and the air is too dense, but because neither of them has ever seen one.

The stranger has a straight nose, full lips that move languidly as he orders a drink, big hands with lots of rings that flash once or twice as he offers a bill to the bartender. To be sure, he’s likely the most interesting thing that’s happened on the island this week. And everyone in the bar knows it, if the way they steal glances at him is any indication.

“Handsome,” Namjoon remarks, and Jungkook can only nod.

Likely feeling Jungkook’s eyes boring holes into his face, the stranger glances quickly to the right, capturing Jungkook like a seized animal. He sits frozen, mouth agape, unable to so much as move as the stranger keeps him pinned with his serious eyes. Jungkook’s heart kicks up, pounding a little too fast, and his palms get a little too sweaty to blame on the humidity alone. He takes a shaky inhale, still locked in unwavering eye contact with the strange young man.

“He’s really staring,” Namjoon whispers, and Jungkook can hear from the way his words come out chopped that he’s trying his best not to get caught gossiping.

“What do I do?” Jungkook whispers back, barely moving his lips so as not to rouse the stranger’s suspicion.

“I dunno,” Namjoon says in response, leaning close to Jungkook’s ear. “Looks like he’s seeing through you.”

“Not helping,” says Jungkook with knit brows.

The stranger at long last breaks eye contact to retrieve his drink from the bartender with an easy smile and Jungkook feels like he can finally take a real breath. He looks down for a moment to collect himself, patting his chest a few times. He’d felt…suspended, like he couldn’t move or blink or even think. But like a rubber band snapping, the spell is broken when the stranger looks away.

But not for long.

“Oh shit,” says Namjoon.

Jungkook jumps, turning toward his friend with worried, round eyes. “Oh shit what, Joon?” he asks, worry coloring his tone.

Namjoon is gazing out over his shoulder. “He’s coming over.”

“Oh shit,” Jungkook breathes.

“Yeah…”

Jungkook straightens his back and his shirt, making absolutely sure the seams are aligned with his shoulders, but when he glances back at the stranger and sees again how well he’s dressed, the gap between them is just too staggering. Jungkook settles for a sharp inhale that he holds for a long while and an eventual, dragging sigh. He’s gotten himself into this anyway.

He feels a warm presence taking up the empty bar stool on his left side and freezes. Perhaps if he simply…doesn’t move, the stranger will go away. Or better yet, perhaps staying still will make him invisible. He catches Namjoon’s eye and frantically mimes his pleas for help. Talk to me, he mouths without moving his arms. Look busy!

But Namjoon quickly shakes his head and excuses himself, mumbling some excuse, leaving Jungkook to gape in his wake as he makes a beeline for the bathroom. He’s not going to be any help. Jungkook can feel the clock ticking, and the longer he ignores the stranger the larger his presence feels beside him, like an unacknowledged elephant in the room. He swallows hard, sucks in his breath again, and turns his chair to the left.

His bare knee brushes against the stranger’s thigh and he jumps a little, quick to adjust his chair so the two no longer touch. And, finally, he meets the stranger’s eyes once more only to find them already on his and glittering with mischievous intent. Up close he’s more devastating than Jungkook originally thought. With a sly smirk and practically no pores, the guy resembles marble. Jungkook is swept up in the little details: the many shades of brown in his eyes, the tiny braids emerging here and there from his still-wet golden hair, the rosy flush in his healthy skin…

And Jungkook is all alone with him…

He shakes his head. “Um…hello…,” he says, and it sounds obligatory, like forcing a hostage to read off a script.

But nonetheless, the stranger smiles, resting his elbow on the table and his cheek in his hand as he examines Jungkook. “Hello,” he responds. His voice is like honey: slow, drawling, sweet. But deep, rumbling low in his chest.

Jungkook feels out of his depth. “Are…you, uh…new to town?”

The stranger nods. “How’d you guess?” he asks with a smile, showing his perfect teeth.

Jungkook blinks. “Um…well…,” he begins, but the stranger chuckles and, uneasy, Jungkook joins him. “Ah, you were…joking…”

After a moment of silence, he hears the stranger inhale, sharp, accompanied by a clap of thunder that sent a chill up Jungkook’s spine. Quickly, he lifts his eyes to examine the young man, finding him resting his cheek in his hand, watching him carefully like a science project.

“Tell me your name,” he says, a smirk tipping his lips to the side. His eyes scan Jungkook’s face, and he cocks one brow.

Jungkook swallows hard and leans unconsciously away. “Um…it’s Jeon Jungkook,” he says, seeming to grow smaller under the young man’s intense, unwavering scrutiny.

His smirk widens, showing his canines, and he pauses to sip on his drink. “Shouldn’t have told me,” he says, eye contact faltering only briefly as he guides the straw into his mouth.

Jungkook’s back stiffens and he lowers his head to meet the stranger’s eyes again. “Wait, why?” he asks.

“Don’t you know not to give your name to strangers?” he asks, poking at an ice cube suspended in the dark of his drink. He flicks his eyes to the side to pin Jungkook once again and, still smiling, continues. “There’s a lot someone can do with a name.”

Jungkook pouts, frowning at his own drink. “Well…what’s yours then?” he asks. “That way we won’t be strangers.”

He chuckles, his long lashes dusting the apples of his cheeks. “How about you try to guess?” he suggests with a sigh. “Though I don’t think you’ll get it.”

There’s a peculiar tension in the way this young man is watching Jungkook, in the words he chooses. And Jungkook realizes with a start that he’s being flirted with. He furrows his brow, crossing his arms. “How am I supposed to guess?” he asks. “I don’t even know where to start.”

The stranger cocks his head to the side. “Hm…one hint then,” he says as his eyes fall to Jungkook’s hands clasped on the bar. “I’ll answer one question to help you narrow it down, but only one,” he says, smiling. He sips again on his drink.

“Any question?” Jungkook asks.

He chuckles, nodding once and running long ringed fingers through his hair, revealing the skin of his forehead. “Sure.”

“Alright,” Jungkook says, grabbing for the damp napkin beneath his glass and motioning for the bartender. The man approaches quickly in a jog and pauses in front of Jungkook, expectant. “Do you have a pen?”

He raises his brows. “Hm? Yeah,” he says, rifling around behind the bar.

As the bartender’s head dips below Jungkook’s line of sight, he feels a strange sensation, like being watched on stage, and turns to see the stranger watching him with a smile that seems amused. “What’re you up to?” he asks.

Jungkook purses his lips with a shrug and, before he can answer, the bartender pops up from behind the bar and slides his pen toward Jungkook’s waiting fingers. He returns his attention to the stranger and hands both napkin and pen over, raising his brows.

“What do you want me to do with this?” he asks with a laugh, and Jungkook doesn’t miss the way his heart stutters a little at the sound.

Jungkook crosses his arms. “My question,” he begins. “Are you ready for it?”

The stranger nods. “Mhm. Whenever you are.”

“Alright. How do you spell your name?” he asks.

The stranger pauses, right hand poised to write on the napkin, eyes round and lips parted. The two say nothing as the music drones on, bumping so loud Jungkook can feel it vibrating against the back of his barstool. He raises his brows, bolder now that he’s managed to catch the stranger off guard instead of the other way around.

And, without another word, the young man laughs from his chest, tossing his head back with it, and his eyes squeeze shut. He’s got a bright smile when he means it and Jungkook can’t help but watch as the young man pats his knee, shakes his head, flicks a piece of damp hair from his eye, and leans over the bar to write on the soggy napkin.

“You got me,” he says as he writes with some difficulty. Every stroke pulls against the delicate napkin, and the pen’s dry anyway. Jungkook is surprised the stranger is following through at all. A man of his word. “Pretty clever,” he says, sitting up straight once more with a soft smile, sliding the napkin across the bar toward Jungkook.

He reads it with squinted eyes, the alcohol catching up with him again, and hums. The script is beautiful, elegant, practiced. Figures, Jungkook thinks with a frown, a pretty guy like that would have pretty handwriting.

“Kim…Taehyung?” he says, speaking the name like a question, and raises his brows. He lifts his drink to his lips, still maintaining eye contact if for no other reason than fear of breaking first.

“Mhm,” the stranger says. Kim Taehyung. He smiles, resting his chin on his folded fingers. “So,” he continues, “why were you staring at me before?”

Jungkook sputters, eyes squeezing shut as alcohol dribbles down his chin. He coughs, feels like drowning, and shakes his head. Frantically, he grabs for the napkin and wipes off his face. Taehyung laughs brightly beside him and leans closer to examine Jungkook’s face. He feels hot, feverish, and can’t look him in the eye this close. Taehyung, still laughing, grabs for his own napkin and hands it to Jungkook.

“You got pen ink on your face,” he remarks, returning to his own drink. He chuckles as he takes a sip.

Jungkook, embarrassed, is quick to rub his face again, this time so forcefully that it leaves his skin hot. “Jesus,” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

Taehyung smiles. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says softly from beside him.

Jungkook shakes his head. “No, sorry…just…,” he begins, then waves his hands. “Forget it.”

“So why?” continues Taehyung, doggedly stubborn as he watches Jungkook out the corner of his eye.

“Well…you’re…you’re new,” he says.

“Hm…is that it?” Taehyung asks, sighing as he leans easily back against his chair. “That’s all it takes around here?”

Jungkook nods. “Not much happens here,” he says. “Don’t get lots of mainlanders.”

“How do you know I’m a mainlander?” asks Taehyung.

“I mean…,” he says, glancing down at Taehyung’s shiny belt buckle. Two twin Gs. With a laugh, he continues. “You’re definitely not an islander.”

Taehyung smirks. “Provincial,” he says with a sigh, sweeping his gaze out across the bar. “I guess some people like that.”

“Not me,” says Jungkook, pouting as he shakes his head with crossed arms.  He feels a little lightheaded, likely from drinking. After all, he’d never be so social sober. “It’s stifling.”

“Hm…,” Taehyung remarks. “You wanna get out?” he asks, like he’s studying Jungkook.

He wavers a moment before glancing away and nodding once. He grabs for his drink and tips it back. “Yeah,” he says.

Taehyung hums. “You don’t seem all that convinced,” he remarks before leaning toward Jungkook. That smirk is still there, and it’s unsettling. “Let me guess: small-town boy with big city dreams, grew up here. You want to get away but you��re scared once you leave the tiny pond and enter the big ocean you’ll get swept away.” He locks eyes with Jungkook and, for just a moment, Jungkook feels swept up in it. He feels his resistance falter. “Be honest,” Taehyung continues with a smirk.

It’s the same sensation he had when he was a kid, drowning in the ocean.

Powerlessness.

Jungkook’s face goes red. He feels exposed, read through, and suddenly Taehyung’s flirtations don’t seem so innocent. Like he was gathering data on him from the start, figuring out where to strike like a predator teasing his unwitting prey. Unsettled, Jungkook’s stomach begins to twist up in knots and he doesn’t feel so steady.

And in an instant, the enchanting, hazy spell he’s under evaporates like water on hot pavement.

Taehyung’s cocky smirk serves only to fuel Jungkook’s outrage as he stutters out a reply. “N-no! It’s not like that at all!” he protests, but even to Jungkook’s ears the excuse is painfully weak.

But nonetheless, the stranger’s brows arch and he leans away as if the response is surprising. Taehyung pokes further. “Hm,” he begins, scanning him. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” says Jungkook, frowning as he glances to the side to find Namjoon’s seat still empty. He sighs. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

“Then enlighten me,” says Taehyung, swirling his straw around in his drink once more. Again, he leers at Jungkook, almost expectant. Only this time, he’s quick to look away.

Jungkook locks his jaw, narrows his eyes, and leans back just a little. “I…I mean I did grow up on the island,” he begins, watching his hands as he fiddles with his fingers.

Taehyung smiles. “Hm…”

“But that doesn’t mean you got me right,” he continues, glancing out the corner of his eye at Taehyung. But he finds the handsome young man just sipping on his drink as if Jungkook’s words are of no consequence.

Maybe they are.

“I’m back,” says a voice from over his shoulder and Jungkook swells with relief.

Namjoon takes his seat at Jungkook’s right and the two share a loaded glance, Jungkook trying desperately to convey without words what had transpired in Namjoon’s absence. But Namjoon only furrows his brow, shoots a puzzled expression, and squints.

“And who is this?” asks Taehyung’s deep, slinking voice behind Jungkook.

He shivers and turns to face him. “Ah, this is Nam-,” he begins, then stops and crosses his arms and swivels toward Namjoon again. He cups a hand around his mouth and leans forward. “Don’t give him your name,” he whispers, but it seems Taehyung’s hearing is pretty keen as the young man lets out a booming laugh that sets Jungkook on edge once more.

“Three’s company anyway,” says Taehyung, clearing his throat and standing to his feet. He turns to stare down at Jungkook once more, drink half-finished on the bar, eyes half-closed as he offers a knowing smirk. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around, Jeon Jungkook.”

For a split second, Jungkook is suspended. The din of the bar is nearly silenced as frenetic, hyper charged energy passes between the two. This young man is unlike anyone Jungkook has ever met, and he wonders in the brief reprieve from the unrelenting synth if that’s such a good thing.

That sensation returns. That powerless, out of control sensation. Like he’s a piece of driftwood being tossed mercilessly against the rocky cliffside amongst the roiling waves. Looking into his dark eyes is like that. Like looking into choppy black water.

Like primal fear.

And Jungkook can’t seem to look away.

Namjoon coughs a little and claps Jungkook on the shoulder, effectively releasing him as he takes his first gasp of fragile bar air after a long time submerged. Jungkook pats his chest, eyes wide, heart feral, and turns to look at his friend, grateful.

“Nice to meet you then,” he says with a pleasant smile. But Jungkook notices tension in the way his eyes squeeze shut. It’s saccharine. He doesn’t mean it. Not for a second.

Which means Namjoon feels uneasy about this guy too…

Taehyung chuckles, bows his head, and turns on his heel. He swerves easily through the crowd, maneuvering around bodies pressed close and backs turned at haphazard angles. Jungkook maintains an unwavering view of him until he disappears into the navy night and spitting rain, the door swinging shut behind him. A spray of rainwater splatters onto the floor in his wake as the door clicks shut, and Jungkook is left with only an unfinished drink and a soggy napkin to prove Kim Taehyung was ever there at all…

Morning sunlight warms the exposed skin of Jungkook’s stomach as he lies draped sloppily across Namjoon’s bed. He squeezes his eyes shut against the light with a wince, but it’s too bright after yesterday’s storm. Jungkook slowly props himself up on his forearms and squints around the bedroom in search of Namjoon. Upon finding the untidy room empty, Jungkook furrows his brow and pushes himself up off the bed. He glances down at his messy shorts and the black shirt he’d worn yesterday now sliding off his shoulder. He peers at himself in the mirror, adjusts the sleeves of his shirt, and huffs. He looks about as rough as he feels.

Fluffy bed head hair a mess atop his head, halfway obscuring tired eyes and drool drying around the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head and turns on his heel, padding on bare feet into the hallway. Both narrow walls are adorned with countless family photographs: both old and new. Like a comprehensive timeline of the Kim family. Old black-and-white pictures morph in a slow gradient into yellowing sepia-toned shots and eventually toward nineties glamor shots. Jungkook takes particular pleasure in the photo of Namjoon and his parents dressed to the nines in glittery blazers and shoulder pads and a vignette border. Jungkook smirks at the shot and gives young Namjoon a poke with his fingertip before continuing into the kitchen.

But once he enters, he realizes with a start that he’s not alone in these early morning hours. And, further, the one to greet him isn’t Namjoon but his grandfather. He sits, bespectacled and grumpy, eyeing a newspaper with a cup of steaming coffee on the table beside his knuckles. With ailing health, one might expect wiry Grandpa Kim to be listless, cashing in his golden days after the better part of a century working. But he’s more energetic now than he’s ever been as far as Namjoon says. And Jungkook has to admit, the eighty-something-year-old man seems in that moment to be faring far better than he himself is.

“Morning, son,” says Grandpa Kim with a bare glance over his shoulder at Jungkook.

He smiles and takes a seat at the table, sighing as he watches the cerulean sky outside, unblemished by even a single wispy cloud. If he wasn’t horribly hungover, perhaps he’d go out for a run. But even thinking of the motion of a jog sends a jolt of nausea through Jungkook’s body and, without realizing it, he cringes.

Grandpa Kim slides his half-drunk coffee toward Jungkook without lifting his eyes from the paper. “Drink up,” he says and Jungkook swears he can see the man smirking. “You had a rough night.”

Jungkook groans a little but, feeling too lousy to protest, obliges after a moment of contemplation. He sips the hot coffee and, like he knew it would be, it’s too bitter for him. Wordlessly, Grandpa Kim slides the sugar container toward Jungkook as well, tapping the plastic lid with one stout finger. Jungkook clears his throat, but once again follows directions, adding a few spoons of sugar to his coffee and stirring it with his pinkie finger.

“Be careful out there today,” says Grandpa Kim as he finally turns his attention away from the paper. He gazes out the window beside him, fresh sunlight streaming in in golden shafts all around. He locks his jaw and grunts before, seemingly against his will, he tears his eyes away from the sun and sea outside.

Jungkook raises his brows. “Hm? Weather seems great,” he remarks, resting his cheek in his hand as he watches an early-morning jogger make her way across the shore.

Grandpa Kim only grumbles something unintelligible and pushes himself up from the table, folding his paper underneath his arm. He says nothing as he waves a hand, dismissive, and turns on his heel toward the hallway from which Jungkook had come. Jungkook watches his figure disappear into the darkness of the hall with a sigh and takes another sip of coffee.

“Don’t pay too much attention to him,” says Namjoon from behind Jungkook’s shoulder. Jungkook startles, jumping as he whips around to face his sleepy friend. Namjoon offers a tired smile, rubbing his neck. “I never do,” he continued as he collapses onto the creaky wooden chair in front of Jungkook.

“What’re you doing up?” Jungkook asks, placing the coffee on the table for fear of spilling it. He takes a moment to compose himself, letting his eyes wander toward the window once more, toward the calm ocean. “Pretty early after a night out.”

“Could ask you the same thing,” Namjoon says, kicking off his sandals with a belabored sigh. He lolls his head back, eyes slipping shut. “I promised Dad I’d go out on the boat with him today, but he didn’t cover it before the storm so the whole deck’s flooded. Gotta wait for it to dry out. Dad says the water feels off today anyway.”

Jungkook stiffens, turning toward Namjoon with raised brows. “Does that mean he’s not gonna be able to get out on the water today? Won’t he lose money?”

“Yup,” says Namjoon with a shrug, eyes still shut. He heaves a sigh. “Nothing we can do about it though. Nobody anticipated the weather turning yesterday.”

“Huh…,” Jungkook remarks, resting his chin in his palm. “I guess it was pretty sudden.”

“Yeah. Dad talked to Mr. Jung and he said that even the mainland freights weren’t expecting it,” Namjoon says, but he’s quick to wave his hand, like his grandfather waving away the thought before it can develop. “Anyway, gonna be a slow day around the house. You may as well go home.”

Jungkook swallows hard and glances down at his drink, swirling it a little. “Um…no, that’s alright. I can just hang…around here…”

Namjoon chuckles and leans forward to level his eyes with Jungkook’s. “You can’t avoid her forever.”

Jungkook’s shoulders bunch. “I mean technically-,”

“Jungkook,” Namjoon interrupts with a stern look. He backs away. “Your grandma will understand once she hears why you started taking writing courses.” Namjoon pauses when he notices Jungkook’s expression going sour. He sighs and pats his shoulder. “But you have to give her the chance.”

Jungkook slowly raises his eyes, tentative, and sighs. “You were right to begin with, so you’re probably right about this too,” he says, pushing up from the table as his chair scrapes loudly against the uneven floorboards.

Namjoon laughs, claps him on the shoulder, and guides him toward the front door. “And try to drink some water, alright? Your hangover’s so obvious Nan might even notice it through her cataracts.”

Jungkook shoves Namjoon away by the chest with a gape. “Nan doesn’t have cataracts!” he shouts, but even raising his voice makes his head pound. Quickly, he rights himself and steps out onto the crooked sidewalk. He turns to Namjoon with arms crossed over his chest. “Thanks for, you know…being a good friend or whatever.”

Namjoon laughs, leaning against the doorframe with one hand hooked over the top of the thin door. He smiles, dimpled, and waves his free hand as Jungkook steps down the street backwards. “Take care of yourself, huh?”

Jungkook nods, waves a hand, and turns on his heel, starting toward the hotel.

The hotel is quaint, like most everything on the island, and spans the entirety of the westernmost cliffside. Overlooking the surf and the town below, the place is prime real estate. Plenty of businessmen have tried sweeping the land out from under Nan’s nose, but she’s too quick to fall for it. She’s been running Hotel Noeul since she was a teen and her parents passed it down to her, and the owner is just about the only thing that’s changed since the place began in the twenties. The buildings are even older; Jungkook knows that from the draft in the winter and the scorching heat in the summer. It was all Jungkook could do to convince Nan to finally get internet. Traditional sloped roofs, stone pathways and gardens for strolling, ornate sliding doors, the works. As gorgeous as it is backed up against the cliff with trees and greenery and ocean and endless sky, Jungkook tries not to spend his free time here.

“Oh excuse me,” says a young foreigner with a hopeful smile as Jungkook makes his way toward the office building.

Jungkook stiffens and turns toward her. He’s quick to force a smile — too many scoldings from Nan about maintaining a friendly affect has instilled fear in his heart — and bows his head. “Yes?” he asks.

The blonde-haired girl glances skittishly around the garden, pointing at one of the private rooms and stuttering in broken Korean, “Uh…lock-lock…um…can’t get in.”

Jungkook raises his brows. “You’re locked out?” he asks, then curses himself. Of course she won’t know what he said. Instead of continuing, he simply smiles and nods, gesturing toward the office. “This way,” he says.

The girl sighs, relieved, and nods, quick to follow Jungkook up the wood steps and past the open sliding door. He emerges in the front office to find Nan sitting in her usual chair behind the register, reading Wuthering Heights again, her readers slipping down the narrow bridge of her nose. Her long near-white hair is restrained just barely in a bun at the nape of her neck and her hands tremble almost invisibly as she turns the page in her book.

“Nan,” Jungkook says, waving a hand in front of her face.

She lifts only her eyes to greet Jungkook before continuing her reading. “Good to see my grandson has made time to do his job.”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing his temples. “Nan, this guest is locked outta her room,” he says, pointing to the foreigner behind him. “Her Korean sucks,” he continues. The girl waves with a big smile, oblivious, and Jungkook smiles at her.

Nan nods. “Well, sounds like a problem for our maintenance department, doesn’t it?” she asks, still reading.

Jungkook slumps his shoulders. “Nan, I’m the maintenance department,” he says.

“Huh, that’s right,” she says, and Jungkook catches the slight smirk on her lips.

He rubs his forehead. “I can’t even talk to her properly,” he says, groaning.

“Don’t need to talk when you’re fixing a lock,” she says. “And stop complaining in front of our guest.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, crossing his arms, and glances at the foreigner, now scrolling through her phone. “Not like she knows the difference,” he mumbles as he breezes past her toward the toolkit hanging on the wall beside the window. He slings it around his waist and leads the way out into the garden once more.

The girl trots behind him, saying nothing but still smiling as her footsteps crunch on the footpath. “This one?” Jungkook asks once they approach the door she’d pointed to before.

The girl stiffens and nods once, grinning still. Jungkook smiles, but the girl is making him feel unsettled. He crouches in front of the door. “Who comes to a remote Korean island and doesn’t speak Korean?” Jungkook mumbles to himself as he begins working on the lock. He jangles it around a little, jiggling the flimsy door, and sighs. “Always this door,” he says under his breath, pausing to smile and offer the girl a thumbs up.

She returns it before placing both hands into the front pockets of her baggy shorts. “Thank you,” she says slowly, laboring over every syllable.

Jungkook nods and fishes around his tool belt for the WD40. Once finding it, he yanks it out and begins flash spraying the inside of the lock, but since it’s so ancient the thing is hard to maneuver in. He continues his work, furrowing his brow as the midmorning sun beats down against the back of his neck. Sweat beads along his hairline, lingering still from the walk to the hotel.

“If I’d gone to college, maybe I’d speak her language,” he whispers with a sigh as he shakes the door once more, hoping to dislodge whatever is blocking the sensitive keyhole.

He turns to the girl and holds his hands out, beckoning for the key, and it takes her a few puzzled moments to understand his request. When she does, laughing, she drops the brass key into his palm. Jungkook bows his head in thanks and slides the key into the lock, waiting with bated breath for the definitive clink of success. After a few frustrating moments of struggle, the door clicks open and Jungkook, grinning, slides it open and stands to his feet once more.

The girl bows deeply at the waist and Jungkook returns it, but the motion makes his head spin and he feels a wave of nausea overtake him. He stiffens once more as bile rises in his stomach and, horrified at the thought of spewing in front of this guest, forces a tight-lipped smile and rushes back across the garden to a chorus of repeated thank you’s following behind him. Clutching his stomach, he rushes toward the office, hoping to find some of Nan’s anti-nausea pills or if nothing else just a bottle of water, but he stops right in his tracks as he nears the open door.

The hum of Nan’s old electric fan does little to muffle the sound of that deep, unmistakable voice.

His voice.

“Well, can’t we arrange an extended stay? Just this once?”

And suddenly, Jungkook’s nausea isn’t his most pressing issue. Because, standing with his broad back to him, chatting easily with his smiling grandmother, is that guy from the bar the night before. Jungkook fishes around in his pockets frantically, mouth dry and cottony and head throbbing, summer sun forcing the sweat along his hairline to slide down his forehead. He yanks the old napkin from the depths of his pocket and stares at it with wide eyes. Kim Taehyung.

Part of him had hoped he’d imagined the whole encounter in his drunken stupor. Like maybe he’d seen too many dramas featuring a handsome bad boy and a hapless love interest. Like maybe he’d concocted it.

But there he stands, as beautiful as before as the sunlight plays with the golden ends of the curling ends of his hair at the nape of his tanned neck. Jungkook swallows hard, scanning him. He seems taller…

“Certainly not,” says Nan with a laugh, rolling her eyes. “I’m not weak to pretty young men anymore.”

“Ah,” says Taehyung, and Jungkook can practically feel him smirking. “You say that like you’re past your prime.”

Nan laughs again, tossing her head back. “Flattery will get you everywhere, kid,” she says with a sigh. “Well, let’s call it an extended stay then. But no longer than a few weeks! Summer’s the busy season around here,” she continues, holding up her index finger with a stern set of her jaw.

Taehyung leans down and presses the pad of his own index finger to Nan’s, tilting his head to the side. His button-down shirt strains against his shoulders. “You got it,” he says with a smile in his voice.

Jungkook suppresses a shiver. His nausea has returned…

Nan’s laughter stops suddenly when she catches sight of Jungkook lingering in the doorway and her smile slips from her face. She rolls her eyes, leaning back against her chair once more and grabbing for her book, once more listless.

“Here’s my no-good grandson,” she says, turning a page and kicking the plastic fan beside her as it stutters. “He’s been out all night with the fisherman’s kid,” she continues, then smirks and gives Taehyung a look out the corner of her eye. “Also no-good.”

Taehyung turns to look at Jungkook and, once seeing him, his bright eyes go round and his lips part in a startled gape. “You…?” he begins, blinking. “G-Grandson?” he asks, and Jungkook can swear he sees him go a little paler.

With a racing heart, Jungkook sighs, crossing his arms, and rests a hip against the doorframe, fervently avoiding Taehyung’s eyes. He furrows his brow. “Nan, aren’t you sick of the whole apathetic act?” he asks. “You love the Kims.”

Nan shrugs as she pushes her glasses up her nose. “And I love you. They say your sense of judgement gets worse with old age,” she says with an easy sigh.

Jungkook can’t help but chuckle, watching the finished wood floor below his feet. “Well I’m here now,” Jungkook says, still careful not to lift his eyes too high and snag Taehyung’s gaze by mistake.

“And just in time,” she says, waving her hand toward Taehyung. “We just got a new guest staying in Room 102. Show him to it.”

Jungkook stiffens and his eyes go wide. “I-I have to show him?” he asks, pointing to his chest.

Taehyung lets out a puff of laughter and conceals it with his hand. Nan raises her brows. “Well, I’m certainly not gonna do it,” she says, cocking her head to the side. “Hop on it.”

Jungkook swallows his nerves and turns toward Taehyung who is — and he assumes has been — looking right at him with a knowing smirk and narrowed eyes, crossed arms. Despite the incessant pounding of his heart and the unrelated pounding of his head, Jungkook takes another look at Nan with furrowed brows. She’s always like this. Plucky. But…today feels a little worse than usual. And Jungkook is sure he knows why.

You have to give her the chance.

He pauses a moment, wavering in uncertainty, and eventually succumbs to a defeated sigh. Quietly, he approaches the front desk and leans down closer to Nan’s face. “Hey, uh…can we talk later? You know…about…the classes?” he asks, voice low and quiet, timid, like a child. He begrudges himself for showing such a weak expression to Taehyung.

Nan slides only her eyes toward Jungkook and, without uttering a single word, tilts her head down in a barely-there nod. Jungkook returns it and pushes off from the front desk, sauntering over to Taehyung’s side. He stands, tall, glowing, still smiling like he knows something, twirling his room key around one slender ringed finger.

“Show me around, bellboy,” Taehyung says with a teasing lilt in his voice.

Jungkook feels his face go hot and he fights a snappy retort. He’s on thin ice with Nan as it is. He clears his throat and leads the way out onto the wraparound porch. “Garden,” he says, swinging one arm out toward the lush garden in the center of all the buildings. He hears Taehyung laugh behind him. “Office,” he says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder down the walkway from which they’d come. “Your room,” he says, stopping in front of the delicate sliding door. He crosses his arms and looks Taehyung in the eye.

The young man suppresses a giggle, but it’s clear in his tight smile that he wants to laugh. “Mm,” he manages before breaking, covering his mouth once more. “What a…lucky twist of fate, hm?” he says between laughs.

Jungkook is less amused, standing with one brow raised. Between his wicked hangover, his crappy night’s sleep, his strange evening out, and the stress of fighting with Nan, this twist of fate feels anything but lucky.

Nonetheless, Jungkook forces a smile and nods. “Mhm,” he says. “If you need anything, go to Nan.” And with that, he turns on his heel, ready to leave, but Taehyung’s warm hand on his forearm forces him to stop.

His hand is soft, and his grip is light. If he really wants to, Jungkook can easily slip out of it. But instead and against his better judgement, he turns halfway to meet Taehyung’s eyes, finding them alight with playfulness. He’s smiling, too bright to look at too long. And his shirt reveals too much of his chest.

“Where’s your room?” Taehyung asks, smiling.

Jungkook’s face is hot and his heart is hammering in his ears. He stiffens, instinctively glancing up the hill from the garden toward the guest house where he stays. Something tells him he shouldn’t tell this guy that information, however. “Um…I don’t…live on the property,” he says, but the lie is flimsy even to Jungkook’s undiscerning ears. He curses himself with a cringe.

Taehyung’s lips part and he nods, smiling. “Ah,” he says, staring at the guest house. “So it’s up there?”

Jungkook shakes his arm free and takes a half-step down the walkway. “Anyway, d-don’t come to me if you run out of toilet paper or something, okay?”

Taehyung laughs, crossing his arms and leaning gently against the external wall beside his door. He tilts his head back on the wall, looking down on Jungkook with a smile. “Hm…what if I’m too cold to sleep tonight? Can I come to you for that?”

Jungkook’s heart lurches and he stumbled back down the step into the garden, flushed. “Hotel’s old,” he begins, blinking rapidly. “D-Drafty. Nothing I can do about it.”

Again, Taehyung lets out a melodic laugh and nods. “Well, that’s a shame,” he says.

Jungkook bows his head toward Taehyung and turns on his heel. He’s rushing headlong down the path through the garden when he hears Taehyung whistle over his shoulder, calling from outside his room, “I’ll see you around, Jeon Jungkook!”

And Jungkook remarks with a shiver that Taehyung remembers his name.

He crosses his arms and picks up his pace.

[louvel-roche]

Prompt #4: Shifting Blame

( Follows #25: Trust    Tentative mature content warning.)

“So…” The word was soft, nearly lost in the cold breeze washing over the Sea of Clouds. No answer came, the small effort to break a long spanning silence turning out to be futile. Soleil huffed in growing annoyance. 

“Did you really bring me all the way out here just to stand there gawking at the scenery? Why are you wasting my time, Louvel?” She took a step towards the man in question only to find him taking a step away, staying pointedly out of arm's reach. This only fanned the flames of her aggravation. 

Still no answer came, the silence between them only broken by the sound of the breeze and the calls of the chocobos playing in the clouds below. They had snuck away to this spot countless times years ago, and yet nothing felt the same now as it did back then. 

“What happened, Soleil?” The question felt almost rhetorical, and yet Louvel found himself asking regardless. He thought he knew what happened, what changed. At least he knew his perspective. Yet there were questions yet unanswered. 

“What do you mean, “what happened”? Nothing happened.” A hasty, thoughtless response, one Soleil scowled at just as much as the question itself. She was silent then, giving what was asked of her some actual thought. It was strange to think about, to reflect upon. Did something actually happen? A hum turned into a scoff as no real answer came to her, at least nothing that seemed to fit. 

“I don’t know. You vanished for nearly two years, with not a word. No letters. Nothing. Then when I finally get a chance to see you again…” Indignation claimed her expression, arms folded as she continued. “You hit me.” 

“At the risk of sounding completely juvenile, you did hit me first.” Louvel wasn’t the least bit apologetic. Like a stove sparking and refusing to actually light, he could hear her stammering and failing to get out a proper retort. He’d wait, eyes still tracing the vast expanse of clouds before them.

“A man isn’t supposed to hit a woman!” Finally she managed to snap something out, an exasperated huff following before her hands lifted to fuss with her hair. The wind was doing her no favors. She hated this. So much talking; they never just talked when they came out here before.

“Are you always going to hide behind those double standards of yours?” A genuine question, one that was met with more fuming and frustration. How odd, to see Soleil in such a state with no lashing out. Perhaps their last encounter truly gave her pause. “I think you can handle my count of one considering yours is up in the triple digits.” 

“I’m not! I just… Why are you…” Soleil took a deep breath, forcing her jumbled thoughts into order despite how rattled with vexation they all felt. “You are so unreasonable!” She spat out, as if it were a fact that offended her on such a deep level. How dare he? “You were always unreasonable.”

“You consistently lied to me, Soleil. How is it unreasonable to expect just a little bit of honesty once in a while?” This was familiar. Too familiar. As wide and open as the space around them was, Louvel felt smothered, boxed in. Cornered. He asked for this though; he wanted to talk, a foolish as that notion was. This tension was uncomfortably nostalgic.

“I-I wouldn’t have had to if you just… I only wanted to be happy, and you always had some complaint about everything I did!” Her voice raised, shrill and indignant as ever. It always came down to this. She couldn’t even remember when it started, for how long things went on for. Years? She didn’t know any other way of doing things by this point.

Louvel was silent, eyes straying away to watch the clouds again, settling into silent reflection. Did he really complain that much? Was he really that unreasonable? Shaking his head slightly, Louvel looked back to Soleil. “All I wanted was a little bit of loyalty, and to be something more than momentary entertainment. That was never asking too much. Not with the countless promises you made.” 

It was asking too much, in her eyes at least. “You were more, it just wasn’t good enough for you. You just wanted to be selfish, Louvel. You know why things had to be that way, why I couldn’t…” Soleil sighed, lips pulling into a grimace of regret. “It’s just how it had to be, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t care, that I didn’t love you. I still-“

“Spare me, Soleil. You and I both know that the only person you have ever loved is yourself.” He expected more yelling and seething, but that wasn’t what came. The crack of her hand across his face quickly brought Louvel’s guard back up; he was an idiot for letting it drop, for not noticing how close she’d managed to get. 

One was all Soleil would get, the second swing that followed caught at the wrist before it could land. His grip was rewarded with a yelp and a momentary halt to her fury. Louvel dragged the fingers of his free hand over his cheek, sparing a glance to the specs of blood on his fingertips. Those nails of hers were always annoying. 

Everything was still for a few short lived seconds, Soleil unsure if retaliation was coming her way while Louvel waited for the unsettling familiarity of the moment to fade. The glint of something gaudy and over sized caught the Duskwight’s attention. He eyed the monstrosity trying to call itself a ring before releasing his hold on Soleil’s wrist.

“Does your husband know you’re here?” The words tasted just as bad now as they had years ago. Some things never really change. 

“No, I had Abella cover for me; she owed me a favor.” Soleil answered cautiously, a hand rubbing at her wrist while she tried to make sense of how the mood had shifted so abruptly. She expected anger to match her own, but found none in the man next to her. 

“And does she know where you are?” Part of him already knew the answer. This song and dance was an old one. Still, he couldn’t quite break that habit, unable to stop himself from inquiring.

“I didn’t tell her, no. I didn’t want anyone to know I was out with…” A frown took the place of what she could have said, for a moment wondering why it was she couldn’t keep herself from being here.

“Out with a lowborn cave urchin?” He knew well enough the title she would have given him in polite company. The way her eyes avoided him suggested she knew as well. “This really is like the “good old days”, isn’t it?” 

“It is a little… I remember things being more fun back then. Less talking, more…” Soleil sighed wistfully. This was not how she expected her evening to go. It took some effort to keep her annoyance with that fact subdued. 

“Things were… different back then.” He wasn’t going to entirely disagree, but fun was not a term he’d use for those times. Perhaps something could be made of this evening though. 

All at once Soleil was swept up, so easily lifted off the ground like a pampered princess, coaxing a fluttering giggle out of her, nervous and surprised. “Wh-what are you doing?” An answer didn’t come right away, Louvel’s eyes again cast out to the endless clouds. 

“Being unreasonable.” The words came with a weak smile; soft and trusting. Such a strange answer, and one Soleil didn’t know what to make of. She didn’t bother questioning it, not while he held her, not while he smiled. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Louvel smile, it had been so, so long. This wasn’t quite the same though, even she knew that; something was off. It never quite reached his eyes, wasn’t quite as sweet or kind. Still, she wasn’t going to question it. She liked being this close. She missed it.

He didn’t.

It was strange how she didn’t notice. The slight bend of his knee, the subtle twist at the waist. The wind up, the tension. Then release. Before she knew it, Soleil found herself cast out into the clouds, hands and feet flailing in search of purchase only to find wide open air. All she could do was scream, the sound drowning out the calls of the chocobos playing below until the sound faded away in descent. 

Louvel hadn’t quite expected it to be so easy, his neutral gaze settled onto the clouds Soleil’s frantic wailing echoed through. Odd, how nothing really felt different. Shouldn’t he feel remorseful? Elated? Angry? Free? A twist of worry? A rush of amusement? Something? In the end he felt nothing. What a hollow, empty sensation. He didn’t even feel disappointed over the lack of any kind of cathartic release. He had spent so much time blaming her for this unending numbness, and now… Nothing felt different. Perhaps it would take time.

Minutes ticked by, ushering in the night. It wasn’t until a half bell later that Louvel reached for one of his linkpearls.

“Talia? I need your help with something… Body disposal… No, it’s not one of Felyna’s this time.”

(Mention: @reddevil-xiv​ - Talia )

[cosmosfated]

   There's few lifetimes he can remember in technicolor.  Most of them are muted or otherwise lackluster, their colors taken or simply incorrect yet unable to be argued for one reason or another.  One such memory is in such high definition that not even divine intervention could mute the colors of.  Not because it was chaotic or too much was going on, no─ rather, just the opposite.  It was the peacefulness that got the better of his memory to remind him every time it could.  Oh does he wish he could forget, though.

   He told Lost that he'd sleep.  He didn't want to, he's fairly sure the fear in his voice was clear.  The both of them, they're haunted─ just not in the same ways and not to the same extremes. He's haunted though there’s no doubt, plagued with guilt and regret and fury long stifled.  Wreaked with wrath and envy, shouldering things that not even their world's self-proclaimed Atlas could even begin to think of.  That was his “normal”.  This is his curse.

He's rather quickly swept under the current, the feeling of drowning in light different than that of drowning in water or even tar. It hardly takes him any time to remember where he is, though, as he blinks away the discomfort of a suddenly bright room. Of course he remembers where he is. How could he ever forget?

He's in the royal library of the Capital, dressed in proper finery and robes, arms and face decorated with runes and jewelry, making sure that one of his classmates isn't dozing off again. He's younger, much younger, thousands upon thousands of years younger. Still full of hope, still learning and still easily excited- but that's ridiculous, why would he have any reason to lose Hope and stop seeing the Possibility within life? The world is vibrant and full of life and love, culture is flourishing and new inventions are cropping up. Seers are starting to get better lives, no longer treated as toys and more as strange equals who have a difficult time. Speakers, like himself, aren't treated quite the same by themselves but anyone who acts like that towards a Speaker with a Seer around gets quite the verbal beat down. Sometimes it's physical, if people don't learn not to talk down towards Speakers. Not that he minds. Society's opinion never really mattered to him as is. Life is, for the most part, perfect.

Or at least that's how he'll come to think of it, thousands of years later.

His footsteps hardly make any sound against the floorboards, just the shuffling of cloth and highly refined socks with very little details on them unlike other Seer-Speaker duos that become 'favored' by royalty. He sighs and leans down to be relatively at eye level with the figure he's grown to be quite attached to. "Michael." No response. "Michael are you awake? We have more exploring to do."

The figure shifts, and the hat he was wearing falls to the floor, showing the short bouncy hair that is equal parts silver and brown and his vibrant hazel eyes. "M'awake you hyper bastard. Give me a moment." He stretches, cracks his back a few times with quite the ... unnecessary noise, then gets comfortable in his seat again. "Before you ask, yes. I did finish what we were assigned. A long time ago actually."

"Is that so?" The young Speaker looks up with a smile towards one of the ladies helping to keep the library clean and organized, who smiles softly in return and blushes slightly. "Mary, can you vouch?"

She laughs, nodding at the question. "He was very dedicated today, My Lord. He has finished all assignments and even completed most of his chores for the wings of the castle. Er, sorry-- you requested I call you Amon, I apologize."

"It is alright. You are just doing your job. As is Michael, for once." That earns him a punch in the arm, which he snickers at. "Come on, I have something you might enjoy." He gestures to follow him and heads out after setting the books down on the table where other stacks are placed for his perusal.

There's a sigh, and the heavy falls of boots against the floorboards in briefly quick pursuit to fall into step with the well dressed Speaker. They go back and forth about their days, little jokes and terrible plays-on-words, all of them remembered in such clear detail they may have just happened the day prior. Michael adorns his weapons and royal crest on the way out, promising the other guards that they'd be someplace special. There's an exchanged look between Speaker and Knight, and a brief laugh. At it again, sweeping the unsuspecting off of their feet. He has a particular fondness for the rowdy ones, so he's noticed.

They don't make it all that far out of the gates though, before something terrible happens.

One moment, the world was in bright colors and vivid fabrics, grass he knew was green and skies he knew were multicolored. One moment, the world was seen, and he could tell you each individual stitch in his clothes and point towards them, fussing even over the smallest details just to make people react in funny ways, bratty as he could be. And then, all of a sudden, pain erupted from his chest, and then something like fire spread throughout it. Endless terrible awful pain that wasn't like the other deaths he experienced before. The Intent behind the strike was so strong and so wrathful that he actually, for a moment, despite knowing that he doesn't go down so easy anymore, feared that he would truly and honestly die. He drops to his knees, too stunned to talk and too afraid to have anything to say. He hears shouting, but his ears are ringing. The world is starting to fade to grayscale, and he knows what that means.

He’s dying.

He wasn't supposed to die like this? That strike wasn’t meant for him? What does that mean? He was just walking, he just shoved Michael playfully... His head jerks up towards the Gods, his vision blurring and fading. He tries to say something, but blood fills his lungs and chokes him in a painfully slow way. The Intent is making it prolonged and though he can feel the magic trying to heal him, the damage is done. This body, this LIFE is finished. And as young as he was, as new as he was to all of this, the fear gripped him in a vice. The Intent clouding his mind and the blood suffocating him, all he could do was let go of this life listening to the sound of the sea that he just left, that he didn’t realize he wouldn’t see again in the way he saw it then.

He didn't get to show him the little cove he found on the beach. 

That’s a shame... Michael always loved the beach.

   He wakes up to seeing the familiar colors and pinpricks of light that designate not a time long past but a time far in the future yet still in the past. His mind swims and he tries to say something- but nothing comes out. He tries again, and again, but he still can't talk. Panic grips him all over again; did he die again? Is he dead? Oh gods what if this is his final run, what if someone finally found where he--

   His gaze settles on Lost. Focuses a bit more. The panic starts to ebb away, though the fear of his nightmare remains. He still can't speak, but he doesn't need to now does he? The request is unspoken yet answered.

   There's a reason why Speakers are not seen without Seers nearby.

[easkyrah]

Prologue: The Penance Passover

Part 1 of the Elorcan Hades/Persephone Series! I’ll be absent for this coming week as I’ll be flying out of country with no complimentary data. In return, I decided to post this dull introduction as a slim means of compensation. Trust me, the action and angst will come. 

It is not clear why we choose the fire pathway

Where we end is not the way that we had planned

All the spirits gather 'round like it's our last day

To get across you know we’ll have to raise the sand

Monday: Elide Lochan

Elide counted away the seconds in the silent cell, sucking on her bottom lip. The flares of pain latched onto her ankle never faltered, an obstinate obstacle ousting her will of lesser fortitude, marring her own feeble attempts to simply endure the anguish.

She released her lip, wobbling. The chain shackled to her ankle thrummed against her own marred skin, slick with sweat, rubbing against cold metal. Her shoulders rolled back, and her back cracked at the next fleeting second.

Her own body danced to a frenzied cacophony flaming the unwritten despair reflected across her dark orbs, darting within the darkness. Her muscles moved without meaning, tendons twitching, throat run dry and barren, a desert of all words never spoken and severely silenced.

The mute marathon rolled on, an endless momentum of memory and mishaps. She waited for the simple sounds of twelve strikes, the sounds of subservient release, drowning in her own single sea of sorrows.

When the jarring bolls tolled twelve times—as they did, shaking her out of her stupor—the devil in her dreams would fling open the wooden doors—mocking her limpless and limping figure—and unclip the cruel chain. A recurring sorts of twisted fate, the vicious cycle glazed with vices sewn across her every step.

Elide expectantly stared at the door in front of her, waiting—the only laborious action save for the strength to breathe. Her ribs shuddered at the familiar jangle of keys rattled.

One.

A click chimed, inserted through the keyhole.

Two.

The key twisted, and jerked upwards. 

Three.

A series of other traditional beepings followed, unlocking the additional security codes to the room.

Four.

The finger and eye scanned sequence pierced through the room.

Five.

Elide watched the door fling open, and shivered at the dark robes peeling into her vision. A phantom hand wrapped around her, choking her air and silencing her words. The boots scraped along the floor, an ever familiar leer coating a stubbled and warped face bent in as if reflecting the distorted sense of crookedness.

Uncle Vernon.

Her own overseer of wretched slavery and dreaded torture, worming through her mental barriers and twisting through every pore.

“You’ll be serving two very important guests of mine today,” her Uncle rasped. “Make a mistake, and I’ll chain you with snakes. Impress, and the chains will not compress.”

It must have been a very occasion indeed if he were to bribe her, Elide mused, and roughly swallowed, forbidding any strangled sound to slip. A meaty hand gripped her chin, nails digging into her flesh. Pale, porcelain skin slathered in grime’s filthiness lathered away all the bruises and cracks and fissure, all the rage and despair and melancholy bubbling inside of her, hissing in no sight of no means of escape. Hope held no clean facade, stringing away all inches of hope, dragging her under each plate of cold touch.

Her Uncle had served her raw, bloodied on a plate.

Upon drawing the first drip of liquid sopping to the ground, he released his hold on her, curling his ragged nails back into his large fist.

“Understand?” he hissed, dark, unfathomable eyes cutting through her.

She meekly nodded, a weak sound of confirmation escaping her throat.

Satisfied, he reached down to unchain the shackle from the wall. It was an irony of strained sorts, watching him bend over to slightly free her. Some days, when the taunting ran high, he’d loosen the chains, just enough for her to breathe, and for her to feel a forbidden future. It only left the little falsities of hope to run dry within her, no longer appeasing her or alleviating even the smallest sliver of stress.

The chain now dangled, clasped at her ankle. For every freedom, she still remained chained. She choked on the bitterness, swallowing day by day the crucifixion of her own sanity without a resurrection of any reassurance.

Before he yanked her out the door, she squared her shoulders, channeling the last ounce of stripped strength within her.

“Uncle Vernon,” Elide said, her voice firm and solid. “I have a bargain for you.”

For a man who held all the power in the world, he had everything to lose, and if a simple bargain from the bottom of his bearings could usurp him, then rest assured the supposed power would crumble to ashes at his feet. While he found ground by the need for more, a dark domination of descent, the inherent, fundamental need to survive drove her. And here she toiled away into the abyss forever tunneled by that futile fall.

The door creaked, halting halfway through.

A pause.

“A bargain?” his voice snarled, thickened with pure distaste. “You think you have a position to do so?”

“Afraid?” Her voice cracked, but did not waver—a feeble willow blowing in the fields, firmly rooted in the soil.

Atrophy held her captive, battered down with assault. At the bottom of the abyss ran numbness, an insensitivity to fear. Great winds of the withering whirled around her, wrecking shards of ruins within her. Trickles of trepidation traversed across her body, urging an awakening tsunami of tears.

The figure in front of her whirled around, hand flying outwards. Her cheek stung, pain flaring, but she did not move her hand up to cup her red-hued skin. Instead she remained as stone, reverberating in her spot from the shock.

“Seems I haven’t beaten you enough.” The door slammed shut, vibrating vice’s finality. “You think I have to be afraid of a mangled girl?”

Elide lifted up her chin. Instead, she merely asked, with a mask of indifference, “Do you?”

The scars burned over her skin as the shadow, her ingrained nightmare, stalked over her. Her heart thrummed faster as the chain clasped within the hands of her captive. This is it, she thought to herself, swallowing harshly.

The door flung as easily as it closed, and the figure of a tall woman stood at the crux, neither divine nor infernal. The hue of white-moon hair enamored Elide’s vision, a different type of dark aura pulsing around the room—one that even took her Uncle aback.

Vernon’s grip on her neck tightened, and Elide could not push away the cry that escaped from her throat. Both heads twisted towards the exit, which Elide had never seen as an entrance nor an element of euphoria.

“Is this our evening entertainment?” the woman said smoothly. She flicked her red cape around her, revealing long nails that promised sudden and deeper pain than the chains littering the cracked floor. Not human, a voice whispered scratched out in Elide’s head.

Vernon hissed and dropped Elide into a bundle on the floor. A sliver of severed synergy, a curdled connection, swept through the dimness, a strand of Elide matching the otherworldly woman’s dark and deadly, vicarious and vicious vibes.

Elide shivered—and flinched when a foul breath clouded over her ear.

“We’re not done yet,” her Uncle snarled under his breath, and Elide knew each syllable rang true with his penchant for pernicious promises. “I’ll teach you fear. Thoroughly.”

The woman raised a brow. “Vernon,” he snapped.

“What?” he growled, sandpaper grating thoroughly into the grave.

“Hear out her deal if you want ours to continue.”

Elide swallowed, and slowly watched Vernon turn around, a nasty scowl on his sunken face. If her Uncle saw her shoot the other woman an appreciative glance, he’d exacerbate her evening beating.

So she kept her eyes on the ground.

“Talk.”  The white-haired woman looked at her expectantly, orbs a glaring dark gold.

Elide squared her shoulders. “I want—” She rubbed her arms, goosebumps running rampant over her skin. Her practiced words vanished from her head, reduced to ashes. “—I want love.”

The woman craned her head down, a flicker of disappointment flashing across her young and ancient features. Vernon smirked, and her tongue felt swollen. Perhaps this was why it was better to never speak, with the stolen sounds to be sucked out from her soul into the soiled.

“Easy,” Her uncle simpered, a touch of early triumphant written on his face. “I’ll give you seven days—one week—from today for a man to prove his dying love for you. Even out of your home. You can’t say I’m not generous.”

Elide ignored the bait. “And if I do?” Find love.

A sick smile. “Then you’re free.”

“And if I do not?”

A sure smile. “Then you become my slave.”

Her Uncle and the white-haired woman left the room, the latter’s red cape sweeping the air in a graceful swirl. The former left the door open, light creeping through the sunken darkness. And she—she slowly raised herself up, and hesitantly balanced herself on her mangled ankle.

Seven days.

Elide wobbled out of the room, palms flat against the walls, shadows shimmering through the sinister space, spiteful shapes swallowing the sincere and secure. The single hall led down in a silver, shattered spiral stairs, and each step send flares of agony shooting up her leg.

But all of it could not triumph over the new promise set in stone, numbing the suffering and all of his sensations. She did not look to savor the stale static, the deformed doors, the pale portraits,or  the crooked chandelier. She did not hear the fleeting flutterings nor the fear’s flaws flying forward. She did not stop at the scratched, peeling paints coating the grimy and ghastly walls.

She did not bother to look back—did not want to see the two shapes of dark shadows staring out from the marbled windows, watching her flee—as she shoved upon the heavy door with all her weight’s worth, and was blinded by the strength of the sunlight.

 Monday: Lorcan Salvaterre

 Despite their sadistic, flashing grins etched on their blood-coated faces with leather torn and ragged, all the fully armed mercenaries could agree on one thing: the run-down warehouse was no place for a woman.

The half-naked, snarling men in the ring halted their blows, the chanting at the side subsiding into hushed growls. The ringleader’s head whipped to the entrance so hard his neck cracked with a pop.

A curtain drew over the walls hanging an ornament of weapons, ranging from crimsons coated spears to palm-sized daggers. The hilts had long faded to reveal the bony structure underneath, mended over with spare material. Lorcan’s own hatchet slung lazily in his hand, rubbed with chalk. Dust filtered through his eyes, squinting at the sight before him.

Lorcan’s opponent gaped at the dark-haired woman striding in, her skirts swishing delicately around her ankles, a slight tilt in her gait. Lorcan merely rubbed his jaw in frustration, as time would have told ten seconds ago he would have pummeled his puny partner.

But this was a new punch. Never before had silence so quickly fallen in the night rush where money wormed out of pockets and tongues eased into lucid speech. 

“Can we help you, ma’am?” The nearest bloke managed to stutter out, wiping perspiration from his forehead. The brute miserably failed to tuck in his pit stains, the bulge from the belly of his stomach boasting and belching all things bloated and beastly.  

The money no longer slid to the referee, hands instead gripping the ruffled clothes, eyes sliding to soak in the figure of a female. A bark slipped from Lorcan’s throat, and he easily hurled himself over the cage.

There was something so inexplicably ineffable about this woman that drew him to her, and the horny, haunted faces of all the males around him only drove the edge of his enmity over the thin line. And though he had entered this illegal place to take down that feeling to a notch, it seemed that the devil couldn’t treat him kindly today—nor ever.

The onyx-eyed female held a darker spark in those orbs than the males around her, save to match the storm in Lorcan’s own. The woman held her ground as Lorcan stalked towards her, raising an eyebrow at the rivulets of sweat running down his roped arms and torso. He refrained the urge to devour her whole, leave his scent over smooth—and scarred—skin, claiming, marking, holding her as his.

“Does he leave the bed cold?” A man crowed. “I can offer better company.”

Before Lorcan could snap another neck, the woman turned towards the nearest man, who proceeded to give her a mock bow, eyes raking unabashedly over her form.

The woman sniffed in distaste. “I’d prefer an actual man.” Dismissing the leering male with a glance, she turned towards Lorcan, who watched her carefully. “I’m looking for Lorcan Salvaterre, bodyguard. I hear he often frequents this place.”

Lorcan Salvaterre’s eyes narrowed. Then he abruptly grabbed the woman’s elbow and yanked her towards the door, ignoring the sharp whistles piercing the air. When she stumbled, he easily tossed her over his shoulder, ignoring the tiny fist pounding against his back and curt cries slithering down his ears.

He brought her to her toes as soon as the door slammed shut, the bouncer waving them past with a curious glance that only meant trouble. Pulling her several feet forward, he slammed her spine against a dumpster.

“What do you want?”

“Figures you wouldn’t have manners,” she huffed, and massaged her knuckles. Her eyes glassed over, and he had to crane his head forward—and down—to hear her. “I shouldn’t have expected more.”

Lorcan decided he did not like those judging, doe eyes staring at him. “What business do you have?”

“I’m looking for Lorcan Salvaterre. He’s a renowned bodyguard.”

“I know who he is. And his services are not cheap.”

Dark eyes flashed. “What’s cheap is that you have the audacity to drag me to this—” she waved her hands around, nearly smacking the stubble of his chin— “dark place, and demand of me.”

His mouth curved up into a smile. “But did you not demand of Lorcan Salvaterre?”

Her own lips formed an o, and his pants suddenly seemed all too tight. This woman oozed precious pureness tainted with temerity beyond the torn, trampled, and tortured. The gleam in her eyes hinted wariness, and he noted the spread stance of her legs beneath her skirts that seemed to be stolen of the hangers from the nearby shops.

“I—” her face flushed, and he could not stop himself from bringing the pad of his thumb to caress over the curve of her cheek, slowly stroking her soft skin. “I have a request.”

He studied her gaunt face, and the thinness of her arms, the rest of her horribly slim body covered by the pile of laces and silk, hem already muddied and ripped—which did not seem to faze her in the slightest. Onyx eyes skimmed over the sunken, hollowed face and curved over the column of her throat, exposing the outline of her bones, and down to the slope of her breasts.

“My eyes are up here,” she snapped.

He snorted. “And your breasts are down there.”

Lorcan didn’t have time to think before pain shattered through his lower area, a growl rumbling through his chest.

“And your groin is down there,” she equally sniped back.

He grunted, briefly closing his eyes, warily carefully the woman caged in front of him. When the pain subsided, he snarled in her face, the tip of his tongue laced with malice.

She beat him to it. “Don’t lecture me about pain when you hand it out willingly—as in the ring.” The woman hiked up her skirts, and he skirted back a respectable distance from her, cautious of her next strike.

The breath left his lungs. A thunder escaped his throat. Pure, undiluted rage flashed through him. “Who did that to you?” he managed to gut out.

Mangled and marred skin straight to the marrow, marked with the branded outline of crisscrossing chains that would undoubtedly follow her no matter how far nor how long she walked, reddish and purplish and brownish blemishes painted her ankle in a patterned painting.

A chain could either mean the sex or slave trade, but by the clear, unmarked neck from the collar, none had manacled her. Someone did—because she needed a bodyguard. This was a different type of vermin swarming the streets, something cruel enough to lock something up, but not tarnish the beauty enough to ruin her hopes and dreams.

Lorcan could only prolong the inevitable end. He could tell her that it was pointless. That unless she was filled with testosterone, could handle the blood and fists, and drank the fill of blocked, hazed emotions, she would not outrun her own personal demon.  

“How much?” she croaked out. “Before my other ankle looks like that.”

His fists clenched. She saw his reaction, and knew that he could not turn away now. Bitch, he thought bitterly to himself. This was exactly why he allowed his emotions to diminish into a pulp, and allowed his brashness and brawns do the talking. This was exactly why he only worked with men who desired one simple life lost in the wind, or the occasional jealous, embittered woman who wanted another one gone.

But—bodyguard?

If he refused, he would live. But this woman would not. And that was that.

The woman stared at him, eyebrows slightly drawn together, a fatal, focused look washing over her face. He wondered what inner demons ate her up—or if her outer one feed on them to sustain his own body. He wondered if she looked through a shattered mirror and saw the pieces of herself staring back, forever fragmented. He wondered if he would take part corrupting in her soul—and if that demon would be able to handle her.

Because whatever was stewing in this woman’s body was not human. It was past beyond the mortal scent, breeding hatred, hollowing hope, and secreting obscurity. The tip of her nails may have been human, but what they were willing to grasp and choke certainly was not.

And it was that curiosity that had him inclining his head towards her just as the bouncer had followed them here. And it was toeing the line of the unbridled unease that had him reaching for his hatchet slung low on his hips. And it was that last glance towards the abused ankle that had the weapon whistling through the air and solidly sinking through the chest of the other man.

Lorcan stalked over to the fallen body, careful to not step in the seeping pool of crimson, and jerked the blade out. He nudged his head towards the other end of the alley, and the woman—devil forbid—smiled at him, and swished around—and did not look back.

And Lorcan Salvaterre strode behind her, guiding her to his home and hell.

[dahlthir-blog]

    ➜ Leviathan has been accepted!

Welcome to Dahlthir, Reid! Your application for Leviathan has been approved. You’ll have 5 days to turn in your blog to the masterlist. If you need more time, you can send us a message!

The character portion of the application can be found under the cut. I’m crying! Leviathan’s background reads so well as its own independent tale. The way you inserted information in, describing the different lore behind Leviathans, really complimented the rest of the writing! Squall sounds so cool, too! I yell!! I love the parts of the world you’ve made aaaa!!

( CHARACTER SECTION )

Other Characters: –

Faceclaim(s) & Series: Hans Christian Anderson | Fate Series

Character Name: Leviathan Housing: Personal housing Age: 500.

Level: 5

Appearance:

Leviathan is a sea serpent who retains the form of a 13 year old boy. His human body is fragile but lithe. He has azure colored hair and celtic blue eyes. Up close, his eyes appear to glister in the same way as a certain peaceful sea he once settled in years ago. When he’s touched by water, shimmering pale blue scales will replace only the wet human skin. It is, unfortunately, something Leviathan can’t control. But at the very least, no matter how many scales spread across his human flesh, being touched by water won’t revert him back to his true form unless he wishes to. His true form is snake-like and at length, over 65 feet long. His scales, which dare one call pretty, are unique as they appear pale blue but reflect other shades of blue at different angles. His naturally shimmering scales make it seem like his body is surrounded by a thin layer of white light.

Are they a part of the Adventurer’s Guild? (Recruit or Full Member): No —- How long have they been part of the Guild:  –

Warnings: brief mention of death by drowning

Personality:

( + )  deep thinker ( + ) sympathetic ( + ) courteous 

( + / - ) curious

( - )  perfectionist ( - ) self-limiting ( - ) lazy

Background:

‘The storm never stops. The winds ruthlessly rock your ship back and forth in the same spot, never letting you move on as it chips away from your ship. And even if you domanage to pull away, you’ll either get caught by the endless number of whirlpools or eaten by Squall’s boss.

The Kraken’

–So goes the rumor of the treacherous and merciless ocean, Squall.

It’s a story which gives the cowardly a good scare and a dream to the young and the bold adventurers of the sea. But only the seasoned adventurers know that the tale doesn’t end there. Beneath the raging stormy waters of Squall, and even further below the abysmal sea where the Kraken’s den most certainly lies, dwells the sea serpents.

The discovery of the sea serpents in Squall happened by chance. A large ship captained by a man and his wife decide to put themselves to the test, to be the first to venture through Squall and it’s harsh endless storms and field of whirlpools and all other vicious perils crafted by the waters. The captains and their crew were famous for overcoming challenges like this, having returned two months prior from a deadly trip to a cursed island with a large heap of treasure after solving the island’s greatest riddle behind its curse. And after hearing about Squall, they wanted to ‘solve’ it as well by figuring out a way to cross its waters. The beginning of their journey past Squall was rough, but soon enough the unbeatable challengers were bearing with the storm with ease and had overcome the winds that pulled their ship into it’s own rhythm after a few days. With the winds conquered, the challengers ship turned left and right and around the whirlpools. Not once did the infamous Kraken appear. It seemed like an easy win at that point. Could the story of Squall be nothing else but an exaggerated tale once told by inexperienced adventurers? As the crew merrily celebrated an early victory, the captains couldn’t bring themselves to believe all was truly over in this adventure of theirs. It couldn’t have been, not when the two of them knew fully well that the adventures they chose together were always more dangerous and thrilling than this. And then he appeared. No one could believe what they saw but there was no denying the large beast who had risen from the sea right by the port of their ship and dove back into the waters from the starboard. Yes, denying the sight of the large and endlessly long body arched right above their ship would’ve been impossible for any crew member that survived afterward. Petrified by the beast, no one noticed the second and third beast appear until the third beast actively struck their ship. The ship rocked dangerously as large tentacles grasped the vessel by its main deck and began to crush it in its hold. Of the three beasts that’d appeared, two were the same but this one had been the Kraken finally making its long expected appearance. With its appearance, the ship didn’t even last for 5 minutes and there was no hope for the crew members anymore. It is said they were all immediately swallowed up by the sea and drowned.

Except for two. The captains lived on only because as they fell into the water together hand in hand, they were swept up by the claws of the first beast. It was then that the two of them fainted as they could hardly keep up with the events they and their crew had been dragged into. But the last thing one of the two noticed before they went unconscious was the beautiful pale blue scales of the large snake-like beast. She whispered the name ‘Leviathan’ and closed her eyes.

—–

What lies beyond Squall is a sea where the waves are gentle and as the sun rises and falls, the waters look as though they are sparkling. If Squall is treacherous and ugly then this could be called wondrous and beautiful.

When the woman finally regained consciousness, she found her and her husband stranded on a large rock in the middle of the beautiful sea, and almost fainted once more at the sight of the large beast in front of them. The woman gasped the name, ‘Leviathan’, once more and as if she believed ‘Leviathan’ would speak back to her, she carefully asked the beast ‘Is that who you are?’. 

Leviathan. A sea serpent, sometimes referred to as a wingless dragon, that ruled the sea unlike the winged dragons who ruled the skies. Many knew Leviathan as a sea creature who caused destruction wherever it appeared but because no one has ever seen such a beast before, they all believed the creature’s existence was a myth. 

Yet the awestruck woman called this beast ‘Leviathan’ not because she believed in the infamous story, but because she was aware of a different story of Leviathan that very few knew.

Leviathan. A sea serpent with beautiful scales, so pale at first glance but so beautiful up close when your eyes could see each scale reflect a different shade of the ocean’s color. It was as though Leviathan was the entity of all the different seas in the world. The graceful beast would bring about great fortune, perhaps even the blessing of the sea, wherever it appeared.

Unfortunately, the woman received no answer. Instead the sea serpent peered at her and then dove back into the water. Later on, her husband would stir awake and the woman would tell him of what she saw. The two would come to the decision that in order to respect the fortune Leviathan had graced upon them, their journey at sea would end here. They would tell only trusted adventurers of the beasts they saw, but only few would know one of the beasts had been called ‘Leviathan’. 

—–

Leviathan?

The nameless wingless beast who understood human dialect was confused.

Who is Leviathan? It couldn’t have been him, a nameless sea serpent.

The wingless beast who had no method of responding to the human retreated into the foreign waters.

—– 

The beast without a name recalled the events that’d taken place. An exchange gone wrong. A responsibility he didn’t want being shoved into his direction. ‘The clan needs a new leader’, they’d said, but what’s a nameless serpent like him to do about that? Shouldn’t they elect a serpent with more status? –Of course not. To the sea serpents, names and status were already too much of a burden. What sea serpent with a name and status would want to direct a bunch of other sea serpents? A sea serpent with a name and status couldn’t be bothered. So why then do the sea serpent even need a leader? Order. Because of order. The sea serpents were strange creatures that needed to believe a system existed between each of them. Yet the ones with a name couldn’t be bothered to take that responsibility themselves for some reason.

So the duties were turned down by many for the same exact reason until finally, the wingless beast was asked. He declined at first but because he was nameless and the sea serpents were growing antsy, they attempted to force the responsibilities onto him anyway. But before any sort of ritual could begin, the wingless beast fled, awakening the Kraken as he was chased by but one single sea serpent ( what lazy creatures the sea serpents were ). He didn’t know why he plucked the two humans and took off. Perhaps it was because despite how desperate he was to escape, he pitied the humans who had to suffer. Whatever reason it was, it mattered little to him for the next mere 13 years of dwelling deep below the foreign sea that calmed his nerves.

—– 

Eventually, the wingless beast grew tired of dwelling on the ocean floor of this beautiful sea. He remembered the sky he saw 13 years ago. How marvelous it’d been! He had to see it again. Surely it would be fine. Feeling courageous ( as if any sea serpent would come looking for him, right? ), the sea serpent swam up with little concern of where he would rise from so long as he was able to see that magnificent blue sky again.

When the beast had risen up to see the sky, he heard the sound of a gasp and a name. ‘Leviathan’, the human child said in awe. The beast quickly turned to face the human child who looked up at him with fascination. That name again. Why is a nameless serpent like him being called such a mystifying name by yet another human? Would he know if he asked? He can’t the way he is now. The serpent’s jaw opened. Words. A voice. He desired those more than anything else at that moment. But could it be granted to a nameless wingless beast? He’d seen named sea serpents grow bored and decide they would venture the lands with the humans but never before had a nameless done the same.

He grew frustrated. He had to try it anyway.

‘A voice. A body. Give it to me.’ The serpent ceased any useless thoughts as he tried to fulfill his desire to speak the same way as this human child. To stand the same way as this human child.

The sea serpent succeeded, and his ethereal snake-like body was transformed into that of young boy who looked as though he was the entity of the sea with his blue hair and eyes, and arms and legs marked with scales that seemed to reflect many different shades of blue. The human child continued to stare in awe at what he’d seen. But the moment hardly lasted and what happened right after was almost comical: the human had suddenly looked away, embarrassed, while the naked serpent found that they could hardly stand on their own two human legs and toppled over with a yelp.

Seeing the serpent fall onto his knees, the human child seemed to have forgotten about their embarrassment and knelt down quickly by the serpent’s side. Hesitantly, they put a hand on the serpent’s now human shoulder. They asked the serpent if they were okay, and once more they referred to the serpent by the name ‘Leviathan’.

The serpent was frustrated again – he couldn’t stand properly and this human had called him Leviathan yet another time. “I do not have a name.” The sea serpent snapped. His first words. “Yes you do,” the boy carefully replied “you’re name is Leviathan.”

—–

The human child ended up having to carry the sea serpent back with him to his ‘summer home’ ( the wingless beast hadn’t the slightest idea why humans lived in more than one home ). The human chatted away, hardly leaving any room for the wingless beast to feel at least a little embarrassed about having to be carried.

“I can’t believe I’m meeting Leviathan! You’re scales are so pretty! Just like the story my mom told me! Oh but it looks like they’re fading away. Is that supposed to happen? Do you need to be in water? Wouldn’t that make you like a… a mermaid! But without the tail!”

No. No actually everything coming out of this child’s mouth was embarrassing to hear.

When the two arrived, the serpent was a little startled to see that the human child’s parents were the very same humans the sea serpent had ‘saved’ on a whim 13 years ago. But he just barely catches the shocked expression on the two humans faces because he was too busy struggling out of the child’s grasp after he heard the child say “Mom look I found Leviathan! I’m gonna go dump him in the tub first and then I’ll tell you what happened!”. ( Being dropped in a tub full of water wasn’t a very fun experience. )

Afterward, when the child felt he had shared enough to his parents who readily believed everything he saw based on the mother’s own experience, the humans went to go see the sea serpent still left (locked) in the bathroom. What they saw was the sea serpent’s human body covered head to toe in those wondrous scales. The boy was the only one who readily approached the sea serpent, enchanted once more with those scales of all blue. The boy introduced himself and his family right there – the boy’s name was Squall, the father’s was Hector, the mother’s was Joan, and Squall happily added “And you are Leviathan!”

Squall was… Persistent. He would always stay by the sea serpent’s side and talk for a long time, whether the serpent was stuck in the bathroom or sitting somewhere with his feet submerged in a bucket of water. For some reason, Squall thought the sea serpent needed to constantly be in water. The wingless beast thought it was a bit of a pain.

“Stop. It’s fine. I don’t need water all the time when I’m like this. Just what do you take me for? A fish?”

The boy almost dropped the bucket of water he was holding. He looked at  the serpent with pure joy and blurted out, “That’s– That’s the second thing you’ve ever said to me!”

And from then on, Squall began to ask the sea serpent questions, hoping to hear the sea serpent’s voice again and again.

“Where did you come from?” “How come you can turn human? And you look like you’re my age! But shorter. Sorry, sorry, don’t get mad– But hey, does that mean you’re gonna get older?” “Leviathan, has anyone ever told you you’re scales are pretty? Huh? What’s wrong? Hey, why are you hiding? It’s true!”

But there was one question that stuck out the most.

“Leviathan, don’t you ever want to go back to the sea? Wait that came out wrong– Hey, wait, don’t look like that. I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted to ask. How come you’ve stuck around for so long? Summer’s already almost over.”

Why did the serpent stick around in this human form of his? Originally, the serpent meant to ask Squall why he called him ‘Leviathan’, but instead the serpent’s gotten all caught up in this boy’s pace so much that he responded to the name ‘Leviathan’ without any hesitation or confusion as if it were truly his own. But that isn’t right. A nameless beast just doesn’t getused to being called a name. It had to be bestowed onto him.

“I don’t have a name, you know.”

“You don’t have a… Yes you do. It’s Leviathan, isn’t it?”

That answer again. How frustrating.

“Then, where did the name ‘Leviathan’ come from?”

“A story. It’s about a sea serpent with scales just like yours.”

“And so you thought I was Leviathan just because of that?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you really do match up with the story.”

“Ridiculous. That story doesn’t have anything to do with me. I don’t have a name.”

“You’re saying that again? Fine then how about this– If you really aren’t Leviathan, then why don’t you become Leviathan? It should be easy.”

“…”

“From now on, you’re name is ‘Leviathan’. Now you can’t say you don’t have a name anymore” 

What a simple child, but for some reason ‘Leviathan’ didn’t mind that. 

And so Leviathan continued to live with this human family even after summer passed. Every once in a while, Leviathan went to the sea but never for very long. Nonetheless, sightings of his presence spread, and if anyone knew his name was Leviathan, it was because of Squall who spread the kinder ‘story of Leviathan’ he faithfully believed in since childhood.

Roughly 5 years later, Squall and Leviathan part ways with Joan and Hector, and move together in Dahltir. Leviathan sometimes disappears from town to visit the sea whenever Squall (that adventure loving fool who decided to join the guild) takes on a quest, but it wouldn’t be unusual to find Leviathan in Antheia’s Spring or wandering around the outskirts of town.

General Powers/Abilities/Unusual Traits Description:

No longer a nameless sea serpent, the water faithfully acts to his bidding when he is in his true form. He can manipulate torrents of water, disrupt the ocean waves and cause whirlpools and unforgiving tsunamis, and even raise the sea to create his own chamber of water should he ever need to rise from the water. Though wingless, he can levitate and take to the skies for a while but he only ever does so if the sea waits for him directly below.

In his human form, he can beckon any traces of nearby sources of water and manipulate them however he wishes to. When he’s bored, he likes to levitate a short thin stream of water and spin it around lazily with his finger.

Specific Powers/Abilities/Traits of Note

He can use water to heal wounds

Can purify water with a mere touch

His human form can breathe under water

Extra:

Leviathan has been in his human form for about 5 years but still has the body of a 13 year old. Apparently, his body ages at an extremely slow pace.