#Black Folks Never Die... WE Immortal

[3rdeyeblaque]

Today we venerate Hoodoo Saint Harriet Ross Tubman aka Black Moses on the 110th anniversary of her passing🕊

Whew! A legendary Freedom Fighter, Mama Moses wore many decorated crowns as a mammoth Abolitionist, chief Conductor on the Underground Railroad, an expert Hunte and Lumberjack, a Nurse, an armed scout & spy for the Union Army during the Civil War - becoming the 1st Woman to ever spearhead an armed military assault. Later, she opened her door to the elderly, sick, & disabled, and advocated for them until her death.

Born Araminta "Minty" Ross as the middle child of 9 siblings to enslaved parents on a plantation in Dorchester County, MD, she suffered a massive blow to the head that would spur a lifetime of seizures, headaches, deep slumbers, & visions. She went on to marry a "Free" man by the surname of Tubman & took on her mother's first given name, "Harriet". In 1849, her husband, parents, & siblings were set to be split up & sold off. Under the cover of darkness, she fled the plantation solo on foot and followed the North Star to escape the jaws of slavery by way of Philadelphia, PA. She'd survive13-19 rescue missions back into the Antebellum South, liberating over 300 souls, as the most infamous Conductor on the Underground Railroad who, over the span of a decade, had "never lost a single passenger", which dubbed her the nickname, "Moses". The bounty for her life maxed out at $40K. Freedom wasn't free & Mama Moses never hesitated to remind her passengers of that. She carried herbs to silence a crying baby and pulled a gun on any cowardly man who might give away their position.

"You'll be Free or Die. " - Mama Moses to her passengers on the Underground Railroad.

Venerated as a Hoodoo Saint to many, Mama Moses was a Seer, a Clairvoyant Dreamer, Dream Interpreter, a Revolutionary Conjurer Woman & Rootworker - born to parents of the same cloth. She received Divine messages & Ancestral knowledge/wisedom through prophetic visions & dreams. Mama Moses proudly attributed her unparalleled death defying success to her Divine guidance, Conjure, Rootwork, intuitive gifts & her faithful willingness to trust/follow them.

Folks have a tendency to grossly undermine, if not outright ignore, the significant pillars that Hoodoo Cosmology, Religion, & Tradition played in her life and in her fight for freedom. Recently, archeologists uncovered her "spirit cache" at her family's home in Maryland; these were some of the Blackbelt Hoodoo staples of her time including: glass bottles - for protection against evil spirits, a figurine made it iron nails - possibly a something akin to an Nkisi, a copper button, perfume bottle topper, and other red & blue items.

Mama Moses transitioned peaceful & free at her home/on her land in Auburn, NY where she is rests at the cemetery in Auburn, NY. She is still expected to be immortalized on the $20 bill USD, however that promise has yet to be met.

We pour libations & give Mama Moses her 💐 for her bravery & selfless service. May she bless the elderly, disabled, young, women, & Workers who seek/fight for freedom.

Offering suggestions: Milk, Apples, & Orange flowers

🌟 FINAL copies of The2023 Hoodoo's Calendar are available for purchase (once sold out, that's it)! Subscribe to the official e-newsletter for the latest updates & exclusive content access. https://thehoodoocalendar.square.site 🌟  

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

Zatanna just drove her house into the speedforce one time and I feel like we should talk about it.

Did they call it 'the speedforce'? No but I think it's important to remember that 'the speedforce' was a jokey placeholder name that the speedsters came up with and used so much that it accidentally stuck.

Zatanna and the rest of the cast of Justice League Dark travel to what they call 'the Heart of Chronos'. They describe this dimension as 'the source of all time for every universe'.

Now I ask of you, can there be two dimensions that are the source of all time for every universe? I'm going to go ahead and say no. My conclusion here is that there are just two very different names for the same place. There is the Star Wars joke name and there's the creepy magic name.

But hold on folks, that's not the only similarity.

See, people connected to the speedforce have to deal with the omnipresent threat of the Black Flash. This is an entity (or entities, plural, there's more than one) that seeks to usher speedsters to death. You could say that the Black Flash is a Speedster Grim Reaper. The Black Flash typically looks like a zombie Flash in an all black suit, has glowing red eyes, superspeed and if it touches a speedster the speedster will die (or sometimes turn into one). And not 'die' as in go into the speedforce, no, they will actually die. The Black Flash usually shows up to collect a speedster before they're supposed to die and, in some cases, goes after speedsters who have ripped the fabric of time one too many times. One notable way speedsters have escaped these so called Black Flashes is when Wally ran to the end of time and lured it outside of time itself. Death cannot exist without time and thus it stopped existing.

Now, Justice League Dark visited the Heart of Chronos (also called the center of time) because they'd accidentally ripped the fabric of time while time travelling and those rips were threatening to destroy the fabric of reality.

And what exactly was emerging from those rips in time? These guys:

Zatanna called them 'time gremlins'.

Now right away the similarities are stark. They are all black, they have glowing red eyes, they emerge from rips in time and go after the people who created those rips and they kill anyone they touch (but sometimes they corrupt people). But the really insane part? You wanna know how the magic guys briefly kept safe from them?? They stopped time. The 'time gremlins' couldn't operate without time.

The interesting part of this is that we don't have an origin story for the Black Flashes at all. We just know that sometimes the previous Black Flash infects a new speedster and corrupts them into the new Black Flash. But the Time Gremlins do have an origin story.

The are Pralaya's thoughts personified. Pralaya is the void basically. The opposite of everything and anything. "Call me the Darkness that proceeds the light of creation... Without the Nothing that I embody, the Everything that you so cherish, could never exist." Whenever time is ripped Pralaya is awoken and is able to access everything through the cracks in time. The time gremlins are sent out to usher everything back into darkness so that Pralaya can reset the cycle and begin creation anew.

And I honestly have got to say... this makes the Black Flash make a lot of sense. This makes everything make a lot of sense. Think about it, why would the speedforce send out a Grim Reaper to collect speedsters before they're supposed to die if they go into the speedforce when they die anyway? Doesn't it make more sense that the sentient entity that is the void is sending them out because her entire goal is to reset everything and having a bunch of immortal guys chilling within the speedforce kinda circumvents that. She's trying to get them before they get in there.

And why does the Black Flash look like a Flash and have superspeed? Because he's literally just a corrupted speedster being used to hunt down other speedsters.

The way that Pralaya calls the time gremlins 'thoughts' is just so similar to how the speedforce sometimes personifies 'thoughts'. If they are truly equals and opposites then it would make sense that they would be able to do vaguely similar things.

I've always wondered how the Gorillas in Gorilla City knew all about Barry becoming a Black Flash and how it'd affect everyone. And how the Cult of Cicada knew that the speedforce was the key to reversing death. Where did this lore even come from? But if the speedforce is actually codified into myth as 'the Heart of Chronos' then suddenly it makes a lot of sense why this is accessible information for cults.

Also look at how they show this corrupting black goop that turns people into the Black Flash in the Flash comics. It's the same thing. Wally calls it 'the death aspect of the speedforce', Thawne calls it 'the negative speedforce', but it really really just seems to be Pralaya's power.

[stesierra]

I am not a short story writer. Everything I touch turns into a novel usually. But I did write a short story once! Here it is. YA fantasy I guess. Maybe someday I'll write a novel set in this world. Trigger warning: the MC is a ghost.

The Unfamous Dead

After I die, my house stands empty for three damn years. The iron memorial cross Mom put up outside topples at the end of year one. Year two, it’s nicked by a drunk. He’ll probably batter someone with it. Iron’s heavy.

Year three, the landlord brings a man and woman to tour. All three stare right through me, even when I start dancing. Dancing’s easy when gravity doesn’t affect you and you can’t hurt yourself. Being dead isn’t so bad. I tell myself that a lot, especially when I start thinking about how things could’ve been different. If I hadn’t been so eager to move out at the end of high school. If I’d agreed to stay in a dorm. If someone from our band had stayed the night and noticed the stroke that killed me, a week before classes started.

A stroke’s the last way I’d have chosen to die, if anyone had given me a choice. It’s fast, but it happens to people all the time. If you’re a young man, that’s weird, but no one will remember you for dying that way. You won’t even get an article in the newspaper.

A month after the tour, a family pulls up in a U-haul. The doors open to spill children and houseplants out onto the cracked driveway. There are two kids and two parents, the family traditional. They don’t have a dog. Too bad. If dogs can see ghosts, maybe it could’ve pointed me out to its folks. I’m never going to get famous haunting a bunch of idiots who can’t see me.

The boy is ten, the girl maybe six. His hair is puffy and black and in need of a trim. Hers is done up in cornrows. Their parents let them tear around the yard and ruin the dandelion field until everything’s out of the truck. Then their mom shepherds them inside with a hand on each kid’s shoulder.

The dad leads the way into the house and straight through me, calling back over his shoulder, “Honey, where did we pack the microwave?”

“It’s in the big box with the linens, remember?” The mother steps past me, but the kids stare with rounded eyes. The little girl’s thumb drops from her mouth, and her black eyes glisten alarmingly.

I’ve planned for years to scare the bejesus out of the first idiots to move into the house I haunt. I didn’t expect it to be kids, okay? I make a quick change of plans.

From behind the door of the coat closet, where I take shelter, I have a front row seat for the family’s first fight in their new home. The parents tell their daughter she’s got an overactive imagination and should act more like her brother. The daughter is outraged. The brother, who saw me too, says nothing.

“Scaring children now, David?” asks the angel beside me.

“Shut up,” I say, and press farther back into the closet. Great. She’s here again.

Maybe I should have mentioned before that there’s an angel hanging around here. She showed up a month after I died, bothering me about moving on, and she never left. She’s an odd, colorless creature, more felt than seen. She flickers dimly next me. “This will make you famous? Perhaps you ought to give in and pass on.”

I shake my head. I’m not having this conversation again. I’ve always yearned to be famous, and why should dying change that? But when she gets started, she goes on about me damaging the fabric of reality. She must be immortal, because no one with a time limit would waste years stalking a dead guy.

“Children see things the rest of the world cannot. It will be difficult for you to avoid them while they live here. But there is an easy solution—”

“No, seriously, shut up. I’m not leaving, and you’re not even a real angel, I’m pretty sure.”

“You’re the one who called me that,” the angel says.

“Shut up.” Like I said, she’s more felt than seen. When I met her, I named the parts I felt arms and legs and wings because not naming them made me feel even more nuts than just being a ghost already did. She’s got wings. What else could she be?

The upstairs doors clatter open and closed; the kids must be over their tantrums and picking out rooms. I press my insubstantial knees to my chest and wait for nightfall.

That night, the parents settle down with a six-pack and a couple of books. Maybe their cable’s not connected yet. The kids are nowhere to be seen. I creep up the stairs. The angel follows.

The little girl’s shoes are outside the first bedroom door. Down at the end of the hall, another door is shut. I pass through it. There’s not much to see inside. Mom and Dad dragged a bed in and put a sleeping bag down on it, under which the boy is now curled. Music books are piled on the floor next to a disassembled IKEA bookshelf, and a black electronic keyboard lurks in the corner behind the bed. The blinds on the windows are open, and the gibbous moon casts down light that washes the color from everything. Pale and ghostly, I fit right in.

I lean down over the bed. I can feel the angel at my back, watching. I whisper in the boy’s ear, “You know, piano’s for chumps. Forget piano. Guitar is where you want to be.”

The whites of his eyes are vivid against his dark skin. He sits up on the bed and pulls the shirt of his Spider-Man pajamas tight. He sticks out his lower lip and says, “My parents want me to learn piano.”

“You always do what your parents want you to do?”

He straightens then, gaze challenging. “They wouldn’t like me talking to a ghost.”

I take a seat over the bed, cross-legged in the air. The angel is behind me, but he doesn’t see her. “Well, you’re old enough to make your own decisions, aren’t you?” I stick out a hand. “David.”

He reaches out and brushes his fingers through mine. “I’m Anthony.”

***

Anthony is a breath of fresh air, sweeping out the staleness that’s clogged this dump for the last three years. At night, when we talk about bands and music and why piano’s for stiffs, he tells me he’s not afraid of ghosts. Hell yeah, he’s afraid of ghosts. I can tell. I was a ten-year-old boy once, too. I avoid his sister; she’s not any closer to pissing herself at the sight of me than he is, but she doesn’t try to hide it like her brother.a

The kid is a prodigy. He spends hours every day tapping out songs on his keyboard. He writes them himself. If he’d apply himself to a decent instrument — say, a guitar — he could make something out of his life. Black kid songwriter jams with the stars — can’t you see the headlines now? He could be famous. He could make me famous. A ghost that’s your best friend, that’s practically begging for a single, isn’t it? But Anthony doesn’t have a guitar, and no one ever got famous by having a piano solo written about them.

Anthony gives his eighth piano concert and turns thirteen before a brightly wrapped pear-shaped present with a long handle shows up under the Christmas tree. It’s acoustic. Cheap-ass grandparents. Up in his room after Christmas dinner, as he fingers the strings experimentally, I mutter, “It’s somewhere to start, at least.”

Anthony glances down at the guitar and babbles some shit about the model and make and how it cost five hundred dollars.

“Whatever. It doesn’t have a plug.”

The angel makes herself known then. Her face is set in a frown. “Do you persist in trying to make the child over into yourself? You are no better than his parents, who you complain are pushing him into music too young and denying him a childhood.”

I ignore her, like usual when Anthony’s around. He thinks I’m weird enough without me talking to people he can’t see.

Couldn’t see. Now, his head turns toward her. He sets the guitar gently down on the bed beside him. “I love the piano, and I only do as many concerts as I want. I’m thirteen, not a kid. What the hell are you? Why are you in my room?”

The angel vanishes.

Anthony clambers off the bed, staring at the empty spot where she was. “David, why was there an alien in my room? Where did it go? Why does it know you? Do you really complain about Mom and Dad?”

“An alien? She looked like an alien to you?”

“It didn’t look human, like you.”

“She didn’t look like an angel?”

“It sure didn’t look like any I’ve ever heard of.” He hesitates and picks up his new guitar to cradle against his chest. “That’s not what you really are, is it?”

I put my hands up. “Whoa. Of course not. I’m dead David, your buddy. Look, I’m going to go get that thing out of our house. Okay? I’ll go and do that.”

I don’t give him a chance to argue. I can move fast when I want to.

The angel is downstairs, standing with wings and arms folded, dourly watching Natasha play her video games. The girl doesn’t notice; she stopped seeing me years ago.

I stalk up to the angel. “What the hell was that?”

Her eyes are colorless and too large. “I told you, David. You are damaging reality by staying here.”

“Because he could see you? How is that damaging reality? You’re real, aren’t you? You’re really here, just like I am.”

“The Intangible and Tangible are separate realms, David. You damage that separation. If you hadn’t stayed, Anthony would have outgrown seeing the Intangible outside of dreams, just as his sister did.”

“If they’re so separate, why can he see me at all?”

“Humans filter what they see through their limited comprehension. They can comprehend ghosts more easily than other things. Creatures of greater power are beyond them. Due to your meddling, the boy may see me now, but he cannot see me as I truly am.”

“Can I?”

She doesn’t answer. On the other side of the room, Natasha punches out a virtual bad guy, and “K.O!” flashes bright across the screen.

The angel’s face has never held much expression, but now her still features seem secretive. I say, “I’m not doing anything to reality, am I? You’re hiding. Your people, whatever they are — which is not angels, by the way — are hiding, and I’m helping him see you!”

The angel turns towards the frost-painted front window. I can see through her to the boots and mittens in a pile by the front door. Her voice is as cold as her face. “You have your way, then, David Fundley. I hope that you come to realize you are ruining his life before it is too late. It is already too late for yours.”

With that last passive-aggressive comment, the angel is gone.

***

Two years pass. I rejoice in living — ha ha — in an angel-free space. Anthony thinks I’m a hero for driving the “alien” away. I bask in his admiration like a hideous lizard on a sunny rock. Sure, she left on her own, but he doesn’t need to know that. Anthony shoots up half a foot when puberty hits him hard, and he gets real quiet while his voice breaks. I tell him after school, as he clings to his piano and plays away his stresses, that at least he’s not a singer.

Three days after his fifteenth birthday, I try to convince him to take up singing.

“If you just play piano and guitar, you’ll never front a band,” I tell him.

Anthony keeps playing Rachmaninoff’s third concerto, his hands rippling across the keys like a crab caught skittering and tumbling in the surf. “I’m a concert soloist. I’m not going to have a band.”

“Well, not if you keep on the way you have been.”

He ignores me. I let him alone.

Downstairs, the windows are thrown open to the spring afternoon. His parents aren’t home; Anthony’s old enough for them to trust him with the house. A robin sings, its lilting voice slow and soothing compared to the pounding intensity of Rachmaninoff. Strange, there’s usually more than one of them. I step up to the window screen. A smell hits me, sour and sickly, like an old bag of lettuce rotting at the bottom of a refrigerator. I grimace. Has some kid been smearing dog shit on the siding? Has some animal crawled under the window and died?

I walk around the living room. The same death smog comes in all the windows. What is this? I turn back to the first window, and the shock of what I see hits me like another blood vessel bursting in my brain.

There’s a thing on the other side, staring at me and drooling. It’s winged, like the angel, but it has too many wings and too many eyes, eyes that pop from every gnarled knuckle. And believe me, with as many limbs as this crawling monstrosity has, it has a lot of knuckles.

“Oh shit!”

It leans its big, snouty face towards the window, then jumps up to cling to the side of the building with claws the length of my hand. For a moment, all I can see is its belly. Then it tears the screen off, and it is too big to fit through but it does.

I run. The house has never felt so much of a trap as it does now. I scream up the stairs, “Anthony! Get out the window! Run! Run run run run!”

The doors to the downstairs rooms are open. There’s no basement, no hidden crawlspace, nowhere to go but up. I hit the stairs and pray Anthony’s already thrown the fire ladder out the window and climbed to safety. I pray that someone has left a door closed upstairs and the monster can’t tear hinges off as easy as it can screens.

The monster stampedes up the steps behind me.

I reach the top of the stairs. All the doors stand open.

“David! In here!”

I don’t waste time despairing that Anthony is an idiot and couldn’t climb out a window to save his fucking life. I jump into his room, and just as the monster comes up the last of the steps, Anthony slams the door in its face.

“You were supposed to get out,” I snarl at him.

The monster scrabbles at the door, a sound like twenty dogs on a hardwood floor, and then the handle turns. The door flies open, and the monster lunges inside. Anthony meets it with an empty guitar case to the head, but the case bounces like rubber. Then the monster’s on me, claws sunk deep. Dying hurt worse, I tell myself as its furnace-breath sears my insubstantial face. Dying hurt more.

I’m lying.

For an eternity, there’s nothing but claws in my soul and rotten breath in my face and Anthony’s screams in my ears. Then, without warning, the monster releases me, and I shoot back out of its grasp like a greased eel.

I push myself up on the floor and find the monster’s head level with mine. I scramble away, but it doesn’t move. A shining sword is run through what passes for its spine. As I watch, the monster collapses into gooey black liquid that puddles across everything. A moment later, it dries up and flakes away, leaving nothing behind but a terrible smell of decay.

A translucent hand stretches out to pluck the sword from the floor. The angel is back.

I meet the angel downstairs after Anthony’s finished throwing up. Her sword is nowhere to be seen now. “I told you that staying could have terrible consequences, David,” she says.

I just nod. I want to ask what that was, but I know she won’t tell. “So. Was what Anthony saw there filtered through his own limited comprehension, or did he see the same sick thing I did?”

She cocks her head. “He saw a monster, yes.”

“It wanted to eat me.”

“For some creatures, a loose soul is a tender meal.”

“Would it have gone after the family after it chowed down on me?”

“Perhaps. The boy, most likely, because he could see it.”

Because he tried to defend me. I stare at the wall. “If I left now, would he outgrow seeing supernatural things?”

The angel’s eyes are eager. “With nothing to remind him, he would become normal. It would protect him.”

“Let me think about it.” I turn and walk away, and the angel doesn’t follow. I don’t need to think. I just need to be away from her.

It wasn’t Anthony seeing ghosts that brought the monster — the demon — down on this house. It was me. It’s always been me that brought strange things to this house: angels, demons. Acoustic guitars.

Anthony’s outside of his room, trying to sand the claw marks out of the door with his dad’s tools. I tell him I’m leaving.

“You can’t leave,” Anthony says.

“I have to.” I remember what grief felt like when I was alive and had a throat to clench, eyes to sting. “I’m not calling anything else like that down on you. Okay? But you have to promise me something.”

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“Promise me you’ll always remember. There are things in the world that are not normal, and they want to feed you the lie that they don’t exist. Pretend you can’t see them, but don’t forget. If you forget, you’ll be their sheep, like everyone else.”

“You could stay and watch my back.”

“No, I can’t. I’m dead. You have to go out and play piano concertos. I’m stuck to this building until I decide it’s time to leave. That’s now, I think.”

Letting go must be easy. It’s not an action, really. It’s stopping. Stopping the strain to cling to the world with my fingerprints, to retain the memory of a face, of hands.

I hate long goodbyes. I let go.

I’m nothing more than a shadow of mist when a last thought comes to me. “And if you ever get a chance to bust humanity out of its brain-washing, promise me you’ll take it! That would be awesome!”

I don’t know if he heard me — there wasn’t much me left to hear — but he waves a scribble-covered piece of paper. It might be a song about me, or a grocery list for all I know. I pretend it’s the former as I step into nothing, into all the potential afterlives in the universe, and wait to see what comes next.

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

@palebdot

@Hyba

@da-na-hae

[the-knights-who-say-book]

song lyrics that make me confront my very real and unfortunate attraction to fictional character Gideon Nav

They say we are what we are, but we don’t have to be I’m bad behavior but I do it in the best way I’ll be the watcher of the eternal flame I’ll be the guard dog of all your fever dreams

(Fall Out Boy, Immortals)

He's laying in the water begging God to let him drown So I showed him all my teeth and then I laughed out loud 'Cause I never wanted saving, I just wanted to be found

(Halsey, The Lighthouse)

I'm sleeping on your folk's porch again, dreaming She said, she said, she said, "Why don't you just drop dead?"

(Fall Out Boy, A Little Less Sixteen Candles)

We're going down, down in an earlier round And sugar, we're going down swinging I'll be your number one with a bullet A loaded God complex, cock it and pull it

(Fall Out Boy, Sugar, We’re Goin Down)

I've been around the world and never in my wildest dreams Would I come running home to you I've told a million lies but now I tell a single truth There's you in everything I do

(Imagine Dragons, I Bet My Life)

So take my pockets, take me home Take my life, and take my soul Wrap me in a wedding ring You know I swear I'd give you anything

(Halsey, Ya'aburnee)

Like a moth to light, like a beast to bate And I know the black widow eats its mate It's wrong but I want you tonight

(The Correspondents, Fear & Delight)

I’ve blown apart my life for you And bodies hit the floor for you And break me, shake me, devastate mе Come here, baby, tell me that I'm wrong

(Florence + the Machine, The Bomb)

Sometimes it feels like the side that I'm on Plays the toughest hand, holds the longest stand Sometimes it feels like I'm all that they've got It's so hard to know I'm not what they want

(Tegan and Sara, I’m Not Your Hero)

If you bear a heavy load I'll be your wheels, I'll be the road I'll see us through the thick and thin For love and loss until the end

(Brandi Carlile, Carried Me With You)

I love the world but I just don't love the way it makes me feel Got a few more fake friends And it's getting hard to know what's real

(Fall Out Boy, Church)

The only thing that's ever stopping me is me I testify if I die in my sleep Then know that my life was just a killer dream

(Fall Out Boy, Stay Frosty Royal Milk Tea)

Oh I'm an heiress to goodbye And I, I know it's nothing I can repair, it's Just I'm not leaving you this time I don't feel that young anymore

(Molly Ofgeography, the war)

[hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon]

This is largely for @ryebreadlord

So...something about Jersey does weird things to the people who come from it, and subsequently the music they make, which explains two of my favorite bands being My Chemical Romance and The Gaslight Anthem. due to being raised on the latter and falling head over heels in love with the former at age fourteen, the discographies of these bands exist in conversation in my head. can I rationally explain these conversations? the answer is: sometimes!

Basically, this is why The Spirit of Jazz (Gaslight Anthem) and Save Yourself I’ll Hold Them Back (MCR) are married in my head.

To begin, there’s a few superficial similarities between the songs:

In the second verses of both songs there are mentions to dark haired lovers and a special relationship between the narrator and their lover:

“ So what now, lover with your long black hair? If I cut you open, baby, I can repair. Bandage your wounds with the salt on my tongue. And I'm the only one around here ” (The Gaslight Anthem)

“ I'm the only friend that makes you cry, You're a heart attack in black hair dye” (My Chemical Romance)

Both songs loosely allude to a vague form of immortality via movies and music, suggesting that the narrator is aware of the story they are telling:

“ The Cool is dead, baby, go on to sleep, Rest your weary head and love a better me, And in the morning we'll start over again, That's how they do it up on the screen “ (The Gaslight Anthem)

“ They say we're never leaving this place alive, But if you sing these words, we'll never die” and “ This ain't about all the friends you made, But the graffiti they write on your grave” (My Chemical Romance)

These are superficial similarities, but they allow me to get the ball rolling and thoughts percolating.

To me, the songs are just similar enough in ideas and concepts mentioned to plausibly create two perspectives of one narrative. Two snapshots of one story, if you will, with the individual context of each song creating a larger narrative. Save Yourself I’ll Hold Them Back has a narrator who is simultaneously desperate and hopeful, screaming for their lover to get out and save themselves while also saying that as long as they keep hope and beauty in the world, none of them will truly die. The Spirit of Jazz has a narrator who is nostalgic, remembering previous times with a lover and waiting for that lover to return, while still professing their love. To me, these narrators are one and the same, just separated by time. At first, the narrator is young and in a desperate situation, sending their lover away for their safety. Later, they are waiting, wondering if they will ever see that lover again. At no time do they ever doubt their devotion to each other, there is the question of whether they did the right thing.

To compare the choruses:

“ Was I good to you, the wife of my youth? Not another soul could love you like my rotten bones do, So I will wait on the edges in between, These New York streets where you and I would meet” (The Gaslight Anthem)

“ We can leave this world, leave it all behind, We can steal this car if your folks don't mind, We can live forever if you've got the time “ (My Chemical Romance)

These are in conversation with each other. In an earlier time, the narrator and their lover wanted to run away, and claimed they would live forever. Later, the narrator is waiting, perhaps forever, for their lover to come back to them. The Gaslight Anthem song mentions waiting multiple times throughout the song. In the lens I’m using, this can be viewed as the narrator waiting at an arranged safe point after being separated, and wondering if their lover is ever going to meet them there.

Additionally, both songs make references to times when the narrator has saved their lover from pain, both self-inflicted or otherwise:

“Get off the ledge and drop the knife, Not a victim of a victim's life, Because this ain't a room full of suicides, We're believers, I believe tonight” (My Chemical Romance)

“And only I can heal your wounds, Only I can heal your wounds, When you can't go on, when you can't go on, When you can't go on, when you know, hold on” (The Gaslight Anthem)

Finally, one of the more blatant similarities with the narrator describing their lover:

“ But I'm a cannonball to a house on fire, And you're slow like Motown soul” (The Gaslight Anthem”

“ You're the broken glass in the morning light, Be a burning star if it takes all night” (My Chemical Romance)

Both of these songs describe the narrator’s lover as moving slower or ‘taking all night’, which supports the narrative I’m establishing. Of course the narrator is giving their lover time to escape, the lover moves slower and needs time(a whole night) to get away. And of course the narrator, much later, is still waiting for their lover to reappear, they take their time like soul music does. I also love how both lines shown here reference the lover in close proximity to fire and destruction.

Both songs are also oddly hopeful! Save Yourself I’ll Hold Them Back continuously states that the narrator and their lover are going to live forever, while The Spirit of Jazz remembers the old times with only fondness and repeatedly states that the narrator will wait as long as it takes to see their lover again.

To sum up: To someone who listens to a lot of sad yet oddly hopeful rock music from Jersey, these songs have a lot in common and can form a narrative when put together. Go listen to them, I provided links. Stay tuned for when I compare more songs!

[scrittore-morto]

Never Was One for Surprises

Percy Jackson based, but takes place a number of years after canon events

Thought to myself, if I might end up putting my book on here, might as well add a bit of a backstory beforehand🤷

wc: 1.8k

“Hey Lucy, I’m gonna go get some water from the stream okay?”

“Yeah sounds great! Just be back in like ten minutes I guess? I should be done getting our stuff set out by then.”

“Ivory, Ivory wake up. IVOR!”

Ivor jolts out of her sleep. Never will get a good night's sleep now will I eh? Ivor looks around the room realizing that she once again, fell asleep in her study. Now the study wasn’t a bad place to sleep. It was quiet, she could get started on her work again right as she woke up, and no one ever came in here. Well, besides one person.

“Rise and shine Ivory, we've got a big day ahead of us!” Ivory let out a sound of displeasure.

“I know for a fact you only say that to make me get up faster Apollo.” 

Apollo had been doing this ever since he took her in, he’d wake her up, then tell her they had something super important to do and had to get moving quickly, quicker than she was used to. This had worked for about the first year or so until she realized that everything appeared to be important to him, although the man was immortal, so she never understood how everything was so important.

“Yes I know you know but it still gets you moving so I will continue to preach it!” Apollo exclaimed. How he has so much energy I will never understand.

When Ivory finished getting ready and came out of her study (which thankfully had a full bathroom inside) she was dressed in a tight turtleneck shirt, black cargo pants, and a pair of black combat boots. Reason for all black? To go unnoticed of course. Sometimes it worked like when it was dark outside, in the winter, or big cities. But a decent amount of the time it didn’t as she commonly found herself down in sunny states or areas that had lots of old folks. (Like North Dakota for example.) She didn’t mind being watched though, she grew up constantly being watched. People thought she was a ticking time bomb waiting to be set off and with the kind of people she had to deal with every day, she didn’t blame people for thinking that.

“So what’s this oh-so-important big day all about,” Ivory said, there was no malice in her tone, just sarcasm and genuine curiosity. They were stepping out of the elevator into the lobby of her apartment complex. People stopped asking her who the man was who came to get her every once and a while, yet never seemed to age. The old man at the desk even stopped asking him where he needed to go, just nodded his head at Apollo and let him continue on his merry way. It’d been like this for years.

“We just gotta do the routine checkup with ol’ Z and then we’ll be on our way. Now that I’m thinking about it, you still haven’t told me what you want for your birthday yet kid.” Apollo smiled at her as he said that and held open the door for her. Ivory inwardly groaned at the mention of one having to meet “ol’ Z” as he called him, and two her birthday, but continued outside as normal.

“I’ve told you how many times now? I don’t celebrate my birthday, never have, never will.” She looked over at Apollo and noticed how forlorn he looked after mentioning that again as if the thought of not doing anything for her birthday would kill him. (He couldn't die mind you, he’s immortal, but sometimes it feels like he forgets that fact.) 

“But if you must get something for it, I could use a new vinyl and maybe some more Legos. I’ve finished all the albums ten times over and grown bored of putting the same sets together.” Apollo’s face instantly brightened at the mention of the albums and then went on a tangent about the new music that had come out recently.

As they entered the Empire State Building Apollo still didn’t stop talking. She could have sworn he sped up but when they got up to the front desk he stopped and Ivory stepped back. Apollo had a quick talk with the man at the desk and he laughed and gave Apollo the key.

“Thanks, Aimilios, see you in a bit!” Apollo walked over to Ivory and tapped both his pointer and middle finger on her shoulder and they both set off towards the elevator.

When they got inside Apollo handed the key off to Ivory to use. She put the key into the slot and turned until she heard a small click and a golden button appeared that said 600 on it. Now if Ivory were still only a child, she would have marveled in wonder at how a key could make another button appear, let alone let it skip from floor 102 to 600. But Ivory was fifteen now, she’d been taking this route for six years, and she pressed the button and stepped back into line with Apollo.

When they stepped out of the elevator and onto Olympus, people turned and watched them with the same wonder they had years prior. I come up here at least ten times in a month, Ivory thought. Why do they still look at me like that? However in the back of her mind, Ivory knew it was bound to be this way no matter how old she got and how many times she was up here because, as stated in previous years, mortals rarely come up here. The last time mortals came up as often as Ivory did was when Percy Jackson was still a teenager, and he’s old now. Why yes he has an elder boy and a young girl she was told when she asked Apollo once. When she was in her apartment and got bored, she would go over to her desk and take out a battered and bruised notebook that held all the details she could remember from stories she heard of him. Quite the ruckus he caused, not that it was in vain, he did save Olympus after all.

When they got to the top of the mountain, they walked over to Apollo’s chair, he sat down and Ivory stood to the right of him. 

They were not the first here she noticed, though they never were and on quite a few occasions were late. It never seemed to bother Apollo though so she didn’t dare mention it. 

Hephaestus was the closest to her, sitting only a chair away from her. Ivory quite liked Hephaestus, he never made a fuss when it came to her sitting in on their meetings. He helped her with some of her Legos when she was younger and couldn’t figure out where she went wrong. 

Athena was on the other side of the U shape that the chairs made. She was always the first one here at meetings and the last to leave. Athena was also the one who insisted that Ivory be taken to Camp Half-Blood to learn the proper fighting techniques as she said. When Apollo waved her off and said that Ivory would be fine, Athena didn’t take it lightly. Ivory walked up to her when Apollo was busy talking with Artemis about something and had probably one of the most passive conversations she’d ever had with the goddess.

“I know you want me to go to that camp place and Apollo doesn’t want me to.” A younger version of Ivory said. Athena looked over at her, waiting for her to continue. Ivory looked the goddess right in the eyes and continued.

“He’ll teach me a ton, I know he will. But it won’t be what you think is expected of me to learn. It won’t be what the other kids learn but that’s because I won’t be doing what the other kids do. If you want though, I can teach myself the things the campers learn and apply what I can to what Apollo is teaching me.” Ivory stated, Athena just stared down at the girl, nodded, and walked away. Ivory still gets packets of what the other campers her age are learning to this day.

Artemis was also there, looking over at Apollo. Apollo smiled brightly at her, but she just nodded and turned her head towards Athena and started a conversation. Apollo told Ivory one day that Artemis doesn’t like the fact that Ivory can be with the other Olympians but her hunters (mainly Thalia, daughter of Zeus,) can not. Ivory has tried to mend the gap between herself and Artemis before, but they’re both quite stubborn Artemis is a goddess, and Ivory is mortal.

Dionysus walked in a few moments ago. He and Ivory have had a few conversations about theater and the kids at camp, but he can never remember anyone’s name and it annoys her beyond belief, so she tries to steer clear of him.

Ares and Aphrodite walk up together but separate to go sit in their respective seats. 

Ivory has a love-hate relationship with Ares for many reasons but the main one is wanting to get her involved in every war that could ever possibly happen. As Apollo has made clear many times, Ivory is still a minor, not even the right age to be drafted (or the right gender as Ares so kindly mentioned, to which he got a pillow to the head by Athena and a comment along the lines of, anyone can do anything if they work for it) so he shouldn’t be trying to get her thrown into a war.

Aphrodite has surprisingly never said one mean thing to Ivory which shocked her a great deal. Aphrodite has given Ivory a great number of gifts, mainly perfumes, hair care, skincare, and the works. Ivory has thanked her numerous times, and told her she didn’t need all this but Aphrodite has never seemed to care and would just laugh and say, Of course you do dear, and then be on her merry way.

The rest, Ivory has rarely spoken to outside of the usual greeting when they saw each other after meetings and such but they never went out of their way to make her have an opinion on them. Besides Hermes, he actively avoids Ivory for some odd reason.

Thankfully everyone shows up before Zeus and Hera this time and no threats were made to one another. The meeting goes on as usual until someone walks up and stands beside Artemis. This baffles Ivory and she glances over to Apollo who just has a smirk on his face. Ivory looks back over to the girl only to find that she is already looking over at her. Ivory nods her head at the girl and she nods back.

Ivory then takes a look over at Zeus to try and make a guess at what’s going on and finds that Zeus appears to be distraught at the sudden arrival.

Zeus then narrows his eyes and speaks directly to the girl who just walked up.

“Thalia, what a pleasure it is to see you again.”

[medlabmech]

So, here's a fun prompt!

What is a film/game/book/anything that has an all over the place, wack as fuck aesthetic and vibe....and yet it still works for you and you can't help but find it endearing?

I'll go first! For me it's the 2011 film "Immortals" with Henry Cavil

Among others, this acid trip of a film based on Theseus has stuff like:

A mural with the artstyle that modern Greek churches use to depict saints and bible scenes. In an ancient Greek setting

The titans aren't giant. They're regular sized folk with flaky, pitch black skin, who zerg rush you and die in slow mo. Also the movie seems to say that gods and titans are one and the same, Immortals who can kill eachother and that "titan" is a degoratory term for those who lost the war

The McGuffin is a bow that shoots energy arrows. This is treated as the most OP thing ever.

Theseus is constantly seen wearing pants. Like....a modern pair of long pants.... In an ancient Greek setting

Every single fucking city is built on a cliffside. This Greece seems to be just cliffsides and Giorgio de Chirico painting vibes

Oh, did I mention that the film uses the "Mexico" colour filter?

The headgear in this movie are INSANE. Whoever was the costume designer for this was having a FEILD DAY. We have stuff like: Ares' helmet has a mohawk of swords. Poseidon wears some bizarre, oversized ornate seashell earmuff looking....thing. some oracles wear a whole fucking chandelier on top of their heads. The main villain's helmet can best be described as a cross between the Hollow Knight's head and a vagina dentata

The whole Theseus myth is worked like this in the film: Theseus has to bury his mom in a goddamm labyrinth for some reason. The thread of Ariadne is Theseus' OWN BLOODY FOOTPRINTS he makes by slicing his leg open. And the minotaur is the villain's bull themed BDSM luchador henchmen (who also smashes some dude's balls earlier in the movie)

There is a part where Athena is hiding her presence with what is essentially magic body painting. This is never brought up again.

I will say tho the final battle where the gods are fighting the titans is EPIC. It's this bloody spectacle where every titan killed flies independently in slow mo, like MK 11 fatalities

I'm so curious to see your replies!!!! Tag your fave mutuals if you want, but this post is for all my followers to see!☺️☺️

[harrelltut]

卍 abracadabra… abracadabra… abracadabra… I Now [NWO] Magically INVOKE [MI = MICHAEL] ALL [MA] Primitively Ancient [PA = SUPERNATURAL] Black SOULS of Magically INVISIBLE [MI = MICHAEL] Phantasmic Bodies of SIRIUS Black [B] Memory intEL [MELanin] from Inner Earth’s [HADES] HIDDEN Nubian Underworld States of Atlantis [USA = LEMURIA] since I BEE So SUPERCONSCIOUS of My Biblically Black [Ancient] Egyptian [BAE = COSMIC] ORIGINS from QUANTUM BLACK ATLANTIS [QBA = BABYLON] on HARRELLTV® 卍

[davidmann95]

Sooo… Superman and the Authority?

magnus-king123 asked: Your thoughts on Superman & the authority Give it to me...lol

Anonymous asked: Seeing Bezos take his little trip into space the same day Morrison puts out a Superman comic that touches on how far we’ve fallen from the days when we dreamed of utopian futures where everyone explored the stars was a big gut punch. Not used to Superman being topical in that way.

Anonymous asked: What'd you think of Superman and the Authority#1?

This is far beyond what I can fit in the normal weekly reviews, so taking this as my notes on the first six pages, with this and this as my major lead-in thoughts:

* Janin's such a perfect fit for Morrison - the scale, the power, the facial expressions selling the character work, the screwing around with the panel formatting as necessary to sell the effect, the numinous sense of things going on larger than you can fully perceive amidst the beauty and chaos. It's a shame he wasn't around 25 years ago to draw JLA, but I'll take him going with Morrison onto other future projects.

* His intro action sequence is such a great demonstration of why Black actually does have something to offer, and also how he's such a dumbass desperately needing Superman to save him from himself.

* While Jordie Bellaire didn't legit go with an entirely monochromatic palate the way early previews suggested, it's still an effect frequently and excellently deployed here. And glad to see Steve Wands carry into this from Blackstars since there's such an obvious carryover from its work with Superman.

* "Gentlemen. Ladies. Others." Great both because of the obvious - hey, Superman's nodding at me! - and because it's a phrasing that reinforces that this take on him (and let's be real Morrison) is old as hell.

* I'm mostly past caring about whether this is an alt-Earth Superman until it becomes indisputable one way or another, this and Action both rule so what does it really matter? But while there are still a couple signs in play suggesting some kind of division (the Action Comics #1036 cover, Midnighter up to time-travel shenanigans) the "lost in time" quote clearly thrown in after the fact to explain how he could have met Kennedy outside of 5G that wouldn't be necessary for an Elseworlds, the assorted gestures towards Superman's current status quo, the Kingdom Come symbol appearing in Action, and that Morrison would have had to completely rewrite the ending if this wasn't supposed to be 'the' version of Clark Kent going forward as was the intent when they first planned it all say to me that no, no fooling around, this is our guy going forward one way or another.

* Janin and Bellaire making the first version of the crystal Fortress ever that actually looks as cool as you want it to.

Anonymous asked: I like that Superman and The Authority is basically the anti-All-Star; instead of the laid back, immortal Superman who is supercharged, we have a stressed, ageing Superman whose tremendous powers are fading. The former will always be there to save us, but the latter is running out of time and needs to pull off a Hail Mary. Also, he mentions in his monologue to Black that he was "lost in time" when he met JFK, so maybe he is the main continuity Clark. Or he's the t-shirt Supes from Sideways.

* You're absolutely right - the power reversal is obvious and the ticking clock in play seemingly isn't for his own survival but everyone around him as he wakes up and realizes all the old icons grew complacent with the gains they'd made and he's not leaving behind the world he meant to. Both, however, are built on the idea of preparing the world to not need them anymore - it'll still have a Superman in his son, but that'll only work because of the others he empowers and inspires. The question is what happens to Clark if he's not going to live in the sun for 83000 years.

* Clark's 'exercise' here does more to sell me on the idea of Old Man Superman as a cool idea than however many decades of Earth 2 stuff.

* Intergang being noted alongside Darkseid and Doomsday speaks to how much Kirby informed Morrison's conception of Superman.

* This isn't exactly the most progressive in its disability politics but at least it makes clear Black's being a piece of shit about it.

* It's startling how much Clark can get away with saying stuff in here you'd never expect to come out of Superman's mouth. "I made an executive decision" "Privacy, really...?" "You have nowhere to go, Black. Nothing to live for." "There are few people in my life who I instinctively and viscerally dislike, and you've always been one of them." It only works because there's zero aggression behind it, he's just past the point of niceties and being totally frank while making clear none of these assessments preclude that he cares and is going to unconditionally do the right thing every time. He is absolutely, per Morrison, humanity's dad picking us up when we're too drunk to drive ourselves home.

* The story doesn't put a big flashing light over it, but it's not even a little bit subtle having the material threat of the issue be a ticking timebomb left by the carelessness and hubris of generations past.

* Manchester keeps trying to poke the bear and prove his hot takes about Superman and it's just not working. The front he put up under Kelley is gone after decades of defeats, and as Morrison understands what actually conceptually works about him as a rival to Superman underneath the aging nerd paranoia he's exposed as what he absolutely would be in 2021: a dude with a horrific terminal case of Twitter brainworms. I was PANICKED when I heard there was an 'offensive term' joke in this, I was braced for Morrison at their well-meaning worst, but it's such a goddamn perfect encapsulation of a very specific breed of Twitter leftist who uses their politics first and foremost as a cudgel and justification to label their abrasive, judgmental shittiness as self-righteousness (plus it's a killer payoff to a joke from way back in his original appearance). Cannot believe they pulled that off when they're so very, very open about basically not knowing how the internet works.

* @charlottefinn: Manchester Black using his telekinetic powers to force someone he hates to fave a problematic tweet so that he can screenshot it and start a dogpile

@intergalactic-zoo: “Once they cancel Bibbo, Superman won’t be *anyone’s* fav’rit anymore!”

* Friend noted this issue had to be fully the conversation because the whole premise stands on the house of cards of these two somehow working together, and with three 'silent' inset panels the creative team pulls off that turning point.

* So much of this feels on the surface like Morrison bringing back the All-Star vibes with Clark, but when he drops a "That's all you got?" in a brawl you realize what's underlining that bluntness and confidence in the face of failure is that deep down this is still the Action guy too. This dude ain't gonna get wrecked in his Fortress while the other guy chuckles about him being A SOFT WEE SCIENTIST'S SON!

* Bringing up Jor-El made me realize that Morrison already spelled out that this is the final threat to Superman, what he faces at the end of the road:

"Now it's your turn, Superman."

* A l'il Superman 2000/All-Star reference with the Phantom Zone map!

* There's so much intertextuality going on here even by Morrison standards - Change or Die with the old hero putting together a team of morally nebulous folks out to 'fix' everything, Flex Mentallo with the muscleman trying to redeem the punk, Doomsday Clock with the fate of the world hinging on whether Superman can get through to a meta stand-in for an idea of 'modern' comics cynicism, DKR and New Frontier and Kingdom Come and Multiversity and Seven Soldiers and What's So Funny and All-Star and Action and the last 5 years of monthly Superman comics and Authority and probably Jupiter's Legacy and Tom Strong - but none of that's needed. You could go in with the baseline pop cultural understanding of the character and not care about any of the inside baseball shit and get that this is a story about a leader of a generation that let down the people they made all their grand promises to as inertia and day-to-day demands and complacency let him be satisfied with the accomplishments they'd made long ago, looking at a new era and seeing the ways its own activists are dropping the ball. The only thing that fundamentally matters in a "you have to accept you're reading a superhero story" sense is that because he's Superman he's willing to own up to it and listen to people who might know better about some things and try to set things right while he and those who'll take his place still have a chance. And yes, the oldster looking back on their legacy with a skeptical eye and hoping for better from the next generation, hoping most of all that their little heir apparent can fulfill the promise inside of him instead of being a provocating little shitkicker, is obviously also autobiographical.

* The overlaying Kennedy reprisal is such a great visual of a sudden intrusive thought.

* The Kryptonite secret is the obvious "This is going to matter!" moment, but "He lied about his son" is a bit that doesn't connect to anything going on right now so maybe that's important here too? More significantly, the Justice League can't actually be the villains here but that Ultra-Humanite's crew are in an Earth-orbiting satellite makes pretty clear what's up.

* I've said before that between Superman, OMAC, and a New Gods-affiliated speedster this was going to use all of Morrison's favorite things. King Arthur playing a role isn't exactly dissuading me.

* Love the idea that all the antiheroes have their own community in the same way as the capes and tights crew. They definitely all privately think the rest are posers though and that they alone are Garth Ennis Punisher in a mob of Garth Ennis Wolverines.

* Manchester's fallen so far he's gone from trying to convince Superman to kill to convince him to dunk on people for their bad takes and Clark just doesn't get it. Official prediction of dialogue for upcoming issues:

"According to these bloody Fortress scans, the only thing that can restore your powers is an unfiltered hit of dopamine. Don't worry, Doctor Black has a few ideas."

"Hmm. Maybe I'll plant a nice tree?"

"...fuck you."

* Ok I already talked about how great the Fortress looks in here but LOVE this library.

* A pair of pages this seems like the right spot to discuss from Black's original appearance that underlines both his and Superman's inadequacies up to this point:

Responding to the problem of "the government and penal system are hopelessly corrupt" neither of them has any actual notion of what to do about it in spite of their respective posturing beyond how to handle individual outside actors - each is in their own way every bit as small-minded and reactionary as the other. Clark's coming around though, and he's holding out hope for the other guy.

* Superman: Have a lovely mineral water :) proper hydration is important :)

Manchester Black: *Is a dude who can get so mad he vomits and passes out. At water.*

* That last page is the one to beat for the year, and does more to put over the idea of this as an Authority book than that Midnighter and Apollo are literally going to show up. It also feels like Morrison tacitly acknowledging all the ways the premise could go or at least be received wrong - from Superman saying 'enough is enough' to who he's bringing into the fold to go about it - in the most beautifully on-the-nose fashion imaginable. Maybe they'll save us all! Or maybe they'll drown us in their vomit.

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

"I have some problems with [Luke] as a character)" was mentioned in your Reylo response post. Very interested in what your thoughts are on Luke! 👀

Do you want me to get murdered?! Well, if I didn’t get lynched for calling Sirius Black a Stephen King villain I can surely do no worse here.

Let’s do this.

Caveat that, as usual, I am wearing a heretic hat and expect no one to agree with what I’m saying.

Luke Skywalker, much like Harry Potter, is not the character the authors and vast majority of the audience seem to think he is. Luke is seen as the true coming of the Jedi, the light side of the Force incarnate, and someone so innately good he was able to redeem his father, restore peace to the galaxy, and restore the Jedi Order.

I disagree with all of this.

I think this is what Luke thinks he did but the truth is far sadder and, well, in general worse.

First, let’s start off with Luke’s hero’s journey throughout the saga.

Luke starts your ordinary guy, he’s not bad by any means, but he’s not particularly good either. He lives in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, part of a relatively well off family, and set to inherit the world’s most boring business: moisture farming. He has dreams of going out, seeing the world, and becoming a great pilot.

Important to remember but what most people gloss over: Luke starts if not pro-empire then neutral towards it. Luke wants to attend flight school, given his desire for glory and adventure, he probably wants to join the empire’s military. He might not like Storm Troopers all that much but the fire of revolution doesn’t burn in his heart the way it does Leia’s.

Now, personally, I like this about Luke. It makes sense to me. Given where and how Luke grows up, given all he’s ever known, I think this makes perfect sense for his viewpoint. He might get hassled by stormtroopers now and then but the empire really doesn’t interfere with his life except in a) propaganda b) offering an escape from his dull existence. What would someone like Luke know about the Rebel Alliance?

The movie however... sort of goes out of its way not to acknowledge this, and this is where I start having problems with Luke. Luke gets Leia’s message about Obi-Wan Kenobi, sees the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen in his life, and gets to embark on this amazing adventure. The story sort of takes it for granted that he then agrees with old hermit, Obi-Wan, that the empire is evil. This is helped because Luke does too.

In other words, Luke’s opinions are very shallow and lack any introspection. Finding himself in the company of Jedi, smugglers, and hot rebel princesses, Luke suddenly goes, “Ah, yeah, I hate the empire!” We never really see him change his mind by reflecting over what the Death Star means/the destruction of Alderaan, the death of his relatives, or his meeting with Darth Vader. Luke seems to be won over... Honestly, it feels like it’s because the Rebel Alliance let him fly a plane before the Empire did.

Then he blows up the Death Star, is a galactic hero/enemy number one of the empire, and he’s full on board resistance man and the next Jedi.

Which brings us to point number two, Luke legitimately thinks he’s a Jedi.

Obi-Wan gives him half a word of advice for maybe half of a day, watching Luke swing a sword around and get shot at by a robot. Yoda trains Luke in a swamp for, generously, maybe a week or so before Luke ditches him (against his advice even) to go save his friends. Luke has 0 training (beat out only by Rey, who wasn’t trained at all). More, he lives in a world where everything he knows of the Jedi is colored by Palpatine’s propaganda and old legends. The Jedi temples have been ransacked and presumably next to nothing of the Jedi culture remains, I can imagine Palpatine as being nothing but thorough in his elimination of the Jedi religion. The Jedi survived in Obi-Wan, Yoda, and in some sense Anakin Skywalker.

They do not survive in Luke. Luke puts on some quasi-Jedi robes, slashes his sword around a few times to save Leia from Jabba, and he says, “Now I am a Jedi!” Luke is that kid, LARPing, yelling “firebolt, firebolt, firebolt!” Only, that is, if the LARPing consisted of him representing a massacred culture thinking he’s it’s sole legitimate heir. So... Luke is playing Cowboy and Indians, and he’s the Indian.

In my opinion, Vader wasn’t so much redeemed as he always had a very high priority in finding his son and keeping him alive. The obvious way to do this would be to take Luke as an apprentice and, eventually, murder Palpatine. Well, that didn’t pan out, and eventually Anakin chooses murder-suicide to save his son’s life. It’s very touching, I’m not knocking the moment, but I do think a lot of that was Anakin vice the inherent goodness of Luke.

Anyways, Luke and pals save the day, they start a new republic and then they learn life is complicated. The new republic fails within decades, worse, it’s feeble and likely torn apart by civil war, strife, and constant infighting. It is utterly powerless, to the point where the First Order easily rises to replace the Empire and take over its vast resources (with Palpatine building a secret sith army on the side no less). That Leia rather than lead an army through the new republic in the sequels is leading her own private resistance army is very telling.

Fitting in with this, Luke starts a Jedi Academy. The prequels, and yes go ahead and slander them all you like but they’re better than many admit, taught us a few things but one of them is that it is hard to be a Jedi. To walk the path of a Jedi is to open yourself up to great temptation to use the dark side, and the dark side isn’t just some strange quirk or sense of duality, it is the equivalent of selling your soul. It is an unnatural action that leads to unnatural abilities. 

You get a bunch of Force Sensitive kids in a room: you better know what you’re doing.

Luke doesn’t. He collects a handful of the remaining Jedi artifacts that Palpatine somehow didn’t destroy, opens up his Jedi School (even teaching his nephew), and within maybe five years the place is burned to the ground, his students murdered by his nephew, and his nephew runs off to join a Sith Lord who appeared out of nowhere (Luke not realizing that this was just immortal cockroach Palpatine). 

Luke then becomes a grumpy old man who just can’t deal, sits on a rock drinking blue milk, and whines that for how shitty of a teach he was that Obi-Wan guy was worse for messing up with his father. Which, frankly, is very in character for Luke.

Luke has never really failed in his life, or at least, never had to recognize his own failure. So, when he does, he a) doesn’t realize what went wrong b) blames everyone but himself c) sits on a rock and waits to die.

So yeah, that’s Luke for you.

A whiney, shallow, stupid, somewhat narcissistic, hero. I... don’t dislike the concept of his character, played more straight I’d love his character, but I dislike that people talk about him like he’s the most noble creature to ever grace the planet and has this inherent understanding of a murdered people that the murdered people themselves never had. 

(All the Jedi were doing it wrong! Luke made the real Jedi Order! Is something I see a lot and... well... say what you will about their philosophies, but this kid who was not a part of that culture “doing it better”... That’s real problematic folks, real problematic.)

[wordynerdygurl]

Skin Deep - Part 6

Author’s Note:  Honestly, this story is nearing it’s ending.  Hard to believe that a little idea I couldn’t shake has now grown into this mini-series!  For all my die-hard homies, waiting for the next installment, I hope this is worth your while!  If you’re new here, take a look around, see if you like anything and please, let the management know if you have any questions!! As always, writing like this requires the emotional support of people and pets.  My dogs, Murphy and Winston, get me through a lot of plot bunnies just by being stalwart companions.  My husband, graciously, lets me take these flights of fancy when I probably should be paying better attention to him and his day... and some of my besties here on Tumblr make it possible for me to do this for you guys.  @sammy-jo1977​ , my sister from another mister!  Couldn’t/ Wouldn’t do it without you! To all the folks who follow me... My Minxes!  Love you all!  Stay well, be kind, and remember that Love, really does conquer all!  If you want to be a Minx, send me a note, I’ll happily add you to my tag list! Lastly, be sure to like and share anything that you see on Tumblr that catches your eye.  Creative types, we need the constant validation, you see?  Without it, like an unwatered plant, we wither on the vine and perish!  Be kind to those who help you through the day and reblog! Skin Deep Part 5 - click here for the previous chapter! Pairing:  Loki x Reader, Steve, Valkyrie & Thor all make appearances Summary:  Continued from Part 5, You and Loki put your plan into action, returning to Farmhouse.  When you encounter Steve again, you learn there’s more than two sides to this story. Warnings:  Loki’s POV and perspective, including mentions of his time under Thanos.  I’m re-writing MCU history here, but some of the main beats are the same, so look out for SPOILERS for Dark World, Ragnarok, and a touch of Infinity War.  The SNAP never happened because, reasons.  

Empathy used to seem such a human emotion.  Loki had no time for that on Asgard, not when Odin denied anything as frivolous as feeling.  Hiding in plain sight was the means to survival and if that made the young prince sneaky and sly, so be it.  By placing those parts of himself under lock and key; the parts that hurt, the ones that ached, Loki found it was safer to disconnect from others than subject himself to their suffering too.

Operating under the influence of Thanos and his minions when he held the scepter, Loki had purposefully divorced connection of any kind from his mind.  It was dangerous.  Weak.  And moreover, it allowed Loki to do what Thanos commanded without really experiencing the horror, the havoc, of his actions for himself. 

  Who could hear the screams of women when the voice of Ebony Maw subliminally chanted all the ways that one could be dismembered at Thanos’ hands should Loki fail?  What man would shed a tear after the near constant beatings doled out by Black Order members, just for the fun of it?  How could someone care about a house, a car, a city, when they no longer cared about themself? Losing the Battle for New York had consequences far beyond the destruction of property.  With Thanos’ hold over him vanquished, the walls around his heart, constructed in youth, crashed and burned like the dream of ruling Earth.  Suddenly and completely out of reserves, Loki was powerless.  And he felt everything.  The fresh hurts caused by his manipulated ambitions in the hands of Thanos. The furious feelings of his brother, the inadequacies of his character, the feeble needs that drove his wild ambition washed over him unceasingly.  Anger.  Loss.  Lunacy.  Loki learned a hard truth in that moment.  He was a monster.  A freak.  A creature beyond hope and salvation; proving his adoptive father right and his own hopeful heart wrong.  Bitterness soured the fallen prince. Endless hours in isolation on Earth, which continued in his father's house, had Loki believing he had no chance of seeing the world outside again, and it hardened his heart further.  To feel was so painful, so raw, and so humane.  Why bother anyway?  All that emoting, those high spirits, all they really did was expose you to derision.  What was grief to a goblin?  What was horror to a monster?  What was love to a villain like him?  An evil, conspiring demi-god, with a mind bent toward domination.  A damaged, destroyed, deity alone and in pieces.  Who would ever give someone like Loki Odinson a chance?  Why should they?

Turning to his mother, Loki did everything but ask for forgiveness.  In long rambling talks, her projection to his jailed person, the pair talked around ideas of guilt and innocence, of fate and fortune, of destiny versus desire, yet Loki never heard the words he needed in order to truly find peace.   

If Frigga was aware of her son’s need for absolution, Loki would never know, as their last exchange was harsh and full of anger.  Another stroke of loss, crippling now, because there was nothing Loki could do to change any of it from inside his prison cell.  No illusion could conceal the painful ache that consumed him entirely. 

Those days were dark, even for a soul as dusky hued as his own, and Loki’s thoughts followed a similar path.  If there had been a way for him to shake off this immortal coil, free himself of the burden of living, Loki would have done so and been glad.  Death was welcome compared to all this longing and heartache. But life, even a nearly immortal one, was funny. 

When Thor provided a chance at redemption, Loki snatched at it, in his own detached way.  He played hero, rescuing Jane, aiding his brother.  And if he took a bit more in the form of deposing his arrogant, aging father, who would be surprised?  He was Loki, God of Mischief, after all. Ruling the Nine Realms without the oppressive oversight of his father allowed Loki to prove himself in ways he never imagined.  And Loki wasn’t just good at it.  He was great. Of course, it helped that no one knew he was Loki.  Living disguised as Odin was often unpleasant, frequently frustrating, but entirely necessary.  Being Loki was still too difficult and likely to bring unwanted attention in the form of The God of Thunder, a thing that no one truly wanted, Loki least of all. Return Thor did, along with an unknown sister and the end of Asgard.  When confronted with the insanity of Hela’s bloodlust, Loki’s only thought was of his kingdom, now without a ruler.  He had worked too hard, too long, to see the land he cared for in the hands of an enemy, even if she called herself sister.  Opening the Bi-Frost, panicked, his mind was solely on saving those he had recently held dominion over.  They were his people, after all.  But he never reached Asgard. Swallowing his fear, Loki focused all his energy on staying alive in a new and distracting environment, initially.  What Loki found on Sakaar wasn't a new home base under a flamboyant, ineffective leader that he could control, even if that was his first design.  On Sakaar Loki found his loyalty.  

The proud, deep resonance of being Asgardian, of being an Odinson, of being capable and cool under pressure.  Sure, he had to prove himself to Thor, Valkyrie, Banner and honestly, the rest of the kingdom, but actions speak louder than words.  And through his actions on Sakkar, and by extension rescuing the people of Asgard, Loki had shown everybody his true mettle. It was on the deck of a stolen ship headed for Midgard that  Loki had made a commitment of sorts.  One that was not to the people, so recently saved or for his found family.  This time, the promise Loki intended to keep was for himself.  Loki was going to change. The problem is, a task like that takes time.  Patience.  Motivation.  It was something that Loki had to work at and it was exhausting. They say that the best things come to those who wait.  Loki was learning to wait everyday.  Having earned a place at the side of his brother, he worked tirelessly to win over the heroes of his new home planet.  Was it easy?  Hardly, but Loki wasn’t willing to compromise.  Not anymore. A life like Hela’s was not in his runes.  Loki was simply going to be better.  Not perfect.  No one could be as good hearted as Captain America, nor could one be as tech savvy as Stark.  So Loki was planning on being the best Loki he could possibly be, and that’s how he found himself going to meetings at The Avengers Tower, a mostly welcome addition to the team. Meetings weren’t all that exciting and boredom was an awful temptation for a deity devoted to mayhem.  In fact, Loki spent more time doodling in his notebook than listening to whoever was droning on about whatever part of the world needed the attention of this motley crew.  That was, until Pepper Potts hired her new assistant.  That you were polite, pretty and pert wasn’t lost on the young god.  Sitting outside Mrs. Iron Man’s office, typing away with a phone tucked under your ear, moving faster than anyone he had ever seen was certainly impressive.  You were quick witted, clever and most of all, funny. Everyone else seemed to fall under your spell without much effort on your part, something that Loki found frustratingly fascinating.  Here he was, struggling to get people to say his name without having a traumatic flashback, while you simply smiled and smarted off prettily, and had everyone singing your praises.  But Norns, were you adorable. If he thought about it, and while off planet, Loki definitely had, he could remember the moment he realized that you were the woman he wanted.  You were busy, as always, fielding phone calls and flipping through screens yet every moment your flying fingers weren’t hovering over a keyboard or pushing down telephone buttons they curled around a heart shaped charm at your throat.  Clearly, it was a habit and one that you weren’t even aware of, still - it transfixed him all the same.  Watching you from his side eye, your voice never wavering, your tone always so pleasing, and your nimble digits returning again and again to the small sigil around your neck.  “Loki?” “Huh?”  Dumbfounded at your call, those deep sea eyes blinked wildly at the sound of his name on your lips. “Hi!  Yes, Pepper can see you now.  Go ahead, she’s ready!” He rose on stiff legs, adjusting his tie, about to lie to Tony Stark’s woman all for the chance to see you in passing.  Who had he become? It started out innocent like that, but soon, Loki was having to invent excuses for being in the office so frequently.  Missing files, random visits, even going so far as to buy Tony coffee just for the thrill of seeing you.  Something needed to change, and quickly, or Loki was going to blow. On another made up errand, hanging around the executive’s high rise office, Loki was doing a bad job of pretending not to see you.  His mind was on your pouty lips as you sipped lemonade through a straw and not on the stately woman seated behind the desk. 

“Loki, you’re a man of some… style.”  Pepper said it so casually that he almost didn’t hear, his head lost in thoughts that would shame any other person. “I like to think so.”

Shutting her folder with a snap, Pepper smiled, “And you’d love to help your old friend Pepper out, right?” That got his attention, and quickly.  Loki, shoving his hands in his pockets, turned to face Pepper with a widening grin, “I feel like I’m being baited.”

“Baited?  Never!  It’s just, you’re always here and I have a… project that needs the kind of help that you can provide.”  At those words you entered the office, ready for action with a notebook and pen, eager and excited. Suddenly, it was all clear to Loki, “Pepper, no.”  

The noose closed in on the handsome god as Pepper gathered paperwork without looking his way, “Come on, it’s the Stark Homecoming Gala and the two of you will do great!  I have faith in you both.  I can’t wait to see what you come up with!” “Really, Miss Potts, I simply can’t-” Stopping short, the strawberry blonde whipped around, almost nose to nose with Loki.  Shrewd and straightforward, Pepper interrupted, saying, “You’ve been dancing around my office for weeks now.  Clearly you like her and… against all the odds, she likes you too.  I’m doing you a favor and when someone does you a favor, you say “Thank You”.” “Thank you.” Nodding curtly, “You’re welcome.  Now, make yourselves comfortable, order some dinner, my treat.  And do whatever you need to make sure this is one great party!” That’s how Loki found himself sitting at a clear glass table over sweating bottles of iced tea as you discussed color themes and tablecloths.  You were shy, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you reviewed notes from previous gatherings both large and small.  His hands itched with wanting to do that job himself. “So, what do you think?”  It was the first time you had addressed him directly since coming through the door and for a moment Loki couldn’t answer.  You were too… not beautiful, that wasn’t the right word, although you were.  No, you were too open, too easy to read, and the earnestness you offered him was downright frightening. Sitting forward in the uncomfortable, yet fashionable, office furniture, Loki cleared his throat and again tugged his tie, “What I think is that you should let me take you dinner.” Dropping your eyes, your cheeks colored slightly as your fingers found that locket charm once more, “Loki, I… I don’t know-” Grabbing for your hand, suddenly afraid that you would take those shining eyes away, Loki lowered his voice and did something he never thought he would.  He begged.  “Please?  I find that you’re all I can think about.” It rushed out of him in a torrent, the way truth so often does, and he found himself unable to look you in the eye.  Loki was afraid to see rejection on your easy to read face, afraid that wanting you had cracked open the lock box holding his heart, afraid that you would see just how weak you made him.  Your fingers twined with his own as you replied, “You didn’t let me finish.  I don’t know what took you so long.” Sighing with relief, his face melting into a genuine smile, “Me either.” Over the next two months the pair of you worked tirelessly to plan and execute a perfect party.  You were inseparable during the day, heads buried together as you discussed linens and table settings, the quality of cocktail glasses, and debating over a band or a dj.  But at night, at night Loki talked about the things that haunted him in the dark.  And you loved him in spite of the awful things he had seen and done and said. Others took notice.  Loki was more lighthearted, more available.  He listened when people spoke and wasn’t constantly doodling during meetings.   Yes, Loki was learning how to love through your loving him.  If empathy had seemed too humane before, then sharing his life, his love with you, was the kind of immortality that earned someone a place in Valhalla.  It was the bravest thing Loki Odinson had ever done and he didn’t mind one bit.

The first time Loki tasted you was burned into his brain, as bright as a flash of lightning.  A firefly in a memory jar that he kept returning to, time and again.  Loki remembered what you were wearing.  He recalled exactly how the light shone in your eyes.  If he concentrated, he could tap out the rhythm of your racing pulse as he held you in his arms. It was the night of the gala.  Inviting everyone under the Stark Industries banner, up to and including the heroes tasked with saving the world, the event was a way to earn money for one of the many charities Tony supported.  The place was full of beautiful people wearing gorgeous clothes under perfect lights set to the hand crafted soundtrack you had created together.

But, Norns, he could still remember the way your eyes sparkled under the lowlights of that hall.  How your dress, simple but sophisticated, clung to the fullness of your bottom.  Low cut but somehow still modest, Loki couldn’t tear his gaze away from the promise of your curves, willing himself to find anything else as interesting as the idea of you.  

You were across the room hanging onto Tony’s every word, eyes bright and cheerfully glowing as you sipped champagne.  It made Loki want to do something grand, something suave, something that would demand your attention for his own.  Moving towards you, his tuxedo perfectly pressed and fitting better than it had any right to, Loki looked long and lean.  Each of his steps seemed to echo, even though the room was full of sound, and you turned your head as if you also heard.  Breaking away from the cluster of acolytes surrounding Iron Man, you bit into your lip as the crowd parted, moving closer together one step at a time.  It was one of the sexiest things Loki had ever witnessed. Lifting your glass in a toast, taking in the room of mingling millionaires, wealthy hangers on and Avengers, “Well, we did it!” “You did it, my dove, I just hung around and judged everyone.” “Oh stop.  I couldn’t have done it without you and you know it.”  Playfully you pushed against his shoulder and Loki took advantage, using your momentum to pull you to his side, your curvy figure flush against his own. Crooning into the shell of your ear, his lips brushing over that sensitive skin, “Somehow, love, I think you would have managed.”  Before you had time to think, Loki had melded his mouth with your own, stealing your breath along with your heart.  Loki’s feet moved in time with the music as he pulled into a dance, laughing in his arms, your cheeks hot and your head swimming. You laughing was, without question, Loki’s favorite sound.  Nothing in this world or any other came close to matching the joyful, childlike glee of that enchanting noise.  Loki memorized its melody, the rise and fall of your giggle.  He had craved it, being away for so long, and now he wanted… no, needed to hear it.  But you were the furthest thing from happy at the moment.   

"Darling, please.  We have to go."  Loki tapped his watch, shaking himself free from the memories of your previous life together and barely suppressing his irritation.

Tears filled your eyes as you whipped your arms around Thor’s mighty shoulders, his deep voice grumbly with emotion, "Take care of him, would you?  He's a jerk, but Loki is the only brother I have."

"Of course… always.  And Valkyrie, your highness, I can’t thank you enough for-"

"No need.  Loki, and by extension yourself, will always have a safe haven here in my palace."

Looking on, Loki and Thor embraced almost tenderly before crashing their heads together.  

"Stay safe, little brother."

"Be good, Thor."

Eyes on the sky, Val ignored the show of masculine emotion, chastising your plan, "You’re going to start a war, Loki."

Straight backed, Loki turned to the king, "Not on the grass of New Asgard.  I will take the fight to them, that is my vow to you."

As Loki offered his hand, Valkyrie shook it, with parting words, "Work on staying alive.  You have a tendency to worry your brother."

Solemnly nodding, "As the king commands.  Shall we?"  With that Loki laced his fingers with yours, leading you a few paces away from the people who loved him most, before summoning the magic that had you both transcending space and time.

This time when your feet touched down it was on the familiar turf of the orchard, surrounded by the scent of apple blossoms and the buzzing of happy bees.  Morning had broken and the world seemed full of promise, with the exception of that knot in your stomach.

"Are you ready?  Darling?"

"Oh… yes.  I mean, I still don't love this plan, but-"

"But it's going to work."  Only it was no longer the baritone voice of your long, lean Loki speaking.  In his place stood Nick Fury, leather duster and eye patch in place.

"If you say so!"  And you clutched your own throat as Natasha’s bored tones came out of your mouth.  The suit, skin tight but flexible, molded to your modified form.  All in all, you were comfortable, "The boots are a bit much."

"Ya think?  This jacket weighs a ton."  Pulling at his collar, "Why does he wear a turtleneck anyway?"

"Loki, this is so weird.  It feels so weird."

"Agreed, but then, why am I so turned on?"

Laughing, you shook your false red hair, hands resting on Natasha’s waist, "God, I've missed you."

"Same, dearest.  Now… let's get your necklace and some answers!"

---

 Convincing Bucky to head home had taken a lot of work, but sometime around 2 am Steve had finally seen his friend off.  The house was empty.  Steve felt the same way.

Turning the black velvet box in his pocket, fingers crushed against the fragile fabric, Steve struggled to feel anger.  When that didn't materialize he shot for sadness but even tears seemed beyond his ability.  

With a sigh, climbing the same stairs he had trudged up a hundred times before, Steve started going through the motions of bedtime.  Only tonight you weren’t there to tease him about the wildly inappropriate amount of toothpaste on his brush.  He didn’t have your light footsteps to follow to the bedside or your help with stacking all of your extra, yet entirely essential, pillows on the chair.

Someone must have changed the sheets, he thought.  There was no evidence of you and Loki’s adventurous afternoon anymore.  Steve made a mental note to thank Buck for that little piece of kindness in the morning.

Shucking his shirt, Steve sat on the mattress, a hand to his forehead.  He had lost.  Captain America had been bested.  Beaten.  And by Loki, no less.

Moonlight in silver slivers shone through the window panes, squares of light in the deep of night.  Steve was alone.  Utterly and totally alone.

And there was no one to blame but himself.

Sighing hard, Steve stood, pacing the floor to work off some of the unspendable anxiety he kept creating.  The room still had your energy, your vibe, as you liked to call it, and the feeling was a prickling itch Steve couldn’t quite satisfy.  Traces of you were everywhere and something about you leaving all of it, and him, behind was just too big to process. “Damn it.”  Even whispering sounded like thunder in the silence of your recently vacated room.  His hands, so big, so strong, smoothed along the fabric of your hanging clothes.  All that power had done nothing to help Steve get the thing he wanted. Sorting through the baubles and trinkets on your dresser, bottles of perfume he had purchased, necklaces and pins, each with a moment of memory it hurt him to recall.  Your watch ticked away the minutes as he stood, stoic and still, surrounded by the shadow of you.  In the orchard the birds were waking, their song filling the air, as morning broke in low golden rays.  Abandoning his plan for sleep, Steve watched as the light chased away the dark, casting rainbows on the floor.  The sun was reflecting off of your Grandmother’s necklace.  A pretty, ancient, carved cameo,  heart shaped locket.  He recalled his own mother owning one just like it, pictures of loved ones pressed inside, holding them as tight as history would allow. Fisting the filigree chain, winding it around his fingers as if it would somehow undo what he had done, Steve slipped it into his pocket before settling back onto the bed.  ----

At the back door to the home you so recently shared with Steve, Loki hung back, “I think this is where we split up.  You go find your treasure and me… I’m going to find some answers.” Nodding, Natasha’s signature red hair swinging, you squeezed the hand holding your own.  It no longer looked like Loki’s long fingered paw, but that was only a skin deep change.  You felt the undeniable essence of him in the press of his fingers against your own. “Be careful.” “That’s no fun, dove.” “Loki-”  You hated the way your voice broke as you said it, but there just seemed to be so much at stake and you had already lost him once. Sensing your unspoken concerns, Loki flashed you Nick Fury’s best smile, “I will.  I promise.”

“Ten minutes.” “Ten minutes.”  You watched the black coated back of your charmed paramour as he opened the shed door, hoping that he’d find something worth knowing in that place out of sight.  Inhaling deeply you twisted the doorknob as quietly as possible, letting yourself into what was once your kitchen, “What a mess.”  It was impossible not to notice the unwrapped leftovers and empty bottles littering the table.  An overturned trash barrel, crumpled beer cans littering the counter, things that Steve, your Steve, would never have tolerated.  All evidence that the grand evening he’d envisioned had been thwarted by Loki’s arrival and your collective escape.  

You started up the stairs, praising Natasha's footwear for its stealth, when you heard the toilet flush and the unmistakable shuffle of Steve’s feet on the carpet.  There was no place to hide on the wide stairwell.  It was time to see if Loki's plan was going to work.

Voice blurry, eyes rubbed red and raw, you couldn't deny that Steve looked like shit, “Bucky?  That you?  You back?”  Steve’s voice bounced around the brightening room as morning sunlight filtered through the soft sheers you had picked out for exactly this reason. Panicked, you backed into the railing with an over loud “Oof!” “Nat?  What are you doing here?  I thought you and Fury were headed to New Asgard?”  Suddenly wide awake and wondering, Steve rushed to your costumed side, eager for information. The man in front of you now bore little resemblance to the angry Avenger you had escaped from hours before.  This man had hair sticking up in odd angles from near constant finger raking.  This man had a hint of a stuffy nose and red rimmed eyes, all indicators that tears had been shed.  Now those blue eyes were scrutinizing you closely, full of concern.

“Uh… We... We got intel.  Yea, intelligence, that Loki was headed back this way.  Turned around… and uh, here we are.” One of those sandy blonde eyebrows lifted, “Natasha?”

Squaring your shoulders, channeling that cool confidence you’d see Black Widow display over and over, “Steve?”  Something about your tone of voice convinced him in a way your words couldn’t.  He visibly relaxed, those broad shoulders going slack as he asked, “Didn’t make it to Norway, then?"

Nodding a negative, you felt the unfamiliar brush of her red hair at your cheek and had to fight the urge to tuck it away, “No.  Loki’s using some sort of transporting power to move them around.  Fury suggested I keep an eye out here, in case they come back this way.” “She won’t be back, Nat.  There’s nothing for her here.”  To you, Steve sounded so sad, so removed, that you had to will yourself not to comfort the giant before you.  “That’s not true!”  It came out of you forcefully, thoughtlessly, and you saw the shock register on the Captain’s face. “That is, Fury and I… we… have reason to believe that she will come back.  They left with nothing, Steve.  She’ll need clothes… maybe some shoes… and-”  Swallowing hard, you didn’t want to give anything away, “-a necklace from her grandmother.” Steve, patting his pocket, felt the weighted chain and it’s heart shaped locket, “I don’t think-” Stepping up to his bulky form, suddenly aggressive, you started, “Never mind what you think, Captain.  We're here for a necklace...  the necklace.  Our intel suggests that your former flame might return for it and… And, I want it, with me, as a means to subdue her when she arrives." Sounding forceful and official was enough to back Steve down.  Just a touch deflated, you watched him shrug, “If that’s what you want, Nat, here-”  From his pants he pulled out the shining bauble, a trinket really, but full of sentiment and memory. Sitting in his palm, the tiny heart that held the picture of your grandmother and mother looked so small, almost unreal.  Reaching for it with wet eyes, you smiled at Steve as you lifted the charm and chain, “Thank you, Steve.  Thank you.” Nodding deeply, that golden head bobbing, “You’re welcome.”  The large grandfather clock could be heard ticking throughout the house.  The sun was gaining on the day and you, dressed as Natasha stood in silence in front of a somber Steve.  For another long beat nothing was said, then, as if sensing a shift in your conversation, Steve flashed your fake Natasha a weak smile, “I could use some breakfast.  How about you?”

“Um… sure.  Yea, ok.  Breakfast.” 

Steve started moving again, downstairs towards the cluttered kitchen when he paused, "So how did you get back so fast?  Cause that's like a 7 hour flight, even with you in the cockpit." “Steve…”  You could hear it, the whining almost pleading tone that signaled the end of Loki’s well planned charade.  That wasn’t enough to stop Steve.  He broke hard, one of those strong arms stopping you in your tracks before you could reach the lower level. “It’s clever, I have to give you guys that.  Almost perfect, really.” Panic rising, you doubled down on the ruse, struggling to keep your voice even, “I don’t know-”  Blocking you in, his body the perfect unmovable buffer, “Loki’s here too, isn’t he?” Pushing against “Steve, I… I don’t…” “Don’t lie.  You don’t have to…” “But… how-?” “You’re not mean enough to play Natasha, doll.  Not by a long shot.”

--- It was strange to be seated at the table and chairs that you and Steve had picked out together one sunny Saturday when you thought that your future was going to be Loki-less.  Your place, the one that you had imagined filling with children that had golden hair and bright blue eyes, felt like a set.  Something false and fake.  A facade, put together simply for show. Steve must have felt it too because his fingers drummed against the white washed table incessantly.  Clearly he had something on his mind.  “Steve-” “No.  No.  Please, let me just get this out, ok?” Raising an eyebrow, you waved at him to continue, nervous but interested in what the super soldier needed to explain. With a shaky inhale, running his constantly moving fingers through his golden locks, Steve caught your eye and didn’t waiver.  “When I saw you… No, that’s not right.  Let me start at the beginning. “When Loki left Earth, you… you were so sad.  It hurt me to see you so… deflated.” “Steve, I-” “You know it’s true.  When he returned to Asgard, something in you, it dimmed, and I just couldn’t allow that… Not when I felt the way I did about you. “I don’t think you realize just how incredible you are… how full of life!  And since I had already missed one chance to be with you, I knew I needed to prove that I could be the man you needed… If you forgot about Loki along the way, even better. “Only… you never did.  I waited years for you, ya know, doll?  Years.  And just when I thought there was no chance with you, Nat gave me a reason to hope. “She was your friend.  An ally.  Someone you could trust… someone I could trust.  I swear it started out that innocently, at least for me.  I just wanted to make you smile again.  But she had other plans.  Plans that came from higher up the ladder of SHIELD. “Fury, he wanted us to watch you… something about Loki being too powerful.  And-”, grabbing your hand tightly, Steve emphasized his point, “-I promise you that I had no idea about his success, or the messages he had sent to you through Nick.  Like you, I thought that Loki was gone.  Missing.  Never coming back.” “I… I believe you Steve.  I know that you didn’t do all this on your own… but what was Nick hoping you’d find out?  I knew less than nothing about what was going on!” “I think he was worried that Loki would get to you first.  That if… when Loki returned, you would be his first stop.  Then you would know about Loki’s success and, frankly, Fury’s failures.  You would also know… well, everything you know now.  That Fury had you tailed, lied to, and led on in an effort to stop Loki from out flanking him.” Frenzied and frantic, you felt anger boiling up inside of you, “But I thought Loki was gone forever.  There was no hope for him and I… and Natasha, she told me that he was dead.” “All a part of Fury’s plan to keep you neutralized and Loki away.  If Loki thought that you’d ignored his letters, that you no longer loved him, why would he come back here?  And, if that didn’t work… when Loki came back and you were with me, what else could keep him on Earth?”

Whispering with realization, “So, they used you too.” Steve sighed and buried his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, “Don’t feel bad for me.  I let them use my love for you, let them twist it up and shape it as they needed.  Honestly, I wish I could tell you that it was for you, but it wasn’t.  It was for me.  I wanted you, so, so badly.  I didn’t care what strings were attached.  And we built a life together, you and me.  I thought I could outrun the reality of the constant monitoring and daily reports.  Telling Natasha and Nick about every word and each email.  Don’t you see, I love you… and I wanted you, however I could get you.” Shaking your head, Natasha’s red wisps flying, “That’s not love, Steve.  I don’t know what that is… but love isn’t it.” “No?”  With a loud thunk, Steve slammed a small velvet box on the table between you. “Is… Is that what I think it is?”

“Last night.  It was going to happen last night.  Our friends here, under the lights and the stars, I was going to ask you to marry me.  I still would if-” Realization hit you like a ton of bricks, “If Loki hadn’t stepped back into our lives.” “-If Loki hadn’t stepped back into your life.” It made you both laugh in a sad way, how you finished the same thought, and for a fleeting second you could see why you had allowed Captain America to sweep you off your feet.  He was a lot of things to you now, but there was a time when he had been almost everything.  The evidence of that was in the small black square that said nothing but spoke volumes. “Steve, I don’t know if I would have said yes… even without Loki’s… arrival.  I think I have always known that you and I… we are very different people.” Sitting back in his chair, his gaze still locked on your own, “I just want you to know that I’m sorry.  I’m sorry about what I’ve done… what I’ve said… How, shit, how I’ve behaved.  I could say that it was my duty.  I could tell you it was out of love, but the plain truth is that I have always been jealous of what you and Loki share.” “You’ll find it Steve.  You really will.  There’s a person out there waiting for you.  And once you’ve found them, oh Steve, you’ll see that this… what we had, it’s a shadow.  An illusion.  Because love, real love, doesn’t come with caveats and catches.  It is an undeniable force which, in my case, even the boundaries of time and space can not deny.” Something like a sob burst out of Steve, and you were surprised to see tears in his eyes, “I was so wrong.  Could you ever forgive me?” “I want to, Steve.  I really do... “  What more could you say?  Patting his hand you started to rise, “I have to go now.  Loki and I need to keep moving and I don’t want to risk running into Nick and Natasha.  At least, not yet, anyway.” “Where are you planning to go?” “To the Avenger’s Tower.  I believe I know what Mr. Fury has been planning all along.”  Loki’s strong voice entered the conversation as smoothly as his arms wrapped possessively around your waist. Steve took in the protective stance of your returned lover with a raised eyebrow, and without further comment asked Loki, “Really?  And how are you going to breach the building?  They’ll be looking for you, even with disguises…  Fury is no fool.  Plus, there’s little chance that Tony hasn’t activated a million safety and security protocols by now.” Only interested in you, Loki refused to give Steve any of his attention, “Getting in can’t be that hard!  I’ll figure it out when I get there.  Ready pet?” With a gentle push under his broad hands your feet started to move towards the door.  Loki was eager to be off and away, especially after hearing so much of Roger’s confession.  Just knowing what Steve had done, manipulating you while also convinced of his love for you;  it was enough for Loki to commit murder.  He was having quite a difficult time not tearing the good Captain’s limbs off his body. Softening his tone, Steve practically pleaded, “Loki.  Wait.  I… I can help.” Turning his attention fully to your former flame, Loki purred venomously, “You can help?  I’d love to know what entails, Captain.” “I can get you into the place and take you exactly where you need to go.  Fury’s going to hate it, but I’m tired of taking orders that hurt the people that-”  His pause was as lingering as the look he gave you, “- That I love.”  Before Loki could offer a sincerely sassy reply you grabbed his sleeve, tugging, “Um… Excuse us a minute Steve.” Pulling him down the hall of a home that felt like a familiar faced stranger, you waited until you had a bit of distance from Steve before harshly whispering, “How long were you listening?”

Serving you that small, sexy smile, Loki grinned, “Long enough.  How did you know I was there?” “You are sneaky, but even you, God of Mischief, cast a shadow.” Swinging you close enough to catch your mouth with his own, Loki pressed a sweet kiss there before answering, “A mistake I will be careful not to make again!” “The tower, huh?  That’s where you want to go?”  Grabbing you at the swell of your hips, grinding his frame against your own, “Where I want to go, my darling, is to the nearest bed, preferably naked, with you and you alone.” Your hands traced over the lapels of his borrowed leather duster, pausing only to jerk him closer by the supple fabric, “Hmm… is that so?” “Oh yes…”  Loki’s buttery grumble filled your ear as his strong hands dug into the flesh of your bottom.  For a moment you thought he’d give in to temptation, his sweet lips teasingly close to your own upturned mouth, “But-” On your toes, leaning into Loki’s sturdy, leather draped frame, you paused, “Ugh.  But?” Moving you to a safer, less kissable, arms length away, Loki sighed with the same frustration you felt, “-But, where we need to go, as soon as possible, is the Tower.” Moaning grumpily, you stepped out of the arms you longed to linger in, “I was afraid you were going to say that.” “I know it’s less than… ideal, love, but I did find something useful before the good Captain unburdened his soul this morning.” “And that is?” “Fury’s plan.  At first I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was after.  What did Fury want?  How was I involved?” Loki was dragging this out, loving how it kept you hanging onto his every word, and you rolled your eyes, “Well?  What is it?  Weapons?  War?” “All of that, yes… and… yours truly.”  That triumphant smile that filled Loki’s whole face lit up his mischievous eyes.  Tilting your head, struggling to make sense of what Loki had just told you, “What do you mean, you.  Fury wanted you… to do what, exactly?’ “Loki was going to be the patsy.” You both turned toward the sound of Steve’s baritone at the door, suddenly remembering that the Good Captain was still there and that he was waiting to see what you were going to do next.  Leaning his 100 year old bones into the doorframe, Steve crossed his arms, “The fall guy.  An example of what happens if you cross SHIELD.” “I think, my dear Mr. Rogers, that you mean, I am to be used as an example of what happens if one crosses Nick Fury.”  Loki countered, slinging an arm over your shoulder protectively. The idea was frightening.  A man like Fury had too much power, too much at his disposal.  Just knowing the lengths he had gone to in order to keep you and Loki apart was scary enough.  Making enemies of your friends.  Threatening the people you loved.  Selling your affection to Steve in an effort to control Loki.

Now, the knowledge that all of it was done in an effort to ensure that Nick Fury was the toughest guy in the galaxy, it made your stomach clench.  “What do you mean, an example?” “Unless my intelligence is flawed, I believe that Fury was going to kill me.  Is that correct, Captain?” Steve felt the weight of two sets of eyes on him.  Yours, full of fearful love and blind hope that this was all just some misunderstanding.  Innocent and naive and as lovely as he could ever remember.  Loki’s were reflecting a deeper understanding.  The kind of knowledge that only time in the trenches teaches. There was no answer from Captain Rogers.  None was needed.  Honesty, final and resolute, was out in the open.  “Look.  I know I’m not the guy you want on your side.  I’ve… I haven’t been the man I needed to be.  Not for you-”  Steve locked his bright blues onto you, offering a small smile that spoke of sadness before facing Loki, “-Or you, Loki.  But if you let me help you now, I promise that I can get you into the tower and maybe, one day, you won’t think so little of me.” 

Around you the morning gained strength.  Somewhere nearby birds chirped wildly, blissfully unaware of the drama unfolding in the modest little farmhouse and its implications on intergalactic politics.  Without  moving a muscle, Loki plainly asked you, “Do you trust him, dearest?” Squaring your shoulders, you crossed your arms, staring down the man called Captain America.  Nodding decisively, “I do.  I don’t think he’d spill everything like that only to turn on us.  He’s not so bad Loki, really.” “We’ll see about that.  For now, we trust Steve.  Ok, what’s your plan, Rogers?” --- “Hey.  I… I have one other thing to show you.”  Steve was dressed for action in his branded tactical gear, looking every inch the super soldier that Dr. Erskine envisioned. “Steve, we have to get moving.  Loki’s eager and -” “Just open it, ok?”  The envelope was thick with folded paper, the flap tucked under and not sealed.  Clearly it had spent time in and out of pockets, the edges frayed and tattered.  In exasperated curiosity you gingerly pulled the sheets free.

Shaking, your hands trembled holding the once white documents as your voice thickened, “Is this… is this what I think it is?” Cocking his head playfully, that rueful smile pulling at his full mouth, Steve almost seemed cheerful as he teased, “It’s yours.  I think something about this place has always been yours and I want you to have it.” “But-” Folding your small hands in his mighty ones, Steve squeezed gently, “It was a wedding present, or it was supposed to be.” “But we’re not getting married.” “I know.  Still-” “I can’t, Steve.  It’s yours.  Your house, your farm, your dream.” Shaking his head, disagreeing, but feeling lighter than he had in decades, Steve insisted, “Too late, I’m afraid.  It’s done.  Actually, that version of the deed has been signed since our second week here.” As realization sunk in you appraised the man changing right before your eyes, astonished but exhilarated, “Where will you go?” “I dunno.  Think I might need to be alone for a bit.  Maybe see the world… but first-” “First, we have to stop Nick Fury.”

To Be Continued... My Minxes:   @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity​ @mizfit2​ @sammy-jo1977​ @wolfsmom1​ @jessiejunebug​ @iluvsumbucky​ @unadulteratedwizardlove​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @lokislittlecorner​ @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81​ @caffiend-queen​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​ @jenjen8675309​ @that-one-person​ @roguewraith​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @just-random-obsessions​ @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​

[dramaticnerdwithanxiety11]

Here have the obnoxious list of quotes of have because i think they're very neat (these come from all over the place ranging from fanfiction, to google to my own fingies)

Also it's funny that I can see with complete clarity where I started getting into new fandoms because I started collecting new quotes relating to them.

(i promise they get less angsty 😭 these are a year and a half in the works)

I've got too many tabs open in my brain, and it's too laggy to close any.

I think i'll just collapse right here, thanks!

All I wanted was for you to leave. But I didn't think you actually would..

You're just like a bomb going off right next to my head..

Why do I have to cram all of my thoughts together just to be heard?

I wish your silence didn't scare me so much..

My body looks like a poorly drawn anatomy lesson, or a bunch of mismatched pieces sewn together.

Why did I have to grow up afraid to admit i'm scared?

What a stupid way to die.

An immortal man with a death wish, how fucking ironic.

Why did we have to turn into such an ugly sight?

I can't tell you why, but it feels like something's wrong.

What would my mother think, now that she's watched her son be buried?

What would you think of me, an immortal man with a death wish?

They are the stars and the moon to my empty sky.

Dreams are like… jigsaw puzzles, assembled wrong.

Are you, or the others, crazy?

How do you paint a pretty picture when your brush is broken?

Is it only in movies that it's black and white?

Sometimes the worst place you can be in is your own head.

Alone. Because everyone will inevitably leave him.

Because I know what it's like to be afraid of your own mind.

I came face to face with a version of "me" that was nothing like myself.

The present is all we get, so we need to make it work.

We're just kids. We aren't supposed to be heroes.

It's all a bit tragic, isn't it?

She is a child that was forced to grow up.

I stopped being a kid the day you sent me down here to die.

Are monsters born, or created?

We'll never be those kids again.

Dear Death, I'm ready.

I needed a hug, but all they gave me was a box of matches and a knife.

I'm that memory you don't remember.

My mind is blessed with madness, and cursed with the knowledge that’s it’s there.

My eyes burn with unshed tears and suddenly I wish it didn't hurt so much to cry.

I don’t know what's happening but that's okay

We were thin but we were thick as thieves

I will not be another flower, picked for my beauty and left to die.

Even white roses have black shadows.

To plant a garden, is to believe in tomorrow.

In an endless garden of Flowers I will always pick You.

My Garden of Roses is wilting, because i spent too much time watering yours..

If i had a flower for every time i thought of you, i could walk through my garden forever.

Are you sure it isn't the Thorns that have Roses..?

Laughter after Tears is is the human equivalent of a Rainbow

I THINK I'M OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW I AINT SHIT.

I heard everything. It was just easier to pretend I didn't.

Remember how bright our first days were?

I miss not knowing who you were, because at least you couldn't hurt me so much without more than a word.

I'm dying slow and I can't stop it.

I really am my fathers child, aren't I?

If I dont go to hell when I die i might go heaven- but probably not.

If this is how you folks make art, it's fucking depressing.

I'm sorry mom and dad, I know I fucked up bad. I should've done better.

You entered the circus, boy, now play like the clowns.

The intimacy of being understood

However fair is for fools, take them away!

Life is a party and I'm starting to think I'm the piñata

I can't telling if I'm dying or not, all I know is I can't breathe.

Sometimes the shortest stick is the sharpest.

You don't hate me because i'm crazy, you hate me because i'm right.

I might be the writer, but you will always be the words.

I'm sending an old friend good luck, through a wishing well of magic.

Karma's probably fake, unless you meet someone who Really believes in it, cause they'll make it happen.

Does it count as being after dark, if the streetlights are on and nobody is looking for you?

Memory lane is not a Well-Mainted Public Road, it's a backroad lined with burning trees.

Sometimes you have to become a monster to stay human

"To be fair I have no intentions of murdering someone then popping a cyanide pill to escape the consequences,"

"You don't pump blood, I would know, I've had my hands in your heart before. Also, you're a terrible liar,"

Just killed a woman, feelin good~

"Fashionless wonder? He won't be saying that when I throttle him with my bowtie.."

"Handfull of BEES?"

"3am is the bitching hour, prove me wrong,"

"He's perfect, we made a baby!" "Team effort," "Go team!"

"Welcome to fucking Applebees do you want the apples or bees?" "Bees..?" "THEY HAVE SELECTED THE BEES!"

Welcome to the nightmare inside my head~

The point is; Frogs are bitches and ~we~ do not associate with terrorists

I'M STILL HEADING DOWNHILL, BUT I FOUND A HORSE IN THE SAME PREDICAMENT. SO LIKE, COUNT YOUR BLESSINGS

Characters are their own beings. I just write up their incident reports.

"Don't go chasing waterfalls. Stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to,"

"Drop dead," "Low blow..."

"I would like to apologize... that you, are depriving some village of their IDIOT!"

"Dad, could you stop playing tennis with hitler for just a moment and, yaknow, take a quick call?"

There's a hole in your soul [and something is trying to get out]

I'm exhausted and filled with a longing I don't know how to control.

Longing floods out of me like blood, and I truly haven't learned to properly staunch my wounds.

You're the Hyde to my Jekyll, the Chaos to my Calm. The Hate to my Love, the Lost to my Longing.

I've split myself so far down the middle I'm truly not sure where I end and where I begin.

Sometimes I wonder if joking about not having a soul was ever truly a joke.

I will force feed you a vial of impure salts and then watch as you writhe. Don't test me, kid.

There's something strange, there's something wrong. I see a change, it's like when love dies...

God knows; I am careless; this is the true hour of my death, and what is to follow concerns another than myself.

'If he be Mr. Hyde,' Utterson had thought, 'Then I'll shall be Mr. Seek.'

[yilingburialmounds]

Fics Featuring Some Yiling Laozu (either literally or just The Vibes)

Calling Heaven by mondengel

Lan Wangji had not wanted to come at all.

Lan Wangji-centric and short but extremely chilling. Post the First Seige of the Burial Mounds, and it has some great horror vibes.

The waters and the wild by SecretStorm

Lan Wangji has grown up hearing stories of the feared Yiling Laozu, who kidnaps young boys--including his childhood best friend, Wei Ying.

When a Lan child is taken, Lan Wangji travels to the Yiling Laozu's lair in the Burial Mounds.

He does not find what he expected.

Another Lan Wangji-centric piece, featuring Wei Wuxian as a figure similar to the Pied Piper, with a great deal of the fic featuring Lan Wangji terrified for the safety of those in the Burial Mounds. The vibes are this fic are phenomenal, do check them out!

Scrimshaw by Verse

"Is it true that you were sent to Burial Mound? How did you make it out alive?"

"I didn't." he replied, and never said which question he was answering.

This fic delivers some absolute chills! It short and sweet and to the point, and it builds up to the revelations wonderfully. (Honestly, Verse has some very good MDZS horror fics! Check them out!)

Replicatum by ghostdove (sarensen)

They say there's nothing alive in the Burial Mounds. That isn’t entirely true.

(Canon divergence Burial Mounds AU: Wei Wuxian gets thrown into the Burial Mounds after losing his golden core. The Wei Wuxian who leaves the forest is not the same.)

Okay, this fic doesn’t really feature any Yiling Laozu characters or any Yiling Laozu vibes, but it features Wei Wuxian’s stay in the Burial Mounds! It has a great surrealist horror vibe - and some plant horror and body horror - and the first time I read it, it took my breath away. The gnawing hopelessness that sets in alongside all the fantastical horror bits is just to die for! (Pun not in intended but greatly appreciated.) Do check it out!

help is on the way by Vamillepudding

“There,” the Yiling Patriarch says. “Now all that’s missing is a throne. Would you like one?”

“I have no interest in ruling,” Lan Wangji says.

“What is it that holds Hanguang-jun’s interest, then?”

Lan Wangji presses his lips together, unwilling to meet the Yiling Patriarch’s gaze.

(The Yiling Patriarch wins. Lan Wangji is left behind on the fields of the dead and appoints himself a task.)

Real surrealist, fairy tale vibe here, folks! Once again, Lan Wangji-centric, but Wei Wuxian has all the features you’d expect from the Yiling Laozu! Including his reluctant but growing feelings for Lan Wangji, of course! Do check it out, it’s phenomenal!

love, in fire and blood by cicer

"You want Wen Ruohan dead," the Patriarch continued idly. "You want his corpse puppets eliminated. You want his halls burned to the ground and his soldiers disemboweled and begging for mercy. Have I about covered it?"

He gave another knife-edged smile.

"But what will you give me in return?"

"We would be willing to offer quite a bit in return for Wen Ruohan's defeat," Lan Xichen admitted. "But I'm afraid we don't know what an immortal such as yourself desires. Please advise us."

The Patriarch waved at hand at the front of the tent. "I want Second Young Master Lan."

(In which the Sunshot Campaign ends through an arranged marriage to the Yiling Patriarch, and Lan Wangji suffers the mortifying ordeal of falling in love with his own husband.)

This fic is, of course, a classic! Cicer is an amazing writer and they have outdone themself yet again with this fic! War prize!Lan Wangji fics are always a delight, and the beginning parts of this fic have such tension and great Vibes(TM), and the latter parts are so soft and yet still so strong. Slow burn at its finest! 

in the face of cruel fate by sunlaozu

> Lan Wangji was slowly starting to understand now.

> The longer he stood in Wei Wuxian's position, the more he learned of the wicked ways of the world, the more he learned that it was simply too difficult to separate the black and white, and why Wei Wuxian had to resort to the demonic arts.

> Because the path of light will not be enough to go against the world.

After Wei Wuxian's death, Lan Wangji becomes the new Yiling Patriarch.

Okay, this isn’t Yiling Laozu!Wei Wuxian, it’s Yiling Laozu!Lan Wangji, and it’s still wonderful! The summary explains the fic pretty well. It’s only one chapter and technically a WIP, but honestly I thought it was complete, that’s how well-made the first chapter is. Do check it out! 

Buried in the Sky, Hallowed by the Depths by themunchking

If you listen, the mountains of Gusu sing in the evening, as the sun is going down.

That’s what they say in Caiyi Town, where the clear and cold mountain streams flow into the lake. The streams are deep, the locals know. They say they carry the melody down from up high. From Cloud Recesses.

There are reasons it is forbidden to enter the Cloud Recesses after dark.

Okay, this technically doesn’t contain any Yiling Laozu characters, but it has The Vibes strewn all over it! Both Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji’s personalities are so dark and alluring, and they’re so incredibly powerful! Do check it out!

i am the storm by everythingispoetry

Yet another thing Lan Zhan's education failed to teach him which he learns from Wei Ying: sometimes, acts of murder can be a love language.

Another Lan Wangji-centric fic featuring Yiling Laozu!Wei Wuxian. It’s A/B/O this time, but don’t let that put you off - it’s a short fic with phenomenal execution and a whole lot of Wei Wuxian taking care of Lan Wangji. Just remember to read all of the tags before diving it!

Frame of Fearsome Symmetry by donutsweeper

When, in a combination of irony and revenge, Wei Wuxian took Wen Zhuliu's core and crushed it, he hadn't expected the result.

(Canon divergent from episode 15 of the donghua.)

The scene in the donghua where Wei Wuxian ripped out and destroyed Wen Zhuliu’s core always gave me the chills, and this fic plays off of that so wonderfully! It’s twisted and I love it, so do check it out!

And that’s all I’ve got for you, folks! I hope these helped you get a lovely dose of Yiling Laozu!

[anonniemousefics]

The Nine Terrifying Moons | Masterlist

Based on the response to this post. :) Oh, yes, we’re doing the thing.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Fandom: The Folk of the Air | Jude + Cardan

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten

Chapter One: The First

I am trying to keep my hands from shaking while I’m holding the test strip. There’s one pink line, and I’m waiting to see if there will be two. I think I already know the answer, but I’m holding my breath like it’ll make time go faster anyway.

If I ever imagined this moment, which I don’t remember ever doing, but if I did, I would have imagined it like the commercials that would run in the background when my mom would watch tv while she cooked dinner. If those were to be believed, I was supposed to be in an all-white, pristine, upper-middle-class bathroom, gasping with tears of joy while I hid my pearly white smile behind trembling fingers. My partner would be hugging me from behind, elated and definitely not about to make any crude jokes about the virulence of his sperm.

None of this is happening.

I am in a Target bathroom stall, surrounded by Target-red walls. Cardan, my husband and the High King of Elfhame, is on the other side of the red walls, trying to distract himself with the automatic paper towel dispensers. He’s waving his hand in front of it every couple of seconds; I can hear it each time the motor dispenses paper. I wonder how long of a trail he’s created at this point, but it’s the least of my worries.

“Cardan, you’re wasting paper,” I tell him anyway. He does it again once more; I can practically feel his petulant glare through the wall.

“How long is this meant to take?” he asks.

“It’s only been thirty seconds,” I tell him. “It takes two minutes.”

“I will die of old age by then,” Cardan mutters to himself, which I know he finds funny, because he’s immortal, and he waves his hand by the paper towel dispenser again.

I think I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.

Cardan had not been keen on this particular trip to Target, which is saying a lot, because he’s usually so fond of it. He had wanted to cut our trip to the mortal world short, head back to Elfhame and its royal healers and midwives and have me submit to their inquiries and tests, as all queens and lovers of the High Kings of Elfhame have before me.

But I just needed a minute to think. I needed to process this, with Cardan alone, and face the impossibly difficult questions we’ve been avoiding since this became a question. And if this is true, if I really am with child, with Cardan’s child, I don’t want the first people to know to be a bunch of faerie midwives. I want to tell Vivi and Heather. I want Taryn to know first. And I am filled with loathing when I think about how protected and insulated I’m about to become when the healers and midwives know. How the people will cease to see me as their High Queen and rather as the incubator for their Prince.

I want to eat an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s. This is all happening so fast.

I glance back at the test strip. Stand and flush the toilet. Step out of the red walls.

Cardan’s raised his dark eyebrows, his hand arrested halfway to the paper towel dispenser again.

“Well?” He looks guarded, unsure of how he’s supposed to be reacting. I hand him the test and step up to the sink, turning on the water to wash my hands. I can see him in the mirror behind me, in his tight pants and boots, The Ramones T-shirt he’s borrowed from Vivi. He’s turning the test over and over in his hands, like he can’t tell which way is up. Same, honestly. My head feels like it’s detached from my body.

“It’s yes,” is the only dumb thing I manage to mutter as I soap up my fingers. Just like the commercials.

“How can you tell?” Cardan’s only looking more confused.

“The two lines.” I turn off the water and tear off part of Cardan’s paper towel train. “The two pink lines mean yes.”

Cardan looks up at me. His chest is hitching in shallow breaths.

“We should be celebrating,” he says, but it comes out like he’s trying to convince himself. So he tries again, squaring up his shoulders with a bit more enthusiasm. “We should be celebrating.”

“Mhmm,” I try to agree with a tight nod. I think I’m going to be sick. Again. Cardan searches my face, his gold-rimmed eyes flitting over the lip I’m worrying away at.

“You do not appear to be particularly celebratory,” he points out, but, then, neither does he. His cheekbones are tingeing red.

“It happened so fast, don’t you think?” My voice sounds almost breathless. It feels like a relief to point out, and that relief is contagious. Cardan’s shoulders sag a little bit as he lets out a breath.

“Lightning fast,” he agrees. He’s white-knuckling the pregnancy test.

“Careful -- I peed on that,” I point out, and, as if I’ve instead told him it’s on fire, Cardan hurls it into the trash with a disgusted huff.

I think for a moment about fishing it back out again, the only bit of evidence that I have that what’s going on inside of me is real. That the legacy we wished first wished for together in the dark, in each other’s arms, not even a month ago, is happening now and fast and there’s no going back. The time for second-guessing was over.

But a disconcerting combination of nausea and hunger hit me in the gut all at once, and I’m reminded that I have plenty of evidence and I’m only going to get more. If I really want to, I’ll just pee on another stick later.

“I need Starbucks,” I spout at the same moment Cardan sighs, “I need a drink.” And we share a quick smile.

At there’s still this. This has not changed.

And I should be enjoying that as we leave the bathroom and Cardan lifts the glamour he’d left at the door to give us some privacy. The “Out of Order” sign vanishes. But instead, I’m thinking of everything that is going to change. Of everything that ought to change, immediately, if at all possible.

I find myself unconsciously reaching for Cardan’s hand, and when I grab his palm and entwine our fingers, he’s squeezing mine back, hard. He knows. The worries and arguments past are resurfacing in his mind, too, and, for a moment, he wordlessly anchors himself to me.

We’re walking past customer service, following the alluring scent trail of coffee and baked goods, as I began to look at the other moms shopping. Their cute messy buns and their athleisure, pushing expensive strollers while their kids gnaw on the season’s latest teethers. And I’m struck, once again, by how much I don’t know.

Really, what are we doing here? Of all the people in all the realms, I think we are the last two people who ought to be becoming parents.

For one, I am an unrepentant murderer. Raised by an unrepentant murderer. Who murdered my own mother in front of me. This is not a person who ought to be cradling newborns.

And Cardan? The twice-cursed High King of Elfhame? Raised by house cats, beaten nightly by his own brother. Simultaneously spoiled and neglected. Is such a person even capable of cradling newborns?

And we’re about to be parents. I need to be reading more, I think. I need to have a plan. We never made a plan. We hadn’t had time to make a plan.

I pause a moment near the checkout lines, pulling Cardan to a stop beside me.

“I’m going to buy a few things first,” I decide in that moment. “Vitamins. Maybe some parenting books.”

“I don’t see the point,” Cardan retorts, straight-faced. “We have plenty of house cats.”

I narrow my eyes up at him as he smirks.

“That joke will be hilarious in a few weeks,” he tells me. “Just you wait.”

“I really doubt it,” I frown, and he’s still smirking when he drops my hand, stepping in front of me.

“My darling Jude,” he cups my face in his hands, and for a moment, his face is all I’m seeing. His expression is soft and tender across his beautiful features, and if our child is even half as good as looking, I am going to struggle to not let it have its way in all things. Or I’m going to want to strangle it. Some days, it’s a coin toss.

“You are the most fearsome and glorious creature I have ever had the privilege to behold,” Cardan is telling me. I’m struck once again by the marvel that he can’t lie and what he is saying must be true. In our five years of marriage, it is still sometimes hard to believe.

“And you will be the most fearsome and glorious mother,” he goes on. “I could not conjure up a more perfect mother for my offspring if I tried.”

“I think that says more about your lack of imagination than anything else,” I quip, but my cheeks are smiling in his hands regardless. He smirks back and quickly kisses me on the lips, once, twice.

“I am happy at this news,” he reassures me, as if he has sensed this whole time how overcome I am.

“I am, too,” I say, and I mean it. Truly. I’m a mixing bowl of emotions. My gaze drifts toward the store. “But we do need parenting books…”

Cardan kisses me quick one last time before releasing my face.

“I will procure your coffee,” he says, taking a step back, and it’s impossible not to look him over, his long, lean body in tight, black pants and worn t-shirt, his messy, black curls around the points of his ears. I have modern science to thank for keeping my womb empty these last five years. Chastity certainly had nothing to do with it.

“And Cardan?” I call after him. He turns. “A cake pop, too?” I ask, already in the clutches of a craving.

He looks intrigued.

“Is that what it sounds like?” he asks.

“Ball of cake on a stick,” I explain, kind of gesturing with my hands as if it will help. Cardan nods, determined.

“Then we will be needing several,” he declares before heading off toward the smell of coffee.

I shoulder the bag I borrowed from Heather and then stuff my hands into the pockets of the yellow sundress I’m wearing, one of a few mortal things of my own I keep at Vivi and Heather’s for visits. I’m on my way to the books section when I start to slow down near a display of newborn onesies.

It isn’t as though I never wanted to be a mother. I supposed there would come a day when I would have acquired all the knowledge one needed to be a mother, and then I would, I don’t know, award myself a medal or a pin and be declared Ready.

Taryn hadn’t been Ready. She would be the first to admit that. Not that I don’t love my niece with my entire heart. But Taryn’s daughter was a handful. Little Eva had been colicky and prone to getting her days and nights confused. For that entire first year, every time we saw Taryn, it seemed she faded a little more: the bags under her eyes greying, her auburn hair growing longer and frayed, everything but her breasts shrinking in size. Of course, it wasn’t permanent. Eva learned to sleep eventually, and to walk and eat and use a toilet, and, now that she was a robust and energetic five-year-old, Taryn was more like herself than she’d been in years.

Still. That first year, though.

Time and time again, Cardan and I would exchange glances while Eva squealed and squalled. It was always a silent No, thank you, please passing between us. We’re just fine without, thank you. Between the battle for the crown and undoing a curse, we’d had quite enough excitement, and so I eagerly welcomed Vivi regularly smuggling me little moon-shaped packets of pink pills from the mortal world. I took them each morning, like clockwork, with relish – it meant I could enjoy my freedom, our freedom as long as I wanted.

I’m not sure what happened in me. One day, I was calling it freedom. The next, it felt like an empty vessel.

We’d gone to visit Taryn and Eva at their estate for a summer solstice brunch. Vivi and Heather had come, and The Ghost was there, too, swapping stories and laughing with Vivi. I’d stepped out onto the terrace to call in Eva for food when I’d spotted Cardan. He was helping Eva climb up a tree, holding her hand while she balanced on a branch. Her wild fox hair was blowing in the late morning breeze that carried her giggle up to the house. Then she leapt at him with a delighted squeal, and he caught her and spun her around so that she squealed some more. And that look of sheer joy on his face when she did. His unguarded laugh echoed up through the grassy hills. I felt my heart crack open.

No, thank you, please suddenly felt very unadvised.

“What have I done to deserve such a face?” Cardan asked me, leaving a lingering kiss close to my ear. I guess I was looking a little amorous when he and Eva came inside. Little Eva was trotting off to the kitchens as I wound my fingers against the buttons of Cardan’s doublet, keeping him close for a moment longer.

“You looked happy,” I said as his hands slid around my waist. I looked up into his dark eyes, warm only for me, and saw he was smiling. “You looked like you liked doing fatherly things.”

He pulled me a little closer, a little tighter.

“I think I did,” he admitted, perhaps hardly believing it himself.

And then it happened. The unspoken shift, the change in the air. It seemed to crackle in the space between our gaze, and it took a fair bit of restraint to not pull him into the nearest coat closet and tear off his clothes. Taryn was calling us anyway. The servants had set the table, and no one would be seated until we had taken our chairs, even in this little family arrangement. Taryn was set on Eva learning courtly manners by example.

Courtly manners. By example. Taryn had the best intentions for Eva, but the phrases make me snort even now while I peruse baby clothes in Target. What example did we set in Faerie? One of murder and deceit and betrayal and lewd behavior.

The same day that I’d watched Cardan play with Eva, he abruptly ended dinner in the palace’s great hall to hoist me into his arms and carry me out, away from every one’s gaze, away from even the guards.

“What has gotten into you?” I kicked my feet and pounded at his shoulders – not particularly hard. Look, I’m not going to pretend this isn’t a game now. I could cause damage if I wanted to. I don’t.

Cardan set me on my feet, only to seize my waist in one arm. We stumbled into an alcove in the wall as his head dipped to my neck, his other hand catching us against the wall. Delighted shivers danced down my arms as his lips brushed the spot below my ear, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp.

“You couldn’t lie to me now even if you wanted to, wife,” Cardan murmured, kissing my ear. He wasn’t wrong. I ran my hands up his deep blue velvet doublet to his shoulders, and bent into his embrace. His hands began to roam my waist, my hips, pulling at my skirts.

“I’ll tell you whatever you like if you’ll keep doing this,” I whispered back, flushing. When he pulled back from my throat, there was a wicked, sneaking smile on his reddening lips.

“You don’t despise the thought of bearing my children,” he said, like it’s a revelation. I blinked. Had he been thinking about our previous exchange all day?

“I despise the thought of bearing any children,” I clarified. “It’s not some honor unique to you.”

Cardan gasped as if he was wounded.

“You could not have cut me deeper,” he teased, as I wound my fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “I thought I was special.”

“You are,” I said, tugging at his hair. “Because if I’m to bear any children at all, I would like them to be yours.”  

The smile that spread over his face then was far from wicked. Cardan was flushed and delighted in a way few got to see, and his arms squeezed around me, lifting me to him as he crushed his lips to mine.

“Cardan,” I laughed against his fevered kisses, my cheeks hurting. “I didn’t mean right this second.”

His lips were swollen when he pulled back, the pupils of his gold-rimmed eyes blown wide.

“Then practice with me,” he said, his breathing ragged. “Like swordplay. You’re always saying I’m rubbish at practicing.”

“You really are,” I gasped against his mouth.

In the last five years, I’ve grown no better at resisting the pull of his desire. If anything, I’m only worse. I couldn’t think straight there in his arms. I wanted to drown in his contagious idealism. I wanted to be set aflame by his soft lips and his body against mine.

With my arms thrown over his shoulders, his lips slid against mine, over and over, our hearts pounding in time together. And then he lifted me off my toes so that he could push us both through our bedchamber door.

A shoe slipped from my foot, and he stumbled over it, kicked it to the side, without releasing my waist. Only when the back of my legs pressed against the bedframe did he pull back from my mouth, breathless. And then he pushed me back onto the bed.

I stretched out on the lush duvet, my whole body thrumming as my heart battered my ribcage. But when I looked up at his face there at the foot of the bed, his expression had darkened in the candlelight.

“What is it?” I pushed myself up to my elbows. “Why are you stopping?”

Cardan suddenly looked as if he was at war with himself. Even though his chest still heaved, he inched to the bed and stepped back again, his dark brows furrowing together.

“Cardan…?” I sat up, alarmed at his hesitation.

“Do you think I would be any good at it?” he blurted out. “At being a father,” he clarified, and winced as if he already knew and hated the answer.

I slid to the edge of the bed and reached for his belt. Pulled him closer.

“You are as equipped for the task as I am,” I said, looking up at him with what I hoped was a provocative smile. He slid his long fingers into my hair, and I needed him closer. “If you’re terrible at it, then I will probably be worse.”

I meant it in jest. He’d always liked this side of me before, my dark, warped cruelty. But this time, his fingers tightened suddenly in my hair.

“Shit.” The word slid out of him like it was being dragged. His hands dropped from my hair, and he stepped back to look at me. He drew in a sharp breath.

“You think I would be a terrible father,” he said, which was hardly fair. That wasn’t what I said at all. I sighed hard, ruing the direction this was going – further from the bed.

“I think neither one of us knows what a good father looks like,” I said. Cardan only gave a painful chuckle.

“We are both quite familiar with terrible fathers,” he said. “I think you, of anyone, would be able to recognize a terrible father when you saw one.”

“And that is the last time you will compare yourself to Madoc,” I said, in horror. “If that is the standard for terrible fathers, then you’re angelic.”

But Cardan gave me a look of slit-eyed skepticism, so I stood from the bed and stepped to him.

“And, really, what does it matter right now?” I asked, lowly, holding a hand to his face. He leaned against it. I was almost ready to start begging. “I am not falling pregnant tonight. We have time to learn these things, if we want to learn them at all.” I lifted onto my tip toes, brushing my lips to the hollow of his cheek.

“Just come to bed,” I whispered there, and I saw his eyes fall shut, his dark lashes against his sharp cheekbones, as he turned to meet the slant of my lips.

“I want to be good at it,” he murmured against my mouth, as I dragged him toward the bed.

“Then you will be,” I insisted just before he cradled the back of my neck, sinking into our kiss as we tipped toward the mattress.

We have time. It’s an easy lie to tell when you’re in Faerie. Time stretches on, limitless and unending. There shouldbe time, endless amounts of time, to learn all you need to know – about anything. There should be time to become the person you’d always wanted to be.

I had had two months since that first conversation. Even less time since the others. In Faerie, that’s hardly a lunch hour.

I am reeling. I’m in Target with a red basket full of prenatal vitamins and snacks and pregnancy books, and I am absolutely reeling.

After I check out, I find Cardan sitting on the curb with a Starbucks bag that’s the size of a large gift bag and two venti Frappuccinos. The one he’s nursing is strawberry-pink and looks full of cream.

“They didn’t have wine,” he tells me, handing me mine. It’s drizzled in caramel, and I’m not sure it’s what I would have ordinarily chosen, but right now, it smells perfect.

“Probably for the best,” I say, and hazard a glance at his expression. It’s dark and troubled again as he squints against the sunlight. His legs are drawn up, and he’s resting his elbows on his knees, like he’s hunched under a weight. Reality’s given him a hard jolt since he kissed me in front of the newborn onesies.

I take a long sip of the Frappuccino through the green straw.

“Cardan, if you don’t want to do this--” I start, and his head jerks up.

“I have always wanted this,” he snaps, looking defensive, and then he’s looking at his boots again.

“Okay.” I sit back, extending my legs.

How do I do this? I have no blueprint for this. Floundering, there’s only one rope I know to pull, the one that’s always saved us: honesty.

So, I go on.

“I’m terrified, too,” I say. I spread the yellow fabric of my sundress over my knees. “If that’s any consolation. I think I’ll be happy eventually, but right now, I’m completely freaking out. I can hardly form a coherent thought. How many cake pops did you get?” I cock my head at the large Starbucks bag.

Cardan shifts it in my direction.

“All of them,” he says, glumly.

I raise my eyebrows as I peer in the bag. Oak will be excited, at least.

“I hate myself for being so terrified of a thing I desperately want.” I look up at Cardan’s confession to see his face twisted in loathing, and my heart twists right along with it. I know this pain, the agony of fearing what you love.

I could lie to him; I probably should. I should tell him right now that I know without a shadow of a doubt he will be a perfect father, that he’s beyond everything that had been done to him, that none of it had ever touched me either. But I don’t lie to him anymore.

Instead, I hand him a cake pop.

“That strikes me as a waste of energy,” I say, and nudge him with a coy smile. “There are so many other things you could hate yourself for.”

He gives me a wicked smirk and, instead of taking the cake pop I’ve offered, he seizes my other wrist and takes a large bite out of the one I’d claimed for myself. Feigning exasperation, I stab at him with the leftover stick.

“Does this not strike you as problematic?” he asks a moment later, his cheek still full of cake.

“Yes.” I reply with a stoic nod. “The fact that you just ate a pregnant lady’s cake pop is both striking andproblematic.”

“I mean this repartee you and I enjoy.” He wipes at a bit of icing at the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “A child ought to know his father loves his mother and vice versa, should he not? I would think that sort of thing helps.”

I feel the heartbreak behind his words as if it were my own. In his mind, he’s now on an endless search for every moment in his childhood that went wrong, every little action he ought to do the opposite of. I know. My mind’s been doing it, too.

I scoot a little closer, nearing his warmth, so that I can lean against him. He rests his head on top of mine.

“But you’re my nemesis,” I say, softly.

“Jude,” he says it like he’s scolding. “Not in front of the children.”

“Do not say ‘children’.” I jab him again as he presses his lips to the top of my head. “Your wishes are too powerful, and there is room in here for only one.”

Cardan’s slipped an arm around me, and I tilt my head back to look at him. The corner of his mouth is tugging upwards, slyly.

“Tell me I’m too powerful again,” he murmurs as he kisses my cheek.

“Later,” I promise, and I reach for another cake pop.

There will be time for all that later.

It’s a lie I get used to telling.

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

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[hogwartsfirebolt]

Ways you said I love you prompt: Without needing to say the words

I couldn’t find this prompt on the list, but it was so beautiful the story started writing itself in my head. Thank you very much for asking ❤️

Ways you said I love you: Without needing to say the words.

Draco dreams of the forest. A forest, he supposes, but it feels like the forest.

In the dream, he’s holding a stone and looking at the ghostly figure of Harry Potter. In the dream, he’s crying. He can hear his parents calling out for him, he can hear, still, the echo of bombardas that he knows should have ended hours before.

He knows, in the dream, that things had gone the way he always knew they had to. He knows that he wishes they hadn’t. That, in the dream, he’s devastated.

That heartbreak follows him into daylight, drapes itself over him like a cloak. He feels it when he wakes, feels it as he walks the halls of the manor he commands, feels it as he’s told by his house elf that his father has called by floo and is waiting for him. He feels it as he hears him say, “the Potter boy was seen in Dorset three days ago. You know what to do if you find him.”

The heartbreak follows him all day, because he knows if he sees Harry Potter, he has to kill him. He knows that he will. And he mourns him already, the man he has never met, the man who is more legend than man, because he remembers himself standing in that forest. Because, in a dream, he knew him.

He also knows what’s expected of him, and he will follow through. Even if it kills him.

-

But this is not that kind of story.

-

What happened was this: the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord was born as the seventh month died.

And so, one fateful Halloween night, the man who called himself Lord Voldemort aimed his wand at that baby, after killing everyone standing on his way. He didn’t flinch or bat an eye, way past the point of hesitating before taking a life, even if it was the life of an innocent, wide-eyed one year old who stared at him with his arms outstretched, looking for comfort. He aimed his wand and said the words that would kill him.

The babe, defenseless, just sat there.

...but killing off a child would not be very PG-13 of us, would it, and so what happened was this: the little boy broke the Killing Curse as it slammed against him, turned it into endless fragments of green light, tendrils of black magic that floated up into the ceiling like dancing fingers, fading into nothing. Some of it slipped inside of him through his weeping little baby mouth, through his wide green eyes, through the jagged crack the impact put on his forehead, but most of it – gone.

And yes, the boy was nestled in a cocoon of protective magic strengthened by his parents’ sacrifice, but he was an actual baby, and a powerful curse slamming against him was certainly enough to knock him out, even if he did have a bit of a magical force field. He passed out. He did not die.

The man who called himself Lord Voldemort – perhaps not much of a man after all –  did not die that day, either, in any way, shape or form. There was no rebound to the spell. From his side of the wand, it appeared as if it had hit the boy and done what it was due.

He peered into the crib that held the unconscious baby and, being a Dark Lord and therefore not knowing the first thing about babies, assumed his work there was done. Satisfied, he turned on his heel and stormed down the stairs, ready to continue his pursuit of power, now unstoppable. That’s what he thought.

But the boy had not died, as we’ve established. What happened to him was this: a devastated young man in a flying motorcycle found him and, you know, like a regular person, thought to shake him around a bit before assuming he was dead. And the baby knew him, so he sighed with relief upon waking, lay against the man’s chest and fell back asleep clutching his battered jacket in his tiny fists.

When Hagrid came for the boy, Sirius insisted on accompanying him, and together they met Albus Dumbledore in Surrey. Yes, unfortunately that still happened.

We know how this story could have gone. But it is not how it went.

What happened was this: young Sirius Black now had an alibi. Even though the baby was still left in a terrible home with his terrible aunt and uncle, his godfather, a free man, visited him in the form of a dog – against Dumbledore’s orders, but, in young Sirius’ words, he did not give a shit – and taught him about magic all through his childhood. Harry Potter was a happy boy. He knew his stay in Privet Drive was momentary, he knew as soon as that man “Dumbledore” allowed it, his godfather would take him.

A few things changed, of course. This is not the story we knew. Let us try to break it to you… gently.

  1. Harry James Potter received the “you’re a wizard” talk at 4 years old, as soon as Sirius thought he’d be old enough to understand it.

  2. Sirius Black told him all about his parents as well. Showed him pictures and books and sometimes cried while he cradled Harry to sleep.

  3. Sirius Black, unbeknownst to Harry, once slipped into the Dursley’s bedroom at night, let them think he was a demon, and threatened to unleash hell’s wrath upon them if they weren’t nice to their nephew. It worked.

  4. Lord Voldemort didn’t die that Halloween night.

  5. Lord Voldemort continued his campaign for power and immortality.

  6. Lord Voldemort gained terrain over the Ministry, terrorized and devastated magical villages, established governors in each of them –  Death Eaters, all of them.

  7. Lord Voldemort directed a series of attacks against ministry facilities.

  8. On Christmas Eve, 1986, the Ministry fell. Millicent Bagnold was killed in her office, and Pius Thicknesse was appointed Minister in her place.

  9. Lord Voldemort gained full control of magical Britain.

  10. Albus Dumbledore visited when Harry turned 7 and told him the story of Tom Riddle, the man, and Voldemort, the monster. Harry was 7, and Dumbledore let him know he was a soldier. He let him know he was the most powerful wizard of all time, probably. He let him know he was their only hope. Harry was 7.

Everything was different.

Harry was whisked away from Privet Drive and taken to Grimmauld Place. He was 7, and his transformation into a warrior, a bringer of hope, began.

-

Harry Potter is, at 20 years old, a first priority criminal, wanted by a corrupt government for treason and criminal disloyalty.

The tips of his fingers hold more power than many wizarding folk see in their entire lives, charged with years of training, charged with light and dark magic, balanced inside of him like night and day. And what he does is this: he walks. There’s a member of the Resistance next to him, always, a different one each day as he walks through the country, feet calloused, refusing to apparate anywhere before he sees it all. He walks, passes villages in his search for horcruxes, and bestows small miracles upon those who need him.

He comes and goes, more legend than man. In places where governors reign wielding terror as their weapon, the people await him. His name is whispered in taverns, held close like a secret, like something precious, and when he appears, white hooded cloak shadowing his face, it’s as if rain poured after centuries of drought. He smells of dirt before a storm, of fresh grass, and every house welcomes him in secret in the middle of the night.

His hands brush over burning foreheads, over broken arms, through strands of hair, and his touch is curative. His words slide smooth like a balm over wounded souls, his message — we will win this, I will win this, worry not, fear not, for I will end this — the love everyone feels for him, deep in their hearts. He’s a stranger, but he’s not. In places where fear has become a living, breathing thing, villages where everyone cowers before their leaders, people bow down for their warrior, kiss his calloused hands, his scarred forehead, and what little they have they give him so he can continue his trip.

At night, after he has left, the air smells different, smells like him, like rain and lightning, and his message of love is whispered into the night with the certainty that he will free them, he will free them.

Harry Potter, the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. The boy who lived, the man destined to become a savior.

At night, people come together in secret and say, “long live Harry Potter, savior of all.”

-

He’s just a boy, too.

He flies over Dorset, broom held tight between his legs as he makes his way to the Resistance’s refuge in East Devon. The hands that cured a man of blindness earlier, now push through a wooden door and find their way around the back of his godfather, who was up waiting for him. Desperate times, but that man always has a smile for Harry.

“News of civilization?” He asks then, holding him tight, letting him know it’s okay to share the burden of his responsibilities if only for a minute.

“Yes. A man knows of a man who bought the cup. We need to move to Wiltshire.”

That’s how he lives. Just a boy who happens to be a savior, who lives nowhere and everywhere, who knows his duty, who has trained his whole life to achieve it.

And Sirius goes with him. “We’ll hit the road tomorrow.”

-

When Harry Potter knocks on his door, Draco almost sicks up on the spot.

Piercing green eyes stare at him, ready for a fight. But Draco is smart. He knows Harry Potter has come looking for something. Draco reads the paper, talks to his father daily about the information they have on Potter at the Ministry. He wouldn’t come, unless he was looking for something.

Draco should kill him, should end this, win the Dark Lord’s favor.

But he dreamt of a forest, and of knowing this man who carries the wild in his eyes.

He lets him in.

-

Malfoy Manor is full of secrets. Harry coaxes them out of hiding, cradles them near his chest and learns about darkness by stumbling into it in every corner.

The cup calls for him from the heart of the house, and he finds it on the second day of his stay, unearths it from a coffin in the depths of the dungeons. He destroys it on the spot, unspools the layers of iron with the magic contained beneath his fingernails, and destroys it.

When he turns, Draco Malfoy is in the corner. The child of a Death Eater.

But Harry has been in many places, seen enough repentance to recognize it in downcast grey eyes. He lowers his cloak and walks to the child of a Death Eater, holds his head between his hands.

“You can tell me.”

“There’s more where that cup came from,” Draco mutters, as if Harry had forced it out of him. He could have, but he didn’t.

“Will you show me?” And he can tell this man whose beautiful face he holds between his fingertips knows little of gentleness, knows it because he sees him flinch at Harry’s uncomplicated love and soft words.

“I should turn you in.”

“Will you show me?”

Draco shows him.

-

He learns more from Harry Potter the first two weeks they spend together than he did in 7 years at Hogwarts.

In the mornings, he steps out the door to find Harry kneeling by the flower beds, and when he turns to Draco his smile is wide and gentle, “Look at this,” he says, and with a touch to their petals, he makes the buds shake off their stupor and bloom, nurses them back to health. “Every living thing is ready to thrive, if you ask nicely.”

In the evenings, when they share a meal by the fire, he can’t stop himself from thinking about his father. About the fact that he’s betraying him. And Harry knows, because he always knows. In the short time they’ve spent together, he’s always seemed to know.

“Once you’ve passed your own limit, punishing yourself for love, you will start hating yourself, Draco,” he tells him as if he could read his mind, and then reaches for his hands and plays with his fingers, traces an outline of vines and flowers along Draco’s arms with magic, with locks of pure, blue light. “And if you think you know what’s right, that’s what you should do.”

And it’s nothing Draco doesn’t know. He knows what’s right, knows the magic of Harry’s hands, knows his heaving chest after an evening looking through the libraries for clues of where he needs to go next, he knows his profile, has been staring at it for days, he knows what he feels after Harry kisses his hands and tells him he can join them if he wants, they have room for him, he has room for him.

He knows what’s right. Harry’s message of love, of life is what’s right. And he would walk through fire if Harry asked, but right now, he’s simply asking him to thrive, if he’s ready.

He’s ready.

-

“The locket is in Inverness,” Harry says. He can see Draco flinch, and he knows the reason. “We have a fortress there. Will you come with me?”

He knows the reason.

-

This is what it’s like, walking with him: there’s magic where Draco never thought to look before. In the eyes of a child, who feels hope for the first time, in the lips of a mother that kisses Harry’s hands and Draco’s forehead. There’s magic in Harry’s feet as they touch the ground and make flowers bloom around him, as he brings life to everything around him, offers tenderness and words of love in places where authoritarian brutality is the norm.

It’s this: walking into prisons at night and melting out the iron keeping innocents locked in. It’s colors seeping into grey, it’s Harry reaching into a tree and it producing a perfect, ripe apple to gift to him, it’s Harry pressing it to Draco’s lips with a smile and saying, “here, you’ve earned it.” It’s Draco biting into it and being certain of the fact that he loves this man, tasting it in the sweet, sweet juice after breaking the skin of the fruit.

He knows, now, that Harry is the legend he has always heard about. He’s infinite, raw power poured into the purest vessel it could find, he’s gentleness to his core, he’s magnetic and good. He makes it impossible not to love him.

And he knows, now, that Harry is also the boy everyone forgot used to hide underneath that cloak. That for all the life he brings everywhere he walks, there’s a solemnity he carries in his chest, the burden of hope heavy between his shoulder blades, crushing him even if he does not know.

Sirius comes and goes, joins them on their trip and disappears on recon missions, over and over. Once, when they’re alone, Draco tells him about it, says “he’s just a boy” and Sirius sighs because he knows what it’s like to love him, to love this boy who is both young and ancient, like Draco does, and can’t even assure him, because there’s many ways this could end, and only one of them, the least likely of them, lets them keep him.

So he gives Draco a stone.

-

It takes them a year. Harry makes his way through England and Scotland, brings hope and freedom to the people as he searches for the items he needs to destroy the Dark Lord.

Draco guides him into Hogwarts, hand in hand, the moment they know where to find the last one. As Harry destroys it, he sees Draco cry.

He hasn’t told him what Harry has always known, that the way this ends for him is in sacrifice, but he thinks Draco must suspect. So he holds him in his arms and smooths his hands through his hair and over his eyelids. “It’s almost over, my beloved. Now let him come to me.”

He makes himself sound more confident than he feels. For the first time, as he holds Draco close, he doubts his own faith, for entirely selfish reasons.

But he remembers his lessons, and he remembers Dumbledore, and the Order, and reminds himself that this is what he was born for.

“Let him come to me.”

-

Draco knows what Harry is going to do, and sees him try to hide it. He sees him fight, sees him help every single witch and wizard to cross paths with him, the way he always does.

And when they part ways in the midst of the battle later that night, when Draco sees his mother, he feels something shatter inside of him and knows it’s happening. So he runs.

-

“The boy who lived, come to die.”

“You think this ends with me, Tom, but it doesn’t. The people’s pain is more powerful than their fear, and they won’t be silent. Do not think they’ll be silent. From the other side, I will see them bring you down.”

And then a curse, finally doing what it was due all those years before.

-

He stands in the forest, a stone held tight between his fingers. He can hear his parents’ cries for him in the distance, running towards him, echoes of bombardas that should have stopped hours before. He stares at the ghostly figure of Harry Potter.

“Why?”

“This was the only way he would die. I know you don’t understand, Draco, but this was the only way.”

“But he’s not dead, he went back to the castle, he’s making everyone pick sides. Harry, it’s over, it’s over.”

-

Harry stands in Kings Cross.

He’s given a choice, and he thinks of the burden, thinks of what his life might look like now, what will be expected of him next.

He thinks of the boy with the grey eyes.

He makes his choice.

-

In the morning light, a hero is reborn. Draco tosses him a wand and runs to fight next to him. Where he always belonged.

Afterwards, when the withering body of a man who was a monster hits the ground, they walk into the Hall, hand in hand, covered in dust from head to toe. Harry touches every bloodstained forehead, every dead body, presses his forehead to them and whispers words in the ancient language of the magic that runs through his veins, through underground streams and every living, breathing thing.

Everywhere in the Hall, eyes begin to open, and look into a new world.

-

“The change is only starting,” Draco tells him, as they stand with their foreheads pressed together outside the castle.

“It has started, my beloved.”

He doesn’t say he loves him, but Draco has known from the beginning, hears the words in the spaces between, slowly, dripping from every pore of Harry’s skin.

“We should go away for a while, just… while the dust settles.” Harry doesn’t protest, but Draco sees it in his eyes, and so, he interrupts his thoughts with a soft press of cracked lips, rough to touch, tender to heart. When he pulls away, Harry’s smile is nearly blinding. “You deserve it, for once. Besides, I know of a place in Wiltshire where the flowers sing your name.”

“And you?”

“And I sing it, too. I sing it, my love.”

[jimlingss]

Worshipers of the Sea

Part of the Worshiper Series

➜ Words: 16.3k

➜ Genres: 98% Fluff, 2% Angst, Pirate!AU, Mermaid!AU, God!AU

➜ Summary: You are the greatest pirate to set sail across the ocean and self-proclaimed ruler of the ocean. But when the true God of the Sea catches wind of your hubris, he punishes you — taking your legs and turning it into a tail.

➜ Notes: This story shares the same universe as Worshipers of the Sky. They are companion pieces, but it is not necessary to read one before the other. Each can be read as a stand-alone piece. Enjoy!

The ocean shrinks at the sight of you.   It’s pathetic, the tides retracting, waves quieting, not at all as fearsome as some ignorant folks make it out to be. It’s less daunting and mysterious than all the tales told on shores, the rumours that are whispered to children not to go near it during the night and to be careful lest the waters swallow them whole and take them to places unknown. They’re afraid but maybe it’s because they don’t have the privilege of knowing what you do, of having the powers you do, of being God of the Sea.   “To another successful voyage!”   The noisy clanks of glasses fill the tavern, golden liquid spilling over the rims from the reckless movements, splashing onto the tables, but no one has any regard. You’re all too busy downing the rum that runs dry in your mouth, but smooth down your throat. It quenches your thirst and drunken laughter heaves out of your bodies.   “Drinks are on me,” one of your crewmen lifts his glass over, nearly falling off his stool, and there are more cheers, disrupting the conversations of the locals.   “Oh, please.” The only other female pirate rolls her eyes. “You don’t have to act so gracious. With the amount of gold we have, you could buy drinks for us for the rest of your life and then some! Shiver me timbers, even buy this whole goddamn fucking place!”   There’s more laughter exchanged, and you savour the moment surrounded in your crew. It’s been yet another successful expedition that makes your shoulders light and your pockets heavy with riches still yet to be sold off.    “You got that right!”   It feels good to be on land again, even though you breathe the salt air of the open waters, it’s a pleasant change after months of endless journeys. It’s nice to eat something other than salted meat, sea biscuits, sauerkraut, and bone soup. You don’t have to sleep in a hammock either. Though, you still enjoy the rum off-shore more than you do onshore.   “Hey, hey.” A male pirate, ex-sailor, drunkenly calls out. His face reddened with rum, voice slurring almost beyond coherence as he waves his hands. “We couldn’t have done this without one of the best captains in the whole damn world! To our captain, Y/N!”   For the hundredth time, cheers erupt, this time in the form of a toast and you chuckle. “I’m glad you know the privilege of having the best navigators in the entire damn ocean. They don’t call me the God of the Sea for nothin’.”   You dominate the ocean, seated on the throne as the superior. You know the ocean better than it knows itself to the point that it’s afraid of you. No beasts or storms dare to stand in your way and people on land, peasants and nobles alike, whisper their tales on your adventures, regarding you with both fear and respect. You’ve traded with kings, queens, merchants. Nothing can stop or prevent you from reaching further greatness.    You’ve become immortal.   “Careful ‘bout your boasting.” There’s a curt whisper that makes the whole table go quiet. “Your pride’s gonna get you in trouble, girl.”   Your neck cranes, eyes narrowed into slits, lips curling in feigned amusement. “If you got somethin’ to say, old hag, dare to say it louder?”   The old woman sitting at the other table is draped in a black cloak, hood covering her face and shielding her features. But her wrinkled skin and shaking, bony hands are obvious in view. Her eyes lock into yours, irises deep.    “You should be careful what that tongue speaks. It’s terribly foolish to do otherwise,” she scolds in a raspy voice. “It’s never pleasant when the real gods are angered.”   You scoff. “Let me tell you somethin, ol’ lady. There is no god.” Behind you, the crew snickers at your boldness. “There are no gods that you speak of. They won’t come to save you when you beg or die. They won’t damn you if you do bad things. Your god is a tale to make people afraid. In this world, you either eat or get eaten, take or get taken from. It’s terribly foolish to believe otherwise,” you mock her tone, rousing more intoxicated laughter.   You turn back to your crewmen, drinking down the rest of your rum before being passed another full bubbling glass. You choose to brush off the stranger in exchange for celebrating. It’s not a night for fights, but a night of fun.    And you don’t notice the old lady sighing and shaking her head, warnings going unheard. There’s nothing more she can do if you refuse to heed her cautionary words.   //   You stand near the stern of The Divinity, overlooking the blue sea that seems to shimmer like the jewels you have prepared in the chest. Your white linen shirt is tucked into your trousers, matching the black, wide brimmed hat you have and your dark coat — a favourite of yours that was stolen right from a noble in front of his screaming lady. Gold decorates your arms in the form of rings and necklaces, contrasting the bright red sash around your waist.   You’re dressed as the queen of the ocean, overlooking your entire kingdom.   As rough as it can get living out here, you love being on adventures and exploring the world. You can’t stand the thought of staying in one small village all your life to marry some bastard and take care of screaming babies at home as he goes off to get drunk. It’s not the life you would ever want for yourself.   “Where to now, captain?” A male crewman approaches. He’s short and stubby, but has proven reliable in assisting with navigation. The barrels of rum have been loaded onto the deck, food prepared and nets being drawn in — everything’s ready.   You march across to the captain’s cabin, opening the door and pulling out the rolled map from the bucket. You spread the paper on the table, leaning over to stare as your fingers tap. “There aren’t any plans for any voyages any time soon. I think it’s best if we travel to the next port at Henesys. There are merchants I know who want to do a trade deal.” You nod, standing straight. “We set sail by afternoon.”   “Aye, aye, captain.” He goes off running to deliver the news and you glance back at the map with a smile. There’s so many uncharted territories, so many lands and spaces unknown. You’re excited to see them all, satiate your curiosity of what else is out there.   Eventually, The Divinity’s anchor is pulled in, ropes tugged back onto the deck. The ship leaves the docks, ocean town disappearing behind you. The sheets are billowing in the wind as the route is followed. For once, it’s a smooth and relaxed journey with each going about their own duties, dinner being prepared for consumption in a few hours time. You pace around to monitor and observe before stopping at the poop deck to look over the horizon to the clouds gathering.   If things go according to plan, you should arrive there in a day’s time….   “Captain!” A female pirate runs up to you, her voice bringing back your attention. “There’s a storm approaching. Should we prepare and release the anchor?”   “Not yet,” you tell her. A measly storm’s not going to affect your journey and you’d rather not be delayed. Those merchants are tricky and you won’t leave room for them to bargain because of your late arrival. “We’ll skirt the edge of it and pass in time.”   “Aye, aye.”   As if to mock your arrogance, the waves roughen and The Divinity rocks back and forth with more force as the hour passes. You look over with hands behind your back as thunder crackles in the approaching gray sky, lightning flashing to brighten the dark colours. And you openly challenge it.   No god could beat you. Your biggest enemies are humans with greed which no know bounds and itchy palms that find slimy ways to disrespect the code you’re all bound by. But the supernatural? Gods?    They’re all tales of trickery.   You won’t succumb to the religion of worshiping unseen gods out of unreasonable fear or to confide in when things go astray and pray with false hope. The only thing that has helped you in this lifetime were your own abilities, your own skills, and your potential. When expeditions went awry, you were the one that saved yourself — when treasures were found, you were the one who indulged.   There’s nothing above you or below you, nothing after death that you need to live in restraint for. Your life is the only thing that counts. And you will never cower or bow down to anything else, even when the sea threatens to pull you down with it.   “Batten down the hatches!” your voice bellows above the crackling lightning and rumbling thunder. “Raise the main top yard!” The helm is in your grasp and you steer straight, keeping your eyes on the horizon that is no longer horizontal. Your crewmen run with your commands, doused from head to toe.   “Man the capstan! Steer clear of breaking water!”   The cold rain violently pummels on top of your skull, falling down into sheets to blind your vision. Your crew members are filling buckets of water from the deck and throwing it overboard, but the effort is obviously futile. The ocean is angered, sky booming as if it were screaming, unleashing their wrath. The salt-water smashes onto the side of The Divinity.    “Brace up yards!”   There is total darkness with no end in sight, as if the sea wants something, someone.   The ship rises with the swell and another intense wave comes crashing down. It engulfs you and pulls you away from the helm, your grip on it lost. The surge tries to grab at you, knocking you to the ground. As you struggle to stand, shouting out instructions, your voice is drowned and your mouth fills with saltwater, wheezing after you swallow it. You’re shoved onto the deck floorboards again and The Divinity threatens to flip, tilting on an angle.   You’re knocked to the side of the wall, completely lost control, dangling on the edge.   “Captain!”   And just like that, you’re pulled under.

It is black.    With your eyes peeled back, a muffled scream coming out in the form of tiny bubbles, you try to spin yourself around to see where you are. But the surface is out of reach, too far, and no matter how you flail your arms, kick your legs to swim, it seems as if the ocean is purposely pushing you down to its depths.    You realize the sea was never afraid of you — it was merely indulging in you for the sake of entertainment like dangling a toy in front of a tiny cat. It was playing with you until it got bored, sick of your hubris and pride. But you can’t die like this. You won’t accept it.   A great pirate does not die so easily.   You won’t—!   Your vision is clouded in pitch darkness. Your fight and struggle to the surface dwindle as your limbs seize and your body begins to sink deeper into the black, afloat in the depths of the ocean like a piece of dust with no mind, no purpose, no strength.    The last air bubbles leave your lips….   But as your consciousness fully slips under against your will, you feel palms graze against your cheeks. Your lips graze against something before they’re being parted by a spongy but warm texture. It’s soft and plush, and then air is inhaled into your lungs, reigniting your senses.

When you come to, you aren’t dead.   You’re on your knees.   Rope bounds your arms behind your back and your ankles together, digging into your skin and rendering you immobile. Your limbs are heavy like lead, as if you’re being held down or surrounded by water — struggling would prove futile any other way. But what takes your focus isn’t to fight the compromised position you’re in, it’s the man sitting on the golden throne.   His thighs are spread, but unwelcoming, and the trident grasped in his left hand proves so. But what is most strange is how his jaw, facial features are chiseled to perfection, reminiscent of stone statues that you’ve destroyed many times over. The long strands of his hair are swept back, in the colour of magenta berries that are seldom in your reaches. And the drapes adorn that falls to his knees are distinct with the thin cloak draped over his side that’s blue-black in a shade as deep as the ocean.    Never have you seen such a blinding person in existence before, despite having traveled far and wide.   The man is otherworldly.   “W-who are you?”   The overwhelming scent of the ocean radiates off of him. He smells intensely of the fresh sea breeze, the salted air and foaming bubbles on the surface that you can already taste in your mouth. But as familiar as it is, you don’t let up. Not with the way his thick brows are furrowed when he stares.   “Who am I?” The voice booms, echoing all along the bottom floor of the sea to the very surface where bubbles float. It drops into a menacing tone, a ripple that morphs into waves as he announces his place in the chaotic universe.    “I am the God of the Sea. He who rules all oceans and waters, who commands all creatures beneath the surface of your eye, far and wide. I am seated at the throne with rains and storms at my feet, protector and destroyer all of all seafarers true or hungry. I give to you the vital living force to which you can survive. Kneel and bow to your god!”   You stare, unsure of where you are when the walls are white, when the stone floor digs into your knees as your eyes reflect the gold decor surrounding the room. There are riches untold in this space, jewels and antiquities you can only imagine where they came from. But as you mull over your position, refusing to move, there is a force upon your back that shoves you to the ground.   You wheeze, gasping and water enters your mouth, causing you to cough it out.   There’s water all around you that can be swallowed, but unable to be breathed in. Your eyes open in shock, bulging at the tiny humans with their downcast heads. They are dwarves, ones of which you’ve seen paintings of, but their bottom halves are of octopuses, tentacles for legs. Those creatures refuse to look at you or at the male on the throne.   “I know your name.” Your teeth grit. You don’t know where you are, if this is all a nightmare or if you’ve been sent to damnation, but you grasp onto the only thing you’ve ever had — pride.    You’ve heard stories and tales of his bravery since young, from sailors and fishermen who sung his name in relief and cried it out as their last lifeline. While you never believed it, you might start changing your mind. “Jungkook.”   The half-humans and half-octopus holding you down with the bottom of his spear sharply inhales. “How dare you call your god by name, mortal.”   Jungkook waves the guard away, and you use your remaining strength to pull your torso up from the floor. Your eyes are narrowed in to stare at him. You won’t be scared when you have nothing to fear. There’s no reason to be afraid of a great god who cannot even save his own people. “If you know my name then you know who I am.”   “You must know mine too.”   His brow cocks, head tipping to the side. “Even in the face of your god—”   “—I have no god.”   The servants, only three feet tall, flinch. He bellows deeper, louder, ignoring your blatant disrespect. “—you are still, but a dirty human with a foolish arrogance. A hamartia that will kill you quicker than you can cry. Should’ve never soiled my mouth on you,” he spits and you frown, not knowing what he means. “But allowing you to drown would’ve been too easy of a punishment.”   “Punishment?” you scoff, challenging him openly, “And why am I deserving of punishment?”   “Your hubris is deserving of damnation in the underworld for eternity. To claim that you are the god of sea, of the ocean bowing to you, that you are equal to a god is an absurdity I have not faced for millennials. Your blatant disrespect and contempt is neither courageous nor gallant. It is foolish,” he curses.   “I only speak truths. And you are no god to me,” you bite back, refusing to allow him to speak down to you on his high horse. “I don’t put my faith in gods I do not see, in gods that don’t help in times of need, of gods that do not answer prayer.”   “I am seated before you and you….dare to reject me?”   “You take me because of my hubris and punish me so, but where were you when sailors were dying at sea? Where were you when the fishermen cried out to help? The men who were lost on passages to their families? I will never bow down out of my own will to a god who is more concerned about arrogance than saving his people.”   Jungkook’s jaw clenches, but after a second, he relaxes into a smirk. “You dare question my will and principals when all you have done is stolen? You have earned nothing that you have.”   “I steal and pillage to survive. Some of us don’t have the choice of sitting on thrones with a bunch of servants at our feet. Do not try to divert the blame to me.”   “Enough.” His voice draws deep from the pit of his stomach, walls seeming to rumble. “I will not sit here and argue with a mere mortal. I would rip that mouth off your face and take your voice if not for the fact that it’s the only amusing thing about you.” He smirks again, a rush of air leaving his nostrils in a snort. “Instead, I have chosen your rightful punishment. Your legs will be the price of your arrogance and pride.”   “My legs?”   “I command you to never walk upon the lands of treasure to satisfy your thirst of greed nor set sail amongst the sea to claim you are a god again. If the ocean is which you treasure, then you will live in it for the rest of eternity,” he bestows to you, a curse, a penalty for your sins. Jungkook sits at the top of his throne, but you never stop staring him down, unrelenting with your jaw clenched. “Your legs for a tail. Half-human, half-fish.”   “Half-fish?!” you shout in exasperation, struggling to get to your feet. The servants gasp at your blasphemy, of daring to interrupt and scream. The guards threaten to push you down, but you’re still agile and quick, slipping out of their grasps. You stumble against your binds, managing to get halfway up the steps to his throne, closer, and you catch the way he flinches.   “How fucking dare you? You are no god to me. You are a coward who is scared of others standing up and taking your place. You—!”   A shriek tears from your throat. You flop to the ground. Your legs burn, immobile, limp and heavy. Jungkook stares at you and the corner of his mouth curls. “Careful. The monsters and beasts of the sea love to eat humans.”

You don’t know how long it’s been.   You can breathe as much as you’d like, the water like air. Your skin is no longer bothered by the temperatures of the waters or when it freezes during the night. Your hair doesn’t become soaked like seaweed and heavy on your scalp when it flows freely.    It’s become easier to swim, fluid as if you are a part of the waves. And it’s as if you were born with a fish tail instead of legs, that your bottom half has always been filled with colourful scales. Pink and blue, glistening in the lights and shining like jewels you’ve once stolen. It flickers behind you like a good friend, slimy and coarse at some part, smooth at others.   It feels like you’ve always been like this.   But you know exactly how long it’s been.   You’ve been counting, tracking the stars and seeing how they align. What feels like an eternity has been but a single day. One sunrise. One sunfall.   Within the second hour of your transformation, you found The Divinity. It’s set back in its course after a small delay. But there was no way you can contact your crewmen now. They would never believe you.   You know better than that after being a pirate for so long. They’d think you’re a mythical creature trying to lure them into a trap to capture them.   So you’re left with watching from afar. Once they make it to shore, they’ll wait for you for three days — as stated in pirate code for members gone missing — and then they’ll go on without you.   You stay away from the surface after watching your ship leave, aware that other fishermen and sailors would jump at the chance to spear you and show your corpse off at circuses. Thus, with no other direction to swim to, you head to the depths of the ocean.   “You’re a….cecaelia?”   “Yes, half-human, half-octopus.” The young female bows her head reverently in greeting, tentacles holder her in place. “We are under the domain of the Gracious Jungkook, blessed is he who is brave and courageous and protects us all.”   You hold back from rolling your eyes.   But it was amazing how there were towns and civilizations under the water like this, life forces you’ve never known, practically a kingdom beneath your nose.    As you gaze around, you disregard the stares from the creatures — they’ve never seen anything quite like you before. Half-fishes like you aren’t so frequent, you’d like to assume.   “You are…?” she asks politely.   “I am Y/N,” you state honestly. She was kind enough to stop when you blocked her way. Not many wanted to speak to you. Each seemed to lower their heads and go on about their day quietly. “I don’t know what I am.”   “Oh.” The female cecaelia quirks her head to the side as a fish squirms by. “Are you lost? Do you need assistance?”   “No, well, yes. I’m looking for Jungkook,” you say plainly. “I was cursed by that scoundrel and fucking turned into this. So where is he?”   “The Great Jungkook?” she whispers in shock but doesn’t question it. If anything, she is more scandalized by your blatant disrespect and tries to divert the subject. “You must be a mortal...a maid, perhaps? Then that makes you a maid of the sea, a mermayde. I-I’ve never met a mortal before. It’s nice pleasant waters today, isn’t it?”   “Mermaid?” You’ve never heard of such a thing before, but you quickly shake your head, not entertaining the idea. You won’t allow her to evade the subject. “Where is he.”   “Y-You cannot search for our Great Jungkook. He only comes to you through prayer and sacrifice.” She bows her head and tries to swim away but you block her.   “Bullshit. Where does that bilge rat live?”   You’re not going down without a fight, demanding that she tell you. And once cornered, the creature’s trembling bottom lip is bitten into by her teeth.   You’re going to spear that bad-tempered rat with a pole when you can get your hands on him.

Jungkook walks along the carpeted corridor, glancing out the windows to where bubbles are slowly floating and making their way to the surface.   He hums a low note. “That human….have you heard any news about her?”   “The half-fish?” His servant, Sungdeuk, squeaks and yelps when Jungkook graces him with a glance. He bows his head even more. “L-Last I heard, there was news on the south shore that she traveled to the surface.”   “Hm.”    The Water God wonders passingly if you’re stupid enough to get noticed by sailors or fishermen. It would be a death sentence.   “Would you like to meet her?”   “No.” He continues walking again and the servants behind him tottle quicker after his shadow.   Jungkook couldn’t care less about your existence at this point. He’s asserted dominance by punishing you. But he’ll admit…..you’re terribly entertaining. 

His place is fucking massive. It’s unnecessary and excessive, but you wonder if that’s just your jealousy speaking. You’re rather self-aware.   You also know that given the chance, you’ll swipe and pillage the entirety of his home. You’d throw it onto any human boat just to get his precious antiquities onto land and out of his damn reach. But that might not even be enough to satisfy the anger you have boiling beneath your skin.   You want to see him — and kill him.   “Let me into the palace.”   The half-human, half-octopus guards ignore your presence completely.    “Let me in, scoundrels! Do you know who I am?! I demand an audience with your god!”   They allow themselves to be pushed and shoved and shaken, but never do they once inch away from their posts, still always blocking the entrance way.   There’s no other way in that you can see. You can’t swim up or down or crash into the stone walls. There’s little you can do but scream.   It’s fine by you. You still have at least forty years left to live. You’ll spend all those decades out here if need be. Your anger is enough to last that long and beyond.   “He’s a scalawag! I bet his mother was a wrench! Probably died in grief giving birth to a boy like him! A god?! Pft! More like a bilge rat!”   Your insults garner no reaction but glares.    Little do you know the impact inside the palace.   “Gods, what is that ruckus?!” Jungkook stands up from his throne chair, thumping the bottom of his trident as he demands an answer from his servants.   “Y-Your majesty,” Sungdeuk pipes up in a pathetic cry. “I-It’s the mortal you cursed.”   His expression falls. His lips pull in a straight line, eyes dimming. He is unimpressed and sighs, sitting back down and waving exhaustingly to his attendant.   “Continue reading the report.”   It takes three full days.   Three days of eating seaweed, of screaming and yelling and throwing insults, of throwing a massive tantrum and garnering the stares of servants and guards alike, in front of the entrance of his magnificent palace.   And unbeknownst to you, Jungkook can’t get rest whatsoever. He cannot lay down or even sit with a moment of peace. Not when you’re out there blatantly disrespecting him and soiling his home with your yells of letting you in and declares that he’s a rat or scoundrel — he’s unsure what the last one even means.   It gets to the point where his servants are on their tip-toes, afraid of his mood swings.    And Jungkook breaks.   “Get her in here!” He suddenly screams during a morning feast.   And when one guard comes rushing out, saying to the other that the god will entertain you, you are absolutely delighted.   This time, you’re able to swim through his palace, water surrounding you, but weightless and breathable. You’re no longer using your feet, but at least you’re not tied up in ropes like a sick present.   You hover over the lapis lazuli tiles, marveling at the magnificent decor and columns spiraling upwards infinitely. The servants stare, though you pay no mind, looking on with a sort of observation that holds less fear and more of an interest in what's possible to steal. But before you can even swipe something for later, you’re led into the familiar throne room and come face to face with the god you scorn and who’s cursed you for eternity.    There’s a nymph perched on his lap, a creature you recognize from mystical tales told in the moonlight. She is mystical, gorgeous with flowers decorating her hair and a sheet for a dress loosely draped over her frail frame. But she stares at you with a certain disdain, eyes narrowed in like a feline prepared to pounce.   “You can go, Jieun.”   Jungkook dismisses her and she sneers at you, turning her nose before hopping off his lap and strutting off with a servant stumbling behind her. You’re not amused in the least bit.   The god is lazy, exhausted as he slumps and diverts his attention to his fingernails like you are not even worthy of him looking at. “What is that you want this time?”   “My legs,” you demand, much to the mortification of his reverent servants. Your hands are digging into where your hips should be, but instead where slimy scales begin. “Now. Give it back to me.”   He scoffs with a grin and finally looks at you, arrogant in his gaze. “Absolutely not. You obviously have not learnt anything or suffered enough to speak to me in such a disrespectful tone. But, I’ll make an exception since you’re such a pretty, little thing. If you beg hard enough and bow down before your god, I’ll let you stay at my palace.”   Your brow twitches. It’s enough to set you off.   “Fuck you, you bilege rat, ya honourless scum.” There’s a sea of gasps, guards lurching forward to drag you out, but you continue to cuss him out with the temper of a pirate captain, “Come here ‘n fight me like a real man! Aren’t you supposed to be a god?! How dare you sit atop your throne and speak to me that way! You know what you are?! A hogshead barnacle! Rotten to the core—!”   The guards throw you out and you scream echoes throughout the room.   The doors shut with a deafening bang.   Jungkook sighs and resorts to rubbing at his temples with his fingers to lessen the onset of the headache. “Your majesty,” Sungdeuk pipes up by his side and when he turns to look, they all duck their heads. “W-why won’t you silence her? Her rudeness is quite….hard on the ears.”   “Let me teach you something…” The Water God stands and walks away as the parade of servants and guards begin to follow. “You don't kill your jesters unless you want to die of boredom.”

How dare he.   That damned scabby sea bass son of a sea witch.   In retrospect, you probably should’ve contained your anger. After days and nights of demanding to see him, you blew it and got thrown out without even a full minute of contact. But it’s outrageous and there’s no holding back your anger. More importantly, you’re in full disbelief that no one’s ever stood up to him — they’ve all backed down, looked on in fear and it’s ridiculous.   “—water’s quite nice today, isn’t it?”   “Indeed. I—”   “Did you hear?” You interrupt the cecaelias’ conversation, swimming up to their side with a wide eyed expression. “Jungkook’s fallen in love with a human.”   “A mortal?!” They whip their heads over, mouths drawing open to catch the small fishes swimming by, eyeballs nearly floating away from their sockets.    “Our Water God, the Great and Gracious Jungkook?!” The female half-octopus gasps and shakes her head, scandalized to no end. “Never.”   You try to hide the smirk tickling up on your lips. “Not as great as you think he is, huh?”   But the left one frowns and bows her head in spite of the rumour. “Even so, we shall not speak ill of our god. He knows what is best and protects us from all evil.”   Upon hearing it, the right one follows suit, also lowering her head. You roll your eyes blatantly in disdain, though with a little admiration with how loyal his subjects are. “Oh, there’s no reason to be afraid of him. He doesn’t hold as much power as everyone thinks he does. He’s just like us.”   They exchange expressions with one another.   It’s working.   You’ll get back at him one way or another. You can destory his kingdom from the inside out, illegitimize the fucking throne that he sits on. You know more tricks than just brute strength — you’re one of the greatest pirates the world’s ever seen after all.   “Did you know? The Water God isn’t as tall as he makes himself out to be. His throne sits high up but he’s really just five foot two. A tiny twerp, that fellow.” — “He’s very bad at counting. Has to rely on his servants to keep track of his belongings. Not as smart as he comes across.” — “He’s a skirt chaser. All day long he’s got different nymphs sitting on top of his lap. He’s a rather….lustful god.”   There are snickers and whispers, murmurs of his name that are spoken softly. And you continue to taint his title with every opportunity that presents itself.   “He’s fearful of seaweed.”   “Seaweed?” A smile threatens to tug on the creature’s mouth, a laugh held back. You hum while nonchalantly grabbing the clam drink that’s passed on the counter. It’s rather salty for your liking. But the atmosphere of the underwater tavern isn’t half bad and the creatures occupying the space are open ears desperate for secrets.   “It’s too slimy for his liking.”   The rumours spread far and wide. The sound of your voice echoes through others, rippling amongst the sea and tumbling into waves. You can see it, hear it when you swim through the underwater caverns — they’ve become less afraid to murmur the name of their god, excited even to have a change from the peaceful kingdom that brought boredom with its silence.   It’s perfect. If you’re forced to stay stuck here, you’ll make sure to find a way to rise above the tide, to maybe even claim his place. There’s no one to stop you.

There’s muttering in the palace, behind him, by his side, all around. They’re whispers that he can’t pick up on, not when they’re transpiring across the corridor and when the servants see him, they duck their heads and shut their mouths tightly. One thing is for certain…   They’re speaking about him.   “Sungduek.”   “Y-Yes, your majesty?”   “What are they saying about me?”   “I-I...uh...um...well...your majesty….n-nothing...of-of..of importance, I-I...c-can...ass...assure...you that.”   “Sungduek!” Jungkook shouts and spins around, stopping in his spot, his robes fluttering. The servant nearly begins sobbing with how harshly he’s called. “I asked you a question. I expect a proper answer. What are they saying about me.”   “Well…” He swallows hard, ducking his head low enough that his neck almost snaps off. “There’s been false rumours going around lately….”   “Rumours?” His thick brows furrow and his confusion is replaced with intrigue. The Water God knows only good things are spoken about him — perhaps this time it’s about how he’s brought more prosperity to the nation or maybe it’s about how there’s been less disturbance to the sea lately. Whatever the case may be, he wants to know, wants to satisfy his ego. “What kind of rumours?”   “Ummm….”   “Sungdeuk…..” Jungkook sighs. “I am getting quite tired of your mumbling and stuttering. You know how I feel about it, right?”   “Yes, sire.”   “Would you like to get blasted with thunder?”   “N-no, sire.”   “Then get on with it! Tell me!”   The half-octopus, half-human glances at his fellow servants beside him, but no one spares a glimpse of sympathy or of willing assistance. “T-that you’re short, your majesty.”   There’s a long silence.   The Water God doubts he heard properly.   “Excuse me?”   Sungdeuk rushes to save face. “O-of course, it’s all untrue! All of it! Even the fact that you’re scared of seaweed and pufferfish, that you’re allergic to flowers, that you’re afraid of seafarers setting sail across the ocean, that you’re in love with a mortal—”   His timbre booms across the land. “What?!”   “I promise you, anyone who speaks ill of these rumours again will be brought outside of the palace and suffer the appropriate punishment.”   “Oh, gods.” Jungkook turns around, headache worsening. He rubs at his temples, not wanting to start.   He doesn’t know where these speculations and scandals came from. It’s sudden.   But Jungkook also knows what else was a sudden change to this land — you.

It’s fun in the ocean.   At first, you were reluctant to come to terms with it. It’s not your home, not the place you wanted to be in. You rather set sail on the surface, chase after buried treasure and relish in the rewards of solving mysteries, make a name for yourself that people can bow to. But you’ve come to realize that there were plenty of secrets and gold in the depths of the sea too, places you’d never see if you still had your two legs.   There’s also a new sense of enjoyment of talking trash about that treacherous, boot-licker, sea-dog, Jungkook. No matter what you say about him, you haven’t gotten smote yet. And what’s he to do with you if he knew. You’re not afraid of death. And so, you swim far and wide with your tail, ruining his reputation while surrounded by the sea you love.   It’s not too bad.   “I don’t get why everyone’s so scared of ‘im.” Your tongue rolls casually, poor enunciation that doesn’t care for being proper. You’re rested against a rock, arm propped up on it with your chin in your hand as the scales of your tail shimmer with the light cascading down from above.   The young cecaelia hums, blonde hair clipped back with shells. “I wouldn’t say we’re scared of him! It’s called respect! At least that’s what daddy tells me.”   “Respect isn’t being afraid of talking. Respect isn’t being so reverent that you’re shaking in fear. I know what respect is, girl. Don’t try to fool me,” you counter with a bite to your words.   The child doesn’t understand half of what you say, but she continues anyways, tentacles flipping and playing with the kelp floating around, “But Mommy said that Water God’s done a lot for us! The least we can do is respect and pray to him. He protects us!”   “Darling, you protect yourself. Your parents protect you. The people you care about protect you. When has Jungkook ever protected you?”   “Well…” The female quirks her head to the side. “He….helps by putting food on the table.”   Your brow lifts. “Does he actually put food on the table for you? Have you seen him do it?”   “No.” Her voice weakens and she pouts. “But without him, we wouldn’t have food in the first place!”   “You would,” you tell while leaning closer, like a siren with a song that’s mystical and captivating. Her eyes are wide as she listens to you. All that you’re saying is new and she will sing your melody for others to hear as well. “See, the world works naturally with or without gods. There’s a balance. Without Jungkook, there would be food too. Your parents would catch it, they would cook it, and they’d put it on the table. It’s them, not your Water God.”   “But what about when bad things happen?” she whines, trying to understand. “Aren’t we supposed to pray and make sacrifices so things are better again?”   “When bad things happen, there’s nothing you can do to control it. It just happens. We try our best to overcome it ourselves, to become stronger ourselves. There’s no need for gods. You don’t need it. You can live perfectly fine without them. All you need is you and the people you care about.”   “Huh.” The child cecaelia slowly nods. “I never thought about it that way.”   What started off as petty revenge and a personal vendetta is quickly forming into something that tests your leadership skills. But you can feel it deep in your bones and you can see the way they look at you — less like you’re a foreign creature in their ocean, more like the door to a new world.   A revolution. A rebellion.   It’s your new goal.   “Has he ever helped you in times of need?” — “What has he ever done for you?” — “If he was so gracious, why doesn’t he stop death from happening? Why is there suffering in the first place?”   “Your ideas are dangerous, fish,” An older cecaelia interrupts your conversation as he lifts his glass of what you assume to be the underwater version of rum. If it weren’t so unbearably salty, you’d have a drink too.   “Aren’t you tired of being helpless?”   “We’ve been living fine for the past decades. Speaking ill of gods brings nothing but chaos and disaster.”   “We should be able to speak freely instead of being afraid of chaos and disaster,” you argue. “And sure, life here is fine. But fine? Fine. Is that all you want? Don’t you want to achieve greatness?”   “I do not want greed.” The creatures inside the tavern watch closely, heads flopping back and forth between both sides. The bartender’s hands move slow in cleaning the glass and even the souls hidden in the corners are oddly quiet. “I know when I have enough. I do not desire better or worse.”   “You do not desire better for your children? For the future?”   “My children will understand that this is best.”   You scoff loudly. “This ain't best. The person keeping you from best is sitting atop that throne of ‘is. Making all the decisions and benefiting from them the most. But who pulls the weight? Who’s all working while he’s sitting there enjoying it all? You.”   “Aren’t you worried that your courage is foolish, girl?”   “No.” You take your stand, voice loud and clear. “I’d rather die for my own dignity and honour than live being stepped on and being forced into silence. My voice is important. I want to be heard. I’m living here now, and I should be able to say what I want, have what I want and control what I need.”   There are nods, murmurs that agree. The older man smiles gently with a kind of condescending wisdom that isn’t appreciated. “And you think denying your god will bring you the freedom you seek?”   “I will fight need be. There is no god when there are no people to rule over.”   There’s shouting, the crowd roused up. Power tingles the tips of your fingers. You’re stronger than you’ve ever been before.

He can feel it.   Jungkook looks out the rounded window to his capital, the city that stands tall amidst the water. But while pride usually runs through his veins, this time he’s unable to relish in such emotion. Not when the waters are moving faster and the sea is unresting.   The walls continue to talk, servants that murmur as he strides past, whispers that seem to carry from the outside in. But this time, he pays mind to it. He notices. And he especially notices how it’s silent inside his head, how prayers are seldom echoing, less than what they used to be. The peace is unsettling. His people haven’t become less selfish in their begging and pleas. His people aren’t muttering about his great achievements.   He knows what’s going on. Jungkook isn’t a blind god.   “Sungdeuk.”   “Y-yes, your majesty?”   He shuts his eyes, jaw tight. He traces the noises back to a human that’s easy on the eyes and who’s fishtail glistens in the sunlight. But whose sharp tongue and jarring words seem to mar the unpolished beauty that the God of Spring would be jealous of. You — the most bottom layer of these seductive and infectious rumours. Your voice that is almost soundless, but still present.   “Get that human.”   “Certainly, sire.” The three feet servant dashes off, tentacles sweeping the waters until he disappears down the corridor.   And soon, Jungkook comes face to face with you who still dares to challenge him with an arrogant expression and your nose raised high in the air, never once cowering in his presence. His headache pounds inside his skull as he regards you, but his face remains impassive not to give away his fascination and amusement.    How could it be possible that someone like you, a mere mortal turned half-fish, can cause so much damn trouble in his kingdom. He couldn’t have ever fathom it. It’s intriguing.   “I know what you’ve been up to.” He lifelessly waves his hand, dismissing the guards and servants from the throne room. It’s just you and him, but you don’t seem the least bit intimidated.   “And what have I been up to, your majesty.” There’s a bite to your words, spoken straight from spite.   He gets up from his golden chair, arms behind his back as he walks slowly down the stairs to meet you at the bottom. He paces around, circling you as if you were prey, allowing the silence to increase the tension. Jungkook wonders what it takes to truly scare you.   “Trying to cause unrest in my kingdom. Lead my people foolishly astray and against me. You’re really something, aren’t you?”   “They’re not being led foolishly astray. They follow me by choice. They have their own will.”   “Your ignorance isn’t admirable. You bring forth chaos and destruction to my kingdom.” He fights back, stopping to face you and stepping forward. But you don’t back down, don’t back away, unwavering even when your bodies are pressed against one another’s. “I ought to just spear you and put you in my museum, you troublemaker.”   Your chin lifts, eyes narrowed into slits, lips a millimeter away as you taunt him. “Go ahead. I’ll become a symbol, a sacrifice, a martyr.”   “You view yourself highly, don’t you?” Jungkook scoffs lightly and steps back. “I’ve said it before but killing you would be a waste. You obviously haven’t been punished hard enough. No matter. I have other solutions.”   “What are you going to do?” you ask, not out of fear and more of morbid curiosity.   The Great Jungkook turns, so that you’re only able to see the profile of his face and the smirk that pulls on his mouth. “I have no choice but to keep you right by my side and keep a close watch on you.”

Maybe they were right — Jungkook, that bilge swine rat, isn’t a force to be reckoned with. Turning your legs into a tail was something. But being made to stay with him was the real punishment.    That ill-tempered bootlicker knows how to get under your skin.   “You-your majesty!” Sungdeuk throws the door open without warning, stumbling in on his tentacles like a mindless octopus.    “What?”   The Water God sighs at the rudeness, arm perched on his arm rest as Jieun rests on his lap. She twiddles with the thread gone loose at the hem of his cape collected at his shoulders. The nymph cozies up to him, but he pays no mind.    He’s bored.    Until he realizes that it’s you who’s imprudently entering into his throne room right after.   “When are we eating? I’m hungry.”   The corner of his mouth pulls. You’re dressed in servant clothing, simple blue robes deep in hue and that billow down. It’s simple attire meant to show the division of classes of the divine and commoners, but somehow there’s an unrefined beauty to it when it’s on you.    But where your two feet should be, it’s your fishtail peeks out, flickering to keep yourself a few centimeters above the floor, a reminder of the punishment he’s given you.    “Who says you get to eat?”   “Are you going to let your prisoner die?”   He laughs, the sound oddly melodic to your ears and not at all imposing. “You’re right. What kind of god would I be if wasn’t merciful and let the poor starve.”   “How gracious of you.” Your eyes roll to the back of your skull.   The respected Water God is about to rise from his seat before he realizes there’s still a nymph on his lap. His expression glazes over at once and he motions to her languidly. “You can leave now.”   You don’t fail to notice the way the nymph glares at you in spite. She lets out a ‘hmph’ before marching off but you’re not amused. “Hurry up before I cook one of your servants.”   Sungdeuk audibly squeaks.   Jungkook’s never dined with someone of lower status before, but you set yourself right across from him without asking and you begin eating without a moment’s notice, not even to spare a glance at him once. You consume the food ravenously, not caring if it’s poisoned or there’s a bound curse that’ll make you stay stuck in his kingdom forever. You’ve heard tales of such things before — but you’re sure it’s Jungkook who should be afraid that you’ll be present for eternity, and not the other way around.    Jungkook watches you eat and holds back a smile of amusement. “Is the food any good?”    You make a disgruntled noise and speak with your mouthful. “It may be the only thin’ good about this place.”   He gives a sound of a half-scoff and half-laugh. You’ve never witnessed the Water God in such a relaxed mood before, but perhaps this is the first time that you’ve even held a proper conversation with him that wasn’t filled with animosity on both sides. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. But please, don’t talk with your mouth full.”   You look up with a brow cocked, ripping into a chicken leg with your teeth on purpose and opening your mouth again. “Bite me.”   Jungkook gives a disgusted expression. He drops his silver spoon, appetite lost.   He watches you smear your dirty hands on your robes. “Use a napkin for gods’ sake, you uncultured barbarian.”   You glare, forgoing your utensil and just to mock him, you dip your entire hand into his cooled chowder, cocking your head to one side as you feed yourself with your palm. His jaw clenches.   “You’re imprudent to an impressive degree. Your ignorance will kill you someday, mortal.”   “Hasn’t killed me yet,” you say sharply, unintentionally spitting at his cheek. At once, Jungkook freezes and then he wipes it off with his sleeve. He holds in the urge to smite you with lightning or take away your underwater breathing abilities to watch you drown. “Wha’ do ye want me to do now that I’m your captive?”   “First off, fix that poor language skills of yours. It’s uncivilized.”   “Fine,” you enunciate sharply once more, spitting at him again. Jungkook physically flinches this time and a muscle in his face twitches. “What. are. you. going. to. do. to. me.”   He wipes at where you spat at him and sits back, not touching his food at all. “Nothing. But I’m starting to think you should have a teacher to teach you some proper manners since you obviously didn’t learn any above the surface.”   “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”    You swipe two chicken legs off of his golden platter, one in each hand to eat. The tip of your fishtail flicks at his knees underneath the table. Your articulation is now proper but still foreign, and it causes you to spit accidentally at his face for the third time.   Jungkook takes a deep inhale to regain composure.   “You are not to leave the palace without my permission. My guards are already aware, so don’t try any tricks. But you’re free to roam as you please within limits. There are the gardens and the library. Maybe you can educate yourself in the meantime.”   “That’s it?”   “That’s it.” He smirks, clasping his hands together with his elbows on the table. “You’re stuck with me for eternity. Maybe you can learn to view me as your god someday.”   You scoff, almost vomiting at how disgusting the future prospect is. But while you’d love to soil his dinner table with puke, you can’t show your weaknesses to the enemy, so you challenge him instead, “Fine. We’ll see how long you can bear it for.”   //   Jungkook strides down the hall, his robes swishing slowly as he moves. They’re silk fabrics that are pitch black at the shoulders before bleeding like watercolours into an ocean blue, fading into a sea foam white at the bottom where it pools. He appears majestic, but certainly doesn’t feel so.   “The Goddess of the Sky has yet to respond to—”   He stops. He looks down. He lifts his foot. “Why is there mud here?”   His beautiful garments are now stained with brown. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume Victoria, Goddess of Agriculture, has a vendetta against him and sent cow manure in his path.   “O-oh, uh…” Sungdeuk dips his head, pausing from reading the report. The other servants notice and immediately rush over with a bucket and mop. “Lady Y/N brought it in from the gardens.”   Jungkook sighs.   //   His bleary eyes travel across the script, reading it over before finishing and handing the roll over to Sungdeuk. With a second of rest at hand, he muses how gods should relish in luxury, not slave away like peasants. But alas, being a ruler of people and being worshiped does not come easy.   His neck is sore. His legs are asleep. His head aches.   He wishes he could rest, but goes for the second best option he has.   Jungkook roars, “Can someone get me sea biscuits?”   The three feet tall maid comes tumbling from the side. “Y-your majesty, we don’t have any more sea biscuits.”   The Water God’s pupils flicker upwards. “Excuse me?”   “L-Lady Y/N’s eaten them all.” Her voice is small, barely heard in her squeal. “She’s taken quite a liking to them….”   It seems to be that you’ve made yourself right at home in his palace….   Jungkook sighs.    //   The doors open to his private quarters. While sleeping isn’t necessary for deities and may even be regarded as a weakness, in secret he desires the indulgence of a few hours of peace and quiet as he’s sure many other gods do as well….   But before he can step inside and retire, he notices his golden chalice on his vanity missing and the vase in the corner pushed to the wrong spot.    “Who was in my room without permission?!” Jungkook barks, loud enough for the ground to rumble.   The guard standing with his downcast head shivers. “Lady Y/N was in here earlier, your m-majesty. We tried to stop her, but, but, but she said you allowed her…”   Jungkook sighs. Long enough for his lungs to squeeze and hurt.   //   There hasn’t been a single day of serenity in the ocean since your arrival into his home.   When he sees you, there’s always a mouth full of things you have to spit at him, nagging and insulting, always undermining his power and authority to make him look bad in front of his own people. The only reason he hasn’t stolen your vocal cords is due to the fact that he has to admit it’s a little amusing. He’s never bored when you’re being noisy and defiant.   And it’s definitely more unsettling when it’s finally quiet.   Jungkook puts down the scroll.   It hits him and he doesn’t show it, but he’s even fearful.    “Sungdeuk…”   “Yes, sire?”   “Where…..is the mortal?”   “L-Lady Y/N is in the East Pavilion.”   The Water God’s thick brows furrow deep. “East Pavillion…?” The place where his harem of nymphs reside in preparation for his beckon and call, the ones that he doesn’t bother seeing these days. Nonetheless, what reason could you have to possibly be there?   Jungkook finds himself standing up, nearly falling over with how fast he does so.   He strides off and then stops mid-step, spinning around to his attendant. “Since when did she become a lady?”   “W-well, if she isn’t a lady, your majesty, then what is she?” Sungdeuk asks in genuine curiosity, blinking twice.   Jungkook sighs yet again.   …   You’re a prisoner of the palace, a captive that’s free to do whatever you please, and so you do what you do best — be yourself and wreck absolute havoc.   “What are you doing here?”   “What’s wrong with me being here?”    The nymphs gasp as you flop down onto one of their straw beds. They’re huddled in the corner like you’re a frightening creature, ironic considering they’re the ones odd to you. But rather than being frightened, you admit their beauty would easily seduce sailors and fishermen, perhaps even your crew members. Their skin seems to glow, hair made of flowers, captivating by nature. Though you figure they don’t have that high of a status since they’re essentially Jungkook’s concubines.    “It’s a disgrace!” Their leader shrieks, a particularly magnifying divine spirit that you recognize, having been perched on Jungkook’s thigh. “You can’t go wherever you please!”   “Jungkook let me.” Your head lolls to the side.   “How dare you call his majesty so rudely without any titles,” Jieun spazzes, “Y-You are undeserving of his attention, mortal.”   Your eyes roll to the back of your skull. “Believe me, I don’t desire his attention.”   “W-wha—”   “Tell me something.” You rise to your feet to pace around her, exactly like how her god had once done to you. “Your name is Jieun, am I wrong? Did you ever choose to come here, Jieun?”   The nymph is caught off guard as she stares at you. “I—..uh..it’s an honour to serve the Gracious Water God. I was lucky to be chosen.”   “But you didn’t choose to come here and serve Jungkook, right? You, yourself, didn’t choose to be here?”   “I am happy to be here. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” She continues to hold her head up high and the other nymphs are easily swayed with her, becoming more self-assured.   You smirk with an understanding nod. “Do you ever wonder what’s above the surface?”   “Above the surface?” one of them pipes up, curiously asking despite the sharp look Jieun passes her.   You answer her question happily, recalling it as if they were old days out of reach. “I used to live above the surface as a mortal. I set sail across the ocean, and saw treasures and lands unknown. I had choices. Above the surface, you don’t have to be afraid of anyone. You can decide what kind of life you want for yourself. You can choose where to go, what to do, who to love.” You look back upon them with a softer smile. “You get to live one life. Why would you spend it chasing after the sea God’s tail?”   The nymph frowns. “It’s an honour.”   “But is it what you want?”   There’s a ripple, murmurs that break through them. Jieun becomes disgruntled, but speechless at your dreamy description and the promise of possibilities that doesn’t seem so frightening.   “To serve Jungkook is exactly what I want,” she mumbles, mustering composure.   “But does he even love and appreciate you?” Your hand grazes against her shoulder, touch tender and gentle as you gaze into her eyes. “You’re worth so much more than this, than serving a god who never looks at you twice, who barely remembers your name, who just wants you because you’re here. Men are undeserving of beautiful creatures like you. You deserve so much more.”   “If I wasn’t here, where else would I be?”   Your smile has never been warmer and it doesn’t crack under the concentration of your forced persuasion that comes too naturally. “There are countless places to be. Underneath the ocean, above the surface on land. There’s so many things to do and see. You don’t have to be afraid.”   She turns away from you, hands clasped together. “Leaving isn’t easy.”   “It is now that I’m here,” you whisper. “I can help you….”   The nymphs exchange expressions. Jieun is lost. Her lips part. “I—”   “Y/N!”   There’s a roar of your name in a way you’ve never heard before. It reverberates across the land to the deepest caverns, stirring to the bottom of the sea floor. The enunciation imprints into your mind, drawing your attention and focus.   You turn around to find him striding in, dark blue robes swishing against the water, raspberry hair strands sprawled across his forehead. His palm opens and wraps around your wrist, pulling you towards his chest. You almost lose your steady footing and stumbling into him. Almost.   “What are you doing?”   “Nothing,” you say coyly.    Jungkook doesn’t bat an eyelash. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”   “Your majesty.” Everyone scrambles and bows, lowering themselves onto one knee except for you. You remain, intrigued at how deeply the Water God stares at you.   “Go to your room,” he barks out. And as irritated as you would be from his command, his disorientation only means that you’ve successfully gotten under his skin.    It’s an overwhelming victory on your end.   “You can’t stop the will of the people,” you tell with a smirk, tugging free of his grasps and leaving.   Jungkook sighs.    In the meanwhile, Jieun lifts her head, her pupils following your shadow without a shred of jealousy. Instead, it’s newfound admiration.   //   No matter where you are, the earth quakes beneath you. Jungkook’s beginning to question who’s the one with the real power and influence here — if he’s even deserving of his title and throne anymore. He’ll never tell you or anyone living that he’s re-examining his capabilities, but he’s certainly contemplating it with his harem shaken and Jieun bowed in front of him.   He doesn’t listen to her careful explanation of what she’s been thinking as of recently. He merely waves his hand.    “I won’t stop you. It’s not my wish to force those into positions that they do not desire to be in.”   “Thank you, your majesty, for your graciousness and kindness. It is a favour I will make sure future generations will know of and my children’s children will know of this tale. It was an honour to serve by your side and be put in this palace in the first place. I will never forget your mercy and benevolence.”   He nods several times, holding in yet another sigh. “I’m glad that someone knows how to show gratitude. You may be dismissed from your service.”   They follow her, one after another, the nymphs pack their bags. They leave the empire in search for a new life, causing the East Pavilion to be empty. Jungkook’s entertainment gone. All because of you.   He’s not as angry as he should be. After all, you’re his best source of entertainment.   “Are you proud of yourself?”   He joins your side, looking out the rounded windows to the garden of his water hyacinths and lotuses that are blooming in season. “I am.”   “You don’t care about the will of the people. You don’t care about freedom and justice or even integrity. You just want to bring chaos to my kingdom and make everyone defy me.”   “That’s right.” You laugh, turning to him and even bumping into him playfully as you would do to a crewmember after finding secret treasure. “And you’re surprised that it’s actually working.”   The Water God exhales shallowly, at a loss of what to do with you. “My people are innocent and easily swayed. They don’t know a criminal when they see one.”   “I’m not the one holding the other person as a prisoner.” You scoff lightly. “It’s not my fault that I’m naturally talented to be a ruler. People follow me wherever I go.”   “Tch, your arrogance. You never learn, do you?”   “You just don’t want to see the truth that I mesmerize people. I got a love letter from Jieun, did you know that? Before she left.”   Jungkook stares. “And will you accept her feelings?”   Your shoulder shrugs, not paying mind when your eyes are set at the golden painting in the corridor hall that’s held shape underwater. You ponder how much it’s worth. “Perhaps. She’s got good prospects. I’ve never thought I’d ever marry, but she’s a beauty. A treasure in her own way. Would get ‘em jealous on land.”   “I have better prospects.”   The corner of your eye watches him. It’s come out of nowhere. “Are you suggesting that I wed to you instead?”   The male god beside you doesn’t stop to chuckle or sneer at your question. He merely hums, not taking more than a second to reconsider his instinctive answer, “Maybe if you weren’t so insolent, I might’ve even had a thought or two to make you my queen.”   Your head swivels over in surprise, for once fully caught off guard. And he smirks at your reaction, looking down at you. “Don’t you know how merciful I am? If the other gods had their hands on you, they would’ve strangled you right away with their pinky.”   “Oh really?” Your brow lifts and your arms open wide, face knocking back. At the top of your lungs, you challenge Heaven to destroy you. “I welcome the gods too! Come get me! Do it! Kill me!”   There’s a sudden rumble of earth beneath your feet, the noise of lightning sounding over your head. But it halts the moment Jungkook slaps his hand over your mouth. He leans in close to whisper in your ear, breath hot against your skin, “Don’t fucking do that, you insolent idiot.”   You throw his palm off of you, sneering, “Bootlicker.”   He scoffs in sheer disbelief. “Excuse me?”   “Nothing.” You shrug mischievously with a laugh that sounds more like a giggle. An innocent noise that hasn’t been audible since you were a child. “I didn’t say anything, your majesty.”   Jungkook shakes his head and sighs. “I can’t save you if you anger the other gods. That’s out of my domain, so be wary.”   You pat his shoulder condescendingly with vigorous nods. “I’m sure you’ll find some way to save me, oh Great God of Water and Slimy Fishes.”   With the last word, you swim off, purposely flicking your tail at his knees and he watches as a tiny smile tickles at his lips. “What a troublemaker.”   “Only the best,” you chime without looking back, and he’ll admit that you aren’t wrong. He’s never had a handful quite like you before.   //   The longer you stay in the underwater kingdom, stuck in his palace and wandering in the same halls and rooms, the more things you come to realize. For one, this place isn’t as grandiose as it was first glance. When everything comes in porcelain and gold, those things aren’t rare as it used to be — you realize these treasures are rather boring and dull.    And the second thing that you mull over with so much time on your hands is how Jungkook is less like a fearful god and more like a capable man you’d meet on the shore.   He’s as ordinary as someone arrogant like him could be — at least that’s what you consider while staring at the obnoxious painting he has of himself hung at the front of the courtyard.   One of the attendants approach timidly, hands folded together and polite smile painted on her features. “Are you admiring his majesty’s splendor?”   “No,” you mutter as your eyes trace the slope of his nose to the dip of his cupid’s bow. You’re not sure if you like the way his portrait stares at you, wearing such a stern but gentle expression at the same time. “I have an urge to punch him.”   The servant is shocked, eyes wide. Your contempt is always surprising as it is refreshing, but she still clears her throat. “If I may speak out of line, Lady Y/N, your ridicule for the Water God may be excessive at times.” You shift towards the short cecaelia. “He’s cursed me. Look at my tail.”   “Yes, well, he is just and doesn’t deliver punishment without reason.”   “You don’t have to suck up to him. He’s not here.”   She adorns a reserved smile. “The Water God is at times cruel and prideful, but he protects his people and yours too. You used to be adrift at sea, right? He looks after seafarers. He’s probably looked after you as well.”   You remain quiet for a second after tearing your eyes away from his painting. “Then why are there storms? Why do sailors die at sea?”   “The Water God is not the only god in this world,” the cecaelia tells while wearing a look ridden with wisdom. No matter how much you try to lead his people astray and convince them otherwise of his supreme powers, most are loyal to the core. They only sway on the surface — a detail you’ve longed notice and don’t bother telling Jungkook. “There are many others that fight for control, that influence the winds and sea. But he tries his best to protect us against them.”   Your lashes flutter and you turn back to his portrait.   ….   Half across the palace, Jungkook sits on his golden throne, lap no longer warmed by a nymph. But beauty isn’t far out of his reach. Just a few meters away, there are sirens perched on their stools, playing stringed instruments with their lips parted as beautiful voices stream out.   Yet it’s the same seductive melody.   He sighs in exhaustion. Sungdeuk immediately notices. “Your majesty, is this not to your liking? There is another caravan of creatures—”   “It’s all the same.” He waves them away and the music stops at once. The sirens lower their heads and scatter from the center of his throne room.   “There’s still time until the next task. Do you wish to rest, your majesty?”   The Water God stands on his feet. It was his time for fun, to relax and enjoy his kingdom, a seldom occurrence. Yet, there was nothing to entertain him. There may be countless things to do, but they don’t matter if there is no desirable company…   Except, someone comes to mind—   “Where is the mortal?”   //   A smile tickles at his lips, one he’ll never show to the sunlight. Jungkook’s secretly pleased that you’re here and even more pleased when he finds you staring at his portrait.   “Thinking about how grand I am?” He tries to sneak up on you, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of being frightened.    The servant speaking to you dismisses herself while you scoff. “I don’t think I’m the one who has a foolish amount of hubris and pride.”   If only he was courageous enough to show, you’d see him sulking.   “Half of being a god is putting on a good show. If I was humble, I’d be underestimated. Heaven is built on statues, not just paintings.”   “Good to know the worshiped figures of the world spend their time wisely.”   Jungkook smiles and shakes his head. “We aren’t the only conceited ones. You humans, especially those who claim they’re kings and queens, have a taste for luxury.”   “Why don’t you don’t punish them?”   “Well, none of them go around claiming they’re the God of the Sea.” His ears perk as you laugh, finding his statement true. His gaze becomes imploring as he leans in closer. “I’m sure you know. You’ve stolen their paintings before haven’t you?”   “Paintings of kings and queens? I suppose. But they’re not memorable,” you hum before considering it carefully. “Oh. We once did a heist on Emperor Shang’s ship. That’s something to remember,” you tell as pride beams off your skin. “It wasn’t planned but we saw his ship from the distance and in the dead of the night, my crew and I jumped onto his deck and raided it. I almost got killed, but it was worth it. I’ve never had an emperor bow to me and beg me for mercy before.”   There’s something frightening in the way your eyes glisten, how your hands are curled in a triumphant fist. You’re power hungry and proud of such an accomplishment. It makes Jungkook muse that humans are so entirely fickle in their emotions. Yet, their enthusiasm is contagious.   “You never got punished for it?”   “Nope. We went on our way,” you boast. “I’ve set sail across the sea with my ship The Divinity, found dead men’s treasure, evaded execution, done everything a pirate could ever wish for. It was really tough, but worth it.”   You tell tales of your adventures while Jungkook listens in with curiosity. He doesn’t let you know that he’s already heard most of these stories from his own observation, from rumours that somehow were whispered to the underwater kingdom of his, and from what Sungdeuk’s read from reports of the mortal realm.   “You’re greedy,” he breathes out after ten minutes.   You scoff. “You are too.”   It’s blasphemous and he should be offended, but he strangely isn’t. Your defiance is almost expected at this point. “How?”   “Look around. Everything you have is made of gold.”   Little do you know that everything is merely surface level. Jungkook doesn’t care about his palace decor or what there’s plastered on the walls. Though he makes no effort to argue with you because he is greedy.    Deep down, Jungkook is aware that any other god would’ve punished your sacreligious behaviour by plummeting you to the deepest ravines of the ocean with a ball and chain attached to your ankle. They’d watch you drown, make an example out of you. But he can’t let you go.   Jungkook’s greedy — he wants more and more of you.   “If you think this is beautiful, there are many other places in this vast ocean that you haven’t seen.”   “Like what?” You’re genuinely curious, eyes boring into his, a gaze that’s ignorant as it is unwavering.   “The caverns. During dawn, it’s the most beautiful—”   “Take me there,” you demand. But after a second of silence and his heavy staring, you withdraw into yourself, muttering, “...please, your majesty.”   You’re too caught up in your own head to know that you didn’t need to ask. He would’ve happily shown you either way.   //   “Are we allowed to just leave?”   “Do you know who I am? I’m the Great and Brave God of the Sea, he who rules all waters. My domain lies in the most vital living force to which all can survive—”   “You’re slow, that’s what you are.” Your tail flicks in front of his face, swimming off.    Jungkook quickly catches up, and he doesn’t need to flail his limbs whatsoever or make an effort to swim. There’s a force underneath his feet that moves him, water currents that help to transport his body as he effortlessly folds his arms behind his back, standing tall and majestic.    Your eyes could not roll hard enough at his smug expression. But you brush it off, peeking at him again. “Can I ask you something?”   “Whether I give you permission or not, you’re still going to ask me.”   “If you have unlimited powers as a god and you’re supposed to protect seafarers, then why do they die out in the ocean?”   “Are you asking if I purposely call forth storms to harm mortals?” He turns his head. “Or are you asking about your parents?”   You’re caught off guard. Your parents were dead before you could even remember their faces, but you were told that the ocean dragged them out, that they simply never came back. You hated the sea for so long, was afraid of it, until you got out yourself in an attempt to understand.   The God of the Sea that people spoke about was something you never believed in. Up till now.   “I’m afraid their bodies are at the bottom of the ocean. My condolences.” Jungkook is straightforward and blunt, painfully so. “I may be the God of the Sea, but there’s a whole kingdom of gods and goddesses. A structure even I cannot fight against. My powers are affected by them. Namely...the Goddess of the Sky.” He grimaces, jaw clenched tight.   You’ve never heard of her, of such a goddess. But you don’t dwell when you’re suffocated in the tension. In an attempt to alleviate it, you tease, “Guess you’re not the almighty after all.” There’s silence that follows and you stare, voice softening. “It’s okay. It isn’t your fault.”   Jungkook shifts his gaze towards you, searching your expression. After a moment, he tears his eyes away and clears his throat. “Come along. It’s up here.”   The surface is close enough that you can see where the light meets the water, how the ripples shimmer and the world around you is a rich azure hue. You don’t ask questions as you come up for air gasping, having forgotten what the open world was like.   The entrance opening is far away and the water here seems to glow with the reflection of the crystals hanging from the ceiling. Every splash and splatter seems to echo throughout as you prop yourself up halfway. Your tail still flickers in the water while Jungkook stands fully. His legs work on land and it makes you look on in envy.   “Why did you give me a fishtail? Why not….tentacles or even flippers?”   “Would you have preferred that?”   “No, but—”   “It was the first thing I thought of,” Jungkook admits while staring at the way your colourful scales glimmer, catching the light and shining in every shade of the rainbow. “Sometimes, I don’t think it’s much of a punishment.”    He inhales and looks around, continuing, “What do you think of the place?”   “It’s beautiful.” Your voice reverberates against the cave walls and you watch your tail ripple your own reflection and Jungkook’s. He takes a seat beside you, propping his legs up to rest.   “You can’t get to this place without going underwater.”   “So it’s like a secret hideout.”   “Something of that sort.” He hasn’t shown anyone before, but he’s glad he could present it to someone who has much of an appreciation for the sea as he does. He can tell with the way you look around his world. “You love the ocean, don’t you?”   “Course I do.” Your tail splashes harder against the water, getting the side of his face wet and he flinches. Your giggle goes unappreciated. “No one can be out at sea for as long as I have without loving it. You’d drive yourself mad otherwise.”   There’s no place you’d rather be. You’ve grown accustomed to the breeze, the smell of the saltwater, the endless blue and the adventure of discovering lands unknown on the horizon. The rocking of The Divinity has become your lullaby to make you sleep easy, and the scenery of stars at night is something you wouldn’t trade for the best of treasures.   “How’s it like being in it?”   You hum a low note. “It’s nice. I get to see things I would never, but there’s something about setting sail that’s better to me. Maybe because it’s so exhilarating. When you’re deep in the ocean, it’s beautiful and mysterious, but also kind of peaceful. It’s quiet. But on the surface, it’s louder and unpredictable. I think that’s half the fun.”   “Aren’t you afraid of the danger?” Jungkook asks with an inquisitive gaze.   “No.” You twist towards him. “You’d be protecting me, right?”   The Water God scoffs, but is unable to look away from you. Instead, his hand wanders to the inside of his dark robes and your brows lift, automatically shifting backwards. “Why are you undressing?”   “What? I’m not, stupid mortal. I’m giving you a gift.” He reaches inside his pocket and takes your hand, opening your palm up to place something cool to the touch inside of it.    Your eyes drop down. There are ridges against your hand, a vivid tint of pink and orange that reminds you of coral, but a smooth and iridescent side facing up. “A shell?”   “It’s not an ordinary shell, mortal. There’s only two in the entire universe.”   “Who has the other one?”   “I do.” He flashes his own and clears his throat. “We can see each other if we hold it up at the same time.” Your eyes flicker over and true to his word, you find a reflection of him. “Whether you’re on ocean or land…”   “Why?” You blink, genuinely not understanding the purpose of his present.   “You’re a troublemaker,” Jungkook states indifferently while he diverts his eyes elsewhere. “You might need my help sooner or later. Take it as a present from your merciful god. Unless you don’t want it? I’ll take it back.”   “Uh, no thanks,” you scoff and grasp it tightly into your lap before he can take it away. “You can’t take back a gift once you’ve given it away. I know a prized possession when I see one.” The gentle smile he has isn’t hidden from your sight and your voice softens once more. “T-Thank you.”   The God of the Sea makes a disgruntled noise at the back of his throat and he nudges you towards the tiny opening of the cave. “Look, the sun’s rising. Seokjin still has it in him, huh?”   “Who?”   “Nevermind,” he hushes quickly and the two of you observe as the luminescent rays pierce through the horizon, shedding the darkness away from the sky. The light hits the water and bleeds through to make the blue a richer hue. It travels and soon fills the cavern walls in a shade of gold that twinkles.   You gasp and Jungkook smiles, stealing a glance of you.   You don’t notice how the waters become a bit warmer and the turquoise threatens to turn into a rose tint.   //   The ocean is calm, but the tides are playful — reaching out to soak children’s toes standing on the sandy shore. The fishermen are having better luck this season, catching nets filled with fish. The temperature too is pleasant for a swim, to play in. And Jungkook is happier than usual.   His eyes are glassy, faraway, and he pays little attention to the tasks at hand. Instead, a satisfied smile is constantly plastered on his face, glued to his visage, and quickly his servants become concerned. Especially Sungdeuk.   “—Goddess of the Underworld and her—” His voice drowns in and out. “Y-Your majesty? Your majesty!”   “What?” The God of the Sea snaps back into attention, wearing a stern expression that has his attendant dipping his head.   “Pardon me. I was just reading the daily report.”   “Yes? Continue.”   “Well, I asked a question, your majesty.”   “Right, right.” His brows furrow deep as he massages his temples. “What was it again?”   Jungkook’s thinking about you, mind too preoccupied. He’s trying to complete his duties as the Water God, to look over his entire kingdom. But somehow, his mind always strays towards you, what you could possibly be doing, if you’re causing trouble again, and what you think of him. If you still resent him for punishing you and keeping you here, if you’re grateful for that gift of his….   And Jungkook’s mind only seems to be satisfied when he sees you, when he joins you for dinner or breakfast or lunch, when he finds you wandering the courtyard or trying to steal his decor for your secret stash of gold underneath your bed you think no one knows about.   Jungkook’s grinning from the thought.   Sungdeuk glances up at his god and smiles. “Your majesty, you must be quite fond of Lady Y/N.”   At once, Jungkook’s expression wipes. His mouth draws into a straight line as he looks down. “What makes you say that?”   “W-well, you were just mumbling her name and I just noticed that your….mood improves when she is present.”   “Are you trying to say my mood is bad when she isn’t?”   “N-no. That isn’t what I meant exactly,” his voice is quieting until it’s an incoherent mumble. “If I may speak out of line—”   “You may not.”   “Understood.” Sungdeuk shuts up.   But after an excruciating long silence, Jungkook slams down the parchment and waves his hand lifelessly. “Fine. What do you have to say, you nosy servant?”   He stays in a reverent posture with his head bowed. “I-I think Lady Y/N is quite pleasing. I’ve only held one or two conversations with her, but she is very bright and bold.”   “Yes, she is.”   “And it appears that she eases your worries. Her perspective on many issues is rather refreshing. Her mind is brilliant too. She...would make a fantastic ruler beside you, your majesty.”   “Did she put you up to this?” He mutters while flipping through the pages of a book on the table in front of him.   “No.”   “Then are you suggesting that I marry her? A mortal?” The god barks out laughter in his servant’s ignorant and irritating face. It’s an absurd proposition, outrageous even. “Do you know what that would do to my reputation? A mortal is not worth my time, not to mention the creation of an everlasting union, you idiot servant.”   Sungdeuk squeaks, nearly bursting into pathetic tears at the insult. “But if-if you love her….”   “I don’t love her,” Jungkook scoffs instinctively.    There’s silence.   More silence.   It’s agonizing, drawn out to be utterly suffocating. But the truth dawns upon his shoulders and it’s still there even after he tries shaking it off.    Jungkook feels himself go pale. His throat dries. Perspiration begins to drip from his hairline.    “S-Sungdeuk.”   “Yes, your majesty?”   “A glass of drinking water, please.”   “Of course, your majesty.”   It’s true that Jungkook’s taken a liking to you. He’s fond even. But it can’t go deeper than that. There’s a rebellion on the horizon that you’ve created and that hasn’t completely died down yet. He shouldn’t allow Seokjin to get a whiff of it lest he wants a scolding of a lifetime or to get called in front of the council which would be a disaster in itself. Then again, Seokjin’s the God of the Sun and probably knows everything anyways, maybe even Jungkook’s affection for you.   But his pride aside, it’s dangerous here. There are too many issues that you don’t know of, too many headaches around. To stay in the palace is one thing, but to be with him is another…   Jungkook’s in the middle of contemplation when there’s a sudden CRASH!   “What’s going on?” He throws the doors of your bedroom open and you’re stranded in the middle, hands in mid-air. His precious vase is broken on the ground, smashed into smithereens.   “Oops.” You have the audacity to smile and even look pretty doing it. “I swear I was just borrowing it.”   Jungkook sighs.   It’s dangerous when you’re around. You’re a hazard to yourself, to the palace, and to himself. He can’t focus on anything — you’re too distracting. Not to mention, he thinks he’s finally found something he’s afraid of. You. What you do to him.   And a Great God like him shouldn’t be afraid of anything. Which makes it even more frightening.   //   “Why’d you call me here?” You gaze around his throne room, the servants and guards, and the intimidating atmosphere that doesn’t make you particularly scared. “If you wanted to talk to me, you didn’t have to bring me here.”   He feigns exhaustion, massaging his temples with one hand and waving the other. He tries to knit his brows together. “I’m here to dismiss you from my court and tell you to go away.”   “Excuse me?”   “Your majesty!” Sungdeuk steps up, equally offended and shocked.   “Silence. I’ve made my decision.” Jungkook signals to your form halfheartedly. “Frankly, I’m sick and tired of you. So you can get your legs back, and get out of my ocean. You’re dirtying the waters.”   “You’re….making me leave?”   You’re appalled. It’s so sudden, out of nowhere. It’s what you wanted — to be granted back your freedom and legs — but when it’s presented to you on a silver platter, it seems crueler than it is merciful. And right when this place was becoming your new home….   “Must I repeat myself more than once, mortal?” Jungkook releases a staggering exhale. “You are hereby excommunicated from my kingdom on grounds of treason and blasphemy and because I’m tired of you. Don’t come back.”   A scoff befalls your lips. “No.”   “Excuse me?”   “You can’t make me leave.”   “Guards!” He shouts, yet no one moves or even flinches. All of them are simply staring straight ahead with their eyes shaking, but refusing to drag you out. They stand in silent defiance. “Guards!”   Sungdeuk shakes his head with a sigh, but the Water God pays no mind.   “I’m not going” — it’s your simple rebuttal before you leave, swimming away from his throne room.   “Wait! Y/N!” Jungkook stands up in frustration as if you’re the deity and he’s a consort begging for your attention. “Gods, does no one listen to me anymore?! Y/N!” He stumbles on the steps leading down his throne and chases after you to the outside.   His servants are at a complete loss, but he leaves them behind, running through the twisting corridors. Once you’re in reach again, Jungkook grabs your arm and pulls you back into his firm chest.    “Where do you think you’re going?”   “Nowhere.” You stand your ground and shove his hands off of you. “I’m going nowhere. I get to decide when I go or stay and—”   “And you want to stay?” he asks with an imploring look, perhaps knowing you better than you know yourself. “I thought you wanted to leave.”   “You can’t make me go just because you’re sick and tired of me—” You exhale in a shaking breath. “I just don’t get why. Why? I thought you wanted me to be in your kingdom for eternity. Why did you change your mind so suddenly? And right when I thought we…”   “We?”   “We were getting along,” you spit. “What’s the matter with you?”   He sighs and calms himself down to explain, “There’s a lot you don’t understand about Heaven, The Underworld, my own underwater kingdom. It’s not safe for a living mortal like you to be with me. It just isn’t, and it’s not like this place offers you anything. You’re meant to be sailing far away, on your ship The Dingy—”   “The Divinity,” you correctly softly.   A small smile spreads into his face. “You should be free, sailing across the sea, doing it is whatever you want to do. Listen to your god for once. And stop making it harder for me, mortal. I’m trying my best to be less greedy, alright?”   This isn’t the end. You know that for a fact.   If he’s the ruler of the ocean and you’re a traveler of it, the pair of you will constantly be near each other. You’re sure he’s aware of it too — but whether you like it or not, he still insists on using his authority to officially banish you from his kingdom. Of course, a god like him could never revoke a punishment given to a mortal. He has to find excuses. He has to send you off on a sour note.   He’s a stubborn mule. A bilge rat. You have reason to curse and damn him for the rest of your life now.   You’d sulk if not for your immense pride.    “Fine. I wanted my legs back anyways.”    It’s technically a victory. You knew he’d break at some point. The whole goal was to wear him down and get what you want. Though, it’s a lot more bittersweet than you thought was possible.    “But let me tell you something, Jungkook.” You tug him in roughly by the collar of his robes, whispering against his mouth, “Even if I’m on land again, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”   The God of the Sea grins, surprisingly boyish as he does so. “Yeah, yeah, I’m sure you’ll find ways to give me headaches and make me worry.”   You watch him carefully through narrowed eyes. “I wish you could be more honest with yourself.”   Before he can question your ambiguous desire, you seal his mouth with your own. It smacks roughly together and he’s caught off guard by your dominating touch before he quickly reciprocates. His lips are soft, cool against your own and it makes you nostalgic of the ocean breeze.   You return the favour he once gave to you when you first encountered him. Before you knew him, the world he existed in, and everything that led you to this moment. When all you were aware of was that you were thrown off board into the sea and someone saved you with a kiss.   After a handful of seconds, the both of you break apart and you glare into his eyes, never once backing down. “This isn’t the last you’ll see of me.”   Jungkook smiles, teeth showing, nose scrunching. You’ve learnt nothing. You’re still as arrogant as the first time he laid eyes on you. But somehow, he doesn’t mind much anymore if you want to share his title with him and call yourself the Goddess of the Sea.

The ocean turns lively at the sight of you.   It’s mischievous and playful, tides trying to tickle your toes, waves always splashing onto your face to tease. It’s not at all as fearsome as some ignorant folks make it out to be. It’s less daunting and mysterious than all the tales told on shores, the rumours that are whispered to children not to go near it during the night and to be careful lest the waters swallow them whole and take them to places unknown. They’re afraid but maybe it’s because they don’t have the privilege of knowing who rules beneath it, the bad-tempered idiot that is the God of the Sea.

“Captain! The crew’s ready to set sail.”   “Good. We’ll be heading east until dawn.”   “Aye-aye.”   You walk across the deck, feeling several eyes pinned on you. It’s no surprise they’re still stunned. To them, you’ve risen back from the dead, a corpse still walking and leading. You’ve long become more than a legendary pirate. There are whispers that you’re godly, rumours of immortality.   While you don’t outright reject the idea, you don’t dare confirm it out loud either to relish in the glory of your infamous name. Lest you want an angry visit from someone with raspberry-coloured hair and who smells like the ocean you hold close to your heart. He’s materialized enough times in your private cabin at night to scare you half to death….   Though sometimes, you miss him enough to purposely piss him off during the day.   “Ahoy.” A young boy with bright eyes and blushing cheeks stops the navigator. He pauses from scrubbing the deck. He’s new to the whole scene, mop still in his hand, bucket by his foot. “Are we really going tonight? Isn’t there a prediction of a storm?”   “Oh.” The navigator laughs mockingly. “You don’t have to worry about such a thing.”   “Why?” The new recruit watches the way you hop on the bowsprit without hesitation. You’re free-spirited, courageous. While the new pirate’s admiration is no secret, he wonders if those rumours were right.   Were you immortal?   “Our captain’s the Goddess of the Sea.” The experienced navigator beams with pride. “For some reason the waves always work with her — it’s almost as if the sea is protecting her.”   “Protecting her?”   He shrugs. “Ask ‘er if you’re really that curious. She’ll tell you some crazy stories. But believe it or not, she’s under the protection o’ some otherworldly folks.”   “And you believe her?” The newbie’s pupils flicker around and he harshly whispers, “You don’t think she’s gone….mad?”   He smirks, patting the young boy on the back. “You have a lot of things to learn here, seadog. You gotta see it for your eyes to believe it. But best you don’t go aroun’ speaking recklessly when you don’t know.”   The navigator walks off, leaving the other pirate utterly confused. Nevertheless, the ropes get pulled in, the anchor is lifted and The Divinity is slowly pushed out to the sea, beginning yet another expedition.   You man the main deck as your men and women continue their tasks at ease. You’re busy pacing around with your eyes on the horizon, pinned to what could be new lands and new treasure.   “The water’s look clear today, don’t they?”   “Y-Yes, they do, captain.” The new recruit is caught off guard that you’re speaking to him and vigorously nods.   You smile at him, passingly reminded of Sungdeuk and hoping that the servant is bumbling less these days. You peer down to the waves created by the force of The Divinity moving. “Looks warm too. Think it would be good for a swim?”   He frowns. “A swim? Wh— Captain!”   The pirate screams bloody murder as you jump ship, diving straight in at a perfect arch. He leans to look over the edge, searching the waters. He doesn’t see you, but he hears your crazy laughter and concludes that yes….you are absolutely insane, and now he’s trapped on a boat with you as the leader…...   He doesn’t notice that when you go under, someone’s arms are instantly wrapped around your waist and they’re hastily pressing their mouths to yours, giving you air before you drown.    You kiss Jungkook back deeply, inhaling as he exhales, greedily probing your tongue past the seams of his soft lips. When the two of you break apart, your giggles make air bubbles rise to the surface.   He clicks his tongue in feigned annoyance. “Brat.”   The ocean’s your favourite place. The scent of salt, sight of blue have been imprinted into memory. It’s filled with endless possible voyages, and there you’d always find Jungkook.