#it’s the very essence of a side quest

[penisunbelievable]

the house in hateno village is everything to me

[kingofbodyrolls]

Deep Dive (m) | knj

You’ve been searching for gemstones deep on the seabed— having found a broken piece of blue aquamarine. Searching for the missing piece and your new rival, you find it and much more with the blue tailed merman Namjoon while on a quest for crystals.

→ Pairing: namjoon x reader (female) → AUs: mermaid!au, fantasy!au, magical!au, soulmate!au → Trope: strangers to lovers → Genres: fluff, smut, angst + a very small sprinkle of comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18 (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 19.8k → Warnings (general) + triggers: not much, honestly it’s all very very fluffy, lovey dovey and cute (you’ll probably get a cavity). There’s also a lot more lore and worldbuilding in this one compared to the others, as this is the first time we’re properly introduced to the seacity🧜It’s also rather existential and philosophical.  → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (please be safe), oral (male and female), multiple orgasms, dirty talk, love making, kissing, breast play (licking, sucking, biting), handjob, fingering, clit play, hair pulling, creampie, very brief cockwarming. → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note(1): I really don’t know what happened when writing this one; my fingers totally slipped and most of this is just world building 🫣 At least I had a shit ton of fun writing it! I tried to make the smut a bit different than I normally do, because I just feel like what I write is getting very repetitive… So I tried changing the pace of it a bit, but I don't know if it worked or not. Anyway, I really hope you like this one too, and I managed to finish it before Namjoon’s birthday, which means I’ll release it on that day 🥳 Please do let me know what, and if you liked it, and if you’re excited for the rest of the mermaid stories ✨

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a collection of series that are stand-alone one-shots, but all of them are set in the same universe. They are slightly connected though 🤭

The boat sways gently with the rhythm of the waves, each crest and trough sending a flutter through your stomach, a tantalizing whisper of the adventure awaiting below. The sea has always been your muse, its vast, enigmatic depths a sanctuary where you’ve carved out your own livelihood. As a freelance scuba diver, you descend into the ocean’s embrace, hunting for hidden treasures—crystals and gems, and occasionally, the rarest of finds. These treasures are not just artifacts; they are fragments of the earth’s ancient soul, preserved in the watery depths.

Hae, your best friend and partner in this aquatic quest, stands beside you, her hands steady as she helps you prepare for the dive. She runs a holistic and spiritual webshop called Soulful, a name that seems to capture the essence of her being—a blend of spirituality, sustainability, and an eye for the aesthetically divine. The gems and crystals you unearth find their way into her shop, where they are revered not just for their beauty, but for the energy they carry. The world has turned its gaze towards the mystical these days, and her shop has become a beacon for those seeking solace and healing in the arms of nature.

With your wetsuit snug against your skin, fins secured, and the weight of the oxygen tanks settling on your back, you feel the familiar thrill course through you. Hae hands you your goggles with a smile, and before placing the mouthpiece between your lips, you flash her a grin. “See you soon,” you say, voice laced with excitement. The small tool bag—your fanny pack of excavation tools—rests comfortably at your side, ready to assist in your quest for nature’s buried wonders.

You take a deep breath and plunge into the ocean, the water swallowing you with a resonant splash. As you breach the surface, your arms stretch forward, parting the water with a smooth, practiced motion. The ocean welcomes you, wrapping you in its cool, serene embrace. Here, beneath the waves, you are home, surrounded by the vibrant tapestry of sea life. Jellyfish drift by, their tendrils trailing like delicate threads of silk, while schools of tiny fish scatter at your approach, shimmering in the filtered sunlight that dances through the water. Deeper you dive, into the world where time slows, and the ocean whispers secrets long forgotten by the surface. The seafloor is a hidden gallery of nature’s artistry, where crystals and gems lie in wait, forged over eons by the earth’s elemental forces. Each one tells a story—of undersea volcanoes, tectonic pressures, and the alchemical dance of minerals. Hae often speaks of these gems as if they are living beings, infused with the spirit of the ocean itself, each one a relic of the deep’s quiet, patient creation.

You smile to yourself, recalling her poetic musings, almost as if you were reading straight from her website. But you know the truth behind the beauty—these crystals, formed through evaporation, precipitation, and the intricate dance of minerals, are more than just pretty stones. They are pieces of the earth’s heart, shaped by the hands of time and nature’s immense power. Sodium, magnesium, calcium, potassium—their chemical symphony plays out in each crystal, each gem a unique testament to the forces that birthed it.

To you, they are not just beautiful—they are a testament to the majesty of the natural world, a tangible link to the planet’s deep, unspoken history. Hae’s customers, too, are drawn to this connection, to the knowledge that each crystal was not mined en masse, but discovered and unearthed by your hands alone. This makes each piece not only ethically sourced but also one-of-a-kind, carrying with it a story that can never be replicated. And then, there’s the healing. The myriad of spiritual properties attributed to these gems opens another world entirely, one that you and Hae have only begun to explore. It’s a world where science and spirituality entwine, where the physical and the metaphysical dance in harmony. But for now, as you dive deeper into the ocean’s embrace, you’re content to simply marvel at nature’s handiwork, knowing that whatever treasures you find will carry a piece of this underwater realm back to the surface.

A glint catches your eye in the distance, a shimmer that pulls you deeper into the ocean’s embrace. You’ve lost track of how far you’ve dived—perhaps just a few meters, or maybe more. Time seems to stretch and compress down here, as fluid as the water around you. A quick glance at your watch reveals that only ten minutes have passed, but you know you must be mindful of the oxygen left in your tank. Still, the ocean’s siren call urges you onward, tempting you with secrets yet to be unveiled.

Something blue sparkles ahead, its brilliance cutting through the murky depths, and you find yourself drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Your body moves with the fluidity of the water, each motion a dance of instinct and harmony. Down here, you’re not just an explorer—you’re a part of the ocean itself, swaying gently in time with the currents. The source of the light reveals itself as you approach a small rock formation, where gems of varying shades of blue glisten like forgotten stars scattered across the ocean floor. Aquamarine, calcite, and amazonite—Hae’s voice echoes in your mind, recalling the knowledge she’s shared with you. Aquamarine, the “Sea Water Stone,” born from the cooling magma of the earth’s depths, its color an echo of the ocean’s own hues. It’s a stone that calms the mind, eases stress, and sharpens communication, a talisman of courage and clarity. Blue calcite, a crystal forged from calcium, carbon, and oxygen, soothes like a lullaby, its gentle presence calming nerves and quieting anxieties. It also opens the mind’s eye, enhancing intuition and inner vision. And then there’s amazonite, a gem you’ve always favored. Its cool blue-green tones speak to your soul, a “Stone of Courage” that promotes truth, honor, and positive communication. It balances the masculine and feminine energies within, weaving harmony into the fabric of life. You reach out, your fingers brushing the rough texture of the rock, marveling at the beauty before you.

Carefully, you pull out your tools—a smooth flat file and a soft silicone hammer—and begin to work. The gems yield to your skillful hands, and soon, you’ve gathered a small collection of aquamarine, blue calcite, and amazonite, each piece a perfect reflection of the ocean’s quiet majesty. You tuck them safely into your bag, their weight a comforting presence at your side.

But the ocean isn’t done with you yet. You swim further, your eyes scanning the seabed where kelp and other sea plants sway like ethereal dancers. A small cave catches your attention, its entrance barely large enough to accommodate you, but you’re compelled to explore. You squeeze through the narrow opening, and the sight that greets you steals your breath away.

Before you lies a treasure trove of green crystals, their surfaces shimmering like serpent scales. Serpentine—Hae has spoken of this gem, formed deep within the Earth’s mantle by the transformation of silicate minerals through water. This is your first time finding it, and you can’t help but marvel at its beauty, the green hues reminiscent of a forest hidden beneath the waves. You run your fingers over the rough surface, feeling the ancient energy thrumming within the stone. Carefully, you chip away a few pieces, their weight adding to the growing collection in your bag.

But the bag is heavy now, laden with the ocean’s gifts, and a glance at your watch tells you it’s time to return. With a reluctant sigh, you leave the cave behind, swimming back toward the surface, your heart still lingering in the depths. As you break through the water, the sunlight dazzles your eyes, and Hae is there, her hands reaching out to help you back onto the boat. The weight of your gear is a burden you’re glad to shed, and you push the bag toward her, eager to share your discoveries.

“Wow!” she exclaims, her eyes wide with wonder as she sifts through the gems. “You really found a lot—and serpentine? You’ve never found that before. My customers are going to be over the moon!”

Her excitement is infectious, and you can’t help but smile. “That makes it all worth it,” you say, pulling off your hydro fin shoes with a satisfied sigh. “But I’m keeping one piece of serpentine for myself—it’s too beautiful to part with.”

Hae nods, still mesmerized by the treasures you’ve brought to the surface. The joy in her eyes is a reflection of your own, and you feel a deep contentment settle over you. The ocean has shared its secrets with you once again, and as you breathe in the fresh air, you know that the bond you share with the sea is stronger than ever.

You sail home under the setting sun, the ocean’s breeze carrying with it the scent of salt and adventure. The rhythmic lapping of the waves against the boat lulls you into a state of serene satisfaction. Back on land, you join Hae in her cozy apartment, where the warmth of the evening light filters through the windows. Her small photo studio, a creative sanctuary tucked into a corner, is ready for the treasures you’ve unearthed. Together, you arrange the crystals with care, each one glistening like a piece of the ocean’s soul captured in stone. The camera clicks, preserving the gems’ beauty for the world to see, as Hae’s artistic eye transforms them into visions of wonder. The process is swift but meaningful, a quiet ritual that binds your shared passions. Soon, the crystals will grace her webshop, ready to bring a touch of the sea’s magic to those who seek it.

“This collection is huge, Namjoon,” Hoseok remarks with a warm smile, his gaze sweeping over the shimmering array of gems that adorn the older merman’s room. “There’s so much history embedded in these walls,” he adds, pointing to the meticulously arranged stones, and Namjoon feels a flush of pride rise to his cheeks. He’s poured countless hours into curating this collection, each gem—some calcite, larimar, jasper, peridotite, amazonite, and serpentine—bearing the weight of time and the ocean’s secrets.

Yoongi casts a sidelong glance at Namjoon and his prized collection, murmuring with a wry grin, “It’s impressive... but also incredibly dorky.”

Hoseok bursts into laughter, his joy so radiant that for a moment, Namjoon thinks they don’t need the sun in their underwater world—Hoseok’s light is enough to illuminate the depths.

“I’m not a dork,” Namjoon protests, crossing his arms over his bare torso in an attempt to feign indignation, but his stern expression does little to sway the younger mermen. Their laughter echoes through the water, a melody of friendship that only strengthens the bond between them.

“Nerd, then,” Hoseok offers through another burst of laughter, his voice rippling through the water like bubbles rising to the surface. Yoongi, ever the skeptic, merely rolls his eyes, already weary of the conversation. Namjoon can sense that Yoongi’s thoughts have drifted elsewhere—likely back to his bed, where he longs to sleep away the rest of the day. But Namjoon’s heart beats with a different rhythm, one that craves adventure. He usually embarks on treasure swims with his friend Soo-ah, but she’s preoccupied with her fiancé, Seokjin, as they prepare for their upcoming wedding.

Namjoon casts a glance at his friends, hoping they’ll soon take their leave so he can slip away into the inviting embrace of the sea. The room feels too small for his restless spirit, and the ocean beyond the walls calls to him like a siren’s song. He had initially invited them over for their monthly book club, but the gathering has devolved into something else entirely—Hoseok couldn’t stop laughing at the protagonist’s ridiculous misadventures, and Yoongi, true to form, had forgotten to read the book altogether. The story, plucked from the land above, strikes Hoseok as particularly odd and amusing, especially since he’s never set foot on land himself.

“Book club’s over, right?” Yoongi asks with a resigned sigh, his voice heavy with fatigue, as if the very mention of reading has drained him further.

“Yeah, but do try to read the next book for next month,” Namjoon chides gently, though he knows his words will likely fall on deaf ears. Yoongi merely shrugs, not even bothering to pick up the worn book as he drifts toward the door. Namjoon watches them go, rolling his eyes as Hoseok flashes him a soft smile and a thumbs-up before they swim off to their respective homes.

As their laughter fades into the distance, Namjoon finally feels the freedom to pursue the adventure that has been stirring within him all day. The sea awaits, vast and full of mysteries, and he is eager to explore its depths once more.

Namjoon exhales a deep sigh, the weight of his thoughts momentarily heavy, but he renews his energy by nibbling on some fresh kelp. The taste is crisp and briny, filling him with the vitality he needs for the journey ahead. With a determined glint in his eye, he slings his backpack over his shoulder and sets off on his adventure. The sea has always been his home, its vast expanse a comforting embrace. His parents, both scholars dedicated to preserving the rich history of their underwater city, have instilled in him a love for the past. But while they focus on teaching the young minds of the city, Namjoon’s heart has always been drawn to the secrets hidden within the earth—gems and stones that hold their own silent histories.

He propels himself forward, his baby blue tail cutting through the water with graceful precision. As he gathers speed, the fish scatter in a dazzling display, their scales catching the light as they dart away. The underwater world rushes past in a vibrant blur of color, until something shimmering in the distance catches his eye.

Ahead, perched on a rock formation, are gleaming clusters of calcite and aquamarine, their surfaces dancing with the light that filters through the water. The sun’s rays, fractured by the waves above, cast a spectrum of blues across the gems, making them shimmer like the sky at twilight. Namjoon’s breath catches in his throat, as it always does when faced with such natural beauty. Each gem is a masterpiece of time and pressure, a testament to the earth’s patient artistry. He reaches out, reverently running his fingers over the cool, smooth surfaces, feeling the ancient energy thrumming within them.

He pulls out his tools, careful not to disturb the surrounding environment, and begins to collect a few of the precious stones. As he works, he remembers Soo-ah and selects a particularly radiant piece to bring back to her, a token of their shared love for the ocean’s treasures.

But his heart skips a beat when he notices something unsettling—many of the gems have already been harvested, leaving only a few scattered remnants behind. A frown creases his brow as he wonders who could have beaten him to this spot. None of his friends share his passion for collecting gems. Sure, Taehyung enjoys gathering trinkets and curiosities, but stones have never been his interest. The thought of another collector in these waters feels strangely alien, a mystery that tugs at the edges of his mind.

Who else, he wonders, could be drawn to these underwater treasures with the same fervor that drives him?

You find yourself submerged once more, the embrace of the ocean welcoming you into its depths as you embark on yet another treasure hunt, eager to unearth new crystals. Your path leads you back to the familiar cave where you previously discovered the serpentine and calcite, their beauty still vivid in your memory. Yet, something feels different this time—there are fewer crystals adorning the rock formation and scattered across the seabed. The ocean’s depths, a canvas for nature’s exquisite artistry, have always been a sanctuary for the many fascinating crystals that dwell there. But you’ve never encountered another diver who collects them as passionately as you do. The realization leaves you momentarily puzzled, until a flicker of purple catches your eye in the distance.

Intrigued, you glide through the water with graceful urgency, approaching the new discovery. As you draw closer, you recognize the delicate gray and rose-hued crystals as lepidolite, known for its ability to enhance astral travel and lucid dreaming. You’ve rarely come across these gems in your dives, and even now, only a few precious stones cling to the rock formation. Carefully, you retrieve your tools and begin to collect the lepidolite, tucking each piece into your bag with a sense of reverence.

Continuing along the seabed, you pass by schools of vibrant fish, their colors a blur of life around you, until something extraordinary catches your attention—massive aquamarine crystals, far larger than any you’ve ever seen before. They seem to pulse with a quiet energy, drawing you in with their mesmerizing blue hue. As you approach with a gentle hand, you feel an inexplicable connection to the gems, as if they are whispering tales of the ocean’s mysteries and the magnificence of the world beneath the waves.

Gingerly, you touch the aquamarines, and a surge of calm washes over you, a tranquility deeper than anything you’ve ever experienced. The sensation is strange, yet profoundly soothing, as if the ocean itself is sharing its serenity with you. 

Taking your time, you inspect the crystals, standing tall on a rocky pedestal surrounded by pink sea bushes and kelp that sways in the water’s current. A few curious fish glide by as you carefully chip away at the base of the crystal, hoping to extract a substantial piece. When you finally succeed, you notice something peculiar—the crystal’s twin, the piece that once stood beside it, is missing. The jagged edge where it was removed is unmistakable. The question lingers in your mind, unsettling and persistent: Who has taken the other piece?

As you wonder who else might be drawn to the allure of these hidden gems, your hands continue their careful work, collecting a few more of the larger pieces, along with several smaller ones. You know that the smaller stones, though modest in size, still carry the same potent energy as their grander counterparts, and some people cherish them all the more for their delicate beauty. Each crystal, whether large or small, holds within it the ocean’s quiet wisdom, waiting to be shared.

Gently, you tuck the treasures into your bag, the weight of them a comforting reminder of the sea’s generosity. With a final, lingering glance at the shimmering aquamarines, you propel yourself upward, your body moving effortlessly through the water’s embrace. As you break through the surface, the world above greets you with a rush of air and sunlight. Hae is there, her arms open wide, her smile as warm as the sun. She helps you back into the boat, her touch gentle and reassuring, as if she understands the wonders you’ve just encountered below.

Once you’re back in the boat, the weight of your gear feels heavier than ever as you remove it, but your heart is light with the excitement of your discoveries. You eagerly reveal your treasures to Hae, each crystal glinting in the sunlight as you lay them before her. With a grin, you hold up the largest aquamarine, its cool blue depths mirroring the ocean below. “This one’s mine,” you declare, the gem feeling like a piece of the sea itself in your hand. But then your tone grows more serious as you add, “I think there’s another diver out there collecting gems. So many were missing from the formation.”

Hae’s eyes widen, her smile fading into a look of concern. You can almost see the wheels turning in her mind, already strategizing, perhaps even considering whether it’s time to move to a new, more secluded spot. The thought of competition makes her uneasy, her gaze drifting over the precious stones as if they might vanish any moment.

Sensing her anxiety, you place a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” you say with quiet confidence. “I’ll dig around, find out who it is. We’ve come too far to let this unsettle us.” Your words are meant to calm her, to remind her that together, you’ve weathered challenges before. After all, her webshop, with its unique blend of spirituality and sustainability, has always stood out in a sea of imitators.

Hae exhales softly, her tension easing as she meets your gaze. “Okay, thank you,” she murmurs, her hands gently gathering the remaining crystals, leaving you with your cherished aquamarine. The stone gleams in your palm, a symbol of the bond between you and the sea, and now, a silent vow to protect what you’ve both worked so hard to build.

The pull of the ocean is undeniable, a quiet voice in the depths of your soul that beckons you toward the gem, as if it carries the very essence of the sea within its crystalline heart. You know instantly that this piece belongs by your side, a reminder of the ocean’s mysteries and your bond with its vast, hidden world. The sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the water as you sail back to shore, the quiet lapping of waves a soothing lullaby.

Returning to your apartment, you flick on the light, the familiar space bathed in a soft glow as you carefully place your ocean gift on the nightstand beside your bed. The gem catches the light, its surface shimmering like the sea at dawn. With a contented sigh, you brush your teeth, the routine grounding you after the day’s adventure. But as you lay in bed, your mind drifts back to the ocean, and sleep comes quickly, filled with dreams of underwater realms and the treasures that lie beneath.

Yet, even in sleep, a question nags at you. For days, the mystery has lingered in your thoughts—who could be venturing into the depths to collect gems alongside you? Your research has led you nowhere, each inquiry a dead end. No diver you know is as daring, or perhaps as mad, as you, willing to plunge into the ocean’s deepest reaches. The puzzle gnaws at you, an itch you can’t quite scratch, and the frustration builds like a storm on the horizon. It feels as if the answer is just out of reach, hidden beneath the waves, and the more you dwell on it, the more it drives you to the edge of your patience, a riddle you are desperate to unravel.

Driven by a spark of determination, you’ve hatched a bold plan—to dive back into the depths and catch the mysterious intruder who’s been claiming your precious gems. Hae thinks it’s a dumb idea, but she indulges you, knowing your spirit is as restless as the ocean itself. And so, once again, you find yourself out on the boat, with Hae in the vast expanse of the ocean under the midday sun. The boat sways gently, a rhythmic dance on the water’s surface as you methodically pull on your gear—your oxygen tanks, goggles, and hydro fins. The final touch is your backpack, securely fastened to the tank, ready to hold whatever treasures you might uncover.

With purpose in your heart and a steely resolve, you press your arms together and plunge into the ocean’s embrace. The world above fades away as you descend into the deep, your body slicing through the water with graceful determination. Thoughts of the smaller boats you saw earlier linger in your mind, fueling your hope that this dive will lead you to your elusive rival.

As you dive deeper, the current cradles you, guiding your body as you sway with the ocean’s rhythm, until you reach the seabed. The familiar terrain unfolds before you, a place you’ve visited many times, yet now it feels different, touched by the presence of another. Only a few small gems remain, their glint a reminder of what’s been taken. You scan your surroundings—kelp sways like dancers in the current, fish dart about in a symphony of colors—but no sign of competition yet.

Undeterred, you press on, swimming further along the seabed, following the contours of rocky formations. Your heart quickens as you reach a familiar spot, the place where you once unearthed a magnificent aquamarine. But as you approach, your breath catches—the rock’s surface is nearly barren, the aquamarine all but vanished, save for a few remaining shards that catch the light. Your fingers hover over the stone, tracing the empty space where the gems once gleamed, now a haunting reminder of what’s been lost to unseen hands.

A sudden jolt, like a spark of electricity, tingles through your fingertips, and before you can react, a blur of blue fills your vision, distorting the world around you. You blink rapidly, trying to clear the haze, but it remains—an ethereal presence in the water. Then, you feel a light, almost playful poke against your cheek, and a startled scream escapes into your mouthpiece, sending a cascade of bubbles spiraling upwards.

Instinctively, you jerk backward, heart pounding, as you struggle to comprehend what’s before you. No—this can’t be real. It’s not another diver. It’s not even human.

In front of you, suspended in the water like a living dream, is a merman. His face, heart-shaped and adorned with eyes like dragon-like darkened amber, is framed by short, blue hair that floats gently around his soft cheeks, jawline and pointed chin. Thin soft eyebrows arch over those wide, curious eyes—eyes that seem to hold all the wonder of the deep. His lips, thick and juicy are slightly parted in a soft ‘o,’ convey a mix of curiosity and surprise. Your gaze travels over his tall frame down to his bare chest, lean and strong, and then to the tail—an iridescent baby blue, shimmering with every subtle movement, a perfect extension of the ocean’s beauty. 

A wiggling tail instead of legs.

You blink again, desperate to make sense of the vision before you. A merman… It has to be.

He drifts closer, his tail flicking gracefully as he reaches out to poke your chin once more, his voice resonating through the water with an almost melodic quality. “Are you human?” he asks, his tone gentle yet filled with the wonder of a child discovering something new.

Your mind races, and you nod frantically, unable to speak with the mouthpiece still in your mouth, your feet paddling in the water as you fight to steady yourself. The reality of the moment crashes over you like a wave—this is no fantasy. A merman is right in front of you.

As your gaze falls on the backpack strapped to his shoulders, you notice a subtle shimmer, a gleam of something precious. In that instant, the pieces fall into place—he’s the one. He’s the mysterious collector, your unexpected rival in this underwater hunt for gems.

“I’ve seen humans before,” he continues, his voice carrying an almost casual tone as he swims around you, studying you like a creature from another world, “but I’ve never seen one dressed like you.”

Your heart aches to respond, to ask a million questions, but with the mouthpiece in place, all you can do is let him circle you, his eyes filled with an innocent fascination. The silence between you is heavy with unspoken words, each glance exchanged like a whispered secret between the ocean and the sun.

As you take in the sight before you, your eyes are drawn to a necklace resting against his chest, the small piece of aquamarine nestled between the firm contours of his titties—chest, you mean chest! The gem, cradled in the hollow where his muscles meet, glimmers softly, almost as if it’s alive with the very essence of the sea. You can’t help but stare in awe, the allure of it tugging at something deep within you. Thank heavens for your goggles, masking the blush that would otherwise give away your wandering thoughts.

“You look funny,” he remarks, his voice laced with innocent curiosity as he reaches out to grab one of your hydro fin shoes. The unexpected touch throws you off balance, and for a moment, you find yourself flipping weightlessly in the water, your body twisting like a leaf caught in a gentle current.

“Is this supposed to be like a mermaid’s tail?” he asks, holding your foot aloft as though it were some ancient relic to be deciphered. His brow furrows in concentration, and you can’t help but feel a mix of amusement and bewilderment at the sight.

Instinctively, you jerk your foot back, breaking free from his grasp, and you push against the water with frantic kicks, a glance at your watch reminding you that time is running out. As much as you wish to linger here, captivated by the merman’s presence, the pressing need to return to the surface propels you upward.

“Hey! Where’re you going?” he calls after you, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation, but you’re already too focused on reaching the surface to notice the distress in his expression. The thought of what could happen if you don’t make it in time isn’t one you’re willing to entertain.

Breaking through the water’s surface, you take off the mouthpiece and  gulp in fresh air, scanning the horizon until you spot your boat, a distant speck where Hae waits, the other vessels having long since disappeared. It seems manageable, this swim back to the boat, as long as you stay above water—your oxygen tank now empty, its weight a reminder of how close you cut it.

But before you can begin the swim, something solid collides with you, stopping you in your tracks. “Ow,” you exclaim, startled as you float backward, only to find yourself face to face with a familiar figure, his blue hair dripping wet above the waves.

“Hi,” the merman says with a smile, his dimples appearing like little pools of light in the sun. The simple word carries a warmth that catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re lost in the easy charm of his grin, the ocean around you feeling suddenly smaller, as if it were just the two of you in this vast, endless world.

“Hi,” you greet him with a soft smile, still astonished that he followed you to the surface at all. A swirl of unspoken questions rises in your chest, but they tangle in your throat, leaving you staring at him, wide-eyed and speechless. The world seems to blur, save for the merman before you, his wet blue hair plastered against his forehead, his dragon-like eyes sweeping over you with a curious intensity, as if he’s memorizing every detail.

“What’s all that stuff you’ve got on?” he asks, pointing a slender finger at your goggles and then at the oxygen tanks strapped securely to your back.

“These?” you say, finding your voice as you point to your goggles. “They help me see underwater,” you pause, feeling the weight of the tanks pulling at your shoulders, “And these let me breathe while I dive—they hold the oxygen I need when I’m down there.” You gesture to the tanks behind you, your explanation feeling small in the face of his wide, unblinking curiosity.

He hums thoughtfully, nodding as if piecing together a puzzle. “Makes sense,” he says at last, though his gaze strays past you, catching sight of Hae waving from the boat that rocks gently on the surface, her silhouette framed by the scorching sun.

“I... I have to get back,” you mumble, pointing toward your friend, the words feeling heavy as they leave your lips. You try to steady your thoughts, but they swirl like the currents beneath the sea, a thousand questions dancing just beneath the surface, questions you don’t quite dare to voice.

“Okay,” he says, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—hesitation, perhaps. “But before you go…” His voice halts your movements, drawing you back to him like the pull of the tide. You turn toward him again, heart fluttering in the quiet space between you, as if the ocean itself is holding its breath, waiting to see what comes next.

“What’s your name?” His voice is soft, carrying a gentleness that ripples through the water.

“It’s ___,” you reply, offering him a smile that’s both shy and warm.

“That’s pretty,” he says, and when his lips part into a smile, his dimples carve deep into his cheeks, making him almost impossibly cute, but dangerously so. 

“I’m Namjoon.” 

His name lingers between you like a secret, sweet and mysterious. “Will I see you again?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, his brow raised in curious hope.

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face, the warmth filling your chest. There’s something about him—this enchanting creature of the deep—that makes you feel drawn in, like the tide itself is pulling you closer. You nod, the joy bubbling up inside you as you answer, “See you later, Namjoon.” There’s more than one reason you want to see him again. The unspoken questions whirl in your mind, but there’s also the thrill—because maybe, just maybe, you want to get your hands on the best crystals before he does.

As you turn and swim back toward Hae, your thoughts a mess of wonder and disbelief, a blush warms your cheeks. Did you just make a date with a merman? The thought sends a tingle of excitement through you. But when you glance back to where he was, Namjoon is already gone, having disappeared beneath the shimmering surface, like a dream fading with the dawn.

You finally make it to the boat, the sun still hanging high, bathing everything in golden light. As Hae helps you out of the water and hands you a towel, her eyes are wide with confusion. “Who was that? And how did he just vanish into the water like that, without any diving gear?”

“A merman,” you pant, peeling off your oxygen tanks and goggles. The words slip out of your mouth so naturally, like it’s something you’d say every day. Not the revelation of a magical creature, but a simple truth.

Hae stares at you, eyes nearly bulging from their sockets. “I’m sorry, what?”

“A merman,” you repeat, more firmly this time.

“A merman?” she echoes, her voice faint and incredulous, as if the very idea is too fantastical to grasp.

“Yes. A goddamn merman,” you say, grinning wide as you meet her disbelieving gaze. “Scaly tail and all.” And then the absurdity of it all hits you, and before you know it, you’re laughing—a bright, bubbling sound that lifts the tension from your chest.

Hae blinks, her mind racing to catch up with the truth you’ve laid before her. When she finally does, her gaze shifts to the shimmering crystals you’ve collected, and without another word, she turns the boat towards home, lost in thought as the ocean waves lap against the sides. And all you can do is sit there, the excitement of your encounter buzzing through your veins, as you wonder about the next time you’ll meet Namjoon beneath the waves.

The next time you set sail, the open sea stretching endlessly before you, a current of giddy anticipation courses through your veins. Thoughts of the blue-haired merman, Namjoon, fill your mind, sparking excitement deep within your chest. Will he be there today, waiting beneath the waves? You wish you could speak with him underwater, to ask him the thousand questions swirling in your heart, but the surface would have to do for now. You can’t help but smile at the thought of seeing him again.

Hae steers the boat through the shimmering water, the horizon vast and infinite. As you slip on your gear and dive beneath the surface, the ocean’s cool embrace pulls you into its depths. You swim purposefully, eyes scanning the underwater world, searching for both gems and a glimpse of Namjoon. 

Suddenly, something blue catches your eye, sparkling in the distance. Your pulse quickens as you think, just for a moment, that it might be him. But as you swim closer, your heart sinks—it’s only a cluster of aquamarine, glittering like pieces of fallen sky. You feel a bit foolish, letting your hopes get the better of you. Shaking off the disappointment, you turn your attention to the task at hand, collecting the gems with careful precision, though your thoughts continue to drift back to the mysterious merman.

You move to a new spot, finding a hidden cave adorned with larimar crystals. The stones are breathtaking—swirls of blue, white, and gray blending like waves crashing upon a shore, smooth and radiant. The sight brings a smile to your face, the beauty of the moment settling into your heart. You gently gather some of the crystals, placing them in your bag with reverence, as if each one carries a secret.

Just as you’re about to leave the cave, a shadow falls across the entrance. Your heart skips a beat, startled by the sudden presence. But then, the familiar voice reaches your ears, warm and apologetic, and you see him—Namjoon, his figure filling the space, his smile soft and full of quiet charm.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, his hand nervously scratching the back of his head, his eyes filled with a gentle sincerity.

Relief washes over you, and with a playful wave of your hands, you signal that it’s okay—that he needn’t worry. How you wish you could speak to him down here, let your words float freely in the water like the bubbles escaping from your gear. But for now, your gestures will have to suffice. Your smile says the rest—you’re just glad to see him again.

“You’re collecting crystals, right?” Namjoon asks, his voice cutting through the liquid silence as he gestures toward your already bulging bag. You nod in response, still catching your breath from the weight of the gems you’ve gathered.

“Do you want me to show you a cave with lepidolite?” he mumbles, his tone casual but a bit uncertain. “They’re pretty rare, but I know of a cave that’s full of them.” For a fleeting moment, you wonder if this is the ocean’s version of Netflix and chill, the awkwardness of the offer landing with the charm of a bad pickup line. You can’t help but smile at the thought. 

Still, you nod, knowing that Hae would be thrilled to get her hands on more lepidolite, and besides, you’re curious. You figure underwater Netflix and chill is a bit different from what you’re used to anyway.

Namjoon leads the way, his brilliant blue tail weaving effortlessly through the water, shimmering like sunlight caught in a sapphire. You trail behind him, captivated by the rhythmic sway of his form, the way his muscles ripple across his broad back like waves sculpted by some divine hand. You can’t help but wonder—do they even have gyms down here? The sight of him, so fluid and powerful, is mesmerizing, and before you know it, time seems to slip away, your focus narrowing to the subtle dance of his movements.

“This is the cave,” he suddenly announces, pulling you out of your reverie. You hadn’t realized just how long you’d been swimming, utterly absorbed by the quiet beauty of the journey and him.

You follow him inside, and the sight that greets you takes your breath away—deep violet lepidolite, sparkling in the dim light like stars scattered across a twilight sky. You’re awestruck by the sheer abundance, the rare gems nestled into the cave walls as if nature had painted this secret world just for you.

“Beautiful, right?” Namjoon giggles softly, his voice echoing gently through the cavern as you nod, too taken by the sight to speak. You pull out your tools, carefully beginning to gather the precious stones, all while feeling the warmth of his gaze lingering on you. His silent watchfulness stirs a strange flustered feeling inside, like he’s studying you with the same intensity you’ve used to admire him.

Once your bag is heavy with lepidolite, Namjoon takes you on a quiet tour of other hidden gem spots. Each place he shows you feels like a secret whispered by the ocean itself, and soon your collection grows so large that the weight of it tugs at you, as if the sea itself is trying to pull you back down. When Namjoon offers to carry your bag, you try to refuse at first, clinging to your independence. But as your arms grow heavy, you relent, watching in awe as he effortlessly takes your overloaded bag, slinging it across his broad frame with ease. He carries it as though the weight is nothing, his strength as graceful as the tides themselves.

With a raised arm, you gesture that it’s time to surface—your oxygen running low, the familiar ache of needing air settling into your chest. He seems to understand immediately, and together you ascend, the world around you turning brighter as you rise toward the surface.

Breaking through the water, you gasp in the fresh air, peeling off your goggles and mouthpiece, eager to speak to him in the open air. Namjoon surfaces beside you, droplets clinging to his skin as the sun catches the water in his hair, casting a shimmering halo around his smiling face.

“We should do this again,” he says, his voice warm and full of excitement. “Wasn’t it fun?”

“It really was,” you reply with a smile, your heart still buzzing from the underwater adventure. “Thank you for showing me all those caves. My friend, Hae, is going to be over the moon,” you say, casting a glance toward the boat swaying gently in the distance.

“That’s great to hear,” Namjoon replies, his voice as smooth as the rippling waves.

A flicker of frustration tugs at your chest, and you bite your lip. “I just wish I could talk to you down there,” you admit, your words heavy with a longing that feels both simple and profound.

“It would be nice, yeah,” he muses, his soft smile brightened by the sunlight. “But I don’t mind coming up here to talk. I like the air up here too,” he adds with a gentle chuckle, his gaze warm and steady.

“I have so many questions,” you blurt out, the words escaping you before you can hold them back. There’s too much wonder bottled up inside you, too much curiosity, and it needs to spill over.

Namjoon laughs, a sound so genuine it feels like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Shoot,” he says, his dimples deepening like two small whirlpools at the corners of his mouth.

You pause, your mind swimming with possibilities, before settling on the most obvious. “Are you the only merman, or… are there more of you?” you ask, your voice tinged with awe.

“There are more,” he says with pride, his chest lifting slightly. “There’s a whole city beneath the sea—Naraeum, where we live.” His eyes gleam with the pride of someone who belongs to something ancient and wondrous.

A thrill runs through you at the revelation. An entire city of merfolk hidden beneath the waves. The thought makes your pulse quicken, the realization that you’ve stumbled upon something so extraordinary, so secret, that few on the surface could even imagine it. You feel as if you’ve been let in on the universe’s greatest mystery, and it fills you with a giddy excitement that hums like electricity in your veins. 

“Are there cities or kingdoms beneath the waves? What are they like?” you ask, your voice soft with curiosity, eager to glimpse the world he calls home.

Namjoon’s eyes light up with a quiet pride. “Naraeum is a vast kingdom,” he begins, his words gentle yet full of wonder. “There’s pink coral stretching as far as the eye can see, ancient golden buildings weathered by time, and bright green kelp that sways like dancers in the currents. Dark caves hide beneath the surface, teeming with life—fish, crabs, creatures of every kind. And at night, everything glows with bioluminescent light, turning the ocean into a dreamscape.” A faint blush rises on his cheeks as he adds, “Maybe I can show you one day.”

Your breath catches in your throat, the thought of seeing an underwater kingdom beyond anything you’ve ever imagined. “That sounds unbelievable. I’d love to see Naraeum,” you say, barely able to contain the excitement bubbling within you. The idea of diving so deep, into a world untouched by human hands, feels too surreal to grasp.

“There are other cities too,” Namjoon continues, a smile tugging at his lips. “Some are smaller, some are larger, but Naraeum is like the heart of our region, the capital of sorts,” he adds, the pride in his voice unmistakable.

Your mind whirls with possibilities, questions tumbling out before you can stop them. “Do you have art? Music? Stories? How do you create them underwater?”

Namjoon laughs, a full-bodied sound that echoes across the waves. “We do,” he replies with a sparkle in his eyes. “Human books, for one—we’ve learned to preserve them so they don’t dissolve. Otherwise, we etch our stories on stone, carving our history into the bones of the sea. For music, we use instruments that echo your drums, flutes, and strings, but they’re crafted from merfolk hair, delicate yet strong.”

He pauses, a wistful look crossing his face. “Naraeum is ancient, filled with art and stories older than any of us. But,” he adds, adjusting the heavy bag on his back, “I fear I don’t have enough time to share them all right now. This bag,” he says with a light grin, “is starting to weigh me down.”

“Oh right, the bag!” you exclaim, snapping back to reality as a wave of panic ripples through you. You mentally scold yourself for letting the moment sweep you away, your feet kicking gently against the water as you make your way toward the boat. Namjoon swims by your side, effortlessly graceful, his shimmering tail flickering beneath the surface. 

Hae is there, waiting with a patient smile, and as she pulls you aboard, you reach out to take the heavy bag from Namjoon’s hands. “Thank you so much,” you say, a warm smile spreading across your face despite the unspoken whirlpool of questions still swirling in your mind. You wish you could ask him everything, but those wonders will have to wait.

“It’s no trouble at all,” Namjoon replies, his voice soft like the lull of the ocean. His own smile is tender, a quiet acknowledgment that leaves you feeling light despite the weight of the bag. 

Hae chimes in with a grin, “So, you’re the famous merman,” she teases, still a little wide-eyed as Namjoon flashes his bright blue tail above the surface, the sight leaving her speechless. The tail vanishes just as quickly, a flicker of the magic below.

“I’ll have to go now,” Namjoon says, his voice carrying a gentle farewell as he begins to swim backward, his gaze lingering on yours. “But I’ll see you again soon, ___.”

A blush creeps up your cheeks, and despite yourself, you smile and wave, heart fluttering in a way that’s both exhilarating and unsettling. You watch him dip beneath the waves, his form disappearing into the deep blue, leaving the water still and the air quiet.

Hae turns to you with a knowing look. “You’ve got a crush on the merman, don’t you?”

You can’t deny the warmth spreading through you, but you push the thought aside, the reality of it sinking in. He’s a merman. You’re human. It feels impossible, like something from a dream. But maybe—just maybe—being friends isn’t out of reach. Friends, you think, as if convincing yourself. That can’t hurt... right?

In the following weeks, you find yourself swept into a world beyond imagination—each adventure with Namjoon feels like diving into a storybook of magic and wonder. He takes you to hidden underwater realms where gems glimmer like stars, and schools of fish, dolphins, and whales glide by as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s as though the ocean has opened up just for you, revealing its secrets with every dive. The more time you spend with him, the stronger your heart tugs, pulling you deeper into your feelings. You try, futilely, to convince yourself you’re just friends, but every shared laugh, every meaningful glance, makes that harder to believe. 

Namjoon is an incredible friend, one who listens to your ramblings with genuine interest. His conversation is as vast and deep as the ocean itself, leading you into existential tangents that leave you pondering life and its mysteries long after the talks are over. You wish for more—there’s an ache that grows inside you—but how could that even be possible? He’s a merman, you’re human. It feels like some impossible fairy tale. Yet, you’ve caught him stealing glances, his cheeks tinged with blush, and sometimes he gazes at you with an intensity that makes your heart flutter in ways you can’t ignore. But does that mean anything? How do merfolk even love? You wonder if their hearts beat the same as yours.

One quiet afternoon, as you sit with the sun lazily dipping below the horizon on the boat, you find yourself asking the question that’s been gnawing at your mind. “Are there any consequences if a merman falls in love with a human?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. 

Namjoon, floating beside the boat, nearly chokes on the beer you brought him, his laughter turning into a cough as he searches for air. When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter, more careful. “There aren’t really... any consequences,” he murmurs, the tips of his ears turning pink. His eyes flicker nervously to your lips, then meet your eyes again, a quiet vulnerability swimming in their depths.

Good to know, you think, your heart skipping a beat. But before the blush overtakes you, you scramble to change the subject, your curiosity pulling you in another direction. “Is there magic in the ocean, like the old legends say? Can you control it?”

He laughs softly, the sound like the ebb and flow of waves. “There is magic, but no, I can’t control it. None of us can. There’s a Sea Witch, though—she’s the only one with that kind of power, as far as I know.” His words are laced with mystery, and your mind spins with possibilities.

“Can merfolk live forever?” you ask, half-dreaming of a life that stretches beyond the boundaries of time.

“Yes and no,” he replies, his voice thoughtful. “We can live for so long it feels like forever, but we’re not truly immortal.” His gaze drifts across the water, as if pondering the weight of time itself. 

“Interesting,” you murmur, your thoughts swirling. “What happens when a merperson dies, then? Is there an afterlife?”

Namjoon’s smile is wistful as he explains, “When a merperson dies, we hold a celebration—a spiritual send-off, really. There’s singing, dancing, it’s more of a party than a funeral. We celebrate their journey into the afterlife.” You must look puzzled because he quickly adds, “In the afterlife, we become ghosts. But if friends and family don’t send you off properly, there’s a chance the spirit might come back to haunt them.” He chuckles lightly, and you gasp, wide-eyed at the thought.

A cool breeze dances over the water, and for a moment, the world feels suspended between reality and the dreamlike expanse of the sea. You sit there, awed by the depth of his world, your heart both heavy with questions and light with wonder. And in that moment, despite the impossible distance between your two worlds, something seems to shift—something delicate and unspoken. You don’t know what the future holds, but maybe, just maybe, there’s magic enough to bridge the divide.

He passes the beer back to you, and you take a gentle sip, letting the taste linger without wanting the haze of drunkenness to settle in. Out here, in the middle of the endless ocean, everything feels both vast and intimate. A small taste is enough.

“Do you ever feel lonely in the vastness of the sea?” you ask, a quiet melancholy softening your voice as you gaze out at the seemingly endless horizon. The sea is breathtaking, yes, but the weight of its endlessness stirs something in you—a humbling reminder of how small one can feel in such a world.

“Sometimes,” Namjoon admits, his head dipping as his gaze finds the water. “There are moments when the ocean feels too big, too quiet.” His voice is soft, vulnerable. “But I have good friends,” he continues with a faint smile, “and I have my books when the solitude feels too heavy.” He looks at you with eyes warm and reassuring, as if to say that the sea might be vast, but he’s found beauty in its stillness.

“Oh, what books do you like?” you chuckle lightly, trying to brighten the mood, though his quiet sincerity tugs at your heart.

“Human books,” he replies with a gentle grin. “I love historical tales, but fiction is my favorite—stories that let me dream of other worlds.”

You smile, curiosity dancing on your lips. “What kind of fiction? Should I bring you some next time?” The words tumble out before you can catch them, your eagerness spilling over into the space between you.

A blush blooms across his cheeks, so deep it even colors the tips of his ears. In a shy, almost bashful voice, he says, “I... I like romance.” His admission is soft, as if he’s unsure of how it will land.

You can’t help but smile, your heart swelling with affection. There’s no shame in it, not to you—if anything, it’s endearing. “I have some romance books I can bring next time, if you’d like,” you offer, your voice gentle, feeling the warmth of your words fill the space between you.

Namjoon’s eyes sparkle, a soft wonder lighting them up as his blush deepens. “I wouldn’t mind that,” he murmurs, his voice as tender as the evening breeze.

The sun has begun to sink lower, casting a golden glow over the water. Namjoon glances at the sky, then back at you with a smile that feels like the closing of a chapter. “It’s getting late. I was thinking... next time, I could show you Naraeum.” His voice is proud, almost glowing with the thought. “If we go at night, the whole kingdom shines,” he adds, a spark of excitement in his eyes as he recalls the bioluminescent beauty he once described to you.

Your heart leaps at the thought. “I’d love that,” you say, feeling the pull of the ocean’s magic once more. “I’ll ask Hae to man the boat, so I’m not alone when it’s time to head back.”

Namjoon nods, his smile softening as the sun dips lower, its light casting golden hues over both the water and his blue hair. “See you soon,” he says, waving as he begins to slip beneath the surface.

You wave back, feeling the warmth of his presence linger, even as you sail toward the shore, the fading sunlight a reminder that the ocean holds many mysteries yet to be uncovered. And with each adventure, your connection to him deepens, like a current pulling you both to something inevitable.

"I’m telling you, you’re totally whipped, man," Yoongi says with a playful eye roll, his voice teasing but laced with truth.

“I’m not,” Namjoon protests, crossing his arms defensively, but deep down, he knows resistance is futile. His friends have been relentless, teasing him ever since you entered his life—how his smile stretches wider, brighter, after spending time with you, how your name slips into conversations that have nothing to do with the human world. It’s like you’ve seeped into his very soul. He knows he’s fallen, and fallen hard, but the weight of his feelings confuses him. He has no idea how to navigate them, unsure of your heart, or if you could even feel the same pull toward him. And how could it ever work between you two? The thought of venturing onto land to be with you dances through his mind like a fragile dream, but there’s a storm of questions swirling beneath the surface—questions he’s too afraid to ask, too scared to drown in all the unknowns.

“Just don’t get your heart broken,” Yoongi mutters, his voice softer now, tinged with caution. Namjoon nods, the words settling heavily in his chest like stones sinking to the ocean floor.

“Hey man, don’t throw your past experiences at Joonie like that!” Jimin chimes in, smacking Yoongi’s shoulder, a little too forcefully judging by Yoongi’s wince. “If he’s in love, he should go for it. Take the dive, see where the current leads him,” the blonde merman insists, eyes sparkling with mischief and optimism, trying to fill Namjoon’s heart with hope, pushing away the shadows Yoongi’s cynicism casts.

Namjoon, though, can only sigh. “I just don’t know…,” he mumbles, fingers trailing along the spines of his beloved books, rearranging them in some futile attempt to quiet the storm inside him. Anything to busy himself, anything to keep thoughts of you from consuming him. But it’s hopeless—why does his mind keep drifting back to you, like the tide, relentless and unyielding?

“It will never work,” Yoongi shrugs with a quiet scoff, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s seen too many relationships slip away. His words linger in the air, heavy like the deep sea.

Jimin, unphased, shoots him a scolding glare. “You never know that,” he says firmly. “Just because your love life’s been a shipwreck doesn’t mean it’s the same for everyone else.” There’s a sharp edge to his words, a flicker of irritation.

“And look at Seokjin and Soo-ah!” Jimin adds, his voice lifting again, the gleam of an idea flickering in his eyes. “Soo-ah was human once too, remember? She turned mermaid for love. Maybe ___ would want to become a mermaid as well? Who knows what fate has in store,” he grins, ever the romantic, eager to plant seeds of possibility in Namjoon’s mind.

Namjoon’s heart stirs at the thought, but even the idea feels like a dream too distant, too fragile to reach. Could you really be part of his world? Could love, like the sea, find a way to bridge the impossible distance between you?

“I would never put that on her. She has a life—one she’s likely content with on land. I couldn’t ask her to leave it behind,” Namjoon says, his voice laced with breathless resignation, as though the weight of his own feelings has left him deflated, crushed beneath the impossibility of it all. 

“She’s a good friend. I’ll just... enjoy what we have for now,” he adds softly, placing the book you’d given him gently on his nightstand, his fingers lingering on the cover. He already treasures it, not for the words it contains, but because it came from you. Though he hasn’t yet reached the end, he finds himself lost in the pages, immersed in the tale of a woman struggling with feelings for her best friend—torn between preserving their friendship or risking everything for love. If Namjoon sees a reflection of his own heart in those pages, he’ll never admit it, not even to himself.

“Love sucks anyway,” Yoongi mutters, his voice sharp and bitter, like a wound still raw and bleeding.

“You’re killing the vibe, Yoon,” Jimin sighs, shaking his head as he swims closer to Namjoon, his energy warm and comforting. 

“Don’t listen to him,” Jimin adds, draping an arm around Namjoon’s broad shoulders, trying to lift the weight that presses down on his friend. “He’s the last person you want advice from when it comes to love. He’s forgotten what it means to believe in it.” Jimin shoots another glare at Yoongi, who merely shrugs, unmoved.

Namjoon lets out a weary sigh. He likes you—no, more than likes you. Perhaps he’s even in love, but he’s still learning to come to terms with that revelation. What if telling you his feelings drives you away? What if, in confessing his heart, he loses the precious friendship you’ve built together? You, who’ve brought laughter and life into his days. He’s never been close to a human before, not like this, and the thought of losing you weighs heavier than the ocean above him. 

It’s not like he hasn’t ventured to land before, tasted fleeting moments with humans—flings that flickered out as quickly as they began. But this, you, feel different. And he’s in deep water now, uncertain of the way forward. It doesn’t matter to him that you’re human. If you were a mermaid, he doubts it would make things easier. What draws him to you isn’t your species, it’s your soul. 

It’s the way your hair dances in the wind, or how it clings to your skin when it’s soaked from the sea. The way your cheeks flush red, that soft blush that dusts even the bridge of your nose. The way bubbles rise and swirl around you when you dive beneath the waves, how your lashes flutter like the wings of a butterfly. The way your presence calms the storm inside him, as though you carry the quiet strength of the sea itself.

Yes, Namjoon thinks, his heart heavy with the undeniable truth. He’s got it bad.

“Hae, I don’t know what to do,” you sigh, the weight of indecision pressing down on you as you sit at the coffee shop, staring at the steam rising from your untouched cup. You feel like you could pull your hair out, frustration boiling inside as you wait for the coffee to cool, though it’s really your emotions that need calming.

The midday sunlight filters through the window, casting soft golden light over your table, but you can’t appreciate the warmth. Your mind is too restless. What are you supposed to do with these feelings?

“It’s actually quite simple,” Hae says, her tone far too casual for the magnitude of what you’re feeling. She takes a sip of her coffee—how does she drink it so scalding hot?—and you scoff softly, half out of envy, half in disbelief at how calm she seems. “You just have to talk to him.”

You groan, the sound louder than you intended, pulling curious glances from the tables around you. Embarrassed, you lower your voice, but the frustration lingers, tugging at your insides like a tangled knot. 

“It’s not that easy,” you say, pushing your coffee aside. “What if he doesn’t like me? What if I ruin everything between us?” Your voice drops to a whisper as your hands fall to your lap, palms sweaty and clammy. “How would it even work? He’s a merman, Hae. I... I’m just me.”

Hae raises an eyebrow, amused. “Girl—have you seriously not noticed the way he looks at you?”

You blink. “What do you mean? He looks at me... normal.”

She gives you a look that suggests you might be the most oblivious person on the planet. “Nah. He looks at you like he’s ready to drown in your eyes—like you’re his whole world.”

Her words hit you like a sudden wave, stealing your breath for a moment. Could she be right? You’ve never seen Namjoon look at you like that, at least not in a way you could recognize. 

“Really?” you whisper, unsure, heart fluttering with both hope and fear.

“Yes,” she emphasizes, laughing a little as she sets her cup down. “You’re kinda stupid for not noticing.”

You finally take a tentative sip of your now-warm coffee, trying to hide the way her words unravel you. As the warmth settles in your chest, your mind starts racing, replaying all the moments you’ve shared with Namjoon, all the times he’s looked at you, spoken to you with that gentle smile. Had there been something more in those glances? Had you been too blind to see it?

“You should confess your feelings,” Hae says, matter-of-fact, sipping her coffee like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

But it’s not that simple, not for you. The thought of baring your heart feels like standing at the edge of a precipice, with no way of knowing if there’s solid ground beneath you—or a fall. What if she’s wrong? What if you’re wrong? 

You shake your head slowly. “I don’t know if I can. What if I ruin our friendship? What if he doesn’t feel the same?”

Hae gives you a knowing look, but you’re already spiraling, lost in your own thoughts. Maybe... maybe you could watch him a little longer, try to see what she’s seeing, catch more evidence that there’s something there, something more. 

Because the risk of losing him over your feelings—that terrifies you more than anything.

It’s a few nights later, and the sea is a blanket of darkness as you and Hae venture out into its endless expanse. The sky above is nearly pitch black, save for the delicate shimmer of stars scattered like diamonds, casting faint light upon the inky water. The moon hangs low, its pale glow mirrored perfectly on the surface, creating a fragile bridge between the heavens and the sea. You pull Hae into a hug, murmuring your gratitude for her being here, for her unwavering companionship on this strange, otherworldly journey. She laughs softly, her voice breaking the silence of the night, and tells you she wouldn’t let you drown—not when she’s here to keep you safe. Her words bring a smile to your face, easing the quiet tension in your chest as you pull on your gear in the dark.

You slip into the water, the sea swallowing you whole. Beneath the surface, it’s as black as ink, the deep blue fading into a near-impenetrable navy that borders on oblivion. But there is no fear, only the pull of the unknown as you dive deeper, surrendering to the quiet pull of the ocean. Your breath is steady, your heartbeat louder in your ears than the sound of the waves above.

And then, there he is—Namjoon, his gentle smile waiting for you like a beacon in the depths, dimples carving softness into the darkness. His presence is steady, grounding, and for a moment, you forget you can’t speak, forgetting that the words you wish to say—I’m glad I’m here, thank you for this—are trapped behind the mask of your breathing gear.

Suddenly, his hand reaches for yours. The touch surprises you at first, a flicker of warmth against the cold of the sea, sending a soft spark up your arm, a silent current that makes your heart stutter. But then you relax into it, realizing how right it feels—his hand in yours, the silent understanding between you. It’s just a hand, you remind yourself, but even the smallest gesture carries weight in the depths of the sea.

“It’s dark,” he gestures to your joined hands, his voice a whisper through the water. “I’ll guide you.” You notice, even in the dim light, how his eyes shift nervously, and if the ocean weren’t so dark, you’d swear there was a blush creeping across his cheeks.

Together, you swim deeper, your hand still clasped in his as the world around you begins to change. In the distance, something gleams—a glint of gold, faint but unmistakable. As you draw closer, it becomes more defined, taking shape as towering structures rise from the seafloor like monuments from another world. Tall, ancient buildings glitter beneath the water, their surfaces gleaming with gold, adorned in intricate lettering and symbols you can’t begin to decipher. The curves and arches remind you of something familiar, some echo of human architecture, though far grander and more ancient than anything you’ve ever seen. These aren’t just buildings—they’re castles, palaces from a forgotten fairy tale. Everything is bathed in the ethereal glow of bioluminescent light, soft blues and yellows emanating from plants that pulse like stars, making the entire city shimmer as if alive with magic. It’s breathtaking—otherworldly in its beauty—and you feel your breath catch in your throat, mesmerized by the impossible splendor before you. 

How many wonders exist beneath the surface, hidden from the world above? you think, the weight of it all is almost too much to grasp. That such a place could exist, a vast city of gold and light, thriving in the deep—how could you have never known?

“Welcome to Naraeum,” Namjoon says, his voice soft, gesturing toward the city center that teems with life. Merpeople of all shapes, colors, and ages drift through the streets, some lost in their own rhythms, others laughing and chatting, and children darting through the water in playful games. The whole scene is alive, vibrant, and full of warmth, and the sight of it fills you with something indescribable—joy, wonder, perhaps even belonging.

A smile spreads across your face, unbidden, as the reality of this magical place settles over you. For the first time, you feel like you’ve truly discovered something beyond the world you’ve known, something boundless and beautiful. And with Namjoon beside you, it feels like you’ve only just begun to understand its depths.

“This is the city hall,” Namjoon gestures toward the tallest of the castles, its golden spires reaching upward like fingers trying to touch the ocean’s surface. “The royal family lives there too.” His voice is soft, but there’s a weight to his words, something ancient and significant about the building that looms over the city like a silent guardian.

You glance at him, blinking, wishing you could ask more, the curiosity burning inside you. If only you could speak, but the water and the mouthpiece keep your questions trapped behind your lips. The tug of his hand interrupts your thoughts, and once again you’re being gently pulled deeper into the heart of Naraeum, where the city unfolds like a dream in slow motion.

The water sways with life—delicate kale and other greens move in rhythm with the gentle currents, shells glint beneath the sandy floor, and tiny crabs scuttle between the rocks, oblivious to your presence. Shoals of fish—bright yellow, orange, and black—dart past, their quicksilver bodies flashing through the twilight water. And now, the eyes of the merpeople are on you. Their gazes, curious and shimmering, follow you as you move through their world, and for the first time, you feel like a true visitor in a land not your own.

Three merpeople approach, their figures graceful and effortless in the water. One, a striking merman with a pink tail that shimmers like rose quartz in the dim light, looks you over with an intensity that makes you feel seen in a way both comforting and unfamiliar. You notice his hand intertwined with a mermaid beside him, her tail a stunning shade of purple that gleams like amethyst. Together, they are radiant, like a pair of jewels. They look perfect together, you think, a bit in awe of how seamlessly they belong to this world.

“This is ___?” the pink-tailed merman asks, his voice smooth, his eyes darting to Namjoon for confirmation.

Namjoon nods, and the mermaid smiles, her face brightening with warmth. “Pleased to meet you,” she says, her voice light like a melody. “I’m Soo-ah, and this is my fiancé, Seokjin.” You nod in response, acknowledging them with a smile behind your mouthpiece, feeling a sense of camaraderie in their presence.

But before you can speak—or even think of what to say—your eyes catch on the third figure. A dark-haired merman with a tail the color of midnight, streaked with gold that glimmers like starlight. His aura is different—colder, detached. His black eyes flicker over you briefly, then, with a dismissive scoff, he turns away, arms crossed over his chest as if to close himself off from the world. 

Namjoon sighs, his voice edged with irritation, “That’s Yoongi.” The name comes out rough, almost an apology. “He forgot to take the stick out of his ass today.”

You can’t help but chuckle, bubbles escaping from your mouthpiece, rising toward the surface like tiny pieces of joy. Even in this underwater kingdom, humor survives, softening the tension. But Yoongi, unmoved, swims off into the shadows, his figure disappearing into the vastness of the sea. 

“Don’t mind him,” Namjoon mutters, squeezing your hand a little tighter. “Come on, I want to show you the rest.”

Soo-ah and Seokjin swim alongside you as Namjoon leads you through the winding streets of the marketplace, stalls lined up like sentinels, though empty now in the quiet of night. The architecture is both foreign and familiar, illuminated by the soft glow of bioluminescent plants. Everything feels untouched by time, and yet alive with history. You pass the grand library next, its shelves filled with tomes both ancient and new, merfolk stories and human books resting side by side. You can almost feel the weight of untold stories and hidden lore that fills the space, waiting to be discovered.

Namjoon’s excitement builds as he takes you to a fitness center unlike anything you’ve ever seen—massive bars with stones at either end, weights crafted from various-sized rocks, and machines clearly designed for strength and agility in the water. It’s a glimpse into the life of these beings, how they build themselves in this weightless world.

After a while, Soo-ah and Seokjin bid you farewell, their presence a quiet comfort as they swim off together, leaving you alone with Namjoon. Your pulse quickens. His hand, still clasped in yours, feels warm even in the cold depths of the sea. The way he glances at you—those fleeting, secretive looks that you’ve caught out of the corner of your eye—makes your heart race even more. Hae’s words echo in your mind, whispering truths you’re not sure you’re ready to admit. 

Could it be? you wonder, as the two of you drift toward his home.

“This is my place,” he says softly, his voice reverberating through the water as he turns on the light—an iridescent seashell hanging from the ceiling that casts a gentle, pearlescent glow throughout the space. His home is carved into the heart of a cave, the walls smooth and cool to the touch, like the sea itself has shaped them over countless years. Your eyes fall on his bed, draped in what looks like a soft, inviting duvet, but as you get closer, you realize it’s woven from delicate strands of kelp, swaying ever so slightly in the currents. It’s an unexpected beauty, intricate and organic, like everything in this underwater world.

The longest wall is dominated by a towering bookshelf, its shelves lined with books, arranged meticulously by color and size. It’s mesmerizing, this ocean of stories he’s collected, and you can’t help but wonder what worlds and lives he’s explored within these pages. You want to tell him, to say how beautiful it all is—his home, his soul, him. But your words are trapped beneath the weight of the sea, tangled with the breathlessness of being in his presence. 

Your fingertips brush the spines of the books, imagining all the narratives they contain, each one another layer of who Namjoon is. You glance down at your joined hands—his fingers laced with yours, and in that quiet moment, you swear you can feel something electric passing between you. A pulse of warmth, a silent exchange of emotions you can’t speak. You want to kiss him, more than anything. The way he’s gazing at you, his eyes soft and full of something unspoken, the gentle curve of his lips hiding a blush you wish you could see more clearly.

But here, in this quiet cavern beneath the sea, there’s nothing you can do. You can’t ask him what you’re dying to know, can’t lean in and feel the warmth of his lips against yours, can’t tell him that you’re falling, deeply, helplessly. All you can do is float here, heart aching with the weight of everything unsaid. 

He clears his throat, nervously scratching the back of his head. His mouth opens as if he’s about to speak, then closes again. There’s something he wants to say, you can feel it, lingering in the air between you. He tries again, and this time his voice, soft and hesitant, finally breaks the silence. 

“Thank you for letting me show you my world.”

You squeeze his hand gently, pouring all the gratitude and affection you can’t voice into that single touch. You hope he feels it—the appreciation, the awe, the quiet longing you carry for him. And in that touch, you wish you could invite him into your world, share everything that you are with him, even though he’s been on land before. But you don’t know if he’d want that. You’ve never asked, never dared to imagine what it might be like to share your lives across these two worlds. You’re afraid to impose, afraid to hope too much.

The moment hangs fragile between you, but like all perfect moments, it begins to fade as reality presses in. You feel the pull of time, the reminder that you need to return to the surface. Namjoon feels it too. His eyes flicker with understanding as he leads you back out into the city, guiding you through the soft glow of bioluminescent lights, past the merpeople still moving gracefully through their midnight routines. 

The silence between you stretches as you swim toward the boat where Hae waits, but it’s not the kind of silence that weighs heavy. It’s filled with possibility, thick with everything you haven’t said. Your heart beats faster as you realize that, once you’re back above the water, you’ll have the chance to speak. To ask. The thought of it sends your pulse racing, a swirl of excitement and terror mixing in your chest. 

What if he doesn’t feel the same? The question spins through your mind, gnawing at the edges of your courage. But the way he looked at you, the way his hand feels in yours, gives you hope. And maybe—just maybe—that will be enough.

As you break the surface of the water, you push your goggles up to rest like a headband, feeling the cool night air kiss your damp skin. It’s crisp, almost electric, filling your lungs with a freshness that makes the world above feel more alive than ever. Namjoon surfaces beside you, offering you a soft smile, but your attention is caught by the subtle blush dusting his cheeks, a faint rose bloom in the moonlight. He seems hesitant, his uncertainty mirroring your own, as if you’re both standing on the edge of something vast and uncharted, too afraid to take that first leap.

For a heartbeat, he swims closer, his presence looming gently in your space. You hold your breath, your pulse quickening with the thought that he might—maybe—kiss you. Instinctively, you close your eyes, ready to surrender to that moment, but instead, his fingers brush your cheek, and he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear with such tenderness it sends a wave of warmth through your body. His touch lingers, delicate and deliberate, and though it wasn’t the kiss you imagined, it makes you blush all the same. The heat rises to your cheeks, flooding you with a mixture of longing and disappointment.

But then something stirs within you—some reckless courage sparked by his closeness—and before you can think it through, you lean in. Your lips find his, a soft, quick kiss, almost like a whisper. It’s gentle, just a peck, but his lips are warm, softer than you ever imagined, like the sea breeze caressing your skin on a summer evening. 

When you pull away, you see the surprise flicker in his eyes for just a moment before his features soften into something tender and full of quiet affection. His ears burn red in the moonlight, and his dimples deepen as he gazes at you with a look that leaves you breathless. His brown eyes—dark and shimmering, like polished amber—glow with something more, something deeper. You think, just for a second, it’s desire, simmering beneath his calm exterior.

“Thank you for tonight,” you whisper, your voice barely carrying over the soft lapping of the waves. You squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth and strength of him, and smile. “It was so beautiful.”

Namjoon doesn’t speak; he simply looks at you, his dragon-like eyes full of quiet intensity, his dimples softening the tension in the air. It’s a look that makes your heart skip, that holds a thousand unsaid words between you. And as you reluctantly pull away, swimming toward the boat, your mind is still spinning from the kiss, from the closeness, from everything left unspoken.

Hae pulls you up into the boat, and as you sit, catching your breath, you catch her sly grin. You know she saw everything—the kiss, the blush, the way Namjoon looked at you—but for now, she stays silent, letting the moment hang in the air. You wave to Namjoon, watching as he offers one last gentle smile before disappearing back into the deep, dark waters, the night swallowing him whole.

And even as the waves settle, your heart still swells, full of the hope and mystery that the night—and Namjoon—left behind.

The days pass in a blur of anxious thoughts, your heart heavy with doubt. Every dive into the ocean feels colder without a trace of Namjoon, and the silence is deafening. Each time you resurface alone, your mind spirals further into uncertainty. Did you overstep? The kiss lingers on your lips, but now you wonder if it was a mistake. It feels as if he’s vanished into the depths, leaving you adrift. Is he avoiding me? The question gnaws at you, twisting your insides. Maybe this is his way of saying he doesn’t feel the same, that he wants nothing more to do with you.

Hae, ever the caring friend, drags you to a fancy restaurant in an attempt to soothe your restless mind, insisting that you’re worrying yourself to death. You look like a dog that’s been kicked, she had said with a shake of her head, trying to make you laugh. But now, as you sit across from her, poking at the salad you barely have the appetite to eat, the weight of your uncertainty presses down even harder. Your stomach twists with every bite, the anxiety clinging to you like a shadow.

“Maybe he’s just busy, or caught up in merfolk stuff?" Hae suggests, her voice light, trying to pry you from the dark corners of your thoughts. But your mind won’t let you escape. Busy? No, your treacherous thoughts whisper, he’s avoiding you—he’s forgotten you, and the kiss meant nothing.

You say nothing, only stabbing your fork into the salad with a kind of quiet fury, each jab into the leaves an outlet for the storm brewing inside you.

“Uh, ___?” Hae’s voice breaks the tension, but you barely lift your head. She stumbles over her words, clearly uneasy, her tone cautious as she leans in closer. “There’s a man—blue hair—he’s looking at us.”

At her words, something stirs in you, curiosity overriding the anger for just a moment. Blue hair? Your heart skips a beat, and before you can stop yourself, you turn around, almost instinctively, as though drawn by an invisible thread. Your gaze collides with a pair of deep, brown eyes that hold all the mystery of the ocean. Namjoon.

His eyes glisten like the sea at dawn, reflecting both depth and tenderness, swirling with something unspoken—regret, maybe even desire. You swallow hard, feeling the magnetic pull that has always existed between you, but this time, it’s stronger. The air around you thickens as he walks toward the table, his presence unmistakable, sending your pulse into a wild rhythm.

“Hi, Y/N,” he says, his voice soft, laced with an apology that doesn’t need to be spoken yet. The smile he offers is gentle, almost shy, and you can see the guilt in the way his eyes search yours. He knows. He knows he shouldn’t have disappeared without a word.

“Hi, Namjoon,” you manage to reply, the sound of his name on your lips stirring something deep inside you—something that’s a mixture of relief and frustration. You’re a little mad, of course you are. But as your heart races, you know you can’t stay angry with him, not when he’s standing there with that look in his eyes. He’s here now. And that’s enough for your heart to forgive him.

Your eyes travel down to his legs—strong, toned, perfectly human. He’s traded the water for the land, just for you, standing there in beige shorts like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And yet, your mind spins with the impossibility of it all, as if he’s a dream made flesh, and part of you still can’t believe he’s really here.

The air between you is thick with unspoken words, a tension that seems to ripple like the sea itself. Namjoon scratches the back of his head, his eyes shifting with uncertainty. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone,” he begins, his voice low and sincere. “I didn’t mean to disappear like that, but something happened in Naraeum—”

Before he can finish, the weight of your own anxiety breaks through, forcing the words from your chest. “I thought you didn’t like me, or just forgot about me.” The admission tumbles out, raw and trembling, the very fear that has haunted you for days finally taking shape between you. As soon as the words leave your lips, you feel exposed, vulnerable. You brace yourself for his response.

For a moment, he just stares, his expression frozen in disbelief, like your words have knocked the wind out of him. Then, his face softens, eyes wide with something close to shock. “Baby, no,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand, the nickname slipping from his lips so naturally that it sends a flutter of warmth through your chest. He steps closer, worry etched in every line of his face as his gaze falls on you, sitting there with your heart in your throat.

Baby?

“I’d never forget about you,” he continues, his voice trembling slightly as he bites his lower lip, as if trying to hold something back. The intimacy of that small gesture makes your breath catch.

Hae clears her throat opposite you, breaking the charged moment. She rises from her seat, her chair scraping loudly against the floor, drawing both your gazes toward her flushed face. “Namjoon, please, take my seat and talk. I’ll go home and shower this tension off,” she says, her tone teasing but kind.

You open your mouth to protest, but then close it, realizing she’s right. The tension is palpable, thick as the ocean depths, and part of you is grateful for the space she’s offering. Even though nerves twist inside you like a storm, you know this is a conversation you need to have.

As Hae leaves, Namjoon sits down across from you, his eyes soft and apologetic. “I’m sorry I worried you, baby,” he murmurs, leaning forward slightly. His hands rest on the table, inching closer to yours, like he’s afraid to cross that final distance too soon.

There’s that word again—baby—and it stirs something deep inside you, butterflies rising in your chest, fluttering wildly, desperate to escape. It’s more than just a nickname; it’s a promise, a reassurance that melts the cold fear that has been gnawing at you for days.

“It’s okay,” you reply, your voice softer now, the storm inside you beginning to calm. “My mind just... got the better of me.” Your gaze flickers to where his fingers hover near yours, and your heart beats wildly at the nearness of him.

Namjoon is here, in front of you, and you realize with a quiet, overwhelming relief—he’s never really been gone.

“I could never not like you,” Namjoon murmurs, his voice dipping lower, softer, as if the truth is too delicate to be spoken aloud. “I think I... love you,” he finishes, the last words barely audible, yet they linger in the air between you like a fragile secret.

Did he just say love? Your heart stumbles, and for a moment, you forget to breathe. “You do?” you ask, your voice trembling with disbelief, your pulse fluttering wildly in your chest. Could it be real? Could he feel the same way?

A flicker of uncertainty dances across your mind, and you can’t help but press further, needing clarity. “Wait—do you think, or do you know?” Your question is gentle, but it carries the weight of hope, a hope that has been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

Namjoon smiles at himself, a soft laugh escaping his lips. “Sorry,” he says, the sincerity in his eyes unmistakable. “I know. I know I love you.”

Time seems to slow, the world slipping into a dreamlike state where everything feels soft, suspended, as if wrapped in the warm glow of your shared confession. The air between you feels charged, but also tender, like the fragile moment before the first petal falls. You can feel it now—he’s there with you, and this love, this real thing, is finally mutual.

You reach out, taking his hands in yours, and lean in closer. “I love you too, Namjoon,” you whisper, the words feeling both daring and true.

For a moment, silence settles between you, but it’s a comfortable silence—one filled with the weight of what’s just been said. His hazel eyes, flecked with warmth and softness, hold yours, and you swear you could drown in them. Drown and never wish to come up for air.

The pull between you is magnetic, and before you can stop yourself, the words slip out, unfiltered and bold. “Do you... want to come see my place?” The second the words leave your mouth, heat rushes to your cheeks. The invitation is brazen, filled with unspoken implications, but you know it’s what you want—all of him, not just this moment, but something more, something deeper.

Namjoon’s breath catches, and he stands, his gaze never leaving yours. “Yes, baby,” he replies in a voice that is almost a whisper, but carries the weight of everything he feels. That one word—baby—sends shivers spiraling down your spine, and you bite your lip, holding back a smile.

Hand in hand, you walk together through the quiet night, the cool air a stark contrast to the warmth building between you. You don’t need words now; the simple contact of his hand in yours is enough, grounding you as you lean into his strong frame. It feels so natural, as if you’ve always been walking beside him, as if this was always meant to happen.

When you reach your apartment, you fumble for the keys, unlocking the door with a nervous flutter in your chest. As the door swings open, you flick on the light, and for a moment, you glance around, hoping he won’t find your space too cluttered or small. You’d cleaned just the day before, but still, anxiety lingers.

Namjoon steps inside, his eyes roaming the space, but he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he looks at you, his gaze heavy with something unspoken, something that makes your heart race. His hand tightens around yours, and you feel yourself being pulled further into his orbit, like gravity drawing you closer.

You look up at him, studying the moles that dot his skin, noticing the way his features are softened by the low light. He’s so close, and in this moment, with his warm eyes on yours and his hand gently holding yours, you think—this is what it means to truly be seen, to truly be wanted. And God, does he look so handsome.

Then, without hesitation, he dives in, his lips crashing into yours with a desperate, urgent need. The moment you let out a soft moan against his mouth, he releases your hand, now free to explore you. Both of his hands cup your cheeks tenderly, yet with a fierceness that pulls you deeper into him. The kiss consumes you, leaving you feeling like water melting in his palms—soft, fluid, and utterly surrendered. His lips tease yours, grazing them in a way that demands more, and when he seeks entrance, you grant it willingly. Your tongues meet in a slow, intoxicating rhythm, moving like waves crashing together under a moonlit sea.

Another moan escapes you, and you feel heat pooling deep inside, a yearning that’s overwhelming. And it’s only a kiss—yet it has you unraveling like a ribbon coming loose.

When he finally pulls away, his gaze locks onto yours, desire simmering in the air between you, thick and electric. “Baby, I want you so bad,” he breathes, his lips curling into a soft pout that makes your heart melt. How does he look both fierce and endearing at once?

You can’t help but smile, your own need burning just as fiercely. “Me too... Please call me ‘baby’ more,” you whisper, fluttering your lashes as you cling to the warmth in his eyes. “I love it.”

He chuckles, the sound like a low rumble of thunder. “Oh, I’ve noticed,” he says, amused. “Every time I call you ‘baby,’ your eyes dilate.”

You didn’t know that, but you feel the truth of it—the way that simple word makes your heart race, how it draws you even closer to him, making you crave more.

“I want you...” You pause, feeling the boldness rise within you, “I want you to fuck me.” Your voice is breathless, your gaze holding his with an unspoken plea.

Namjoon grins, a softness creeping into his eyes. “Oh, baby, I’m going to make love to you,” he whispers, and the words are like honey dripping slow and thick. “Don’t you worry,” he adds, his lips capturing yours again with a hunger that makes your head spin.

Each kiss sends you spiraling further into him, your sanity slipping, but God, you love every second of it. It strikes you then how much of a romantic he is, how the passion in his touch mirrors the stories he loves in his books.

He pulls back, his breath hot against your lips. “Where’s your bedroom?” he asks with a playful chuckle.

You point, and before you can say another word, his strong hands find your waist, lifting you effortlessly. You wrap your legs around him, straddling his hips as he carries you across the room. He opens the bedroom door with a sweep of his foot, not bothering with the light, and gently lowers you onto the bed. Laughter bubbles between you, soft and sweet, as his lips claim yours again in a kiss that is both feverish and tender.

Your fingers tangle in his blue hair, tugging at the strands, and he hisses in pleasure, the sound sending shivers racing down your spine. He grinds against you, his erection pressing firmly against your core, and you feel yourself unraveling again, melting beneath him. God, he feels big, you think, your body aching to know him, to feel him completely.

Your hands move to the hem of his shirt, your fingers brushing against his skin as you tug the fabric upward, longing to see his bare chest again. You know what lies beneath—his broad, muscular frame, every inch of him beautifully sculpted, chest rising and falling with each breath. And you need to touch him, to feel his strength beneath your hands.

In this moment, nothing else matters—just him, you, and the gravity of everything that has led you here.

He pulls away, sensing exactly what you want, and in one fluid motion, grabs the hem of his shirt, peeling it off in a way that feels almost sinful. The sight of him should be illegal—holy hell, the way his muscles flex as he undresses is enough to take your breath away.

Your hands move instinctively, drawn to the expanse of his chest, a perfect blend of softness and strength. The skin beneath your fingers is warm, and the way he feels—solid, yet yielding—is intoxicating.

“Like what you see?” he teases, his voice low and full of that gentle confidence, and you can only gape at him, feeling the warmth of your admiration blossom into something deeper.

“God, Namjoon, you’ve always been beautiful... inside and out,” you murmur, your voice filled with reverence, because while his looks are striking, it’s his soul that captivates you.

His lips curve into a soft smile, his gaze tender as he leans down, brushing light kisses along the curve of your neck. The sensation sends waves of laughter bubbling out of you, light and breathless, as the tickle of his lips spreads joy and heat all at once. He keeps moving lower, trailing kisses down your body like a map only he knows how to navigate.

When he reaches the waistband of your pants, he pauses, eyes flicking up to meet yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Can I?” he asks, his voice both eager and gentle.

“Yes,” you whisper, and as he unbuttons your pants, you arch your back to help him slide them off, heart racing. He pauses again, staring for a moment, captivated by the sight of you, the evidence of your desire already showing.

“You’re so wet, baby,” he says, his voice hushed and full of wonder. “All for me?”

You nod, breath hitching, your body already trembling with need. “Yes, Joon. You make me so damn wet,” you pant, writhing beneath him, desperate for more. “Please, just touch me.”

His gaze darkens with lust as he licks his lips, then dips his head lower, trailing kisses across your stomach, inching closer to where you need him most. Every touch sends sparks of pleasure through you, and you giggle softly, unable to contain the lightness you feel even as desire coils tighter within you. His lips press against the hem of your lace panties, nothing extravagant, yet he looks at you like you’re the most exquisite thing he’s ever seen.

With agonizing slowness, he hooks his fingers into the waistband, pulling them down with deliberate care. The cool air of your apartment contrasts sharply with the warmth between your thighs, and you gasp, aching for him. You feel exposed, vulnerable, but in the most delicious way—his gaze heavy with desire as he takes you in.

“Joonie…” you moan softly, voice trembling, as his eyes linger on your glistening pussy, admiring you. You wonder if he finds you beautiful like this, spread bare before him, and his awestruck expression tells you everything.

“Damn,” he whispers, voice thick with astonishment. “You’re so pretty… already dripping with need.”

Your breath catches as his words wash over you, and when he asks, “Can I taste you? Can I touch you?” you can barely manage a nod as you spread your legs wider, inviting him in.

“Please,” you beg, feeling delirious with want, every nerve in your body alight with anticipation.

His touch is featherlight at first, a single finger brushing over your swollen clit, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you. You flinch, already overly sensitive, a gasp falling from your lips as your body responds immediately.

“More,” you plead, rolling your hips into his hand, urging him to press harder, to give you what you crave.

His fingers glide over you, warm and sure, stroking your slick skin with precision. Every movement sets off another spark, and a moan escapes you—high-pitched, breathy, and filled with need. His touch is both tender and demanding, and with every stroke, you feel yourself unraveling, caught in the storm of pleasure.

His fingers continue their rhythm, rolling over your sensitive clit with perfect precision, each movement making it throb with want. Your body reacts instinctively, hips rising to meet his touch, chasing more—chasing everything. You need all of him, and the craving is almost unbearable.

Namjoon watches you with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken, his eyes filled with both desire and wonder as he works you with his fingers, and then, slowly, his lips find the tender skin of your inner thigh. His kisses are featherlight, but they leave a trail of fire in their wake, and you tremble under his touch. With each kiss, he moves closer, until finally, his mouth finds your pussy, his warm tongue lapping at your slick folds, tasting you with reverence.

He groans, the sound vibrating against your core, and your hands instinctively tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, as if you want him to drown in your pleasure. His tongue flicks over your sensitive nub, teasing, tasting, and the sensation makes your whole body tense in anticipation. His fingers slide to your entrance, probing gently before slipping inside, one at a time. The stretch feels divine, his fingers curling to reach deeper, and soon two, then three fill you, stretching you in the most perfect, delicious way.

Your toes curl, your breath comes in ragged gasps as you feel the wave of your climax building, rising with every flick of his tongue, every stroke of his fingers. “Joon,” you gasp, a warning, but he only sucks harder, his lips and tongue working in tandem as his fingers thrust deeper, hitting that spot inside you that sends you spiraling.

The world tilts, and your back arches as the orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and electric. You thrash beneath him, pulling at his hair as pleasure floods your body, and all you can do is moan his name in a broken, breathless whisper. Even as your body shudders, he doesn’t stop, his mouth still on your clit, drawing out every last wave until you’re trembling with overstimulation. You tap his shoulder weakly, and finally, he pulls back, his face glistening with your slick, eyes dark with satisfaction.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, his hand brushing softly over your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His touch is light, reverent, and though you’re still floating in the bliss of your release, you feel the need to return the favor rise within you.

“Let me take care of you,” you whisper, your voice thick with desire as you shift, pushing him down beside you. He opens his mouth to protest, but the words are swallowed by a low groan as you straddle his lap, feeling the hard bulge of his cock press against your wet core. You grind down on him, teasing him with the friction, and he lets out a ragged moan that makes your pulse quicken.

“I just want to make you feel good,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his lips, tasting yourself on him. “I don’t know how mermen make love, but as humans—I want you to feel good too.”

He chuckles softly, his hands resting on your hips, eyes dark with hunger. “It’s definitely not the same,” he admits, voice low and breathless, and that’s all the encouragement you need. You slide down his lap to the floor, your eyes locked on his, your intentions clear.

Your fingers find the waistband of his shorts, and he helps you pull them down, revealing his muscular thighs. When you see the thick outline of his cock straining against his boxers, your mouth waters, anticipation making your pulse quicken. Tugging down the last barrier, you free him, and his cock springs forward, thick and long, the head flushed red with need. A bead of precum glistens at the tip, and your breath hitches at the sight of him, hunger twisting deep inside you.

You lick your lips, your hands moving with purpose—one resting on his thigh, the other wrapping around the thick base of his shaft, feeling the weight of him in your palm. Slowly, you begin to pump, your fingers sliding over the velvety skin as you build a steady rhythm.

Namjoon groans, the sound so deep it reverberates through your core, and you can feel him tense beneath your touch, his body reacting to every stroke. His groans are like music, deep and sinful, and they make you want to push him further, to hear more of those primal, desperate sounds spill from his lips.

Damn, you need more of him.

You glance up at him, mischief in your eyes as you give a playful wink before taking him into your mouth. The taste is salty, a mix of his precum and something else, something almost elemental, as if the sea still clings to him. It sends a shiver down your spine, urging you to lose yourself in the act. You move with intent, your lips and tongue working in unison, breathing deeply through your nose as you take him deeper, each stroke making his body tremble beneath you.

He gasps your name, his voice barely a whisper, like it’s the only thing tethering him to the moment. His hands find their way to your hair, gentle, not controlling—just resting there as if he’s entranced by the sight of you. He glances down, watching the way your mouth moves over him, and his breath quickens, as if the very air has become too thin.

“Fuck,” he groans, voice strained, “you’re so damn good at this.”

You smirk inwardly, already knowing, but the praise sends a thrill through you. There’s something intoxicating about the way he fills your mouth, the way you feel him pulse against your tongue. It makes you wonder how your pussy will take him, how it’ll feel when he’s buried deep inside you, stretching you wide.

You’re making a mess of him—your saliva slicks his length, dripping down onto the sheets—but you don’t care. Not when he’s like this, writhing beneath you, his muscles taut with need. Your hand moves lower, cupping his balls, rolling them gently in your palm, and you feel them tighten as he draws closer to the edge.

“Damn,” he rasps, voice rough with desire, “you look and feel so fucking amazing.”

The sound of his praise sends another wave of heat rushing through you, making you wetter, a needy ache building low in your belly. You take him deeper, determined, your throat tightening as you try to swallow him down. But your gag reflex protests, and you pull back slightly, not wanting to push too far. Instead, you focus on teasing the head, your tongue circling slowly before flicking across his sensitive frenulum. He groans sharply, his hips jerking, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you.

He’s unraveling, his control slipping, and you love it—love the power you hold over him in this moment, love seeing him lost in you.

Suddenly, his hands come to your cheeks, stilling your movements as he looks down at you with hooded eyes, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. “Baby,” he rasps, his voice thick with both lust and affection, “you’re dangerous with that mouth. If you keep going, I’m going to come right down your throat… and I want to make love and come inside you.”

You release him with a soft pop, a teasing smirk playing on your lips as you lick them slowly, savoring the taste of him. “You can always come down my throat later,” you murmur, your voice low and sultry. Rising to your feet, you peel off your shirt, followed by the clasp of your bra, letting it fall to the floor. Your breasts spill free, and the heat in Namjoon’s gaze intensifies as his hands instinctively find your hips, his grip firm yet tender.

“Is every inch of you just perfect?” he breathes, awe in his voice. The compliment sends a flush of warmth to your cheeks, and you chuckle softly, not answering because his words feel rhetorical, like they’re part of the worship that’s building between you.

Instead, you lean down to kiss him, pouring every bit of your desire into it. His cock twitches beneath you, hard and throbbing against your thighs, but you take your time, savoring the kiss—long, slow, and tender. You straddle him, hovering just above his cock, your body aching to sink down, to feel him inside you. But instead, you pause, letting yourself get lost in the depth of his gaze, his eyes like molten gold, swirling with emotion.

He kisses you again, his lips soft but insistent, and in that moment, you feel weightless. Like you’re floating, caught in a current, drifting between pleasure and affection. You feel cherished, like a treasure he’s unearthed from the depths of the ocean—glimmering, precious, and adored like the gems you’ve been collecting.

He groans, a deep, feral sound vibrating from his chest, and his hands tighten around your hips, the pressure promising bruises that’ll bloom as tender reminders of this moment. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, baby,” he pants, his eyes dark and hooded with lust, as if he’s trying to memorize every curve of your face. His lips search for yours, hungry, desperate to close the space between you again.

“Likewise,” you breathe out, your voice shaky, your pulse racing. One of your hands trails down his body, fingers grazing his taut abdomen before wrapping around the thick length of him. You lift yourself slightly, feeling the heat of him against you. Just as you’re about to guide him inside, his deep voice cuts through the haze of desire.

“Should we use a condom?” he asks, his words momentarily shattering the tension, leaving the air thick but still.

You blink, slightly caught off guard, but quickly recover. “We don’t have to,” you murmur, sensing his hesitation. His brow furrows, so you add, “I have an IUD, and I’m clean. It’s… it’s been a long time for me.” Your words taper off, embarrassment creeping into your cheeks, suddenly feeling vulnerable beneath his gaze.

He studies you for a second, his expression softening before that same, dark hunger returns. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure,” he rumbles, his voice like molten velvet, sending shivers racing down your spine. The sound of him, the depth of his tone, makes your body respond instinctively—your pussy clenches with anticipation, aching for him to fill the emptiness inside you. “It’s been a long time for me, too. So, I’m sorry if I don’t last long…”

You shake your head, silencing his concern with a gaze that speaks louder than words. You need him, now. The heat between you both is unbearable, every second a sweet kind of torture. You guide the head of his cock to your entrance, teasing yourself by gliding him along your folds, feeling his hardness slick against your wetness, sending delicious tremors through your body.

Slowly, you position him at your opening and sink down.

The stretch is exquisite—a burn that ignites every nerve as he fills you inch by glorious inch. He’s thick, and the sensation of him sliding deeper feels like nothing you’ve ever known. Your breath catches in your throat, and you swear you hear him curse under his breath, his grip on your hips tightening as he savors the feel of your walls closing around him.

“Fuck…,” he groans, his voice wrecked, vibrating through you like a shockwave. “So damn tight.”

“Yeah…” you pant, your head spinning, your body adjusting to his size. Inch by agonizing inch, until finally, he’s fully seated inside you. You pause, trembling, your insides fluttering as he twitches deep within. You let out a soft moan, your lips searching for his in a fevered kiss, one that feels more like a collision than anything tender.

When you pull away, your gaze locks with his, your voice barely above a whisper. “You feel so fucking good… like you’ve always belonged there.”

He hums in response, his eyes half-lidded with pleasure as he traces your body with his hands, unable to take in enough of you. “You’re perfect,” he breathes, the words low and reverent.

Bracing your hands on his broad shoulders, you lift yourself slowly, your body trembling with anticipation. Then, with a burst of need, you slam down, impaling yourself on his cock, a scream of pleasure ripping from your throat. Namjoon moans, the sound guttural and raw, as you ride him with renewed vigor, losing yourself in the rhythm.

Your breasts bounce with each thrust, catching his attention, and without hesitation, his hands move to cup them. His lips trail down to one nipple, his mouth warm and eager as he takes it between his lips. You gasp at the sensation, a surge of heat flooding your core, and you feel a gush of wetness coat him as your body responds to his touch. You didn’t realize you’d come until the tremors hit, your pussy clenching tightly around him, your body quivering in waves of pleasure.

His tongue circles your nipple, flicking it gently before his teeth graze the sensitive bud, and the sensation sends you spiraling. Your breath stutters as he switches to your other breast, his hands roaming, kneading your skin, every touch heightening the electricity between you. Just as his mouth closes around your other nipple, his teeth accidentally bite down harder than intended, and a sharp cry escapes your lips—his name, ripped from your throat like a plea and a curse all at once.

He freezes, eyes wide, concern flashing across his face. But the look you give him—wild, consumed with lust—tells him everything he needs to know.

“I’m so fucking sorry—,” he gasps, but his words barely register through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind. Your gaze softens, your eyes half-lidded with desire, a gentle delirium swirling in their depths.

“No, no, it was good, Joonie,” you whisper, your voice a breathy melody. Your hand drifts to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair, tugging lightly. “I loved it.”

He pauses, a chuckle rumbling from deep within his chest, and you feel the twitch of his cock still buried inside you, a silent promise of more. His lips descend to your chest again, worshipping your skin with slow, languid kisses. His tongue finds your nipple, teasing it with a delicate flick before sucking, nipping just enough to make you moan his name, the sound a song on your lips.

Your body trembles, another orgasm crashing over you like a summer storm, your walls tightening around him in waves of bliss. He groans, a low, primal sound vibrating through your entire being. “Fuck, you—” His voice breaks with need as he rises from the bed, lifting you effortlessly, his body still entwined with yours. In one swift motion, he turns and lays you back down, pressing you into the sheets, his hips surging forward with raw intensity.

“This fucking pussy,” he growls, the words so feral, so laced with hunger that it sends a jolt of heat through you, your toes curling as your body responds to the deep, relentless thrusts. You moan, overwhelmed by the sensation of being pushed up the bed, your fingers gripping the sheets in desperation. Could you come again? Already, your body is teetering on the edge, caught in the rhythm of his passion.

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “You look so gorgeous, baby,” he rasps, each word dripping with lust as his hips drive into you again, leaving you breathless, your chest heaving as though all the air has been stolen from your lungs.

“Are you gonna come again?” he asks, his voice rough with need. You bite your lip, uncertain if you can, but the fire in your core tells you otherwise. Your hand slips between your bodies, fingers seeking out your clit. Everything is so slick, so impossibly wet, but you manage to find that perfect rhythm, circling the sensitive nub as your breath hitches in your throat.

It’s like the tide pulling you under—a tidal wave of pleasure crashing over you with blinding force. Your orgasm overtakes you, your body shaking beneath him as you cry out his name, each syllable a desperate plea, a prayer to the god of ecstasy. You thrash beneath him, lost in the throes of release, and still, he keeps thrusting, deep and deliberate, as your body flutters around him, the aftershocks rippling through you.

“Fuck, that was so hot,” he groans, his voice thick with desire as his cock twitches inside you, on the edge of release. “I’m not gonna last much longer.” With a final, powerful thrust, he spills into you, his warm seed filling you as his orgasm hits him hard, his body trembling with the force of it. His face—god, it’s beautiful in this moment—the way his lips part, how his brow furrows in pleasure, how he keeps moving, riding out the last waves of his climax until he begins to soften inside you.

Both of you are left panting, gasping for air like you’ve surfaced from the depths of the sea. He collapses beside you, pulling you close, your bodies still warm, still trembling. Your chests rise and fall in sync, the silence between you heavy with shared satisfaction.

“That was amazing,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp against your ear.

You chuckle, cheeks flushed and glowing. “Yes… we should definitely do that again.”

He turns on his side, his fingers brushing your arm tenderly as he gazes at you, eyes filled with warmth. “We really should.”

But then, out of nowhere, a ripple of anxiety courses through you, tightening your chest. You turn to him, your heart suddenly heavy. “Can we really make this work?” you ask, your voice small, vulnerable. “You, being a merman… and me, human?”

Namjoon’s expression softens, his gaze tender as he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. His hands trace soothing circles along your back, grounding you in the moment. “Yes,” he whispers, his voice filled with quiet certainty. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll make it work. We have to.”

In his arms, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace, the world feels possible again.

→ Taglist: @allie-is-a-panda @jeonsbabygirlsworld @bangtannie7 @suker4angst → Disclaimer: the banner is obviously partly made with AI— I just want to point that out, to clear the air. I’d normally never use AI in my work, but for this specific fantasy series, I just came up really sort with making them myself with pre existing images of bangtan 😭 Because I want a certain aesthetic (no, a moodboard is not what I was looking for), I decided to use AI to crunch out the merman— I did not, and I repeat this, I did not write any of their names for the prompts, which is also why I do not want to show any faces in these banners, because I know how the guys feel about making AI with them, and I agree. Which is why, this is in short just generically made images that are prompted by a scene in the story. In the end, I still made the banner— did retouching, color grading, added and/or removed stuff, added background etc. Just to let you know. Normally, all my banners and graphics are made by me, unless otherwise stated! (lol, what I mean here is that I’m making them myself, I still sometimes use stock photos and vectors made by others in my work (the banners)). → Author’s note(2): Only four mermaid stories left now! 🥳I hope you’ll like the other ones as well, and please let me know what you liked; you’re always welcome to leave me a comment, a reblog or an ask 🥰 Thank you so much for reading, love you 💜

[neyafromfrance95]

the essence of sauron's feelings for galadriel makes him the perfect partner for her.

galadriel's greatest desire is to be a queen in her own right, to have power over all else in the kingdom of her own.

and this is sauron's proposal to her.

sauron is not proposing to make galadriel subservient to him, to make her into a consort. he is proposing to give her that which she desires. he would be her consort in that scenario, her queen-maker. he promises to make her stronger than the foundations of the earth, to bring all middle-earth to its' knee to worship the light of its' queen. this is not a description of a queen consort, but of a god queen.

trop doesn't change lotr!galadriel's greatest desire, it just adds more context to it - sauron himself becomes her temptation for power! her desire for him represents her desire for power.

we don't talk enough about how galadriel sees herself as the chosen one. she has a god complex. she believes that there is this greater than life reason why she alone is destined to defeat the darkness and protect the middle-earth, and everyone should accommodate her in her quest of a great glory.

and sauron knows her mind. he sees who she is and who she wishes to be. and he wishes to make galadriel into a great authority she desires to be. he chooses her as his god to worship.

the truth is that they couldn't be any more compatible with one another.

there is more nuance to it. sauron sees his likeness in galadriel, and he empathizes with her when she opens up about being alienated bc of her darkness. he genuinely repents for causing it and chooses to help her achieve her ambition by following her lead. and that is the feeling he wants to bind to his very being, the feeling of being forgiven by the one he had helped ruin when he served the darkness as he helps her heal by serving her light, the feeling of being free of morgoth's darkness through binding himself to galadriel's light. bc in his mind, he can be absolved of this darkness through serving galadriel. in his mind, to heal himself he needs galadriel to need him.

in his mind, galadriel is the one being who is his mirror, she shares his darkness, and yet, she overpowers it with her willpower. so it makes sense that sauron believes only galadriel can free him from morgoth and do so by binding him to herself. sauron sees galadriel as his savior.

sauron's proposal is literally him begging galadriel to bind herself to him by accepting power he offers her. binding that feeling to his very being = bending his knee to worship the light of his queen. and sauron expresses care through servitude and experiences love through worship.

so, subtextually, sauron asks galadriel to accept his love.

his feelings for her border worship and possessiveness, and since she rejects his worship, he resorts to desperately trying to possess her. but the undercurrent of his groping is the same - she is the only one who binds him to the light. as in, the part of him that loves her is the only part of him that is absolved of the darkness. and he wants that feeling back the way he felt it when he fought at her side.

subtextually, it is underlined that sauron tries to recapture her being in his creations, and it is the feeling of being bound to her that he covets. he holds onto their connection and keeps it with him always.

also, sauron and galadriel's compatibility and connection don't make for an inherently corrupt dynamic. in theory, she can be a great leader and he can be her good follower. but as it is, sauron would inevitably cause galadriel to succumb to the darkness and she would never outgrow her pride and greed.

[ateez-himari]

EPHEMERAL; NABI COLLECTION

[NEW CAMPAIGN FROM VERSACE]

VERSACE @/Versace

Preview of the upcoming #EphemeralJewelry collection designed by Global Ambassador, Himari

The campaign is now available at e-versace.com/EJ24

#Himari #ATEEZ #Versace

12:00pm · 25 Aug 24 · 5.7M Views 130K Reposts 2,390 Quotes 3.5M Likes

HanZone @/Off.TaegukCaptn Replying to @/Versace Wow...from being scared of taking the first step towards idol life to designing jewelry for one of the biggest fashion houses, you grew up too fast.

Stray Kids @/Stray_Kids Replying to @/Versace (현진) These designs are absolutely incredible, and that's not even the half of it 😉I never thought you'd add 'fashion designer' to your list of side quests ㅋㅋㅋ

ATEEZ(에이티즈) @/ATEEZofficial Replying to @/Versace Min Himari, the lead vocalist, our precious maknae, one of the three artists behind our tracks...words can't express how proud of you we are right now 🤧Your incredible artistry expands far beyond music or dance and we couldn't be happier to share that with the world ❤️

Cartier @/Cartier Replying to @/Versace Himari truly captured the very essence of a butterfly's beauty in these pieces and we can't wait to see what other masterpieces will be added to this collection! Maybe she can come work with us some time 🤭

GOTTA WORK GOTTA WORK @/lightuptiny Replying to @/Versace at this point Hyunjin and Hima are just fighting for the favorite title😭Donatella loves them so much, she's almost like their rich aunt that spoils them just for existing

[a-araiguma-a]

Between the serving and Her smile

Pairing: Oliver Wood x fem!reader Warning: mutual pining, drama, first love, jealous a/n: sketching an idea, I hope you will be interested in it and I will continue to develop it.

Start - Prolog (Episode 1 - Episode 2 - Episode 3 - Episode 4 - Episode 5) - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8

The noise of the wind, cut by brooms at high speeds, became a familiar background for Oliver Wood. Quidditch was not just his passion, but the very essence of his existence. He was the captain and keeper of the Gryffindor team, and his quest to win the Quidditch Cup became an obsessive goal. All his thoughts revolved around tactics, training and strategies, but sometimes his own heart reminded him of another, equally important side of life.

[Your name], a girl with surprisingly deep eyes and a radiant smile, burst into his life as suddenly as a gust of wind on the field. She was a half-breed, her father was a Muggle, and her mother died in childbirth, but it didn't matter to Oliver. Her intelligence, kindness and support captivated him, and he could not resist her charms. Their friendship began innocently, with nighttime gatherings in the library and help with homework. In the fifth year, someone noticed the sparkle in their eyes for the first time, but then none of them understood it. It wasn't until his sixth year that Oliver realized he couldn't imagine his life without her. That after completing their studies, their paths may diverge.

Love turned out to be more complicated than he thought. Oliver would do anything for [Your name], but Quidditch remained in the first place in his life. He devoted his days and nights to training, forgetting about meetings with her, postponing dates and leaving her alone on holidays. He didn't do it on purpose, but when he had so many thoughts about strategies and victories in his head, time ceased to exist.

Oliver knew she was in pain. She never complained, but he could see the longing in her eyes when, once again, he left her for Quidditch. And it tore at his heart. He wanted to be with her, but the desire to win was too strong.

Back then, as a freshman, Harry joined the team as a Catcher, Oliver felt relieved. He finally found someone who could help the team win the Cup. But with that came new difficulties — early morning workouts and even more hours spent on the field. This further alienated him from [Your Name], and jealousy began to gnaw at him from the inside.

Oliver couldn't help but notice that other guys were starting to hang around her. Books will be delivered, flowers will be presented, and someone else will invite you on a date. He felt his heart constrict when he saw her with others. These thoughts haunted him, and he knew that he had to act, but how? His day was scheduled by the minute — study, training, tactics. There was no time for a personal life, and it tormented him.

When Oliver overcame all difficulties and misunderstandings, he tried to be the perfect partner. He took care of her, supported her in everything, but with the onset of the seventh year, everything became more complicated. There were final exams ahead, crucial Quidditch matches and their relationship.

Anxiety for the future increasingly consumed him. He was afraid of losing her because of his obsession with Quidditch, but he couldn't give up on his dream. His love for [Your name] and passion for the game pulled him in different directions, tearing him apart.

Oliver stood on the edge of the field after another practice session, watching the sun slowly set over the horizon. He knew that difficult trials lay ahead, but he believed that love and Quidditch could coexist in his life. He swore to himself that he would do everything possible to preserve these two treasures, even if it required the impossible from him.

[crypticslytherin]

Rescued || Sebastian Sallow

————————————

Parings: Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Summary: A few years after Sebastian was sent to Azkaban, you couldn’t bare for him to be there anymore. You felt guilty for his imprisonment, and your love for him had never truly left.

Word Count: 2805

This is my first One Shot AHHH I hope you like. C:

⚯͛▕⃝⃤ ⚯͛▕⃝⃤ ⚯͛▕⃝⃤ ⚯͛▕⃝⃤

"What have I done?" you whispered to yourself, standing amidst the ruins of Feldcroft, once a lively hamlet now reduced to ash and bones. The air was heavy with the scent of burned flesh, blood, and smoke, a grim reminder of the recent battle between villagers and goblins. Weapons, tainted with goblin silver, lay about, silent witnesses to the violence that had unfolded.

Before you stood the remains of the Sallow home, a mere shadow of its former self. Books lay scattered among the rubble, their pages torn and tattered, while scraps of fabric bore witness to the ferocity of the flames. A tear traced its path down your cheek as you clutched your wand tightly, half-expecting some lingering threat to emerge from the devastation around you.

If only Sebastian were still here. He would have known this was happening when it happened. But he wasn't, and you couldn't shake the guilt that weighed heavy on your heart. Ever since Sebastian murdered his uncle Solomon, you'd felt guilty. You had helped and encouraged him in his quest to find a cure for Anne. You never could have imagined it would lead to such darkness.

When Ominis suggested turning Sebastian in to the authorities, you remained silent, paralyzed by indecision and fear. He was sent to rot in Azkaban. Now, years later, Sebastian's haunting cries echoed in your dreams, accusing you of betrayal, of abandonment. He pleaded for your help with tears in his eyes, and you found yourself suffocating.

You loved Sebastian, fiercely and unconditionally, and the thought of him suffering tormented you to your core. You knew what you had to do, what you should have done long ago. You would find a way to make amends, to seek forgiveness for your silence. You would tell Sebastian the truth, apologize for failing him when he needed you most.

And you would do whatever it took to make things right.

As you stepped back, the click of your feet echoed along the pavement, filling the heavy silence around you. With your wand clenched firmly in your grasp, you drew in a deep breath, the crisp air filling your lungs. Closing your eyes, you felt unsure without a precise destination in your mind. All you knew was that you would reach Azkaban, though Sebastian's exact location remained unknown. You conjured a vivid mental image of the fortress's interior, a place you had visited once during your fifth year.

"Apparate," you uttered softly, your wand tracing a swift arc through the air. Instantly, a sensation of pressure enveloped your body as you hurtled through space. As the disorienting spin came to a stop, you felt the solid ground beneath your feet transition to cold, unforgiving stone. The once-brilliant sunlight vanished, replaced by a darkness that seemed to swallow the very essence of light. A wave of nausea briefly washed over you, prompting a hand to press against your chest as you steadied yourself. Your eyes adjusted to the dimness as you gazed down a wide, shadowed pathway.

The walls were lined with cells on both sides, the desperate screams of prisoners echoing off the cold stone, sending a shiver down your spine. Gathering your courage, you took a hesitant step forward, knowing all too well what awaited you.

Dementors, the guards of Azkaban, began closing in on you.

As they drew nearer, you could feel the chill of their presence enveloping you, draining the warmth from your body. Their hooded figures glide effortlessly, their eerie movements sending a sense of dread through your veins. The air grew colder, and a thick mist seems to swirl around them, obscuring their ghastly forms.

With trembling hands, you raise your wand and summon the courage to cast the spell. "Expecto Patronum!" you shout, the words echoing through the oppressive atmosphere. A silvery mist bursts from the tip of your wand, taking shape and form. It materialized into a powerful Patronus, a radiant shield against the darkness.

The Dementors recoiled at the sight of the Patronus, their spectral forms shrinking back from its brilliance. They let out unearthly wails, their icy grip weakening as they retreat from the protective barrier of light. With each passing moment, the threat diminishes, until finally, the Dementors fade into the shadows, defeated by the strength of your Patronus.

"Revelio, Sebastian Sallow," you whispered, wand poised as you hurried down the pathway. Inside their cells, prisoners' wails echoed, a symphony of despair. Above, a faint green outline materialized on a higher floor, pacing restlessly. Sebastian. With cautious determination, you navigated the corridors, the air thick as inmates hurled profanities at you. Some resorted to self-harm, slamming their heads against the stone as their desperate cries fillied the air.

The environment was suffocating, the weight of Sebastian's presence in Azkaban bearing down on you once more.

How could you have let this happen?

The staircase stretched seemingly endlessly as you continued to cast Revelio, refusing to lose sight of Sebastian. Finally reaching the correct level, a metal door blocked your path. "Alohomora," you whispered, the lock yielding effortlessly to the flick of your wand.

Your heart raced as you cautiously navigated the dim hallway, the atmosphere just as somber and bleak as the last one. The chilly air caused the hairs on your arms to stand on end. Approaching Sebastian's cell, doubt gnawed at you. Was coming here a mistake? You wondered how he might appear after all these years in Azkaban—whether he'd be a mere shadow of himself or if the glimmer still remained in his eyes. Your breaths grew unsteady.

"Oi! What are you doing here?" A grim voice pierced the air, and you turned to see an elderly man to your left, his hands clutching the steel bars of his cell tightly. His eyes were sunken, the darkness beneath them almost consuming, and his head was bald, his prisoner garb stained with sweat and blood. His gaze drilled into you like black holes. A predatory hunger gleamed in his eyes as he licked his lips, sending a shiver down your spine. "You'd make an excellent toy."

"Silencio," you whispered, flicking your wand toward him. His head jerked back, hands flying to cover his mouth, rendering him unable to utter another word. Pressing forward, you approached Sebastian's cell.

Standing beside it, you leaned against the cold stone wall, uncertainty flooding your mind. Your heart pounded against your chest, your palms growing clammy with anticipation. Each step felt heavy as you moved to the front of the steel bars, peering in cautiously.

There he was, pacing back and forth. As your shadow cast across the floor on the other side of the bars, his restless movements ceased. Sebastian's gaze met yours, a mixture of surprise and recognition flickering in his caramel eyes. You let out a soft breath of air.

Sebastian stood tall, his figure appearing slender within the confines of the cell. His once vibrant auburn hair now hung in unkempt and greasy strands, a stark contrast to its former lively tussle. Despite his exhaustion, there was a lingering trace of his former charm. His eyes, still resembling caramel, held a weariness that spoke volumes, yet they retained a glimmer of their former warmth. Freckles adorned his face, their playful dance seemingly unaffected by his  state of despair

As you gazed upon him, a surge of conflicting emotions washed over you. Relief mingled with sorrow, and the guilt pressed even harder. This was the consequence of your actions, of the choice that led Sebastian to this desolate place. Yet, there was a flicker of hope. You believed that perhaps, with your help, he could become himself again.

With trembling hands, you reached out to touch the cold steel bars separating you, the barrier that had kept him imprisoned for far too long. There was a palpable ache in your heart, a silent plea for forgiveness.

Sebastian's lips parted as if to speak, but no words emerged, silenced by the oppressive atmosphere of Azkaban. His shoulders, once squared with confidence, now slumped. You could sense longing in his expression, the yearning for freedom that mirrored your own.

Taking a steadying breath, you reached your arm out to him, your voice barely above a whisper. "Sebastian," you said softly, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you. "It's time to go home."

 Slowly, almost hesitantly, he extended his arm, fingers trembling as they reached out to touch yours. For a moment, his hands lingered in the space that separated the two of you, then bridging the gap. In that fleeting instant, it felt as though time stood still, the weight of your shared history heavy in the air.

With a gentle squeeze of his hand, you offered him a small smile, a silent reassurance. His hands felt like ice, and as you stroked the top of his hand with your thumb, you could almost feel his skin defrosting.

"Hold on tightly, Sebastian," you whispered, quickly glancing around to ensure no one had approached. He tightened his grip on your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. "Apparate."

The familiar squeezing sensation of apparition enveloped you as you whisked away to a new location. Your feet touched down on wooden floors, your hand still firmly clasped in Sebastian's, reluctant to let go. Shaking your head lightly to dispel the brief wave of nausea, you opened your eyes.

There you both stood, in the comforting surroundings of your cottage nestled in the hills of Clagmar Coast. The familiar scents of firewood and pumpkin pastries filled your nostrils, and the warm, cozy environment provided a stark contrast to the bleakness of Azkaban. A crackling fire danced in the hearth, casting a comfortable glow over the room. 

You glanced at Sebastian, noticing the toll the apparition had taken on him. It seemed he hadn't traveled that way in a long time, if ever. Guiding him gently, you led him to the worn sofa by the fireplace and helped him settle down. Grabbing a folded knit blanket from the back, you draped it over him, providing comfort and warmth.

His eyes met yours in the soft light, revealing the paleness of his complexion and the exhaustion etched in his features. His cheeks were hollow, and dark circles marred his under eyes, evidence of sleepless nights endured in imprisonment. As the nausea subsided, his gaze held yours as you knelt before him, your hand resting gently on his lap.

"Sebastian, I am so sorry," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion as you poured out the thoughts that had weighed heavily on your mind for years. Tears welled in your eyes as you blamed yourself for his suffering. With a tender touch, you cupped his cold, hollowed cheek in your hand, his eyes closing as he leaned into your touch. 

"When everything happened, I froze. I didn't know what to say to Ominis..." Tears began to stream down your cheeks. "So I said nothing. I could have prevented this, but instead... I was a coward."

Sebastian softly nuzzled his face against your hand, finding solace in your comforting presence.

"This is all my fault," you whispered, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I couldn't bear for you to suffer any longer. I had to do something. I had to get you out of there."

Sebastian tenderly lifted his arm from beneath the blanket, gently placing his hand over yours that rested on his cheek. A soft smile graced his lips as he closed his eyes, breaking the heavy silence with a whisper. "Finally," he murmured, his words carrying a hint of disbelief. "I'm free. I've made it to the afterlife."

-

Your heart wrenched at his words, realizing the depth of despair he had endured. Swiftly, you reached your other arm out, gently clasping his other hand in yours. "No, Sebastian," you murmured, your voice filled with compassion. "You've not gone on. You're here, with me. You're still alive."

Sebastian's eyes fluttered open, and you felt a pang in your heart as you gazed at the man you loved. The man who occupied your thoughts every morning and every night. With a tender squeeze of his hand, you rose from your kneeling position and settled beside him on the couch. He turned his fragile body slowly to face you.

"I can't be?" he whispered, disbelief coloring his voice.

Taking a deep breath, you moved closer to him, your leg brushing against his. Releasing his hand, you gently reached out, running your fingers through his disheveled hair and letting your hand rest on the side of his neck. He lifted his arm, placing his hand on yours as it extended toward him.

"You are, Sebastian. This is real. I am real."

Sebastian's expression softened, gratitude and wonder shimmering in his eyes. Slowly, he leaned into your touch, his hand tightening around your arm as if anchoring himself to this newfound reality.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he confessed, his voice choked with emotion. "I thought... I thought you couldn't bear to look at me. After... what I did." His gaze fell to your lap, tears escaping his eyes, leaving wet paths along his cheeks. "I'm a monster," he trembled.

"No, Sebastian," you said firmly, stroking his cheek with your thumb, gently wiping away stray tears. "That is so far from the truth. You are not a monster."

Drawing closer, you locked eyes with him, determined to make him see himself as you did. "You are incredible," you began, your voice soft but unwavering. "You're funny, and intelligent. You have a heart of gold, and you've shown me kindness and compassion like no one else ever has."

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as you continued. Feeling the bones of his shoulder beneath your hand as you moved them, you gripped him softly. "You're the best person I've ever known, Sebastian. I have missed you so much. Every day. I should've rescued you sooner. If anything, I'm the monster. For not stopping Ominis. For letting this happen to you." Choked up, you stared at the broken man before you. "Merlin, Sebastian. I cannot tell you how horribly I feel."

"Stop," Sebastian whispered, his eyes flicking back up to meet yours. He released his hand from your arm, and with shaky fingers, he reached out to touch your cheek, mirroring your gesture. His touch, though cold, was comforting. You felt warmth spread over you, relishing in the moment you thought would never happen. He was here, with you, in your home. "You are no monster, Y/N. This is not your fault. Thoughts of you were the only thing that kept me sane in that place. You consumed me. You were my light in the darkness. I love you, Y/N"

The lump in your throat returned, and tears relentlessly began to stream from your eyes. He smiled softly, a smile you thought had disappeared forever. The sight of it sparked a rush of emotions within you — relief, joy, and an overwhelming sense of love. It felt as though a weight had been lifted from your chest, and you couldn't help but return his smile, your heart swelling with affection. "I love you, Sebastian."

As you gazed into his eyes, you felt a wave of tenderness wash over you. Every feature of his face seemed to hold a lifetime of memories — the curve of his lips, the sparkle in his eyes, the lines etched around his eyes from countless smiles shared between you. In that moment, you were overcome with gratitude for his presence, for the chance to hold him close.

Without hesitation, you rose slightly from where you were sitting, your movements guided by a yearning that had lingered in the depths of your soul. Moving your hand back to the side of his neck, you savored the coolness of his skin beneath your touch, the sensation grounding you in this moment of raw vulnerability.

As you leaned in to press your lips to his, you felt a surge of longing flood your senses. His kiss was like a balm to your wounded heart, a reminder of the depth of your connection and the strength of your bond. Despite the chill that lingered on his lips, you were enveloped in a warmth that radiated from deep within you, filling every corner of your being with a sense of completeness.

His hands found their way to you, one resting on your side, the other tangling gently in your hair. With each caress, each tender touch, you felt a rush of emotions — passion, desire, and an overwhelming sense of belonging. In his embrace, you found solace.

As you melted into him, the boundaries between you blurred, and for a fleeting moment, you were lost in the intensity of your connection. It was as though time stood still, the world falling away around you as you surrendered to the embrace of your love. And in that moment, as your lips moved together in a silent dance of longing and desire, you knew that nothing in this world could ever tear you apart again.

[thankyouforthememoriesworld]

🔎 I wanted to send a better article after that last post of randomness. I LOVE these articles (which then send me down random side quests).

First one features a bunch of high school coaches talking about facing Azzi. I love reading what they have to say because they all respect her so much.

https://web.archive.org/web/20211127092909/https://www.ctinsider.com/uconn/article/Scouting-report-on-UConn-freshman-Azzi-Fudd-16550275.php

The coach for Sidwell talks about the gameplan for the championship game. What I didn't know is Kiki Rice played that game for Sidwell as a sophomore. And I found this long highlight with their commentary.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VvJB3byj7lM

This video has Azzi's championship interview:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePII9w82ijA

Of course step up has highlights: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ZfVsCCGOIg

Houzmazoo does as well and I love him just yelling that's the match up right there (for Azzi vs Kiki): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VPboERy3n8o

Second article is a month after Geno has gotten to work with Azzi.

https://web.archive.org/web/20211108155314/https://www.ctinsider.com/sports/article/UConn-freshman-Azzi-Fudd-everything-Geno-Auriemma-16288873.php

“I think most of it is what I expected,” Auriemma said. “She’s very quiet, very much introverted, really doesn’t say a whole lot. But her game is much older than her age. Her footwork is the kind of footwork that you would expect from someone going into the pros, someone who has spent three or four years perfecting that. That’s how good her footwork is. And her ability to get shots off and the way the shot comes off every single time, the exact same way, I mean, I knew it, but when you’re watching on a regular basis, it’s pretty amazing.”

On Thursday, he just motioned, letting his arms flail and swing to represent Bueckers’ herky-jerky style and closing his hands together to demonstrate Fudd’s skills — coordinated, tight, together.

Third is a month before she started freshman year basketball season. Just 5 things about her. It is fun to read that she caught Geno's eye as a 7th grader.

https://web.archive.org/web/20211020221324/https://www.ctpost.com/sports/article/She-hates-the-spotlight-5-things-to-know-16181444.php

I love it when you go down a rabbit hole because you always make amazing discoveries and I get to enjoy them 😘.

Newbies should be required to read these articles and watch these videos to be able to talk about Azzi.

Fudd is, in essence, a supernova — a complete scorer with unlimited range, a point guard’s handle, and no ego. Her jump shot has been lauded by NBA superstar Stephen Curry, and there are comparisons to WNBA and UConn legend Maya Moore in her overall game.

Azzi basically met all the NCAA players in high school, she knows everyone. I wasn't expecting 50 minutes for the highlight video (I'll watch it at another time 😅).

Of course, Azzi was MVP of another championship game.

When can I see her play again? I miss her shot so fucking much😭.

Give us Houzmazoo as a commentator in the NCAA, he's so entertaining: "oh that's far enough" "tough" "step back, shot *lol*" "good D, that's the match up".

Fudd’s footwork in drills is just about always the same, which is to say it’s almost always perfect. The way she catches the ball and shoots it? Same every time, whether 10 or 25 feet from the basket. “Azzi just walks around like she’s good,” Auriemma said Thursday outside Gampel Pavilion

Geno is going to play her 30 minutes per game, isn't he? He loves Azzi too much 😌.

“All we have to do is get her open,” Auriemma said a couple weeks ago. “Boom, boom, boom. It’s up in the air before you can get your hands up. Swish, swish, swish. Right in (the defender’s) face. Her free throws and her shots from three feet beyond the 3-point line are exactly the same, no difference, no added anything, same routine. A lot of it is God given. A lot of it is her working her butt off every day. I don’t say anything about her shot other than ‘Good job.’”

The Bueckers-Fudd era has begun — almost. (we're having it this year 💫)

Fudd landed on the Huskies’ radar as a seventh-grader, and took an unofficial visit to Storrs during her freshman year at St. John’s College High School in Washington, D.C.

I don't even have to say anything about this 🤠:

Fudd and Bueckers are nearly inseparable. They’ve been spending most weekends together since UConn’s season ended, working out privately with Alex McLean, an assistant coach with the NBA’s Washington Wizards.

“They’re very, very close. They’re also extremely competitive with each other, which you would expect,” Scribner said. “While they’re great, great friends, they both want to beat each other on the court.”

[avelera]

So this is a bit random but:

Dream as the hero in a Greek tragedy and Hob as an Arthurian knight.

Thoughts?

(You obviously don’t have to answer if this is stupid or you don't want to)

If I may riff a bit on this, since I don't exactly have a pre-made answer (it's not a line of inquiry I've really considered), I'd say this:

Dream is absolutely a Greek tragedy protagonist. He thinks of himself that way, he's written that way. A major, indeed central, characteristic of Greek tragic heroes is that their virtues in some situations become their ultimate downfall. No one is dying in a Greek tragedy because they're inherently bad or failed people. It is the essence of that Picard line, "It's possible to do everything right and still lose. That's not failure, that's life."

Dream's dedication to his duty is an incredibly familiar virtue for a Greek tragic figure. It is also the virtue that will lead to his eventual end (in this incarnation). At least, in the comic. We'll see in the show if that's the case, and I have my suspicions based on the story's structure that we'll be seeing some deviation or, at the very least, a more optimistic spin on Dream's end.

Neil certainly wrote Dream to be a figure from a Greek Tragedy too, ironic considering he's also the "deus ex machina" in other situations, being literally a creature of godlike (or superior) power.

As for Hob as an Arthurian figure.... I'm less convinced. And I have a lot of reasons why because I think a lot about Hob's relationship, or lack thereof, with the tropes of knighthood as explored in both canon and fanon.

Let me quickly say that for fanon, sure, absolutely. I've seen incredible, complex, lovely takes on Hob as a Questing Knight or suffering the throes of textbook courtly love (more on that in a second, because I do find that part at least plausible) or otherwise being a gallant and heroic figure.

However, this is fanon. Canon Hob is certainly made more romantic, and I mean much more romantic by the show with the whole missed 1989 meeting and Ferdie's inherent and overwhelming charm. But comic Hob is... hmm, let's say he also has his charm but he's deliberately quite rough, quite crass, more than a bit dim at times, and the furthest thing from protagonist let alone romantic hero material. I think comic Hob would laugh, perhaps a bit wistfully, at the very idea of being an Arthurian figure. Certainly the Hob of "Sunday Mournings" (the Ren Faire comic issue) would be outright derisive of the notion of himself as a romantic figure or a questing knight.

Hob bought his knighthood. I think it's something that bears remembering: he bought it.

(Let me very briefly aside say, as a grubby Yankee myself, I actually find his audacity and sort of "Ha! I got away with it!" humor in that moment incredibly charming. Fuck yeah, stick it to the nobility! Fuck aristocracy, fuck nobility, and fuck aristocratic mythology like Arthuriana that reinforces those power structures. Good for Hob being a peasant who bought his knighthood, something that would be all but unthinkable in the grand sweep of Arthuriana, which for all its romanticism is still pretty definitive about everyone belonging in their social place.)

Anyway, Hob bought his knighthood with money he made getting into early English shipping and with money made from being on the right side of Henry VIII dissolving the monasteries (which were corrupt but were also one of the only forms of social services available to common people at the time, it's an incredibly complex issue) and Hob is as unbothered by the moral quandaries of this as he was the moral quandaries of being a soldier or a bandit. Hob is the furthest thing from being a Galahad. I'm not sure he could even aspire to Lancelot at his lowest on Hob's very best of days. He's just not built like that that we see.

At least, until 1989.

Now, as I've noted elsewhere, Hob's story is fundamentally altered by this ever so minor change in the show of making him still in England in 2022, still presumably waiting for Dream about a block away from the White Horse! Now, this is some courtly love shit right there! My jaw dropped when I began to map out the implications, not just of his waiting but of his becoming a history teacher.

Comic Hob never became a history teacher. Comic Hob seems all but allergic to romanticism and nostalgia. Comic Hob's highest moment of romanticism is wondering what exists in the depths of the ocean and thinking that maybe reincarnation possibly exists.

1989 changes everything. Actually, we even have evidence that in the comic timeline, Hob wasn't even in England by, what, 1992 when Dream passes away? He's in America with Gwen and they've been dating for a bit when she takes him to the Ren Faire, which is the day after Dream died. This implies that Hob doesn't usually stick around England like he does in the show timeline. If that wasn't already clear from the fact that most of his professions throughout the glimpses we see seem to involve maritime trade (sometimes of the very worst sort). The guy is constantly on the move but he stayed in England for Dream for over 30 years.

So there, at least, I think we have the first tendrils of something for fandom to grip onto that Hob does have the potential within him to go on a 30 year quest for his lost love, which is very Arthurian. I think even Hob would be perhaps shocked at himself for this, perhaps alongside becoming a history professor, finally coming to grips perhaps with the history he's seen, learning to care about it, learning that there's more to himself than he thought.

Because Hob is a weird immortal. He doesn't do the things we expect immortals to do, like learn from his mistakes and become some sort of avenging superhero, or even accumulate enough money to not need to have a day job any more, to just utterly detached from normal human life. Instead, he seems to stay grounded in a normal middle class life for whatever era he's in (barring disaster or windfall) and just happen to stick at it longer than anyone else by virtue of his immortality. It's so bizarre in the most fascinating way, it's why I'm obsessed with him, because he stays so grounded in his time period and not in any sort of special superhero way.

But 1989 really brings into sharp relief that there is an element of courtly love to how he interacts with Dream, the Beatrice to his Dante, this figure who inspires him, whom he waits for, whom he changes for (even when Dream himself perhaps doesn't believe himself capable of change?).

There I think there's something to the notion of Hob as, perhaps, a budding figure of courtly love, if not full Arthuriana knighthood.

But more intriguing and, if I may presume, what I think you're perhaps getting at with all of this is: could Hob's Questing Knight perhaps in some way disrupt Dream's Greek Tragic fate?

Well, it's not really possible in either of those genres played straight but, in the original canon, Hob didn't wait 33 years for Dream to come home to him.

So really, in the most optimistic way I'd say, anything is possible.

[raekensluver]

whispers in the wind

description: you take a walk outside one day after the tragic events of the hogwarts war, and reminise about fred weasley and his undeserving ending.

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

contains: angst, mentions of the hogwarts war, fred's canon death, slight survivors guilt, r has a scar on her cheek from the battle.

song rec: francis forever by mitski- " i look up at the gaps of sunlight, i miss you more than anything."

w.c: 950+

an: hnngh, another song got me in a chokehold and i had to write something based off it.

you step outside of the burrow, the warmth of the sun wrapping around you like a comforting blanket, but it does nothing to soothe the cold ache in your heart. It's been exactly nine days since fred's laughter had filled these very grounds, and now, all you're met with is a deafening silence, broken only by the distant chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves whispering secrets to each other. the vibrant shine of your hair seems to have lost its luster in the wake of his passing, and you feel like a ghost wandering through a world that's lost its color. your eyes are drawn to the horizon, where the sun is playing peek-a-boo with the tree line, casting long shadows that stretch out like arms reaching for something just out of grasp.

the twin's room, once a bastion of laughter and camaraderie, is now a silent tomb. the door remains closed, a stark reminder of the unspoken pain that lingers within. every day, you hear the muffled sobs and the occasional outburst of rage from george, but for the most part, the only indication of life is the soft glow of light that seeps through the cracks. meals are left outside his door, untouched and growing cold. the twins' mischievous pranks are a thing of the past, replaced by a palpable heaviness that sits in the very air you breathe. the burrow feels like a ship without a rudder, adrift in a sea of grief, with no map to guide you to calmer waters.

you decide to escape the oppressive atmosphere for a while and go for a walk. you amble through the garden, passing the gnome pebbles that now lay still and the plants that seem to droop with sadness. the sun kisses your cheeks, but it feels more like a gentle nudge of encouragement rather than a warm embrace. as you near the end of the garden, you spot a familiar path that you and fred used to take on your adventures. it's tree-lined, with the sun peeking through the canopy in patches that dance across the dirt as the branches sway in the breeze. you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the scent of earth and leaves, and begin to walk.

you miss the way fred could make you laugh with the silliest of jokes, his eyes crinkling at the corners with mischief. you miss the comforting weight of his arm slung around your shoulders, the way he'd whisper sweet nothings into your ear that somehow felt like everything. you miss his enthusiasm for the most mundane of things, turning a simple walk into an epic quest for the perfect stick to poke at things with. as you stroll down the path, you imagine you can almost hear his footsteps beside you, the rustle of leaves echoing with his laughter. but when you look over, there's only the empty space where he should be, and it hits you like a punch to the gut. you'll never again feel his hand in yours, never share another secret whisper or inside joke, never see the world through his playful, magical eyes.

the ache in your chest swells until it feels like it might consume you whole. you miss his fiery spirit that could brighten even the darkest of days, the warmth of his smile that could melt away your worries. you miss the way he'd challenge you to be braver, to live louder, to love deeper. every tree, every stone, every dappled ray of sunlight is a silent reminder of the joy he brought to your life, and now, the stark reality that you'll never experience it again with him at your side. it's as if the very essence of your existence has been torn in two, and you're left trying to navigate a world that seems to have lost its color and meaning.

you pause, reaching up to gently trace the deepening scar on your cheek, a grim souvenir from the battle's chaos. the skin is still tender, a constant reminder of the moment when the wall had exploded, the moment when fred was taken from you. you remember the searing heat, the deafening roar, the sudden weightlessness as you were thrown back. and then, the silence. the world had gone mute except for the ringing in your ears and the distant wails of those who had been hurt or lost. it's a scar that tells a story of pain and loss, but also of survival and resilience. it's a battle scar, a testament to the price you paid for the world's freedom.

as you make your way back to the burrow, your thoughts drift to the life you had before, the life where fred's laughter was a constant melody in the background. you recall the countless hours spent in the kitchen, trying to perfect a new joke or prank together, his brown eyes alight with excitement as he whispered the latest idea. the burrow feels like a different place now, like a book with a torn page, forever changed and never to be whole again.

as you open the door to the kitchen, your heart skips a beat. for a fleeting moment, you think you see fred sitting at the table, his hair a fiery halo around his face, his grin wide and welcoming. but as you blink away the tears that threaten to spill over, the mirage fades, and you're left staring at george. his eyes are red-rimmed, his face etched with pain and exhaustion. your hand flies to your mouth to stifle a gasp, the sudden realization crashing over you like a wave. it's not fred. it's never going to be fred again.

[butterflydm]

some thoughts on spirits (DAV)

I feel like the game has done a good job making Rook feel like someone with natural leadership abilities. And while I do love the companions in the previous games, I feel like DAV's companions are my favorites (at least currently; entirely possible that a replay of the older games would make me feel different!).

I also really like the different dynamics between Rook and their companions. Just... idk good vibes.

Also, here is Rook being very relatable for me:

I am just really loving all the characters so much -- Lucanis stole my heart as my favorite (he's my 'personal demon' now in the character screen lol) but I'm very attached to all of my companions. I love how the game has made it easier to know when they have something new to say, and I like that they distinguish between 'conversations' and 'outings' in the companion quest section. I've really been enjoying getting to know them and I feel like this game has done a really good job appropriately gating dialogues and areas.

It feels like they found a good compromise between 'open world' and 'mission-based game'. Each of the areas feels really big but it's also gated in natural ways that get unlocked as the story goes on, so you can't bum-rush the Crossroads and do literally everything the first time you're there, for example. In DAI, I would sometimes have to impose my own pacing to make sure that things flowed well for me, and I haven't needed to do that with DAV.

One thing that leaving the Fereldan/Orlais area did is really let us get to know a lot of mages who don't have the same sense of shame and self-hate that mages are taught in the Chantry of southern Thedas (or the even more extreme way they are treated by the Qunari!). We got hints of this approach in earlier games, but getting to dive more in-depth into several cultures who do not have the same "let's toss all the mages into prison" approach to magic that southern Thedas has has been very illuminating! Obviously we've always had exceptions like the Dalish clans, but they were very much depicted as deliberately on the outskirts of society, and going against the Chantry-defined norm.

And to contrast, in DAV, I recently had a long conversation with Emmrich on the potential merits of lichdom! Basically an unthinkable conversation in either Ferelden or Orlais. Nevarra doesn't burn their dead and they don't have such a deep fear of the dead, demons, or magic itself. And it really just to illustrate how much the oppression of mages that was so much at display in the Circles is just... nonexistent in places like Nevarra. The oppression is cultural and it's religious -- it's not actually something that's necessary to 'keep magic in check'. (which, yeah, is obvious from the outside, but always nice to have reinforcement from the actual games!)

I'm also watching a let's play of DAI on the side and the person just got to Solas and Cole's personal quests and, yeah, they resonant so hard after the additional Solas revelations in DAV. And it really does feel so much like DAV is in a strong conversation with DAI (as makes sense). Solas and Varric are talking about Cole but Solas is also talking about himself.

Varric: "A spirit who is strangely like a person!"

Varric: "He came into this world to be a person. Let him be one."

Solas: "We cannot change our nature by wishing it." Varric: "You think?"

Solas: "You would alter the essence of what he is." Varric: "He did that to himself when he left the Fade."

[if Cole is made more spirit]

Varric: "...could have been a person." Solas: "Would that have made him happier?"

Is Solas's endgame becoming a spirit again? Or has he experienced and changed too much? (would it make him happier? is that a desirable goal?) Is it all a matter of perspective? Cole approves of the Inquisitor's choice whether they make him more of a spirit or more human. I feel like Solas would lose a lot of himself if he became a spirit again, but maybe that's a matter of perspective too.

And then Solas's DAI quest is all about dealing with the damage of a Wisdom Spirit being corrupted against its purpose -- the same kind of Spirit that Solas once was. Wisdom vs Pride (but once you're a person and not a spirit, you can be filled with both at the same time).

DAV is really making me want to do another run of DAI, and take Solas literally everywhere, lol. But the conversation about spirits in the 'real' world didn't start there either -- it started back in DAO, with Wynne. It continued in DA2, with Anders. Both DAO and DA2 are more 'standard' than what we get in DAI with Cole, in the sense that they were possessing a body (though with permission) but it's still part of the same conversation.

But the conversation really did explode into something bigger in DAI, with Cole as a spirit who was with us without possessing a body, and with learning that being briefly possessed can reverse Tranquility (via Cassandra's quest). And now, with what had been confirmed in DAV, we know that a spirit that takes mortal form can, over the generations, become mortal, as that's what the ancient elves did, so Cole could have kids who were fully mortal, maybe. And Cole did it without using lyrium (and thus taking something from the Titans to fuel himself) -- at least as far as I understand.

I am also finding myself very curious about where humans come from -- we know that the ancient elves were once spirits; we know that the dwarves are fragments of the Titans. Where did humans come from? Evolution? Or is there a magical answer for them too? Is the Maker a spirit and/or Titan who created humans specifically?

(I think it's implied that Qunari were genetically/magically engineered in some way, and possibly crossbred with dragons somehow?? iirc DAI correctly)

I'm really looking forward to removing my filters on DA-related stuff and reading other people's thoughts. I've covered my eyes and clicked on posts a couple of times so far and have been rewarded by mostly getting fanart and not spoilers, lol. Mostly.

I genuinely have zero critiques of the game so far, if anyone was wondering if I was just holding some back or whatever. I like the quality of life changes they made to a lot of little things like companion banter; I never had an issue with the art style*; and I'm enjoying the story and characters as they unfold.

(*I know that was a big thing with a lot of people but, confession time: I genuinely can barely tell a difference between DAI and DAV's 'art style'. You can change Qunari hairstyles separate from horns now in the character creator? People walk less awkwardly than in DAI? The menus are purple instead of green? idk, maybe my brain just doesn't register whatever it is that makes DAV so different, art-wise?)

I also love that I can literally just throw myself at boxes to break them open to get materials. It's so satisfying. I have a griffon that I can pet. idk, I guess I'm just a simple girl with simple desires. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Looking forward to playing more this weekend!

Current progress note: a Dalish clan (at least one) has been kidnapped for potential blood sacrifices, so trying to rescue them is my next main quest. I'm about eighty hours into the game.

[catsofcalifornia]

Draco from Have a Heart Humane Society in Tehachapi, California

Click here for more information about adoption and other ways to help!

Click here for a link to Have a Heart Humane Society's main website.

Step into the world of Draco, a male black and grey tabby cat whose very essence is a blend of night and twilight. Draco is not just a cat; he’s a presence, a personality, a little guy with a heart as vast as the cosmos. He’s embarked on a noble quest to find his forever home—a sanctuary where his playful spirit can soar and his affectionate nature can flourish.

Draco is an artist of amusement, painting joy with every leap and bound. His sleek coat shimmers like a starlit sky, and his agile movements are a dance to the rhythm of life’s most playful tunes. He finds wonder in the whirl of a falling leaf, sees adventure in the corridors of your home, and turns the simplest game into a spectacle of delight.

But Draco’s allure goes beyond his entertainment prowess. He’s a companion who will share your quiet moments, a confidant who will listen to the whispers of your heart, and a friend who will stand by you through thick and thin. He’ll be the shadow at your feet, the warmth at your side, and the gentle purr that lulls you into tranquility.

If you’re ready to open your life to a creature of magic and mirth, consider Draco. In return for a corner in your home, he offers a lifetime of companionship, laughter, and love. Let Draco enchant your days, enrich your nights, and become the cherished guardian of your happiness. He’s not just looking for a home; he’s looking for a heart to connect with—yours.

[katyspersonal]

If you defeat Messmer the hornsent will say that the snake emerging from him is a "sublime scene" or something similar i wonder is the snake is something that has been considered as holy/ divine by the hornsent. + What is the deal with abyss serpent? Marika was so afraid of it she banished her son for it, i know gameplay doesn't necessarily equal lore but the Abyssal serpent doesn't seem to be that dangerous

;-; This is like the third time I forget to answer an ask and only remember about it when I get a similar one I am so sorry dhfhsd

As for the Vengeance-Seeking Hornsent, I think it was either a sarcasm or expression of satisfaction to see how monstrous Messmer was with his own eyes, given the place of that line in the full dialogue:

That being said, it doesn't exclude seeing the Base Serpent as divine either! It could always be sort of both, a bit like how Fell God is both revered and feared/dreaded!

I actually touched upon the 'Abyss' and Base Serpent in my post diving into what happened with Romina recently ( x ), so for the starters I'll copy a small bit from it to prevent the confusion! Ymir states that Marika's roots are 'in madness' and flowers on the painting of Midra's Manse in its past are the same as in Shaman's Village, but just in case the 'abysses' are not the same:

I need to add that Abyss of the serpent plaguing Messmer and Abyss of the woods tormented by Frenzy are different things though; whereas serpent’s Abyss is 深淵 meaning literally an abyss, Woods’ Abyss is 奈落 that means Naraka (Hindu Hell)! His serpent is AKTUALY named Base Serpent, but he refers the 'Abyss’ in his Stage 2 transition: '光無き、深淵の蛇が’. ( x ) In fact, his dialogue in both English and Japanese original suggests the 'Abyss’ is a PLACE, where Base Serpent comes from! The mysterious space without light!

So, the Abyss is the place without light, the 'hole' within what Greater Will entails and embraces:

@val-of-the-north also says that it further proves that Frenzied Flame is basically a "sibling" or the second side of the same coin, as its "face" likewise has a black hole at the centre!

Elden Ring itself is light, the blue stars controlling humans and the amber stars controlling Demigods are light, Erdtree and the greater tree predating it are light... Light is the essence of life and the orders, not even just the Golden Order however it has been THE order for a while! Messmer and Queelign repeat that all "lightless" should burn in his flames, and they are doing it for the sake of Marika's beliefs. So, the 'lightless' part of the issue is very important! It is fearsome as something they cannot fully control, it is antithesis for life the way they know it and they are used to! At the same time, no longer seeing the light is something grace-given lifeforms fear (Iris of Occultation)!

However, another, and arguably more important aspect of why Base Serpent is something feared, is Marika's fear of fire! For one, she went at war with the Fire Giants because they might have burnt her precious Erdtree, and she'd lost everything again:

(+ Also worth to note that the Fire Monks that peer into flame and go 'hmmm actually..... 👀' and get blinded discover the Bloodstar, and Alberich who did the same by blinding self is "heretical" sorcerer! That's why I think Lightless Abyss is not empty but various horrors live in it, and Formless Mother appeared from it too! Again, not the point of this post as I already talked about it in Romina post I linked earlier)

Another precedent was burying the Nomads because Shabriri said that they were worshipping Frenzied Flame:

(From the video that recovers Kale's quest ( x ))

There is also this:

I assume the prophesy has to come from the Hornsent in some capacity! Like maybe when the Two Fingers gave her aid to ascend to Godhood, she already knew from the Greater Will (?) that she won't rule forever! Ranni and Miquella both refer to the ages they want as 'thousand years voyage', so perhaps any era being set on the timer is a common sentiment! The Age of the Erdtree logically must end with the Erdtree being burnt, of course, and there is Empyrean Grandam who is a Hornsent..

I am yet not sure whether Melina is Gloam-Eyed Queen "killed" and reborn, making her instead an adopted daughter to keep her fire under control or she is a real daughter but stripped from her true power and body because of the fear of fire or both! I just think that back then, looooong before Marika could've predicted the thorns created by Radagon needed to be burnt, Melina being so "downgraded" for someone who is her daughter also had to do with the fire!

Messmer getting discarded is just an extension of it. Or her not willing to deal with the fear of the Erdtree getting potentially burnt because of the Base Serpent's fire!

As for whether it is an "evil" power? I likewise don't believe so! Fromsoft always makes 'eldrich' Gods either powers of nature or just creatures far from humans' concepts that just vibe! It is Gods who are basically just humans with too much power who can be evil and cause havoc, like Gwyn and his family and Marika and her family! Base Serpent is not "evil", it is a force of nature; necessary inferno to burn the nature, so it doesn't rot and later can be born anew from the ruins! INRI means 'Iesvs Nazarenvs Rex Ivdæorvm', but it also has an occult interpretation: 'Ignis Natura Renovatur Integram' ('All nature is regenerated by fire')! I believe Messmer has to be not only Marika's firstborn but also have special position compared to other Demigods, because he is "necessary" evil. A "promised" end to Marika's reign, who maybe is not even cursed but rather hard-coded to be this way by the Greater Will itself.. because Base Serpent comes from the Abyss inside it, Fell God on the other hand is not connected with serpentine stuff! When Messmer gets rid of Marika's eye, he promises oblivion that you and him will fall into, which again refers to the lightless Abyss.

The only evidence to Base Serpent being dangerous is that it has to be kept in check by the Winged Serpent:

It is not inherently evil, but it IS chaotic! It would not know when or where to stop or how to take the pace, much like the element of fire itself who simply burns whatever it meets on the way! And yet again, how "evil" can a force of nature be? It is "evil" for those who don't want to burn, but that's it and it is not a moral value but a (reasonable) fear! Burning things needs to be smart and balanced, or else it will just be 'Frenzied Flame at home'!

_____________________

Anyways thank you for asking so much!! I love discussing this particular topic a lot actually! +I assume Eiglay is a similar kind of serpent, but specifically promised death of Gods (maybe Outer Gods specifically, even) rather than Demigods and various things mortals built and birthed! Maybe she is even a sister of Base Serpent of sorts

[sky-kiss]

Ok. So, it was mentioned that it’s possible that Raphael could be reborn as a lemure and, now fully integrated into Hells’ system, he would work his way up as an actual devil. It was requested that Tav/Durge find them as a lemure and protect him as he worked his way through this system. 

It’s a fascinating idea. I’m so pro this happening. However, after sitting with the idea for a bit, I don’t think I could do it as a small fic, and I don’t currently have the time to work on it as a long story. So, I’m going to sketch out what I roughly see happening. Someone else can use it, or I’ll develop it later. 

Most of this has the vibe of a like, rolling an alt character in an MMO and getting your max-level geared friend to sherpa you through the game. I refer to Tav/Durge as Targe because it’s just an unpleasant name. 

LEVEL GRINDING RAPHAEL: THE STORY

After getting Chronos’d by his dad, the essence of Raphael’s soul is reborn as a lemure in Avernus. Notably, being a disgusting, amorphous, suffering, horrible flesh blob is not as appealing as being a sexy man. 

Tav/Durge goes to hell and entreats Asmodeus (who should not meet with them, but hey. Targe is a freak punching way above their weight class). 

Asmodeus agrees to direct Targe to Rapahel’s soul; in exchange, Asmodeus has a claim to Targe’s soul. They will also agree to bring Raphael to him once he’s leveled. 

Targe spends the next century or so sherpa’ing Raphael. They kill demons for him, so he gets the XP/soul energy. Eventually, he’s able to go through the ritual.

Targe brings the horrible flesh blob to Asmodeus. The Lord of the Ninth genuinely finds the whole situation hilarious.

Asmodeus pledges Raphael to his service. He promotes him to an imp.

And because it’d be even funnier, he touches Imp!Phael’s forehead and gives him back all of his prior life memories.

This is not ideal. Raphael now very clearly remembers Targe betraying/killing him.

But he is an imp. And very small. With very few outlets for his rage.

Targe and Imp!Phael proceeded to go on a massive killing spree through the Hells. Potentially, while running side-quests for Asmodeus for extra XP gain. 

Targe is very apologetic about the entire situation and mentions how much they ended up missing Raphael. He is a petty little bitch about all of this. But. Targe doesn’t leave him.

Over the next few centuries, Targe continues to help him progress through the system. Raphael watches them age and feels…melancholy. He’s a full devil now, but some of his memories of his life soften him a touch towards his companion. 

 I offer you the image of bone or horn devil Raphael curled up around his wizened guardian.

At this point, he is pretty well self-sufficient. He’s brutally cunning. He has street cred. He’s reasonably well-geared. Targe could go home. They refuse.

Now, for story fun, we know that Raphael will work/kill his way to being a duke. It’s going to take him a few thousand years, but he’s going to get there. And Targe is going to be long-dead at that point.

 And so I posit: Raphael, in his one selfless act, draws up a contract or pledges to find Tav when they are reborn in the lemure pit. 

And the cycle begins again. 

[verdemoun]

i found something on tiktok that reminded me of your timewrapped arthur and maybe a lot of the gang it was someone crying over the trope “when the trope is a character born to be a weapon but no longer necessary and having to learn to be a normal person” 😈

this is the essence of timewarp. all of them had to have that painful revelation in their own time that they are not normal and it is going to take years to unlearn those 19th century survival skills

bessie's 'no guns in the house rule' originated because they are all weapons. her and annabelle weren't weapons they had to go through learning not to expect every single person they pass on the street is capable and ready to murder. it only took trying to find the callander boys to realize the fact most died with guns in their hands or at their sides is going to be an issue. first thing a disorientated gunslinger does is reach for their gun. fortunately meeting The bessie matthews face-to-face is enough for most to be star struck enough to not really react to her asking them to hand over their weapons before she starts explaining hi welcome to the future

hosea didn't fully comprehend how much he was a weapon himself. he made it to what was considered seniority as an outlaw because he thinks quick and has a faster trigger finger have you seen his quick draw?? he is not 'just' a con artist he is as much a fine tuned weapon as the rest of the gang.

while he will do anything for bessie and does thoroughly enjoy exploring modern era without the constant fear of being recognized as The hosea matthews, he really doesn't ever move on from that constant overanalysis of his surroundings. he had to live and rely on those instincts so long he can't make them go away. on some days is relieved to use keeping an eye on kieran as an excuse not to leave the house because he never learns to become a normal person in modern era

but the angst and guilt of him realizing how much the gang in general struggle with it and knowing he contributed to that. him encouraging dutch's ideals of saving people who needed saving accidentally becoming taking easily influenced young boys and men off the streets and teaching them how to survive in 19th century which meant being a weapon was necessary. watching the manifestation of a group of adult outlaws trying to survive modern era with not only their pre-existing lifetime traumas but the additional c-ptsd of veterans struggling to unlearn how easy it is for them to see a threat and want to reach for their guns, readily capable of killing another in cold blood in case they were a threat to the gang

not knowing how to help them because he doesn't even know how to help himself

bessie needing to get used to when someone knocks on the door absolutely all of them turn with that dangerous look in their eyes and the comfortable positions they had been in seconds ago now look more like a pack of crouched predators waiting for the call to attack. watching how quickly they could recover from that state becoming longer episodes of confusion wondering why they reacted like that when people knocking on the door becomes something normal

very predictably arthur is the worst because he could acknowledge he was nothing but a killer by the end. but the first time he is walking down the street having settled into modern era and notices he still has his hand hovering over his hip ready to draw for absolutely no reason is so frustrating for him.

arthur would get angry at his relapses into weapon coding. he wanted and got his out of the gang. he has more avenues of exploring his curiosity than ever before and the freedom to still go on his side quests and explore the world in an entirely new context and he still reaches for a gun.

he knows he is safe walking down the street. modern era is objectively so much safer than canon era. he is mentally trying to convince himself he feels safe but those stupid relapses wanting a gun, surveying any area he walks into for cops, the second of suspicious fear when he sees someone in a suit and wonders if they're a pinkerton, are constant reminders that he is still a weapon and he just wants to be normal so badly he feels abnormal being the way he is

[veshialles]

#Veilguard30 - #1: Joining

not sure how many of these prompts I'll end up doing, but I wanted to take an honest crack at a few, at least. original prompts by @pavus. Featuring my poor tortured and conflicted Warden-Commander, Kieshara Tabris, and an unknown Warden-Acolyte I made up on the spot. Probably set sometime after Awakening & Witch Hunt, but also some point during my canon-continuation/canon-adjacent fic, A Quest Of Her Own.

It was her most dreaded duty to perform since the promotion. Every aspect of her service, tumultuous as it was, had been a gamble between life and death for the people around her. But none seemed so cruel as this. While she held much disdain for the secrecy of it all, Kieshara had already been reprimanded by the order for revealing too much too soon. A leak that was threatened to be violently patched if further incidents occurred.

History weighed on her mind as Kieshara’s pale fingertips reached the cherry oak box and passed over the carved griffon emblem, trying not to think of the hundreds of times this sacred ritual had been done before, by those who had long since heeded their Callings, or otherwise followed their oaths to the inevitable end. Finally, she opened its wrought iron hinges to reveal the delicate glass vials within. 

They were all of them stained a dark sickly red, just the same shade as the pendant she kept worn under her tunic; the glass was tainted as the blood held within them was. The blood of darkspawn, and the late Archdemon Urthemiel, slain by her very own hands. Beside them, a small jar of lyrium dust gave off a gentle rhythmic glow, and though she could not hear its song, it highlighted the ripples in a leather pouch of herbs in the adjacent divot. 

It was all here. Everything they needed.

Turning to face the silver chalice placed upon the altar, Kieshara set the box down. Traditionally, the blood was to be collected by the recruits themselves, but in the wake of The Blight, and the ensuing raids, there was no shortage of darkspawn blood. Even still, she began removing the box’s contents with utmost precision; there must be no chance of waste. There would be enough of that later, should any of the recruits fail. 

Lifting the first vial from its case, she poured the entirety of its contents into the ritual cup, and the second, and the third. The putrid smell of iron and rot wafted up from the slick surface, as she took the fourth vial in hand, allowing a single drop of her slain enemy’s essence to fall into the mixture, where it billowed in the murk like black tendrils. Kieshara stepped aside, allowing the Warden-Acolyte to make the final adjustments; precisely measuring the lyrium and herbal blend, before whispering unintelligible incantations.

The Acolyte was a human woman with wavy blonde hair that peaked out from beneath her hood. Kieshara did not even know her name, and thought it best that she never find out. She hated how this role had hardened her heart, but the simple truth was it would make their work easier, knowing what they were about to do. 

With a flash and a fizzle, it was done. The woman nodded and retreated to the edge of the room, leaving Kieshara alone to stare at the sunburst emblazoned on the side of the Joining chalice, a symbol older than the very Chantry itself. Surely no loving Maker would create a world such as this.

How many will die this time?, she solemnly wondered, staring into her own eyes through the vile concoction’s ripples. How many have already lost this battle? How many more after this? But this was the duty that could not be forsworn, as she had once been told. And having witnessed the horrors of the Blight firsthand, she needed no reminders of why these sacred rites were so vital in their fight against the dark and hungering hordes. 

Steeling her resolve, she rehearsed the monologue she had prepared in her mind, the one she had been given years ago, just as countless Grey Wardens had recited before her. Just as many would be doomed to recite after her. Looking up at the other Warden, she nodded. One by one the new recruits filed into the room, the door silently locking behind them.

Softly, Kieshara began. “At last, we come to the Joining…”

[itsclydebitches]

CLYDE. I was thinking about the RWBY vs Ace Ops fight again because it's one my least favourite moments in the entire show and I realised that Qrow/Clover/Robyn weren't part of the conversation prior, nor were they ever acknowledged. Nothing of the effect that "Hey, maybe we should wait for Qrow/Robyn/Clover's opinion on this plan before moving onwards, considering their experience and leadership skills?" before being shut down that time is of the essence and they can't wait for them. It just feels illogical to have the Ace Ops leader, Mantle's primary representative and the leader of the Happy Huntresses and one of James' closest allies be completely absence from one the most impactful turning points of the Volume. It feels they were either purposely left out arbitrarily for the sake of two poorly conceived fights or the writers just forgot...which wouldn't be the first time. This show is very...frustrating to say the least.

YEAH. The other day I was thinking about RWBY and ludonarrative dissonance in video games. Specifically, the number of action/adventure games I've played that have a, "OMG COMPLETE THIS MISSION IMMEDIATELY TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE SOMEONE IS GONNA DIE!!" narrative paired with a "Look at all these fun side quests populating the map, you should totally spend a month of in-game time leisurely exploring them" gameplay. RWBY feels similar to me (minus the interactive elements, obviously). The narrative continually pushes the urgency of the situation, but what the characters do don't align with that. Waiting in the mansion is the classic, go-to example of this, but it's also seen in questions like, "If the group is so concerned with the safety of the Relic why don't they.... put it in the vault?" and "If Qrow needs to speak to Ironwood so badly, why doesn't he just... go to Ironwood in handcuffs rather than starting a fight that, unforeseen airship crash or not, is gonna SUPER delay him getting there." Importantly, these moments go beyond the characters simply making impulsive, fallible, human decisions. It always feels like the writers haven't thought through the situation, or are so focused on one (badly chosen) outcome that they'll ignore all logic to get there.

So, same idea with this fight. I completely understand Ironwood's position because there is a clear line of logic here. Salem is about to attack, the group has consistently lied/undermined him, ergo he is removing a potential threat by locking them up until this battle/escape is complete. No one has to agree with him, but I think the reasoning makes sense both in general and for his specific character. (Which is also one of the reasons why I think some fans are willing to hear consider his side: his writing, however messy in other places, is leagues beyond the group's, particularly in the first half of the Atlas arc.) The girls though? They're all over the place. They don't want secrets but they're going to keep them from Ironwood. But they're also going to spill them all to Robyn, someone they don't know and shouldn't trust. They want to save everyone but have no idea how and can't/won't troubleshoot an answer. They're determined to unite the people but are simultaneously determined to solve their problems with a fight. They start said fight and then Ruby immediately tries to talk her way out of it again. And, as you say, they ignore that unity/experience/help available to them by not looping the others in because, supposedly, there's just no time... but then we have long scenes where they just sit around the mansion, tearfully bemoaning the fact that they don't know what to do and getting angry that no one has magically shown up to help.

I can EASILY picture a better-if-not-perfect scenario where the girls' decisions in that fight actually follow their proclaimed intentions AND the not-actually-very-critical timeline they have (because remember, even after all this Salem just sits there for an extended time.) What if Ruby ordered the team to let themselves get arrested and then we got a cool break out of jail scene? (I mean... Ruby blasts through Ironwood's steel doors that are meant to keep people in + they sneak into Atlas HQ. Clearly this would not have been difficult for them.) What if they ran into Qrow and Robyn while in their cells? Or what if they escaped, realized they needed their uncle, and started a help Mantle/find Qrow dual mission? What if instead of broadcasting a horrifying and near incomprehensible message to the whole world, they spoke to all their allies in Atlas about the plan they'd come up with, calling them together? Maybe coded so Cinder wouldn't understand. Maybe bluntly honest like a gauntlet throw-down: we know you're here, but we're ready for you this time.

Instead Ruby forgets she exists...

There are just SO many things you can do with that fight/the aftermath that don't completely undermine the themes, the tension, the proclaimed desires, and the narrative expectations. If there has to be a battle of ally vs. ally when Salem is on her way and half our villains are roaming the streets (god I can't emphasize that enough), why is everyone with the wrong person? Why isn't Robyn fighting the Ace Ops, her political enemy long before the girls showed up? Why isn't Qrow fighting Ironwood, the guy he (stupidly) blames for Clover's death? Why isn't Clover with his team? Why isn't Ruby facing Salem? Why the hell would you have Qrow team up with Tyrian?

As a side note, I've seen a resurgence of discussion about Ruby's breakdown in Volume 9 and everything above re-emphasizes for me just how much she HAS demanded this power and responsibility. "Hey, maybe we should wait for Qrow/Robyn/Clover's opinion on this plan before moving onwards, considering their experience and leadership skills?" is one of MANY considerations when weighing the question of whether Ruby has truly been burdened with the unwanted expectations of others... because they've never been unwanted and she has never down a thing to lessen that burden. She doesn't wait. She doesn't ask. She doesn't lean on others' experience and leadership. And this goes all the way back to Ruby responding, "Yes, I want to attend Beacon and take on all the responsibilities of that despite not being old enough," but there is also a LOT in the Atlas arc - right before her Volume 9 breakdown, literal hours in-world - where Ruby stood her ground and said, "No, we're doing this my way and my team, whether they've disagreed with this decision, or suggested this course of action in the first place, will ultimately follow me because I am the leader." She told Qrow to stand down and let her continue fighting Cordovin. She made the decision to lie to Ironwood and talked the others out of coming clean. She made the call to attack the Ace Ops instead of submitting to arrest. Using the Relic and dropping Atlas was a group suggestion, but Ruby sanctioned it. Based on literally 8 Volumes of content, if anyone HAD said no to her Ruby would not have listened to them. That is an overt, consistent characterization of hers.

And then Volume 9 expects me to feel bad because she's going, "Everyone expects me to take the lead"??? Like sure, in a very general, "That's indeed stressful no matter who's at the helm" sense, but Ruby has spent years at this point loudly yelling, "I'M THE PERSON YOU SHOULD LOOK TO AND I'LL FIX IT. IF YOU DON'T LIKE MY PLAN I'LL FIGHT YOU :)" Not roping Qrow and the others in is a part of all that. Not overtly on screen - we don't have a scene where Ruby goes, "We don't need to talk to them" - but the story doesn't think their input is important. We get the closeup on her smiling face when she thinks of using the Relic and then the others just inform Winter of what is happening when she happens to call. Major decisions in RWBY have often been collaborative when it comes to suggestions, but the final call is always Ruby. Whether we're talking about "This is my fight too!" when Qrow warns her to stay back, or using the Lamp's question when Ozpin is begging her not to, or shrugging off Yang's concern that she lied to Ironwood, or telling the whole damn world about Salem when numerous people with more experience than her have said, "That's a terrible idea" for generations, Ruby forcibly takes the lead and will not back down no matter who is asking that of her, or how they're asking. In fact, I'd say that is the most OVERT and CONSISTENT way in which she displays agency in this show (which, ugh).