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norikuna · 2 months ago

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GOO GOO MUCK #3 — jujutsu kaisen x reader choose a storybook to open. aka my mythos take on jujutsu kaisen.

you've turned the page to: CHAPTER III. RYŌMEN SUKUNA go back to the table of contents.

as if he heard me, he smiled. and his face was like the sun. (the song of achilles / madeline miller)

prologue. → at first, a humble servant, now capturing the attention of the king of curses. suddenly, you're caught between fear, desire, and a really irritating demon with a bad attitude.

excerpt.. one of the guards’ brows lifted, as if you’d said something unexpected. the other, still doubtful, scowled. "and what would you know of sukuna's laws?" you privately thought sukuna's laws would be quite simple. if it moves, beat it with a stick. if it moves again, let's grab a sword and hit it twice as hard.

pairing. demon king!ryomen sukuna x villager!reader (sfw but suggestive!)

song inspiration. goo goo muck — the cramps / i can see you — taylor swift

warnings. sukuna is very much himself, rude and dubious and evil. kissing, making out, mentions of blood and injuries and war. word count. 4.6k!

a/n. im actually so happy w this one lol i was having a bit of a giggle writing it. consistent plot? what is that?

ask/comment/dm to be added to a taglist 🩵

mp3. when the sun goes down, and the moon comes up, i turn into a teenage goo goo muck!

they had bound your wrists with iron chains, biting into your skin and doing little to still the tremor of fear that seized you. the villagers around, or at least what remained of them after sukuna's merciless invasion, shuffled forward in exhausted silence, carrying that eerie pall of defeat. you dared not look at the faces of your people around you, sensing that each set of eyes held the same mute dread that coursed through your veins.

and sukuna's fortress was an ugly, wicked thing. no doubt a testament to his dominion and dark prowess. but one could only avert their gaze from the jagged black stone that tore through the depths of the earth, and iron maw of a gate that glistened with dark stains that you dare not name.

a tall and severe figure stood waiting beyond the threshold, tall and severe, draped in robes of silky onyx that swept against dead leaves. a member of sukuna's household, no doubt, and he had eyes of dying embers.

it seemed that everything in this estate was dead, or dying. you could only hope that you would not join the pile of skulls that clattered in rough-strewn piles on the pavement.

"you all belong to the king of curses now," he intoned in a voice of polished steel, "you will serve him with unwavering obedience, and if you do not..." the man trailed off, splayed his fingers against his neck — and he suddenly bared his jugular upwards and your stomach lurched at the sight. lines and rows of stitches, sickly healed, where one's throat might have been cut. a walking corpse.

"act rightly, or lose your head. he has little patience for insolence or error."

and so, you were led through winding halls, walls of dark stone and low-hanging torches. the air was thick with a strange, almost metallic scent of thick blood and burning coals.

at length, you passed a vast and open chamber, a throne room that was unlike any you could have ever imagined. granted, you came from a small village, and thus, had not seen a throne room before so the bar was already quite low.

massive pillars framed the space, rising up like trees, branching and curling towards a ceiling lost in shadows. gathered around the centre was a council of some sort, hulking and dark curses of varying forms, from towering demons with sharp, ridged spines — to giant warriors with dented armour, from the scourge of warfare.

and at the heart of them, seated upon an iron throne wreathed in dark filigree, and dazzling red stones, was sukuna himself. the king of curses. he was massive, even in respose, broad shoulders and four thick arms that were drapes across the arms of the throne. you weren't quite sure where to rest your eyes, on his shock of dusty-rose hair, or the sharp set of eyes that were the colour of dried, old blood.

you felt a shiver of terror crawl down your spine, before curling at the base in loving tendrils, freezing your limbs in place. and then, with a heart-stopping clarity (though none would believe you), his gaze seemed to fall upon you. for a single, unbearable moment, you were certain he was looking directly inti your soul, with a gaze as sharp as a blade and as hot as a forge. you felt every muscle in your body clench, a sharp ache spreading through you.

but just as quickly, you were shoved forward, and his gaze fell elsewhere — almost bored. the rest of the newly enslaved muttered and murmured nervously as they led you onwards, down yet another corridor.

devilry and villainy aside, sukuna needed to hire a new interior design team. because this many corridors and needless, steep stairs were just unacceptable.

still, you felt those eyes burning in your memory, like four brands seared into your mind and the hollow of your chest.

they finally ushered you into a small chamber, little more than an alcove carved out of stone and lined with rows of rough, wooden pallets and blankets as coarse as burlap. here, you were instructed to remain until summoned to serve, the harsh whispers of the overseers reminding you to act “rightly, obediently, silently,” words that had already begun to feel like a new set of shackles.

and so, life in the palace of the king of curses was like treading on eggshells, and you had learned early on (after losing the contents of your stomach several times, watching brutal executions) that to speak out, or draw attention was a risk. one that could end with chains, or worse.

yet today, as you walked the winding corridors, a commotion caught your ear, and you had slung your basket on one hip — peering around the corner. you had turned to see katsuro, gentle and quiet, being held roughly by two guards, his slight frame no match for the iron grip of their clawed hands. one of the guards was sneering down at him, his expression gleefully cruel. poor katsuro was only two winters younger than you, and hardly built for the life of a warrior, rather a sweet and shy scholar.

"you made a mistake, little human," one guard hissed, his fangs bared in a twisted grin that would do his reflection in the mirror no favours at all, "sukuna demands perfection, and you will learn the price of failure."

katsuro's face had gone pale, his dark eyes wide with fear and you could see his hands trembling, most likely mirroring your own at the moment. it was not fair, the 'mistake' had been minor, a missed steps in the protocol for cleaning the great hall for the evening's feast. you were certain that sukuna was too busy terrorising the weak and bathing in blood to notice that the wrong number of lanterns had been strung up.

driven by something reckless within you, you stepped forward before you could think better of it.

"wait!" your voice rang out, catching the guard’s attention. their eyes fixed on you, surprised at the audacity, and your heart pounded in your chest.

they were probably excited that instead of one human to torture, they would get two.

but you stood firm, lifting your chin to meet their gaze, ignoring how your gut was working overtime to make you nauseous. "punishing him so harshly for a minor mistake — would that truly serve sukuna's purpose?"

the first guard narrowed his eyes at you. "and who are you to question his purpose?"

"i am not questioning it,” you tried to reply smoothly, carefully choosing your words like your life depended on it (because it did), “but rather, i’m considering it from his perspective. the king of curses values loyalty and productivity in his subjects, doesn’t he?"

you didn't quite appreciate how the guards were rolling their eyes in your one moment of courage, you just couldn't have anything around here.

"if the servants are in constant terror of the slightest mistake, they won’t be able to perform their duties effectively. fear is powerful, yes — but so is loyalty. if they feel a measure of mercy, they may serve him more willingly, rather than cowering with each step."

one of the guards’ brows lifted, as if you’d said something unexpected. the other, still doubtful, scowled. "and what would you know of sukuna's laws?"

you privately thought sukuna's laws would be quite simple. if it moves, beat it with a stick. if it moves again, let's grab a sword and hit it twice as hard.

"a great deal, actually,” you replied with a steady gaze, but with a lie basically dancing on your tongue. "every decision is weighed, every outcome calculated. a punishment too severe for a minor fault? it's…," you tried not to say stupid, "...wasteful. if katsuro is punished to the point of uselessness, that is one less pair of hands, and the workload falls heavier on the rest of us." you dared a glance around, noting a few other servants lingering, listening with furtive, hopeful expressions. "wouldn’t it be better to maintain strength among his servants? for his grander plans?"

frankly, you were just pulling words out of thin air. making things up and lying to such an extent that your mother would grab a bar of bitter soap and wash your mouth out. still, one had to be an opportunist to survive.

the guard holding katsuro faltered slightly, glancing at his companion. It was clear they weren��t accustomed to reasoning, and though they looked unimpressed, they were not entirely unmoved.

"fine," the taller guard growled, loosening his grip on katsuro with a snarl. "this one’s lucky you spoke for him. but if he slips up again, no clever words will save him."

with a final warning glare, the guards stalked off, leaving katsuro visibly shaken but unharmed. relief flooded you, and you could suddenly breathe again, and you moved to steady him, as his eyes glistening with gratitude.

"thank you," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

had you turned around and paid more attention to the shadows, you may have noticed the king of curses standing with all four arms crossed, biting the inside of his cheek. he never liked those guards anyway.

the morning air had been crisp, a rare light filtering through the stone walls of the estate as you were woken by unexpected news. you were...summoned? not to some distant hall or remote chamber of, but to the throne room — sukuna's command. the message itself was terse, and impossible to interpret, but you had been wrapped in a cloak and ushered out the door.

and there you stood, among three other summoned servants. each one pale and quiet with apprehensions as you gathered at the base of the throne's towering dias.

sukuna sat sprawled across his throne, two arms flat and still against the arms of the throne, and the other two holding his head up — as if this was the most boring task in the world. but his eyes, all four of them, scanned you and the others with a look of dull interest, and he almost seemed to sigh, rolling his eyes in open exasperation.

"so," he began, and his voice was a low and raspy tone, "you four are my new...personal attendants?" the king of curses leaned back, half-amused and half-irritated.

you felt a prickle of irritation beneath your skin at his obvious disdain, it was not like any of you had been gunning for the job anyway. but you held your tongue, reminding yourself that it was better to stay silent than risk having your sliced and pickled head served on a bloody platter for sukuna's morning snack. still, he noticed your reaction, his lips quirking into a slight smirk as he arched a brow.

"something to say, little servant?" and sukuna's tone dripped with mockery, as though he were daring you to speak.

"not at all, my lord," you replied, managing to keep your voice steady. "merely… adjusting to the honour of being here."

sukuna snorted, barely containing his amusement. "honour," he repeated, as if the word were a joke. "tell me, did they threaten you to get you here on time, or did you simply decide to be obedient today?"

you did not like this bad attitude, but frankly, you lacked three major things when it came to battling sukuna. an immortal soul, an array of weapons, and a spine. so you tamped it down, a faint, thin smile tugging at your lips. "i would have come either way, my lord. threats or no threats."

you would swear that his eyes glinted with a mix of surprise and interest, though he rolled his eyes again as if unimpressed. "spare me the heroics," he muttered. "i need obedience, not gallantry." he looked you over with a critical eye, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer than necessary. "and i have no use for someone who can’t keep up."

"what a shame that would be for me," you replied, the retort was sharp on your tongue before you could stop yourself. and you felt your heart coil up in fear once more, while you were certain your brain was chasing your tongue around with hammers.

sukuna's gaze narrowed, and a faint, fanged smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "careful, servant. i don’t particularly like attitude from those under me."

you dipped your head, averting your gaze just enough to keep from meeting his eyes directly, you didn't want to lose your lunch. "noted, my lord. i’ll be sure to remember that…if it pleases you."

for a moment, he merely looked at you, his expression inscrutable. then he let out a low chuckle, a sound that sent a shiver through you, something dangerous and thrilling laced in its depths. "very well, then,” he said at last, sounding almost amused. "if you’re so eager to please, you’ll start by attending me closely — very closely. i do like being pleased."

how crass.

you swallowed, catching his faint smirk as he dismissed you all with with a lazy wave of one lower hand, but not before he smiled at you. a cruel and wicked curve of his mouth, but it felt like the heat of a thousand suns. whatever game this was, he intended to play it with you — on his terms.

over the next following weeks, sukuna's summons became frequent and baffling, his demands were a tangle of trivial tasks and strange whims. he seemed to relish keeping you guessing, testing the limits of both your patience and your compliance.

he would call for you in the mornings to help arrange his robes — an affair in which you found yourself having to climb onto a small wooden box to even reach his shoulders, carefully smoothing the crimson and black fabric over the width of his frame. with his arms stretching out from every side, you had to manoeuvre and balance each fold with precise care. and sukuna just watched you intently, an amused smirk tugging at his red-wine lips as you struggled, muttering instructions that barely felt necessary.

yes, you knew how to tie a simple knot.

in the evenings, he’d request you make him tea — a task simple enough, but then he’d take his time to drink it. each sip was drawn out, his gaze occasionally sliding over to meet yours, one brow arched ever so slightly, a smug satisfaction radiating from his silence. he would take another long, slow sip, before turning back to the window, as you shifted your weight from foot to foot, wondering if it was acceptable to launch boiling water at the king of curses. just as a treat.

and then you had been summoned to his chambers to polish a set of blades that had seen their fair share of battles, surely the one that took the lives of your own village, and you shuddered. the blades were heavy, each one forged with a dark, tempered steel that seemed to drink in the dim candlelight. as you worked, your hand slipped, and the edge of one blade sliced through your skin, leaving a sharp, stinging pain and a line of red across your palm. you hissed under your breath, pressing the wound to your tunic as the blood quickly seeped through your fingers.

"stupid," came his voice from behind you, sharp and cold as steel itself. you turned to see sukuna watching, leaning against the doorway with an expression hovering between annoyance and satisfaction, as though your injury were just another way you’d managed to disappoint him, and now he could unleash his tongue upon you. "are you intent on making a mess of my things, or are you simply that clumsy?"

you opened your mouth to retort, a spark of irritation flaring, but bit it back, too exhausted to argue. "it’s just a scratch, my lord," you replied, though the blood was beginning to drip onto the rich furs sprawled across the floor. you quickly wrapped your hand in your sleeve to hide it, hoping to avoid further scorn.

but sukuna must have seen. he let out a low sigh, crossing the room in a few slow strides, and took hold of your wrist, and surprisingly, without a grip that would snap your bones. for a moment, he simply stared down at the cut, his four eyes narrowing with something that looked suspiciously like...regret.

"how ridiculous," he muttered, more to himself than to you, and with a curt wave, he pulled out a cloth from under the blades. but his hands were large, and searing with heat, as they held yours with a shocking deftness as he bandaged the cut.

you dared a glance up at sukuna, only to find his expression unreadable, his gaze focused intently on the task at hand. when he finally spoke, his voice had lost its usual harshness, his tone quiet, almost distant.

"try not to stain the rest of my furs with your carelessness next time," he said, though the words lacked their usual bite.

you wondered if it had finally happened, he'd really lost his mind. there had been no threats of disemboweling, no burning, no being trampled under horses while he ate peaches in the shade of his favourite tree (yes, his threats were that specific).

you murmured a huffed response, more of a mumble, suddenly feeling quite stifled. but sukuna's hands lingered on yours for just a moment longer than necessary, his gaze distant yet searching, as though seeing something he hadn’t expected. then the king of curses drew back, the walls you’d glimpsed in that moment quickly slamming back into place as he straightened, stepping away with a curt nod.

“just go, get some rest before you inconvenience me more," he muttered, barely looking at you now, his tone cool and dismissive. but for the first time, it seemed as though he were hiding something, something even he didn’t quite know how to name.

the air in sukuna's quarters was thick with the scent of burnt incense and faintly lingering smoke, a reminder of the battles he waged just hours ago. as you moved quietly about the room, collecting and folding the strewn garments, you glanced at him, sullen and seated on the edge of his bed. a dark, odious blood was seeping through the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso, three jagged wounds crossing his chest and back where the arrows had pierced. though the arrows were long removed, the gashes looked raw and angry, staining the linen with every breath he took.

sukuna noticed your stare, and with a small, reluctant grunt, he beckoned you over. "the bandages…" he muttered, voice heavy with fatigue but his tone demanding. "fix them, redress them. i don't need another healer bumbling over it."

you swallowed, nerves prickling as you gathered fresh cloth and approached him. you so hated wounds, and the sight of blood but it was better than seeing your own spilled for defying him. sukuna remained still, watching you through half-lidded red eyes, his body larger than life, his skin faintly gleaming in the dim light. but he leaned forward slightly, allowing you to reach the wound. with slow, careful hands, you unwrapped the old bandage, then pressed the clean cloth to his skin, feeling the solid warmth radiate from his chest, searing your fingertips with its intensity.

as you worked, wrapping the bandage around his vast, muscular torso, you did your best not to breathe, not with each breath of his matching the rise and fall of your own. and you tried to ignore how his eyes were flickering over you with an intensity that made your heart stammer.

when you finished, the king of curses didn’t move. instead, he brought his hand up, fingers grazing your chin as he tilted your face to meet his. and the pads of his fingers dug into the skin of your jaw.

"tell me…" he began, his voice low, each word a slow murmur. "do you see me as a monster?"

your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, the words were lost to you. his hand remained firm on your chin, holding you in place as you searched his face — the high cheekbones, the strong jaw, each line and scar a mark of the warrior he was, of the warlord who had taken everything from you. you closed your eyes briefly, feeling the ghosts of flames from your village flicker in your memory.

"it’s… hard to forget what you did," you replied, your voice a whisper, yet steady. "it’s hard to forget that you burned down my village."

a flicker of something — anger, resignation — crossed his face. sukuna let out a long, quiet exhale, a shadow of bitterness touching his voice as he said, "a tiger cannot change its stripes. being a beast is in my nature. i am what i was made to be. you cannot expect elsewise from me, nor would i try to promise it to you."

you held his gaze, your heart beating harder. "i know that now."

his thumb brushed softly against your jaw, lingering. there was something dark and magnetic in his gaze, a glint of restrained hunger that sent a thrill through you, a pulse of awareness that you were crossing an invisible line. maybe someone had hit you on the head, messing with your cognitive awareness. he leaned forward, his face mere inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin as his two sets eyes dipped to your lips.

for one heart-stopping moment, you felt his mouth ghost near yours, a feather-light touch as though testing, hesitating. the world around you seemed to vanish, leaving only him, and his dangerous restraint.

but then, he drew back, jaw set as he tore his gaze away, his hand dropping from your face as though burned. he said nothing, his expression now closed, guarded, as if he, too, was reeling from whatever had just passed between you. you took a shaky step back, pulse racing, not daring to break the silence as you quickly left the room, with some false excuse of disposing of the old bandages (you were going to ask someone else to do it for you).

sukuna's attention had grown increasingly overt, his dark gaze trailing you with a possessive weight whenever you entered the throne room or crossed his path in the vast, torch-lit corridors of his palace. whispers fluttered among the other servants, the concubines, and the court. it was impossible (and almost embarrassing) to ignore the quiet looks and questioning glances they cast your way.

still, a demon could never be expected to be patient forever, and he had sought you out, appearing in the corridor as you were preparing to leave his chambers. his large hand moved to your waist in a firm, claiming gesture, pulling you to him without hesitation, as though he was unbothered by the curious stares around him. you briefly wondered at how just one arm could snap your spine in half, but his touch was almost...fragile.

"you’ve intrigued me," he murmured, his eyes blood-red, glinting as they locked onto yours. "in a way no other has. why do you deny this?" his tone was brusque, but you would have lied if you had said you did not find satisfaction in the way his voice had a snapping plea buried in it.

but sukuna's cruelty was an undeniable part of him; every scar he bore and every command he uttered reminded you of the power he wielded and the danger that simmered just beneath his surface, one that could ravish nations and empire-states. anger, fear, attraction — they were tangled so tightly together you could scarcely tell them apart.

"am i meant to be flattered?"

sukuna chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that resonated through you. "so i am a monster, am i not?" he murmured, his tone almost teasing, yet a sharp intensity flared in his eyes. he leaned close, his face inches from yours, his voice a gravelly whisper. "a monster who could crush you, break you, make you kneel if i so desired…"

you swallowed, fighting the quickening of your breath, but held his gaze, your words biting. "then why don’t you?"

for a moment, he seemed almost stunned, his eyes searching your face. slowly, sukuna reached out, and with an uncharacteristic tenderness, the king of curses had tentatively placed a hand on your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw, just as it had done all those weeks ago. "because," he murmured, "you’re the only one i’m compelled to protect."

your heart slammed in your chest, every part of you at war, caught between terror and something far more dangerous, a yearning that he, and only he, seemed able to awaken. he drew you closer, his lips brushing over your temple, voice barely a whisper, rough and unguarded.

"don’t you see?” he continued, his tone softer, aching, and you wondered if the king of curses would ever deign to beg. "it’s you i crave, you who won’t bow so easily. and i…” he exhaled, as though he had to fight against his very being to snap out the words, "find myself undone."

the intensity in his gaze was pulling you in, daring you to come closer, to test the fire you’d spent so long resisting, the fire that you had long been ghosting your fingers over, letting it lick your fingers. you could feel your pulse thrumming as sukuna drew nearer, his towering form casting a shadow that made you feel both caged and protected.

"you do realise," he murmured, voice a deep rumble, "that i’ve thought of this — of you — every night."

your breath hitched as his words sank in, and you attempted a weak laugh, faint in the air, "your enemies would kill to see you so undone."

one of his hands brushed up your back, pulling you closer, aligning your body with his in a way that left no space between you. with another arm, he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, his red eyes dark, "i would kill my enemies if they ever laid their eyes on you, in a way that i did not decree."

sukuna's breath was warm against your lips as he leaned down, inch by torturous inch, his mouth hovering just above yours, and you could see the light refract from his pearly fangs, "you have no idea the restraint it’s taken to hold back from this."

and his lips brushed against yours, just a whisper of contact, but enough to ignite something within you. and then, as if some unspoken barrier shattered, his mouth claimed yours in a kiss that was searing and fierce, pouring all his pent-up longing into that single moment. he moved with raw intensity, his mouth firm, demanding, yet achingly tender as he explored every inch of your lips, making you gasp with the force of it, stoking a heat lower within you.

you felt his two remaining arms circle you, anchoring you securely against his chest as he deepened the kiss, pressing you firmly to him. his fingers splayed across your back, drawing you impossibly closer, and you realised with a shiver that you liked the way he held you — possessive, unrelenting, as if he’d never let go.

and so, though you'd never admit it, you melted into him, your hands reaching up to grasp his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath his robes. his lips moved with a rhythm that left you breathless, his kiss filled with a heat that left you weak, pliant in his arms. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and half-lidded, a soft, dangerous smile curving his mouth.

"you’re mine," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and filled with an almost reverent awe. and this time, you leaned up to catch his mouth, enjoying that for the first time in written history, the king of curses had purred.

#sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen #works

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writer-at-the-table · 7 months ago

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I would get rid of all of the weird 'xtianity as actual truth' stuff.

okay, I'm curious. if you could change one thing about txf canon, ONE THING AND ONE THING ONLY, what would it be?

it can be anything from changing one conversation to eliminating a whole character or the entire myth arc.

#i considered going for #make the mythos consistent and make sense #but honestly #the inconsistency and incoherence of the mythos plot #bothers me a lot less #than all of the xtianity as actual truth stuff #especially in the later seasons #when there's so much of it #the x files #meta

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ryin-silverfish · 6 months ago

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LMK and the Problem of Li Jing

If my browsing in the Nezha tag is any indication, I'm not the only one who has...opinions about the interesting writing choice in S5.

Namely, it's awkward, completely out of left field, and forced.

I am also gonna try and calmly dissect my feelings on the matter, so that it doesn't become a "me sassing Li Jing for ten pages straight" post.

See, my biggest problem isn't "Li Jing is a good/sympathetic dad instead of his more mythos-accurate portrayal".

There are adaptations that make him a good father (Nezha 2019), or at the very least, a flawed but still sympathetic figure (Legends of Nezha cartoon).

And even though FSYY and JTTW's Nezha both have their Attempted Patricide Arc as part of their backstory, when JTTW's Nezha showed up in the novel proper, he was overall more obedient towards Li Jing, so it's not completely without basis (tho crucially, JTTW's Li Jing is also terrified of him picking up the "Patricide" hobby again).

The key, however, is Show Not Tell.

See, the adaptations above are all Nezha-centered works that have plenty of screentime to show where they diverge from the original mythos, and build their takes on the father-son relationship off that new foundation.

LMK, however, doesn't have that. We don't know if either version of the Patricide Arc is true for the show, or even given Nezha's particular backstory for this setting.

We don't know if we should just assume that Nezha's backstory in either JTTW or FSYY went down the same way, or given clues as to where it differs.

All we have are the on-screen interactions, and these consist mostly of Li Jing being his typical Lawful Stupid self.

Sure, there are weak attempts at making him more sympathetic: we are told, through Nezha, that he had been "working sooooo hard" to keep everything running after taking over as basically regent of the Celestial Realm, but again, we aren't shown that properly.

All I see is this guy who...I dunno, went out to get Starbucks or something when JE was kill, then showed up after everything was over to play the loyal minister and prosecute SWK and the gang for bullshit reasons.

(Which is coincidentally very accurate to his overall role in FSYY. Except FSYY's Li Jing was anything but the most sympathetic father figure.)

And because we are given no context for their relationship, their confrontation and reconcillation also feel rushed, falling completely flat when it comes to emotional impact.

Like, if we are to assume their backstory are mythos-accurate, then the whole thing makes no sense——neither "returning your flesh and blood" or attempted patricide can be shrugged off that easily.

If we are to assume it differ from the mythos...HOW and WHERE? Does the birth from a flesh ball happen? Is Nezha destined to be the Vanguard of the Zhou Army, or just a supernaturally powerful kid who can wreck the dragon king's crystal palace three days after his birth?

If he did kill Ao Bing and not just some random dragon, was it an accident, completely justified, or FSYY-accurate? Is his suicide forced or a willing sacrifice, done to save his parents? Did Li Jing destroy his temple? If the Attempted Patricide Arc happened, how was it resolved?

Change one of these, and it will have completely different implications on the Li Jing-Nezha relationship, yet we don't get a single answer to any of these questions.

As a result, the show's version of their relationship and conflict also feels very shallow and generic, your standard "The obedient son must finally stand up and find the courage to voice his opinion to his harsh but loving father——no real anger involved, of course!"

Which is a narrative divergent enough from the mythos as to require proper explanation, instead of being left up to the audiences' imagination, and also, in my opinion, far less interesting than it could have been.

For example: instead of learning to speak his mind (like he'd ever be afraid of doing that), the high point of their conflict is Nezha realizing that he has legitimate reasons to express his anger towards Li Jing for his short-sighted, unsound and overall Lawful Stupid decisions in the here and now, without it being a continuation of their old grievances or exploding into Patricide Arc 2: Electric Boogaloo.

And for someone whose limited characterization has been nothing but an unbroken chain of putting laws and loyalty above reason and common sense, it should take something a lot harsher and undeniable than "They aren't bad guys, dad!" to convince Li Jing.

Lastly, instead of the very cliched "I'm sorry, there's so much left unsaid, I'm proud of you" line, I'd prefer something that was less blatant and, though still awkward, more in line with the rewritten conflict above: sth like "You are right to be angry at me, and I won't mind if you never stop being so."

#lego monkie kid #lmk season 5 #lmk s5 spoilers #lmk li jing #chinese mythology #chinese folklore #lmk nezha #lmk critical

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luna-rainbow · 1 year ago

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i FINALLY watched Avengers: Age of Ultron (i'm a marvel fan because i've seen the characters on tumblr 🫣🫣) and i noticed in the scene where steve tries to lift the hammer he smirks with his face tilted kind of down, sort of like he's trying to hide his face. SO i wanted to know,, do you think he knew he could lift the hammer way back then and just didn't say anything? i knew that scene existed, but i assumed he didn't know that Thor stopped him... maybe not? *grabby hands* what thoughts do you got?

Thanks for the ask, nonnie!

I am not very well-versed in the Thor mythos, but it's impossible to talk about this scene without discussing what lifting Mjolnir actually means. "Whosoever holds this hammer, be he worthy, shall posses the power of Thor" -- and there is a lot of debate on what exactly this "worthiness" means. In particular, what does it mean when you consider that blessing is bestowed by Odin, the ruler of Asgard, and instigator of many wars and (again I haven't watched the Thor movies in years so don't quote me) near-genocides. That said, when Odin set out to strip Thor of his powers in the first movie, the older Odin is a very different God to his younger days, and there is a sense of ruefulness about his past victories. Based on the first movie alone and its depiction of what Thor learned before becoming "worthy", I feel that the core values are around selflessness and compassion and humility, as opposed to being a brutal and ruthless and egocentric monarch. So, while there is some value in the interpretation of Mjolnir being a judge of worthiness for a monarch, I tend to lean towards the interpretation of Mjolnir making a judgement for a benevolent leader. (But yeah, the Thor franchise is also about as consistent as the Cap franchise...ie. the third movies really dropped the bundle on themes and character arcs).

Now onto the scene in question!

I like both popular interpretations of this scene -- that Steve could lift it but decided not to. I mean, it's a pretty difficult scene to physically enact with a light prop, but the close-up of Evans' hands would support this theory. You can see his hands loosening as the hammer shifted and his loose grip sliding back on the handle (rather than a true slip from gripping something heavy). There's all sorts of reasons for why Steve wouldn't want to lift it -- he felt it would spoil the party, he didn't want to deal with the ribbing or questions afterwards, he has no use for Mjolnir, he knows how important Mjolnir is to Thor and doesn't want him to distrust that magic link.

I also like the second interpretation that Steve had to further grow as a person before being able to lift Mjolnir in Endgame. Again, it could be for a variety of possible reasons: Steve needing to truly separate from his "Captain America" identity between Civil War and Infinity War, or Steve truly growing into his defiance of authorities, or maybe even something as simple as Steve having some measure of accepting grief and loss, because he's certainly gone through a lot of that between Infinity War and Endgame.

To be quite honest, the most poetic ending they could have given Steve was to die in that battle. He was worthy of wielding Mjolnir because he was once again -- just like on the Valkyrie all those decades ago -- ready to lay down his life for the rest of mankind.

#steve rogers #steve rogers meta #asks

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milky-rozen · 24 days ago

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Hello 🤗, I’ve kind been following your project for months now and I have to say I’m glad people are still acknowledging Egyptian Mythology. I know it doesn’t really have all the drama and pizzaz I suppose Greek or Roman mythos does which is why people like it more, however I find your work refreshing because it seems like you actually care about Egyptian Mythos. I’ve been obsessed with it for years and I’ve even done my own research over the years myself and could never fully understood why people didn’t care for it as much. Even after watching Hollywood Blockbuster films like “Gods of Egypt” the movie frustrated me in so many ways but the biggest one being that it felt like a knockoff of Clash of the Titans. So I’m done with my little rant but I was curious on what sparked your interest in making this project? How often are you taking creative liberties with your story? Also how do you come up with such creative designs for your characters will also keeping the historical consistency of Ancient Egypt?

P.S. Hope this all made sense 😀

Heya!

So, first of all, thank you so much for your kind words, they really made my day!

Second of all, let me reply to all of your questions in order so I don't forget anything lol

Ok so, as for what sparked my interest in making this project, It all started with me playing a mythology-themed video game called Dislyte. I've always been into Egyptian Mythology since I can remember, but when I was a kid, things were a bit different from now and I didn't have access to the Internet as I have now as my father would set up a limited screen time for me and my sister on the computer, and also at that time, I just didn't know how to research things properly lol. So, nostalgia led me to explore new and old media about Egyptian mythology and do some proper academic research to get to know the main and minor myths better. During this "research phase" I discovered the Korean manhwa Ennead, which inspired me and my character designs a lot. Afterwards, as I realized how little material exists about this mythology in particular, I decided to create something myself that could help fill that gap, something that could bring people together and spark their interest so that I could have someone to talk to about Egyptian Mythology lmaooo. But also, I always wanted to work on an original comic series and so I thought that this could have been the best time to start! And so, House of the Sun was born!

Now, talking about artistic liberty, it really depends on the comic we're talking about. In Thoth's Library, I try to be as accurate as possible to the actual myths, only taking some artistic liberty when I need to link some facts that would otherwise sound a bit random and incohesive to the narration, adding some motivations and sub-plots to link all the stories together while trying to stay true to the original sources. Although, this might change in some future arcs. In Young Horus, although some connections are accurate, I decided to fill all the gaps I could with an original coming-of-age story for Horus the Younger to create something new and have fun with it, so the majority of the things happening in the comic are purely fictional. Of course, I always make sure to put a disclaimer for that in every episode just in case ahahah

As for the inspiration behind the character designs, I wanted to create something very personal and somewhat accurate in terms of clothing and overall presentation without including those classic elements we all know, like the animal heads or masks we often see in other media. I was especially inspired by something I noticed in Ancient Egyptian art, like the fact that some gods like Ra have both a human and animal form, and so I was like, you know what? I'm leaving the animal iconography to other contexts, I'm going full human this time lmao. Well, kind of, since I still wanted to include some animal traits that are very iconic to Egyptian art, like the tails (often used in classic Egyptian iconography to depict power and royalty), the ears and sometimes the paws too because, why not? 😂

Man, this was a very long reply lol I tried to be as brief as possible but I'm not good at it honestly ahah soooo, thanks for sticking with me so far! 😂 and, oh! Before I forget , Happy New Year!

#milky answers #house of the sun

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eobarried · 2 years ago

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ok let’s talk about miguel o’hara because it needs to be done. i want to clarify that this is not a hate post or anti-miguel in any sense, but it is a critical analysis of his character and role in the spiderverse. if you don’t feel like you can read this right now, i suggest you like it/save it for later and read it when you feel like you can with an open mind

especially for anyone who’s a miguel enjoyer (i consider myself one as well) because if you really love his character, it’s important to understand why his character was created and what a great narrative tool it is! anyway-

miguel o’hara is, allegorically, a bigot.

now - let’s unpack and clarify that. miguel is allegorically a bigot - his character is used to represent a certain, specific type of bigotry we see in real life. notice how i’m saying “bigot” and not “racist” - because despite the memes, i don’t think miguel’s hatred of miles is rooted in antiblackness. i think it’s rooted in something a little more complicated, which is why i’m using the term bigotry. but this can be a little confusing, so let’s start from the beginning. or, at least, the most important part.

the canon.

i want you to really think about the word used here - canon. hearing that word should break the fourth wall for you, just like hearing “he’s got hammerspace!” should have earlier in the movie - or discussions different characters have surrounding their distinct art styles. it’s meant to break the fourth wall and draw attention to itself. specifically, the use of the word canon here is meant for us to take a step back from the in-universe events (treating the characters as “real” people and looking at events logically) and instead think of the spiderman story and mythos.

spiderman, as a story, has been told over and over again. we, as an audience, are deeply familiar with this story, as we’ve seen it as a live-action blockbuster in no less than three separate franchises. that’s not even mentioning all the cartoon adaptations, and of course the comic runs. adhering to a specific formula surrounding the story makes sense. when someone walks into a spiderman movie, they have certain... expectations. that no matter what version of spiderman this is, that they follow certain story beats and adhere to certain rules as they follow along in their journey. miguel, when explaining this to miles, focuses on said story beats (which i’ll get to in a second), but there’s something that’s way more important than specific plot points that we need to address here.

and that’s theme.

theme (if you’re not an english literature person), is basically something you take away from the story. it’s usually a moral, idea, or concept that can be applied to the world around you, and helps you learn more about yourself, society, culture, or history. all stories have themes - usually they have multiple. so let’s get into it.

the original spiderman comic was notable in several ways. the thing that made spiderman so popular and successful is that he was the first (notable) teenage superhero that wasn’t a part of a greater team. spiderman wasn’t a sidekick that was written in to appeal to an audience of children. he was a teenager himself - but he was no less competent or strong than the (mostly adult) villains he fought.

and not only was spiderman a kid - he was the kid. he was a nerd. he was an older white teen, yes - but he represented the type of person who would go out and buy a comic book more than any other hero at the time. before he became spiderman, peter parker was just kind of a geek. at the time (the 60s) this still identified him as an outcast. peter was socially awkward, not good with girls, he didn’t have many friends, and he was bullied consistently. the only thing he was good at was science, basically. we can connect peter’s original portrayal to many legitimately marginalized groups - specifically those that might be autistic and impacted by ableism. to those kids reading that comic, they saw a hero that represented them.

and how does peter represent them? what does spiderman teach these children by reading these comics? the original spiderman is the story of a man who, by chance, was granted the opportunity for greatness - to become an integral part of his community. spiderman uses his skills (both those granted to him by the spider, but also those that he inherently has, such as his skills with science and engineering), in order to prove his worth and merit. it’s lonely, the road he has to walk - he can’t tell his friends and family who he is, lest they become victims like uncle ben - or lest they betray him. he can only rely on himself and his own knowledge in order to protect his community. the themes we draw from spiderman are this: luck can strike at any time, but you need to use your own strength and intelligence to pull yourself up afterwards, no matter how hard things get. no matter how many people you lose.

that’s what miguel believes spiderman is about. this original spiderman story is that of the american dream. of a youth who is ostracized by society (for whatever reason), but is still able to use their own merit to overcome the obstacles placed in front of them and the grief and pain they face on their path to greatness. it’s a hard and lonely path, but miguel values anyone who has the bravery to face it.

so why does he hate miles?

because he didn’t do it alone. because miles doesn’t believe in the traditional american dream.

if you want to read more about that, check out my analysis comparing spider-society and visions academy over here (it’s not as in-depth as i would like it to be, but it gets the job done) but basically: miles believes that every person deserves greatness. he states it very clearly when talking to his dad about how he won the lottery to go to visions: he just got lucky. he feels as if he took an opportunity away from someone else. why is it just given to him, when anyone else at brooklyn middle is just as deserving of an amazing education? when these resources should be put to use to uplift his whole community, not just miles alone?

miles brings that same energy as a spider-person. he’s not just an anomaly because his spider was from a different dimension. he’s an anomaly because he had a mentor. not only a mentor - he had a whole clan of spider-people there for him. while peter b parker and the crew weren’t always very good allies for miles, they still wanted him to succeed. each spider-person was an outcast - not in the same way as miles, but they were eager to describe what miles needed to master in order to keep himself safe as a crime-fighter. although they weren’t always supportive, it wasn’t because they were “gatekeeping” - it’s because they were worried miles might hurt himself. to them, he hadn’t put in the work on his own, and because he hadn’t proven himself as a spider-person in isolation, they thought there was no way he could be successful as a spider-person during a very high-risk mission.

however, miles proves them wrong. it’s true that miles has to pull upon his own inner strength, but he also pulls on wisdom from those that mentored him - his father, his uncle aaron, peter parker, and peter b parker. as well as love and support from his community. miles became spiderman - but not in isolation. he had help, and support, and love - always - that helped him succeed.

because spiderman - in all universes - represents success in america. in the original comics, spiderman is able to overcome his status as an outcast in order to help his city. he now has great power - a potential allegory related to wealth and social or political status. he uses that power in order to protect the community he loves (nyc) as they can’t all protect themselves.

now let’s bring it back. miguel. right.

miguel has already made his mark as a spiderman. although we know he broke canon, it wasn’t related to him becoming spiderman. we can assume that miguel still went through serious struggle and trauma to get to where he’s at. and now, through thematic analysis, we know that becoming spiderman represents success in america.

so, miguel’s dislike of miles, thematically, connects to how older generations may believe that younger generations “have it too easy” or “don’t put in the same effort.” it’s the (mainly capitalistic) ideal that in order to succeed, it has to be in isolation, without outside help. we can infer that miguel is not only upset that miles didn’t do things “canonically” - but that he is afforded success that miguel doesn’t think he deserves. miguel believes that in order to succeed in america, one needs to do it on their own, and suffer in order to succeed. no “hand-outs,” no support, no community outreach. it’s a very rigid capitalistic standard - which is why i called it “bigoted.” miguel is still a marginalized figure - and it’s important that miguel is the one stating the viewpoint, not a white spiderman. because this isn’t a white vs black storyline. miguel’s dislike of miles is specifically a sort of generational, inter-community bigotry.

for someone who hasn’t experienced it - think of it like hazing. you join a new sports team. the senior players say “you carry the equipment out and clean everything after the game.” you ask “why? can’t we all just do it together? aren’t we supposed to be a team?” and they say “no. you’re the new guys. hard work builds character. deal with it.”

alright. so we took a look at canon through a meta-story lens. now let’s pull it back even further.

so, miguel’s ideology. he adheres firmly to canon, a series of events that cannot (or, should not), change. if we apply that to our lives, that sounds a lot like predestination. destiny. fate. let’s call it predestination for now - you’ll see why in a minute.

now, a belief in predestination makes sense. it can bring a lot of people comfort, thinking that horrible events are out of their hands, and often times it can be harmless to believe in predestination in these instances. for example: someone who blames themselves for not being able to say goodbye to a loved one who died suddenly. if this person believes in predestination, it might ease some of their pain and guilt to know that there was nothing they could do - that it was the will of some higher power that their loved one is gone, and that there was nothing they could do to prevent it. some individuals might find comfort in knowing that they are not to blame for the work of the universe.

however, predestination can also be malicious. thinking that things are the will of the universe, or the will of god... that’s been used for some pretty fucked up stuff in the past. in a more moderate (and topical) example - royalty. many kings used the concept of predestination to explain why they deserved the crown. their bloodline was chosen by god himself - that’s why they’re powerful (compare to spider-people and their success. if they are also predestined for their spider-bite, doesn’t that make them akin to monarchs?)

in more nefarious examples, predestination can be used to subjugate and oppress others. predestination was used in ancient indian society in order to justify the caste system - utilizing the hindu concept of karma to justify why certain members of society were mistreated and oppressed. in a more american sense, predestination was often used as a way to justify both slavery and segregation. originally, slavers tried to justify that god wanted black individuals to serve as slaves because it was his will. later, when divine intervention fell out of fashion, they attempted to use eugenics to justify that black individuals were simply born inferior - that it was just science, and that there was nothing they could do about it.

that’s the other reason it’s called canon. the original usage of the word was to refer to the books of the bible that the church recognized as legitimate. it ties back to faith and religion.

now, religion, faith, and even the belief in fate itself - are not inherently bad. miguel’s belief in predestination doesn’t make him a bad or bigoted person inherently. however, the way he forces other to believe and adhere to it is. it’s very likely that miguel became so attached to the canon in order to justify why his wife and daughter died - in order to remove his own accountability for their passing and instead place the blame on some higher power. this belief snowballed out of control, however - and now influences his jealousy and distaste for miles and his way of life.

because forcing a canon - a story - on miles, is wrong. when miguel tells miles that his father must die, that he has to adhere to canon - that’s a horrible thing to say to a young black boy. to tell him that in order to be successful as a marginalized individual (to be spiderman) that he has to lose the last black male role model he has? it’s heinous! it’s akin to telling miles that in order to succeed, he has to cut ties with part of his culture. which does happen to young marginalized people in america. they are told that in order to be successful, they have to leave their culture, community, and support system behind.

it’s especially sinister when looking at it from the point of view of storytelling. when looking at it from that angle, miguel is basically telling miles that in order for his story - the story of a young black boy - to be profitable, he has to go through even more trauma and loss. it’s similar to what his guidance counselor mentions when discussing how miles should write his college entrance essay - that he should lie, and emphasize that he struggles while growing up, and that his support system was unstable. it’s the traditional story of a struggling black boy - which i discuss more here when talking about earth 42 miles and his inclusion in the spiderverse.

miguel’s bigotry is centrally tried to his idea of what american society expects of marginalized individuals who were able to achieve their dreams despite it all. a story of pain and struggle. one where they were able to - only through their own strength and intelligence, and maybe with a little bit of luck - pull themselves up, and quietly work towards their own success.

miguel’s belief in the american dream and predestination not only influences his treatment of miles, but also his creation of spider-society. now, let me be frank: miguel, in this franchise, is not supposed to represent someone who created systematic oppression. he’s simply one of the people who believed in bigoted ideals and allowed those ideals to influence his decisions. because when miguel created spider-society, it basically became an elitist isolation chamber. spider-society is located in a huge tower on miguela’s earth. the tower is so tall and imposing on the utopian landscape, there’s no way that miguel is able to properly support his own community as spiderman - he’s not worried about what happens to his own community. especially once we learn that a good portion of them live underground, where miguel can’t even see them. even if he wasn’t occupied with anomalies at all times, there’s no way he could even connect with nueva york around him.

the same can be said of all the spider-people in headquarters. they’re not even in their home dimensions. how can they possibly support their communities when they have isolated themselves as far away as they could literally be? it parallels how successful individuals often treat their communities in reality - what do wealthy people usually do at the first sign of their wealth? they build a huge mansion to get away from it all. many times in our capitalist society, wealthy and successful people abandon the communities they should be supporting.

miguel represents that. he is a successful, powerful person, who decided to focus only on other successful, powerful people like him. marginalized people who achieved the american dream on their own. people who, instead of uplifting others, instead tear down those who don’t fit into their “mold.” who are successful in their own right, but don’t hold the same ideals and values that they do. who aren’t the model example of marginalized success in the eyes of the (white) american “audience.”

miguel is a product of a great problem within society. while he partakes and perpetuates bigotry, that doesn’t mean that he’s irredeemable. the narrative shows that miguel is a broken man. if we think about to the end credits scene from itsv, where he calls his dimensional travel bracelet a “goober” - he wasn’t always so hateful. he wasn’t always like this. he can un-learn his bigotry and he isn’t completely lost. the way that he discusses his ideas - it’s clear that he knows that there are flaws in them, just as other spider-people consistently point out. he can be changed and improved - just like our real leaders and role models can be changed and improved. miguel is not without saving - but it’s important to remember that he does need to be saved.

#Spiderverse #across the spiderverse #across the spider-verse spoilers #into the spider verse #miguel o'hara #meta analysis

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a-s-levynn · 3 months ago

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Okay so i finished Kaos a few days ago, and all in all, it is a fun series to watch. In short: it is a fresh take on the "ancient gods in the modern era" and i love that. It does some clever takes on the myths. I like it.

A bit (a lot) longer, and maybe a smidge spoilery in one particular case, as spoilery you can get with something with a pretty well known source material:

So. Let me get through the more.. negative-ish things? Ish, because i wouldn't say there is anything de facto bad with the series. Everything boils down to preference. What could become a negative is usually used in a way that at least levels out or even turned into an advantage. The writers clearly knew what they had to work with and what they wanted to do with it and pulled through.

I have to preface this, the series is very very contemporary and very much netflix. It is super consistent with it tho, which creates this effect of not really feeling too much or forced. It also makes some parts feel safe, but it doesn't affect it neither positively nor negatively which is both surprising and really cool. Especially these days. It just is. And i love that for it.

Also it is not my favourite thing ever. Here is where the personal taste thing comes in. I usually don't really love to see our contemporary (tho mostly western) world in a fantasy (even if urban) setting this heavily but this one does it in a refreshingly campy, not too serious way that makes sense for the story. I can't say i was able to be fully immersed but it never pushed me out either. It kept me hooked and i very much enjoyed my time with the show. I'm also sad i never going to get to see the conclusion because netflix canceled it like everything worth watching for the past few years.

There are some changes to the myths and mythical characters that some people would not vibe with, but i don't mind. I love recontextualizations of things i know when it is done with both purpose and thought behind it. I'm not saying this is the smartest series ever but the writing is consistent, a story makes sense and thank fucking god the dialogues are actual dialogues.

There is some inherent stupidness to all of it but we are in the realm of dark comedy. It works. The show knows exactly what it is and works with it very nicely. It's cohersive, and enjoyable. It does not want to be more than it is. Which i appreciate.

Also way too fucking short. For god sake can we start making 10-12 episode series? The amount of exposition they dumped into these handful of episodes, not leaving room to breathe is painful. Or just leave out some exposition. I don't have to know everything verbatim. Let me think, let me use my brain. Let me get to really know the characters.

But on the other hand most of the characters being stereotypes work here beautifully. Because we are based in the myths. Which all work with stereotypes. And this. This is why i say this is a smarter than most your average shows. They know what they have to work with and how turn it to an advantage. Or at least don't let it become a hindrance.

That said, i like this show. No small part to that is the cast, and boy this thing has an awesome cast. I am biased. Heavily. But this is a great cast of actors on all realms. Goldblum as Zeus is such a based idea and so fittnig. Also this show probably has the best depictions of Hera, like, ever? I kinda wish D had a bit more to him, but i figured his character was supposed to grow more over the planned three seasons. Well alas.

Also shoutout to my man Thewlis as Hades. I love that man in nay everything. No wonder he is one of the main characters of my favourite movie. Anyway. The rest of the cast is great. Probably the weakest for me was Killian Scott as Orpehus and even he wasn't bad. Just mostly one tone.

That said. I enjoy the spins on the mythos'. Especially our main pair's. The most well known part of the Orpeus and Eurydice story is the you can't look back, trust that she follows and i was waiting for it the whole time. I was kinda sad not seeing it and that is why Eurydice asking Orpheus to look back at her, and him saying "i don't want to look at you, because you are not coming with me" part hit so much.

I kinda wish he would have just left without looking back. I understand the scene (and the series at this point) needed some release of the tension and somberness but man.. imagine if he just... walks away, never looking back. And maybe it get's resolved along the line in like the next or 3rd season. If those ever would be a thing.

Anyway.

I think i rambled on long enough. I could cherrypick moments i aslo liked and maybe make an attempt at those i didn't but i feel it's redundant. This is a good show at the end of the day and i don't want to over analyze it in my head.

Because as i said, all in all i loved this show a lot. It is a fun watch, and i might rewatch it again somewhere along the line because there are exceptionally cool moments peppered through. Especially the darker ones. Both the writing and the acting is great. I am genuinly bummed there is not going to be further seasons.

#levynn watches stuff

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mysillylittleseerblog · 2 years ago

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Valhalla is not heaven, and other reasons fascists are dumb dumbs.

The utterly, bewildering, so funny it's depressing thing about neo n@z1s and blanc enthusiasts being so fucking quick to appropriate Norse iconography as a symbol of their "proud heritage" is that they consistently demonstrate a grasp on Norse Mythology as deep as the Marvel Cinematic Universe does. Not a dig on the MCU, but, let's just say creative liberties is an understatement when it comes to representing Norse Mythology.

The primary point of interest boils down basically to the concept of the "exhalted warrior death." As fascism is the ideology of hero worship, on a surface level, this makes sense. Old Norse Culture was one largely defined by conflict and vikinging as a trade.

Many Norse beliefs are shaped by, designed to inspire and exhalt the warrior who fights without fear. Their society in part relied on "the hero warrior."

Couple things though:

1. Not all Norsemen were vikings, and you REALLY aren't one.

You think the Norse belief system was so heavily lazer focused on a single profession in what needed to be an entire functioning community everyone that wasn't a viking was poopooed to damnation and/or a dishonorable life? No bitch. "Hel" in Norse mythology is just where the dead ARE. It's a very morally neutral place to be. Hel be vibin'. Odin, Freya, and possibly Njord were collecting souls for a very specific reason. That being . . .

2. The souls of warriors were being brought to Valhalla (among other places) to train for a final battle THEY WERE DESTINED TO LOSE.

Y'all fucking forgot about Ragnorok didn't you? The souls in Valhalla are being conscripted to a suicide mission. It's a place of honor to be chosen, but it's not a reward.

The training is apparently honestly a bitch in a half in it of itself supposedly. I guess you get god mead, though. Sit next to Odin at the big boy table, maybe. An afterlife of pain and awaiting doom for beer and for daddy to notice you.

That's the thing, though. Valhalla isn't supposed to be Heaven. It aligns with many other Norse Myths in that it exhalts to bravery in the face of certain annihilation. Valhalla as a function of beleif designed to psychologically break past the human instinct to prioritize self-preservation. The quality in which it exhalts is not the hero's death, but embracing doom. THAT'S WHY Odin chose warriors who died WITH WEAPON IN HAND, as in, they already faced one destruction, they can face another.

The army of Valhalla weren't even the only deaths of honor Odin recognized one could achieve. The Volva were all very much in Hel once they died, and they are all distinguished as Odin's special little future-seeing squad in the mythos too. And that's JUST Odin, ignoring the other gods who chose souls for their armies.

Norse mythology, ironically to the point of head-exploading farce, spits in the face of the concept of the Hero's Death as defined by fascism. "Dying for the cause" is a Christian/Abrahamic value that they are retroactively interjecting into Norse belief because historical self-insert fanfiction that is the Arian Mythos. There's no fucking point in training and fighting in Ragnorok, everyone is destined to fail, everyone knows it, and that's the fucking point.

The concept of Ragnorok and Valhalla was not even universal among the Norsemen. The inevitability of death and rebirth is just kind of a given as a natural truth in most pagan beliefs. Everyone you know and love is going to die, and then something else will come from the ashes. Literally "chill bro it be like that sometimes."

And if that's not enough to convince you fascists don't actually know shit about Norse mythology, I can tell you all about how fucking gay it is.

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seungkwanslowqualityenglish · 1 year ago

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Tides of the Soul

✿ Synopsis: All places have their secrets and mythos. Some places the mythos come with a grain of salt, the idea of reality blurring with imagination, sparking the joy within the lives of the residents. But, sometimes those myths are not as imaginary as one would assume, they being the cornerstone of society within your small island home. As you find yourself the owner of the coat of a selkie, thoughts are torn between two extremes of what to do, as you find yourself falling in love with the one who is unwillingly bound to your soul.

✿ Who: Asakura Jo (&Team) x Reader ✿ Word Count: 11,462 ✿ Genre: Fantasy(selkie)/Angst/Fluff/Sad ✿ Warnings: Forced marriage. ✿ Request: No ✿ Enjoy.

At the age of nine your father disappeared into the night. Without a word, he was gone. Living in a small coastal sea town, you had grown used to the amount of people that would go out to sea and never return. The sheer number of young widows turned the town into a hotspot for men wanting to settle down with people that already had an established life. And even more grim, a hotspot for funeral homes, after all the easiest funeral to hold is one where there is not a body for the directors to worry about or get ready. Whole streets consisted of numerous stores dedicated to selling items related to mourning, entire stores full of nothing but sorry for your loss cards, and shop fronts advertising their lines of all black children’s and adult’s clothing.

Children grow up associating every ship sailing as a forever goodbye. Their fathers and brothers going out to sea, and oftentimes never being seen alive again. Returning is rarer than those who get lost at sea. The rarity of returns often lead to large celebrations, ending in the whole town wasted and destroyed, a cost that the town can afford seeing how sparingly the sailors return. Losing a father or brother is something that all children are raised to expect, along with losing a step-father or step-brother, and in some cases multiple step-fathers. The reality of seeing a struggling single mother is more common than seeing a happily married couple, and the rarest of all being a father. The torental sea claims the lives of most that attempt to conquer it, ships and people embracing the waves, just to never be seen again. The waves claimed each ship, like an offering to some sea gods, or sinking each ship like an angered sea god, punishing those who were foolish enough to trek out onto their territory. A way of living associated with death and loss, something that even the youngest of children are accustomed to.

At the age of nine your mother had no attempts to provide you any sort or form of closure regarding your father. A midnight voyage, she called it, claiming he just decided to up and leave, working is better in the dark, she claimed he said. But, she changed the story every time you asked, a fishing trip, a work trip, a midnight voyage, a sailing trip, and running away from their family, being too ashamed to ask for a divorce, and many other stories she would tell. It all made no sense when you were nine, and now as a young adult, it made even less sense. His ship was not outfitted to be a fishing vessel, he would not have been foolish enough to make a voyage without notifying his family of where he was going, and he also was not stupid enough to go on a fishing trip without at least including his friends or his working buddies.

There were many things your father was, sometimes not the best dad, sometimes forgetful of important things and events, and sometimes it felt like he was not completely there, but there was one thing that he was not, and that was stupid. You never believed the claims of a midnight voyage, the late night fishing trip, a late night work trip, and especially never believed your mothers claims that he was cheating and left to be with the other woman. He would not have left you. He never would or could have, if he really did leave for you, you know that he would have had you right alongside. He wouldn’t have left you like your mother claimed, he wasn’t that type of father. He loved you more than he loved his own wife, and he made sure that you knew that small fact.

The town newspaper had become an obituary and in memoriam paper, with the sheer amount of death by sea in the area vastly outnumbering the number of current and positive events happening in the town. As you tossed the paper on the table, all you could think was about how at this point they might as well make it a solely death related paper, after all out of the 30 pages, only 3 were about things that are not death. 27 pages of obituaries and in memoriams, compared to a single page on current events, and then two pages of ads. Looking down at the paper, starting to wonder why your mother had gotten it today, she never bought the paper, saying it was too grim, too dark for her. Reading through the pages with nothing more than a quick glance on each, you finally saw the reason why on one of the backpages. Within the block text was a name that looked familiar, it finally hit you after a few moments, it was your father’s name. It brought back the memories of when you were nine, your mom keeping you home from school to break the news, despite it being almost eleven years ago, the member was fresh in your mind, like it only happened yesterday. The pain you felt as your mother said he was lost at sea flooded your mind, how only the figurehead from the bow of his ship was found, how it washed ashore in the wee hours of daylight, and how it meant more than likely your father was gone now. The anniversary of his death always affected you much worse than your mother, she showed no emotion, but also at this point she not only had your father to mourn, but also two other husbands she had lost to the sea since then, luckily step-dad three had yet to suffer the same fate, but you also knew it was only a matter of time.

It was none other than her voice that knocked you from your reverie, as she called you from elsewhere in your house. Going upstairs, you failed to find her, before you finally realized she was calling you from the rarely used attic, a room you were forbidden from entering as a child, and hadn’t sought entry to even as an adult. Climbing up the rickety old steps, you found yourself face to face with a slew of dusty boxes thrown about, materials collected from your mother’s various marriages, old antiques passed down through the line, and old toys of your own that you could have sworn she said they donated. It did not take long for you to find the reason you came up here, your mother standing on the far edge, surrounded by boxes, elbow deep digging through one.

Without even announcing your entry, she seemed to know that you had entered, starting to talk without even acknowledging your entry with a look. “Do you recall all those old myths and folklore that I taught you as a child?” she started, with an innocent enough question, “I want you to tell me what you remember.’

It was an odd request, the folklore, of course you remember it, well some of it, but not all of it. You can recall the tales of the fairies and the fae, the mermaids and mermen, the sirens and the dwarfs, and many others. “What tale is it you want specifically,” you start to ask your mother, “there are so many, you need to be specific.” The tall tales were something you remember vividly, the glorious image your mother and father had painted in your mind as a young child, something that you failed to forget. Memories of how passionate your father was as he spoke of these creatures, a fresh memory in your mind, it was hard to forget, how he was so descriptive with his words, helping you easily paint a vivid scene, from just the stories.

“Start telling them,” her voice called out from across the attic, “I’ll let you know when you get to the right one.” Of course there was a specific tale she wished for you to tell, but making it hard as she always did, she refused to tell you just which one. It was almost as though she liked playing the guessing game, or maybe she just liked telling you that you were wrong, both were valid answers to the question when your mother was the subject.

With the plethora of tales, you had no idea where you intended to start, maybe the sea tales, or maybe the mountain tales, or the plain tales, or maybe the air tales, or maybe just cycling through them all until she finally says yes. “The fairies lay claim to the wooded forest on the forbidden side of the island,” you started, only to hear her grunt in disapproval. One tale down, but still you had many many many others to go through. “The dwarfs and gnomes are rumored to have lived in the foothills, building homes within the small rocky hills, where no one dares to roam,” once again it was met with disapproval. “The goblins that live on the forest edge, taking a liking to being around the farms, occasionally stealing livestock and being mischievous, but they are also known for helping out those same farmers in their time of need.” Once again, wrong. “The giants, it is said, made homes in the mountains, atop the tallest ones, where the village people knew better than to go.” As your mother started to grunt, you carried on, “the kelpies lived upon the lake side. The fae lay claim to where no fairy would cross.” She continually cut you off, but you continued. “The mermaids swim upon the rivers and the beach’s cove, guardians to those on land, savior of young children that fall into the water, and aiding those lost at sea back.” Finally, your mother made a noise of approval, but still did not confirm it was the right tale, meaning you had reached the right location of the tale, but not the right tale. “Sirens would lay posed against the jagged rocks surrounding the dangerous whirlpools and treacherous rock spines, singing of the sailors most sought after desires, whether it be material items or others, their beautiful singing alluring the sailors to their death.” Seeing your mother shake her head, you were almost at a snapping point, what other tale was there, what could it be your mother wanted to hear, the Loch Ness perhaps, or maybe the tales of the mermen. “What story is it you want then? I’ve gone through everyone that I know, that I can remember at least. Just tell me which tale it was you were looking for, since I have the faintest clue which tale it is that you want.” You finally admit to your mother, somewhat defeated, after all which tale was it she wanted, seeing how all of them failed to satisfy her need for a tale.

A deep groan came from the attic corner, as you maneuvered your way through the stuffy and dusty room over to your mom. “There is one more tale that you forgot, or maybe I never taught it to you. That couldn’t be it, I know I taught you about it, you were just a foolish child who probably forgot it.” She started, being quick to insult you, it was not anything new, anyone that stayed around your mother for a prolonged period of time was bound to realize how narcissistic she was. “Was it not as memorable as the others, what I taught you about it had no tales of death or epic stories building up to an amazing climax. It was just a simple creature that consumed the whole tale, nothing extravagant, and nothing more than that.” She started, for a moment you thought that she just was not going to tell you what it was she wanted, yet at least for once she told you what it was that she wanted. “You recall the tales of the selkie, now don’t look at me like that you child. They were brief tales, as a child there wasn’t much to teach you about the creature.” Pausing, she looked up finally, almost like she was expecting a reply, but you knew better, as she continued. “The selkies are a simple creature, they are seals, but upon shedding their skin turn human. That much I remember telling you, the basics, since as a child you need not know more of the lore than that. But you’re an adult now, and I think it’s time you learn the rest of the tale.” Your mother finished. As she finished, you could say with complete certainty that the woman never told you tales about selkies, but you also knew telling her that would not bode well in your favor. She continued searching before finally finding what it was in the box that she was looking for. Standing up she shows you a worn fur coat, before making her way across the room to where you stood.

“The rest of the tale?” you questioned, your voice trailing off. It was odd, just this whole situation. Being in the attic was odd occurrence number one. Demanding you to recall folklore was odd occurrence number two. Your mother needing to so desperately tell you about the tales of the selkie was odd occurrence number three. Now your mother is fishing out an old fur coat that looked like it hadn’t been worn in years, just to show it to you as she told you tales of the island’s mythology, odd occurrence number four. This was just a bit too much, after all your mother is one of those strong but silent types, you can recall her losing no tears over your father’s fate, nor any of the step-father’s fates that came afterwards. She was one of those ‘I’ll keep my feelings all bottled up in here, and then one day I’ll die types’, this was so unlike her, but it somehow intrigued you. The idea that your mother had some deep dark secret hidden up here in the boxes was interesting, and the idea that your mother seemed to have something major to tell you, led you to sit down next to her. The floor was cold and the room was damp, but the fact that she seemed to clear an area for you to sit, tells you that she had known what she was doing this dark morning.

Wordlessly your mother handed you the jacket, allowing you to see the fine brown fur. It was an aging article, the fur started to fall as it touched your hand, almost like it was disintegrating under your touch. She allowed you to study it, only speaking as she noticed you hold it up, almost as though you were to try it on. She could understand why you would think she wanted you to do that, usually when a family heirloom article of clothing is passed down, that is expected, but not with this jacket, not ever. “No, don’t, my child. You don’t want to try this on.” She reached out, pushing the jacket down, causing it to fall in both your lap and her own. “Now, you recall what I was telling you about, the tales of the selkies, how they shed their pelt and turn human, well it’s a bit more complicated than that. The selkies, their pelt is what lays claim to their soul, a soul that will be bound to whoever places the pelt upon their body. Folktales tell of ladies in the old days, often these would be ladies of the night or unmarried wenches, they would find these fine fur coats upon the ground at the beach, desiring the small bit of luxury that they often would not have been able to afford out of their meager wages, they would put the coat on, even if just to experience their desires of having the money to afford such a luxury. Oftentimes, they however would not place the fur back where it once was, instead their minds luring them to take it, to make it their own, since after all if the owner truly loved the fur, why would they leave it at the beach. Yet, these stories never ended there, instead they would be lured to the sea in the middle of the night, awaiting being the owner of the pelt, male or female awaiting the one they are now bound to. Placing the pelt on your body is like the mark of a soulmate, however there is often no love actually involved, often only desires to return to the sea and loveless marriages.” She said, pausing, like she was wondering how to finish the tale.

Looking at your mother’s face, you realize she is far from done, “From the look on your face, I assume there is more?” You ask, only to sigh as she nods.

Continuing her stories, she softly takes the fur from your hands, at that point it was completely in her lap, as she clinched it between both hands. “While tales tell of women happening upon these pelts by accident, there are also tales of how men happen upon these pelts. Sailors would wait upon the decks, watching the water, looking for things in specific, young women, especially attractive young women, then they would search for furs. To many of these men, pelts were a way to basically get a servant, a woman who would wait on your every beck and call, someone to manipulate that wouldn’t fight back, someone that they knew the law wouldn’t side with. These selkies would become their wives, but wives is a word that is too generous, oftentimes they were nothing more than servants, they would appease their husbands each and every whim, meals, housework, cleaning, and whatever they may want in the bedroom. Some of these men would even have multiple selkie wives, stealing each and every pelt they came upon. As the selkies aged, they would often be replaced by younger ones, over and over again until the sailors felt the need to get rid of them. Stories tell of men that had whole basements constructed for the housing of their unwanted wives, leaving the aged selkies to rot, refusing to let go of them, but also refusing to let them leave, a truly greedy thing some of these men would do. However, some were much more lucky, gaining their freedom, they were able to escape, however unable to return to the sea without their pelt. Some selkies were able to gain access to their pelts, finding them in hidden places and old boxes, returning to the sea before their husband had even realized they found it. But for many, the fate was much more grim, selkies rotting away in houses, longing to escape servitude, escape their loveless marriages, and dreaming to escape to the sea they so longed for. For a selkie, both male and female, once bonded, there is only one way to break the bond and allow them to return to the sea, and that is with their pelt. From the moment another puts it on, they are bonded to them until they get it back, once it returns to them, and they are able to wear it once more, they can return to the sea, back to their original form, and the partner they were once bonded with, the bond is broken, only able to be repaired if they once again gain access to the pelt and put it on, something that usually would never happen, they gained their freedom and wouldn’t return, instead warning the other selkies to stay away, in hopes of the same thing won’t be happening to them.” She finished, finally making eye contact with you, waiting to see your reaction as she slowly ran her hands over the slowly decaying fur.

Nodding your head, you wracked your brain, trying to think of when she had told you about this. But you can up with a blank, she had not ever mentioned selkies, nor did your father. Until today they were a creature you had yet to hear of, which was odd, especially seeing how your mother claims they related so deeply with the island’s culture and all. “That’s a bit grim,” you finally started, “they would take random furs in the hopes it was a selkie’s fur?” Looking up, you saw your mother nod her head. It was just a strange thing to say, they would steal and wear fur, in hopes they would get a husband or wife, an odd lore it was, possibly the oddest that you had learned regarding the island. “You said they aren’t bonded until they wear the fur, so does that mean that they are just like selkies out there without any fur, just like swimming around like mermaids or something?” You question, seeing how if your mother wanted to take the tale this far, you would just encourage her some more.

A short laugh came from your mother’s mouth. “Of course you would think of a question that isn’t covered in the story,” she started, “yet, I would assume that they do. If they lived on land, I’m sure we would realize this person with no family, home, or anything on land. Selkies are seals that can turn humans, so one would assume that they do, since seals like, have tails right?” she asked, before carrying on, taking it upon herself to preemptively answer any other questions you might have. “You might also wonder about destroying their fur, after all that was a question I had when your grandmother told me about this, but the many tales say different things. Some claim it destroys the bond, leaving the selkie feeling as though they will die if they don’t reach water within the hour, many dying from not making it. While others say it retains the bonds, but leaves the selkie unable to ever leave, they will stay bonded to that person forevermore. Yet, some tales say destroying the fur is equivalent to destroying the person, they will cease to exist, some say their memories are erased from your mind, while others claim memories of them remain but they just disappear.” she said, looking up once more. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but you know that I wouldn’t be telling you this if it wasn’t important. If it wasn’t something you need to know, especially before mother gets here.”

This was when confusion started to set in, something you needed to know before grandma got here. Why was she coming over today, why did you need to know another one of the island's tall tales before her visit, what was even going on. “Why, how is this important, is grandma gonna test me on my knowledge of our folklore or something?” you started to question, “Is she gonna ask me the selkies lore and then if I mess up be like, well you are out of my will now, or something?” it was confusing, why was it so important. These were just stories you were told as a kid, they held no importance in the adult world, except for things to tell your future children if you had any.

“It is a bit confusing my dear, but you just need to trust me, it will all make sense before long.” Was all your mother said, before she stood picking up the fur and folding it once more, well folding what was left of it. She placed it back into the dusty decaying box, closing it with a look as though that will be the last time it sees daylight. Looking over to her child, she gestures to the door. “Let’s go back downstairs, we can make some tea and snacks and wait for mother to arrive, before we continue this.”

You followed almost on autopilot, the only thing you felt at the moment was confusion, why was it so important for you to know all of this, what did grandma have to do with this, and why was all that junk shoved into the attic. These were all thoughts that ran through your mind as you went downstairs, starting to help your mother prepare for grandma’s visit. Tea in the kettle, some sandwiches and cookies placed on the platter, next to a platter of fruits and vegetables you knew would remain untouched, since your grandmother was not the time to indulge in fruits or vegetables, she would rather eat things she likes. There was one thing she always said ‘I won’t waste my caloric intake on foods I don’t like’, for being almost eighty she sure was a rowdy and rough one, bold enough to never back down from a fight, and a mouth that would make even a seasoned sailor blush.

It wasn’t long before you heard the door open, followed by a loud yell, “NOW WHERE ARE MY SWEETIES,” she yelled out. It was not something that phased you, she had a habit of calling everyone sweetie, it was often in a sweet way, but it always made you laugh when she would use it condescendingly, making people think she was some innocent little old lady, when those who knew her, know she is anything but. It wasn’t long before the kitchen door flew open, in walked a kaleidoscope of colors, she might be known for her boldness, and that even bled into her fashion taste, nothing matched, but she’d be damned if you could not recognize her from miles away. “Oh, you made some tea, did you make it how I like?” she questioned, seeing your mother nod, she accepted the answer, turning her attention to you. “Oh, look at you dearie, what are you now, thirty or so,” she started, acting like she couldn’t remember your age for a moment there, but you knew how smart she was, she wasn’t the type to forget birthdays or ages. “My, you’ve shot up like a beanstalk, well at least compared to me. My my my, my dearie, you’re all grown up now, twenty, it only seems like yesterday that you were a sweet babe crying in my arms. You were just a wee little one, now you’ve gone and all grown up on me, but you’re still my sweet little babe, no matter how old you get.” She said, taking your hand, leading you over to the table, wanting you to sit next to her. Leading you to a seat, she took her own, simply stirring her tea as your mother brought it over.

You were at a loss of words, it was not like your grandmother to get overly affectionate, she was not the doting grandmother many others had. Your earliest memory of her, was being three and she teaching you the f-word, you will never forget how red your mother became when you told her the word granny taught you, she always said if you were to inherit anything of hers, it should be her ability to make even the toughest of sailors blush within a few moments, but your mother nipped that in the bud rather quickly. As you looked over at your grandmother from your seat, you stirred your tea, unable to think of how to address this. The odd stories, the whole it’s important thing, it was just not making any sense to you. Luckily, it seemed as though your mother started to realize you were not going to say anything, so she piped up first.

“Now mother, we all know you love us, but would you maybe want to get along with it.” She said, taking a sip of her tea, “I know how much you like to spin your tales, a simple story turns into an hour long tangent, but I think the child here might be a bit too nervous for you to drag them along much longer.” Your mother said, placing a cube of sugar delicately into the tea cup, before stirring it, leaving it up for your grandmother to tell what was so important.

Grandmother was not used to taking orders, especially orders from one of her own offspring, but finally upon seeing the shade of white washing down your face, as you seemingly got cold chills, she decided to get straight to the point. “Now dearie, as you know all families have secrets, some are innocent while some are not so innocent. I mean, Mrs. Shepard down the street, her family to this day makes and sells backwoods moonshine, not that you heard it from me but it’s not strong enough. Then you remember your old school teacher, Mr. Barnes, his great grandfather was accused of kidnapping and murdering dozens of young women, he never got tried or caught, but most of us know it was true, after all he was the police chief and it was odd that each officer that accused him would end up dead by day's end. But besides that, some families have tales of murder and betrayals, while some have tales of bootleg liquor and drunks. Yet, there is another subsection of this, those who have something a bit more magical and mythical in their bloodline.” She started, drinking a bit of her tea before continuing. “You know, the imagination is a wondrous thing, it can help you create crazy stories and extravagant myths, but not every tale is as imaginary as you may think. Some things are just a bit too wild, a bit too crazy, a bit too detailed, a bit too described for them to be fake, for them to just be something created in someone’s head. They often call them myths, tales passed down from generation to generation, yet only those which are short and memorable really ever survive without being written down. Tales of giants that live in the mountains, are not true in the slightest. Tales of fae that trap humans down in the forest, not true as well. Stories of gnomes in the valley, once more, nothing more than a myth. But some tales are true, yet many may not know it.” She said, stopping once more, starting to drink her tea and eat some snacks. With the amount of talking she was going to have to do, explaining everything, she started to drink and eat, making sure to keep her energy up.

Looking at your grandmother, you had no idea how to process what you had just been told. Myths, real, unlikely. There were just so many things that don’t make sense, how would this not have been such a big thing, media coverage from all over the world now, if it was true at least. “But, what do you mean, there isn’t any way any of it can be true. I mean if it was why wouldn’t everyone know about it, someone would leak it, or tell the press. The worldwide media would be all over it, if it was true.”

Grandmother instead ignored your questions, carrying on as though you had said nothing. “To cut the bullshit short, there are two main myths that most don’t realize are real on our little island. The tales of the sirens and selkies, I know, how cute, water creatures for our little water surrounded home, but have you ever wondered how some show up with spouses that just manage to appear out of thin air, or how there are still some parts of the sea we have yet to map. How so many sailors disappear out at sea, but their spouses soon rebound with another like nothing ever happened. Oftentimes those sirens sink our ships, killing our men with their songs about their greatest desires, whether that be other women or something as stupid as a chocolate chip cookie. Selkies however are a bit more interesting, people find their furs, keeping them for when husband one or two or three or however many disappear at sea, then they have a quick and easy way to rebound, of course for the sake of the children.” she said, saying it like it was nothing, like she was not just dropping a ton of family lore information on you all at once. “Yet, dearie, our family is a bit different. We don’t use those furs as rebounds or even sometimes purposely send our husbands out on ships we know are going into the siren infested areas, yet we are involved in these myths in a secret way. I can’t tell you how far it goes back, but I remember stories from my mother about how her grandmother did this for her, how her grandmother did it for her, and how her grandmother did it for her, and here I am doing it for you.” She said, leaving off on another cliffhanger as she started to shovel food in her mouth once more.

“You probably haven’t noticed, but few in our family still remain married to their first spouse, and there is a reason for that. For as far back as I can remember, and as far back as our family has been told, our children’s first spouse is always one of mythical origins, that’s why oftentimes our families are small, it gives those my age a bit less work to do. Your father was one, your mother’s father was one, my own mother was one, and so forth. Each of us have more in common than just being related, all of us are related to selkies in some way. I know, it’s a lot to take in, but I’d rather give it to you in one big dose than in many smaller doses..” Grandma says, stopping for a second as she sees the confused look in your eyes, taking your hand, she runs her calloused thumb against the back of your hand, trying to calm you a bit before continuing. “Every time a child turns the age of twenty, their grandmother or grandfather will present them a fur that they’ve saved for them, the fur is of a selkie, the selkie which will be your first spouse. It’s a family tradition of sorts, it first started back when few lived on the islands, a way to escape the idea of marrying into your own blood, but before long it became the standard for our family, and will be the standard for you my child.”

As grandmother stopped, you looked between your mother and her horrified. “So let me get this straight, you just like steal some poor selkie’s fur and give it to your child, and we just like to get stuck with them, no way out, no exit, I just have to pass go and collect 200, I don’t get a choice in this.” You said, pulling your hand from your grandmother’s grasp, as they both nodded. “No. No, this is complete bullshit, I’m not just gonna marry someone I’ve never met, someone that I don’t love, just for some stupid tradition. Do I not matter? Do my feelings not matter? Does finding someone I actually love and care for do not matter to you?” You yelled, standing up, anger and disgust starting to build from what you had just heard. “Do I not matter? Did you only have a child to carry on this stupid archaic tradition, this barbaric thing? Did you ever think maybe they don’t want this either, you are stealing them from their life for something they didn’t want. Maybe they don’t want it either, and neither do I.” You yelled, finally having enough you ran out of the house, leaving your grandmother and mother yelling after you.

Leaving, you knew it was the better option than blowing up even worse. It was hard to think about, they planned on marrying you off to whoever’s pelt your grandmother had stolen. They planned on stealing them away from the life they lead, from the life they held, just to throw them in yours. You just found yourself running out of the house, running along the seaside until you found a small cliff on the beach, taking refuge in the rocks under the overhang. Finally you could start to try to make sense of everything they were telling you, but no matter how much you thought of it, none of it made sense. Selkies and sirens being real, what is next mermaids and the loch ness monster being real, maybe they’ll just tell you all those little myths you heard as a kid were real, since why the hell not, if a few are, all must be.

Part of your brain was hoping this was all just some elaborate prank, some idea your grandmother and mother came up with to prank you before your birthday celebration or something. But, deep down you knew it was anything but, neither of them were the pranking type, and neither would put this much effort into some old prank. They were both too serious for anything like that, and honestly even in the deepest pits of your soul, you knew they would not drop this. The small cliff was your refuge for who knows how many hours, you sat there while the sun was high in the sky, it was lower on the horizon when you finally made your way home. Rather than possibly chance talking to your mother and grandmother, you decided to run into the house and right up to your bedroom, avoiding them both for the best. However, as you made your run, you were too slow, they already knew you were there.

“Oh, so you finally came to your senses,” grandmother said snarkily as she watched you try to run in the house. Both her and mother knew you would make a break for it if you could, so they knew it would be best to intercept you before you finally could make it to the bedroom. A room where you probably would not come out of, they both knew how easily you would lock yourself up until this blew over. But sadly, this was not going to blow over, there was no punchline to this horrible joke, and they were not going to drop this topic.

Seeing your mother blocking the staircase as you heard a lock click, a sound that seemed to be coming from the front door. You could hear your mother’s sigh, it seemed as though she had taken over the whole discussion from your grandmother. “Dear, I know you don’t like this, but you have no decision on the topic. The only choice you get to make is are you going to do it willingly, or will we have to force it upon you while you are sleeping,” she said, “and don’t think we are joking, you won’t be the first person to have the fur shoved upon them while they slumber.”

A short laugh left your lips, looking between your mother and grandmother, thinking they can not be serious. But, they did not laugh, they just glowered at you, making it finally hit you, this is not a joke, they are not joking, and they are being completely serious. “Well then, I guess you’ll have to find a way to make me do it, since I can not and will not willingly put it on, no matter what you say and what you do,” you said, quickly pushing past your mother, starting upstairs.

Your mother attempted to stop you, gripping your wrist, but let it drop as you started to tug your arm. “That didn’t go how I wanted it to,” she muttered to your grandmother, “I guess we’ll have to plan something,” your mother started to say, her voice trailing off as you made it to your bedroom door.

As you enter your room, locking the door, you could not help but think of what they had said, do it or we will make you. The words resounded in your head, you really had no choice, it was take a spouse or we will force you to take a spouse. Checking the door one last time, fatigue finally hit you, and you wanted to make sure that neither woman would be coming into your room to force a coat you do not desire upon you. Satisfied that the door is locked, you fell asleep, unbeknownst to you, that they were planning something downstairs.

The planning of your mother and grandmother was quick, wait until you sleep, unlock your door, since they knew it would be locked, and force the coat on you. The plan was easier said than done, but honestly they both expected some resistance from you, you were never the ideal child, always wanting to go your own way, blaze your own path, they hated it. Why would you not just follow along like a good child and do as they told you to, it would make both your life and their lives easier, but you were too headstrong for your own good.

It was nearing midnight when they put their plan into action. You were out, and they were fast. The jacket had been forced onto your body and removed so quickly, you would have had no idea it happened had it not been for you waking to your bedroom light on and door open. It broke your heart to see that your mother and grandmother had done this, unable to accept your desires to be freed from the stupid and archaic family tradition they hold so dear. As morning came, you slipped out of the house without a word to either of them, wanting to just run as far as you could.

Coming upon the cliff that overlooks the ocean by your house, you just sat, watching the waves as they rolled, the seagulls flying about, and the boats going over the horizon, to probably never return home again. Had you been staring downwards, you would have seen him exiting the water. The distance between him and the owner of his coat had been too far for him to leave the water to find them, however as you sat on the cliff, the distance was closer, allowing him to sense your nearness. The male exited the water, pulling on a discarded shirt and pair of shorts that some man had left laying on the rock faces to dry. He then started the trek towards where his soul told him that yours sat, venturing up the rocks and the grassy cliff. For it being his first time officially on the island, he was mostly just confused, he had never gone this far from the beach. He should have honestly never left the water, but curiosity got the best of him, and that’s how your grandmother was able to steal his coat with such ease.

His footsteps were what you heard first, they let you know someone was nearing you, and you knew it had to be whoever the poor soul that was bound to you was. Standing, you took his figure in first, he was tall and honestly quite handsome in the face. If you had met in other circumstances, you would have probably attempted to make a move, but given the circumstances you were under, that idea quickly left your mind.

Looking him in the eye, you felt confused, angered, and just lost. You did not plan on putting on his fur, you did not plan on ever having to see a fur again, you just did not want this one bit. But, of course your grandmother was not joking as she wrestled the fur onto your body as you were half asleep, she especially was not joking after your initial refusal, no one ever said no, and she was not going to let you start. This was not what you wanted, and you knew this was not what he wanted, being bound to some complete stranger for the rest of his life. Part of you just wanted to return the fur, but you had no idea where they had hidden it, your mother probably knew you would just give it back if they left it with you, you can not exactly blame them for thinking ahead well enough to know what you would do. Yet, here you stood now, no fur in hand, just him standing across from you, while you rack your brain of what to do.

First they throw this whole selkie thing on you, then they throw out that your father was a selkie, then they add a little spice and say you have to marry a selkie as well. Generation after generation, your family married selkies, it was a family tradition at this point, but some traditions are meant to be broken, and this is one you wish was. Your family had expected you to accept it without any second thoughts, to just fall in love with this selkie man or woman and get married and have children and just the whole nine yards like they did. You wanted to be the last subjected to this bizarre tradition, but part of you at the same time, did not want it to end. That forbidden part of you had started to feel for him, feelings that you swore you would never feel, feelings that you swore to yourself would never happen. You could not fall for him, you would not fall for him, and you will not under any circumstance love him.

While you were having your moral dilemma, Jo was mostly confused, he had not been in this human world long enough to adjust to anything. He mostly knew of tales from the others, and stories for those few that returned. He did not completely understand why you seemed to hold such a disdain for him, why you did not seem to like him so much. He had not done anything for you to hate him so much, and if he had, he did not know what it could have been.

The start of the relationship was rocky, as any relationship with someone you just met and was told is your spouse would be. Weeks were spent under the watchful eye of your mother and grandmother, the two of them wanting to make sure you could be trusted before giving you any semblance of freedom. Being monitored day in and day out was something you hated, and while you knew little about the man you were spending that time with, you felt he probably hated it as well. Once you had gained their trust, after the first month, your grandmother gifted you her oceanside cottage, claiming it was the perfect place for a young couple to grow closer, but you knew their real motives, the perfect place for a young couple to start a family. That was all they really wanted, another child or two of you could continue this tradition.

Living with Jo was awkward at first, he was unsure how to act around humans, and how to live as one. Meanwhile you were trying to keep assure him you did not want this either, but you always felt like those words meant nothing to him. The way he’s glance at you was almost like he was thinking otherwise, but you ignored it, marking it off as he just not knowing how to show his true feelings around a human.

Throughout time, the two of you grew closer, and Jo became comfortable with the idea of living with you forever. On weekend mornings you would teach Jo how to make various breakfast foods and how to use the appliances around the house, introducing him to a variety of foods he had never seen, pancakes, waffles, and all other sorts of things. Weekday nights, the two of you would make dinner tonight, Jo usually trying the best he can to help. From cooking to cleaning, you had to show him everything, which was expected, it was not like he exactly cleans the kitchen in the sea.

The days passed and the two of you started to feel closer than just two people living together. Moments became more domestic, Jo replicating what he had seen couples do on the television shows and movies you would have him watch with you. He would wrap his arms around your waist as you cooked dinner, chin resting on your shoulder. If anyone was gazing in through the open curtains they would have assumed the two of you were a cute loving couple, and honestly, part of your heart was wishing you were as well. Throughout the days, you started to fall, he was kind with you, gentle with his motions, and it was everything you wanted, but not with him, not like this. The thoughts of finding someone you would love with your whole heart who would love you back was something you always fantasized about as a child, as most people would. The idea of true love being the desire of many, but you did not desire to feel these feelings with someone that you knew would never love you. As long as you were the soul he was bound to, he would never love you, you knew he would only see you as the owner of his coat, and that if given the chance he would have taken it without a second thought and escaped back into the sea. But, as you started to fall, you only wished there was a way to stop, since by the time your heart hit the floor it would be too late.

Time passed, the two of you becoming even more domestic, the ideal of a perfect couple still in the honeymoon phase. But, with each movement and motion, your heart fluttered, the butterflies in your stomach would erupt, letting you know that when you finally allowed him to be free as he should be, it would hurt you more than you would want to admit.

Mornings were spent cuddled up in bed, his arm holding you to his chest, the position felt so familiar, so comfortable. His presence brought you comfort, but that might have just been because of the whole bound souls thing, so ignoring those feelings were what you did most of the time. Midday would be spent enjoying lunch on the beach with him. The two of you would prepare lunch, then enjoy a picnic on the beachside, unless it was raining. His hand fit into yours just like a puzzle piece finding its match, the way he could easily envelope both of your hands within a single one of his made your heart skip a beat each time, as he would easily wrap his fingers around your own, your heart would skip a beat. Evenings were spent laying in his arms, back resting against his chest as his arms pulled you closer, with his chin resting on your shoulder. The feeling of being in his arms was euphoric, the feeling was one that one would assume to only feel while in the grasp of their one true love, but you knew better than to become accustomed to the joy you felt within his grasp.

Watching movies until late at night became a normal routine for the two of you. Jo would lay with you in his arms, the television playing some random movie that would captivate his attention, until either the two of you would fall asleep or you would. When you would fall asleep, usually you would wake up in your bed, Jo having carried you there, knowing it is a more comfortable place to sleep. Other times the two of you would awake on the couch in the morning, complaining about back pain and saying you need to make it to the bed next time, knowing you would just repeat the same actions all over again. Tonight the movie on the television was a generic romance movie, the couple falling in love, facing trials and tribulations, before finally kissing and living happily ever after.

Watching the movie, it was nothing that left a mark on your mind, the stereotypical romance movie being something you have seen many times before, however for Jo, each movie was like a new look into how humans lived, how they acted, how they loved. Watching as the two main characters laid arm in arm, reminded him of the two of you, how you sat against his chest in that moment. Their actions were things he often replicated, hugging you, cuddling you, resting his chin against your shoulder, holding your hands, and so forth. As the two main characters kissed, the thought came to his mind, maybe you would like that.

When his coat was first stolen, he heard stories from the other selkies that he would be miserable, that he would be bound to someone that probably just wanted a servant. He had feared that, the stories from the others being all he had known about humans. The tales of them stealing coats, binding you to them, before turning them into nothing more than unpaid help, unable to leave, unable to have what they want, just stuck doing whatever their owner wants them to for eternity, until they either find their coat and escape or die.

But, Jo was shocked when he saw the person his heart was bound to, expecting an aging person, he was surprised to find that they were his own age. He was shocked even more when he found out they did not want this either, the story you told him about how your mother and grandmother forced his coat onto you in your sleep. Throughout the time with you, he started to feel these odd feelings, feelings like he did not want to leave you, like he enjoyed being here, enjoyed being with you. Replicating what he saw on television, what the couples would do, it all felt so natural to him. The feeling of you in his arms was a wonderful thing, something he did not think he should enjoy, but he oddly did. As the movie you were watching caught his attention, he found himself wondering once more, as he replicated all these things he viewed on television with you, he had never done that. Watching the two main characters kiss, he gazed down at your face, as your head rested on his shoulder. He started to wonder if he should do it, before finally deciding to just do it, assuming you would like it, seeing how you seemed to react positively to all the other actions he has done after seeing the loving couples on television do them.

Reaching down, you felt a soft grasp on your chin, his hand easily tilting your head up to face his own. His lips first met your forehead, a gentle kiss on your forehead, it was comforting. The motion filled your stomach with butterflies, as you could feel yourself falling more and more into his embrace, falling deeper and deeper in love with the man who you knew could never love you back. His lips did not stop there, the next time you felt them on your skin was as his lips brushed against your own. Despite the rational part of your brain telling you to not react, you found your lips moving against his.

It was an odd feeling as his lips touched yours for the first time, you did not plan on forcing him to stay with you longer than necessary, yet here you were kissing him. Despite how Jo was making you feel, you just had to push that thought to the back of your mind. He was not doing this out of love, how could he love you, you were just some random person that put on his fur. He was just bonded to you, doing this out of some deep seeded need to satisfy who he was bonded to, it was nothing more than that, and would never be. Or, at least that is what you told yourself, just before you pushed yourself away from him, leaving him alone in the living room, before sulking up to your own room, to think about what you were going to do some more.

Despite how he made you feel, you pushed all those feelings aside, he did not deserve to have to live his life out here where he did not belong just because someone decided to steal him away from where he once belonged. It took months, the two of you acting like a sweet domestic couple. Cuddling throughout your time together, sharing kisses at random points throughout the day. To any onlooker, they would think you were a sweet little couple, but instead you knew this was all just to gain the trust of your mother and grandmother, gain access to his coat, and allow him to return to the sea where he belongs. But his arms start to feel like they belong around your waist, like his lips are made to be pressed against your own.

You can not say that it was an easy decision, it was not something you just decided overnight, or even over a few hours. It has been a good month or longer of you weighing the pros and cons. Pro, you felt like he really did love you, con, he might have only ‘loved’ you since you were the owner of his fur. Pro, he was nice and you loved being around him, con, he might have only been nice to you since he knew you had what was keeping him from returning to the sea. Pro, you genuinely enjoyed being around him, con, he was probably only doing what he had to do to trick you into giving his fur back. Pro, you were in love with him, con, you were in love with him.

Maybe you were too selfless for your own good, maybe you should have been selfish for once, maybe you should have taken what you wanted, rather than letting it go. You however, could not find yourself doing that, he did not belong to you, he belonged to the sea, and that is where he should be, and where he will be returning. The night before, you found yourself in his arms, it was a thing you had fought so hard against, showing him any love or any emotion. But, you found yourself feeling safe, feeling at home, as his large frame enveloped yours as you lay on the sofa in your living room with him. His lips met yours for seemingly the last time, you actually allowed yourself to get lost in the kiss, before you know it you have turned around, your arms wrapping around his neck, while his hands were against your back, pulling you closer to him. Despite your mind telling you to stop, you did not, you knew that it would make what you would be doing in the morning hurt even more, yet you could not stop. His lips slotted against yours with such perfection, like the two of you were soulmates, meant to be together. But, as badly as you wanted nothing more than to stay in his arms for the rest of your life, you knew he should not be here.

Against all your efforts, you had fallen for him, but you knew he did not belong here, he did not belong to you. It was not long before your lips finally separated from his, resting your head against his chest, he ran his hand over your back, the two of you were serene, it was peaceful in these moments. Part of you wanted this to last longer, to enjoy moments like this forever, but your mind was made up, and you were not going to change it. Before long, he was asleep, it was then you decided to get what you would need the next morning. Untwining yourself from his arms, you made your way upstairs, to the attic. You had finally gained your mother’s trust just a few weeks ago, her and your grandmother were proud of your progress, and she thought you had just accepted your fate.

The box had not been up there long enough for any dust to settle on it, compared to the rest of the items in the attic. Despite it having been up here for a month, you had not even seen the fur, seeing how your mother and grandmother forced it on you while you were asleep, you never saw it even then. As you started to pull it from the box, you noticed it was not hidden, it was not placed in secret, nor was it hidden in some back corner. Jo could have easily found it had he wanted to, that made you think that maybe he did not want to leave, maybe he wanted to stay with you, be with you, be yours. But, no, he would have taken it and ran had he found it, your mind started making up reasons for you to follow through with your plan. Pulling it from the box, you found yourself running your fingers over it, the silky shiny black fur soft to the touch. Holding it close to your chest, you realized it smelled just like him, which should not be surprising, but you still were. The fur felt like home to you, like it was supposed to be yours, like he was supposed to be with you. The thoughts and feelings of love started to fill your mind, ideas of how maybe you two were meant to be, but you killed these thoughts just as they started to fill your mind. Letting your hands drop it back into the box, you looked down at the fur, picking up the box, deciding that this was it, tomorrow you would give it back, and you would allow him to go and be free. You made your way back downstairs, placing the box under the stairs by the table, you made your way back to him. Sitting down by him, you immediately found yourself in his arms once more, as he wrapped his arms around you, clinging to you, you found yourself falling asleep.

It was not long before you awoke to a light shining in through a window, straight into your eyes. Starting to awake, you realized you were not where you fell asleep last night, seeing your bedroom rather than your living room. Jo must have woken up in the night, and carried you up to bed. Realizing this, you immediately sat up with a jerk, he had to have seen the box, he probably took the fur and ran while you slept. Despite giving it back to him being your plan, part of you hurt from the idea that he took it without even a goodbye. Those thoughts all died down, as you felt two hands grab you by your waist, before they wrapped around your stomach, pulling you back down. He had not left in the dark of the night, and he did not seem to want you to leave in the light of the day, as he held you close, going back to sleep once you were against him again.

You let him have a moment, before you sat up, turning to shake his shoulder. “Wake up,” you said, deciding to get this over with now, rather than later. Knowing yourself you would probably manage to talk yourself out of your current plan if you waited any longer. Untangling yourself from his arms, you pulled on a jacket, not even bothering to get dressed this early in the morning. “Wake up,” you said again, shaking him once more, attempting to jostle him from his slumber. “I have a surprise for you,” you added, finally getting him to wake up, sitting up, he started to wake, following you.

Starting downstairs, you could hear him talking, probably asking you something but you were so far away, you heard nothing but incoherent noises. Picking up the box, you started to walk out the door, over to the water, as Jo followed you, confused. You could once again hear him talking, but you could not make out anything he said, or maybe you just did not want to hear it, maybe you were just ignoring what he said, so he could not stop you, so he could not change your plan. Finally stopping next to the water, you turned to him, waiting for him to be closer to you before you spoke. Part of you knew you would break if you had to repeat it, you would fail and forget your plan, settling for the safety and feeling of home you found within his arms, rather than letting him return to the water. “I have something for you,” you told him, opening the box and pulling the fur out.

Confusion was on Jo’s face, this was not part of what the other selkies had told him. They claimed once taken, they would more than likely never get it back, they would have to steal it back, but here they were, just giving him his back. “What,” he started to ask, before being cut off as it was shoved into his arms. Huffing he took the item, looking into your eyes, he started to question it, “Are you sure?” The confusion evident in his voice, this wasn’t part of what he had been prepared for, part of what all the elders had told him, what he had learned about when he started to come to the land.

Nodding your head, “Just take it,” you said, forcefully shoving the fur into his chest, giving him little time to react other than to just take it. “It’s yours,” you started, your voice starting to crack, as the weight of what you were doing finally hit you, “You don’t belong here, you belong out there, and I’ll be damned if I’m the old holding you back from where you are supposed to be.” You found yourself holding back tears, you did not want to see him go, but you could not stop him, “I love you, but you’re not mine to choose to keep,” you whispered, hoping he didn’t hear you. Whether or not he heard, you did not know, as you soon felt a hand under your chin, raising your face to reach his. You found his lips against yours, returning the kiss you started to regret everything you were doing, but you knew it was right, at least that’s what you told yourself. Pulling yourself away from him, “Just go,” slipped from your lips before the more sensible part of your mind could take over. He seemed unwilling, almost like he did not want to leave, “Just go,” you repeated, as you saw the hesitation in his eyes. You both stood there for a few minutes, whispers telling him to just go fell from your lips every now and then, it was not long before he finally got the hint, and into the water he went. Fur on, he turned back into his original form, a selkie. It was only then you let the tears from your eyes fall, hoping he couldn’t see them, but unknown to you, he saw them all, the tears, the sobs that came after, but the ocean called to him as it was his home. But, within his heart, you were also his home. The weeks, he had fallen just as you had, learning that not all stories the elders tell about the humans are true.

Part of your heart aches as you watch him swim away. You start to wish you had kept the fur, you had kept him with you, you had retained the bond. Against your wishes and desires, you had started to fall for him, butterflies in your belly, blush upon your cheeks, and a blurry mind whenever you thought of him. But, as they say, if you love something you need to let it go. You could already hear your mother’s words in your head when you got back, idiot, stupid, and do not know how to appreciate what they have. In this moment, you were all the above, but most of all you were missing Jo. Which as they say, if it was meant to be, he would return to you one day, and until that one day, you would wait for him. No matter how long it took, even if he never found his way back to you again, you would never love another, and your heart would always ache for him, the one you believe is genuinely your one true love.

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