#seaweed brain energy

[liesmultixxx]

Nico: You’re cute, but not my type.

Percy, probably: Wait. So you mean you don’t think i’m attractive???????

[seaweedstarshine]

RIP Krakoa 🌹 I can’t lie I’ve been kinda behind since midway through Fall of X I’m gonna catch up before my first SDCC this summer but I hear Vulcan didn’t see much action anyway. Anyway my hand slipped and I found myself looking into the eyes of my canonically psychotic son the best Summers brother who’s never done anything wrong in his entire life, (he’s done lotsa wrong things but I love him more for it)

[freitag1607]

WHAT DO YOU THINK, WISE GIRL?

[percyjackson-post]

Annabeth using the nickname “Seaweed Brain” is great on its own, but it’s made so much funnier by the fact that Percy’s nickname for her is “Wise Girl." Like Annabeth’s over her with “You’re a bit of an idiot sometimes,” and all Percy can think up to match the energy is “Well, you’re smart as hell!” He’s really so whipped for her; it’s a miracle he didn’t figure it out sooner.

[mediumgayitalian]

“Oh, fuck.”

The clatter of her practice sword on the ground is almost louder than the crunch that rings out from his wrist. He inhales sharply, biting back a shout — no matter how many times it’s happened, he will never get used to breaking a bone. That shit hurts.

“Fuck, fuck fuck. Fuck, Seaweed Brain, is it broken?”

“Think so,” Percy grits out. He tries for a smile, and Annabeth matches it, small and worried. He leans into the hand she cups over his cheek. “Not too bad, though. If I just dump my water bottle on it —”

“Absolutely not. Water healing leaves you achey when it rains, you know that.” Shifting to wrap her arm around his waist, she helps him stand, shouldering some of his weight like it’s his ankle that’s broken. He lets her, reaching down to squeeze the hand resting on his hip — I’m fine. We’re good. She turns her hand to wrap clasp their hands together — Okay. If you’re sure.

They walk together to the infirmary, taking their time. Aside from the pain pulsing from his arm, it’s not too bad — camp is as balmy as usual, and the spring break energy is practically visible, it’s so potent. The Demeter cabin has plants growing everywhere, flowers and fruit trees blooming as bright as a box of new crayons, and the air is filled with shouts of laughter and teasing. Annabeth’s steps fall in time with his, and she’s a comfortable warmth at his side, pressed from shoulder to hip.

“You still okay?”

“Yep.” He catches her eye, smiling crookedly at her. “Doesn’t even make my top fifty.”

She rolls her eyes, hipchecking him. “Don’t I know it, ya klutz.”

“Not sure I would call being flung from the St. Louis Arch being a klutz. Or exploded in a volcano. Or crushed under the sky. Or slashed by giants. Or chased by —”

“You’re talking, but all I’m hearing is Annabeth, please, please pinch me, as hard as you can —”

“Hey! Get those claws off me, gods you’re worse than an empousai —”

“— and when you’re done pinching me please put me in the tightest headlock you can manage —”

“I am injured! You are beating up an injured person right now!”

“— and then please just bite a chunk out of my shoulder —”

“Cut it out or I’m telling Mom!”

“Wimp,” she taunts, finally releasing him. “I don’t go running to Sally every time I lose a fight.”

“Wha — you do so!”

She ducks through the infirmary door, smirking like she can’t hear him.

“You literally — you snitched on me last week! I got grounded for two days!”

“And you deserved it,” she says primly.

He gapes. “I did not!”

“Anytime you two are done,” Kayla drawls, shoving a clipboard at them. They accept it with matching sheepish grins, cowed at her perfectly arched eyebrow and slowly tapping foot. “I got patients to deal with and older brothers to harass. Let’s get this moving.”

She is shockingly good at humbling people for a thirteen year old. The two of them turn to their clipboard, chagrined, letting her stomp away with an exasperated He’ll be with you soon! Don’t set off the sprinklers again!

“That was one time,” Percy mumbles, ears reddening.

Annabeth pats him on the back. “There, there,” she says mockingly. “The fact that it was one time definitely negates the fact that you flooded the entire Big House because you got jumpscared by a child.”

“Harley can be sneaky, okay. Let me live.”

“Literally no.”

Annabeth does most of the paperwork for him, ‘cause she’s a nerd because his wrist is far too swollen for him to write properly, so it takes maybe half the time it normally would. The infirmary is crowded as Hell, though (he knows, he’s been), so they settle in for the wait, amusing themselves by tearing little pieces off of a blank form, balling them up, and tossing them in increasingly harder places. Percy is winning 7-4, although Annabeth might just pull through if she manages to toss her paper ball into Travis’ wide-open snoring mouth.

“Hey, guys. Sorry for the wait.”

Aw. She missed. Percy was looking forward to that.

“Hey, Will.”

He drags his attention away from the son of Hermes to greet his friend, but frowns before he can open his mouth.

“Woah, dude, you good? You look exhausted.”

Will snorts. “Welcome to spring break, man.” He holds his hand out for the clipboard, scanning it briefly. “Sparring injury? Oh, thank the gods. I could use a break. Here, face me.”

He climbs up onto the minimal left over space on the cot, tucking his legs under his thighs. Percy turns to mirror him, hesitantly sticking out his arm — A break? he mouths to Annabeth, meeting her eyes over Will’s head.

She shrugs.

“Just spent four hours putting Jake’s nose back on his face,” Will mumbles, placing a careful hand on his fingertips and his forearm. Percy flinches — his skin is blisteringly hot. Like someone just dropped a hot stone onto him. “I never want to sing a skin cell hymn again in my life.” He prods at Percy’s wrist for a moment, gentle enough not to hurt. “Okay, hold still, I’m gonna fix ya right up.”

Healing hymns are familiar, by now, but Percy will never get tired of them.

The cool thing about ambrosia and nectar is that as pleasure food for the gods, it’s pleasant. It’s whatever taste you want, whatever you need to have most, you get it. But healing hymns are intentional the way nectar and ambrosia aren’t. Ambrosia and nectar happen to be healing for demigods — healing hymns were constructed to knit you back together, like you mother smoothing a bandaid over a skinned knee. They’re warm and sweet and deeply, endlessly comforting in a way most things simply cannot claim to be. They don’t feel like a medical procedure or a hasty patch job, they feel like someone gripping you tightly and promising you’ll be okay. They feel like getting carried to bed when you fall asleep on the couch. They feel like sitting down after hours of standing, like a drink of water when your throat is drier than sand. Healing hymns draw the pain and sick and ache from your body, and they feel like relief.

But this time, Percy can’t focus on it.

With every word, Will seems to get a little duller. Nothing like the horrible ash-grey he went in the war, dragging the poison from Annabeth’s body, but like his usual sunny disposition was dialed down a few notches. Enough that Annabeth frowns in concern, drumming her hands on her thighs, watching him closely.

“There,” Will says, pulling away. Percy turns his now-healed wrist, noticing the slight pant to Will’s breath, the strain to his smile. The shake of his blistered fingertips.

“You look overworked,” Annabeth says quietly.

Will holds his hands up in a what can you do gesture. “Spring break.”

“You said.”

“It’s just busy, is all.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Guys,” he interrupts, smiling tiredly, “there are two hundred ADHD demigods at this camp right now who have been trapped in a classroom for six months. There are three of us. I’m going to be a little drained; we’re all a little drained. But I’m fine, okay?” He gives them a second to scrutinize his expression, eyebrows raised in amusement. “I have been running my infirmary for years. I know how to pace myself, and I certainly know how to make sure my siblings are pacing themselves. If something goes really wrong, Chiron is a whistle away. I can go longer than you guys without sleep, anyway. Apollo kid health.”

“If you say so,” Percy says reluctantly. “I just — I can wear a wrist brace, man. Not every injury needs to be handled when it happens. You can tell people no.”

“I appreciate that, Percy, and I’ll keep it in mind. Anyways, I’ve got more patients. Stay off that wrist for the rest of the day, okay? It might be tender for a bit.”

Percy turns to Annabeth as Will leaves, frowning. He’s has never noticed the so-called spring break stress before (his camp spring breaks are usually a blast, but now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t think of a single spring break where he spent any time at all with Will, which is odd), but it can’t be good for him. There’s gotta be something they can do to ease some of the bruising under their friend’s eyes.

“I could set off the fire alarms again,” Percy suggests. “That’ll certainly get this place cleared out.”

Annabeth snorts. “I think that’ll cause more harm than good, Seaweed Brain. It’ll just fall in him to clean it all up, after.”

“Shoot.”

Percy counts nine of the forty cots currently unused. Will, Kayla, and Austin are rushing from cot to cot, handing out nectar, wrapping bandages, rattling off hymns at light speed. All three of them look exhausted, squeezing shoulders when they pass each other, knocking hips, exchanging tired smiles. This is so clearly something they’re used to.

Annabeth’s head rests on his shoulder.

“It wasn’t always like this,” she whispers. “When it was fully staffed…”

Percy exhales heavily. Yeah. He remembers. There was a lot less complication, once upon a time. The most chaotic the infirmary would get was when Lee would challenge his siblings to Hymn Karaoke — trying to heal with pop songs. There was a lot more laughter, at one point. A lot more people.

Percy sighs, squeezing his eyes shut. It never does well to dwell, but he — gods, he wish they all had more time. To sit with it, to acknowledge…everything. Siblings. Friends. A camp that’s smaller than it’s supposed to be.

Annabeth squeezes his hand again, and he squeezes back, resting his head on top of hers.

“Hey,” she murmurs after a moment, pursing her lips at the front door. “Look.”

Slinking through the entrance like a criminal is Nico, in all his dork ass black camp shirt glory. He looks around shiftily, like he’s trying to make sure no one sees him, and when his gaze lands on Percy and Annabeth his eyes widen. Annabeth smiles at him, but it does nothing to ease the spooked look to his face, back arched like a startled cat. He turns to leave, but before he can slip back out the door —

“Nico!”

The son of Hades whips back around so quickly he brains himself on the doorframe. Percy ducks his head and bites his lip, hard, because he can feel Nico’s glare at the side of his head like the press of hot coal, and if he laughs as badly as he wants to then the infirmary is about to look like a Spirit Halloween.

Will turns back to his patient, squeezing his eyes shut and rattling a hymn off so quickly it makes a burst of light pop from his whole body, and rushes over to where Nico’s standing. He only trips over two things, which is remarkable for him. Percy would be proud if he wasn’t a little embarrassed on his behalf.

“Nico! Hi!”

“He-ey, Will,” Nico says, voice cracking badly on every vowel. Annabeth shoves her face into Percy’s shoulder, body shaking.

“I didn’t know you were coming! I thought you were in the arena all day.”

Nico shrugs, shoes scuffing the floor. “I am. I just — uh, I got hurt? So. Came to see you.”

Will’s beam is so bright it hurts to look at, a little. Percy squints and realises that’s not just the excitement, actually — he really is glowing, faintly. His hands flap slightly at his sides.

“Well, you’re in the right place, then.”

“Yeah.”

Neither of them say anything for a minute, rocking back on their heels. Will watches Nico closely, biting his lip. Nico looks resolutely at the floor.

“We weren’t this bad,” Annabeth whispers, “were we?”

Percy shakes his head. “Nah, there’s no way.”

“Gods. It’s so — I don’t know whether to smile or take a dip in the Lethe. It’s embarrassing and endearing at the same time.”

“Painful to watch, but I can’t stop looking,” Percy agrees.

“What’d you hurt?” Will asks, finally. “Did you pull your shoulder again?”

A look of panic flits briefly across Nico’s face until he smooths it to something neutral, aloof.

“Yep. Totally. During — sword fighting, I swung — I did this really big thrust, actually. Just — hugely powerful, training dummy exploded on impact.” He clears his throat. “Some might say too powerful. If you can imagine.”

Percy cradles his head in his hands. “Oh my gods — ”

“Don’t laugh don’t laugh don’t laugh,” Annabeth chants, “oh my gods, don’t laugh —”

A light flush dusts Will’s cheeks. He brushes a strand of hair behind his ear, fiddling with his earrings. “Woah, really? I’ve never heard of that before.”

Nico smirks, standing up a little straighter. “Well, it’s not the first time. I tend to go pretty hard.” Remembering his supposedly hurt shoulder, he exaggerates a wince. “Too hard sometimes, I guess. Could you do the — the energy thing?”

“Oh — gods, yeah, sorry. Hold on.” He stares at Nico’s shoulder, hesitating. “It, um, works better with skin-to-skin contact.”

“I have seen crystal vases less transparent,” Annabeth says, aghast. “In two years he’s going to remember this and try to drown himself.”

“I will be counting down the days,” Percy says gleefully.

On rare, rare occasions, the gods answer his prayers. Clearly, both Nemesis and Aphrodite are looking at him kindly today. Percy makes a note to scrape some of the good stuff off his plate for them both today. Hell, maybe he’ll skip the portioning and toss them an entire roast chicken each. Or something. They deserve it.

Will places both hands — interesting, Percy notes, his wrist was snapped cleanly in two and he only needed one hand, wonder why that was — on Nico’s shoulder and closes his eyes, screwing up his face in concentration.

“Huh. I’m not feeling much damage. You said it was your right shoulder?”

“I heal quick,” Nico says loudly. “I mean, some of the damage might have — um.” He clears his throat. His face glows a faint crimson. He clears his throat again. “Y’know?”

Will’s face is a similar shade.

“Right, right. Yeah. Um, brace yourself.”

Instead of starting to sing, Will closes his eyes, holding completely still. After a moment, the tips of his fingers begin to glow; soft, ambery yellow, flickering like lit candles. He opens his eyes again and focuses intently on Nico’s bare skin, tracing patterns around every defined muscle, leaving a trail of light behind. He lingers, for a moment, when he connects the last string of light, waiting until it has faded entirely from Nico’s skin to remove his hands and shove them in the pockets of his coat.

“That better?” he asks softly.

Nico swallows. “Yeah.”

“Good. I’m glad, Nico. It means a lot that you — came to me. When you needed it.”

“I trust you, I guess.” Nico looks away. “You know what you’re doing.”

“I think I just threw up in my mouth a little,” Percy says thoughtfully.

Annabeth laughs, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be mean.” She pauses. “Me too.”

With a sigh that can only be described as besotted, Will steps reluctantly away.

“I have patients,” he says, in the same tone of voice Percy usually says I have midterms. “So I gotta…”

“Yeah, no, go. Do your —” Nico gestures vaguely. “Doctor thing.”

“Right. Yeah. I’m gonna — go.” He turns, walking back towards a group of Hephaestus kids who appear to be tightly entangled in some kind of net. After a few steps, though, he pauses, biting his lip, then darts back over to Nico, pressing a lightning-fast kiss to his cheek — “Um, bye. Thank you for visiting. Bye,” — and then runs back over to his siblings, shy smile on his face.

Nico’s jaw is brushing the floor of his father’s palace. He stands, still as a statue, for four entire minutes.

“I think he just died,” Annabeth observes, eyebrows climbing higher and higher up her forehead with every passing second “Damn. Survived so much only to literally die because a cute boy kissed his cheek. A true hero’s end.”

Percy, because he is a kind, concerned friend, clears his throat loudly.

“Yo, di Angelo, you alive?”

Nico startles so violently he falls right over. Percy shoves his fist in his mouth to keep from cackling.

“Shut the fuck up,” Nico hisses venomously, scrambling upright. “Both of you, shut the — not a word —”

Percy and Annabeth make the mistake of looking at each other and simply erupt. Percy can’t feel his stomach. His lungs have abandoned ship. He’s glad as hell he’s in the infirmary because he is heaving for breath, tears streaming down his face, entire body convulsing. Nico stands in front of them literally shaking with rage, entire body redder than one of Apollo’s sacred cows, trying and failing to string together a threat that will ease any and all of his suffering. Annabeth screeches, almost falling off the bed as she cackles. Percy cannot even find the strength to catch her, his muscles are so weak.

“I fucking — I hate you! Both of you! You’re dead to me!”

“Your face!” Percy shrieks.

“Percy Jackson, I am going to turn you to fucking dark matter! I despise your very essence! I —” He stomps his foot. “I’m leaving, and I’m going to leave a rotting corpse in your cabin! Screw you!”

“Oh my gods,” Annabeth wheezes, digging her nails into his arm. “Oh my gods, that was —”

Percy wipes a tear from his eye. “I love being alive. I love being alive so much.”

“It really is great.” Composing herself, and biting back the leftover giggles that keep bubbling out, Annabeth looks back towards Will. He stands much straighter, now, smile back to full brightness. His siblings, too, look rejuvenated, snickering to each other and making kissy faces behind Will’s back. “So many beautiful things to witness. I’ve never seen his face go that red.”

Percy sighs. “This is genuinely going to carry me through the semester. I think his soul died a little. And Will just — gods, that kid is bold.”

“Oh says you, Mr. Do I Get A Good Luck Kiss.”

“Hey, I earned that.”

Annabeth grins, punching him in the shoulder. He grabs her wrist and tugs her towards him, chasing the curve of her smile. She laughs into his mouth and it taste like strawberries and freedom, and he presses a kiss to her cheek, to her jaw, and the side of her neck, resting there, breathing against her skin. After a moment her hands come up and slide in his hair, gently untangling the knotted mess.

“He is one thousand percent going to put a zombie in your bed, you know,” she says after a moment.

Percy snorts. “Yeah, I know.” He smiles. “Worth it.”

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (III)

AU MASTERLIST || FINAL CHAPTER

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 7.1k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, violence, swords & firearms, abductions, hurt/comfort, torture references, nakedness, needles, gore, etc.

A/N: Alright, and that's a wrap on this mini-series. Biker/mechanic!Ghost is next on the list.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You hit the water and immediately push back to the surface, ignoring the burning of your open wounds. 

“John!” Your high and panicked call can’t be heard above the yells to arms and the distressed wails. “What are you doing?!” Bodies get chucked from the side of the ship and all you can do is watch as they meet the water around you—skin cut open and eyes dead. 

While the sea was numbing your pains, your heart was hurting enough for all of them; hands flailing to try and help keep you above the waves. But everything was so dark, only the light far above giving you a sliver of perception. 

“John!” You scream again, eyes snapping back and forth along the ship. Your arms burned with heat.

“Go!” The words ring out and make you cringe, graveled and ragged—an order. But how could you? Vile grunts and skin meeting skin sound out, no more shirking blade edges or the boom of pistols. Fists meeting ribs, bared teeth.

“The Mermaid was wearing tags! He’s part of the King’s forces!” The leader. “If we can’t have the beast, we’ll have the coin from a turncoat!”

“Deserter!”

“Traitor!” 

“Tie him to the post!”

Your ears twitch and pull at the horrible words, lungs near hyperventilating and black waves going red. If you weren’t able to ingest water, the way your head was slowly sinking would have left you sputtering and choking. 

What will they do to him? Why can’t I help? It was the only part in your life where you regret having a tail, because now you can’t save John in the same way he saved you. Your eyes lock helplessly to the upper deck, far, far above. You can’t drag yourself up or even find the energy to stay above water. 

Your strength was waning quickly—you needed to be tended to; healed. But it felt worse than a betrayal to see not even a glimpse of John’s brown hair or his large arms. To not feel the hold he kept on you. You wanted his lips and his flesh to be pressed into you, to venerate your image as he always did. 

A Hierei that worships at the shrine that is you.

“Curse you,” you say aloud to the men above. The ones that tie your raging love to a post; you hear his low growls and biting expletives like blades in their own fashioned way, the sea garbling your words. “Curse your greed and your violence!” 

But no one listens, and with a heavy and weighed heart, you have to let your dead muscles rest as they give out completely against your will. Sunking under the battling waves, you feel like dead weight; no different than the various bodies around you that John had dispatched. 

You felt useless. 

Above you was John, being tied up and taken—taken to a King that wants your species dead. You don’t want to leave, but the current is snatching you away like seaweed, limp and broken. Whatever John had done to your wounds, the fabric of his shirt was holding fast to your shredded flesh, but it didn’t stop the agony or the inner conflict. 

He was right above you…why aren’t you strong enough to help?

Your eyes flutter, hair and arms floating. 

Everything grows dark, but John never once leaves your mind. Perhaps the Fisherman was worshiping you, but you did the same unto him. 

The eyepatched leader’s words loop in your brain, paired with storm-blue eyes. Gentle praises.

 “...I think he loves the beast!” 

Your body sinks with the rest.

—

The sand under you is coarse and dry as your eyes barely open, chest rising and falling but shakily, stuttering in its course. Small noises groan in the back of your throat, fingers like stones beside your face. 

Everything hurts, but something has woken you up. Noises. Muttered speaking.

“Now why would she have these?” There was a moment of clinking metal and a low huff. 

You groan louder and curl into yourself more, only to stop when the tears in your flesh pull. Your lungs inhale sharply.

“Oh, Christ,” the accented voice is smooth as it gets closer. “Easy, then, Ma’am. Shite, I was hoping you’d stay under a bit longer, I’m not bloody done yet.” 

Forcing your eyes open, you hiss at the burn of morning light, laying on your stomach with…your brows tighten…were you wearing a tunic? A hand meets the back of your shoulder and you cry out, jerking.

“Woah!” More force is applied to keep you down but it only makes you struggle more. “Please, I’m trying to stop the bleeding!” 

You stall at this revelation like a bird, panting. Muscles tight, you cautiously look over your shoulder to weakly stare at whoever this man was.

Brown eyes meet your own, and a dark-skinned complexion over an oval face. They blink at you with concern and hesitation, sparing only a nervous smirk and a chuckle. You stare widely, saying nothing. 

“I…I’m just trying to stop the bleeding. Whoever got you,” this man trails off, glancing down at your tail. “Well, they did some proper damage.”

“Who are you?” Your voice is damaged from all the screaming you’d done, cracking and frail. You stifle a cough and survey the land with frantic snaps of your orbs. This wasn’t your cove. 

Where were you? What had happened to the ship? To John? Your hand travels to your neck but lands on nothing. It’s like the world stops turning.

The necklace. 

“My name’s Kyle, Miss, but I’m just as well off being called Gaz—” Your hand snaps to his shoulder, wrenching him down in a violent slam to the sand; with a shove of your ailing body, you cross an arm over his chest to pin him. 

Brown eyes widen, and one hand easily raises in a placating manner. You don’t bother to look at the other, your head broken into bits of instances and images of horror.

“Where is it?” Your lips hiss out. You didn’t know you could make a sound like that. 

Kyle, dressed in a fine outfit of a Bookkeeper, furrowed his brows at you. He didn’t look off-put by your brashness, or by the fact that you were of the Merfolk. 

“I’m sorry, Ma’am…I’m not following. Where’s what, exactly?” There was a glinting at his throat, and you snatched at it with a glare and snarl of ‘thief’ on your tongue. 

A blade presses into your side and you freeze. Kyle stares up at you with a frown on his face, body tight. “I think you should let that go, Miss, yeah?” 

The metal discs are the same as John's, but they hold a different name entirely. 

“Kyle Garrick, Sergeant, 141st company under the King.”

“One Hundred and Forty-First?” You whisper in a hushed voice and the blade loosens from you. Mouth opening and closing, you forget for a moment what Kyle is. Your eyes go glossy with hope. “You know John?” 

Eyelids blink at you in astonishment and all at once the knife is sheathed at his hip once more. Gaz gapes, his slight stubble shifting on his face as he talks slowly. 

“Yes, I do…how do you know the Captain? No offense, but I didn’t peg him for the type to run off with…well…” he trails, chuckling. “Not run exactly, then, is it?” 

You glower and push back, flinching at your aches but waste no time in speaking frantically to the man as your tail flaps. If he was on the same ship as John was, they certainly knew each other well; Kyle had to assist you.

“Please, you need to help me,” The man’s face goes serious and he pushes himself up, “—there’s been a terrible event. John has been taken, don’t you understand?” Your hands grasp at his collar, forgetting to ask about the missing necklace in your mounting hysteria. “They took him. They’re bringing him back to the King and it’s all my fault!” 

You don’t know if it’s the pain or the fatigue, but your emotions spill from you in droves, silver tears falling like drips from a blacksmith's smelter to the beach of this foreign place. Your body feels unable to hold itself up—so much blood lost. 

Gaz gains a sheen of panic at your state, gripping your shoulders lightly above the given tunic. 

“Now, now, Ma’am, steady. You’ve lost a lot of blood, eh? We need to get you sorted.” But internally your words disturbed him. John had been taken? His Captain? And he had known a mermaid?

“I don’t need to be sorted,” you mock, shaking him, “I need my John back! And you’re going to help me.” 

Kyle gazes around awkwardly, clearing his throat and trying to comfort you as his upper half gets forced back and forth.  

“First,” he stops you with a firm squeeze on your shoulders, “we’re getting you stitched and wrapped, Ma’am. If what you’re telling me is real,” Gaz pauses, glancing at the sea lapping at your tail, “then I need to get in contact with the others.” 

Your body slightly sags, panting and shaking. While you should have asked who the others were, your adrenaline was too great to allow you to think above the fact that Kyle was going to help you. He had known John—that was enough for you to know he was a good person. 

“Easy,” the man mutters, face pulled in concern. There’s a moment of tense silence before Gaz shifts a hand to the pocket inside of his tweed frock coat, slipping to the side of his green notch vest. He blinks his brown eyes at you before he lightly takes John’s necklace from the depths of his clothes. Kyle presents them as your shoulders loosen with a small sliver of comfort. “I believe you were looking for this, yeah?” 

He spares a friendly, boyish, smile.

Your fingers brush his as you delicately take the metal up, fingertips weeping with torn flesh. Staring at them, you bring the item to your lips and kiss it gently after a moment of agony, a few more tears slipping down your cheeks. 

“Oh, John,” you whisper, “you fool, what have you done?” 

“I’ll be needing to move you, Ma’am,” Gaz clears his throat and looks back to the grass-coated road. The beach where you had washed up was near the bottom of a slight hill, and along with sand, there were a lot of pebbles. The wind was chilled. “I was just finishing up with a temporary binding when you woke. We can speak more when I get the larger wounds stitched.” 

You see his gaze fall down you once more. 

“I’d think there’s a lot to catch up on.” Shuffling John’s necklace over your head, you allow Kyle to take bandages from his Gladstone bag which he had brought down from the road with him. He says he found you on the beach unconscious not five minutes before you woke back up as he takes out John’s tunic strips before packing the wounds with fresh material. 

“You stopped?” You ask quietly, body shaking. “Why?” 

“Well, I left the same time that the Captain did,” he explains, looping fabric around your tail as you shudder and clench your teeth at the long cuts over your scales. Kyle spares you a glance before continuing. “Same reason too. The minute innocent beings were being hunted, everyone in the One Hundred and Forty-First deserted. They weren’t too happy with us, I’d imagine. I do what I can to help anyone, regardless of species.” 

Gaz pulls back and finishes up, brushing his hands on his folded legs and sighing. 

“We all separated and led our lives the best we could—got jobs, hid ourselves, the like.” While the story was fascinating, as John was rare to talk about the King or his service beyond a clenched jaw, you truly were suffering from blood loss.

Every moment it became harder to keep your upper-half vertical and your eyes open. Gaz’s words slurred in your eardrums as the sand under your hands got pushed back by pressure like a rock being dragged. Your head must have swayed, because the next moment you’re being lifted with a grunt and a steadying of feet.

“Can’t say I’ve ever carried a mermaid,” Kyle grumbles to himself, blinking down at your form as our head rests limply on his chest. “Certainly not one that knows Price of all people.”

You focus on your breathing as he ascends the hill, going slowly and holding your form tight so as not to drop you. While not John’s size by any means, the man was still strong in a more lean and lithe way where your Fisherman’s was upfront and bare with it. 

You’re carried down the trodden path to a lone house on the upper hill above the water, small and quaint, it’s only a single square room. 

Truly this event speaks to your luck—how on earth had you found perhaps one of the only men on the planet that knew John and sympathized with magical creatures?

Kyle sets you back on his bed softly, pillows pressed into indents of your head and cheek. 

“Alright then,” he sighs, “let's get this figured out, yeah?” 

You’re offered food and water, but all you care about is sleep. Your tail hangs off the end of the bed and your fins ache with torn skin. Without even looking at your scales, you know they’re damaged immensely. Most will be left with great scars. 

Merfolk could be called vain in their lifetime, and the sentiment wasn’t entirely untrue. You were beings of elegance and beauty—ethereal lustfulness hardwired into your DNA. Image was important to you, and this loss was great. 

But the loss of John hurt more than any torture someone could inflict on you; any wounds. You needed him back. 

As Gaz prompted you to tell your story, which you did with failing consciousness, your hand traveled to your necklace to grasp it tightly. Lips quivering. When the first push of the man’s needle entered your hard flesh, you never even felt it.

—

You awoke for the second time, once more, to the sound of speaking. 

“Well, he’s sure gotten up to it while we’ve been away! Fuckin’ bastard.” This accent didn’t belong to Gaz, and thus your eyelids pushed back with slight unease. Had John’s Sergeant sold you out? With a struggle, you blink back to reality only to find a pair of bright blue eyes stuck on you. 

For a moment you startle, those shades so similar to John’s that for a moment you had forgotten what had transpired. Then the pain in your tail strikes up and you balk back sharply. 

“Soap!” Gaz hisses, grabbing the large and built man away from the bed. “Get the hell away from her, would you? Christ, she’s been through enough without having to look at that face when she wakes up, Mate.” 

“What in the hell does that mean?” Soap, as he’d been introduced, was the epitome of a blacksmith—ash still on his square jaw and his large black apron tied at a stiff waist. His arms were as bulky as your head and while he was shorter than Gaz he made up for it in sheer muscle. 

Blue eyes darken with annoyance before they swivel back to you, but they lighten just the same when they spot your fear-spiked expression. 

“Sorry about that, Little Lady. Just curious, is all.” You swallow the saliva in your throat and turn to look at Gaz in question. “Not every day somethin’ like this happens.”

“Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish,” the man offers, rubbing at his neck apologetically. “Served with John and I. You can trust him.” 

You blink and turn back to Johnny, and, sure enough, around his neck were the common silver discs that Gaz and John wore over the tunic and apron. 

“A…” You try to remember what your Fisherman had told you about human customs. With a frown, you carefully extend a hand and hold it aloft while your tail rests and your other limb keeps you up. “A pleasure, Johnny.” 

A wide grin meets your eyes and a hand is clapped into your own; shaking it firmly as yours remains limp. 

“Ah, please, the pleasure’s all mine.” When his grip leaves you look down at the various stitches and thick wrappings around your body before thinning your lips and gazing back at Gaz. He stares and tilts his head when you lock eyes with him. 

“Thank you, Garrick. I…I owe you a large debt.” He’s already shaking his chin at you.

“Negative, Ma’am,” Kyle denies. “The only thing we need to be focusing on is getting the Captain back. Simon should be along by the evening.” 

“Sure the man’ll show?” Johnny raises a brow and stands to his full height, going over to the small table in the middle of the room and sitting down with a huff. He picks up a flagon and takes a sip of ale. “He’s far off cuttin’ stone.” 

“I sent a rider out and said it was urgent. He should be getting it about now, yeah?” 

“Well, hell, I’d sure hope so else we’re out of our favorite Ghost. Can’t have that.” You watch and stare at the ease these two converse with the other, years seem to bleed from their mouths like waves in water. They had it all figured out, and noticeably, they weren’t at all panicked. 

“How are the both of you so calm?” You can’t help but ask. Brown and blue turn to furrow their brows at you.

“They took the bloody Captain. Only person worse than that to steal away would be Simon.” A chuckle. “I’m more worried about the bastards themselves than him.” And it was left at that. 

At times throughout the day, Gaz would bring you bread to nibble on to help settle your stomach, water, and ale whenever you needed it. When the dryness of the air and the fireplace got too warm for you, Johnny would be the one to carry you down the hill to the water where you’d soak your wounds in the surf. In those moments you could finally take in the pure silence under the waves and let your anguish take hold.

But you always had to break the surface at some point, shimmy into the dry tunic that Soap offers with respectfully averted eyes, and let him carry you back with his bulky arms. 

As it always did, the water let your wounds heal far faster than a man’s, though the aches were still intense. 

John’s eyes would not leave you. His crown of stars or the lantern light on his face—the way he whisked you away from danger and put himself dead center into it. Keeping you to his large chest as he held aloft a sword in your honor.

 “...I think he loves the beast!” 

Oh, and you loved right back and you hadn’t told him. 

It’s hours upon hours later when the door is shoved open as you sit up in the bed; tail limp and dim on the floor below. You look up in shock at the man whose frame nearly takes up the entire doorway, shoulders wide and thighs vast under work pants and a large tunic, cowl over his head and clasped with a brooch at his left pec. Under shined a deep brown gaze and pale brows, but his entire lower face was covered by cloth. 

Intimidating, his visible expression was entirely blank. You wondered if perhaps a vampire had walked into this place without proper entry, but then you remembered the man Johnny and Gaz mentioned. 

Simon. Ghost. 

Well, he certainly fits the part, stone dust on his clothes and large boots stacked with scrapes. A Stonemason.

“There’s the man!” Johnny exclaims, raising his hand which has another cup of ale in it as he’d downed the other some time ago. 

“Where’s Price?” Deep was Simon’s voice, and he spares you a glance but nothing more. Gaze falling down your tail with hidden flickers of intrigue and wafting back up to stop at John’s necklace. His brows pull in as he turns. 

“Gone—taken to the King,” Gaz explains from where he leans against the fireplace, face serious. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon grunts, walking in and closing the door behind him. “Where was he last?” It’s mildly amusing to you that he doesn’t seem bothered or even surprised by a mermaid in Gaz’s home. 

“Just off Harpies Nest,” Johnny pipes in, itching at shaved sides of his scalp. “Where the old beasts used to fly from.” 

“I’m guessing she’s the reason for that, then?” Everyone was anxious to act, even you. These men were close, and while circumstance had forced them away from one another the loyalties still lay. 

“Affirmative. Price’s been in good company, seems.” A stale glare is sent his way and he chuckles and puts up his hands. 

“Is there anything we can do?” You ask, looking at each in turn. Seeming to still hold that ingrained ranking that all men in the service do, Johnny and Gaz look to Simon. Brown eyes blink slowly, turning to look at you in a narrowed thought.

After a while, he speaks in a monotone.

“They’ll be bringing ‘em to the castle to stand trial. We’ve already lost a day’s time and there’ll be no ship that can sail as fast as we need it to.”

“By land?” Gaz wonders. Johnny’s shaking his head.

“How do you expect we get the Lady through that?” Eyes turn to your lack of legs. Body stiff, you huff and grit your teeth. If they thought you weren’t going along, that was foolish of them.

“I can swim to the docks,” you pause, “but you’ll have to tell me the way, for I do not know it.” 

John had talked about docks—places ships went to rest. You’re sure you can make it, even like this. You had to. 

Johnny stares before he chuckles twice, sharing a glance with the others and motioning to you. “I like ‘er.”

Gaz and Simon look at one another with a side-eye, before Kyle sighs and shakes his head. Simon hooks his thumbs into his pants and huffs out, “Sure you’re up for that?” 

“I’m helping John.” Pushing, you meet those brown eyes head-on and steel yourself. “I need him back.”

There’s no further fight, and Ghost takes everything you say at face value. “Fine.” 

And that was that.

—

The plan was so stupid you wondered if these men had gone brain-dead, but inside the castle dungeons, John had no way of knowing that. 

He frowned deeply as his pounding skull tipped back to connect with the cobblestone wall, blood dried over the right side of his face. A growl on his lips as the chains keep his hands high above him and hanging as his backside stays seated on the floor. His limbs had long since gone numb, circulation cut out in an uncomfortable state of numbness. 

But inside of him, there was a sense of accomplishment despite everything. He’d gotten you away from dirty hands—away from hooks. Away from danger. 

John could die happy with that.

On the ship, before he’d been brought to the castle, the crew had tied him to the mainsail mast with a ragged rope that had skinned his flesh in just minutes of the rocking waves. They’d taken his vessel as well, and all of his belongings were confiscated in the docks. From there it had been amused jabs at his stomach with fists and knife-throwing practice. 

John had cuts along the sides of his arms and the meat of his thighs—clothes shredded and torn from blades. His forehead had a long gash from the scalp to the temple, dried now but pulling with red aggression. 

The fisherman hums under his breath and thinks only of you. 

It was a fact that you had brought music into his life; a melody of waves and scales that could not be denied. Songs that sounded like sea-foam and a lapping of a tail across the water. When he’d seen you that day from behind the black rocks, John had lost a piece of himself to your wide eyes and tilted head. That spark of connection. 

He had never been so thankful for choosing a new place to cast his nets, because he’d unwittingly caught the greatest creature he ever could have—one people have been running after for years. 

You. 

John’s lips pull in a tiny smile, eyes going soft. Above him his chains rattle and his arms flinch, wounds burning, but for the life of him, he can’t stop smiling. Wherever you were, he hoped you were safe and that he gave you the best chance of survival. He hoped you could forgive him.

Footsteps echo off the ground, and John looks over to the iron bars of his cell stiffly, mask re-falling to his stern face like a curtain. Two guards in armor clink down the hallway, expressions hidden by hoods and cloth. One produces a rusted key from his belt and slips it into the door, the metal rattling as it gets forced back and forth until the telltale click signifies the opening of the lock. 

“Finally letting me out, then?” John speaks dryly, voice holding a rasp. 

No one answers, and soon John’s chains are dropped and his arms seized. Yanked up, the fisherman grunts in pain as his legs drag behind him across the cobble—being taken somewhere. Probably, if John had to guess, the noose. 

Desertion isn’t something you can get out of shy of a life sentence; to hell or to a cell was entirely up to the King. And the King wasn’t entirely fond of John and his One Hundred and Forty-First. 

John was forced out into the open courtyard, a dichotomy of brightly flowering bushes and expensive finery to the platform placed in the very middle. The brunette's lips thinned at the sight of the large and imposing body made of wood and rope belonging to the gallows, a grim reaper of earthly material. There would be no great fight from him, no roar of a death rattle, just a kicking of his feet and tight wheezes, but no more. 

He knows his final thoughts will be of you—what you’re doing right now, how you’ll live the rest of your life. John hopes you don’t cry for him. 

The two guards shove him forward, and already a crowd has formed below the viewing platform for the monarch himself, who sits in all of his finery. Wyvern leather for his gloves, unicorn horn for a scepter, and…John’s eyes go tight, scales that make up a crown of opal and gold. Vibrant scales. 

Unmistakingly Merfolk, anyone who’s met one of the species would know it. It has the same shine as the one John holds in the pouch on his belt; the fisherman clings to the fact that, against all of it, you were still with him in even a small sense. You’d be with him. 

So John grits his teeth and glares up to the dias defiantly as the guards hold him under the noose, shoving his head to the side to grab the rope. He feels no fear.

“Fuckin’ watch it, Muppet,” the fisherman hisses, snapping his head to the side to stare into the glinting brown eyes from under the hood. He pauses, brows furrowing. “What…?” 

As his hands are forced behind him, they’re not tied as the excited murmuring from the crowd begins, the King’s forward-leaning attention. 

They’re given a knife. 

John hides his surprise and looks over to the other guard as he fits the noose over his neck. Amused blue, and around his neck the glint of silver discs. 

“Oh, bloody hell, you’re takin’ the piss,” the former Captain growls lowly. He knows those damned eyes, just as he knows his former Lieutenant’s. 

MacTavish and Simon. 

“Chin up, Captain,” Johnny jokes under his breath hidden by cloth. “Show’s about to start. Let’s give ‘em a proper scare, yeah.” 

Blue eye glare, but they lack the venom. A barred-teeth smile grows. How had this happened? Johnny steps back and goes to his side, the wood under their feet creaking. The crowd falls silent, looking to the King for the verdict. 

The King’s fingers raise and John memorizes his face in that instant…because it’s only then that he sees Gaz.

Gaz, who was on the upper terrace of the courtyard’s walls, holding a musket with the stock trained to his cheek; body still and ready—tutored to a perfectly motionless trance. There aren’t any guards to be seen near him. It’s a moment of pure silence, a ruling energy. The crowd is waiting for the King to verbalize an answer that he’s never able to give. 

As the monarch’s lips open there is an eardrum-bursting boom that shatters the call for John’s doom and instead spells his own in his very castle from one of his former men. A poetic ending, John would say, but he’s unable to verbalize it as he’s suddenly falling through the gallows hatch as Simon reems on the handle. 

“Knife!” It’s all the Ghost yells in warning.

With a rush of air, there’s a split second to cut the rope before it breaks his neck, and with a snapping motion, John perfects it in an instant—instinct as sharp as any blade that could be put into his hand. He hits the ground with a loud grunt of pain and struggles to sit up until Johnny and Simon jerk at him from where they’d jumped down as well. Not a second too soon, as lead balls from rival guns were already hitting the gallows. 

Not all the guards were dead, then, and apparently, the three had known that would be a possibility.

John would have to scold them later. 

“What in the hell is going on?!” The fisherman barks, but he’s being dragged before he shoves their hands off of him and follows to where they beeline into the fleeing crowd.

“What?” Johnny belts out laughter. “No ‘thank you?’ We just saved your neck!”

“Left!” Simon shouts, and although John’s body can’t take much more, they all dart into the cover of the castle walkways. “Make for the docks—the Sergeant’s meeting us there.”

“Bloody fucking Christ!” John growls but quickly goes onto the most important topic. “She’s behind this, isn’t she?” Johnny’s smirk only confirms it.

“Proper girl you’ve got there, Gaz found her on the shore. Else we’d never have heard about it all before you were dead and gone.” John blinks at him. “Getting reckless without us, now?”

The former Captain ignores the remark. “Where is she?” 

“Oi!” Ghost hisses, looking over his shoulder as the three hurry on as shouting rings from behind them. “Get your head in the game. Focus on not getting shot, yeah?” 

Brown meets blue. 

“You’ll see ‘er soon.” Simon ends, dead eyes shifting to a form that rampages through the hallway behind them. “Behind!” He calls loudly, and John ducks just as a knife is thrown with pinpoint accuracy. A sound of a body hitting the floor echoes over the distant screaming and calls of alarm. 

The King is dead. 

All of the men reach their destination by sheer luck and the knowledge of how to use a blade, cobblestone leading to open streets and back alleys. Finally, the wide stretch of sea was visible, and a shadow slinked out of a corner quickly. 

“Hell,” Gaz blinks at them, “do you think I’ll ever be let back into the castle?” 

Johnny pants a laugh. “You’ll be lucky to get into the province, ya sneaky Bastard. Fine fuckin’ shot.” 

Simon looks at them. “Gaz, Johnny, get to it.” 

They’re by the open water of the dock, long wooden walkways stretching out with ships shifting in the waves. John wonders if his boat is here in the back of his mind, but his eyes are already combing the waves greedily in search of you. 

Were you here? Oh, he hoped you weren’t. You’d be placing yourself in the middle of a very real and present danger. 

“Get to what?” John questions, looking at each man in turn. “What ‘ave you planned, eh? Seems I’ve missed the meeting where we decide to assassinate the bloody monarch in broad daylight.” 

Gaz places a hand on his shoulder as he shimmies past. “Best to leave the heavy lifting to the ones who can stand fully, Captain.”

“Aye,” Johnny confirms. “You’ll want to be here more than anywhere, bet ya.” 

Simon shares a look with the blacksmith and grabs John by one shoulder, leading him to the water as Johnny takes the other. The brunette blinks quickly in confusion and grunts an expletive. 

“Get your hands off of me you pair of—!”

“Have fun!” Johnny and Simon both shove him into the water with a final push and dart off like wisps. 

Water rushes into his ears, covering his head and soaking his clothes before it drags him under. John’s arms flailed to propel him back to the surface. A jolt later, his head is breaching the water with a venomous glare and a barked order on his lips to a vacant audience. The boys had already sprinted off to who knows where.

“Son of a…” John trials, weak legs kicking to keep him afloat. Something brushes his thigh as water drips from his nose, cleaning away the blood with a reddish tint to the liquid.

The fisherman startles, head snapping down just as your hands grasp at his abdomen, sliding up as you press your lips deeply into his in one swift motion. He gasps, grip instinctually moving to hold onto the small of your back. 

You press into him tightly, pushing every emotion into the locking of your mouths with desperation and longing. Sighing deeply into the kiss, John melts into you as your tail brushes his legs, torn fins visible and shimmering stitches pulling at flesh. Scales glint somewhat brighter under the waves, water dripping along your shoulders and wetting your hair. 

John brings you closer when he realizes it’s your form around him, eyes fluttering closed and fingers weaving behind the base of your skull. It’s as if the world stills for that quick and reverent second as if everything is right. The both of you break the kiss with soft eyes, and after a moment of staring your chest releases a chuckle; hands coming up to capture your fisherman’s cheeks, weaving through those beard hairs once more.

The brunette stares at you and lays his forehead into yours, not knowing what to say. A smile plays on his lips.

“...It seems my fisherman had more of a reckless side than I anticipated,” you speak for him, whispering into the air. Your eyes flicker over the cuts and bruises visible on his pale flesh and a flash of fear alights in your expression. “Oh, John…What have they done to you?”

“Just scratches,” the man reassures delicately. “It’s alright, Love. I’ll live.” 

But you both know this conversation can’t happen here. With a few more pecks of kisses to his lips, you ask in an ethereal voice, “Do you trust me?”

Your hand is locked to his wrist, pulling him along the waters as your head tilts at him and tail sliding along his flesh. 

John wastes no time. “Of course.” 

Lips flicker to a small, loving, grin and then you drag him under the water. 

—

“Do they hurt?” He asks you carefully, running a calloused hand along the tears in your fins you know will never heal fully. You sit on the rocks below Gaz’s home, the water still dripping off of both of your bodies. 

Out farther in the water the three other men are sailing back in John’s fishing boat, a few minutes out. You blink down at him and move a hand to shift his jaw upward to you, humming.

“Not when you touch them like that,” confessing, you keep close to him, held tightly under the crook of his arm and breathing in that scent of rope and wood oil. You practically vibrate with comfort, all of your worries able to be put aside at last. 

John looks down at you and chuckles, putting a deep kiss on your scalp and taking a deep inhale. 

“Cheeky,” he teases. You smile.

“And yours?” Your voice speaks out in question as the water brushes your tail. 

The man peels back to look down at you slowly. “Already better…I owe you, Sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you shake your head, “You owe me nothing. The only reason you were there was because of me.” 

John’s brows furrow, taking your chin in his fingers and tilting your head back to him. He stares into your eyes for a long while until your face starts to heat with emotion, blinking up at him innocently. His blues dart over the healing cuts and marks with hidden emotion.

“I’d do it again,” John whispers. “A million times over, you hear? I’d be a bloody fool not to.” 

He kisses you as you both wait in the setting twilight for the others, bloody and beaten—more scar tissue than anything else—but still your John. 

“Thank you,” he mutters into your lips, and then again when he nips at your flesh. The man plays with his necklace at your collarbone as he traces patterns in your scales and smirks when you shiver. 

He wonders how he got so lucky when the others anchor the boat near the shore, hopping off and wading the rest of the way to the beach. John kisses your forehead and says he’d be right back. 

You watch him with glinting eyes as he walks over to his men, taking each in a heartfelt handshake and conversing honestly. Your eyes blink at the care they display for one another and raise a hand when they peel off, back up to Gaz’s home to rest. 

They reciprocate and disappear atop the hill. 

What’s he doing? You ask as you watch John climb aboard his vessel and rummage around his fishing barrels, opening some and tossing the tops to the deck. Hands shifting along the rocks, you can’t hide the amusement or affection in your eyes at the sight of his ramping annoyance. What was he looking for? 

Your fingers go up to play with his necklace and watch. 

You can’t say you feel much heartache at the loss of your cove—even with the king dead, you were still hunted for your scales—though you had grown to see it in a new light. The place was only a home when John was there, and you knew wherever you went as long as he was there it would be alright. 

The both of you wouldn’t let anything happen to one another. 

John comes back carrying something tucked in cloth, a small parcel held in one hand and longer than it is wide. Your interest is immediately piqued, curiosity straining your eyes. 

He holds it out to you with a mischievous glint and a smirk. 

“Go on,” John motions. Blinking at him, your brows furrow as you carefully take the item from his hands, settling it in your lap before you shift the cloth away. 

Your fingers go to cover your mouth, small gasp entering the air. 

It was a golden box, engraved with movements that resemble lace and waves—shimmering in the low light. 

“John,” you stutter, “what is…?”’

“Open it,” the man insists, kneeling down in front of you as if his muscles didn’t ache. “It’s the reason I was late that day.” John grunts, rubbing at the bottom of his beard and watching intently; crinkles beside his eyes. 

You stare for a moment with burning tear ducts before you grasp ahold of the lid and open it after running a digit over the make. 

Inside sits blue velvet and, strangely, your own scales, but atop that…the blinding gold of a pair of twin cuff bracelets—stones the same shade as your tail. It was perhaps the most elegant piece of jewelry you had ever seen. 

For a solid minute you’re rendered speechless, mouth opening and closing as your tail hangs limp in the low tide. Chucking, John takes the pieces out and your ears twitch to the sound of your scales clacking together like glass. 

“Why would you…” You can’t make sense of it.

John slips them over your wrists and you gape in wonder. They fit just perfectly. 

You look up into your Fisherman’s face and feel tears drip down your chin. A hard hand comes to wipe them away as you laugh through a sniffle. 

“Do you like them, then, Love?” He asks lowly, beard pulled back in a smile. 

“Yes,” you say immediately, giggling. “How could I not? John, they’re lovely. Far too beautiful for me.” 

The former Captain grunts and his brows pull in, frowning. “Now why would you say that?” He brings your hands to his lips and kisses your knuckles. “You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. Can’t make me change my mind on that, eh?” 

Your eyes bore into him, lips parted. After a moment your face feels like it’s on fire and you cover your cheeks. 

John laughs loudly, grabbing your arms and lightly squeezing the flesh before taking your grip back down to your lap. You smile so widely you’re afraid your face might crack open.

“No need to hide,” he hums. “Let me see that face.” 

“You’re good to me, John.” His face softens, wrinkles fall away, and his chest swells with pride. You kiss his lips and whisper, “I bare my soul to you.”

It wasn’t an ‘I love you’ but something far more precious. 

The man’s face deepens with devotion, gruff figure more than easily leaning over yours as you’re carefully laid back to the tiny pebbles behind you—a hand behind your head and at the swell of what would be a hip.

In the darkening night, the sun shines its dying light across the waves just like the extending fingers of John’s firm grip; dragging you into him as sea-currents would. Wrapping you both in kelp and a salty grave. His voice is the grating of sand, the slide of a rope across a wooden deck. 

“Then I’ll take care of it for as long as I live.”

Your fisherman damns you to a crypt of land and air, and you couldn’t worship it more. To live and to die beside him is to have existed just as you should have.

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[asapjens]

UNEXPECTED LOVE

PJO: perseus jackson x fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: percy is drawn to this demiegod without knowing who’s her goldy parent.

CATEGORY: fluff

WORD COUNT: 480

It was a hot summer at Camp Half-Blood, and Percy was back for another action-packed break. As he strolled through the familiar grounds, Annabeth approached with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Hey, Seaweed Brain. You won't believe who's here," Annabeth exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement.

Percy raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Who?"

"Come on, I'll introduce you," Annabeth said, leading him towards a group of demigods gathered near the campfire.

Among them stood a girl with a contagious smile and a warm aura. Annabeth made the introductions, and as Percy got to talk to her, he was struck by her unwavering positivity and the way she effortlessly lifted the spirits of those around her.

As the days passed, Percy found himself drawn to her magnetic energy. He admired how she always saw the silver lining, even in the most inconvenient situations. Her optimism was like a breath of fresh air in the midst of demigod life.

One day, as they sat by the lake, Nico di Angelo opened up about how his father's reputation always seemed to affect him, and Y/N, in her ever-optimistic way, comforted him.

“Look Nico, I know that it seems like your father is doing all of this just to make your life complicated, but you have to remember you’re not your father's actions.”

Her words resonated deeply with Percy, and he couldn't help but admire her even more. Percy couldn't help but be curious about Y/N's own background, as he had never paid much attention to such things.

When he finally mustered the courage to ask her, he definitely didn’t see that one coming.

"Hey” Percy asked, "who's your godly parent anyway? I don't think I ever caught that."

You looked nervous as she admitted, "Um, my father is Ares."

Percy's eyes widened in surprise, and he was thoroughly confused. Y/N, the nicest girl he’d ever known, who always saw the good in everything, the girl who always tried to avoid conflict and was always relaxed, couldn’t possibly be related to the God who has tried to kill Percy multiple times.

Ares and he had a long and tumultuous history, and it was no secret that most of Ares' children didn't exactly adore him.

"Yeah, I know, it's pretty wild," You said with a shrug. "But when I found out, I realized that's why I used to get so mad all the time.”

Percy raised his eyebrows at that. You angry?

“I used to always get mad about everything and everyone without a reason, I used to think that everyone was out there to screw me over,” You explained to Percy, still managing a smile and comforting aura.

“So, when I found out, I started to work really hard to become this new, relaxed, and peaceful person."

Percy was taken aback by her honesty and resilience.

“Well, even though Ares and most of his children hate me, I – I really like you, Y/N. And I’m not afraid to put up with some of Ares' shi- mhm.. challenges,” Percy said, biting down the last words and smiling softly at you.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but then a radiant smile spread across your face. "I'd like that, Percy," you said softly, your positivity shining through even in this unexpected moment.

[theambitiouswoman]

Superfoods you should incorporate in your diet:

Superfoods are nutrient-dense foods that are considered beneficial for your health due to their high concentration of vitamins, minerals, antioxidants, and other beneficial compounds.

Combine these superfoods with a variety of other whole foods to ensure you're getting a wide range of nutrients. Also, be mindful of portion sizes and any individual dietary restrictions or allergies you may have.

Berries: Blueberries, strawberries, raspberries, and other berries are rich in antioxidants, fiber, and vitamins.

Leafy greens: Spinach, kale, Swiss chard, and other leafy greens are packed with vitamins, minerals, and fiber. They are low in calories and provide important nutrients like vitamin K, vitamin C, and folate.

Cruciferous vegetables: Broccoli, cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, and cabbage are part of the cruciferous vegetable family. They contain compounds that may help reduce the risk of certain cancers.

Nuts and seeds: Almonds, walnuts, chia seeds, flaxseeds, and hemp seeds are excellent sources of healthy fats, protein, fiber, and various vitamins and minerals.

Fish: Fatty fish like salmon, sardines, and mackerel are rich in omega-3 fatty acids, which are beneficial for heart health and brain function.

Whole grains: Quinoa, brown rice, oats, and whole wheat are examples of whole grains that provide fiber, vitamins, and minerals.

Legumes: Beans, lentils, chickpeas, and other legumes are high in fiber, protein, and various nutrients. They are also a good source of plant-based protein.

Turmeric: This spice contains curcumin, a compound with potent anti-inflammatory and antioxidant properties.

Green tea: Green tea is rich in antioxidants called catechins and is believed to have various health benefits, including improved brain function and a lower risk of certain diseases.

Dark chocolate: Dark chocolate with a high cocoa content (70% or higher) is a source of antioxidants and may have positive effects on heart health and mood.

Avocado: Avocados are rich in healthy fats, fiber, and various vitamins and minerals. They also provide a good source of potassium.

Greek yogurt: Greek yogurt is a protein-rich food that also contains beneficial probiotics, calcium, and vitamin B12.

Sweet potatoes: Sweet potatoes are packed with vitamins, minerals, and fiber. They are an excellent source of beta-carotene, which is converted into vitamin A in the body.

Garlic: Garlic contains sulfur compounds that have been associated with potential health benefits, including immune support and cardiovascular health.

Ginger: Ginger has anti-inflammatory properties and is commonly used to aid digestion and relieve nausea.

Seaweed: Seaweed, such as nori, kelp, and spirulina, is a rich source of minerals like iodine, as well as antioxidants and omega-3 fatty acids.

Pomegranate: Pomegranates are packed with antioxidants and are believed to have anti-inflammatory properties. They are also a good source of vitamin C and fiber.

Cacao: Raw cacao is the purest form of chocolate and is rich in antioxidants, flavonoids, and minerals. It can be enjoyed as nibs, powder, or in dark chocolate form.

Quinoa: Quinoa is a gluten-free grain that provides a complete source of protein, along with fiber, vitamins, and minerals.

Extra virgin olive oil: Olive oil is a healthy fat option, particularly extra virgin olive oil, which is high in monounsaturated fats and antioxidants.

Chia seeds: Chia seeds are a great source of fiber, omega-3 fatty acids, and antioxidants. They can be added to smoothies, yogurt, or used as an egg substitute in recipes.

Beets: Beets are rich in antioxidants and are known for their vibrant color. They also contain nitrates, which have been shown to have beneficial effects on blood pressure and exercise performance.

Matcha: Matcha is a powdered form of green tea and is known for its high concentration of antioxidants. It provides a calm energy boost and can be enjoyed as a tea or added to smoothies and baked goods.

Algae: Algae, such as spirulina and chlorella, are nutrient-dense foods that are rich in protein, vitamins, minerals, and antioxidants. They are often consumed in powdered or supplement form.

Fermented foods: Fermented foods like sauerkraut, kimchi, kefir, and kombucha are rich in beneficial probiotics that support gut health and digestion.

Maca: Maca is a root vegetable native to the Andes and is often consumed in powdered form. It is known for its potential hormone-balancing properties and is commonly used as an adaptogen.

Goji berries: Goji berries are small red berries that are rich in antioxidants, vitamins, and minerals. They can be enjoyed as a snack or added to smoothies and oatmeal.

Hemp seeds: Hemp seeds are a great source of plant-based protein, healthy fats, and minerals like magnesium and iron. They can be sprinkled on salads, yogurt, or blended into smoothies.

Moringa: Moringa is a nutrient-dense plant that is rich in vitamins, minerals, and antioxidants. It is often consumed as a powder or used in tea.

Mushrooms: Certain mushrooms, such as shiitake, reishi, and maitake, have immune-boosting properties and are rich in antioxidants. They can be cooked and added to various dishes.

[aryxchse]

No cause now I need more. Like I don't know headcannons or something about how they got together and how their parents reacted.

LIKR IMAGINE THE FAMILY GATHERINGS!SGAHSJSKSN

Something- anything please I am begging😭

percy jackson x daughter of amphitrite! reader headcanons.

a / n : feeding my inner self ship here LMAO and also this is literally headcanons that made up from my ass, so idk if amphitrite would have a cabin, because they didn't make one even for her honor sooo.. yeah

warnings : cursing, fighting, blood mention, injury mention, basically just two waterbenders in love

- it was all camp half blood's fault

- you didn't had a cabin of your own, but they thought you staying in the poseidon cabin was the best decision

- well it was.. until percy got claimed

- you both had to share the same cabin, and he wasn't the best at keeping it clean

- all those years, getting a 10 from the cabin check, you got 5 because of him

- and it made you furious

- but, a nice girl you are, instead of breaking his heart, you warned him

- "next time we get a 5 from the cabin check, i will break your surfboard into pieces 😊"

- "yes ma'am 🫡" no ofc he didn't said that

- but he thought that as he nervously shake his head

- well, he didn't really had a time to clean his cabin, so the promise was forgotton

- and you learned to pick up after his back

- it was a beautiful afternoon when annabeth barged into your cabin

- "percy's in a fight and we can't stop him."

- these are the questions that you should've asked when she said that : what's that have to do with me? what am i even gonna do? why are you coming to me? what the fu-

- but what you did instead : run to percy

- alright, i guess you two have a bond now

- "alright seaweed brain, get your ass back up," you said as you yanked grabbed him by the arm and pushing him aside

- he tried to run to the boy he was beating back again, but you just pushed him by his chest and slowly lead him to your cabin

- "dude what the hell is going on with you?" you asked as you both enter. he was panting, sitting on his bed and holding his head. "percy? i asked you a question."

- "he was saying something shitty about you, and i couldn't just stand there and listen him. okay?" he said, not facing you.

- oh

- ooohhhhhh

- 😏

- "why though?" you sat next to him on the bed, too suprised to even get mad at him

- "you always got my back in cabin check so, i got your back outside, i guess." he simply shrugged

- alright mr in love

- and with that, you both got really close

- this was your breaking point in 'awkward energy'

- surfing competitions where it's just you two racing? check

- married dolphin and shark plushies? check

- going to an aquarium? double check

- the animals were once your enemy back then because of your mother, was your friends now

- same as percy

- and when you both started dating, percy realised how relaxed he was around you

- like when he was little, he would listen to ocean sounds to calm himself down after a stressful day

- and you have the same affect on him

- later he learned that children of amphitrite have that affect on children of poseidon and that's why annabeth bringed you that day

- talking of the parents

- the meeting was the most hilarious thing happened to you both

- because they already knew

- one time. ONE TIME YOU KISSED PERCY UNDERWATER AND THE FUCKING FISH WERE ALREADY EVERYWHERE-

- "ohh lord perseus and princess y/n"

- "ohh they're kissing"

- and suprisingly gossip spreads around ocean VERY FAST

- you both got a call from atlantic or smth to get there fast

- they weren't angry or anything, poseidon loved you and weirdly your mom loved percy

- they were just.. suprised

- "what type of history shit is going on here-"

- "POSEIDON."

- you understand where percy got his humor from now

- alright moving on to real parent SALLY MF JACKSON!!

- you think you being her ex's wife's daughter will make her hate you?

- well yeah, but sally jackson is the definition of angel

- and she doesn't care about your godly side as long as you're making percy happy by just being in his life

- so as you can say, you guys are already besties

- moving on again to u and percy

- underwater kisses duh

- silly blue shirts about fishes

- watching ariel, moana, lost fish nemo and dory and all of the sea shit together

- and recreating the musical scenes

- you having a signature pegasus friend like him

- and him having a dolphin one like you

- you guys just rule the lake atp

- living in the same cabin is the best thing ever happened to percy

- because he get to cuddle you EVERY NIGHT without having to worry about getting caught

- and tyson? basically your children

- seashell jewelry gifts from percy

- always wearing blue together

- also eating blue food

- this fic is really long rn but you both are yue and sokka tbh

- give yue one more chance!!

[ineffablejaymee]

ITS PERCY JACKSON TIME AND I HAVE THOUGTS

if anyone tries to put spoiler alert on this i will cry these books are 15 years old ANYWAY THOUGHTS

I love the fight between percy and grover, sue me. the betrayal in percy's eyes and grover hurting him to protect him???? these are my BOYS the empathy link is coming

CLARISSE clarisse is so. so. i love her. im not a fan of her calling percy a fraud, i think her hating him because she wanted to prove herself and was jealous of percy was great but they made it work. AND THE WAY SHE CRIED OUT WHEN PERCY BROKE HER SPEAR?! oh she has daddy issues shes gonna nail sea of monsters arc if they shoot it

the foreshadowing about luke is CRAZY and i eat it u p. also it hurts like a bitch, especially with walker playing the naive and trusting percy so perfectly. AND THE LITTLE SISTER LINE?! magnificent. shatter my heart and leave it in pieces

WALKER IS AMAZING hes the embodiment of percy and yeah, persassy. we knew he would be back. his whole interaction with Mr. D was hillarious and i love the dad scene. Such Jason Mantzoukas energy he was made for this role.

i adore Sally, she's the rebellious, brave and caring woman i imagined while reading the books. and her relationship with percy is amazing. i will never stop crying about them btw

YOU DROOL IN YOUR SLEEP the way i SCREAMED we are getting the percabeth. i will be so insufferable when she calls percy seaweed brain. i cant wait for more annabeth screentime

i wasnt the one watching these episodes. instead there was the 12 yo undiagnosed me who had just felt seen on the pages for the first time in their life in my seat.

[whoisenver]

my takes on the 7

percy

- Bi wife energy, a trophy husband (and proud of it), will compete with Jason to do the most pushups with their kids on their backs, love language is words

annabeth

- Workaholic, cries a lot, love language is touch, gets with piper weekly (every other week if she's busy) to discuss tea in the Aphrodite cabin

leo

- AROACE AND I WILL TAKE NO CRITICISM, no hate to Calypso tho, I could see them being a platonic relationship but not romantic(idk) his love language is yapping (words)

piper

- Lesbian? maybe. Bi? maybe. queer? Yes! I don't think she'd fit into specifically feminine labels (like lesbian) I think she'd label herself queer. love language is quality time

jason

- were pretending he's not dead lol, he would want a family and Thalia would love it. whenever she could she would be with them. love language quality time

hazel

-Adores bob ross. like will put him on as background noise but end up following along. her and Frank foster kids. hazel hates the foster system. love language gifts

frank

-Gives said foster kids "bear* hugs (has them close their eyes and changes to a bear to hug them. they're the couple you see holding hands when they're old and your heart melts a bit. live in New Rome until they pass. love language acts of service

bonus: Percy sings the song "Annabelle's Homework" by Alex Benjamin only he says Annabeth and he is always returned just a head shake, a sigh, and a "seaweed brain you couldn't do trigonometry if you tried"

[bikananjarrus]

the pipeline of “i chose her because i couldn’t imagine we’d ever be friends” to “hold on, seaweed brain. you’re not getting away from me that easily” is going to be sooooo satisfying. like 12-year old percy ‘clown energy’ jackson doesn’t even KNOW that in four years time annabeth is literally going to become his anchor to the mortal world, his actual achilles heel. thee best friends to lovers story of all time methinks

[gumnut-logic]

Thoughts on Tracys

Well, I did dig into my fic folder and did find the ‘Thoughts on Tracy brothers’ fic and yeah, I left it at just Scott. Sorry. Must see if I can continue that one at some point now that I even know it exists.

But I did find something else. This is me in early 2020, before Covid hit, fortunately, as I had an infected foot at the time and could barely walk.

-o-o-o-

I was re-reading part of my Kermadec fic and encountered the bit where Scott comes across the hot spring and it occurred to me the difference between Scott and Virgil as to how they interpret their environment. This led me to thinking about characterisation and point of view and how you write a character to sound like themselves. Then, because I’m lying idle around the house with a mild headache and a bung foot, I pondered how each of the five brothers might interpret the same scene. I sat their idly constructing scenes in my head and how this might illustrate how a character thinks.

So, now because I’m still sitting around the house with a mild headache and a bung foot, I thought I’d give this exercise a go...cos actually writing one of my many wips would be far too logical ::headdesk::

Anyways, five brothers, same beach, same time of day. Let’s see if I can make them sound like themselves....and not end up writing another wip :D Note: these scenes are separate and unrelated to each other...just flotsam my brain threw up. Guess which brother is which?

-o-o-o-

His running shoes hit the sand hard, gouging holes in the pristine surface. The air was still and clear, the ocean quiet, his breathing drowning out the sound of the waves. This was his third lap, but his first step onto this beach. He usually avoided this patch of sand because it was Virgil’s favourite and often the place his brother came to be alone. But today was a day that wouldn’t see Virgil outside the villa. Not today, not tomorrow, not for some time at all.

His breathing lost its regular pace and he had to force himself to concentrate harder on his rhythm.

His feet hit the sand and he kept on running.

-o-o-o-

There were times being a brother of the commander of this outfit really sucked.

One foot after the other. Scott may feel exuberant at this time of the morning, but honestly, this time should not exist.

He was only awake because the smart ass had called a drill. God. He ran a hand through his hair and guzzled the coffee that was automatically poured into his face.

He swore Scott did it because of his comment about Thunderbird One’s erotic symbolism yesterday. But hey, he was the one who had compared Two to a pregnant turtle.

Turtles lay eggs, you idiot.

But that hadn’t been enough, so he’d resorted to a dick joke.

And had been dragged out of bed at 5am.

Ergh.

His staggering finally led him to the beach and the moment he stepped onto the sand, the breeze caught him and brushed away his frown.

A sigh fell from his lips and he closed his eyes.

The sounds of the ocean caressed his ears and washed away the aggravation. The calm seeped into his bones and his shoulders dropped.

But he kept his grip on his mug of coffee.

Another sip.

Another grateful sigh.

And a plan began to form.

-o-o-o-

Before he knew it the sun was peeking over the edge of the planet and the stars were fading.

His butt and back were damp from lying on the sand.

There was dry seaweed in his hair.

He reached up and untangled the mess, frowning as it caught and pulled. Ow.

It wasn’t often he used a beach for stargazing, but he hadn’t had the energy to climb the stairs to the observatory and to be honest, he wasn’t looking for a specific event, more just comfort in the familiar.

He had come out here in the early hours, his circadian rhythm still slightly off and done his best to connect with what he loved.

He had forgotten the inconveniences of sand, mosquitoes and was that a crab?

He shifted his leg out of reach and clambered to his feet.

The sun flashed everything gold, including him.

A sigh and he turned to walk back to the house.

-o-o-o-

One of the advantages of living on your own secret tropical island is that he could run around in whatever clothes he wanted and not have to worry about what the public might think.

A pair of flip flops and his swimwear, mostly because it was just after his morning laps. Specimen bags in hand, he headed down to the beach to check on the morning’s finds.

The ocean was still puking up stuff from the storm that passed to the south of the Island two weeks ago and he was making sure to check the beaches every morning to see what treasures might surface. One of the things about cyclones is that they churned the ocean as much as the land and often interesting things appeared with the tide as a result.

Fortunately the storm hadn’t actually hit the Island itself and the beach was on the protected side, otherwise there may have been no beach left to comb. This time the conditions were perfect and he wasn’t going to miss out on the opportunity.

Clambering around the Island in flip flops would probably earn him several frowns from several quarters, but to be honest he didn’t care.

From the moment his feet hit the sand, he was discovering and cataloguing. Three different types of sponge all seen before. A nasty chunk of the rare kelp from that isolated patch to the south, damn. An array of shells of which one he was unable to identify. He grabbed that one for identification purposes and one other simply because it was pretty and he knew a brother who might like it.

He found the waves tossing about a large chunk of broken coral and he swore. Damn. Cyclones were nasty to reefs and they took eons to repair.

The worst find was a relatively small mola mola. The young sunfish looked like it had been caught up in an argument between the surf and the volcanic rocks of the island.

He carefully picked it up and placed it in a bag, commemorative words for a life lost passing through his mind as he sealed it tight. Size and details would be sent to the NZ DoC south of their island for research purposes.

Reaching the end of the beach he turned back and trailed his feet in the water. A glance at the rising sun and he headed back.

-o-o-o-

He bounded onto the beach and kicked the sand with his foot. This was so unfair! Why couldn’t he do what everyone else was doing?

He stomped his feet into the sand and took some satisfaction in the deep divots his feet left behind.

The water was whispering as if to herald the rise of the sun.

He didn’t like it.

It mocked him.

Why? Why? Why?

The question bounced around his head and just fuelled his anger.

There was a roar and the island shook as behind him Thunderbird One leapt into the air. Further in the distance he heard the deeper rumble as Two ignited her rear thrusters and a moment later the great green ‘bird appeared over the palm trees and shot off into the distance, Thunderbird One darting down to escort her.

Both were lit up by the sun.

His heart was caught between pride at the sight, and the anger that he wasn’t with them.

As they disappeared in the sunrise, he glared after them.

-o-o-o-

Okay, that exercise did not go exactly the way I had planned, but I hope you enjoyed these little snippets. I hope you can tell which bro is which. I haven’t really gone to any effort to hide them and I’m kinda hoping it is obvious. Maybe take note of the bits of information that give it away?

Or which bros I’m better at writing, maybe :D

Fun to write. I hope they are fun to read.

::hugs you all::

Nutty

(Yeah, well, my brain is weird, I can’t help myself)

[melliae]

Refraction Railway Line #1 Abnormalities Part 2 (Analysis)

To Forsake One's Self

“A silhouette is observed inside the inflated sack around the chest. -It bears resemblance to a flower, or the central nervous system of a human.” - Meursault, Abnormality’s Observation Log #2.

A headless fish. That’s what the Abnormality is. Like, there’s no way of getting it wrong… Yet, how is it possible to swim so lively without a head? It doesn’t make any sense. Without a head, there’s no way someone can live, let alone be so vigorous...

But if we were to truly believe so, we would be sinning of “anachronism”, just like Faust said in Selva Oscura. After all, we are seeing not a physical entity, but a symbolic one.

The head and the brain are some of the most obvious and well-known symbols for the mind, or better said, for the conscious side of the mind. They are the source of your rationality, of all you are aware of, and what most people would say they really are. However, the conscious “self” or Ego is but a part of the whole psyche, its “rational light” extending only so far into the dark realm of nature or the unconscious, and I’ll be damned if Headless Ichthys’ entire design doesn’t hinge on that:

Its arena is an underwater reef. Needless to say, water itself is one of the de facto symbols of the unconscious, with the underwater environment just being the icing on the cake.

It’s also filled with vegetal life, such as seaweed. Due to their upright position, they could be understood as symbols of psychic development, of the differentiating and creative power within the unconscious.

And finally, the fact that Headless Ichthys is, well, a fish goes back to the idea of unconscious contents being symbolized by animal figures due to their primitiveness. Not always, obviously, but considering how the Ichthys has its head cut… Yeah, primitive it is.

And as I explained before with Watchdog, the unconscious mind is anything but quiet. That explains why the Ichthys splashes and swims with so much energy—that’s the complexes, or the “many intelligences” of the unconscious, in action, of which the Ego is simply the most differentiated or developed. However, a problem emerges with this definition, because it’s too similar to Watchdog, the two being some sort of battered consciousness that has receded into the unconscious. Thankfully, Carl Jung is there to help us once more.

“The egg is a germ of life with a lofty symbolical significance. It is not just a cosmogonic symbol—it is also a "philosophical" one. As the former it is the Orphic egg, the world's beginning; as the latter, the philosophical egg of the medieval natural philosophers, the vessel from which, at the end of the opus alchymicum, the homunculus emerges, that is, the Anthropos, the spiritual, inner and complete man, who in Chinese alchemy is called the chen-yen (literally, "perfect man").” - Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious.

I already quoted this in my theory-prediction about Faust, but the gist is that the Ego emerges from the unconscious in order to know and realize it(self), to reach a state of inner and outer harmony known simply as the Self, the archetype of psychic wholeness that encompasses all that exists—darkness and light, good and evil, the whole of life. It’s not a surprise, then, that such a psychic potency has left its mark in the many cultures across history, with the alchemical motif mentioned above just being one of many examples; others include the Buddha, Christ and his ichthys, God Himself, plants and flowers like the rose and lotus, square or circular mandalas, the firmament, or even time itself.

How all of this psychoanalytic mumbo-jumbo relates to the Abnormality is more than obvious. From the sac that holds the flower-nervous system hybrid to its very name, all points to the Ichthys not being guided by the chaotic storm of Watchdog but by transcendence itself, the unconscious Self of the world safely guarded within its own “womb”, like a fish enveloped by the dark waters of the sea or the homunculus created within the alchemical alembic. This “flower” or even “intelligence” is Ichthys’ own treasure that it wants to keep apart from people, untouchable and protected.

“Perhaps it can splash around more comfortably without that big sac of blood weighing it down? I ask the Sinners to pop its blood sac, but the fish turns aggressive and advances toward us upon hearing my order.” - Abnormality Encounter (“Pop its sac” option).

… However, there’s something that doesn’t fit with the interpretation above. If the sac and its treasure are so important for the Ichthys, to the point it has abandoned its consciousness, why does it use it to attack? Surely it can’t be healthy for the “self” inside, especially when all the affinities related to those attacks are so negative, like Envy (Pressing Sac) and Wrath (Blood Cannon). Even the more (often than not) positive Lust isn’t exempt from that, since “Clotting” is only used once you fail the mid-combat Event, which explicitly states that its sac is just so bloated with blood that its neck is about to shoot blood. But once more, Jung is here to save us!

“The forest, dark and impenetrable to the eye, like deep water and the sea, is the container of the unknown and the mysterious. It is an appropriate synonym for the unconscious. [...] The mighty old oak is proverbially the king of the forest. Hence it represents a central figure among the contents of the unconscious, possessing personality in the most marked degree. It is the prototype of the self, a symbol of the source and goal of the individuation process. The oak stands for the still unconscious core of the personality, the plant symbolism indicating a state of deep unconsciousness.” - Alchemical Studies.

Look at all the seaweeds and fallen trunks in the arena, all the vegetal life that shies away from growing and emerging into the shining surface, from developing themselves… Headless Ichthys’ “terrarium” is a prison, an unconscious “womb” that doesn’t let its “children” see the light of consciousness, and its sac acts the double so, being an actual womb or “alchemical vessel” within the already maternal waters, a warm place that refuses to set free the Self, the most important “flower” of all. This means the Abnormality is, similar to Sign of Roses and Carmen, a twisted and “demonic” manifestation of the Mother archetype: the devouring Mother that ruins and spoils all possible development to avoid suffering.

“There is no birth of consciousness without pain.” - Development of Personality.

Thus, it’s not surprising why “Clotting” is Lust, for the Ichthys surely must feel more than just relief and pleasure when expelling all the blood that was about to burst its sac. Likewise, the Wrath affinity of “Blood Cannon” and the Body’s increasing resistance to said affinity are rooted in the Abnormality’s reaction upon you trying to damage its precious sac, returning all those “offenses” with the anger and fury proper of a possessive mother. But the more it increases its Wrath, the more it fears pain and despair—its weakness to Gloom, despite how it would normally remain controlled and subdued most of the time (see “Blood Sac” passive).

In contrast, the only natural weakness of the Body corresponds to Lust, and just like in KQE’s case, it likely corresponds to the idea of love—of proper love that correctly nurtures and allows the development of the psyche, in contrast to the desperate need of the Ichthys to keep its self sheltered from harm as seen with Don’s Fluid Sac; maybe that explains why the Legs are resistant to Gluttony (despite the complete lack of said skills). And since I mentioned Don here, I think it’s time to clear a possible misconception that may have arisen.

Headless Ichthys doesn’t have anything to do with actual motherhood.

The meaning of the Abnormality is solely related to the smothering of self-development, the deliberate destruction and suppression of the personal identity in order to, apparently, attain a certain treasure. That’s why both Don and Faust have Fluid Sac, because the two of them suppress(ed) their original identities and psychologies in order to follow the “star” they think (or thought, in the near future) they are. Damn! In Sancho’s case, she literally drank from the Lethe so she could be reborn as someone that was explicitly said to be asleep—she dissolved herself in the waters of the unconscious to forget herself. It’s only after she killed Don Quixote, her father, that she truly awakened as such, as marked with the dawn behind her in one of the last CGs.

Coincidentally, the one who wrote the Logs was Meursault, who explicitly said he killed his own mother… I do wonder what kind of parricide awaits us in Faust’s Canto, as if Hong Lu’s wasn’t enough.

Anyway, as I previously stated, Headless Ichthys’ meaning is essentially the sacrifice of the Self (or your sense of identity, if you will) under the erroneous assumption that you can develop and live as yourself under the motherly heat and blood of the unconscious, safely “swimming in a pond” instead of confronting the world (yes, that’s the meaning behind its Encounter). Needless to say, such a perspective is glaringly wrong, and I think this is expressed through the Envy affinity of “Pressing Sac”, for why would the Fish that doesn’t want to be born be envious of those who did, unless, of course, those feelings don’t come from it but from the entity that carries within itself? It doesn’t help that “Pressing Sac” is the only skill that actually uses the sac to attack, despite how dubious the interpretation sounds.

Now, that pretty much is the end of the Abnormality’s “meat”. That doesn’t mean the rest of the parts and skills don’t have any interesting thing; it’s just that they aren't as rich as the Body and the sac, with simple interpretations such as the weakness to Sloth of the Legs and Tail—it’s a fish; it can’t get stuck or lazy while swimming! Meanwhile, the particular weakness to Wrath of the Legs may be related to the idea of rejecting the hand of one’s “mother”, to use the wrath against the compulsion to remain in the “waters”.

“This image is undoubtedly a primordial one, and there was profound justification for its becoming a symbolical expression of human fate: in the morning of life the son tears himself loose from the mother, from the domestic hearth, to rise through battle to his destined heights. [...] His life is a constant struggle against extinction, a violent yet fleeting deliverance from ever-lurking night.” - Symbols of Transformation.

Life is a struggle itself, a constant coming and going between day and night, good and evil, happiness and suffering—those polarities are what make everything alive and the Self whole. Thus, it’s not surprising the beginning of one’s (true) life is violent too, especially with a “mother” (i.e., longing) such as the Ichthys, with its such a strong and gluttonous grip. Maybe there lies the reason for the Pride affinity of “Powerful Clap”, used solely by the Left Leg, with said side belonging to the Tree of Life’s pillar related to the feminine and thus motherhood. In contrast, the much weaker and gloomier “Clap” is used by the Right Leg, and guess what things are related to that Pillar in the Tree? By that matter, LC used this division for the Sephirot’s gender.

Moving into the Tail… Nope, this part beats me. I can somewhat understand the resistance to Lus, since it could be some sort of contrast between the Tail and the Body (and sac), but I don’t have any idea regarding its only skill. The same applies to what the Fluid Sac status exactly entails, unlike the very obvious Blood Sac… Oh, and beyond the obvious reasoning of the endometrium being very rich in blood during pregnancy, I think it’s quite obvious that blood also doubles as a symbol for instinct and thus primitive psychic energy.

“But water is earthy and tangible, it is also the fluid of the instinct-driven body, blood and the flowing of blood, the odour of the beast, carnality heavy with passion.” - Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious.

Water, both as blood and the element as such, is the matrix of all life as a whole, that which impulses every being to their “destined height”. However, in this particular case, the vital essence is held up by the devouring parental imago, the “monster of the depths” that paralyzes all individual development and plants the seeds for future disasters.

“Fatigue is one of the most regular symptoms of loss of energy or libido. The entire process represents something very typical, namely the failure to recognize a moment of crucial importance, a motif which we encounter in a great variety of mythical forms.” - Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious.

That was said in relation to the Muslim story of how Moses met Al-Khidr, more specifically about the part where a fish the prophet and his servant planned to eat escaped. Parallels are more than obvious, with the case of Don, or better said, Sancho—the quiet, cynical, snarky, and extremely loyal child of Don Quixote—being much more interesting than Faust’s, because it tells us a lot about Bloodfiends and even the City and the Head.

It’s quite obvious that from the moment Quixote turned her into a Bloodfiend, all of Sancho’s attention was directed into her new “father”, for her hurt and depressed psyche unconsciously got attached to that infantile conception of security and family—a psychological complex that is best known as the Bloodstream. This means that, in essence, all Bloodfiends have an unconscious but powerful—almost numinous—attachment to their forefathers, filled with reverence, adoration, and fear not unlike those of a kid, hence making it impossible for them to move beyond their infantile psyche that fittingly yearns for things in their grossest, more primitive forms. And just like all the City-dwellers, Quixote, Sancho, and all Bloodfiends desire to feel the vitalizing air and sunlight, the warmth of each other, and to taste and gulp down the forgotten “waters” that nurtured the world itself and from which they have distanced themselves  too much… But water and its blue color are too high and lofty for the stunted psyche of the Bloodfiends; it’s a direct betrayal to the Bloodstream that demands complete subservience to the ancestors, to the (likely equally, if not more stunted) Progenitor, and thus their own souls demand the “waters of life” in the same way it does with their desire for connection.

“That the lapis, or in our case the floating sphere, has a double meaning is clear from the circumstance that it is characterized by two symbolical colours: red means blood and affectivity, the physiological reaction that joins spirit to body, and blue means the spiritual process (mind or nous).” - Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious.

This also explains why Dante said Bloodfiends were similar to Distortions, because they both are essentially individual beings consumed and twisted by their own complexes and traumas, just in different ways, which means the City is no different from the Bloodfiends. Be it Fixers, Syndicate members, or Feathers of a Wing, countless organizations and teams have been formed in search of life itself in a land that has forsaken and exiled all the human fantasies, an action done by none other than the ever-watchful and oppressive protector of the nest that the City is.

“Nest: the alchemical vessel. This is the place where the *philosopher’s stone is incubated and generated. A popular symbol for the birth of the Stone is that of the *philosophical bird or chick hatching from the *egg in the nest of the philosophers.” - Dictionary

But where the compulsion of the Bloodstream and Headless Ichthys doesn’t allow people to go beyond their “parents”, the Head has likely styled itself as both the protector and biggest enemy of humanity, the last step that people have to overcome to truly become free—just like Don and Sancho did through Bari’s tales (who happens to be blue, in contrast to the Bloodfiends’ red) and their own adventuring, gaining a new attachment to life beyond what the Bloodstream told them. In fact, Sancho surpassed the Bloodstream’s control to the point she forced herself to drink from the Lethe. But in that, she fell into the same compulsion as before, sinking into the depths of the unconscious with a new “self” that was no different from her previous life: an unconscious child unaware of everything, born of fear.

Thankfully, that wasn’t where Don’s story ended, and she further demonstrated the potential to overcome the Bloodstream and its childish mania through battling her own father without the need of the Helmet of Mambrino. She acquired so many experiences and was filled by them in such a manner that during that last clash she was able to shake off all hesitation and fear to pierce the heart of the source of her life so she could take the reins herself… However, that was only possible due to her naive beginning in the River of Oblivion, washing away all that had happened.

“The sun breaks from the mists of the horizon and climbs to undimmed brightness at the meridian. Once this goal is reached, it sinks down again towards night. This process can be allegorized as a gradual seeping away of the water of life: one has to bend ever deeper to reach the source.” - Symbols of Transformation.

Fundamentally speaking, while the figure of the Mother—and overall family, hence part of the incest taboo according to Jung—is somewhat disagreeable during more or less the first half of one’s life (ignoring childhood, obviously), it’s an indispensable part for the later half, when one’s body becomes rigid and fixated on past achievements instead of coming to terms with the return to the Mother and family, the place of eternal rest. And yes, this is the explanation of why the “splash around together” option in its Encounter heals both HP and SP, and maybe why the Fluid Sac status also heals the Ichthys (though I still don’t have any idea of why the color changes between statuses).

The mother-imago that the Abnormality represents is quite all-encompassing, isn’t it? No matter how hard one tries to fight it, the yearn to give up and be embraced by the watery abyss is always present, and it becomes ultimately a necessity when the consciousness becomes battered and exhausted. That’s the psychological foundation of the many myths, stories, and rituals about rebirth, chief of them the christian baptism and alchemical dissolution (which I already explained). But as always, one can’t loiter there, in that moment of unconscious union with the Mother, unless they get stuck and a psychological disaster befalls them.

Ultimately, the relationship with our family and, above all, our parents is a complex one. This is not even about physical or psychological abuse as such, but about the consequences and impacts they have in our minds. The deficiency of their love, whether it be a lack or excess of it, is one of the heaviest marks possible, and sometimes the fault may not be upon them, but on us—our fears and anxiety that don’t allow us to separate from the psychic impressions of our families and parents.

My Form Empties

“A bell occasionally tolls in the red room. It’s a heavy, subduing sound. The statue is chanting something. You’re unable to recognize its words. But, you feel that whatever it is, is not a joyous thing. There’s a brass ring on the statue’s finger.” - Abnormality Encounter.

Whoever says Buddhism is a simple religion is lying through its teeth. It’s as complicated, if not more so than Christianity, with a rich history and divisions derived from its 2500 years of existence. There’s simply no way for me to explain it shortly and dispel some of the biggest misconceptions around it in such a short post. Nonetheless, I’ll try to make an attempt, because My Form Empties (or MFE and the Bodhisattva for short) really needs it.

Desire is a complex thing. It does drive you to do and accomplish things, yes, but at the same time it fills you with all sorts of expectations and fantasies that do not have any footing in reality. I’m not speaking about such things as equality, kindness, or goodness, but about the fact that desire and obsession can lead you to twist truth itself in order to satisfy itself, to think that some things can or can’t change in order to feel content—not you acting upon your desire, but Lust acting through and possessing you. Thus, it’s not surprising that a lot of old philosophies and even modern ones feel conflicted about it, imposing moral obligations on it or directly forsaking it all together, and chief among them are the dharmic religions that originated in India: Hinduism, Jainism, and Buddhism.

As the name of the category implies, those 3 religions focus on teaching dharma, which can be broadly understood as the underlying truth of the world and the righteous duties and ways of life derived from it, all in order to extinguish the desires and sufferings that disturb the world, achieving the state known as moksha, or liberation from the fantasies and illusions (maya) born of desire. What this state of freedom entails varies from religion to religion and even from sect to sect, but the main difference resides in that Hinduism and Jainism hold that there’s an eternal and pure self (atman) that experiences the trappings of desire and its illusions, and Buddhism says that the self is those desires and illusions, ergo, that there’s no eternal true self (anatman) but just a constantly shifting awareness born of attachment, and the realization of this and the cessation of attachment and thus of self is called nirvana.

The reason why the dharmic religions are so obsessed with the detachment of desire has to do with diverse theories, but due to the topic at hand, Buddhism holds that desire as a mental factor is the root of all attachment and hence suffering due to the impermanent and non-self nature of the world, and desire is in turn created by ignorance of how the individual self is just a short-lived fragment of the chain of causality or karma. The desire and fear—for they are inexorably connected—over life and death give rise to samsara, or the endless cycle of rebirth, where both the “individual sense of self” (which, again, doesn’t actually exist) and karma perdure, determining the individual and collective future based on the effects of actions and their intention, for the self, desire, and suffering are all equally mental. In other words, as long as you desire, you will suffer and fear; they are one and the same.

Now, it’s obvious why the Karma status has that circular, red shape:

“→ Wait, wait. You forgot that weird ring. (Gregor) → It…gives a strange feeling. I don't know why it comes to us, but when it sticks to the back, it feels...strange. Like a pressure is weighing down on the mind… (Sinclair)” - Abnormality’s Observation Log #2.

Circular because circles don’t have a beginning or an end, just like the chain of causality and the endless knots used to represent it. Red because, like the Bloodstream, karma is a mental compulsion that weighs down and traps the mind. And the felt pressure is the suffering and anguish caused by attachment to the perceived self therein.

The passive related to the Karma status, “Cyclical Karma”, is just an extension of everything I’ve described up to this moment: attachment to karma or causality is the main drive behind most, if not all, actions of all sentient beings, which in reality are nothing but reactions to past happenings. All desires, be it for pleasure or vengeance, are rooted in the ignorant and wrongful idea of a constant self that must be satisfied or protected, and thus karma extends to and encroaches all of creation. A fault, after all, must be punished, right? 

By that matter, the passive-caused death when a Sinner reaches 108 Karma is based on the “108 defilements” or sense-states originating from the 6 senses acknowledged by Buddhism (5 senses plus consciousness). Therefore, acquiring 108 Karma means the “mind” of an individual has been overcome with desire and attachment, unable to be rescued by the hands of the Buddha… But wait a minute! That’s not how karma works at all! Besides, why does everyone acquire Karma when MFE does not? Well, to answer that, I need to continue explaining Buddhism's biggest currents: Theravada and Mahayana.

Theravada is the oldest Buddhist school and can be understood as the traditional one since it preserves and follows the “original” teachings of the historic Buddha, Siddharta Gautama; it’s mostly practiced in Southeast Asia, and it has basically died out in its home country of India. For its part, the Mahayana tradition originated as a sect of the Theravada that grew slowly before exploding in China during the 7th or 8th century, where it syncretized with the folk religion and native philosophies of the region before expanding to Korea, Japan, and other nearby countries, where it still remains popular to this day.

These two schools preach more or less the same teachings about attachment and liberation, but they obviously have differences, especially within the Mahayana tradition. In fact, calling Mahayana a “tradition” may be a misnomer, because it’s a collective of hundreds of different schools created by the addition of new philosophies and concepts according to the needs of each country and age. Theravada is not that different, but the division is lesser than in Mahayana’s chaos and madness. Still, if a main difference has to be mentioned, the most important for the analysis is the motivation for becoming an enlightened being (arhat): Theravada posits that one ultimately should strive for reaching nirvana first and foremost, with helping other people being entirely optional, while (most) Mahayana schools preach the “path of the bodhisattva”, that is, vowing oneself to help all sentient beings to attain enlightenment, including oneself. The title of bodhisattva should ring some bells.

“The fake bodhisattva was only biding its time to restore its strength, paying little attention to the confession.” - Mid-Combat Event (Check failure).

That’s to say, MFE is an entity that is committed to help all beings (i.e., the lured enemies) so they can be freed from the eternal cycle of suffering… Or so it appears. Beyond the text (or Dante?) directly calling it a fake bodhisattva, Faust and the game as a whole clearly identify it as a statue or idol of sorts—a murti, or s physical representation of a deity or “saint” created with the sole purpose of being worshipped and prayed upon. This difference is important since it basically defines MFE as a thing or place of worship where anyone can call upon the symbolized bodhisattva for help, and even offer things as a proof of gratitude!

“You place a coin before the grand Buddha Mūrti. With the ceaseless chanting gone, only the hollow echo of the bell bounces off the walls of the chamber. Perhaps the touch of secularity in the face of an emptying form has triggered something.” - Abnormality Encounter (“Place a coin” option).

This hatred for “banal” offerings is also seen in one of its many Wrath skills, “Compulsory Offering”, which is fittingly used only by the Buddha Mūrti part. Needless to say, this behavior is completely unlike that of an actual bodhisattva or compassionate arhat, who would move heaven and earth to help and save sentient beings. Furthermore, while they may not seem to be that useful, offerings are indeed quite helpful; they can help during meditation and the burning of mental “poisons” (such as fear, anger, pride, wrong beliefs, etc.), or simply allow one to express gratitude and gather “good” karma for one’s next life. There’s no reason or need for an actual bodhisattva to be angry, no matter if the offering is a mere coin, unless said person has bias (i.e., wrong beliefs) and thus desires…

By all means, My Form Empties can’t be further away from being an actual bodhisattva, with all of its skills and resistances showing that one way or another. In fact, it’s telling that it doesn’t resist any Sin affinity when another “religious” Abnormality did exactly that (Spiral of Contempt), with the sole exception being Lust, and considering its propensity for anger and retribution, it obviously doesn’t speak about the natural compassion of enlightened beings. What I mean is that, despite how much it chants sutras and mantras to empty itself, the Abnormality remains attached to its own self-love, comparable to Skin Prophet’s, as it attempts to save only itself, as the results of failing the Event’s check say: by brainwashing people, MFE can resolve and impart its own karma into others.

“Empty oneself by verbalizing one’s thoughts. Expel everything within so that nothing remains. That is the statue’s way of forgetting the self. You sense yourself disappearing as well.” - Abnormality Encounter (“Listen Closer” check failure).

The Sinners and Dante weren’t forgetting themselves because the Bodhisattva’s teachings were good; they did so because they were filled by its own actions and intentions. It’s no coincidence that the only way to pass the previous check is through the team having an average SP equal to or greater than 0—mental stability to confront the cultish behavior of MFE and transform them into something useful. The lured enemies, however, weren’t that lucky, and maybe that’s why they were chosen and are constantly healed (their passive’s name, “Bhaishajya”, literally means “medicine”), because they could offer something more than an empty coin thanks to their broken, hurt minds.

Now, I can certainly give a conclusion regarding the Abnormality’s meaning, but I still think there’s some elements of interest that merit some more analyzing, such as the passives or attack patterns :) And besides, I want to yap some more about Buddhism

Beginning with the passives, the most important one to understand is “Nirmana”, whose name comes from one of the Three “Bodies” or Trikaya of Buddha, an important concept of the Mahayana tradition. Basically, it expresses the all-encompassing nature of Buddhahood, which “exists” (to the extent the word can apply) everywhere and everywhen, from the ineffable dharmakaya (“true body”) of the Buddha, which embodies the emptiness inherent to all phenomena, to its nirmanakaya (“manifested body”), which exists as a material projection that grows and dies as it teaches about dharma to sentient beings. This means the Buddha Murti is a creation that can be manifested as many times as the Abnormality wishes, while its true core or essence resides as an actual brain or self within the Stone Seat, because MFE only becomes anatman once the Murti is destroyed—the only thing that remains is the angry and fearful “ground of being”, pure action unbounded by the apparent self.

Really, the most bodhisattva-like thing MFE does is its mental training and focus, or dhyāna, which is a mental disposition during meditation that tries to burn out all mental distractions and poisons in order to detach the mind of the world—to extinguish oneself. It’s no surprise that it can halve all negative statuses when used as a skill, independent of how paradoxical it is that its affinity is Lust, nor that it can grant 10 Protection to each part as a passive… until all of its lured allies are killed and it has to come out from its meditation to protect itself, which makes doubt my original statement.

Moving into the skills and their distribution, I think it’s important to begin with a small description of the Buddha Murti, just for the irony, because beyond the actual Buddhist crown it’s wearing (which is seemingly Tibetan, not Mahayana), it’s doing two particular mudras with its hands: the shuni mudra in the right, and (possibly) the chinmaya mudra in the left.

The shuni mudra, as its name indicates, is related to the idea of sunyata, or the emptiness of all phenomena; it’s believed that doing this hand gesture helps to reach a better, deeper state of patience and equanimity during meditation. The chinmaya mudra is the hand gesture that’s “full of knowledge/awareness”, and from what I understand,  it’s supposed to help with bringing awareness over one’s body and mind.

Now, while I do have some knowledge about Buddhism, I can’t say the same about mudras or yogic traditions, so I’m not sure about my previous descriptions. But if they are true, the two mudras fit with the overall theme of the Abnormality, which is trying to empty its being and body, and also adds to the irony, since the Buddha Murti’s skills are all Wrath-based with 1 exception, “Expound Sutras”, which is Lust and thus may be understood as the only actual good (but not selfless) thing it has done: supporting and motivating its followers through chanting the teachings of dharma. However, this good deed is overshadowed altogether by the other 3 skills:

I already explained “Compulsory Offering”, but I’m repeating it since it complements another Wrath skill, “Sluggard Waker”. The two focus on inflicting Karma based on the Bodhisattva’s judgment, showing once more that it has certain preferences and biases regarding its followers: it wants proactive people that offer their own lives in service to it.

The last one is “Prajñāpāramitā”, named after the Mahayana concept of “perfect wisdom”, the awareness and understanding of reality as it is and without attachment, proper of all realized arhats. The fact that it’s a Wrath skill and it punishes those who have the most Karma clearly shows the title is sarcastic.

It’s also important to note that all of these skills are related to teaching “dharma” to people and “protecting” it in the form of punishing those who have gone astray, akin to how the wrathful or fierce deities act in Mahayana, though that may be how it wants to be perceived and/or disguise its out-of-character moments. At any rate, the nature of the skills fits with the idea of the Murti itself being the nirmanakaya of the Abnormality, a manifestación created with the sole purpose of spreading its teachers to solve the karma of its “dharmakaya”, its true self that resides as a self-aware brain inside the Stone Seat glued to the ground—the least Buddhist and spiritual thing possible.

Anyway, in contrast to the Murti, the Stone Seat uses only Lust skills that are solely focused on it and are mental in nature: “Mahāsrī”, “Svāhā”, and the previously explained “Dhyāna”. If this last skill is the mental state in which the brain inside the Seat is, then the other two are in what it focuses on: “Mahāsrī” is likely based on the Mahāsrī Sutra, which states that one will be granted divine protection and fortune by reciting the 12 names of the goddess Mahāsrī (an epithet of Lakshmi); and “Svāhā” is named after the word used to signal the end of each recited mantra that, in this case, should correspond to the 12 of Mahāsrī, indicating the readiness of the Abnormality to finally take action (i.e., 3 Damage Up). Again, all of this is further proof of the inherent cowardice and self-centeredness of the Abnormality, especially because the Seat only starts to use “Mahāsrī” and “Svāhā” once its “gross body” is destroyed and becomes anatman.

When you get to it, My Form Empties’ entire being seems tempting, no? A bodhisattva-like figure that promises to release you from your pain, that won’t forsake and abandon you midway. Even the mid-combat Event references this, the illusion of a peaceful emptiness that embraces all without exception. Wouldn’t that be sweet? To reach that final blow that puts an end to the flame? But it should be obvious at this point that, just like Glupo and STNOWC, it’s impossible for just one being to carry all those sins. Even arhats like the Buddha didn’t do that, and waited for sentient beings to open up to their teachings instead, for doing otherwise would be a desire, an attachment.

“However, no man can wholly shoulder another’s suffering in their stead. Before we all are allured by its false compassion, someone has to break the statue.” - Mid-Combat Event.

Even when the Buddha found and converted the mass murderer Angulimala, he didn’t force the latter to follow him and waited until Angulimala himself regretted his actions and decided on his own to become a monk. This example is so wholly unlike My Form Empties’ behavior that it could very well be its own terrace on Mount Purgatorio, and hence it perfectly represents the failure itself of the fake Bodhisattva: no matter how much it recites sutras and asks for the help of higher beings, not even the Buddha can save it as long as it holds onto its desires, to the twisted pleasure and release of pushing its red and bloody karma into others. Neither its form nor self will ever become empty, because it’s psychologically bound to it, unlike Angulimala, who quietly and firmly accepted his own lynching, for he became an arhat too, unbounded by and detached from karma.

Furthermore, the EGO coming from MFE just spits into the Abnormality’s self even more, because it’s named after the most famous quote of the entire Mahayana school: “Emptiness is Form”, where “Form” is the ever-shifting self of the phenomena that’s nothing but one moment among the endless transformations within the cycle of causality, happenings, retributions, ignorance, identification, and attachment—the very own poison against which the Bodhisattva fell, and so did Heathcliff and Outis.

“Do I even deserve to speak as humans do? I, who killed Catherine… You, who deprived me of Catherine… Must be a thing lesser than a savage beast. Then… why should I even keep pretending to be human when I am not? If they were right... that if I really were to become nothing more than a howling, savage beast…” - Heathcliff, Chapter 34: The Beast, Canto VI.

“No matter what lurks in the pasts of us Sinners...? Even... if they have killed hundreds, thousands—no, tens of thousands of innocent people? Will you still... embrace them?” - Outis, The Carousel (The Tale of a Great Fixer Who Once Reached for The Dream) , Canto VII.

Those 2 Sinners and the Abnormality all present the same problem that I’ve commented on so much that I’ve become sick of it: attachment to karma and desire that leads to the false belief that there’s a constant self within one’s past and (wrong)doings, which in turn creates one’s future. Some may blindly accept it, thinking of themselves as unable to break the cycle of violence and suffering that has built them, and others may desire to escape it, without understanding that such a thing still is attachment and thus unconscious identification, leading to an ignorant and paradoxical longing for the status of an arhat. But that’s not what Buddhism is at all, for the single realization that actually matters is the same one that Angulimala—killer of children, elderly, women, and men—achieved: karma doesn’t define you, for it constantly changes, and so does the self.

Ultimately, there’s no one and nothing to forgive, for there is no self. You don’t have any obligation to be the same person you were even 1 second ago, for better or worse.

Post-Commentary

...

I'm not doing this kind of extravaganza ever again. I'm not referring to the analyses, of course, but doing these monstrosities back to back with no rest xD And yeah, I knew I said these 2 Abnos were going to be dense, but I didn't think it would be this level of dense... But alas, everything to give a nice Christmas gift!

Anyway, beginning with Headless Ichthys, I know now why it was paired with Watchdog: the two are deeply tied to analytical psychology in some way. But with the focus on the complexes and parental issues, I think it's worth clarifying something with regard to a certain Sinner: Sinclair.

While the underlying meaning behind the Ichthys can apply to our little twink, it's not in the same manner as Don and Faust, for it's not a question if he will hatch or not, but when. The entirety of Canto III expresses his deep drive to act and rise from his “nest”, and all posterior stories show how imperious that necessity is to the point of violence, with the most recent case (Canto VII) being a more than welcome evolution of such an anger. This is the entire reason why Demian is interested in him, why Kromer acquired the form of a vagina dentata (she was a manifestation of the devouring Mother, which yes, it means N Corp. Sinclair is very much like Sancho and Faust, even having the 2 main affinities of Fluid Sac in his kit: Gloom and Lust), and why Sansón chose him to play Bari, the guide and alchemist of Don after the incident of La Manchaland.

Speaking now about the relationship between Bari and Sancho, it’s quite interesting that the two are women when the “night sea journey” and “reaching for the stars” are more often than not masculine narratives (see Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces, for example): the masculine Ego separating from the primitive and feminine unconscious symbolized by a wicked woman, dragon, or similar aquatic animals in order to establish himself and the world, to earn a treasure, or even save a damsel. By that matter, this latter duality of womanhood speaks of the differentiation between the Mother archetype and the Anima (in men; it’s the Father archetype and the Animus in women), so to avoid the pitfall of confronting every woman (or man) they met as their mother (or father), which is the likely cause of the subtextual incest in these kinds of stories… which is surprisingly lacking in Sancho’s case too! Kudos to Project Moon here for adapting the overall skeleton of the story and skipping the parts that most would find off-putting, because anyone else would have added them, especially with vampires (they have an undeniable erotic element, whether you like it or not).

Regarding the divagation about the Bloodfiends’ nature, I skipped certain someone that, unlike Don and her still warm-color palette, is completely dressed in blue and very obviously old, wishing to rest once and for all. So while Don is still tied somewhat to the Bloodstream, Sansón has completely broken free from it in true fashion as a bearer of the Mark of Cain, the first parricide. Nonetheless, it is still worth celebrating the two Bloodfiends have freed themselves from the cursed blood “that is thicker than water”.

And finally, I focused mostly on Sancho and the Bloodfiends because we know more about them than about Faust at the moment. But that doesn’t mean the little “witch” doesn’t have her own moments:

“Faust: It is fortunate that someone like yourself is aboard the train. Your presence ensured that child's survival. Sasha: Whatcha talkin' about all of a sudden? C'mon, no need to keep up appearances between people in the same line of work.” - Chapter 20(5): MultiCrack Office, Murder on the Warp Express.

However, there’s a difference between Don/Sancho and Faust: the former’s main colors are yellow and red, of the rising sun and blood, while Faust’s are pink and white, which are softer shadows (well, not really, but bear with me) of Don’s colors. What that implies is beyond me, but they are still a far cry from the blue’s spirituality.

Now, regarding My Form Empties... No, surprisingly I don't have anything else to comment beyond one single thing: what the actual fuck is supposed to be Bloody Gadget? Like, it's not a ring, and instead of being in MFE's right hand, it's actually on the background (or something similar to it, at least. I don't know). I tried to search for similar icons, symbols, and objects, but there was no luck. So if you know, please, feel free to comment what it is.

Oh, and I also didn't comment about the Sin affinities in the MD Encounter just because it's easy to understand: Lust and Gluttony are utilized as symbols for desire in general, and thus a gluttonous and/or lustful individual is blind and deaf enough to ignore whatever MFE tries to do. The world seriously doesn't respect it xD

So with all of this said and done, happy holidays!

[zzznnnq]

★ Chapter Ten: The Beach Trip

The school trip to the beach was something we’d all been looking forward to. It was supposed to be one of those carefree days—sun, sand, and a break from the usual school routine. When we all piled into the bus, the excitement was palpable, everyone buzzing with energy. Minji and her friends claimed the back seats, as usual, while I ended up sitting with Rei and Leeseo somewhere in the middle.

The banter started right away. Ryujin was already challenging Hanni to see who could make the biggest splash in the ocean, while Karina teased Minji about wearing sunscreen like a mom. I overheard Rei and Leeseo making jokes about building the biggest sandcastle ever, even though I knew neither of them had any serious plans to do it.

And then there was Wonyoung.

She was sitting a few rows ahead of me with Yujin, their heads close together as they whispered and giggled about something. I tried not to stare, tried to focus on the conversation going on around me, but it was like I had this internal radar for her—always knowing exactly where she was, even without meaning to.

“Hey, Y/N!” Rei nudged me, bringing me back to the present. “You gonna join us in the water, or are you gonna mope on the beach like some kind of seaweed?”

I laughed, forcing myself to shake off the mood. “You kidding? I’m going to out-splash all of you.”

-————-

When we finally arrived at the beach, the sun was already high, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. The second our feet hit the sand, the chaos began. Minji and Karina set up a volleyball net, calling out to everyone for a match. Hanni and Ryujin were already racing to the water, screaming like banshees, while Rei and Leeseo dragged me toward the shoreline, determined to make good on their promise to splash everyone.

For a while, it was easy to forget everything else. The cold water hitting my skin jolted me into the moment, the laughter and the feel of the sun on my back chasing away the tension that had been hanging over me for weeks.

But, of course, it didn’t last.

After some time, Wonyoung and Yujin strolled down to the water, their hands intertwined. Wonyoung was in a flowy sundress over her swimsuit, her hair tied up in a loose bun, looking effortlessly perfect. I caught myself staring again, the familiar ache creeping into my chest.

"Hey, Y/N!" Wonyoung’s voice jolted me. She was smiling, that warm, easy smile that always made me feel both excited and hollow at the same time. "Wanna join our team for volleyball?"

I blinked, trying to process the question. "Uh, sure. Who’s on your team?"

"Me, Yujin, and Minji. You in?"

The combination of being on the same team as both Wonyoung and my sister made my brain short-circuit for a second, but I nodded. "Yeah, why not?"

As we started playing, things got competitive fast. Minji’s spikes were brutal, and Ryujin and Hanni weren’t holding back on the opposite team. I found myself caught between trying to win and being hyper-aware of Wonyoung’s presence beside me. Every time we high-fived after a good play, my heart did that stupid flutter thing, and I hated how much it affected me.

But it was Yujin who seemed to notice the tension first. Between points, she glanced between me and Wonyoung, her expression unreadable, but I could tell she was picking up on something. I kept my head down, focusing on the game, but it was hard to ignore the way her gaze lingered on me.

-————-

After the game, the group split up. Some people went back to the water, others lounged on the sand, and I ended up wandering alone along the shoreline. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore was calming, and for a moment, I let myself just exist in that space, free of the whirlwind of thoughts that usually plagued me when I was around Wonyoung.

But, as if on cue, I heard her voice again.

“Y/N! Wait up!”

I turned to see Wonyoung jogging toward me, her sundress fluttering in the breeze. I tried to prepare myself for another casual conversation, but there was something different in the way she was looking at me now. Something serious.

“Mind if I walk with you?” she asked, already falling into step beside me.

“Sure,” I said, my throat tightening.

We walked in silence for a few minutes, the sand cool under our feet as the waves lapped at the shore. I could feel the tension building between us, like we were both avoiding something we didn’t want to confront.

Finally, Wonyoung spoke. “You’ve been... distant again.”

There it was. I couldn’t avoid it anymore.

I swallowed hard, my mind racing for a response. “I’ve just had a lot going on.”

Wonyoung stopped walking, turning to face me. “You keep saying that, but... I don’t believe you.”

I froze, my heart pounding. “What do you mean?”

She took a step closer, her eyes searching mine. “You’re pulling away from me, Y/N. And I don’t get why.”

I wanted to tell her everything—to spill all the messy feelings I’d been hiding for so long. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I looked away, out at the ocean, my chest tight with the weight of everything unsaid.

“It’s complicated,” I muttered, hating how weak it sounded.

“Then explain it to me,” she said softly. “I want to understand.”

I could feel her eyes on me, waiting for me to open up, but I couldn’t. Not like this, not when I knew how impossible it all was. Wonyoung was with Yujin, and even if she wasn’t, there was no way she felt the same way about me. I was just... stuck.

“I can’t,” I whispered.

For a long moment, neither of us said anything. The only sound was the waves crashing against the shore, the distant laughter of our friends somewhere down the beach.

“Wonyoung,” I began, I could feel the breath catch in my throat, “So… do you like her that much?”

Wonyoung looked at me, her gaze was steady, almost expectant. My silence spoke volumes, but I had to know.

“I love her, Y/N,” Wonyoung said, her voice quiet, but certain.

I felt the words sink in, twisting the knot tighter in my chest. A bitter laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it. “Right. Of course you do. Silly me for asking.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but there was a sadness in her eyes, one that made me feel like she understood more than I realized.

“I’m sorry,” I added quickly, forcing a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” she interrupted gently. “Just... don’t shut me out, okay?”

I nodded, but the weight in my chest didn’t lighten. Not really.

-————-

Later that evening, after the sun had set, the teachers organized a small fireworks show to wrap up the day. We all gathered on the beach, sitting in small groups, watching as the first bursts of color lit up the night sky.

I sat with Rei and Leeseo, but my eyes kept drifting to Wonyoung and Yujin, who were sitting close together a few feet away. Wonyoung’s head rested on Yujin’s shoulder, their hands intertwined. I tried to look away, but it was like a magnet pulling me in.

The fireworks exploded overhead, vibrant reds and blues and golds, but all I could feel was the sinking weight in my chest. I glanced at Wonyoung again, and for a brief second, our eyes met.

She smiled, but there was a hint of sadness there, like she understood more than she was letting on.

The fireworks continued, filling the sky with light and sound, but all I could think about was how far away Wonyoung felt, even though she was right there.

And in that moment, I knew things would never be the same between us.

[lovelyladyabsinthewrites]

Always Safest Near the Sea

Pairing: Percy Jackson x Demigod!Reader

Warnings: hurt&comfort, conflicted feelings, siblingxsibling implied, aphrodite meddling with poor kids, mentions of car accident, death

Words: 1,014

Summary: You always found it odd when your grandparents had told you "It's always safest near the sea". Normally children were told the exact opposite. Or had they known all along about your true parentage?

Cabin 3 was quiet except for Tyson’s loud snoring and the soft trickling of the fountain at the far end of the cabin. Tyson had been the only happy one to find out that you were his sister. Everyone else. . . They treated you like a pariah. Especially Percy who you had been growing close to.

You burrow deeper into your blankets as despair entrapped you. You missed the Hermes cabin, you felt awfully lonely.

To learn that you shouldn’t have even been born. . . It was enough to bring tears to your eyes. All the friends you had acquired were distant now as they stared at you. Daughter of Poseidon. There was no joy in your father having claimed you. You wished he had just ignored you. That would have been the considerate thing to do.

You missed your grandparents who had done their best to raise you; not knowing about your paternal parentage. Your mother had died when you were just a toddler, never getting the chance to tell you the truth. That was if she even knew herself.

Deciding that sleep would not have you that night, you peeled your covers off of you and quietly left the cabin to go down to the beach. The night was cool and calming as you sit on the sand. Camp Half-Blood didn’t feel like home anymore.

“I’d rather have Hermes as a dad.” You told the ocean bitterly, hoping it would carry the message to your father. The longer you watched the lazy waves, the angrier you got.

“I felt like that in the beginning too.” Came Percy’s voice from behind you. “But I wouldn’t say that out loud. Don’t want to upset. . . our dad.”

You just glare at him as he sheepishly stood there, his black hair blending with the black backdrop of night. “Oh, you’re finally talking to me?”

Immediately he flushes and stumbles over his words. “I-I deserve that. . .”

Hugging your knees to your chest, you hid your tear streaked face. “I thought all of you were my friends. Then you just turned on me. That hurt. A lot.”

The sand quiets his footsteps as he draws closer to you. “I know. (y/n) I’m so soryr. It’s been a shock to everyone. I should have known better. They treated me like that too when dad claimed me. And then when Tyson came along. . . I didn’t deal with that well either.” Swiftly Percy sits next to you, careful to leave a distance between. “Everything is just so confusing now.”

You lift your head up to rest your chin on your knees. In a slow fashion, your fingers were mindlessly weaving themselves through the soft sand.

A sigh fills the air like a passing breeze. “This is why Annabeth calls me Seaweed Brain. Can you forgive me?”

Going through this would be easier if you had both of your brothers by your side. Delicate music that the water played in the background. It always soothed your tempers.

Always safest near the sea.

Odd that your grandparents would tell that to you. Had. . . Had they known? Or was it one huge coincidence. Normally children were told the opposite. “Stay away from the water” should have been what your grandma yelled at you that one day. Like many demigods, you were a rambunctious child. Filled with endless energy and not being able to sit still, your grandma and grandpa had surprised you to a trip to the beach. The painful hours spent in the car was worth it when you finally arrived. Personally you didn’t remember much as it was years ago. Bits here and there, but not everything. You remember her words though.

They ended up proving true. Ultimately it saved your life.

“You found me here.” You quietly whisper.

Percy nods and looked out to the calm surface. “Yeah. I had this nagging feeling that I should go to the shore that night.” Deep green eyes flick nervously over to you. “Guess now we know why.”

It had been several weeks since Percy had found you there. Having thought you were a mermaid for a moment, he realized that you were just unconscious. You had woken up to identical green eyes. That’s when you had remembered what had happened.

You and your grandparents were taking another trip to the beach. Excited that it was finally summer and you could go to the beach, you grew antsy in the car. Temporarily distracted by your CD player, you were spared the sight of the monster that came barreling into the side of the car. Straight into the sand. They screamed at you to get in the water as fast as you could and instructed you not to look back. Bleeding and stumbling through tears you did so. Immediately the waves swallowed you whole.

The warmth of Percy’s hand on top of your’s made you look up at him past your lashes. “Things will get better. I promise.”

As Percy said that, something fell into the pit of his stomach. His rotten luck that the girl he had developed a small crush on was his sister. A snake of shame coils itself into tight knots inside of him. Amidst the chaos in his life, (y/n) had come out of nowhere and reminded Percy that he wasn’t just a demigod, but still a growing adolescent who deserved fun every once in a while too. He laughed more around (y/n) and enjoyed being a playful boy around his crush.

But. . . He had to forget about what he had felt for her. There was no place for such feelings now that he knew she was his half-sister.

Aphrodite seemed to have other plans for Percy though. Looking at (y/n) now, he still felt the same tug in his chest and the fluttering in his cheeks. The goddess of love wasn’t letting him off that easily. To Aphrodite, this would be the romance story of the century; greater and more impossible than that of Helen and Paris.

It would prove to be equally as tragic as well.