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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Note

Would it be possible to get the aftermath of a heroic whumpee who went up against someone incredibly far out of their league? Kind of along the lines of that one time Dazzler went up against the Juggernaut on her own (A heroine with light projection powers vs a villain with the power of unstoppable force) and ended up being beaten to the point where she was too weak to move. The other heroes become her caretakers for a little while. I loved that arc and could really use something similar.

I can hardly describe how much I love this prompt. I absolutely adore it, and I can only hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I think I’m somewhat familiar with Dazzler, though when I looked through the wiki, I couldn’t find anything about this story? The wiki may just be incomplete, though. It reminds me of a story arc of the original ms. marvel, too!

This is absolutely one of my favorite kinds of whump, and I really hope that I did it justice. Thank you so much for the ask!

CW//Medical settings, poison, therapy, paralysis, inability to speak, self-hatred, low self-esteem, hair-pulling

The metal doors at the entrance to the Metropolis General Emergency Room swung upon with the force of a thunder clap. And, just as thunder, they too heralded lightning.

Or, at the very least, light.

A pair of lab-coats pushed forth a gurney on ratta-tatta-tattling caster wheels, footsteps crashing on the floor in even rhythm. Close behind, an entourage of two sprinted in close pursuit: A pair of heroes in civilian clothes.

“Lux!”

To the person laid upon the gurney, the voice felt to be emanating from a thousand miles away. Or more. Maybe a couple thousand, or a million... It was hard to think about numbers when their mind was stuffed with cotton, and their vision was dominated by blurry white ceiling tiles.

“What in the world happened to them?” The doctor that spoke had had all sense of clinical professionalism drained from their tongue.

“We don’t know.” A hero, outfitted in jeans and sweater, replied in a single, slurred sound. “We just found them, and-”

It was too loud. Far, far too loud-- Lux felt as though the full force of the ocean had made the sudden decision to crash into their eardrums. And, beneath at all, the caster wheels refused to stop their clitter-clatter. Spikes piercing their temples, they let out the tiniest of cries.

A tiny sound, and all eyes were on them.

“Lux!”

“Lux, what in the world happened to you?”

“What the hell did you do?”

“Talk to us!”

“Wake up!”

“Wake up.”

“Lux. Lux, what did you do?”

Lux, what did you do?

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The support beam shook against the force of the body, hurled at it. Shudders rocked from the base to the top, threatening for the thousandth time the structural stability of the building.

And the structural stability of Lux’s ribs.

With several hoarse coughs, the hero struggled to hands and knees, joints wobbling as though the ground they were braced against were the epicenter of an earthquake.

They could taste it.

They could taste what they had been inflicted with, more than they could feel it. The wound upon their side had long since gone numb-- at the very least, the poison had that benefit to it. Now, the sensation had migrated to Lux’s tongue. A bitter flavor of burnt coffee.

Even if they had the chance, they had no desire at all to examine the gash that had been torn across their side. They’d heard the stories, seen the headlines.

Lux knew what happened to Mercury’s victims.

That was why they were here, after all.

“Had enough yet, kid?”

The voice was booming, sounding from the other side of the half-toppled warehouse. In their weakened state, Lux could barely raise their head high enough to meet the eyes of their foe.

Mercury’s height was unimportant, as was their general stature. After all, it was hard to focus on his body. It was hard to focus on anything but the claws-- terrible, wicked things curling outwards from his knuckles.

A single slash from them, and flesh would begin to curl away, to rot. To necrose.

The wound they had been inflicted with was already a death sentence. But, not an immediate one-- Lux had a bit of time left on death row.

A bit of time to make this right.

Shivering, the hero stood to their feet, facing their opponent from a hundred foot’s distance. It was the most ridiculous of match-ups. A chihuahua against a pit bull. A garden snake against a cobra.

That didn’t mean that Lux couldn’t try.

“Firefly wants another round, then?” The villain’s voice curled, almost as venomous as their blades. “Try me, kid.”

And try they did.

Hands balled to fists at their side, Lux took one, single step forth, stomping onto the warehouse’s concrete floor with a decisive strike.

It was as though a bomb had gone off.

The world was swallowed, all at once, by white. Light engulfed each shadow, each color, until the universe was as blank as unexposed photo paper.

It was merely a distraction, a smokescreen. But they needed time to recover. Time to catch their breath.

Time to remember why they were doing this.

In the world of heroes, Mercury had a particular nickname-- “The Untouchable.” He was the lion in the zoo. No one dared get near him, much less touch him. It was a death sentence, to be slashed by his claws. The heroes were terrified of him, and that gave him a free license to tear the world to shreds.

It was from one of their villainous informants that Lux had heard of the plan initially. The water supply. Mercury had found a way to distill the poison held within their claws, and they intended to release it into the city water supply.

To kill every last citizen of Metropolis.

But the others turned merely a blind eye. No one would touch the villain. They had resigned themselves to dealing with the aftermath.

That would mean deaths. That would mean ‘acceptable causalities.’

To Lux, there was no such thing as an acceptable causality. Only a problem that needed to be solved.

Their teammates had insisted, begged, nearly, that they not be so careless. But, when had Lux even been known as the careful one?

Not once in their life.

“Stop this, Mercury!” The hero snapped into the expanse of white. “Just-”

Lux did not so much as see the fist before it connected. Did not so much as feel the claws, raking their neck.

Not before the world went from black to white.

Lux, what did you do?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“You did it.”

Those were the first words that Lux heard clearly, after escaping from their haze. Consciousness teased them as the world above turned from colors to shapes to vision.

White tiles, spotless and all in a row. Their perfect nature was threatened only by an out-of-place beeping that nearly forced the hero to once more fall to sleep.

But, they managed to cling to consciousness as they turned their head to the side, revealing a figure, interrupting their view of the tiles overhead.

A figure. A person. A-

“You did it, Lux.”

Nora. Nora, their friend, their teammate, their comrade. Not Mercury. Not a villain. If Nora was here, then they were safe. The hero had an almost supernaturally calming way about herself, located somewhere between her wispy tangle of black hair and the way her movements imitated the performance of a dancer.

But, wait- Why wasn’t she in uniform? No, now she bore only the clothes of a civilian.

No. No, of course she wasn’t wearing a uniform. Lux had gone on a mission, yes. But it hadn’t been with their team.

They’d tried to stop Mercury, and-

“The water’s safe.” Nora’s voice was only just as smooth as her movements. “Mercury’s been contained. You did it.”

“And by god, what were you thinking?!”

The shout sent a stabbing agony through the side of Lux’s skull. That was more so the reaction they had expected.

Nickel. The most paranoid superhero on planet Earth.

Lux struggled to open their lips, to bring forth an explanation. To state that they had been doing what was right. That they had been doing what a hero should have done.

And yet...

And yet, their lips refused to so much as twitch. Too, their tongue sat dead in their mouth, numb and useless.

The only muscle in their body that functioned was their heart, which in that moment began to race.

“You could’ve died!” Nickel’s tirade continued, despite the fact that the target was showing not a single reaction. “Or worse! You could’ve died, or worse, or both! That was so stupid.

Don’t give me the silent treatment, dammit. Explain yourself!”

Lux wanted so desperately to do so. Their heartbeat turned, now, to a pounding tattoo within their skull, the pedal of a bass drum, slamming against the inside of their cranium.

They couldn’t move.

A twitch of the head. A blink, maybe. That was all. That was all they had left.

Lux had saved the world.

Their vision began to swirl.

Lux had saved the world, but what had they given up in exchange?

Telling when the hero fell unconscious was nearly impossible. Yet, when their eyes at last drifted closed, it became clear that whatever wakefulness they had had was now extinguished.

That left two heroes, one proud and one paranoid, leaning over a hospital bed. Shivering both in their own rights, Nickel and Nora stood. It was with great care that the room’s entrance was pushed open. The doctor that did so walked backwards-- their hands were quite thoroughly occupied by a clipboard.

Nickel and Nora said not a word, as speechless as their teammate. They both knew that this was the bringing of news.

This doctor was the bearer of their friends fate.

“They’re going to live.”

That was what they started with.

“With medical care, Lux will survive this ordeal. However, they will need to stay under intensive care until their immediate symptoms subside.”

Nora stared blankly for a long moment, before whispering:

“They aren’t moving. They aren’t talking.”

The doctor could manage only the more sympathetic of nods. Again, they repeated themself, but, this time, with an addition:

“Lux is going to live. But, most likely, they will never be the same. The poison has taken its toll on their system. There’s no cure. No antidote.

One day, they may be able to move, or speak. But, they have a very, very long road ahead of them.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Very, very long was an understatement.

No, the doctor would have been better have describing Lux’s journey as a highway from Moscow to Las Vegas.

“The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Da ra’zz spa- ff mm a pla.”

“The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Za ree z’pa fa ma- play.”

“One more try. The rains in Spain-”

“Nnn- oh! No!”

The lab-coated doctor sitting before Lux set down their clipboard with a heavy sigh, sending only another bubble of rage rising in the hero’s chest. They balled their hands into fists, shaking them furiously before placing their open palms upon their temples.

Lux hated this. Lux hated every last minute, every last instant of this. They hated the doctor. They hated the doctor’s office they had to sit in, walls covered from floor to ceiling with charts of vowels and consonants. More than anything, they hated their exercises.

It should have been simple! Eight words. Eight simple words. If they could repeat them properly, then they would never have to go to one of these stupid appointments ever again.

But, they couldn’t. They couldn’t say eight simple words. In fact, they couldn’t even say one.

A month in the hospital, and Lux could not so much as speak. It made them want to tear their hair out! In fact, they would do that, had they had the motor control for it.

But, they didn’t. They didn’t have anything.

The last month had been the longest of the hero’s existence. Hell, those thirty days had felt to be longer than the rest of their entire life, put together! Thirty days and thirty nights of utter hell.

When they had gone off to face Mercury on their own, Lux had been very well prepared to die. They had not been prepared for this.

From the outside, the progress that the hero was making was undeniable. They had begun in a state of complete and utter paralysis, able to move their head, their eyes, and not a thing else. It was only with thrice-a-day physical therapy that they had begun to move. First, it was only moving their head. Then, their arms. Their legs. By the end, they could even sit up, with the help of a helping hand.

Every day, Lux’s teammates visited. And, every day, they congratulated their friend on their progress.

But, as far as Lux was concerned, it had been a month, and they hadn’t made an inch of progress. As hard as they tried, they were still laid up in a hospital. Still broken. Still useless.

They knew that their friends were trying. They knew-- it was evident on their expressions. Those constant, stupid looks of pity. They would never speak about their own lives, about their missions. The villainous plots they’d stopped, the battles they’d won. No. They focused only on the mundane: Where they’d gone for lunch, how they’d spent their evening.

It was out of pity. Lux knew that. It was all pity. But, in all truth, those were the only moments during which they ever felt, truly, like themself. Like Lux.

Like a hero.

So they’d heard, the media had praised them, lauded them for their victory. But they never spoke of the sacrifice it had taken.

Their friends’ visits were the only parts of the day that Lux had to get forward to. The rest of their life was filled with... this.

“Lux.” The doctor coaxed. “You need to do your exercises. You’re already getting so much better! But you won’t make any progress if you don’t try.”

“Don’ thwaa ex- thwaa ta.”

“Don’t want exercises, want talk?”

Lux narrowed their eyes. But, that had been what they were trying to say. The fact that it needed to be repeated, interpreted, however, made them feel sick.

“You need your exercises, Lux. How about we just try one more time? I know you can do it. You’re already doing so well!”

Eight simple words. Eight simple words, and Lux could be a hero again. Eight words, and they could be a person again.

“Okay, Lux. Repeat after me: The rains in Spain fall mainly on the plain.”

“Tha ran-”

Yet, that was all they could make out. Lux’s throat ran dry of words, void of syllables. They couldn’t speak before, and now, they couldn’t so much as make a sound.

They never cried in front of others. Never. Yet, that rule had been broken in the hospital already a dozen times. And, so it seems, this would make thirteen.

Lux’s chest was wracked with heavy sobs as they buried their face in their hands. Soon, tears leaked from beneath their shaking fingers.

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“I’m right here for you, Lux. Lean on me all you need.”

Nora’s voice carried the same cadence as water, meandering through a stream. Too, of course, did her gestures. A gentle, yet firm hand took Lux by the wrist, wrapping their arm around their comrade’s shoulder.

“It’s going to be hard, okay? It’s going to be hard. It’s okay to get tired. And you don’t have to get it on your first try. Or your fifth. Or your hundredth.”

Lux stopped listening on the last part.

This was it. The final gauntlet. Nearly an entire season spent within hospital walls-- now came their test. Everything counted on it. As far as they were concerned, it was a matter of life or death.

If they succeeded, they were home free. They could be brought home by their teammates-- of course, while still attending outpatient physical therapy, but still! They would be home.

And, yet, if they failed? They would be placed back in their hospital room. They would continue to be useless, a burden on both doctor and friend alike.

Everything was riding on this. Lux took a deep breath, and opened their eyes to face their challenge:

A hallway.

They had studied it extensively. Seven feet in width, and perhaps twenty in length. A tiny little thing, used only to get between two particular rooms. It was in the very depths of the hospital; that was why they were using it. There was no chance of distraction, of interruption.

“Are you ready, Lux?”

“Yesthh.”

“Okay.”

Their weight was leaned, nearly entirely, upon Nora. But, that didn’t matter. It wasn’t a test of standing on their own. If that was the test, they’d never get out of this hellish place. All they had to do was make it to the end of the hallway, with help. They could go slowly. They could lean. They could rest.

They only had to make it to the end.

Nora placed one foot forward, waiting for Lux to do the same, which they did, slowly and shakily. It was in this manner that they moved. One foot, one foot, staying always in the slowest of locksteps.

For Nora, it was simple.

For Lux, it was agony. Their knees felt mere milliseconds away from buckling, legs straining under the weight of the rest of them, even as the vast majority of it was leaned onto their friend.

Five feet. Five tiny, minuscule steps. That was how far Lux made it.

And then they were falling.

They did not remember the fall, not really. One moment, their knees had given out. And, the next, they were on their side, on the carpet.

Shaking.

This had been it. This had been their chance. All they had to do was walk down a hallway, that was it! Then, they could have gone home. Then, they could have been with their friends.

Then, they could have finally been a hero again.

And they’d failed. They’d failed the simplest of tasks.

In that moment, a certainty struck Lux like a dagger to the chest: They were never going to get better. Never. It didn’t matter how many exercises they did, how many doctors they saw. This whole thing was pointless! They were going to be worthless until the end of time.

On the floor, Lux screamed. It was a babbling, incoherent thing, as most sounds they made were. Too, they began to thrash, slamming their fists into the floor as they howled in anguish.

Then, they weren’t thrashing anymore. They couldn’t.

Lux had no need to open their eyes to tell what was happening. They knew Nora’s footsteps, knew the sound of her racing over. The feeling of her, hauling them into her arms. Holding them close.

They knew, also, the sounds of doors opening. Of more footsteps, familiar footsteps. Of chattering voices. Their friends’ voices.

Their whole-

Lux’s breath caught in their throat.

In order to avoid distraction, it had only been them and Nora in the room. They had assumed that it was only Nora who had visited that day. And, yet, they knew these voices.

Their whole...

Their whole team. Their whole team had come to watch. They counted every voice, every pair of footsteps. Every last one of their friends had come to watch them succeed.

But, they’d only watched them fail. Lux expected heckling, expected to be berated.

They did not expect the half-dozen pairs of arms, wrapped around them. They didn’t expect to be the center of a group hug.

“You’re doing so well.”

“You got so far!”

“Just a little more practice, and you’ll be back out there fighting crime in no time.”

“You’re almost there!”

“That’s the furthest you’ve been able to walk yet!”

“We’re proud of you.”

Lux’s tears did not stop.

And, yet, they realized something:

They were no longer tears of sorrow.

#hero whumpee #whump #whumper #whumpee #caretaker #whump community #hero x villain whump #hero villain prompt #hero x villain #hero villain scenario #hero villain whump #whumpblr #whump blog #whump scenario

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akampana · 3 years

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Oh, oh, how about a Gil vampire lord and arty famous vampire hunter in a eternal rivalry for no.1, kinda Hellsing and dracula rivalry but with a twist

“I couldn’t live with myself, if I didn’t tell you.” Gilgamesh x Arturia Vampire x Hunter. Enjoy!

_______

Three bullets.

Two knives.

One vampire.

Arturia Pendragon clicked the cylinders back into place and brought her weapons up to her chin, the warmth of her breath misting the polished barrel. She was the only thing in this accursed mansion that had any sense of heat, as everything inside was either unlit, inanimate, or dead.

The small hunter cursed the winter. There wasn’t a poorer season for killing vampires than one that was as dark and cold as the night creatures’ hearts. However, she could wait no longer. For generations, her family had pursued the blood-sucking fiends, hoping to one day cease the plague that had haunted their lands. At last, it could come to an end. There would be no need for her little brother to learn to handle a gun as well.

All she had to do was put Gilgamesh to rest.

A sudden movement from the right had her fingers on the triggers, but it was an effort wasted. There was nothing but the creak of wood and a curtain dancing in the cold breeze. However, she was not too quick to drop her guard. The vampire she hunted tonight was older than time and just as wise. Tricks like this were not beyond him. It made his hunts more interesting, she bet.

"There you are, my love."

...

Too slow!

The Pendragon ducked to the floor just in time to hear his palm smash through the stone brick behind her. Aiming her revolvers, she sprang up like a gymnast, twisting midair to face the hellspawn.

Silver shot out of her gun, but she already knew it would miss. Vampires were quite the agile creatures, having shed their human limits in exchange for their souls. Even if Gilgamesh looked mortal like herself, the way he sidestepped fire at such a short distance clearly suggested otherwise.

The soles of her boots screeched against the floor as she secured her landing by chucking the revolver at her opponent. Empty guns were useless in fights that required all her attention, but thankfully, this one had extra utility against creatures of the night.

When a high pitched squeak more suited to a frightened pig passed her old rival's lips, she knew she'd made a successful play.

"A silver-barrelled gun? Ha! And here I believed you had exhausted all your options," the older one smirked, the skin of his hands hissing from the contact. "That must have cost your family the entire treasury, my dearest Arturia. Who did this once belong to, hm? Was it your father's? Grandfather's? Great-grandfather's?"

Arturia grimaced as she snatched one of her knives from her heel.

"Killing your kind brings quite the fortune,” she answered, as per their usual simultaneous verbal bouts. “I can buy a hundred more with the price on your head, Gilgamesh."

She spun the blade round her fingers to provoke him, stopping in a backhand grip.

"More of your distractions, girl?" he sneered, just a hint of irritation breaking through his haughty mask. "It will take more than parlor tricks to fell the likes of me!"

Arturia lunged like a fencer, weaving through his usual jabs till she nicked his skin, lamenting how terribly shallow the cut was. As her breaths began to labor, her eyes flickered to the hallway, debating whether or not she could make a break for it. There was no outmatching a vampire in a direct dance to death, but she’d already made that play. Gilgamesh was not going to let her go a second time-

A sharp hiss was the woman’s only warning before his hands seized her throat.

No!

Desperately, she fired the gun at his knee, but all it did was have him bruise her skull on the floor instead of the wall, flinging her around like she weighed nothing.

The woman kicked and thrashed, but for all her effort, all she managed was a slash to his face before he rid her of her knife. Black spots began to cloud her vision, but Arturia took aim even as her lungs began to burn.

She had one bullet. One final attempt to make sure no Pendragon would ever have to take up the craft again. She had to spare poor Arthur. Only six and already being taught how to wield a knife. Igraine was already planning to take him out to hunt foxes. Arthur loved foxes. God. She had to make this one shot. Just this last one. For his sake. Please.

It didn’t take Gilgamesh any effort to bat her gun away.

Arturia’s emerald eyes locked with those of her assailant’s. Her whole life, she’d trained for this day, only to still come up short. It didn’t matter, the thousands that had fallen to her technique. She was still no match for him, not even after all this time.

Her nails clawed into the skin of his knuckles as Gilgamesh dipped down toward her shoulder, no doubt preparing to sink his teeth into her jugular.

Was this how she was going to meet her end? So close to finally ridding the continent of every vampire there was? So close to liberating her brother, her entire clan, from cruel deaths at the hands of the immortals? Why, after all she’d sacrificed, after giving up her life to become a hunter, did she have to fail at her mission’s most crucial moment?

Tears fell from her eyes as she shut them tight, refusing her last glimpse of life to be the eerily perfect face of the undead.

His teeth scraped against her skin. A final torture before he drained the life out of her.

Arturia braced herself for the bite, her head screaming apologies to every person she was letting down. Igraine, her late father, her cousins, Arthur.

But it never came.

“You have done well, my queen,” whispered the old creature, his cold lips brushing against her neck. Arturia gasped for air, hacking and coughing beneath him, a million questions running through her mind. He quieted them all with his thumb on her bottom lip, freezing Arturia where she lay.

“I have endured several of your lifetimes. Each, more passionless than the last. I thought myself fortunate at first, able to experience every pleasure the world had to offer, but a thousand years can make even the sweetest fruit seem vile.”

A flicker of irritation crossed his sharp, eternal features, but it was quickly replaced by something Arturia had never seen before. The emotion swelled within his vibrant ruby irises, which glowed even through a night as dark as this one.

“Eventually, I saw this ‘gift’ for what it truly was: a curse, bestowed upon me by that loathsome snake an eternity ago,” he voiced cryptically, knowing this beautiful little girl would likely never grasp just how long he’d walked this earth.

The Pendragon stared up at him with those fiery irises he’d been fond of since the first time he beheld them.

It was exactly twenty years since the day she first came here. Fifteen years old, a mere child, yet one that possessed the gall to challenge him to a duel. He spared her that day, and she went on to challenge every single creature in the continent that had been turned, coming back every now and then for another shot at his head.

Arturia wasn’t anything like those that shared her last name. Her clan was stiff. Traditional. She took their knowledge, but did not stop there, taking various forms of study to hone her craft. She'd been to Ireland to study their methods. To France to understand alchemy. Three years ago, she nearly killed him with near-invisible wire she acquired from the east. Before that, it was a sword of fire. Today, apparently, she’d gotten dexterous enough dual wielding either guns or knives, when she hadn’t that skill prior.

Ever since they met, his days were full of excitement, anticipation for the day she’d return. Suddenly, he was always on his toes, rising at the first sign of night to prepare for her next arrival. His hunts were no longer mechanical, for he knew now that he and she were bound to cross paths. Where would she see him next? On a hike into the mountains? In summer, when the days were long? Maybe even at the local ball? There were so many possibilities!

About a decade into their arrangement, Gilgamesh realized he was feeling something he hadn’t felt in eons.

He felt alive.

But like most living things, he knew Arturia had a limit. And before she reached it, before his fun could be taken away once more, he knew he had to do this. What better time than now, when he had the opportunity to caress her cheek for the first time?

“However, despite how I’ve loathed my own longevity, I never want our duels to end,” he admitted, memorizing her face, counting her freckles, brushing his thumb against lips he didn’t dare kiss for fear of imparting his curse.

“You, wicked woman, have made this soulless being crave a soul, if only to meet you once more beyond the grave.”

Minutes passed in silence as Arturia registered his confession. The night did not conceal her expressions from him. Not the fear, the anger, the confusion. He witnessed the exact moment of her realization, felt her heartbeat quicken, saw the heat rise to her cheeks. At last, she understood why she lay under him and had not yet fallen victim to his fangs.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asked calmly, her voice strained, but clear. “Why now?”

“I have desired to do so for half a decade, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t tell you...and I cannot die without you knowing that you are treasured beyond belief.”

Slowly, he reached for her ankle, where he knew she’d hidden her last knife. It burned his flesh as he grasped the hilt, rejecting the impurity of his being, but he persisted anyway, rejoicing in the sensation. This would be one of the final times he’d experience it.

“Wh...what are you doing?” she asked as he pulled her up to face him, placing the dagger in her grip and clasping his hands around hers. Even presented with the opportunity, it was no longer killing intent that resided within her eyes, only conflict.

“Without an end to one’s existence, love, the delights of what you call ‘life’ have no meaning,” he explained, moving her arms so that the blade’s tip rested just above his heart. “Therefore, Arturia Pendragon, I ask that your worthy hands grant me mine.”

He’d expected his death to be immediate, to happen as soon as he loosened his hold. Gilgamesh knew better than anybody what Arturia had at stake and who she was protecting. Hell, he was excited just contemplating what kind of life she’d lead, now that she’d been liberated of her family’s burden.

But now, when her goal was right in front of her, she hesitated.

For what seemed like a better eternity, Gilgamesh watched her stare into his exhausted red eyes, like she was engraving their intimidating splendor into her memory.

“Thank you.”

His death couldn’t have been sweeter.

#thank you for the ask #i hope you liked it!#gilart #gilturia #gilgamesh #archer #caster #arturia #arturia pendragon #artoria pendragon #artoria #saber #fate fanfiction

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uhhhhyandere · 4 years

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halloween special!

hi everyone!!!!

for halloween this year, inspiration struck and i decided to craft this halloween special demon/angel light au! i had so so much fun writing this and hope yall enjoy it!!!

no matter where you are in the world, if you celebrate halloween or not, i hope you all are doing amazing and know that you are so so loved (by me) and thank you all for the love and support you give! i love every single one of y’all and let’s finish out the year the best we can!!!!

word count: 7.2k

And He will bring hell with him.

The grass will gray, and the trees will blanket with ash as all life is left withered, limp, and colorless in his wake. He takes, and takes, and takes with the full red moon on his back and the stars glittering on his lips in golden lies. Should his, Kira's eyes, red with ire from his unattained vision, seek you out, you are bound to the pits of hell itself for eternity.

"Well, that's what the tale says," Misa said. "If you believe in that kinda stuff." She flipped the book over to display the illustrations. You leaned over to get a closer look. "They really have to make evil people this beautiful, huh?" You looked at her incredulously. "What? You're thinking the same thing! I just said it…" Her eyes trailed down to the pages again.

"He was a mortal once?" Misa nodded her head and adjusted herself on the sofa for you to scootch closer. Her red manicured nails slipped the page over to the next.

"Who tried to be a god." You squinted down at the new page and pointed.

"She kinda looks like you." She laughed.

"Just wait," Misa replied. "Anyway, he was young, a few years below us, when he came across the power to make him a god. He was not chosen nor special. The power was left to be picked up by any traveler. It just so handed to be dropped outside of his family's farm, and he just so happened to be who he was. An ambitious genius with the same hunger for power the poor have for food. He used this power to rise above all others and to kill any who dared step in his way." Tragic art painted the pages as Misa continued to flip through them.

"How?" Misa shook her head.

"They don't know. We don't know. A creature crueler than Kira. A bored god looking to stir trouble. A blessing that was used as a curse. Perhaps all. Perhaps none." She giggled. "Exciting, isn't it?" You scoffed.

"Yeah, yeah. Keep going."

"But he had enemies. No mortal man should wield what Kira wielded. Those who wanted to strip him of his power and deliver justice to those he had ridden of, not grasp the power, the golden throne, he sought. They played games with one another. Cruel, cunning games of who would outsmart the other. He who was supposed to condemn his power and he who had it used the same means to win.

"Us. Regular people used and thrown away to further their game. There was one," she pointed at the girl who resembled herself, "who picked up the same power as he. It was her who tried to love him, that bent at his word, that carried out his will." Misa swallowed, "but he had lost his ability to love, or that's what was thought until..." Misa cut herself off.

"Kira and his nemesis continued to use, to manipulate the very ground the other walked on. All until he finally stood at the foot of the throne of the world he thirsted for. Pristine and shining, it stood above the clouds themselves. This is where he was slain, where his blood stained the stone, the rug, the throne, infecting and cursing them. The throne cracked, contorted, twisted, and fell. Down, down it fell until he and the now blackened throne were in hell.

"One day, when the full moon shines on the bleeding night, he will rise, and he will bring hell with him. He will claim what he has lost to reign over the world of men. The grass will gray, and the trees will blanket with ash as all life is left withered, limp, and—,"

"I know that much," you interrupted, "but I'm confused. Did you leave a part out? Where you cut yourself off, I mean." White teeth dragged across her lip.

"After," she started to rapidly flip the pages, "after he was banished to hell, they found…" Her flipping stopped at the very last page, "this."

On the page was a cage with gnarled black metal and a large gash across the bars. A human whose arms crosses on their chest in an 'X.' Their feet were bound together and tied with rope to the middle's central support pole. Blood trickled down their face, torso, and legs. Beautiful, broken, ripped wings crumpled at their back. "He had stolen an angel. Broken them. Claimed them. Upon their back, scars from where he had failed to rip them off their back." She hummed. "Kinda looks like you."

You laughed nervously then scoffed, trying to get the haunted picture out of your brain. "Should his eyes, red with ire from his unattained vision, seek you out, you are bound to the pits of hell itself for eternity because you are who he has lost, and he will not fail again.

"But that's just how it goes!" Misa laughed good-naturedly and shut the book harshly. "Pretty scary, right?" You shook your head.

"Absolutely not. First, it's actually pretty disturbing. Secondly, it's so vague! No details on how he died, if the other guy killed him. You'd think after eons of repetition, they'd make stuff up." Misa shook her head.

"Yeah, if you ask a bard, but do you really want to hear a romanticization of it in a song where they talk about how he loved whom he locked away and claimed? They do not sing about the reality, for it is far too gruesome for even documentation, much less for song. At least, that's what Rem told me. Being vague is the only option to make it tolerable, but I think she actually knows the truth and won't spill." You laughed and rose from the library's sofa. "So? It's my favorite story."

"That's because that girl looks like you."

"And?" You clicked your tongue.

"I dunno. I did say it was disturbing, but you don't really believe in this kinda stuff, right?" You scratched the back of your head.

"Of course, I do!" She giggled. "Ever since Rem took me in and taught me to read, it's been my favorite book." How could you forget what an oddball Misa was? You sighed.

"Alright, believe what you want. Halloween is the day after tomorrow, after all. Be as spooky as you want." Misa rose and slipped the leather-bound book back into her bag. "Are you stealing that?" You harshly whispered. She shook her head.

"Nope! It's Rem's." Oh, gee.

"I'd rather steal from the library—which has free books—a concept I just remembered for some reason than Rem. Do you have a death wish? Nevermind, don't answer that. Why did you make me come to the library again?"

"Isn't this where people read?

"...You're right. I got nothing. Come on. I need to get back to the market. I promised my parents I would pick up the pumpkins Mello grew and carved. Apparently, people are putting lights in them to make the faces glow at night."

Your village was reasonably large, set on the misty hillside of the mountain. Though the nearest city where the Earl of the region lived was a few miles down the path and knights on horses frequented here on their patrols, your village felt world's away from society. It was also relatively famous for the chapel, so travelers often stopped to visit, especially with the holiday season.

It rested closest to where the cliff dropped into nothingness. Flowers surrounded it, and moss grew up its stone walls. Vivid glass windows decorated all sides and around the wooden doors. A tower ascended from the front to where a millennial old bell sat still for just as long, for it was only to ring when the world was set to end.

Within, pews lined the plush red rug. The rug ran straight to the golden altar, where a large statue stood behind. The stained glass filtered color light upon its flawless, stone complexion. Water poured from the few holes in the body down into the small pond around it.

"Are we going to meet on Halloween?" Misa asked. "You know it's my favorite holiday! Everyone will be on the square dancing and dressed up!" You smiled.

"Of course. You know my parents would not miss a party. We can meet on my porch since it's closer?" She nodded enthusiastically,

"Yes! That sounds perfect! See you then!" The blonde blew you a kiss and skipped in the direction of her house. You smiled before turning on your heel and approaching the square.

Of course, the market would be busy with both locals and travelers. It was mid-day, and each stand had its unique, limited-time holiday goods. You had to squeeze your way to make it to Mello's stand. The blonde grimaced as you approached. Ah. He's in a good mood!

"Afternoon, Mello."

"Y/N," he regarded you. "You're really going to buy a pumpkin with a scary face? Would it really go with your garden?" You scoffed.

"It's my parents, actually, and yes! I can be scary and festive! Not as good as you, Mello. I heard that you carved lots of pumpkins for the village." He hummed and motioned to those on the wooden stand.

"Not for the village," he replied. "You still have to pay, got it?" You rose your hands.

"Of course, of course." You began to browse the selection. "Will you be attending the festivities night of?" He scoffed.

"No. Now pick your poison or leave." You smiled and reached for one with a broad crooked smile. "Terrible taste." You furrowed your brows.

"...But you're the one who made it?" Mello's eyes widened for a second before narrowing once more.

"It's one of my worse ones. I guess it'll go well with you, then." You laughed and rubbed the carved circle around the stem with your hand.

"Yep! Sounds good, Mello." You reached into your pockets and dropped a few coins in front of him. "Keep the change. Happy Halloween!" Mello snatched the coins from the table and shooed you off. You morphed back into the crowd, maneuvering your way through the group back to your house.

An abrupt, intense headache wracked your skull, causing you to suddenly stop amid the crowd and wince, nearly dropping the pumpkin under your arm. With your free hand, you grasped your forehead, but the pain only escalated and pulsed down your body. Two particularly intense strands of pain erupted on your back.

Peeking up, the crowd blurred around you, but your eyes on a figure at the corner of the inn. He was too far to make out the intimate details besides his lithe frame and brown hair. For moments you locked eyes before he disappeared behind the inn.

The pain stopped as if it was an illusion. You snapped back into reality, chest heaving in relief. A few eyes looked at you in concern, but no one stopped to ask. Thankfully so. You wouldn't know what to tell them if they asked what happened.

Shaking your head, you safely made it to your small house hidden behind a large oak tree.

"Oh! You got the pumpkin! How was Mello?"

"Charming as ever, of course. I was just with Misa at the library before that. She told me the story about Kira and his fall to hell." Your mom nodded her head and took the pumpkin from your arm.

"Ah, that's an old one. I guess she's always been the type to be into that stuff. It freaks me out, personally." You followed your mom to the kitchen.

"Yeah, me too. I try to remind myself it's not real, but there's also the small tick in the back of my brain that tells me it may be, you know?" She nodded again.

"Oh, I like this carving! Nice choice, Y/N, but yes, I do that too. Especially since Halloween, this year, is on the full blood moon. An ill omen in all tales. Luckily the town's party rids my mind of such horrors, as should yours. Anything else happen today?" You paused.

"N-no. Nothing comes to mind. I think I'm going to go find father then wash up before dinner. Is he still in the forest?" Your mom nodded.

"Yep. He's been hunting that same deer for weeks now. Apparently, it has a rack of the like he has never seen before. Something of beauty. I think he doesn't even want to kill it as much as he wants to see it again." Your dad was somewhat of a conundrum. As much as he awed and loved nature, he was a hunter who made income on the sale of its pelts and horns. "I'm sure he hasn't found it yet. Maybe you can help."

Unlikely, but you liked to explore the misty pines surrounding your village. They were too safe and had a few secret spots where hollowed logs led to hidden clear ponds. Wishing your mom farewell, you entered the pines and inhaled their thick scent.

Your dad's job was handy in that you knew the backwoods like the back of your hand. He taught you the ways to track and navigate through the seemingly identical trunks.

He also unknowingly taught you to sense when something was off with the forest. After ten minutes of traversing, you finally had the feeling of dread. The mist was inches too low, the grass droplets too wet, and the temperature degrees too low. You held your breath and glanced at your surroundings.

A silhouette. A deer's head with a rack so vertically high you thought your eyesight was failing you. Except, as you stepped closer, this deer had the body of a man standing upon his two legs. Large hollow eyes oozed mist.

"..." something was whispered into the air. You continued to hold your breath. "...—/N." The deer-man gave no indication of moving, and you could not bring your feet to even wiggle the frost from your toes. "Y/N."

Your name. Crystal clear. Your breath hitched. His hand with long, natural claws extended forwards towards you. "Y/N," it repeated. "You mus—....—ere. No t—." You could not make out his words.

"Y/N!" Another yell. This time you recognized it as your father. Eyes blown open, you wretched your eyes from the deer-man and sprinted towards the voice of your father.

"I'm...sorry."

…

"You're not telling us everything." Your father accused. After you ran head-first into your father, petrified and stumbling over every word, he urged you home and waited for you to take the bath you begged them to allow you to have before sitting you in the sitting room, the fire roaring under the holiday wreath behind you.

'It just scared me. I've never seen a bear of its size." Why are you lying? You had no idea. As soon as your mom asked the first questions, lies flowed out of your mouth like the truth. Stories you naturally never could have conjured on the spot. Stories you would never because you did not lie, which is why your parents, despite their dubious expressions, did believe you. "I swear. I just got freaked out. I think it's because of the story Misa told me today."

"That girl," your dad muttered.

"She told them the story of the man who fell to hell. Kira." Your dad nodded and rubbed his chin with his hand.

"Ah, I see. That would do it. Y/N, I know the full blood moon is coming, but there's no need to fret. Stories are just stories, alright? Leave your candlelight on tonight should you be scared of the dark, alright? Me and your mom are in the room over, alright?" You nodded. "Good. Now, what's for dinner?"

…

You lit the candle that night. In your nightwear, you sat on the edge of the bed. Muffled moonlight streamed through the frosted window and reflected off the full-length mirror in the corner. You inhaled deeply through your nose and exhaled through your mouth.

"They're just stories. Just stories." Like a mantra, you repeated this under your breath as you ducked under the covers. Opening your eyes, though, you were met with a flash of shadow in the mirror. You jumped and stared at it with eyes open enough to feel the cold air. You waited for something in the still room to move, for it to flash again, but nothing did. Thankfully.

Still, you threw the blanket off of yourself and approached to assure yourself that yes, it was nothing, and yes, there was nothing: just your reflection and the room behind you.

Until you blinked.

For a second, blood poured down your body and wetted down your clothes against your figure—wings broken and limp behind your back.

You screamed and smashed the mirror with your fist on impulse. Along with the shards, your body fell to the ground, and actual bloodied hands kept you from collapsing entirely. However, the features in the fragments were not yours. The man, the one from the square, stared back, but at this closer view, you can see his eyes.

Red.

You threw yourself back against the wall and screamed. Your door busted open, and your parents barged in. Your mother ran to your side and took your hand in hers while your father took in the big picture around him.

"I-I thought I saw something in the mirror. Misa told me once the m-mirror is the passage to the other world. I-I know it's stupid for me to react like this, but I just… I don't know. Do you think it's the blood moon?" Your parents were quiet.

'It could be," your mother said. "The blood moon is supposed to come with magic. It enables beings to crossover from other worlds, from other planes. It is the ill omen, but crossing over is all they can do. They can't touch you or hurt you. That, I promise." You nodded.

Your parents stayed with you, and, for the first time since you were literally a toddler, you slept in their room, blankets wrapped around you on their floor. Relief flooded your system when sunlight broke through the window. Though your sleep was haunted by vague images and muddled whispers, you slept through the night after the incident.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Your dad asked. "You can skip your daily chores if you don't want to do them. Tomorrow too. Aren't I generous?" You laughed but shook your head no.

"That's alright. I think if I stay home, I'll just keep thinking about it. I need to get my mind off of it. Doing chores will put my mind at ease. Some normalcy, I think." Your dad nodded, though you can tell your parents weren't eager to just forget the events of last night.

You knew someone, though, that would be eager to learn about them.

"Misa, can you keep a secret?" She bit into an apple.

"No," she replied simply. "I tell Rem everything, but that's it. I don't really talk to many other people here besides you and her, so no one else to tell, but I know Rem will mind her business. She talks to fewer people than I do." That was true. You could count the number of times you talked to Rem on a single hand, and Misa said she liked you.

"Okay, don't freak out, but…"

She freaked out.

"And they were red?" You nodded.

"Glowing. A sinister smirk on his face. His hands in the reflection, touching my own through the glass. It was the same as the one I saw in the square right after we met." Misa's eyes widened in enthusiasm and jubilation.

"It's him! It has to be! Kira!" You shook your head.

"No, my mom explained it to me. It's a spirit from the other plane playing a joke on me. She told me that after I stopped crying and fled to their room before I passed out. That story isn't real. It… can't be." Misa shook her head and leaned forward.

"It is! It's not that you don't believe it's real; it's that you don't want to believe it's real! Y/N, you have to believe me." You grimaced and backed away to create some breathing room.

"Why would I want it to be real?" You whispered solemnly. "Why would I want that to happen to me? I can't believe it's real. It can't be real. I'm terrified if it is real, okay? If my parents think it's real because I do, they'll tell the church, and if the church finds out? You know how they deal with spiritual trespassers and those they possess. I'd basically be dead. My soul stripped from my being to ensure I do not bring harm to anyone else. I would be a hollow body, Misa! Don't you get that!?" You inhaled a ragged breath.

"...Has anything happened today?" You shook your head. "It's already almost sunset, so that's a good sign, at least. Sorry, I got too excited. Your feelings and safety are important. Okay, I promise I won't tell a soul about this." You breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you. I just… don't know what to do."

"Have you gone to the chapel? The water from the statue is supposed to cure any possession." You shook your head. "Okay! I think I know your next steps, then. Come on!" She stood abruptly from the bench and held out her hands. "Let's go!"

She dragged you across the diameter of town until your footsteps echoed across the chamber. A few holy people greeted you as they did their duties. Some travelers prayed at the pews for good luck and well-being. A single man stood next to the pond where the statue stood.

"Greetings," he welcomed. "I recognize you two from town, but I don't believe we've met. My name is Soichiro. Are you here to drink from the spring?" Misa nudged you forward.

"Y-yes. Oh, I'm Y/N." He nodded.

"I see. Does the blood moon have you nervous? Don't worry. Lots of people come to do the same before a blood moon. Come and cup your hands and drink the water. Any disease in your soul shall be healed." You lowered yourself down to your knees and cupped the crisp water between your palms. You lowered yourself to sip, and you swallowed.

But it would not go down.

You began to cough, and your body convulsed with coughs. Liquid did come from your mouth, but the drops upon the ground were not clear, but a vicious red. Soichiro yelled for the other holy people as your body shook and twisted. Ropes bound your wrists, and hands steadied your head—arms wrapped around your waist to keep you as still as possible. A man placed his palm on your forehead and whispered incomprehensible words. When he finished, he ripped his hand away, and your breath was restored. You were unable to fall with the tight grip they still had on you.

"W-what happened?" You asked, feeling the tears on your cheeks continuing to inch down and the blood drying on your chin. "I-I don't know. I'm sorry."

"Take them to the purification chamber."

"No! Please, no! Help me! Someone, please help!" It was a joint effort between numerous holy people to lift your struggling form from the ground. "Misa! Mom! Dad!" you called out for, yet, in the chapel, none of them were there. However, your screaming did not stop for them until you were placed on a large chair and gagged. Your legs were bound to the bottom of the chair, and arms rebound to the arms. Holy people circled around you.

The chair you were in was much less a chair and more so a throne. Pure white metal was attached directly to the ground. Red cushioning provided comfort to your rear and back. With ragged breaths, you looked waited until one of them spoke or did anything besides watch you. It was the man who sentenced you here that approached.

"Soichiro," someone called, but he ignored them and angled his head down towards you.

"I am going to undo your gag. Do not scream. I just want you to tell us the truth if you know anything. Sometimes… they do things without signaling a mortal." Large calloused hands undid the gag, and you inhaled greedily. "Now, tell us."

"A-are you going to take my soul?"

"Speak first. I cannot make promises I do not know if I can keep." You swallowed and explained what you could to them. Your eyes were focused on the ground. The terror you would feel if his reaction was bad was too grand for you to meet his eyes. The silence after you ended your experience was deafening. "I see." He looked to a holy person nearby. "We need twenty-four-hours to prepare for the ritual. It leaves us with little room before the blood moon rises. If we do not store their soul… go now. It is much worse than any of us could have imagined." Your heart plummeted.

"W-what? No! Please! Tell me what's going on! D-don't take my soul, please! I-I want to live! I'll run away! You'll never see me again!" Soichiro stared at you with what you hoped was empathy. The bags under his eyes spoke of his wisdom and his exhaustion. He motioned for the rest of the holy people to leave, so it was just him standing over you.

"I'm sorry, child." He spoke softly, knuckles wiping the tears flowing down your face. "No matter how far you run, no matter how fast, no matter how well you hide, no matter how you continue on: alive or dead, he will come for you. The moment you locked eyes in the mirror, you were bound to him, just as you always have been." You shook your head, vehemently.

"It's not true, is it? Kira... is he…?" Soichiro smiled sadly. "It can't be… it can't be me. It's impossible." You sobbed. "How? Please, at least tell me before… before…" You couldn't even make the words out.

"My son," he began, "was always destined for greatness, but then greatness found him, and he became too great. The power he found was a single, black notebook. Write someone's name, and they would pass. It originally is from a Shinigami, a god of death, that possessed him while he owned it, but… there are forces more potent than Shinigami in the universe. He and his opponent, the one who sought to bring the mysterious killer Kira, my son, that plagued the land to justice, who we called L, always were at a battle of wits, of plans, but, in the end, my son won.

"But this victory angered others. It was they who killed him at the throne of the world. It was they who watched him plummet to hell. It was they who built the statue in this chapel and sealed him in hell so he could never return, but they have long passed. Their magic fading in time. I could do nothing in all this time except pray to angels to keep my son at bay." He paused and looked up solemnly. "You must be wondering how I am alive," He looked down at his pale hands.

"The notebook is gone now. The Shinigami that dropped it fled back to his world when Lig- Kira, was cast down to hell. I, too, touched the notebook. A scheme my son created to get ahead. The curse of it never went away, and I am now stuck to live eternity until my son ends it." He clenched his fist. "I did not know you were so close. I did not know it was you. If I did… I would have taken your soul long before you could have known life without it." You shook your head.

"I don't understand. What is my part? The book… the book only showed a cage with… someone in it. The story has no word of them. Just the girl… the weapon that served him." Soichiro sighed.

"Back then, the plane between the mortal realm and other words was thinner when angels and spirits would roam mortal lands. You were an angel. A new one. Young. Wide-eyed and drawing silver linings wherever you walked. Someone he set to ruin. Someone with a soul so pure that he can take and twist to his own liking. No one should see you except him, so he locked you away and bound his soul to yours and your soul to his. As long as he lived, whether here or hell, you would too.

"But just your soul. Unlike me, whose mortal body is stuck, it is solely your soul that has been recycled for eons. His part, the part of his soul within you, could only be awakened should your eyes meet his. Then, with his entire soul active and with the power of the red blood moon, he will be able to break the barrier that seals him tomorrow night. We must lock away part of his power, so he cannot walk this land again.

"Should he, then he will seek to claim all that was taken from him. The mortal world will fall as we know it. Those he inevitably tricked in hell to follow him will breakthrough behind him. What the world deserves for not seeing him as the god he sees himself as." Tears pooled in Soichiro's eyes. "I still love my son. The bright-eyed boy, but he cannot love. What he feels for you is something far darker, something twisted. I do not know what he will do if he finds you. You will be better off soulless." You sobbed.

"B-but the deer-man in the woods. Do you - I mean…" He furrowed his brows and shook his head.

"I don't know, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry my son came upon you. No one deserves this fate." You wretched in your bindings, ragged breaths, and eery whines escaping your mouth. "Some will be around to feed you later, and someone… someone will explain everything to your parents.

"Let me see them!" You yelled out. "Please! One last time! They don't know anything! I just want to… please, I… I get it. Why you have to do this, but please let me say goodbye. Please. I just," you bit your bottom lip to prevent another wail, "please." Soichiro shook his head. The man could no longer maintain eye contact with you.

"I can't. We cannot risk you talking to anyone lest risk his jealousy. As far as we are concerned, you are not you. You are his." You pulled against the ropes once more. "I'm… so sorry. It is best for everyone that he does not see you with others while he is powerful enough to watch this world. I hope you never forgive me." Crestfallen, he turned his back and approached the door.

"No! Come back! Please! Don't leave me alone here! P-please! S-Soichiro!" Only the slam and locking of the door met your calls.

You don't know how long you howled and wailed, how many times it echoed back in the circular chamber to your ear. There came the point where your body could make no more tears, so you were left with pathetic dry heaves. It was then that a voice whispered in your head.

"Y/N…" It was different than the voice in the woods. It was sinister, deep, evil. You focused on anything, the floor's intricate patterns, the ceiling, the running water behind the chair, the plants around the circumference of the room, anything to not acknowledge it. "Oh, aren't you a gift wrapped up for me? Clearly my father's work. Don't ignore me, Y/N. I know your every move. I know you can hear my every word"

"F-fuck you!" You cried, and he laughed. Then, he clicked his tongue.

"Such dirty words. You're not the angel I remember, fresh out of the clouds. Ah, but there wasn't much angel left, from what I can recall. Do you feel it, Y/N? It shouldn't be long now…" For a long time, nothing happened, then, like two knives down your back, you screamed. "Ah, there it is. Those screams, I do remember. I don't care if it hurts." Blood soaked the cushion behind you and flowed down to your rear. "You brought this on yourself. This is what you deserve."

"I didn't do anything!" You writhed.

"Is that what my father told you? Is that what the story says? Oh, they couldn't be more wrong, love. You denied me what I deserve. You could have fallen to hell right with me, where you can be where you belong, but you stayed. I couldn't have you running back to the angels to live your days without me. I wouldn't allow it. If I hadn't had Mikami lock you in that cage, if I hadn't bound our souls, your grave would be in the flower fields above the clouds, but you got conceited.

"Let me remind you of something, love. You are mine. Your body, your mind, your heart, your soul, what's between your legs, it's all mine. We are bound for eternity, Y/N. There is nothing you can do about it." He got quiet just as the immediate pain receded, leaving you with intense throbs.

"You… won't get the chance," you spoke through tears. "Big talk for someone who isn't even going to breach this plane." A flash of pain sparked in your skull. He chuckled.

"Oh, Y/N. Perhaps you are just as green as you were when we met. I can't wait to feel you again. To have you watch me burn the world." Silence.

Despite your exhaustion, you could not sleep. You might as well have melted into the chair in how your body did not move a single inch, too scared to bother your wounds, and have the pain come back that is still aching. You did not want to spend your last hours unconscious. No one came to feed you.

"They're coming," he said. "They'd better be quick, then. The moon is almost up out there, after all." He groaned, and you jolted at the feeling of a cold hand on your neck.

Soichiro and a train of holy people entered the room and surrounded you. He approached your limp body and undid your bounds. You did not miss him tense, and his eyes widen at the pool of blood in the seat from your back.

'We must hurry. Any minute he will come through." Soichiro enlisted others to help him carry you back up the stairs to the altar. "Twenty four hours in the chamber has amplified their soul. It explains the marks on their back from their past life. Quick, on the altar!" The cloth was smooth against your skin as they placed you.

Movement flurried around you as different scents were sprayed, various objects were placed on the ground and on the altar around you, and foreign words were spoken around you. Fatigue racked your body. There was not a single inch of your body that you could to move.

Soichiro stood over your body. Your eyes, dead and clouded, stared up at him. In his hand was a singular, transparent, glass object. Quickly, he lifted his hand, ready to plunge it down.

A loud bang resounded in the chapel, and the glass fell with a splatter of blood. You rolled your head to the side and watched two bodies approach from the entrance. All of the holy people around you were blown limply against the walls around you. It was only when they were right above you that you recognize it was Misa and Rem.

"Rem, can you carry them? Do you still have your strength?"

"Do not worry, Misa," she replied. Long arms lifted you while Misa skipped ahead and smiled reassuringly back at you. Music filled the crisp air. Lights hanging from the trees and other ornaments swept by your visual field. You groaned and lulled your head to face Misa.

"M-Misa, no." You groaned. "He's coming." She giggled and turned around. Skipping backward, her smile widened. Behind her, the crowd gathered in the village square. Their vivid garments stuck out under the lights.

"Of course I know, silly! Rem is a Shinigami just as the one who gave Kira his power. Just like he had a notebook, I had Rem's, but it was destroyed eons ago. Still, it binds me to live eternally, just like Soichiro. Luckily, Rem's cloaking magic covered me when I've met him, or he would have spoiled it all for us!

"When I saw you, I knew it was you. No matter how you may physically change, your heart and soul are always the same. Now, he's going to return to us. He's going to spearhead the new world." She twirled her hair around her finger. "Isn't that exciting?"

You had no strength to fight in Rem's hold. Even if you did, you were unsure if you would be able to beat a Shinigami.

Eyes were drawn to you as your bloodied and weak form was carried by an almost unidentifiable figure. Gasps echoed across the crowd, the music stopping as you presumably reached the square.

"They watch helplessly," he spoke. "They know you are not theirs to touch. Soon, they will all know my power. They will all know who you belong to. Keep your eyes open, love."

"Y/N! Y/N! Move! That's our child! Move! Y/N! The desperate calls of your parents broke through the crowd, but Rem presumably pushed them far back just the holy people, scaring the public to still and part for your funeral march. You heard the sick smack of bodies against a surface. Misa hummed to herself in front of you. Your head rolling back, you met Mello's wide and helpless eyes as he stood in the crowd.

Misa led you away from the crowd and stopped at the flagpole at the village's entrance gates with the group following. Rem retied you to the base of the flagpole; your arms crossed over your chest in a familiar 'X,' legs and waist bound to the pole. Misa's settled herself next to you.

"All!" She called. "Watch as the blood moon rises behind the chapel! He who fell to hell is rising again to take what is rightfully his!" She pointed to the moon as it brilliantly glowed crimson above the chapel. Murmurs rose from the crowd, suspicious and fearful. "Watch as our god returns to the mortal realm!"

The church bell rang. Its deathly reverberations echoing in your ear. The crowd fell to silence.

"Have you missed me, love?" He spoke. "Because I have missed you."

A red beam of light erupted from the chapel, followed quickly by multiple explosions. The statue, the roof, the infrastructure all crumbling by the expanding beam of light that touched the sky, screams erupted from the crowd, and they began to scramble. You pulled with what little strength you had left, but the pole against your back seized you in pain to cease your movements.

A silhouette could be made out of the beam. Large black wings spread from his back, sharp and jagged. Hands rose above his head before he dropped down in front of the chapel submerged in flames. His shadow enraptured you, and though his shadow was mostly unclear from a distance, you could make out his eyes even from here. Slowly, he took his first step forwards.

Every needle and leaf in the trees around him fell. The grass withered all around him. Ash from the sky and littered the ground. With each step, the radius expanded until more and more life died around him. Your eyes trailed to the unconscious bodies of your parents against a tree. His zone of death stretched farther than them.

"Eyes on me."

"You're going to kill them!" You screeched. "Stop this madness at once!" You shook in your bonds. Misa was frozen next to you, eyes wide in anticipation as he approached.

"Ordering me around? Perhaps you still are conceited. I think killing them will remind you of your place, hm?" Unfortunate humans were reduced to ash in his radius. The wind blew the ashes all around him, gently lifting his brown tufts of hair. "These mortals are nothing compared to you and I. Accept me as your mate. Accept the part of your soul that is my own, and the pain will all go away. You'll be dragged down to hell, and I'll bring you right back up."

Your parent's ashes were a different color than the rest.

"You know, it's been an eternity since I've heard you call my name. Do you even remember it?" You shook your head and squeezed your eyes shut. The thick scent of smoke, of ash, of death, permeated the air. "Eyes on me." He was almost here. Arms extended to the side, he approached from the other side of the square now.

"Misa, we need to leave."

"No! He's here! He's finally here, Rem!"

"His aura will kill you, Misa."

"No, I won't! He won't!" Rem, at lightning speed, grabbed Misa and flew in the other direction. "No! Put me down! I'll never forgive you! Stop!" Her voice echoed until it was out of range. Your head lashed back and forth, looking for any sign of life, but there was none: just ash, dying grass, and gnarled, graying trees.

Dressed in all black, eyes blazing, teeth sharp, wings stretched, he now stood before you with the moon on his back. You pushed yourself against the pole despite the shock of pain. The grass around you died, the bugs vanishing, but you remained fine. You stared at his feet.

"Oh, love," soft fingers reached down and tilted your head up. "You're as beautiful as I remember." Black wings encircled you, so you could only see him. "Do you remember my name?" You shook your head, and he gripped your chin harder. "Do not lie to me. Say my name, Y/N. Sew the wounds of your forsaken wings and accept your place with me." His voice resounded in you. "You feel it. I know you do. I feel your pain. Your fear. I've felt every emotion your reincarnations have ever felt. Say my name." He leaned in close.

"Kira." He clicked his tongue.

"Stop resisting," he hissed. "Say my name, Y/N." His breath glided against your cheek. His hand moved to cup your jaw, and the other trailed down your waist.

"Light." It came off your lips quickly, easily, and he smiled, eyes widening with pleasure. Immediately, relief filled your physical body, your back's pain dissolving. Your head tilted back in bliss.

"Y/N," he whispered against your neck. "Finally." He inhaled your scent deeply, hand tilting your head to give him more access. He placed a small kiss against your skin. His kisses trailed upwards, along your jaw, frantic against your cheeks, nose, until he captured your lips and stole your breath.

"Oh, Y/N," he whispered against your lips. "I love you."

#light yagami x reader #light yagami x you #yandere light yagami x reader #Light Yagami #yandere death note #yandere light yagami #death note fic #x reader #reader insert #yandere reader insert #halloween special #happy halloween everyone!

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unfriendlyamazon · 3 years

Text

pacific rim (kaijou) - chase the rabbit

very telling of me that the scenes i have fully written out are 1) kaijou hitting each other with sticks, 2) seto kaiba’s worst memory, and 3) kaijou’s first kiss

characters Joey Wheeler/Seto Kaiba

ratings T

warnings Allusions To Childhood Abuse, Parental Death, And Electrocution, Mass Destruction Of Major City, Alien Blood

All Joey and Seto have to do is waltz through each other’s memories so they can mind meld in order to properly pilot a giant dragon-shaped robot. Nothing to worry about there.

The Ultimate Dragon stood in her dock, a beast of white metal that reflected blue with the bright energy that burned in her chest. Her legs were bent forward, like an animal’s, and a long tail balanced it, ending in a spike that curved on the floor of the Shatterdome. Three separate blue domes made her eyes. Her arched reptilian head sneered down at the personnel on the floor hundreds of feet below it. Joey stood on the Conn-Pod of Ultimate Dragon and peered down with her. He could just make out the faces in the control room. The techs were bent low in their work as the scientists bickered with each other. The stone faced General Kaiba stared up. Joey stuck his tongue out at him, knowing he couldn’t see.

“Are you always a child?” the other Kaiba drawled, and Joey jumped back.

“Someone has to be the fun one around around here,” he snapped back and walked to his position in the pilot’s seat. Two spinal clamps awaited them. The drivesuit was heavy and black, and he sucked in a breath as he got into position. “You nervous?”

“No,” Kaiba said. His blue eyes watched him, the helmet held in his hand. It was both their first time in a Jaeger, but Kaiba had built the damn thing. His solid stance didn’t betray any uncertainty. “You’re taking the right side.”

Joey shrugged. “You wanna fight about it?”

He only shook his head and pulled the helmet on. Joey followed suit. Beyond the domed eyes of the Dragon, the techs initialized testing mode. Heavy blue lights washed out the dark cockpit, and the yellow lights of their helmets lined their faces. The clamp initialized, and Joey sucked in a breath. He glanced at Kaiba, who offered him his usual scowl.

“Don’t chase the rabbit,” Kaiba said.

Joey blinked. “What?”

“Random Access Brain Impulse Triggers,” he repeated, and Joey bristled at his tone. “Sticking to a memory is dangerous. It pulls us out of sync. Stay in the drift.”

Joey hissed through his teeth. He wanted to say he knew, thank you, he’d done his training, but the truth was, as the sickly yellow relay gel filled his visor, he appreciated the sound of another human voice. Vision blocked, he sucked in a breath as though he was drowning. The suit was contained, only the sound of his breath, and the metallic slide of the clamp locking into place. Anxiety jangled his nerves, and he forced himself to breath in, and out. Relax, he told himself. You’re just letting Kaiba waltz through your memories so the two of you can mind meld in order to properly pilot a giant dragon-shaped robot. Nothing to worry about there.

“Neural handshake initialized,” the computer said, and it was the only warning they had before they were pulled into the drift.

There aren’t words to describe the drift. Pilots tried. Scientists could only explain. None of it prepared Joey for the feeling of his head opening up. Memories poured in like a river, too fast to cling, like flashes from a movie but more. Him at the Wall with Yugi offering him a position in the program, the too clean smell of the hospital bedroom with the drip of the IV, Serenity’s face wet from crying as she got further and further away, electricity against his skin and the sharp smell of skin burning with the laughs of the other boys in his ear, interlaced with things he didn’t recognize. Kaiba with a neural spike in his hand as he stooped across a desk, exhaustion hitting like a truck, the strike of a hand against his face and the white hot anger that flared inside him, the feel of a deck of cards beneath his fingertips as his brother laughed, holding his hand as their world ended.

The drift carried through, and Joey felt bigger than himself. When he opened his eyes, he could see the holo display, the Shatterdome curled around them like a shell, and the life signatures of the humans beneath staring up at them. He was aware, as he lifted his hands, that Kaiba was doing the same, rolling the clawed fingers of the Dragon as they did their own hands. The core of the Dragon set the metronome of their heartbeat. They raised their hands together, and outside the Dragon did the same. Relief burst in his chest, and he wasn’t sure if it was his or Kaiba’s, but it didn’t matter. They were doing it. They were piloting the Jaeger.

The memory stream continued but it was little more than white noise. Joey’s muscles tightened with the desire to take this baby for a joy ride. He wanted to see everything it could do. The excitement was doubled with his partner. Once initial testing was finished, they’d get their chance at the first Kaiju they saw. They’d let Ultimate Dragon go wild. Joey grinned at the thought and knew it was mimicked across Kaiba’s face. He wanted to get wild.

“Commencing first test,” the computer said, and beneath that was another voice. Small and weak, like a child crying. It took Joey a second to recognize it, but Kaiba’s body froze. It locked his own limbs, and he had to push against it. The computer was still talking, but it faded lower and lower beneath the sobbing Japanese voice. Joey turned his head, and he could see Kaiba standing there, eyes up to the sky, as the crying grew louder and louder. He looked up too and--

He was in Tokyo, with its uneven buildings rising and falling spreading neon light across the cold empty street a siren wailing through the thick air and ash falling like snow against the ground. The air burned and the world was empty everyone was in the shelters below everyone who as going to make it which left him alone with his little brother curled in his arms crying and crying their parents were gone lost amid the rubble and the ruin and it was all he could do to hold his brother tight like his tiny body could protect him like he could do anything at all against the rumble of something heavy that shook the glass from the buildings and cracked the concrete beneath its feet leave concave holes and destruction behind it its gold body reflected off the tall buildings and it turned to look at the children in its path its frill fanned out like a cobra’s head streaked with purple and its mouth lipless with tall sharp teeth that stretched in an ugly smile and gold spikes rose off it like armor as its heavy claws dragged against the ground it was coming for them it was tracking them like an animal like a shark smelling blood in the water and he buried his head and held his brother and heard the terrible howl of the great beast.

The comms in the Dragon were screaming from the control room the panicked calls of the Shatterdome techs trying to reign them back in, but they were little more than a dull ache in the back of Joey’s head. His eyes were ahead as he found himself in the ruined streets of Tokyo on the day Exodia had crossed the breach. In front of him were two children. They huddled close together, too close to really see them, but he already knew who they were.

“H-hey.” His voice was distant, but he started forward and shouted again, “Hey! Kaiba!”

The children didn’t move. In front of them, the Kaiju stood tall and imposing, leaning down to inspect the two mice caught in its path. The city was eerie and quiet, only the great huffing of the beast and the quiet gasps of the children. If they moved, the creature would crush them. If they didn’t, they’d be crushed anyway. Their fear quaked inside Joey as he crouched down beside them.

“You’re in a nightmare,” he said. Baby Kaiba only squeezed his brother tighter. “It’s not real. You lived through this already, you--”

The air shuddered and boomed, and both Joey and Kaiba looked up as a blast struck the Kaiju in the head. Blue blood splattered across the buildings, and the Kaiju staggered, before another missile strike downed it entirely. It fell to its heavy knees, groaning loudly as it landed against the ground. Wind brushed against their faces as the thud shook the empty streets, raining glass and debris to the floor. The two brothers stared up as the Jaeger marched forward. At the sight of the horned head of Necross, Kaiba rose slowly to his feet, and Joey did the same. The Jaeger was safety and retribution, coming to pluck two orphaned children off the street, to bring them up and give them tools to fight the monsters that scared them. It was supposed to save them.

“System shutting down,” the computer voice bled through the memory and tore it like tissue paper. As soon as the spinal link snapped free, Joey staggered forward. He tore his helmet off and stared at Kaiba, who looked like he was waking up from a dream. His chest heaved as he stared down at his own hands. Trickling into Joey’s mind was the shame, the bitter taste of failure, stupid and worthless and wasting his one chance--

“Kaiba,” Joey said, and it felt strange to have his own voice inside his head again. “You’re okay.”

Kaiba’s gaze whipped to him, wide eyed, and tears running down his cheeks. Instinctually, Joey reached a hand to him. Kaiba turned away.

“You did fine,” Joey said again. “It was our first time. Now we know better.”

“I don’t need your sympathy, Wheeler,” Kaiba snapped. A tremor made it through. “I don’t want it.”

Joey held in a breath and let his hands drop to his side. The fading emotions hadn’t gone completely. When he thought of Gozaburo in the control room below, a residual spike of anger drove its way into Joey’s skull. But he swallowed it down.

“You’re such an asshole, Kaiba,” Joey said.

“And you’re even more a delinquent than I could’ve possibly guessed,” he replied.

Equilibrium restored.

#pacific rim au #kaijou #i had a really cool idea for ultimate dragon that i don't even want to give away in case i do decide to write a full thing for this #rest assured red eyes is not forgotten #raleigh's character trait of never shutting up is less annoying with seto who's a know it all anyway #the mind meld is such a gift thank you scifi writers #my fanfic

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king-finnigan · 4 years

Text

Unchained Melody

What A Wonderful World Masterlist. Also on AO3!

Day 1 of Whumptober! On the menu today is ‘Waking up restrained/shackled/hanging.’

~~~

When he finally blinks awake, Jaskier is, more than anything, confused. A throbbing ache in the back of his skull tells him something might be terribly wrong, and when he shifts and his shoulders scream out in agony, his suspicions are confirmed.

He clenches his teeth, ignoring his rapidly rising heartrate in favour of focusing on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Don’t panic, Jask. He takes one final, steadying breath, ignoring the pain in his chest for now, before he starts mentally checking his body bit by bit.

His head hurts, the pain splitting and dull at the same time, spreading heat across his skin and down his neck – though that might also be blood, he’s not sure. He furrows his brow as he tries to remember what happened.

Inn room. Waking up in the middle of the night. Three dark figures standing around his bed. One of them raises an arm as Jaskier tries to scramble away. A loud thud echoing through his head, half a second of searing pain, before darkness overtakes him.

That doesn’t really tell him much about why he’s here or who took him. So, he moves on. His shoulders are stiff, and when he tries to move them, he nearly screams in pain. It takes him a few seconds to realize his hands are shackled above his head, the chains rattling loudly when he shifts a bit. His fingertips feel numb, and he wonders how long he’s been here like this, and how much longer until the lack of blood will make his fingertips die off.

He doesn’t like that thought very much.

He’s shirtless, too, and wherever he is, it’s very cold, sending shivers down his spine, making his ribs scream out in pain as well as his shoulders.

Ribs. He takes a deep breath in and out, and indeed: some of them must be broken. Or at least bruised. He doesn’t know – he’s tended to Geralt’s broken and bruised ribs plenty of times, but he’s never been on the other side of injuries, like he is now.

Geralt. He wonders if this has something to do with the Witcher. He’s heard rumours that Geralt was seen with his Child Surprise and that Nilfgaard was looking for the girl, so it wouldn’t be a long stretch to say that Nilfgaard might have taken Jaskier in hopes of finding out where Geralt is through him.

Ha. Jokes on them – Jaskier hasn’t seen Geralt in years. Not since the mountain. Not that he wants to see Geralt, of course, and obviously Geralt doesn’t want to see him either. He’s made that much clear.

Though, Jaskier wouldn’t exactly be very unhappy if Geralt were to barge through the door and free him from these cursed shackles – and gods, he can’t even move his fingers anymore. This is bad. This is really bad.

Thank sweet Melitele, the door opens right at that exact moment. There’s a man, standing there in the doorway, his face clad in shadows, the light from the hall behind him hurting Jaskier’s eyes, making him squint. That’s not Geralt.

The vision sways in front of him, before doubling, and Jaskier has time to think that he might have a concussion, actually, before the man walks forward, grabbing Jaskier by his hair and yanking his head backwards in a swift, harsh movement.

Jaskier cries out, gasping for air as his ribs protest loudly, the chains rattling as he sways from them, his bare toes barely touching the ground. Tears gather in his eyes, and he tries to blink them away, only managing to make them spill over and down his cheeks.

“The Witcher,” the man says, and Jaskier can’t help but chuckle as his suspicions are confirmed.

“Don’t bother,” he wheezes out, his voice raw, throat dry, lungs constricting as he desperately tries to pull in air. “Haven’t seen him in years.”

“Liar!” the man shouts, hand clenching more tightly in his hair, making the already sharp pain gain a numbingly hot edge. “You know exactly where he’s taking the girl,” he hisses.

Jaskier blinks, the image of a lone castle on top of a snowy mountain flashing through his mind. Kaer Morhen. He banishes the thought away, desperately conjuring up half-finished lyrics and nonsensical rhymes, in case the man is a Mage and can read his mind.

Toss a coin to your Witcher- Fishmonger’s daughter badabada- Eeny meeny miny moe, catch a selkie by the toe-

He pulls a face and tries to shrug, barely managing to hold in a scream of pain as it jostles his stiff shoulders – though it comes out as a pathetic whimper instead. “No idea what you’re talking about,” he says, the cold air like sandpaper in his throat.

The man scoffs. “Suit yourself, then, bard.” Jaskier’s eye catches on the glint of light on steel, before his head is whipped to the side, breath knocked from his longs in shock. It takes him a few seconds to feel the pain in his cheek, the warm dribble of blood spilling down his neck and across his chest.

“Where is he?” the man asks again, the tip of his knife dangerously close to the wound in Jaskier’s cheek, ready to dig in. “I can do this all day, bard. All week, if needs be. Just tell me where he is and this will all be over soon, you get to go back to that dingy little inn and forget this all happened.”

He can’t help but laugh at that, the fake mercy in the man’s eyes gaining a hard edge, his soft smile turning into a scowl. “Now who’s the liar?” Jaskier asks. “You’re never letting me go.”

It’s quiet for a while, as the man grinds his teeth together, glaring at Jaskier. “No,” he finally admits. “But it’ll be a lot easier for the both of us if you talk now.”

Jaskier nods, hesitantly, taking a deep breath, ignoring the protesting of his ribs. He whispers something noncommittal, and the man frowns, taking a step closer. “What?” Jaskier whispers again, causing the man to get closer once more. “Speak up, bard.”

“I said,” Jaskier mutters. “Go fuck yourself.” He gathers what little blood has run into his mouth, and spits it into the man’s face, making him stumble back. With his last remaining effort, he lifts his legs, shoulders and wrists screaming from the strain of the shackles, and kicks forward, square against the man’s chest.

He laughs as he watches the bastard fall flat on his arse, a stunned and furious expression on his face. He knows the man will make him regret it soon enough, but for now, he lets himself have this.

A door slams in the distance, and Jaskier turns his head, though he’s well aware he won’t be able to see anything that isn’t happening directly in front of the door to his cell.

The sound of metal clashing against metal, distant shouts and cries ending in the tell-tale gurgling of someone choking on their own blood. Then, a scream, loud and ear-piercing, making the walls shake around him.

He cries out, pressing his upper arms against his ears in a futile attempt to block out the sound, the pain in his shoulders taking a backseat in favour of trying to make the pain in his eardrums go away. It doesn’t help much, and by the time the screaming stops, he’s dizzy and delirious, his vision spinning before his head lolls backwards, his eyes now trained on the stone ceiling.

The noises grow closer and closer, and he hears someone unsheathing a sword right in front of him – probably the man, gods, Jaskier had forgotten about him. He tries to raise his head, he really does, but his attempts only result in the light-headedness growing worse, the ringing in his ears distracting him.

Running footsteps, coming to a halt in front of his cell. The clang of metal on metal, a few grunts here and there as small hands try and fail to reach up to his shackles, momentarily appearing in his field of vision before the person gives up and clings to his arm instead – a steadying presence, though he still feels himself slipping away more and more.

Finally, the wet sound of a sword going through flesh and bone, before being pulled out and dropped to the ground, metal on stone.

“Jaskier.”

“’S me,” he garbles, vision blinking in and out of darkness. “D’you want?”

Large, familiar hands bring a key up to the shackles, and before he can realize what’s going to happen, he’s already falling. He braces for impact, but two arms catch him, using his momentum to gently lay him on the cold, stone floor.

Two faces appear above him, both of them familiar, though he feels like one of them shouldn’t be. “Pavetta?”

The girl’s face twists into something pained, before she shakes her head. “It’s Ciri.”

“Oh. Hello.”

Her smile might be the sweetest thing he’s ever seen, and he feels as though, under different circumstances, he would’ve huddled her up in a blanket, sat her by a fire, and told her the most embarrassing stories about Geralt he could think of.

Speaking of- “Hi, Geralt.”

“Hey,” his Witcher whispers, rubbing one of Jaskier’s hands in both of his, and Jaskier notices that the tips of his fingers are tinged blue.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters, as the world starts spinning again.

“It’ll be fine, Jask. You’ll be fine.”

“You look like shit.” Geralt does look like shit – his hair a mess of tangles and, strangely enough, a few twigs, the length of his stubble hovering between ‘just long enough’ and ‘would be avoided like the plague if seen in a dark alley’, the shadows under his eyes speaking of many days – if not weeks – without a proper night’s rest.

If anything, Geralt looks like a man on the run. Makes sense.

“Thanks for saving me,” he whispers. “I really appreciate it.” The ceiling above him spins, and he swallows down the urge to gag. “But I think I’m going to pass out now.”

Geralt grins at him, the relief evident in his eyes. “Alright, you do that.”

“Alright, goodnight.” His eyes slip shut.

“Goodnight, Jask,” he swears he hears before blessed unconsciousness finally overtakes him.

#geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #whumptober2020 #no.1 #waking up restrained #the witcher #fic #violence #torture #but only a little #jaskier can have a little torture #as a treat #what a wonderful world

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jimlingss · 5 years

Text

Worshipers of the Sea

Part of the Worshiper Series

➜ Words: 16.3k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook fluff #bts mermaid!AU #bts scenario #btsboulangerie #OC AS A PIRATE TURNED MERMAID #JUNGKOOK AS A HOT TSUNDERE GOD #WHAT'S THERE NOT TO LIKE

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my-happy-little-bean · 3 years

Text

The Bookkeeper – Chapter 10

Chapter 10: One Last Time, Please

pairings: logan/patton (logicality), roman/virgil (prinxiety) words: 2421 chapter warnings: existential crisis, depressive episodes, references to death chapter summary:

“one last time, please, we can say goodbye again. just for a moment, say it's not the end, will you see me like you did before?

just one night more, and then i’ll close the door; somehow step into a world without you.”

– dodie, one last time, please (demo)

[read on ao3] [masterlist]

< previous chapter

—

A fairy’s song is meant to tempt and allure. This is a fact, perhaps not of this world, but of a world not far and not outside of our own. It is prophetic magic that fuels its conquest; it winds around its purpose—present and future—as glimmering strands of gold.

Roman had heard a fairy’s song before the life he had now, in a forest clearing he eventually shared with someone who believed him. Around a ring of mushrooms, along the crevices of a fallen tree. He attempted to recreate magic’s passionate pursuit in his later musical works, but they never quite swayed in ways similar to how a fairy’s song would softly pull the trees back and forth.

Perhaps it wasn’t actually a fairy’s song, then. Perhaps it was a mere happenstance; a trick of memory and expired time. Perhaps it was just the idea that there was something like that that could exist in the first place; something that could pull at heartstrings and tug not with force, but with an urge to follow instead.

Whatever it is—a fairy’s song, a prophecy, magic, hope— it was something that Roman had found before; maybe more than he initially realized.

He heard a fairy’s song in the twinkle of Eric Fray’s magic, and saw a glimpse of it in his grandson’s. He found a prophecy in a forest clearing, soaked in midnight and secrecy.

He saw hope in Virgil Aries from the very beginning. Not a twisted, grim-dark temptation for a life of nothing. He saw hope.

—

The sound of a bell echoed through Fray and Far Fables.

Logan’s head darted up at the noise, but didn’t turn around to face the door. The shop had been empty for what felt like hours, so to hear anything at all was either a sleep-deprived hallucination or a surprise. Perhaps it was a customer who didn’t know how to read signs that said ‘closed’. Though, he supposed that the open door was quite contrary to that sentiment–

“Logan?”

The book in Logan’s hand fell at the familiar voice, and his thoughts snapped into present cohesion. He turned around and blinked.

Patton stood at the door, seemingly miles away from Logan. And he was staring right back at him. Logan paled.

“Patton! Um, hi. The– the shop’s closed.”

Patton didn’t take his eyes off of him, but blankly motioned behind him.

“The door was open.”

Logan looked over Patton's shoulder.

“...So it is.” He cleared his throat. “Well, I...I suppose the shop is open, then.”

A beat of silence. Logan watched as Patton’s gaze scanned the shop. Embarrassment burned his cheeks scarlet. He knew that there was still an array of papers and wine glasses scattering the floors, but now they were accompanied by a mess of books. A few laid flat on the shelves, left open or haphazardly tossed aside. And he looked awful , truly awful, even for him. His hair was stuck up and his shirt was unbuttoned; he was almost as much of a mess as his shop.

(Roman would have something to say about it all.)

Patton coughed awkwardly, shooting Logan an uneasy smile.

“Did a tornado book it here?”

“No. The weather has been fine.”

Patton’s attempt landed flat on the floor in front of him.

“...Right.”

Silence hung heavy in the air. Part of Logan’s heart ached at the distance between the two of them. He wondered how he could cross it. Only mere days ago was he closer to Patton’s chest than he was to any answer in this life. He swore that it was seconds, maybe minutes since he could hear the way Patton’s brain formed thoughts, the way his heartbeat pulsed softly against oceans and tides, the way his breath exhaled words that meant something, anything, everything .

Logan took a step forward.

“Patton, I–”

Suddenly, he felt the front of his foot bang hard into the spine of a heavy book — one of a million still sprawled on the floor. He felt his vision tilt forward, and he was falling, falling, falling–

“Hey!” A soft thud! Logan felt himself land in the grasp of a warm embrace. “Gosh, let’s go sit down, okay?”

Logan let himself be dragged by Patton to the armchair, flopping on the seat with a huff. He watched Patton sidestep wine glasses and books before sitting across from him. He felt his head go dizzy from the close fall. The heaviness of the last few hours slowly spun around his skull.

“What happened here, Lo?” The question was hushed, worried. Logan grimaced, avoiding Patton’s stare.

“I lost Roman,” he blurted out, more honest and pathetic than he intended. Patton’s head cocked forward.

“You...what?”

“We– we got into this terrible fight and– and ‘m trying to find him, I swear– I have been looking through every book since he left last night but he’s– he’s just gone .”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, curling in on himself with the tremble of an earthquake.

“Hey hey hey .” Patton leaned over and rested a hand on Logan’s thigh. “Just...let’s just slow down, okay? Tell me everything, I’m...I’m here.”

Patton’s words were apparently all that was needed to pull the floodgates open. Logan felt himself unravel as he told Patton everything he knew about Roman, about Virgil, about his magic being gone — anything and everything .

“I can’t believe Roman and Virgil knew each other.” Patton leaned back as Logan finished. “That must’ve been...well, decades ago.”

Logan’s heart ached at the thought. He buried his face in his hands.

“I don’t know what else to do, Patton. I thought I had the answer, but every single turn I made ended up being a dead end.”

“If I could be honest, Lo, I don’t think there is an answer. Not a definite one, at least.”

Logan looked up at him and frowned. “There’s an answer for everything, Pat.”

“Well what does it matter then, whether or not you know the answer?”

A pause. Logan closed his eyes.

“When my fathers passed away, all I had was my grandfather, Roman, and these books. Every story that my grandfather told me became a part of me. Every world that Roman helped create became a part of my mind. And I was content ; I was content knowing that they were all I needed to live. And now, they’re both gone, it just…it just feels like I have nothing again.”

Logan’s gaze hovered over to the window next to him. The world yearned for him on the other side.

“I discovered Virgil’s book after my grandfather passed and it just made the most sense — that there was nothing. And if there was nothing for me to have, there was nothing for me to lose.”

Logan sighed.

“I don’t know where I’m going to find the answer, Patton. And without Roman or my magic, I don’t think I’m going to be able to find much else either.”

“You aren’t without either of them.” Patton smiled sadly at Logan. “You know, it always seems like you’re running on some imaginary treadmill, trying to grab at so many things. When was the last time you really sat down and let everything come to you?”

“When I met you.”

Patton drew back ever so slightly. A heavy silence filled the shop.

“Can I ask you a question, Patton?” Logan finally said.

“Of course.”

“Do you think Virgil was right? That there’s nothing?”

Patton scrunched up his face in thought.

“I did this workshop during the summer of my senior year and for one of the final projects, I was asked to go to a place of my choosing and recreate it through art. I remember walking out of class alone, surrounded by all these people who had places to go. I was thinking of just doing my piece based on my home since I never really got out much and I was really good at finding inspiration in my house. But I spent most of the summer trying to find all of these places. I made so many collages but disassembled them every time. You know where I ended up doing my project?”

“Where?”

“At home. I always ended up at home.” Patton smiled wryly. “But if I hadn’t gone outside of what I already knew, I wouldn’t have found everything I could know.”

Patton leaned back in his chair.

“So no, I don’t think Virgil was right. Honestly, I read his book one evening when I stayed the night here, just to see what all the fuss was about. And it seemed more finite than full of possibilites, like you thought.”

Logan blinked. He tried to remember what Virgil’s book nook looked like, what Virgil had told him.

‘There’s nothing else here.’

“I don’t think there’s nothing,” Patton continued. “In fact, I think there’s everything. Everywhere you went, everywhere you have yet to go — there’s a bit of the everything in all of that.” He laughed softly. “And thank goodness for art, Lo. It brings us so much closer to the everything, because it brings us so much closer to each other.”

Logan let Patton’s words wash over him like a calm wave.

“I’m actually kind of happy you didn’t find the answer you were looking for,” Patton added, breaking the growing silence. “While I don’t think there really is a final answer, I think you got something out of searching. And when your search got you out of Virgil’s book and out into the world...well, I think you became stronger because of it.”

Patton squeezed Logan’s hand.

“So...so don’t give up on looking yet. You have so much to find, Logan. Everything is out there for you to know — you just have to keep looking for it.”

Logan chuckled quietly to himself.

“My grandfather always told me that I was good at finding things. And...and I loved doing it. I loved finding the answers, whatever they were”

Logan felt his chest swell up as he smiled

“I want to find the everything, Pat. And...and I want to find it with you.”

And as soon as the words slipped from Logan’s tongue, his hand glowed blue.

—

Here’s what Logan knows.

He knows that there used to be nothing—truly nothing—in his life. There were storms that rocked his waters for so long, he couldn’t breathe. There were days that were quiet, too quiet. There were days when he saw the sky from the other side of a window; there were days when, for all anyone knew, he was nothing.

There were days when he looked his questions in the eye and stared at every piece of it, as if just looking at it would tell him all he needed to know.

He now knows that is the furthest from the truth.

There is the possibility that the answer blossomed out of the lines on his paper. There is the possibility that the notes scattered on the staff in ways that made sense; in ways that fit. There is magic in a canvas , and there is someone who needs to hold the brush. There is an infinite amount of things that had to be done; to be explored.

(“They say that the desire to know– truly know– everything about anything runs deep in one’s veins.”)

There used to be nothing. Logan knew all too much of that.

But now, there is something.

There is everything.

A navy blue explosion pulsed out of Logan’s hand and rippled throughout the entire shop. Patton gasped, but Logan kept his grip on his hand tight.

All of the books around them flew up into the air, their pages flipping as they rose. Logan stumbled to his feet in the midst of the wind, dragging Patton up with him and pulling him close to his chest. The books spun around them until the shop seemingly disappeared.

And in the blink of an eye, everything stopped.

Logan pulled back from Patton slightly.

“Is it over?” Patton said, still burying his face in Logan’s chest.

“It appears so…”

Logan looked around him. Every book was seemingly in place and back on their shelves, and the mess of papers and wine glasses had disappeared. All that was left was him and Patton.

Patton took a step back, looking around. “What...what happened?”

“I’m...I’m not sure,” Logan said, though the answer simmered in his chest. He felt the familiar warmth of his magic course through his body, but he somehow felt closer to it.

“We need to find Roman.” Logan marched over to the shelves and started scanning through the books. “There has to be something I missed…”

“Logan! Over here!”

Logan turned around. Patton stood at the shelves behind the front counter, pointing to a gap in the rows of books. Two of the books were missing. Logan frowned, heading to Patton’s side.

“The magical explosion must have forgotten to place a few books back.” Logan turned on his heel. “Maybe they’re important, I could try and find them–”

“No! Wait!” Patton grabbed Logan’s shoulder and pulled him back. Logan watched Patton go on the tips of his toes and reach into the gap. Logan frowned.

Patton pulled out a book; brown, leather-back, and completely unknown to Logan. He didn’t recognize it from his catalogue, nor did he remember ever stumbling upon it.

“What is this?”

Patton smiled. “Roman’s favourite book.”

Logan took the book from Patton, examining the front cover.

The Midnight Forest by V. Aries.

Logan looked up at Patton, who just shrugged and nodded at him to open it. Logan flipped through the book. His hand seemingly moved without him thinking too much of it.

Suddenly, his hand glowed blue once more. He paused, looking down at the page he stopped at.

“And if swirls of blue and yellow are not enough,” Logan read aloud, “and if the cities beneath are not enough…”

The words felt as if they were being pulled out from him. He could feel the wind return into the shop, though much more gentle than before.

Logan pulled Patton closer to him with one hand, holding the book up in the other. He narrowed his eyes at the words. He knew that he didn’t completely know what was happening here, nor did he really know what the answer was; yet somehow, he knew the way there.

Logan closed his eyes.

“ And if all these answers are not enough, love, may I give you this…”

—

next chapter >

#TS Storytime 2021 #gabbie writes things #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #logicality #prinxiety #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #logan/patton #roman/virgil #logic/morality #creativity/anxiety

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delldarling · 4 years

Text

the muddy shore | winsome i

male kelpie x gender/body neutral reader 1725 words sfw | lost memories, mild body horror, a kiss that leaves you breathless, part i of ii

“You lured me here,” you say, barely understanding the words tumbling out of your own mouth. It almost feels like you’re speaking from somewhere far away, partially disconnected from all of your senses, because… Because you can still barely believe what it is that you’re seeing.

You half want to blame it on the surge of bitter adrenaline, fight or flight zipping through your veins until your hearing is off, until all you can make sense of is the steady ringing overlaying every word the creature says. All you can do is stand here, frozen as he comes up out of the water. Watching him change though- watching is both frightening and utterly entrancing. You would have sworn he was a horse when you first pushed through the reeds, drawn by the buzz in the back of your skull. He is a pale horse still as he moves through the water, eyes reflective and gleaming in the fast fading light, mane twined with water weeds and flotsam. The cattails seem to part even before he reaches them, giving him a clear line to the shore. To you.

As soon as a hoof crests the shore though, as soon as he lowers it to the ground, a long fingered hand is splayed in the mud. A strange cracking fills the air as his face becomes humanoid - though far from entirely human. He smiles when he sees you watching, sharp teeth drawing your gaze before your eyes dart to his ears, still shaped much like a horse, drifting to the side of his head before they settle. When he straightens, when both his hands are human-like and his skin is pearly blue and strange, he’s eerily tall and thin. Wet hair hangs around his face, catching on his shoulders and the sharp angles of his cheekbones. Water weeds still hang from the locks of his hair, and around his hips hangs a lovely belt, heavy with trinkets and holding up some kind of loincloth. Otherwise, he’s bare, hands and shins and feet painted with dark mud.

“You lured me here,” you say again, knowing the words are true, even if you don’t quite understand what they mean. You… Have half a memory of saying “No. No, you’ll take mine or none at all,” fierce and sharp to someone’s face, but… You have no idea when you would have said something like that.

“Regretting your choice?” He asks, and his words are watery and jeering in tone, but- But his eyes are sad. “They always do,” he says softly, just barely loud enough for you to catch. “They warned me,” he follows it with, biting at his lower lip as he traces you with his eyes from head to toe. “But the lot of you humans-” He scoffs, though the derision breaks in the middle, and the sad tone of the sound makes you cringe. “I thought,” he says, taking slow, steady steps towards you, apparently impervious to the sucking mud trying to slow his progress, “that you would be different though.”

“I don’t even know what you are,” you bite out, still fighting with your own nervous system. Part of you wants to blurt that you are different, that you’ll prove it, but you still feel like there’s a huge gap in your memories. It’s as if you’ve forgotten something terribly important, though seeing him again, the scent of water on the air, the chill breeze weaving through the weeds… You can almost recall it, can feel it resting, just out of reach. “Let alone what choice you’re talking about.”

He pauses, just before his hand touches your face, pursing thin, wide lips as he examines your expression, your gaze. He crouches, corded muscles shifting so he’s closer to eye level, though his hand stays where it is, impossibly long fingers hovering just over your cheek. His fingernails are short, you notice, though darkly tinged, but even up close, the strange pearly blue shade of him doesn’t change or shift. You aren’t imagining it, then.

“I made sure that memory was left with you,” he insists, tilting his head to make sure you’re looking him in the face. “Have you tampered with that? Bargained it away?” He sucks in a short breath through his teeth, glancing away for a heartbeat. “Was it too painful still?”

“Bargained my memories?” You ask, sharply, feeling your eyebrows raise. Your pulse is starting to slow, even though the back of your mind is still telling you to run, run, run as far from him as you can. As frightening as he looks, as eerie as it is to have him tower over you when he’s at full height, he’s being gentle, hesitant to fully invade your space.

“Does the name Winsome mean nothing to you?” He demands, finally taking the flesh of your cheek carefully between his fingertips and pinching. He moves his hand, making your head jostle from side to side and then lets go of you with a look of disgust. He snatches up your hand and your pulse speeds in fear again when he bares his teeth, slapping your hand against his damp cheek. “That’s me, if you haven’t realized. You don’t recall giving me the name? The crown of bulrush?”

“Winsome?” You ask, and.. It sparks a thought. Not a memory, nothing clear, but like a story one of your relatives told you about your own childhood, one that you know is missing the punch line, but can’t recall well enough to correct. “I… There was- two?” You murmur, unable to look away from Winsome’s large sideways pupils.

He breathes out, fingers spasming in their hold on yours. “Yes,” he rushes to say, and then his long arms are slipping around you, taking you completely off your feet - though your shoes stick, sucking into the deep mud - as he presses you against his bare chest. He doesn’t seem to care when you kick, making a noise of surprise when your shoes are left behind. “You traded your memories of them,” he says, and this high in the air, your feet have nothing to do but dangle. You try to balance yourself, hands on his chest, and then you can see over his shoulder to the lake behind him. Your jaw drops. There are more horses in the water. Not many, three or four, but eyes and ears and wet manes float in the water, perfectly still but for blinking eyes. All of them are focused on you and Winsome. Watching. Waiting.

You clutch onto Winsome purely due to fear, but his damp hand stroking down your back is comforting. You don’t care about the mud he’s surely streaking down the back of your clothes, you’ll take his arms around you, the strength in them, over getting any closer to the horses waiting in the water.

“Of who?” You find yourself asking, and your heart aches when Winsome laughs. He leans back enough to look you in the eyes, another sharp toothed smile growing on his face when you don’t struggle, when you chance a small unsteady smile of your own.

“Does it matter?” He asks, and that watery voice has you blinking, trying to reorganize your thoughts. “You found me again,” he adds. Winsome’s smile melts into a frown after a moment though, realizing that you’re not quite as exuberant as he is about finding one another after an indeterminate amount of time.

“I still… I still don’t know who you are,” you tell him, holding tighter in the fear that he might drop you. You don’t know how far you are from the ground, and it’s likely that your brain is exaggerating, but the drop seems far and you have an incessant voice in the back of your mind telling you to stay well out of reach of the horses behind Winsome.

Winsome’s frown fades away, leaning close until his long nose is brushing against the crown of your head. He presses a kiss to your forehead, cool but warming the longer he lingers. “Kiss me,” he suggests. “Kiss me, and find out. Isn’t that what all the stories say?”

There’s a sharp whiny from the water, shrill and piercing, but before you can voice your doubts or pull away, Winsome is capturing your mouth with his. His lips are tepid, like kissing someone that’s been swimming for too long, but his tongue is hot and wide and after less than ten seconds of an overwhelming kiss, you have to wrench your head back to breathe. As soon as you do, there’s a sharp prickle at the back of your skull. The whiny grows louder, echoing around your brain and bouncing around your skull until your vision is hazy and- And then you see.

Years ago, you traded away your memories of playing at the lake. You’d been young, small, too small to make a momentous decision, but all children felt that the world rested on their shoulders. You’d felt like a hero in a storybook, saving someone.. Someone from drowning. You traded away the memories of that playmate and… And part of you thinks that they might have been fae, just like Winsome is a kelpie. It makes sense, even if you’re still trying to process, even if your head feels hot and your vision is misted with stars and there’s a glaring emptiness in all the memories, pounding, pounding, pounding against the inside of your skull-

“Winsome,” you choke out, clawing at his shoulders, pressing yourself as close as possible. He’d been smaller than, of an average adult height instead of this towering, fierce looking being. He’s always been thin, coltish legs and sharp elbows, but you remember twirling a lock of his damp hair between small fingers, of his cheeks turning purple when you asked what his name was. The three of you had spent multiple summers together, hunting bugs at sunset, making up games and laughing on the shore. None of you had cared about the thick mud always clinging to your clothes, not when you had each other, and- And the memories focus, and a face rises up, clear and cold as winter sunshine. Winsome’s family, his brother, had urged him to... bring you home.

And bringing a human home to kelpies?

There was only one way that would have ended.

#kelpie x reader #male kelpie x reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster lover #d.darling writes

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anarchyduck · 4 years

Text

Febuwhump - Impaling

Title: The Hardest Part

Fandom: Marvel

CW: Blood, serious injury but nothing terribly graphic

AO3 link here

(Am I doing whump right? Feels like I’m on the right track lol)

It is strangely quiet when Peter comes back to consciousness. He blinks as little black dots retreat to the farther edges of his vision. Much to his dismay, he sees his suit is torn from a cut that runs from his knee and wraps around his thigh. ‘There goes my ‘No Suit Damage’ streak,’ he thinks mournfully. Oddly enough it does not hurt.

Peter frowns as he tries to piece things together, figure out what is going on, but it is all muddled. It’s cobwebs covered with molasses and mud, and he’s trying to wade through it waist deep. There is something else that tugs at a thread, something that feels important and leaves a dull ache at the back of his neck.

He tries thinking of something else. What was he doing? Fighting. He was fighting someone – no, they were fighting someone. A gang of illegal arms dealers who’d gotten their hands on alien tech. Just down the river from the compound, outside the city. Technically not Avenger business, but he managed to convince Tony it would be better if they handled it rather than local police. He and Tony… no, he and Tony and Rhodey tracked the gang to a construction site. Office buildings. Concrete and metal and dirt. Someone threw a cement truck at him.

The rest is a blank.

Peter reaches to push up the mask from his face, but other hands catch him around the wrists. “No, don’t do that.” The familiar voice pierces through the sludge and Peter latches onto it.

“Mr. Rhodey? What’s… Why?” He can see the familiar black and grey suit in his peripheral, kneeling beside him. Yet when he tries turning his head, he cannot.

He can’t turn his neck.

“M-Mr. Rhodey?” Peter’s heart beats wilder, faster. The back of his neck burns, the smell of blood and sweat filling his nose, strangling him. “I ca-can’t… I can’t!”

Rhodey, mercifully, pushes up his mask over his nose and Peter gasps for breath. He wants to get up, wants to move, but something screams to him no. Do not move. Be still. Do not move.

He can’t turn his neck.

“You gotta breathe. Focus on your breathing, Pete, or you’re going to pass out.” Rhodey says at his side, his hand holding Peter’s and squeezes. It helps, brings him back down and Peter works on those exercises Tony told him about (Breath in through your nose. Hold. Then release through your mouth. Repeat.)

“Good.” Rhodey says. “Can you tell me what hurts? What’s your pain level?”

Peter hesitates. “Uh, not bad?” he takes another deep breath, only to wince as pain catches in his side. “Ribs kinda hurt.”

“That’s it? Nothing else?”

Peter wants to shake his head, but the voice screams no (do not move, do not move). “N-No, don’t think so.” He licks his lips, tastes blood. Smells blood. “What’s going on?”

Before Rhodey can answer, another metal suit lands beside him. “Oh fuck.” Tony breathes. There’s an edge, a shudder, that makes his blood run cold.

His eyes widen behind his mask. Nothing comes across the HUD. Karen is down. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. Something is wrong. “Mr. Stark, what-“

He can’t turn his neck.

“Not now, Tones.” Suddenly Rhodey’s voice sounds miles away. A hundred, no, a thousand miles away. Peter can barely hear it over his own rapid heartbeat.

“He has an iron rod through his fucking-”

Whatever else Tony says fades out. Peter only knows the panic that grips his throat, roots him in place. His back is pressed against a slab of concrete, cold and sticky. Thoughts scramble in his mind and he feels like he is drowning. The world narrows to a point and he can only see the blood wound on his leg, only smell blood.

“—eter. Peter! Shit, he’s going into shock. Tony, cut it!”

“FRI, alert the medical team. Tell them to get ready.”

“Kid, stay awake. We’re going to get you out, just stay—”

“Talk to me, Pete!”

Peter doesn’t hear the rest.

------

There are a few horrifying moments that are seared into Tony Stark’s brain. One was flying through the wormhole over New York City while carrying an armed nuclear warhead. Another was helplessly watching Pepper fall into a raging ball of fire. The third was seeing Rhodey plummet to the earth.

And now he has a fourth - the sight of Peter Parker with an iron rebar sticking through his skull.

Tony runs his hands through his hair, leg bouncing anxiously. He feels useless. More than useless. Like he should be doing something. He picks at his nails, paces, fights the urge to retreat to his lab. He catches himself several times looking at the door every time he hears a noise that sounds remotely like footsteps.

When they arrived, Helen and her team met them at the door with a gurney. Peter was rushed away for surgery and that was it. All they can do is wait. As time stretches, the more Tony replays the scene in his head. The image of a cement truck hurtling through the air, hitting Spider-Man and knocking him through a cinderblock wall. FRIDAY’s voice in his ears telling him Karen was offline. Rhodey goes to the kid first because he’s closer, because Tony is too busy blasting away the guy who dared throw a truck at his kid.

Tony covers his face and rubs his eyes hard enough to see flashes of white. The scene replays again and ends with the same horrifying result.

“Okay,” Rhodey sighs as he returns to the waiting lounge. “Just got off the phone with Happy. He and May will be here in a couple hours.” He takes a seat in the chair across. “Tony, stop. I can hear you blaming yourself all the way over here.”

“I should have done something.” Tony drags his hands from his face as he leans back on the sofa. “Should’ve seen that guy quicker.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Tony shakes his head. “Isn’t it?” he scoffs and looks away. “It was supposed to be a casual weekend visit. Hanging out in the lab, staying up watching movies, that’s it. No fighting, no going up against crazy gangs with stolen, modded tech. I shouldn’t have let him go.”

“You think he really would’ve wanted to be put on the bench?” Rhodey asks and when Tony doesn’t answer, he continues, “He’s going to get hurt, Tones. Best you can do is be there.”

He isn’t sure if it helps, but Tony nods anyway. “Yeah.”

#irondad #marvel #spider-man #iron man #peter parker #tony stark #james rhodes #febuwhump #febuwhump2021 #duckie's writing

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monstersdownthepath · 4 years

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Spiritual Spotlight: Groetus, God of the End Times

Chaotic Neutral God of Oblivion, Empty Places, and Ruins

Domains: Chaos, Darkness, Destruction, Madness, Void Subdomains: Catastrophe, Entropy, Insanity, Loss, Night, Stars, Truth

Inner Sea Faiths, pg. 46~51

Obedience: Preach of the coming end times to a listener who has not yet accepted this truth. If the person leaves or otherwise refuses to listen to you for the full hour, you must find another person to preach to so that you are proselytizing the entire time. Alternatively, if no one at all is available to listen, spend an hour contemplating ways and times the world might end—do so in an empty place where nothing lives and no person except Groetan worshipers have been for at least a month. While you contemplate, deface any surface available to you with unholy images and symbols, such as a skull-like moon. Benefit: You gain a +1 sacred or profane bonus on Will saving throws.

the sad part is that pretty much every god in inner sea faiths is like this. First Ghlaunder and now THIS! Paizo was scared of Deific Obedience when it was first written, and it shows!

God you really are just tasked with being an annoying doomsayer for an hour, huh? Standing around with a sandwich board that reads THE END IS NIGH every single day you want your god’s blessing. You can easily get away with just preaching to your party every day, provided they don’t mind listening to this crazy babble... and, of course, provided that the end of the world isn’t actually coming, or else your evangelism will come off as tasteless. But, what do you care? You’ve been saying it all this time! It’s likely going to get you punched in the face or even mauled by a crowd if you try it in the middle of a city currently undergoing a crisis (as cities in Pathfinder are wont to do), though. So, uh, be careful.

This is one of the rare Obediences where the primary method is actually easier to do than the secondary, because it specifically demands that you find somewhere “nothing lives.” While a merciful DM may allow you to share a space with vermin, this does mean you can’t simply find a quiet area in a woodlands, because trees, brush, and grass all count. Stick to the cities or in ruined civilizations! Ironically, this means that being captured and thrown in a dungeon is actually beneficial for you, provided no one else has been locked in that specific cell for more than a month.

All this hard work for a measly +1 though. I’m insulted, honestly; it’s a universal bonus to the most important saving throw you have and it stacks with everything, but it’s only a +1! It would have been fine at +2! Come on, Groetus, shell a bit more out to your flock!

Boons are acquired slowly: the first once you reach 12 hit dice, the second at 16, and the third at 20. However, the Evangelist, Exalted, and Sentinel Prestige Classes can be entered as early as level 5; doing so grants you the Boons at levels 8, 11, and 14 instead. As Groetus is a true deity and does not require Fiendish Obedience, you earn the right to enter the classes earlier than those who serve fiends!

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EVANGELIST

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Boon 1: Doomsayer. Gain Doom 3/day, Augury 2/day, or Bestow Curse 1/day.

Oooh, Bestow Curse! That’s always fun to see! It’s a Save-Or-Suck that keeps on s--being terrible long after the battle has ended, if the enemy you slap with it gets away! It’s ALSO a touch spell entirely negated by a save, and we all know how I feel about those. Better make sure it sticks and sticks hard, or drawing into an enemy’s melee range can earn you a pretty severe slapping.

Augury is decent to have as a spell-like (I’d never prepare it as an actual spell), though its limited gaze of only 30 minutes into the future is an equal blessing and bane and it relies entirely on DM fiat... AND there’s a non-negligible chance it simply won’t work! Which means that if you don’t want to rely on the Save or Suck of Bestow Curse, your best bet (eugh) is the tragically weak and ironically ominous Doom--WAIT THAT’S RIGHT I ALMOST FORGOT! The Shaken condition also imposes a -2 to saving throws! Ok yeah, if you don’t want to rely on BC, Doom is a pretty good way to go if you have some way to bolster its pathetic saving throw of 11+Cha mod.

Boon 2: Consume Essence. 1/day, you may touch a corpse. That corpse must make a Fortitude save (DC 10 + 1/2 your HD + your Cha mod) or be reduced to dust as per Disintegrate. You gain 1d8 temporary HP, which last for a number of hours equal to your Hit Dice.

Before we get into the rest of this mess, I just really need to point out that an unattended, nonmagical object is not able to make saving throws, and a corpse is an object. ThereFOR, it should not even get to make a save against this ability!

What stats do you even use for it? The former creature? Because that’s just unnecessarily confusing, especially if you use it on the corpse of a long-dead creature. I really, really don’t see why this ability should allow a save, especially since A) it’s only usable once a day and B) it’s incredibly weak. Under what circumstances would you use this? Because I’ll tell you right now, using this against a baddie that’s supposed to be recurring will simply make the DM contrive a reason for them to come back anyway. Turning them to ash will just make it harder. I suppose there is a niche use in bringing it against creatures who can reanimate themselves, or against casters who may have Contingencies in place, but

but still, like. It’s a bad Boon. If you want a body destroyed, hacking it to pieces or burning it is just as easy, all this ability does is save you time. And maybe not even then! Because it gives the body a saving throw! For WHATEVER reason! And you only get to do it ONCE a day! Honestly, everything about this ability is just a progressively more insulting middle finger, all leading up to the pitiful 1d8 HP you get. There’s a lot of Boons that are straight up bad or useless, but I think this is the first one I’ve actually hated. Lets move on...

Boon 3: Whispers of Insanity. 1/day as a standard action, you may whisper Groetus’ Truth into the mind of a creature within 30ft. This acts as the Insanity spell, but the save DC is 10+1/2 your HD+your Cha mod. In addition to the normal methods of curing Insanity, a Modify Memory spell or similar can end the effect. A Knowledge (Religion) check (DC same as the saving throw) reveals this information.

Insanity is a decent spell, essentially being a permanent Confusion... but it only affects a single target, and whoever you’d want to use it against is typically not going to last long enough for the permanent duration to matter. I suppose slapping someone you hate but don’t necessarily want to kill is good enough, or blasting some poor random sod who hasn’t accepted the Truth, but as a Boon? Groetus really doesn’t bless his Evangelists with anything good.

Insanity is not only a level 7 spell while most 3rd Boons grant 9th level effects, but in stark contrast to a normal third Boon, the version you get here is actually weaker than just getting the spell normally, because Insanity has a Long range (100ft + 10ft/lvl) and can only be removed with 7th+ level magic (Greater Restoration, Heal, etc). Having a much easier method of dispelling the effect is just insulting, even if it is flavorful. This would be considered a second tier Boon by most deities, or even demigods! Come on, Groty, step it up!

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EXALTED

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Boon 1: Maddening Voice. Gain Lesser Confusion 3/day, Mad Hallucination 2/day, or Confusion 1/day.

Off to a bad start. Lesser Confusion may as well not even be a spell, so we’re moving on from there. Mad Hallucination is a fun spell to not need components for, barraging a single target with visions of insanity for upwards to an hour, though mechanically it’s only a -2 to a very small number of relatively unimportant checks (caster level really only applies to players, who must regularly pierce SR). Rather uniquely, it’s not mind-affecting, but is instead a phantasm Illusion, allowing it to affect a wider range of creatures than normal! But it’s still not really super useful, because as it’s negated by a Will save and penalizes Will saves with a successful application, wouldn’t you have preferred a Save or Suck first?

This leaves Confusion which, as area of effect spells go, isn’t the best. There’s a 1/2 chance that they essentially lose their turn, but a 1/4 chance that they’re unaffected by the confusing magic and a 1/4 chance that they attack the nearest creature... Which, more often than not, means your allies anyway. Speaking of, Confusion doesn’t discriminate between ally and enemy, so blasting a crowd that happens to have a friend inside will force them to make a Will save as well.

It’s a hysterical spell to drop on a crowd of smaller enemies (or a crowd of innocent civilians), but the coin flip nature of its effect makes it terribly unreliable. It’s still the best option among the three, though.

Boon 2: Silent Witness. 1/day as a full-round action, you can protect yourself with the effects of Invisibility, Nondetection, and Sanctuary for 10 minutes per Hit Die you possess. Anyone who succeeds at a Will saving throw (DC = 10 + 1/2 Hit Dice + Wis mod) or a caster level check (DC = 11+your HD) against these effects sees a glimpse of something unfathomable and becomes confused for 1 round unless it succeeds at a second Will save with the same DC.

Have you ever wanted to be this gif?

Then good news! Exalted of Groetus can live out that dream! With little more than a gesture and a bit of concentration, you can just vanish from the world for a little while. It’s not a complete disappearance, mind, because anything with blindsense, blindsight, or scent can still track you, but by god can absolutely no one see you (remember you’re shielded from Detect X spells!). And, thanks to Sanctuary, even if they have a way to keep track of you, there’s a chance that they won’t be able to act on it.

The mindbogglingly massive 10 min/level duration effect on each of the effects screws over Nondetection (with a normal 1 hour/level duration) but is a monstrous buff to Invisibility (1 min/lvl) and especially to Sanctuary (1 round/lvl), because someone failing their save against Sanctuary means they can’t target the warded creature for the duration of the spell! While normally a fighting monster could just pull back and wait for the effect to expire as they focus their efforts on the rest of the party, good luck kiting for 10 minutes. The shielding effect breaks the moment you attack, but you can get around that by never casting damage-dealing spells! Crowd control and SoS spells all day!

Invisibility and Nondetection also make you the undisputed king of sneaking into places, too. Mundane eyesight and magical detection spells will fail to pierce your veil, requiring the 6th level True Seeing to actually see where you’ve gone. I really enjoy the added touch that anyone successfully piercing the spell effects has to make a save or become confused. It’s just some nice frosting atop this cake! Already Groetus is looking better and better!

Boon 3: Infinite Patience. You cannot die of old age, even through magical means. You still physically age, accruing bonuses and penalties as normal. In addition, once per day as a standard action, you can choose any one action you could ready and define a condition under which you will take that action. Within the next 24 hours, whenever you observe that condition, you can take the chosen action as an immediate action.

Age without youth isn’t something you see a lot of nowadays, except in cases of diabolic bargains going haywire. To have a god inflict it upon its followers is something special; I like enjoy the fact that you’ll eventually just need to outright mummify yourself if you want to keep moving (or invest in mechanical/magical parts). It brings to mind the mental image of a cult to Groetus opening an ancient coffin to reveal their absolutely skeletal leader, old enough to have seen Earthfall and coursing with madness and might in equal measure.

But post-campaign shenanigans aside, the primary use of this ability is a pseudo-Contingency that you can use to prepare anything. Any action you could conceivably ready (an attack, a standard-action spell, a sudden move, a sabotaging strike, etc) is usable with this ability! And because you don’t have to name the action or condition right away, with a bit of good guesswork (or divination magic), you can custom tailor your immediate action for maximum benefit; you can go the mundane route and have it be something simple, like “if an enemy strikes me with a melee attack, teleport to safety” or “if I am brought below half health, cast Heal or Mass Heal on myself/my allies,” or the bonkers route like “the instant the enemy opens their mouth to monologue, cast Disintegrate” or “if someone compares me to an animal, use magic to turn into that animal.”

This ability rewards both creativity and thinking ahead, so get good at both! Because used right, this ability is “cast any spell w/ a standard action casting time as an immediate action,” and used wrong it’s “do nothing.”

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SENTINEL

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Boon 1: Endbringer. Gain True Strike 3/day, Death Knell 2/day, or Keen Edge 1/day.

I’m 90% sure there’s been Boons named Endbringer before, and nowhere else is it less appropriate than this menagerie of mediocrity. Oh, sure, Keen Edge is nice and all, but want a fun fact? Groetus’ sacred weapon is the heavy flail, which deals bludgeoning damage, and Keen Edge can ONLY be applied to a piercing or slashing weapon. That means you, the Sentinel, the holy martial warrior, cannot bless your own holy weapon chosen by your god. Sure, you can bless someone else’s stuff, but it still boggles my mind that they’d give you spell that cannot work on your own weapons!

Ironically, despite that, it’s probably your best choice. True Strike is useless unless you can cast a Quickened version, and Death Knell saves you basically no time (if you want a dying enemy to die, walk over and stab them 2~4 times). The only real use for Death Knell for a martial character is to take care of creatures with Ferocity or Diehard, or cheesing a creature with Regeneration.

Boon 2: Visions of the End. 1/day as a full-round action, you can gain the benefits of Augury, Know the Enemy, and Locate Weakness simultaneously, all regarding the same creature or object (even if the spell normally doesn’t function with objects) and its death or undoing. These effects apply only to the target.

Because these are relatively niche spells: Know the Enemy lets you make an immediate Knowledge check versus the target with a +10 insight bonus, and Locate Weakness lasts 1 min/level and allows you to roll twice for critical hit damage and take the better results. While normally KtE only affects creatures, this ability allows you to make it against objects as well.

Evangelists got screwed, huh? Imagine not being able to cast three spells at once (this post made by Exalted And Sentinel Gang). Now, granted, this ability isn’t as useful as Silent Witness above is, but it’s a pretty handy way to deal with a creature you’ve never seen before. With Locate Weakness’s lengthy duration, you can use this ability before combat begins and use the knowledge gained from Augury (perhaps asking if a certain tactic would work?) and Know the Enemy to better prepare yourself and your party.

The added flexibility of being able to focus this power on an object opens up a lot of options as well, such as using it to parse the history of an Artifact, to know where or when an item may have come from, and how best to destroy it if need be. This spell combo isn’t the best, but even at its worst it’s a free +10 to a Knowledge check against any critter or object and an Augury against the same target to let the DM sprinkle some hints for you here and there.

Boon 3: Frightful Presence. You can terrify foes as a free action whenever you take an offensive action, such as attacking. Foes within 30 feet of you and with fewer Hit Dice than you must succeed at a Will saving throw or become shaken for a number of rounds equal to your Hit Dice (DC = 10 + 1/2 your HD + Cha mod). If the victim has 4 or fewer Hit Dice, it becomes panicked instead. Foes with more Hit Dice than you are immune to this ability.

Frightful Presence is a massively powerful ability when it’s on a dragon or powerful Outsider, terrifying whole armies at once and sending them scattering--perhaps even to the point of attacking one another to get away--but in the hands of a player? It’s not exactly as strong. When you face something with Frightful Presence, there’s a 100% chance that they’ll have more HD than you (and maybe your entire party), assuring that you’ll be shaken up at least once in the fight. If you have FP, however, it’s never going to work on anything you desperately want it to, because anything with your HD or higher is entirely unaffected and unimpressed by your antics, and of course anything worth fighting has more HD than you.

The scaling on this ability means basically no minions will march into battle against you without being shaken, and swarms of minor foes trying to clog you up will be sent running to the hills by your terrifying aura. It’s a satisfying feeling of power to walk into an area filled with low level enemies (or civilians) and force them to run in utter, pants-soiling terror at the mere sight of you. What’s better than a tank that draws aggro? One who ends it.

There’s no per-day use on this ability and no 24-hour immunity clause on it, so even if you fail to scare the crowd once, you can just try, try again every single time you attack. So, it’s safe to say that while Groetus started off pathetically weak with his basic benefit and the travesty of his Evangelists, his Exalted and Sentinels more than make up for it in terms of power and flexibility. Not bad! And soon, we’ll see what sorts of actual sentinels he’s got on his side...

You can read more about him here.

#Spiritual Spotlight #Neutrality Notes #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

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goparkseonghwa · 5 years

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A Devil’s Covenant [ Prologue ]

Genre: Angst, Romance, Horror, Smut (in future parts)

Pairing(s): Seonghwa x Reader (mostly) x Wooyoung (briefly) + ATEEZ

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Making a deal with the devil to bring back a loved one has its consequences. Are you ready to pay the price for your sins?

Warning(s): Themes of Horror, Strong Language and Violence, Character Death (these will be throughout the storyline so read with caution).

| next

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

"For the love all things holy, Seonghwa," You laugh down the line, the sleeve of your sweater covering your gaping mouth slightly, "This isn't the type of talk you should be indulging in with your best friend." You flush at the recollection of his previous statement, becoming hot and bothered easily at his low voice alone but his choice of wordage easily made you weak in the knees.

"Ah, but you love my sensual talk," He breathes down his end of the line, joking none the less, but still how he says it sends a faint tremble down your back. You secretly love it when he speaks to you in that manner, but you'd never admit that to his face - or rather to anyone in your inner circle. Hell, you could barely admit that to yourself the first time his words took a different toll on your heart. "And besides, who else would I use to practice my pickup lines on?"

Continue using me, please. You tap your finger against your lower lip as if you were in deep thought, letting a playful hum reverberate through your vocal cords in light spirit, lips turning up in the corners in the slightest motion. "Mmmmm, I know, you could use your suave moves on Yunho. He'd really have a fond appreciation for you after that." You stretch your arm behind your head, tousling your hair slightly as you run your fingers through the mess that was long overdue of a wash.

"You mean he'd probably have a fond appreciation for my chopped off penis sitting in a jar if I pulled that shit on him." He chuckles, and you can't help but gently roll your eyes at his sentence, knowing for a fact that the younger would actually find his elder's practice sessions enjoyable, being able to pick up on some tricks himself all while acquiring some form of blackmail to dangle over Hwa's head in the future.

"He loves your penis too much to ever bring any harm to it." You smile, crinkling your nose in endearment when you hear a scoff echo throughout the speaker, knowing his own cheeks were becoming flushed from embarrassment at your erotic, sinful thoughts.

"I highly doubt you on that one," He starts, voice becoming a bit muffled as the rustling of bags and other voices that echo throughout your speaker, indicating that he was at the market picking up groceries for a dinner he was hosting tonight at his and Yunho's shared apartment. Yunho had gotten in contact with Jongho, who seemed to be as much of a recluse nowadays as the spider, and convinced him to take a break from working on his novel to indulge in friendly conversation and delicious food. Seonghwa's stepbrother, Mingi, was in town for the week on business and Hwa wanted to reunite the five of you before Mingi jetted off to the next country for who knew how long, and before Jongho sealed himself off from the world again. ". . . thank you. . . alright, I think I have everything for tonight."

"Eh, you never know what could be going through Yunho's mind, so you shouldn't be too surprised if he has thought about it once or twice." Standing up from your bed, your knees slightly popping from being in the same, stiff position for so long, you maneuver your way into your bathroom to assess the damage that needed to be tended to before dinner. Cringing upon the sight of your greasy hair, and stained sweater from countless fridge raids, you turn on the sink faucet to begin your much needed 'spa treatment'. "Anyways, so what is Chef Seonghwa preparing for our taste buds this evening?" You inquire, picking up a washcloth to dampen.

"Ah, little one, it's a surprise," He playfully taunts, the tone in his voice making you huff out in annoyance. Surprises were nice and all but you would like to know what type of food you get to daydream about until it's finally sitting on a plate in front of you.

"Let me guess, you've decided to treat us to a frozen pizza?" You shift the phone from your hand so that it is now pressed between your shoulder and ear, allowing you to utilize both hands as you prepare your skin care routine.

"Damn, I can't believe you figured it out. You and the others get to indulge on a frozen entrée while I prepare myself a lovely steak dinner." He states, amusement easily interwoven within his words. His drawl that was as smooth as velvet was dangerous in itself, but when paired with any form of teasing or amusement it was a catastrophe just waiting to happen. The sultry undertone just waiting to pull anyone into a delicious, sinful paradise where temptations were acted on rather than ignored. A heaven within hell, the angel's fall from grace at the mere prospect of being entangled, consumed with another being that was corrupted beyond a point of redemption. But, those sickly sweet, lust driven whispers would be worth the fall if it meant you could spend eternity with him.

Knowing that he is merely pulling your leg, you decide to play along, "Mmmm absolutely delicious. My mouth is already watering at the mere thought of a burnt piece of bread with a pathetic excuse of toppings decorated on top." Sarcasm drips from every syllable that is enunciated with your tongue, a genuine, but snarky, way of conveying the lightness of the conversation. A smile graces your plush lips as wipe your face with the cloth, the water alone already making your skin feel better, more refreshed than it had been minutes ago.

A beautiful, deep laugh reverberates through the line and you could literally feel your heart rate slightly spike as the sound danced around within your ears. Something so pure, so sweet coming from the lips of a man whose heart was as big as the moon and whose soul was as golden as the sun made you feel as though heaven had answered your prayers, blessing you with a magnificent human who deserved nothing less than the stars. Park Seonghwa had easily found a way to leave pieces of himself within everything you did or saw, intertwining his existence with yours. A colorful pattern so bright it managed to dynamically shift your view on the world from one of black and white to one of vibrant, explosive pastels and neons. He was the artist and his words were the paintbrush as he transformed your life into a living, breathing masterpiece. He meant more to you than anyone could ever imagine, and being so fortunate to hear his laugh, to be around him when he was happy, to see him at his highest while also being there for the lowest was, and is, something you hold close to you. You would never trade anything in the world for those moments you are able to spend with him, the memories too precious to take for granted.

"But on a serious note, the meal I have planned tonight will be to your liking, so you have nothing to worry about," He reassures you which does improve your mood. Not that you weren't in a good mood prior to his statement, you were placed in a tranquil atmosphere the second you saw his name appear on your phone screen, but by him confirming that the meal tonight would be up to the high standards he always set made your spirits heighten further than the clouds.

"You better not give me food poisoning, Park," You grumble, scrubbing your face with the cleanser, "Or else you and I will be having a very strong, very colorful discussion tomorrow."

He gasps on the other end, "I'm hurt, Y/N, truly. You've punctured my heart." He feigns mock hurt, and you can only imagine the cute pout that is present on his plump lips, the crease between his sharp eyebrows and one of his hands placed on his chest, directly over the organ that you wish would belong to you.

"Let me grab my sewing kit so I can stitch that tragic wound of yours," You smile, grabbing the washcloth to dampen once more so you could remove the soap from your face and move on to the next step in your routine, "So, have you heard from Mingi? Is he in town yet?"

"Yeah, his plane landed about a half hour ago, so him and Yunho should be heading back to the apartment as we speak," He trails off, voice becoming muffled, distant from the phone as he must have gotten distracted by something or someone in the marketplace, "Hey, you like roses right–" He's cut short by the sound of a loud bang, startling you to the point of your phone nearly slipping from your shoulder.

"Holy shit! What the hell was that?" You shriek down the line just as another bang can be heard off in the distance, screams following quickly after. Worry starts to flood your veins as you drop the towel onto the counter, fingers now gripping tightly to the phone as you press it harder against your ear, "Seonghwa, what was that? Is everything okay?" There's rustling on his end, shuffling that sounds as if something has dropped or has been thrown down. When you hear short, sharp breaths through the receiver that's when your anxiety spikes dramatically. Something is wrong, something is terribly, horrifically wrong. The screaming intensifies as it draws closer to the phone, panicked voices forming incoherent sentences are jumbled together as well, frightening you even further. "Seonghwa, answer me! What happened?" A faint whimper, a grunt of pain and one final, sharp intake of breath is made before a soft, long exhale is emitted. Your heart sinks. "S-Seonghwa?"

"Someone call an ambulance!"

"Check for a pulse!"

"Oh my gosh! He's dead!"

At that, the phone drops from your now shaking hand, landing on the floor with a smack. Your mouth slackens, head becoming dizzy as your vision begins to produce black splotches in the corners of your eyes. A pounding sensation is heavily felt within your skull as the bathroom begins to spin. You lose your footing, stumbling backwards away from the vanity as your lunch from earlier begins to churn violently in your stomach. No, no, no, no, no. This isn't happening. They can't be talking about Hwa, it has to be someone else. But hearing his name faintly come through the speaker by an unknown voice confirms your worst nightmare.

You’re numb, face the palest white possible as all of the blood seems to evaporate from under your skin, from your veins, your heart stuttering in your chest. It rapidly presses against your ribcage and you feel as though it’s about to combust from the pain that is pulsing through it, searing it so deeply that being physically stabbed in the chest would be like a measly paper cut – and you’d much rather be impaled a hundred times over than feeling what you are currently feeling.

Your eyes connect with your reflection for a brief second, in the next they roll into the back of your head, your weak frame toppling over, falling right next to your phones now cracked screen.

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youllgocrystalcrazy · 4 years

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November 14th? Gosh what time does to a person sometimes. It hadn’t even fully registered in the genius’ mind that it was already drawing close to the years end. Halloween had come and gone, but he’d hardly batted an eye at it, even with it’s vampiric perks. Plus, it didn’t help that he’d spent the last twenty-some-odd years in a distant crack in time to the past. The sweltering heat. The chasm he was forced to reside in... All alone. With N. Tropy and Uka Uka... Of course his internal clock was off!! It’s only tonight that it fully strikes him what day it is. What month it is... It’s his birthday. Hair sagging at the idea of it, Cortex sighs, resuming his business. Nothing good EVER came from his birthday. Oh, the notion of just having ONE year, just ONE where he could celebrate it while on top!! Or in the lap of luxury! With the world at his disposal or just a simple island vacation, either or would be lovely... But why celebrate the day where everything started to go wrong in his life? He’d been trying to preoccupy himself with organizing and tidying his room; Try to make heads or tails of all the stuff his alternate had amassed during his stay in this city. Sitting bow-legged on the floor while rummaging through various boxes in his closet, expression flat.

Peeking inside the closet, the most noteworthy thing he can see are those very same items he was met with on his arrival. Teddy Bears. The Ushanka. The scarf. Not to mention some of the other brick-a-brack. The most damning thing though... The photo of the golden knight. It lies face down on his desk, tossed aside haphazardly in a desperate attempt to stay out of sight. Embarrassing. It’s a little too embarrassing to look at; head down and eyes fixated on the box before him, Cortex desperately tries to ignore the photo. All it did was force a heat to rise to his cheeks, recollecting that humiliating and pathetic display. A ‘heartfelt’ reunion? Greetings and being toyed with? Hugs and... Kisses? The latter generates a chill to run throughout his body. Cortex hasn’t the foggiest idea of the last instance anyone has given that level of affection, and he’d rather not be reminded of it. Such a breach in personal space. “Better now, Doctor Grumpy-wears~?” He paraphrases. “I’d rather bide my time waiting to return to the End of the Universe than be met with such treatment again... Really!! DO I LOOK the sort to rub shoulders with someone like... THAT?! A King? ...Knight? King Knight?! Ah, what did I do to get myself into this situation?! That lout!!” He crosses his arms, snorting at his alternate’s endeavors. He wants to curse his own name so terribly, but what good would that do? At least he’s found SOME Things of use his alternate had prior in the box before him.

Holding up the wires in his gloves hands tenderly, Cortex analyzes what it is. A Surveillance system; One used for the confines of their home. Ah, to spy on everyone. Maybe he’ll set this up when Crash isn’t home. Hair drooping again, the genius scoffs. He’s never going to get used to that is he? Living with Crash Bandicoot. Why? Whatever force placed him here must have thought it a funny little joke to pull. He’s hardly laughing. Setting the cords aside, he continues to root around in the box again. A Pharaoh Costume? Really? He owned something like this?! The Headdress even has an ‘N’ Embroidered onto it!! “...Fine. At least my other self seemed to have impeccable taste in costumes.” Bringing the linen to his face, he gives it a light whiff. “Smells sweet. Halloween costume, no doubt. ...I didn’t go to a party in this, did I?” Setting that aside now, hands return to poke around in the container. This time, an ugly holiday sweater is removed, and honestly what it reads makes Cortex’s face twist in confusion. “‘I survived Empatheorem.’ ...What?” The hell’s ‘Empatheorem’? Well, whatever that meant, he balls up the sweater and tosses over his shoulder with reckless abandon.

Another box he begins to hunt through. “OW!!” Having something jab his finger, pinch it, results in him sucking on his finger comically. What the hell? Oh, It’s a tool box. He couldn’t see the wrenches and screwdrivers beneath the scrapped sheets of blueprint paper. Plucking one of the sheets from the pile however, Neo skims over it. Plans for a ‘Memoryraser’, as it’s called. Something to, well, wipe the memories of anyone it’s used on!! Looks to have been scrapped however. Clicking his tongue, he sets the paper back down and sighs. “Nothing of note yet... It seems. That Memoryaser idea sounded quite scintillating however. Perhaps if I revise it?”

One last box. Hopes are rather low, for answers, but maybe something? Anything at all? The Tupper clicks, and what he sees inside is- “A laptop. Hm. A little outdated too, if you ask me. Ah, it’s better than nothing... Let’s have ourselves a little looky-loo~” Charge cord plugged into the wall, Cortex sits himself at the desk, opening the device up.

...He sees it out of his peripheral vision. A small groan, flushed cheeks, and eyes darting to the nearest wall, a gloved hand paws at the desk until it makes contact with the photo, quickly stowing it away where he won’t see it again for a bit. Beneath the desk. Of course! Ideal! Deep breaths and eyes focus on the screen again. “Now... If I know Me. And I AM Me, Hmhmh~ The password is...” A twenty-two letter word. Atomic number 119. Of course. It’s no surprise he uses that at his password. A bit of loading and... He’s in! “HAH!! Take that!! ...Me! ...” No one heard that, right? It’d be embarrassing if anyone, especially Crash, heard that. And should he really be trying to rub it in his own face that he had the password to his own laptop? Tossing his hands in the air nonchalantly, fingers hastily type away at the keys. Oh, there’s already quite the plethora of stuff in here to discover!!! Files on the citizens of Spirale! Well... a select few of them, but did their information shine!! Especially the information on Rosa.

...This island wasn’t some sort of strange place overruled by some higher force?! But just a faction of individuals?! Some group calling themselves ‘The Island Stars’?! A new wave of anger washes over him. He was pulled here?! For what reason?! As part of an experiment?! A Game?! What were they doing this for?! To make fools or everyone?! To make a fool of him?! He wants to lash out and curse them, in his usual Cortex Fashion, but there’s still more information to uncover.

...He- ...He had plans to take over this place. Well, it’s not unexpected, but it’s still surprising how much information on this strange city he’d gathered in his short amount of time!! Dating back to mid 2019 even!! What blows him away the most is his plans on The Cortex Vortex Redux. The N.E.O. How he planned to use a workshop called ‘Facet Five’ to his own machinations. Rosa and why she played such a significant part in it all!! Amazing!! Simply amazing!! Of course this was Dr. Neo Cortex’s own thought process being laid bare before him. Of COURSE He thought it was Perfect!! “My, my, and here I was beginning to think something was terribly wrong with my other self!! Still... Who is this ‘Rosa’? The photo of her is so blurred I can hardly make a thing out. I only have description to go on... An Underground shark dragon woman?” Well, one good thing about this city was that he wouldn’t need to make a brand new Evolve-o-ray. All the strange folk here made the need for such a devastating device pointless!! Why not just get right to the brainwashing after all?!

One thing was clear. That little well deserved vacation could wait. Cortex, now filled with a new desire for revenge, a new ambition, and a new hope to turn everything in his favor, was grinning maliciously from ear to ear. Yes. It might take some time, more studying, and an arduous process, but he’d make this city his... It was like a reverse Rift Generator after all!! Bringing everything to him and isolating them from where they belonged. Underneath his rule... YES!!! IT’S ALL COMING TOGETHER!!! ...Oh. But, Crash. And N. Tropy...

Quickly peering out his bedroom doorway, he scans the house. No sign of anyone or anything. Still, to be safe, he stows the laptop away in the closet again, sandwiched between some of the boxes of his belongings. The last thing he needs is them snooping and finding out what he’s planning. Crash would no doubt try to stop him before he could even try.... And Tropy might try and steal his plans. No. Even improve them!! Hypocrite that he is, between the pair of them, Cortex is more known for hijacking anyone’s plans... Still, with these worries bouncing around in his skull, that smile remains on his face. The laughter is welling up inside him... But not here. He can’t!! He has to hold back... at least a little bit.

So he laughs. And laughs, and laughs and laughs. Chuckling devilishly to himself about his new discovery. Soft, low, villainous laughter can be heard from within... Looks like this birthday went well for him for once...

Happy Birthday, Dr. Cortex. Don’t get too Cocky, though!!

#𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐕𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐱! | IC #𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐁𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 | Drabble #~~ HAPPY [Headcanoned] BIRTHDAY TO THE EVIL #~~ AGAIN!!#~~ This was written with the intention of also #~~ Recollecting some of the shit he went thru last I apped him~#~~ Hope you like it!! Sorry it's a doozy!!

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seadeepywrites · 4 years

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When the River Meets the Sea

Character: Fathom Tidechaser Words: 3490 tw: death, violence/gore, body horror

1. Our Souls Will Leave This Land

Fathom isn’t afraid until the moment his Heal spell fails him. Like a sword parrying in a clash of steel, like a rubber ball rebounding off a stone wall, the magic that is supposed to close his wounds slips free of his grasp, reflecting back on him. As the sudden, breathless darkness of necrotic damage leaches his strength, Fathom feels it: a flicker of fear.

Fathom is occasionally anxious and frequently surprised, but true fear like this is vanishingly rare for him. He has faced vampires and corpse-stealing fiends from Hell and suture-scarred fleshy mutants that should never have existed in the first place. He has healed injuries, raised the dead, and climbed out of his own grave. He has walked between planes, traveled backwards through time, and spoken to gods.

Today, for the first time in his several lives and deaths, Fathom considers the idea that Melora’s blessing may not be enough to save him.

The illithid-lich shrieks without sound, and even aware of what’s coming, Fathom can’t stagger out of the way quickly enough. Its psychic scream blasts his mind free of his body, into some hazy place where the real-time consequences of combat don’t seem to matter. Fathom knows, on some level, that he is standing here in front of the illithid and its creations, flat-footed and slump-shouldered. But most of him is absent, drifting through a blurry infinity of vague concepts and disconnected thoughts. Not unlike being extremely high, actually.

Next to Fathom, the eye sockets of a dozen skulls light up with the same eerie green glow that pervades this lair. Their jawbones seem to widen and vibrate with silent laughter — or maybe that’s just Fathom’s vision swimming. Fathom isn’t present enough to be concerned as his soul begins to prise itself from his body, attempting to wriggle free of his flesh like a snake shucking its skin.

It is only the sigil inked across Fathom’s collarbones that prevents it, the Death Ward flaring in one final, desperate attempt to keep Fathom alive. Even when he himself isn’t fully aware of it. Even when blood slips slick over his upper lip and his neck, running like water from his nose and ears. Even when he sees — sees but cannot make himself react — sees the illithid floating down from its dais.

The illithid reaches out toward him with one hand, whispering in its breathy voice. Fathom can’t quite parse the words over the thunderous roar of his pulse crashing in his ears. It doesn’t really matter, though, does it? The illithid’s slender tentacles reach out too, impossibly long and serpentine, and wrap themselves around Fathom’s head.

Melora, Fathom thinks. He would say it out loud, if he could. If he could shape his lips to breathe it out, he would want her name to be the last word he says. It is a prayer and it is a plea: Please. Help my friends where I’ve failed. Give them the power to defeat this evil where I cannot.

The only thing in the world that Fathom truly, deeply cares about — the only thing he will ever live and die for — is his goddess. He would go to his death gladly — placidly allow the illithid to drink his brain like so much beef stew — if he could know for sure that he hasn’t disappointed her. But he isn’t sure of that at all, so Fathom’s heart stutters and his blood freezes to ice as the illithid’s tentacles smother him, obscuring his vision.

Melora, he thinks again, with desperation and heartbreak and terror.

And then the pain begins.

**********

2. The Winds of Time

In the darkness, Fathom hears the sound of ocean waves. He knows the Material Plane and several others by now — the Astral Plane, the Feywild, Orthrys, the Plane of Time, and Pandemonium among them. This place is none of those. This is maybe not a place at all but a feeling, a moment between breathing in and breathing out. It holds him like the fuzzy apathy from the illithid's Mind Blast did, but a thousand times more transient, more ineffable.

Fathom is alone here — until he is not.

He learned a long time ago to see beyond the sight of his eyes, to sense beyond the flesh that covers his bones. It’s that ability now that tells him who surrounds him.

First is the clicking of goat hooves and an uncanny chuckle, a presence as mysterious and mercurial as a dream. The glint of sharp teeth smiling, and a shimmer like a heat mirage. Fathom recognizes the unpredictable, long-limbed, goat-eyed Archfey-in-the-form-of-a-man who scraped him off the rocks of the Feywild and brought him back to life the first time. The Entertainer. The Twilight Walker.

Second comes the rustling of midnight-black wings, which bring an endless field of stars in their wake. This void is hers, as is the longbow the halfling wields and every inch of Tanazil's new human body. Fathom has passed through her domain several times now, but only discovered recently that she was once a person like him. A friend of the party's, once, until she sunk into a slumber from which she would never wake. Umbra, the Raven Queen. Keeper of the boundary between life and death.

Fathom actually tastes the third presence in the back of his throat, the sweet and heady burn of alcohol mid-swallow. If he had a face right now, he'd smile, because it's a familiar sensation. It reminds him of the wild nights of carousing he's participated in over the years and, more rarely, the sheer bloody joy of splitting knuckles and breaking furniture in tavern brawls. There's an energy to this presence, careless and defiant. Appropriate for one of the youngest gods, whose reign over his twin domains of strength and luck is just beginning. Cayden, proprietor of the Drunken Sailor until his recent removal from the Material Plane.

Fourth is another brand-new god, one whom the party itself assisted in his ascension. With him comes the clicking of tiny gears and the whisper of sand through an hourglass that now only exists in memory. He is a god of brilliant ideas and science precise enough to navigate through the stained-glass labyrinth of the Plane of Time — and while Fathom respects him, he does not understand him in the slightest. Fathom will keep his own slow thoughts and poor reading comprehension, and leave the worship of this god to the more intellectual party members, like Curt. Fizzlewick, once a gnome artificer who spliced together various realities. Now so much more.

Fifth is the reason they are all here, an overpowering feminine force who is both beautiful and terrible. Like Umbra, her wings would engulf all if Fathom could see them, but he has already witnessed their burning white radiance. He’s got his suspicions about Trox's allegiance, because he's seen the bug man's shell light with the same bleached-bone color. Amidst the chaos, Fathom can hear the thrum of the threads of Fate as they dance between her fingers. If she has a name beyond the mistress of such things, he does not know of it.

Last and most beloved is the taste of salt and the scent of ozone, vast and untamed ever-changing. Fathom's loyalty to her is as boundless as the waters she rules over and as fierce as the violence of the tempest. She has been in every breath he takes since the day he was brought into the world, and he will follow and fight for her long after he leaves it. Melora, goddess of sea and the wilderness. Fathom has pledged himself to her before, and would do it a thousand times again.

There are other gods here too, ones Fathom has heard of from the many faithful he's met in his travels. But these are the ones Fathom knows, the ones Fathom has actually met personally and spoken to. They surround him with their awful, unspeakable power — if Fathom were still alive, this much divine energy in one place would undoubtedly blow him into tiny pieces or melt his eyes right out of his skull.

"Hi," Fathom says, or tries to. "What's up, guys?"

It is Fizzlewick who answers him, voice gleaming gold against the blackness that surrounds them. His words resonate in Fathom's mind, deafening and omnipresent in a way they never were in life. WE ARE WAITING, he says.

Fathom considers this. "Waiting for what?"

WAITING FOR A CHOICE, Fizzlewick says, and does not explain further.

"Aren't you the god of time?" Fathom asks, skeptical.

YES, Fizzlewick replies, and is it just Fathom's imagination, or does he sound a little bit cranky? THAT IS WHY I AM GIVING HIM THE TIME TO CONSIDER IT.

"Oh. That makes sense, I guess."

Several ideas connect suddenly in Fathom's head, in that lightning-flash and logic-less way he processes concepts:

Curt, invisibility spell broken, screaming himself hoarse in a way Fathom has only heard once before. Although that time he’s been a version of Curt from a future where the illithid had triumphed, and then after the screaming stopped he wasn't Curt at all.

The sound of a vial uncorking. The screaming suddenly cut short.

A gift that Curt was given weeks earlier, when the party visited Fate's domain, in faint disapproval but also in consolation. A promise that the gods had not given up on the young wizard entirely, not yet.

"Huh," Fathom says.

So he settles down to wait in the way he does best: aimless, serene, equivocal. Just vibing. The pain and terror that accompanied his death seem very far away, like faded colors or muted sounds.

At some point, the waiting ends. Was it half a second, or was it forever? It could have been either. Fizzlewick speaks again, and Fathom's soul rouses itself to respond.

HE CHOSE CORRECTLY, Fizzlewick says.

"Cool. So what happens now?"

NOW, Fizzlewick says, I SEND YOU BACK TO HELP MY CHAMPION.

That's new information, actually — that Fizzlewick now has a champion — but it doesn't take a genius to figure out who Fizzlewick's talking about. Which is good, because Fathom definitely isn't one.

The void, the gods, this in-between place — all begin to dissolve, in the same rhythmic way that waves erase footprints in the sand. Instead of divine presence, Fathom becomes aware of a ceaseless wind that carries the whispers of insanity along with it. As the sound of the wind — which somehow, mysteriously, continues to blow indoors and underground — increases, so does another sound: a rapid, clicking whir. Like the hands of a pocket-watch, spinning forward. Or backward. Or both.

Fathom can see again: golden light, bright enough to sear through his closed eyelids. More to the point, he's back in his body, in his deeply cursed plate armor, with his arm made of water and his silver trident at his fingertips.

He is alive, and he's pretty sure his brain is firmly inside his skull, which are both things he never thought he’d experience again.

Fathom's eyes flutter open to a scene that would look really strange if it wasn’t the one he'd been seeing just before his untimely death. Trox and Tanazil are hacking at the illithid, both wielding enormous axes and foaming with berserker's rage. The halfling's elk is there too, rearing up with its wickedly sharp front hooves to contribute to the damage. The giant translucent pods up on the dais seem to have increased in number, which is odd, but it is not the oddest thing here by far.

As Fathom clambers to his feet, he realizes he doesn't just feel alive — he feels great. Better than he ever has in his multiple lives, maybe. The glow that haloed him is already fading, but there is another god's power present here, crashing inside him like thunder and breaking surf. Fathom feels almost limitless. Renewed. Reinvigorated.

"Now that's more like it," he says with satisfaction.

He sends a fragmentary thought through the telepathy rings, just enough to tell the nameless halfling he is alive. Her joy radiates back at him, warm and wonderful.

Then Fathom hefts his shield and his trident, and prepares again to fight.

**********

3. That Sweet And Final Hour

Melora takes him home. Or rather, Melora takes him back to the only place that has always been there for him, a place that has taken from and given to and blessed and cursed him. Melora takes him back to the place that has always been hers, and now is a little bit Fathom's too.

Melora clasps his hand and pulls him between planes with a lurching tug he has come to recognize, not unlike free fall or the sudden drop of a ship's deck below his feet. And then he is with his goddess on the cliffs of Cherat, in the very spot he once stood and whipped up a storm, looking out over the wind-roughened gray expanse of the sea.

Fathom turns to Melora, unashamed of the tears in his eyes. "Thank you," he says, breathing deeply. "It's good to be home."

"Yes," Melora says somberly, looking out across the water.

They stand there for a moment side by side, saying nothing because they have said all there is to say already. The world has been saved. The tapestry of Fate has been re-woven. Fathom's friends, the little dysfunctional adventuring party he has kept alive at all costs, have gone their separate ways. Fathom's journey is, in so many ways, all over.

"I wasn't sure we'd make it here," Fathom confesses, scratching idly at his darkness-beard. He shrugs. "But I figured I'd try anyway, you know?"

Melora shakes her head, smiling, her long hair rippling as it shifts against her bare shoulders. "I know," she says plainly. "I wasn't sure you would either."

"That makes three times I've died," Fathom muses. "Can't say I want to make it a habit. That last one really hurt."

Melora winces. "Fixing that was Fizzlewick's doing. I couldn't— There's only so much I could do, when—"

"I know," Fathom says quickly. He isn't sure if a goddess feels things like awkwardness or embarrassment, but that's certainly the image Melora projects when she stumbles over her words like this. It delights him, actually, the thought that he's spent enough time with her now to recognize the habit.

"I'm glad," Melora says, relaxing slightly. "That you survived. Or, well. That you're alive now."

Fathom tips his head back and closes his eyes, letting the sea breeze mist across his already-damp skin. "That makes two of us," he says. After a moment, he adds, "'Cause now that I've done the save-the-universe thing a couple times, I just want to chill for a bit. And I feel like hanging out on the Material Plane would be weird if I was dead."

"Weird, yes," Melora acknowledges with a nod. "Also sort of forbidden by Umbra and her followers."

"Ha. Wouldn't want Tanazil coming after me. That axe of his is pretty sharp. Though..." Fathom brushes his fingers against the hilt of his trident. "I kind of feel like I could take him."

"Hmm. Maybe." Melora's smile is amused, maybe a little indulgent.

"Curt seemed to think he'd be able to do it," Fathom continues. "But Curt has a pretty big head when it comes to his own powers." He pauses, voice softening. "He made the right choice, though. When it counted."

"That he did."

Fathom shakes his head, sighing. "Imagine fighting the illithid and all that because it was the right thing to do. A moral compass, or whatever."

Melora makes a little noise of objection.

"What? I know damn well I'm not that selfless."

"And what do you call your help in the whole matter then?"

Fathom stares at her. Surely she is just teasing — surely she must know. "My lady," he says, frowning. "That was all for you."

Melora blinks, a slow sweep of her lashes, her eyes glistening gray-blue-green-black-gold. Then she smiles, reaches across to pat Fathom on the shoulder.

"My champion," she says fondly.

Fathom shuffles his feet and squints out at the water again. There is silence between them for several long minutes, though of course it is never really silent here. The waves hiss and crash, and above their heads gulls screech and circle. The sky is a boundless blue, darkening to slate where clouds encroach at its edges.

Fathom is like a grain of sand on this beach, a tiny part of something much larger. His soul sings with it, with the connection to the land and the sky and the sea. He is suddenly quite certain that if he wanted to, he could step into open air and soar. Could fly upward towards the bright, alluring heat of the sun until his lungs lost their breath. Then he'd tumble downward head over heels to meet the sea under sunlight, and it would welcome him into its salty and eternal embrace.

Melora has entrusted him with part of her domain, and Fathom thinks this is one of the few things he’ll be able to carry with him for the rest of his life. One of the sole responsibilities he'll shoulder and never ever grow tired of, never seek restlessly to move on and walk away. He's left so many people and places behind, but this — this he can keep.

"So," Melora says after some unknown amount of time has passed. "What's next? Mushrooms?"

Fathom tilts his head. "Do you mean going to visit Toad like we planned, or the kind that makes you hallucinate? 'Cause I'm down either way."

"Yes," says his goddess, and offers him her hand again.

**********

4. Epilogue: The Almighty Sea

Fathom Tidechaser lives his life.

He spends two weeks with Tanazil in silent retreat and contemplation, drinking in the richness of the ancient, mossy forest, perfectly at peace. But while it’s a haven of relaxation and redemption for Tanazil, Fathom can’t linger. He’s never been able to settle down, not even for a few months. The power Melora has blessed him with guides him onward like he’s a ship sailing toward the horizon, pointing into the bittersweet unknown.

The halfling and her fey patron are always able to find him no matter where he travels, and it becomes something of a game between them all: to play pranks on Fathom, to get their tricks past his uncanny awareness of his surroundings. He catches them as often as they succeed, and it’s always a joyful reunion. The once-nameless halfling introduces herself these days with the name the Entertainer has given her. It suits her.

Curt turns twenty, which is a surprise to everyone who thought he'd get himself killed long before that. Technically he has, several times, but Fathom figures that any debt Curt built up from Fathom's resurrections was definitely repaid when Curt asked Fizzlewick to revive him. So they are equals now. On an even footing. Fathom has zero interest in the school of magic Curt is establishing on the moon, but he can recognize the bright-eyed whip-smart type of adventurer who would thrive there. He frequently sends Curt new recruits, and along with them his best wishes, but visits rarely.

Fathom travels as he always has. Now, though, he can raise and quiet storms at his command. He can also fly without a spell, skimming over the surface of the ocean for miles until he finds a ship and scares the hell out of its crew by landing on the rigging like a gigantic shiny albatross. When he is addressed as a minor deity, he scoffs, but then he wonders: are the frightened sailors that far off the mark?

Fathom dies — finally, permanently, for good — at a much younger age than most, but that's hardly surprising. He is powerful enough to face almost any creature on the Material Plane, and several more planes besides, but the one person he can't resurrect is himself. It isn’t a dramatic sacrifice, nor is it a gentle and peaceful passing. It is simply a death — ugly and brutal and fast.

He greets Umbra as a friend, only exchanging a few words with her. Because they both know where he’s going, of course. Melora is one of the few deities with no astral domain, choosing instead to wander the cosmos eternally. So this is less of an ending and more of a transformation — from one way of being to another, like a wave breaking and returning to the water. Fathom’s soul still travels, still soars over the sea, still stirs up storms in thunderous magnificence.

Fathom Tidechaser dies, and serves his goddess long past his death, until his name is mentioned in the same breath as hers. Things change, as they always do. Fathom dies, but he lives on.

#Fathom #Heretic campaign #this is gonna be the last campaign story I ever post for him probably #cause we r DONE #my boy hit 20th level and became a demigod #also also the titles of the sections & the thing overall are from the song by the same name #yes it's a song from the Muppets shut up #also snuck a Hozier reference in there if you're paying attention

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