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psychedelic-ink · 9 months

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𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍

pairing: lighthouse keeper!joel miller x mermaid!reader

genre: mermaid AU, explicit, fluff, comfort, romance, minors dni

word count: 8.5k

summary: As the man responsible for operating the lighthouse, Joel lives a solitary life on the isolated coast. He has no complaints, enjoying the hauntingly beautiful songs that echo from the sea at night. One stormy night, he rescues a mysterious mermaid tangled in a fishing net. As you recover in the lighthouse, the two form an unlikely bond and find comfort in each other's company.

warnings: mention of joel from time to time visiting a brothel, loneliness, mermaid anatomy things, oral (fem receiving), piv, touch starved!joel and reader, mild breeding kink, squirting

a/n: full disclaimer I made up the mermaid lore, facts and anatomy, the only mermaid romance book I read was goddess of the sea by P.C. Cast and I read that all the way back in high school so I remember very little of it (I think I remember some of the steamy stuff but honestly it's all very vague so if there are any similarities that's why) 🧜‍♀️🌊

**stunning gif made by fanna aka @pedrorascal 💙

When in darkness look for the light.

Joel heard this at different points in his life. His father, bless his soul, adamant about reminding him that there was always good to be found, even when it didn’t seem like it. When his father passed, Joel thought of the words endlessly. The more he thought about them, the more it made less and less sense to him. What was one supposed to do when the light that was sought didn’t exist? It would’ve made more sense to him if the message was about creating your own light, not depending on another. He would make sure to remember that if he ever had kids.

The lantern in his hand groaned upon placing it on the nearby windowsill. It was a small window, the glass coated in thick dust. He smelled the sea. The salt of it burned his nostrils, the taste lingered on his tongue.

With a practiced hand, Joel reached for the oil lamp, its polished brass surface gleamed in the fading light. He carefully opened the reservoir cap and began pouring the clear, fragrant oil. The room filled with a faint scent. He listened to the waves as he lit the lantern, creating the sole light that guided him up the lighthouse. Joel imagined the violent waters hitting the bedrock. With time, they would all turn into sand. He looked up. The stairs were endless, going round and round. He spotted seaweed and mold in the same places, observed the humidity that darkened the underside of the stairs that barely hung onto the walls.

The small flame on the wick grew, casting an amber light that illuminated the inside. Joel's eyes focused on the growing flame, his gaze steady as he watched the light take hold.

“I’m home,” he said freely, his voice echoing. On the contrary belief, Joel actually had a regular home. He had a stove, a fridge, a bed. But this... this always felt like his true home. The smells, the sounds, the atmosphere, all of it was familiar, hugging him tight as soon as he stepped inside.

He climbed the stairs, his knees starting to ache when he was halfway to the light room. He didn’t stop, only slowed his steps. The air was fresher at the top. More breathable compared to where he was not moments ago.

He reached the top of the staircase, his breaths coming in steady rhythm as he pushed through the burn in his knees. The narrow corridor opened up into the lantern room, and he stepped into the circular chamber.

Joel reached for the mechanism that controlled the rotation. He gave it a gentle turn, feeling the gears engage beneath his touch. The light began to move, its beam sweeping across the darkening sea. The room filled with the rhythmic cadence of the light's rotation.

But that wasn’t the only thing that reached his ears.

A melody that flowed like the ebb and flow of the tides called out to him, guiding him to the clear, towering windows of the lighthouse. Every night he heard it, yet never managed to see the person—or thing—responsible for it. For years it had accompanied him. Another friend that the sea had gifted him to fight the loneliness he felt from time to time. His nose nearly brushed the glass, a chill settling in his bones. Sometimes he thought he heard lyrics as painful as the song itself.

Joel’s brows furrowed when he noticed the thick fog settling above the water. No matter the light he put out into the world, it would be a hard night for captains and crew.

The cadence still heavy in his ear, Joel stepped away from the panes. He picked up his log book and took a seat. He grimaced when the chair groaned under his weight. Joel had placed his desk so he would still have a view of the sea. The brine-laden air filled his lungs as he ruffled through the pages.

Picking up his pen, Joel began to write.

Lighthouse Keeper's Log: Joel M. Date: October 22, 18XX Weather: Heavy fog blanketing the coastline, strong easterly wind, temperature 58°F. Lighting Operations: Lit the lamp at 18:30 hours. Due to thick fog, visibility greatly reduced; light rotation pattern altered to emit one long white flash every 20 seconds. Despite challenging conditions, light remains steadfast in its duty. Vessel Sightings: Limited visibility makes it impossible to spot distant vessels. Unusually rough seas observed, even in the absence of a clear storm. Large waves breaking against the shore; powerful surges felt within the lighthouse. Remaining emergency supplies: Blankets, dry rations, and signal flares. Remarks and Notes: The fog is a thick shroud, obscuring the sea beyond the immediate coastline. The normally serene cove now a theater of restless energy, waves crashing against the rocks with an almost primal force. An eerie beauty to the fog and the untamed sea—a reminder of nature's might and mystery. Life at the Lighthouse: Dinner of canned beans and bread awaits. Appetite normal.

Joel chewed the inside of his cheek. He tapped his pen against the worn paper before resuming taking his notes.

Heard the song again. It always sounds like it’s in longing for something more. I’m starting to think I’m making it up from my own loneliness. But I can’t really complain much I picked this life.

He let out a groan. There was some comfort in knowing no one would read these but he didn’t want to sound like a crazy person if someone did end up stumbling across the notes.

Joel leaned back in his chair, extending his legs. His muscles hummed happily at the stretch. He still had to check and make sure what supplies he had left to put in the log, he also needed to make sure no additional repairs were needed. He dragged a heavy palm down his face. Why the hell didn’t he check when he entered the base? Now he had to go down all those stairs again. He loved the lighthouse but hell, he could do with less workout.

With a sigh, he got up and left the room. He descended the narrow spiral staircase that wound its way down into the base of the lighthouse. He carried a lantern to light his way, its feeble glow dancing against the walls. The sound of the crashing waves outside gradually faded into a distant rumble. His unease grew as the melody disappeared completely.

Joel knew the lighthouse like he did the back of his hand. But that didn’t mean the structure even spooked him from time to time. It wasn’t easy being alone in the dark, watching the endless horizon just wondering about life. Hearing the aria subdued those thoughts— the thoughts that made a convincing point that he’s lived an empty life.

Reaching the bottom, Joel stepped into the dimly lit chamber that housed the mechanical workings of the lighthouse. Gears and mechanisms stood in silent vigil, their intricate interplay hidden beneath layers of metal and shadow. The steady tick-tock of the clockwork echoed softly in the confined space.

Setting the lantern on a nearby table, Joel approached the massive gear assembly responsible for the light's rotation. He ran his fingers along the metal surfaces, feeling the vibrations as the gears turned in precise harmony. His trained touch could detect even the slightest irregularity.

A toolbox lay open on the table, its contents glinting in the lantern light. Joel selected a wrench and began to carefully tighten bolts and adjust connections. He moved with the grace of a musician tuning an instrument.

As he worked, his thoughts shifted to his guitar at home. He wanted to play again. Perhaps accompany the song he heard every night. His fingers weren’t as they used to be. It took time to remember how to move them over the strings, the cords, it frustrated him, making it easier to give up as soon as he touched the instrument.

The lantern's glow flickered as Joel adjusted the final cog, ensuring that the gears meshed flawlessly. Satisfied with his work, he stood back and observed the assembly for a moment, watching as the clockwork continued its patient dance.

Then. . . a sound.

An unfamiliar sound. It was followed by a frustrated shout and some wild splashing. Joel stood still, his spine stiff as they came. He thought the sea was playing tricks on him, which was why he remained there. Listening. The sound repeated itself, some colorful curses flying out of the mouth of whoever lingered outside of the lighthouse’s walls.

Joel promptly headed for the door. Whoever it was, it sounded like they needed help. His mind raced. It could’ve been a multitude of things; a shipwreck that led hald conscience crew to the shores, a kid playing past their curfew, a—

. . . a woman entangled in a net.

What?

He stilled, eyes wide with shock. All air was expelled from his lungs, mouth incredibly dry despite the chill that quickly settled in his bones. He blinked over and over, his mind trying to comprehend the sight before him. Waves crashed around her, framing her while she fought against the stubborn net. It’d been a while since Joel was in close proximity to a woman. He wasn’t a hermit, but most of the time he kept to himself, and when he needed a release provided from something other than his hand. . . he earned enough a month to spend on certain services.

She was beautiful. Her back bare and her front hidden, looking like a starfish washed a shore. She struggled again and with a snarl, she flipped over.

Joel’s cheeks warmed, the night chill that settled in his bones quickly dissipated thanks to the sight before him. As if to accommodate the moment, a particularly large wave washed over her, drops of salty water wetting the cuffs of his pants. She only wore a bra—at least that was what Joel assumed it was. It was the same color of a brewing storm, silver that gradually softened as it disappeared into her skin. Stunning.

He swallowed. Temptation fogged his mind, his cock becoming stiff under the thick fabric. He was only a man after all. Joel knew little that could resist someone like her, she was hypnotic. With another swallow, his gaze moved lower. He wondered if the rest of her was just as revealing.

But the rest of her was hidden by the vastness of the sea.

For the better, he thought, cock straining against the zipper. He wouldn’t have touched her, of course, but it would’ve made it harder to think.

And to help her.

Joel's gaze finally met her face, which was equally as beautiful as the rest of her, despite being the target of her unwavering glare.

“Ahoy,” he said, voice thick. His greeting did little in wiping away her untrusting stare. “Uh. . .seems like you’ve gotten yourself in a. . . bind.”

“Funny,” she answered, her voice the complete opposite of the statement. Wrestling against the net, a hiss escaped her lips the moment she tried. “Are you going to help or just make puns, human?”

Human?

Joel raised an eyebrow, being caught in a net would be annoying for sure but it shouldn’t be hurting her. He tilted his head and came closer. She regarded him like a wild animal, her need to flee evident in her eyes. He sighed. “Don’t give me the coyote look, I’m not a canine.”

“I’ll look at you however I want to.”

She moved and when the net brushed against her skin, she winced in pain. Pulling her arms close to her chest, she made an effort to keep from touching it. This time the pain was evident over the contours of her face, prompting worry to cross over his.

“Stop movin’,” he ignored her sharp tongue and knelt next to her. “Is that a barbed net? Shit. We need to cut you out.”

Another wave. A scream.

Panic flared under his skin, without telling her to wait, he jolted inside of the lighthouse. He rummaged through his toolbox and when he came back, Joel noticed the trickle of blood going down her cheek. “Don’t worry,” he said quickly, his body collapsed onto his throbbing knees. “I’ll get you out.”

Her stare grew gentle as he meticulously severed the ropes. Joel's attention was drawn to the cuts and bruises that marred her. He didn’t even know her name but he knew that he hated seeing her like that. So hurt and vulnerable. Another wave washed over them. Joel snarled at the sea, his annoyance growing at the wickedness of his greatest love.

“The name’s Joel,” he grunted and moved down her body, freeing her inch by inch. Her spine turned as rigid as a plank. “Am I hurtin’ you?” he asked, stopping momentarily. He looked up but she wasn’t facing him.

“I-It’s not that,” she said. All of her bite from before had dissolved like foams upon the sea. “My. . .lower half got caught up badly when I tried to break free. It—It might be too gruesome to see, so just give me the cutters and you can go.”

Joel scoffed. As if he would let her do this by herself. “If you’re hurt that bad all the more reason to stay and help you, honey. Just stay still.”

“But—”

“Stay still,” he ordered. Joel spread his finger across her lower back. He was surprised to find her skin so cold. He needed to free her and wrap a blanket around her ASAP.

One by one, he cut through the net, more of her exposed to him. It almost felt like he shouldn’t be seeing such a sight. It didn’t matter though, he’d help her no matter what— he’d decided on that the first moment he laid his eyes on her. His hand moved downward, pinning her to the spot, maintaining her still. She let out a gasp, one laced with fear. Joel didn’t understand why.

He shook his head and pressed on.

Only when he lowered his gaze back down did he feel it. The smooth, leathery texture of her skin. It was slippery, soft. . . scaled. It took his eyes a moment to process. Subtle around her waist, the color became more pronounced as it extended downward. Scales. Beautiful scales that shined under the moonlight. It was the same color as her bra, gray that cheated its way to a light shade of blue. Joel swore he saw some gold scattered in there as well.

He stopped moving—hell, he stopped breathing.

“You noticed,” she said simply. Joel’s head snapped towards the voice, the tips of his ears red.

“What—” he shook his head. “Are you a fuckin’ mermaid?”

Silence.

“. . . maybe.”

“Don’t pull my leg, girl,” he warned. The words didn’t match his tone. Joel was simply in awe, his mind more of a mess. “I can see your damn scales as clear as day.”

“Then why are you asking?” she snapped. “Could you please just help me out? It hurts.”

“I was just curious,” Joel grunted, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t say anything else and continued in silence. When she was free, he threw the net toward the lighthouse. He would discard it later. “Now what?”

“Now,” she answered, the first smile gracing her lips. “I leave. Thank you.”

Joel couldn’t deny the selfish throb of his heart. He had so many questions he wanted to ask. He wanted her to stay—wanted her to want to stay. With him. Why was that he didn’t know. A cold gust of wind blew while he watched. The mermaid turned to swim away, and as she did Joel didn’t miss the small tell tales of pain.

He saw blood. It turned the sea into a nasty color. The words clawed up to his throat, he pushed them back as much as he could.

Stay.

He wanted to shout but couldn’t. It wasn’t his place.

Luckily, fate was on his side tonight.

She couldn’t move her tail, every movement like knives into her meaty flesh. The waves slowly brought her back to shore, like a gift.

Her, however, didn’t share his enthusiasm. Tears built in her eyes, again, Joel could swear he saw golden specks in them.

“I have a place,” he said. “A secret place you can stay until you heal. I have supplies.” when she didn’t seem convinced, he added. “Let me take care of you. Please.”

A male. A human male.

A man.

The notion still escaped you, his hands one of a gentle giant’s as he carried you down the treacherous steps. He didn’t attempt to steal your gaze no matter how long you stared at him. And no matter the pain, you couldn’t stop. There was a roughness to his features, his appearance rugged with lines deepened by time drawn over his face. You observed the grays in his hair, in his beard. Witnessed the divot in the middle of his bottom lip, so full for a man seemingly unbothered by what you were.

No matter how strong or wise, to see a creature that was believed to be none other than myth must’ve come as a shock.

But you remained silent.

So did he.

You settled on observing your surroundings. Nestled beneath the weathered stone foundation of the lighthouse, smooth walls resided, etched over centuries by the relentless caress of the sea, glistened as if adorned by a myriad of precious gems. The low ceiling, curved and worn, hinted at the gentle erosion that had sculpted this intimate haven.

The passage meandered downward, its narrowness opening into a grand expanse that drew a gasp from your numb lips. The chamber widened into an awe-inspiring grotto. Stalactites and stalagmites formed natural columns that reached toward each other as if yearning for an embrace. The rhythmic lullaby of waves filtered through unseen crevices.

At the heart of the chamber, a crystalline pool shimmered in shades of sapphire and emerald. Slender rays of moonlight, filtered through a labyrinth of underwater tunnels. An intricately woven nest of dried seaweed laid upon the surface, the smell of it reminiscent of home.

However, you weren’t one to lower your guard so easily. No matter how pretty the prison was.

Still in his arms, you shoot him a look of untrust. The fingers that gingerly held you tensed, blunt nails slightly digging into your wounded flesh. “Don’t give me that look,” he grumbled, averting his gaze. “It’s connected to the sea, you can leave whenever you want. . . or escape, if you would prefer to put it that way,” he walked to where the sea connected to the earth. “It’s completely closed off to the outside. If someone wants to find this place they’ll have to go into the lighthouse first and well,” he turned sheepish, red coloring his cheeks. “No one does.”

“That’s kinda sad,” you remarked. You didn’t ignore the twinge of sadness coiling your heart. “You don’t have a family?”

“No,” he answered. You didn’t expect to hear the rasp of his voice, the same tone when you dragged your finger through the rough gravel of the shores. He still refused to meet your gaze. “So. . . you’ll be safe. You don’t need to worry.”

Joel gently lowered you into the sea, his legs half-submerged in the water. As salt touched the wounds, an incoming hiss grated against your throat, and pain bloomed, spreading through your tail.

You discerned the sound of his pulse racing beneath the cloak of his human flesh and bone. When you turned to look, you found him both mesmerized and distressed.

“Can I bring you medicine?” he frowned when your gaze turned into one of amusement. “What? Don’t mermaids need medicine?”

“Not for something like this,” you grinned. You thread your fingers in the water, careful not to move your tail as much as you moved to lay face first on the shore. “The sea will heal me. It hurts, but the wounds aren’t big enough that it would require external help.”

Defeated, he shook his head, “If you say so, sweetheart.”

You watched as he balled his hands into fists and released them. He repeated the motion over and over until he prepared to leave. Your eyebrows raised. He wanted to take care of you, ached for the companionship the close proximity would force upon them. Surprisingly, you felt bad. You’ve seen this lighthouse a million times, never once you thought such a sad man would be on the other side of cold walls. You sucked a sharp breath and decided to throw him a bone.

“I will need food,” you called out, stopping him in his tracks. His shoulders raised, you swore if he were a dog his ears would be standing with attention. You swiped a tongue over your bottom lip, a bit of life in them now that you were in the water, he had a strong back, wide shoulders that any creature would admire.

“What d’you eat?”

You smiled, “Anything really. I’m not picky.”

He turned then, he seemed so large in front of the narrow path that would lead up to the lighthouse. “What about fish?”

“Unlike what your fairytales might entail, we do eat fish,” you answered with a burst of laughter.

You laughed again when the crease between his brows deepened. He wrinkled his nose, “Feels wrong.”

Despite his words, he looked lightened by your laughter, something like adoration swimming in his eyes.

You shrugged and shuffled further into the water. It signaled the end of the conversation, prompting Joel to disappear back into the depressing labyrinth of the lighthouse. With a sigh, you turned your back, staring at the ceiling. You wondered how long you’d have to stay here. You had wrinkled your nose at the medicine that was offered, yet you knew it wouldn’t be a speedy recovery.

You sighed again, disappearing into the water. You watched as the last of your oxygen formed bubbles that head to the surface, your gills starting to expand. The image of the stalactites became distorted, the moonlight that touched the soft waves bouncing around in the water.

You really shouldn’t be complaining. At least the human who found you seemed to be a good one unlike the many you’ve seen during the centuries you lived.

The ache in your tail growing tender, you closed your eyes.

Joel, despite his imposing ruggedness, was quite nurturing. As the day passed, you noticed that he began to regard you with a sense of purpose. He went back home during the days, only to come back with heaping amounts of food and water.

He never did bring you fish though, which made you giggle whenever you thought of it.

“You don’t drink water.” Joel had said it as a statement rather than a question. You nodded and pushed a plump grape between your lips. The salt from your skin coated the fruit, highlighting the flavor.

“I don’t.”

“Is there somethin’ else that you drink? I can try to find it for you,” he said thoughtfully. His eyes met yours, your grin making him short of breath. He looked away, something that he commonly did whenever he was frustrated. And you noticed how easy it was to rile him up whenever you stretched, the sheer scales that covered your breasts almost sheer. You thoroughly enjoyed his gaping mouth and lustful gaze. You wondered when was the last time this man was touched.

"Drinking water, as you know it on land, is quite different for me beneath the waves," you explained with a playful glint in your eyes. "You see, our world is a delicate balance of salt and currents, and our bodies have adapted to it."

You gestured gracefully to the shimmering water around you, your tail swaying gently with the motion of the still water. "When I need water, I don't sip from a cup or a stream. Instead, I have a connection with the sea itself. Just as your body knows how to breathe without thinking, my tail and skin allow water to flow through."

"Imagine this," you continued. "In the embrace of the ocean, my body senses the ebb and flow of the tides, the salt and minerals suspended in every drop. When I need hydration, my skin and scales absorb the sea's essence, drawing it into my very being."

You leaned closer, lips an inch away from his, your voice a mesmerizing cadence. Joel’s breath hitched, his chest expanding with each word whispered. He licked his lips, your eyes dropping to observe the movement. You imagined that same tongue sinking into your mouth, licking the salt. A shudder crawled up your spine, your breasts feeling tender and heavy. "So, you see, I drink in a way that's in tune with the rhythm of the sea, a silent conversation with the waves themselves. It's a connection, a dance of existence that ties me to the world I call home."

“Do you miss it?”

The question took you by surprise and you blinked rapidly, “What?”

“Your home?”

“I—” Such a perceptive man. It surprised you. “The sea is my home. I’m never apart from it,” you said, shaking your head. A soft smile touched your lips.

“What about where you were born?” he pressed. “Your family? Friends?”

“So many questions,” you hummed. And, with a burst of confidence, you touched his cheek. Him leaning into the touch was something you hadn’t expected. “I’m not to go back.”

“You were banished?”

“I left.” it looked like he was about to ask more. Before he could, you pressed your thumb against his lips, feeling his warmth, his whole body grew rigid but didn’t pull away. “Too many rules,” you explained. “Not a very fun place to live.”

With a graceful flick of your tail, you returned to the water, leaving a glistening trail of droplets in your wake. You vanished beneath the surface, you waited a moment and look up. There he was, leaning further into the water. Trying to capture a glimpse of the mythical creature he was nursing to health—

Propelling yourself with a force gentle enough that wouldn’t re-open the wounds, you broke through the surface and wrapped your arms around his neck. He let out a yelp as you pulled him under, bubbles caressing your bodies, rushing to escape the sea. Joel’s eyes went wide, panic lingering in the depths. You met his gaze and smiled, his heartbeat was muffled yet loud under the water. In order to calm him, you placed an open palm right above that frantically beating heart, closing your eyes, you willed your emotions over him. Calmness. Serenity.

You’re safe with me, Joel. The only one of your kind that can say that.

He heard you. You watched the panic melt away from his gaze, replacing it with shock. Normally, if he was a merman himself, he’d be able to answer. Something tugged at your heartstrings, your gaze falling to the depths of the water.

You felt his hands cup your waist, instinctively pulling you closer to him. He was firm, warm against your chest. To be touched. . . you missed it. Like he did when you cupped his cheek, you nuzzled closer to him. Your breasts flushed over the planes of his body, your nipples tight as they grazed against the fabric of his shirt.

Warmth.

You chased it. Ached for it. He seemed to be the same. His fingers denting your flesh, his arousal hard over your stomach. You would’ve allowed him anything in that moment. For him to kiss you, hold you, fuck you— you’d grant him anything, like a genie in a bottle.

But, nonetheless, he was human. And humans needed air no matter how strongly they fought against it.

His eyes became apologetic, brows furrowing. He gestured up and you shook your head, prompting confusion to cross his face.

Mermaids were known to take human lovers. They would usually transform once a month to head for the shores. No one wanted to share more of themselves than they had to. Their world was a secret to be kept, an unspoken rule they all knew since birth. Looking at him, you knew he was at his last drops of oxygen. His cheeks were puffed up, eyes questioning your motives.

Evolution had granted your kind one more gift—the gift of life.

Your hands slid up his chest, your fingers bunched the collar of his shirt, you tugged the fabric. The sound of the currents flooded your ears. You felt your gills expand. Joel was unaware, he brushed your lips together, eyes coming to a close.

A kiss. A simple kiss.

His lips parted alongside yours, his tongue curious. You met him halfway and slanted your mouth over his, closing the gap entirely.

You breathed air into him. Filling his lungs with oxygen. Your gills quivered at how much was needed for him to make this moment last. His chest dilated and Joel finally opened his eyes. With a smile, you pulled back, dragging your lips down to his neck instead. Slightly embarrassed of what he might think of it.

His fingers curled under your chin, pulling you back up so you’d face him. You laughed when Joel attempted to ask his questions with nothing other than his eyes.

You didn’t answer this time, only shrugged. His lips broke into an exasperated smile and despite the lack of it, you felt the air around you crackling, arousal pouring between your legs and mixing with the sea.

Joel pulled you towards his lips once more. Eager for another taste.

She was sleeping.

Joel’s steps were feather-light as he approached her, his guitar in hand. He’d foolishly mentioned how he was trying to remember and her eyes had gone wide with excitement, asking him to bring it over. But since she was sleeping, he decided not to bother her with it and gently placed the instrument aside.

He asked about it once, how her kind slept, apparently, they would drift to sleep underwater most of the time. That’s where they felt safest. He didn’t pry on the matter but could hear a hint of hurt lingering under her words.

So, when he first saw her sleeping, his heart had warmed at the sight.

Right now was no different. His gut felt oddly warm, his heart swelling in his chest, everything feeling a bit too tight.

They hadn’t talked about the kiss—or the touches for that matter.

Again, he hadn’t pressed for answers. He wasn’t sure what good they would do anyway. They were a part of different worlds, different species, how would it work?

Joel tilted his head to the side.

Seriously how would it work? She didn’t have. . . well. . . a vagina. At least not one he could see.

Did she lay eggs?

Joel blanked at the thought. They drank like fish so who was to say that they didn’t procreate like them too?

He violently shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about that, it was none of his goddamn business. With his mind feeling clearer, his eyes roamed over her sleeping figure. She was a silent sleeper. Her hands were tucked under her head, most of her tail submerged beneath the water, flowing freely with the soft ripples of water. All he wanted to do was to kneel beside her and stroke her hair, her body that seemed soft and supple.

Joel managed to do half of what he wanted. He took a seat near her, the gravel crunching under his weight, her breathing more audible now that he was close.

It’d been almost a month since he found her entangled within the nasty fisher’s net. He didn’t know how long it took mermaids to heal but he had a sneaking suspicion that she had. His mouth dried, a sudden uncomfort riling his stomach. He was afraid she was staying here for his sake. To spare his feelings. That notion just didn’t sit right with him. It was unfair to her, and, in some ways, it was unfair to him. He didn’t believe a creature like her would want to stay with an old man like him. He had nothing to offer. No land, no money, no nothing.

Only the lighthouse.

The kiss had been one of convenience, he told himself almost every night, stroking himself while replaying the moment over and over. He hadn’t visited the brothel since. None of them could compare to how she made him feel, and he doubt he’d go even after she left.

“You’re thinking loud,” a murmur came from next to him. She stirred and flipped to her back, eyes finding his a second later. Joel could see her dreams still glimmering in her eyes, adding a shine. Her brows furrowed when his gaze lingered longer than it should have. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he answered. “I brought the guitar.”

“Really?” she was suddenly wide away, her upper hand lifting and tail splashing as she came to a sitting position. “Will you play for me?”

Despite himself, he grinned, “That’s why I brought it, sweetheart.”

He reached out and picked it up. When he returned, he caught her eyes on the exposed skin of his stomach, her lips parted. Briefly, her gaze found his.

“I—um—” she looked away, bottom lip sucked between her teeth. “I know some songs so maybe I can join your playing.”

Something flickered inside of him—a familiarity he couldn’t quite place.

“That sounds lovely,” he balanced the guitar over his lap and strummed a couple of strings, their sound filling the cave. His gaze expectant as he looked back at her. “Go on now, don’t be shy.”

She puffed her cheeks, huffing with annoyance, “That’s not fair, I said I would join you, not the other way around.”

“You’re breakin’ my heart,” with a fixed gaze, his eyes grew soft and he smiled. “Please?”

With a sigh she shifted closer, her tail swaying with an elegant fluidity. Her voice, when it finally graced the air, was hauntingly beautiful—a melody that seemed to bridge the gap between the human world and the mysteries of the sea. The lyrics spoke of lost homes and forgotten dreams, of endless depths and aching hearts. It was a song of longing and solitude, a mournful tale that seemed to capture the very essence of her existence.

As she sang, Joel's fingers moved deftly across the strings of his guitar, weaving his own notes into the fabric of her song. The cave's quiet embrace amplified the sound of his guitar, each note resonating against the walls. The music swirled around them, an unspoken conversation between two souls who had found an unexpected connection.

He watched her, the soft glow of the cave reflecting in her eyes as she sang. Her voice carried a weight that tugged at his heart, stirring emotions he had long kept buried.

Without thinking, Joel's voice joined hers, his rough yet tender tones intertwining with her song. As their voices merged, the cave seemed to come alive, the walls reverberating with the bittersweet harmony of their duet.

In the midst of the music, a memory began to surface—the melody she sang felt achingly familiar. He strummed the guitar with increasing fervor, his fingers dancing across the strings as he tried to match the rhythm of her song.

And then it hit him—the realization that sent a shiver down his spine.

It was her.

The sound that accompanied him every night.

The sound that kept him sane.

The sound that made him feel less alone. Less broken.

The sound of an old friend.

It was her. It had always been her.

Joel suddenly stopped, his eyes wide and lips agape as he just. . .stared at her. She was lost in her song, only noticing the loss of the soulful sound of the guitar moments later. Joel watched her blink with confusion, on edge, thanks to his gaze. “It’s you,” he rasped, voice hoarse. “You’re the song.”

“I’m. . .what?”

Wanting her to understand as soon as possible, Joel began humming the melody every part of him had grown accustomed to. He went on until her features shifted from confusion to recognition, a hand coming to cover her mouth.

“You heard me?” she whispered.

“I did,” he swallowed. “Every night.”

Joel didn’t waste any more time. He held her gently by the neck, feeling her pulse as he crashed their lips together. He licked himself deep into her mouth and tasted the sea on her tongue. Her hands limply pawed his chest, bunching his shirt between delicate fingers.

Her moans were even more beautiful than her song.

He couldn’t get enough of it. His mouth devoured her, eating her alive with every fat swipe of his tongue. Her moans were swallowed by him. She was pliant, body trembling against his, desperate in the way she allowed herself to be consumed. Her breath stuttered as he cupped her breasts, the scale that covered them slowly sinking into her skin, leaving her bare to his tongue.

Joel wanted no time in lowering himself, sucking the pebbled flesh between his lips. He swirled his tongue and nipped her with sharp teeth. She thread her fingers through his hair, pulled him closer. Joel looked at her between heavy lashes. Her breathing was frantic, her heart like a hummingbird’s in her chest. He pushed her tits together, dragged his tongue quickly from one swollen nipple to the other, she threw her head back with a wanton moan, the sound bouncing off of the walls.

He felt the sting of her nails on his shoulders. Her trails thrashed against the calm waters and his one hand slid down to where the scales began. Joel never felt them properly before. He cupped the area where her ass would be if she were human, the pads of his finger digging into her flesh. She seemed to enjoy that. Her body shuddered, her scales growing wetter by the second.

Joel parted from her chest with a pop, his lips were damp and a string of saliva followed him. “How does this work?” he asked, voice nothing but gravel.

Still in a haze, she blinked. Confused. A smug smile tugged at his lips, pride, and cock swelling simultaneously. Finally, when she understood, she took his hand and led it down to her front. Joel didn’t look. He wanted to memorize her face instead, engraving every part of her into memory. As he was preoccupied, he felt it, an opening similar to a human woman’s. She still held her wrist while he explored. He traced the lips, the wetness between them.

Her eyes rolled back when he brushed against the crown of her cunt, a throbbing pearl hidden. “Joel,” she breathed. “Again, please.”

He nuzzled her neck and laid a kiss. “You’re not that different from your human counterpart it seems,” he murmured, goosebumps rising where his lips touched. “I want to eat this pretty cunt out, sweetheart. Let me taste you.”

She nodded hazily, eyes clouded by lust. Joel splayed her over the shore, the bottom half of her tail still lazily moving under the water. He didn’t care about getting wet. Moving down, he straddled her and looked down.

The breath got knocked out of him.

Her hands were on each side of her head above the gravel, her chest raising up and down heavily as she looked up at him, gaze half-lidded. Joel’s gaze traveled lower. Just like he imagined, there was an opening a bit lower from where her tail started. The gaps between the scales had become almost non-existing, accommodating the perfect cunt that’d blossomed for him. It was wet. Glistening. He went down on his elbows, his mouth watering at the sight of it trembling.

“So pretty,” he rasped. “Gonna fuckin’ devour you, honey.”

He pressed his lips hungrily, tongue delving between her folds and tasting her from within. He didn’t separate as he moved his jaw. Her cunt fluttered and squeezed his tongue, begging him for more. Joel obliged, dragging his mouth up and down and purposefully bumping her clit with the curve of his nose.

She was so darn wet. Soaked. He heard whimpers of his name but he was too far gone to grace the pleas with a response. Joel closed his lips around her clit and sucked, applying pressure with a pointed tongue. His fingers joined in on the fun, he pushed them in knuckle deep, scissoring them as he drew circles over the throbbing bundle of nerves.

“That’s it,” he hummed, his breath warm against her core. “Fall apart for me, sweet temptress.”

It was too much, too fast.

His tongue was merciless, his words like a honeyed poison. Your mind was nothing but a haze. The world around you is left spinning. You didn’t remember the last time someone had you like this, so hungry and desperate. All you could do was beg for more. His fingers were thick and long inside of you, pressing harder and harder until he reached the spot that made you see stars.

It didn’t take you long after that. His tongue flat over your clit, you felt your muscles begin to tighten, your scales practically vibrating in answer to the strokes of his mouth.

His hand moved to the side of your face as he increased the pressure with his tongue, making you moan and thrust your hips against him. Your body was his to control and it responded eagerly to each touch, kiss, and lick. As his lips pressed harder and deeper, his mouth moving sloppily, your breathing began to quicken, your heart pounding in your ears amidst the sound of the waves lapping against your tail.

He moaned into your pussy, your ears narrowed on the sound, forgetting all else. Feeling your slick becoming heavy on his tongue, he repeated the sound and your chest heaved, beasts tingling. You could feel your entire body tensing up, your fingers gripping his wet hair for leverage as you shuddered and exploded in his arms. Your muscles tightened and quaked against him as his jaw and tongue continued their wicked work until finally, mercifully, you were released and slipped off the edge into the depths of rapturous bliss. A squirt of wetness soaked them both, filling his mouth and making a mess of his plump lips.

Your world stilled and your eyes rolled back in your head as you lay there in his arms, savoring every second of nirvana that his tongue had so generously gifted to you. He didn’t stop until you were tugging at his hair. Joel did so with a soft growl, his gaze dark as he faced you, a wicked hunger still clouding his eyes. His hair still tight between your fingers, he parted his lips, and a string of saliva fell in a vicious drip from his tongue. You shuddered. Never breaking his gaze, he delved his fingers between the delicate folds and spread the mess he made. Debouched, was the only this you were able to think about.

This man was every bit of hungry as you were.

“Joel,” you whined upon feeling your arousal rapidly building between your legs once more. “I want to feel you.” you swallowed. “Want your cock.”

“Say that again, sweetheart,” he groaned. “Convince me how bad you want it.”

You weren't sure what to do, but you humored him anyway. Crunching up, you met him halfway in a wet kiss. “I want you to split me into two, Joel,” you whispered into his lips. “Want to feel the stretch of your cock. Want to feel that it’s real. I want you to fuck me so good that you’ll be spilling out of me as you take me again,” you dragged your lips down his throat. He was shaking. “Again,” a kiss. “And again. . .”

“Fuck,” he moaned. “So filthy for such a pretty thing.”

“Joel,” you whispered, ignoring him. You cupped his cock through his jeans and began to stroke him. His forehead fell to your shoulder, hips canting shallowly into your wanting palm. “Prove to me that humans can fuck just as well.”

You’re not sure what it was—Jealousy? Pride? Whatever you said that got under his skin, you were glad.

Joel pinned you to the gravel, his rough hands sliding from your shoulders to your waist. He stroked where the scales began, sending tremors and tingles up your body. He freed himself of his belt with one skilled hand and pulled out his cock. The tip glistened, precome still oozing from the tip. Your mouth watered. For a human, he was rather blessed. He eagerly stroked himself over you, his cock jutting from his fist. You warmed at the sight, slick wetting the inside of your thighs and adding to the mess. You couldn’t help it. There was just something so incredibly erotic about a man fucking his fist. It felt so primal. So instinctive about it.

He pushed into you with a clipped groan, the movement almost punishing. Your insides clenched and all the air in your lungs seemed to desert you by the force of the thrust. Looking down at you, Joel smiled. The curl of his lips menacing and taunting. He pulled back agonizingly slow before he was rutting back into your spasming hole. You let out a sound between a hiss and a moan. His glee only seemed to heighten when you held on to his biceps, grounding yourself against the rock of his hips.

“What’d you say, sweetheart?” he said, tone laced with venom. You were in a thick haze of lust, your mind finding trouble understanding his words. When you couldn’t answer, he slammed harder into the tight fist of your cunt. Your body drooled all over him and you felt like you couldn’t breathe. “Can humans fuck?” he said cruelly.

Your mind was scattered. Especially when he sucked a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh. His fingers began to move down your tail where the scales were most sensitive. Joel didn’t know this. As he skimmed a line back up with blunt nails, he was taken aback to feel you gripping him tight, slickness flowing from you like a broken fountain.

Your lungs burned. Your body nothing for of aflame. A strangled moan left him, the tightness of your cunt forcing him to slow. “Holy shit,” he moaned, jaw slack. “What the fuck—” His eyes went to meet yours only to find you hidden under your hands. An adorning smile grazed his face. “Hey, look at me,” he said and rolled his hips as an incentive. A short breath parted your lips. You lowered your hands, eyes tearing as you met his gaze. “Why so embarrassed darlin’? That was fuckin’ hot.”

You didn’t answer. Not enjoying your silence, Joel again grazed your scales with his nails. He nearly came when you squeezed around him again, forcing the hitch of his breath. “You like when I do that?” he murmured.

“Y-Yeah,” you answered. “They become sensitive during intercourse.”

“Interestin’,” he hummed, looking down to where his cock was still buried deep. Keeping your hips pinned, he pulled out and grinded his cock over your tail instead. Your eyes grew wide from where it was glued. He made a delicious mess of the scales, slick and precome staining the vibrant blue and gray. Pleasure rippled across your tail and your brows furrowed, your expression melting in bliss.

“I could stare at your face forever,” he muttered. “I don’t think I ever seen such a fucked out expression.”

Heat gathered under your cheeks but honestly, you couldn’t really focus on it. Joel slipped back inside of you, despite how wet you were, you could still feel him stretching you wide. And with every wild thrust, he managed to get deeper and deeper. His cock pulsed, fingers now a constant pressure on your sensitive tail, “Gonna come,” he moaned, eyelids fluttering. You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close until you felt the entirety of the man’s weight.

You wanted to feel him dripping out of you and you made your message clear by holding him in place. He was vocal where his face was buried in your neck. Tongue and teeth abusing the skin. His movements were rapid, the sound of skin against skin echoed, cock pressing hard into your heat. He fucked you until he stole his third orgasm from you, it felt like a jolt of electricity, your slick coating his length and dripping down. It was so overwhelming that you bit where his neck met his shoulder. You ignored the fact that this marked him as yours, and that the mark of a mermaid would last for weeks.

Joel didn’t mind the pain. In fact, it spurred him on. He whined into your skin, hammering until he spilled into you, filling you until it was spilling from where he was stretching you. The way you fluttered and clenched was too much for him, he fucked his come back into you, hearing it make those sloppy wet gushing noises against his hips. He drove his hips forward until there was nothing left of him. His moans bounced off of clenched teeth.

And when your arms fell back to the gravel, limp with pleasure, he stopped.

You sighed happily at the touch of his lips over your heated skin. He kissed a trail down to your breasts, kissing each one, his softening cock slipped out of you and he went lower. Kisses and licks on your stomach and lastly one placed on your trembling mound.

Your hands hastily pulled him back up for a long, lazy kiss. It was full of emotion, each swipe of your tongue conveying something else. Gratitude, pleasure, love.

“You’re healed aren’t you?” he murmured against your lips.

“Yes.”

A beat of silence.

“Now what?”

“Now,” you sigh. “I leave.” A humorless, bitter chuckle left your lips. “But I really don’t want to.”

He answered almost immediately, “Then don’t.”

Joel pulled back to look at you, his gaze warm like the sun dancing above waves. You let out a sigh. Just like the sun, the look was also blinding. “I can’t live in this cave forever.”

His brows drew together with confusion and you worried that perhaps you accidentally said something else. He shook his head, “Who said anythin’ about livin’ in this cave?” Joel’s lips curled in amusement in answer to your shocked expression. “You were already livin’ close to the lighthouse, weren’t you? You can come and visit. And I can visit the shores more often, As long as you’re not on the other side of the sea, we can be together.”

He looked at you expectantly, and when your silence grew, so did his doubts. “Right?” he asked.

“Right,” you repeated. You giggled at his relieved expression and gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I don’t know why I just assumed I’d have to live here. Like some sort of weird prison.”

“Hmmm,” Joel smiled dragging his nose down from your temple to your cheek. He pulled you close and you laid your head over the expanse of his chest. “I guess I just fucked you that good.”

“Don’t get so full of yourself. I was just taken by surprise.”

“Sure, honey,” he answered, smile widening into a grin. “Whatever you say so.”

(i made this moodboard before fanna's stunning bday gift to me which is the gif above but I adore this mood board so I decided to put it here thank you for reading xx)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x mermaid!reader #mermaid!reader #mermaid au #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #joel miller x fem!reader

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dykealloy · 5 months

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Trafalgar Law and Faith

Pre-emptive warning this is going to be another LONG metapost/analysis. There’s a lot I could talk about here but for the sake of structure I’m going to split this into three sections, i.e. the main ‘faith transitions’ that Law has gone through in the narrative thus far: 1. Flevance (catalyst for loss of religious faith), 2. Corasan (martyr that figuratively and literally saves law by giving him something to live for, introducing the will of D.), and 3. Luffy (cementing faith in this new belief system and regaining trust in the goodness of humanity through the living embodiment of everything Corasan believed in).

Before we get into all that though, let’s establish that Christianity is a thing in one piece. Speedrunning through some visual examples that come to mind; the Flevance church and nun (holding a celtic cross - censored in the anime version), a nun literally praying to God right before Marineford, Vinsmoke Sora’s grave marked with a cross (is op Christianity a northern thing?), Usopp and Chopper having crucifixes and holy water whenever ghostly stuff is brought up, Kuma and his trusty bible, the religious symbols on Kikoku’s hilt (could instead be more a reference to the Red Cross/symbol of humanitarian and medical aid as a doctor) and especially in whatever Mihawk’s got going on (though this could just be a Japanese cultural thing with Christianity being a minority religion or Oda just finding that some of the iconography, y’know. looks cool). There are also many other references to other religions e.g. hinduism, shintoism, buddhism, etc. Whether op forms of religion are the same as the real-world ones is debatable, and yes, Law being canonically raised as a devout catholic schoolboy with all the religious trauma associated with that is comical, but let’s take it all unironically for a hot minute. For fun.

1. Flevance

Law’s birthplace (Flevance) is described as being, at one point, “a very wealthy country with an unearthly beauty about it, with pure white soil and plants, like some kind of snow kingdom in a fairy tale.” The country’s wealth came from the very bedrock it sits on — white lead, which could be used to make various high quality products like tableware, cosmetics, weapons etc. When the wider world heard about this everyone wanted a piece of Flevance (the World Government also getting involved with distribution), and very quickly white lead became a “bottomless well of money”. So, hooray. Law gets to grow up in a rich city in a big house with educated doctor parents and probably gets to go to private school on weekdays and festivals with his family on weekends. One problem. In their greed, the Government and royalty have been knowingly hiding the truth about this supposed goldmine from the beginning. White lead is a toxic poison. Mining it from the ground over the last century and putting it in so many everyday products has resulted in it accumulating in the citizens’ bodies and leading to amber lead sickness, shortening their life-span with each successive generation – with the children of Law’s generation fated to die out before they reach adulthood.

In the bible (especially in the old testament), God often inflicted these insanely disastrous events upon humanity, usually as some kind of punishment for their wrongdoings or as a test of their faith. Some events of which include (but are not limited to): famine, outbreaks of disease and natural disasters (e.g. hail, wildfire, earthquakes, floods). Historically, these stories played a key role in how humanity interpreted meaning from horrible disasters (e.g. assuming bubonic plague was sent as a punishment by god). Fire imagery is very common among these disasters as a representation for hell, which is clearly reflected in the destruction of Flevance.

Sometimes these disasters had sole survivors act as messengers for God. With that context, let’s put ourselves back in the shoes of a ten-year old Law. Raised religious, freshly traumatised from losing his home, his devout family, all the comforts of his life, and having the outside world completely abandon him, this kind of event is likely going to be processed as some form of divine punishment. Law stumbles through hell, finds all his dead classmates, and the last words of sister nun echo through to him here. Merciful and salvation are huge catholic buzzwords – promises of holy compassion, deliverance and hope – and all of it fire and smoke and riddled with bullet holes before him. A genocide funded, perpetuated and covered up by the same body Law was promised was there to save them. And the only reason Law hadn’t died with them was because he wanted to stay with his little sister Lami, who was on her deathbed, and his parents, who were themselves trying to help the afflicted citizens, Law’s own father (before he was shot and killed alongside his mother) begging for more doctors, fresh blood, anything the world can offer, and asking “Why doesn’t the government announce to everyone that white lead is not infectious?”

Oftentimes (and in the case of Law), when there’s a promise of heavenly intervention or some miracle that doesn’t follow through, it results in an ultimate feeling of betrayal and anger. Unfortunately a lot of Catholic teachings also use a lot of guilt, essentially teaching people that the bad things that happen to you are your fault and there needs to be some sort of penance (queue Law’s survivor’s guilt that carries on down the road). But also, if this was supposed to be some divine punishment, for what exactly? For the town being blinded by the incredible wealth they were sitting on? Being lied to? Continuing to extract their livelihood, ignorant of its dangers? Punishment for who? His parents? His innocent little sister? For ten year-old Law? These people who believed in God, who were good people? That’s fucking stupid. None of these people suffered and died for any reason at all — certainly not for a sacred one. God hadn’t saved a single one of them. Law had to crawl out of hell himself by sneaking over the border under a mound of corpses.

Given everything that happened here, Law has every reason to fall into nihilism, and you can see how his upbringing would’ve bred a lot of the feelings of guilt, anger and resentment that you still see in Law (which would suggest that though this is where he likely cuts ties with the religious/Catholic component of his faith, growing up with these teachings in his formative years would definitely influence underlying beliefs about how the world works, and how Law behaves and subconsciously processes information), but at the same time, there’s usually some form of redemption and changes to how these patterns of behaviour can be approached later down the line.

2. Corasan

Fresh off witnessing his whole world burning down around him, Law meets Corazon at the very bottom of this pit of self-destructive rage and unprocessed grief. Rosinante himself mentions to Sengoku that the hatred in Law at this time reminded him of his brother, but beyond the anger, harsh pessimism, vengefulness, I think you have to reach to find similarities between them. You can see some fragments of Doffy in Law down the line at times, with Law seeming to enjoy violence (especially against the navy, but given what they did to Flevance, it’s some well-deserved retribution for Law imo), but I’m not so sure it’s the cruelty so much as it is the high he gets off his own flavour of justice. Doctor’s Hippocratic oath maybe, but never once does Law like seeing others die (even at this point, he’s in tears next to a dead body, even though he’s the one holding the knife), and later on in Wano he makes it explicitly clear to Zoro that he’d rather see the mission fail than have any of them end up dead.

Little Law wanted to destroy the world and everything in it, but thinking rationally, what other choice did this kid have? He had no remaining family, was doomed to die before he hit puberty due to a terminal illness, was perceived as an infectious subhuman that most doctors would’ve sooner tried to exterminate than help. To Law, the world had turned its back on him – considering him a monster for simply surviving. He has all this hatred and pain boiling away with him with no tangible target to direct it towards. And this is the first clear cut rejection of faith that we see in Law. Any concept of a merciful God had just died. What God would allow this? Why is Law alive (a question that he repeats to himself throughout his life), why are these scumbags alive, why is the world going on spinning as if nothing has happened when his whole world had gone up in flames, why does anyone at all get to be here when everything I loved is gone? And it’s far easier to fall into a despondent nihilistic stupor than it is to work through any of that, and what’s the point in trying to process and move on from it, when there’s no hope for a future for Law anyway? When the only thing waiting ahead is more pain? What was this, if not a punishment? He’s supposed to be some messenger for God? How about fuck God, or whatever entity that exists that made him suffer this. Law’s not going to be a messenger for shit, thanks, he’d rather be their monster, he’d rather watch the world burn.

Corazon survives Law’s stabbing and doesn’t rat the little shit out (to Law’s confusion). It’s business as usual for another two years, then, one day Rosinante overhears his true name - Trafalgar “D” Water Law, and everything changes. On the back of his own beliefs, Rosinante dedicates himself to making sure Law a) lives and b) doesn’t become his brother. Law’s relatively short six month stint with Corasan forms the basis of Law’s new creed going forward, and all it took was a bit of kindness, love and humanity when the rest of the world had abandoned him. In the end Rosinante doesn’t save Law for the will of D. and the storm he’s predicted to bring in the future (as Law suspects), but he certainly believes in it, and the strength of Corasan’s conviction transfers right over to Law when he forces the ope ope fruit down the kid’s throat to heal him, tells Law he loves him, then sacrifices himself to set Law free.

Law clings to that love he was given, he takes all these fundamental teachings and ways of thinking in regards to faith that were drilled into him during his youth, rejects the religion element and applies just about everything else to Corasan. He holds onto the last shreds of what Corasan leaves him with. Corasan becomes his “benefactor” (he gave my my heart), his saviour, his martyr.

And the crazy thing is, Rosinante was never really this saint Law makes him out to be. Law hated the clutz when they first met (mostly on account of Corazon throwing him through a glass window down at least two stories and into a pile of scrap). Corazon initially showed nothing but contempt for his presence (to ward him and the other children away from the Donquixote family, but these are still extreme measures). And it wasn’t until after learning Law’s name that Rosinante dragged him kicking, crying and screaming from hospital to burning hospital (not very saintlike in of itself), even after Law begged him to stop. Rosinante became Law’s saviour partly because of his belief in the will of D., and probably due to some guilt being a Donquixote, but mostly because he has always had a bleeding heart and he pitied (and had very quickly come to love) this angry, sick, deeply lost little kid. All this to say that Law’s faith in Corasan – this saintlike figure Law upholds him as in the future and the lengths he’s willing to go to avenge him/fulfil Rosinante’s purpose reflects the strength of the absolute beliefs Law would’ve been raised with in regards to God.

Whether it be out of survivor’s guilt (just one more body to heap on top of the Flevance pile), his love for Corasan, or for the sake of taking vengeance on the man that took away the one good thing he’d been able to regain in his miserable life, Law adopts Corasan’s will, the will of D. (which in of itself seems divine in nature), incorporates it into his new belief system, actively takes on the role of the divine punisher/justiciar and dedicates his life to bringing down Doflamingo.

3. Luffy

Catholicism dictates that the entirety of someone’s beliefs should be dedicated to one true cause (that cause being God) and expects people to ride on that, letting it carry them through life, give them hope, purpose, etc. But a lot of former Catholics choose instead to find that through something else. Corasan ignited the spark in Law’s faith around the will of D., but it’s not until he meets Luffy that this really becomes something that feels tangible and real for Law.

When Law saved Luffy in Marineford (putting the heart crew in danger for a stranger he met once), he said he did so “on a whim”, but that seems incredibly ooc for Law — this man that pretty much planned out how the rest of his life would go after the dust of Corasan’s death settled and he came to terms with the fact he wasn’t going to die at age thirteen like he’d originally thought. Circling back to the concept of Law being a sole survivor/messenger for God, it is interesting that Law is the one to seek out Luffy (given that Luffy is usually always the one either being abandoned by people or recruiting his crewmates), and Law is ultimately the catalyst for pulling him towards Dressrosa and Wano. There must be a REASON that led to Law deciding Luffy to be the most viable option out of the Worst Generation for an alliance (beyond blind trust in an unhinged captain that just so happens to also bear the initial D, and Luffy being one of the few captains crazy enough to go along with what Law was cooking up).

Law undoubtedly would’ve kept a peripheral eye on Luffy for some time before officially meeting him due to him being a rising competitor pirate and another “D” (I imagine the news of his utterly insane exploits would’ve made good reading material, too). The first time Law lays eyes on Luffy in Sabaody though, he still blows all expectations out of the water — crashing headfirst into the crowd of a slave auction and immediately committing a felony against a member of the most powerful upper one percent.

The world nobles are at an “untouchable God” tier in terms of class standing and believe it’s only natural for them to be entitled to whatever and whoever they want in this world that’s beneath them – the same kind of self-aggrandizing false divinity that Law has a a lot of repressed rage towards and that the will of D. is fated to oppose, so this, understandably, is a highly compelling first encounter, but it’s really only an initiating factor for what ultimately draws Law to Luffy. From their very first meeting (and probably before then, in the news stories and rumours Law likely picked up on), it’s made abundantly clear that Luffy does what he wants without a second’s hesitation, no matter the consequences, simply because he feels it is the right thing to do. Some call this an iron will, Law would be more inclined to call it willful stupidity and trouble, but time after time Luffy somehow manages to pull off what Law would best describe as “miracles”. And Law believes the straw hats just might be the ones to drum up another one for him.

Luffy’s also got a lot of passing resemblances to Corasan going for him, e.g. inherently kind, compassionate liberators with big dumb hearts and wide goofy smiles in spite of everything they’ve been through, treating Law as nakama and saving his life despite his protests etc. All of which I’m sure Law hasn’t been completely unaffected by despite the high walls he puts up. And the more Law learned about Luffy the more it probably became clear that he is the antithesis to Doflamingo, i.e. what makes Luffy so goddamn dangerous and terrifying beyond his physical power is his ability to make friends with a simple kind of unconditional love that gets reciprocated enough so that these friends are willing to die for him.

Luffy agrees to the alliance, they successfully blow up Caesar’s base, and head off to Dressrosa. Now’s the time I should bring up that it’s taught in Catholicism that self sacrifice is the ultimate heavenly deed, and here Law is undoubtedly prepared to be a martyr for his cause. Law sends away his crew to Zou before Punk Hazard with the expectations that he’d never see them. He cultivates a fierce emotional detachment against Luffy’s willingness to bring him into the fold of the straw hats, and is resolute in that when the time comes, he will handle this himself, he will carry out Corasan’s will, and if he has to die for it, he will die with Corazon’s name plastered on his back. (Note here that Christianity is contradictory in that Law being this ready to die here is a sin, because revenge and suicide are highly discouraged, so you could say that by avenging and dying for his saviour, Law would be committing both the ultimate sacrifice and the ultimate sin).

Things get very dicey for Law in Dressrosa, to put it lightly. Doflamingo reveals that he was a celestial dragon (linking back into the will of D. “enemy of the Gods” notion), puts Law on the backfoot and gives him a thorough beating before shooting Law with a couple dozen white lead bullets in front of Luffy (because even when he’s winning Doffy loves to be a cunt about it). By the time Doflamingo is cuffing Law to the heart seat, it’s all looking pretty grim, and it’s very apparent when Luffy shows up to save him, that he is ready to die.

Law here has given up. He spent years planning his revenge for Corasan, but he lost, and he has very little left in the tank (physically, emotionally, spiritually). But Luffy doesn’t listen. Luffy who doesn’t think, doesn’t care, who trampled all over Law’s carefully laid out plan from the get-go and who is willing to take on Doflamingo single handedly for the simple slight that he dared to harm Luffy’s friend Law. Law will never find peace in his own demise because Luffy doesn’t do peaceful. He does loud and unashamed and open with no rhyme or reason other than the excruciatingly simply fact that he loves people and he thinks the people he loves deserve to have good lives. Luffy chucks Law over his shoulder and drags an injured Law across the city despite his protests (sound familiar?) and in the process inspires the fighting spirit in Law again.

When Law confronts Doflamingo again with Luffy in tow, Law’s faith in Luffy confounds him. The last Doflamingo remembers of Law is this beautifully moldable dark pit of grief and rage who’d given up on believing, period – who wanted the world destroyed. Not so long ago, Law had been a candidate for Doflamingo’s next protégé. Now?

THIS is the action (grinning, staring down the barrel of a gun, flipping Doffy off as he tells him in not so many words that he may kill Law but he will never beat Luffy), Law’s unshakeable faith in the face of his own death is what has Doflamingo realising he will never regain control of Law again – is what incites Doflamingo to go from breaking Law down so he can build him back up again, to conceding defeat and outright killing him.

The trust that Luffy inspires in Law and the way he talks about Luffy (Luffy being this powerful, miracle-inducing liberator that Law can’t comprehend but follows anyway, Law laying down his hopes on him, weaponizing the will of D. to try and provoke fear from Doffy), is very reminiscent of the awe and faith talked about in scripture. Law discovers the feelings of comfort and hope that Catholicism was supposed to give him in Luffy, but Law’s belief in Luffy is a direct rejection of those teachings. Rejection by believing in a real life person as opposed to the divinity he was taught about. He’s also cementing his belief in the will of D., thus rejecting Doflamingo and all the people that embody the sort of “all powerful” divinity that he abhors (i.e. celestial dragons, Kaido, the Gorōsei/five elders) for the embodiment of hope and humanity.

When Law survives (again), he expresses he’d rather see Luffy beat Doflamingo with his own eyes or die with Luffy if he loses than leave. Then he watches, after all this talk of miracles, looking up in reverence as Luffy delivers, bright as the sun, haloed by the bars of a cage that’s haunted him for over a decade, Corasan’s words echoing at the back of his mind. God had never saved or freed Law, but Corasan was there for him, the heart crew was there, Luffy was there. And this is Law’s biggest, clearest rejection of religion – this newfound faith in humanity.

This faith in Luffy is put to the test again in Wano when Luffy is struck down by Kaido, but Law never truly stops believing that he’ll make a comeback. Even when the straw hats doubt whether he’s alive or not, something tells him Luffy’s not dead, and he holds onto that hope.

We also have the whole nika/joyboy backstory which really only reinforces all of this imagery/god-fearing looks of awe from Law and this idea of Luffy who is this perfect juxtaposition of empathetic and kind to incredibly fearsome fire and brimstone fighter. And regardless of whether you’re into the ship or not this is the impetus of Law’s relationship with Luffy for me, because here’s Luffy who has every right to have a chip on his shoulder and be downtrodden about all the injustices against him, here’s this little guy who against all odds, in the darkest of places, embodies light and hope and kindness and proves to Law that there will be hard times but there IS a happy ending at the end of the tunnel, despite it all. And everytime Luffy rises to the insurmountable challenge and wins, it just further cements that the will of D. is alive, that Corasan was right, that there's something redeemable in Law, a reason why he was worth saving, even if Law doesn’t understand it quite yet.

#merry christmas law religious trauma be upon ye #what’s an endearing idiot to a non-believer #long post #favourite character thesis statement. or something #ive been wanting to talk about this for a while but just been gathering my thoughts #will preface all this by saying I was not born or raised religious but the concept’s all very compelling from an outsider’s perspective #but I have had conversations about this to people like lesbianluffy who *were* raised catholic and relate to this experience #who I have to thank a lot for helping me wrap my head around this #this is a compilation of thoughts and conversations over the last two or so months #one piece #op #CJ's op watch-through #trafalgar law #monkey d. luffy #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #monkey d luffy #lawlu #trafalgar d water law #gear 5 luffy #sun god nika #wano spoilers #lulaw #op meta #op analysis #one piece analysis

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bowenoke · 2 months

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i think more high school stories need a scene where 2 teenagers and one of their moms trespass onto a farm and start digging in cursed soil. i love narratively important digging <3x3-chunk to-bedrock hole digger

#fhjy spoilers #fhjy liveblog

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ahsoka-in-a-hood · 1 year

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There is a certain loneliness to the jedi life, despite their temple community.

It's a little vague, exactly how much time active jedi spend away from the temple, but there's reason enough to believe that accounts for most of their time. They are supposed to serve the galaxy at large, they can't all do that from coruscant.

So it makes sense for most of them to be gone most of the time. Obi Wan references being on Mandalore for a year, for example, and that's not indicated to be especially unusual.

So the temple becomes the homecoming. It's where they grew up, it's where they find their family, it's a place of peace and healing and respite.

But it's not their day-to-day home. They don't go to work at the senate and come back for supper with the kids. They come and they go in a time-scale of weeks and months and years.

How often are friends like ships passing in the night? The sister you grew up with isn't there when you get back, and she isn't there when you leave again either, and by the time your home again, you haven't seen each other in person in years?

And in their travels, they make connections wherever they go, they make friends and even fall in love- but they know they know their paths will diverge eventually. (who here has backpacked or moved around a lot? ...I speak from experience) You learn to cherish and love in the moment you exist in, in those circumstances. You learn that something is not less worthwhile because it's over, or because it changed. Have you ever watched the ocean waves wash away your footprints and thought about the immortality of a single moment in time?

The jedi knight is adrift, the temple is a port.

It's no wonder, really, that the deepest relationships in a jedi's life is that of Master and Padawan. Apprenticeships last a decade or more, and in that time they are each other's constant companion. There's no separation between work and family life, either, because the padawan is learning the work of the master, not going off to school every day and coming home in time for supper. They may not live together in the temple, the padawan may not be dependent on the master for livelihood, but out there in the galaxy they are also sharing rooms and finding sustenance together. They are partners in an almost unbearably close way.

But even that relationship is impermanent by it's very nature. It is the master's duty to prepare the padawan for independence, not to make a companion out of them. There's no rush, but every moment is working toward the goal of eventually parting ways.

I've sometimes said Anakin didn't integrate well, and mocked him a little for not making friends his age, and there's the whole 'bullied in middle school' joke, but-

-but maybe that's unfair to both Anakin and the other jedi his age. Anakin did not go to jedi high school for four years and get bullied and made no friends. Maybe he spent most of those ten years on the road with Obi Wan, meeting people and then leaving them, and when he came to the temple, it just wasn't quite the home and hearth it was for Obi Wan. Maybe he met Aayla for a few weeks when he was 11 and they got on okay but then it was three years later and he'd changed and she'd changed and they didn't have that bedrock of a shared childhood. Maybe they never really even got a chance to be close.

Maybe there's a certain loneliness to being a jedi.

#............i've had a few glasses of wine and this is what happens #jedi #anakin skywalker #jedi culture #obi wan kenobi #............something something i'm gonna go make a pizza

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sookiesookie · 1 year

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♪ riri williams music taste headcannons ♪

a/n: a lil sumn silly while I finish these two ffs in my drafts

key:

riri dialogue

shuri dialogue

reader dialogue

♪ listens to songs she can get high to (or feel high to, she mostly gets high socially rather than alone)

♫ on some cloud nine type things, Don Toliver, Travis Scott, A$AP Rocky, Childish Gambino, Kid Cudi

♫ but not limited to psychedelic indie or rock like Mac Demarco, Jimi Hendrix, TV Girl, Yves Tumor, Tame Impala, Men I Trust, that one Lil Yatchy album counts too ig lmao

♪ stem!riri? yeah she’s def on that Canadian Nigga Trio HEAVY (Drake, PND, The Weeknd)

♫ toxic stem!riri? Brent & Bryson in rotation

♪ gang gang w/ some Pierre Bourne, Lucki, Ken Carson, Young Nudy

♪ Smino and Baby Keem on lock

♪ she likes a lot of pluggnb/trap, especially the girls

♪ Bktherula her baby frrr

♪ she DID have an XXXTENTACION phase for about 2 years in middle school

♪ a huge rnb girlie ofc, with your SZA, Summer Walker, Jhené Aiko, Victoria Monet, Tinashe, Teyana Taylor, Ari Lennox things naturally

♪ HEAVY ON KEHLANI

♫ probably her top artist

♫ like she’ll kick your ass if you dare skip a song by her TOP ARTIST

♪ she hates Justin Timberlake because of Janet Jackson but she can’t deny his first two albums being in rotation

♫ she still rides for Janet Jackson OF COURSE though, that’s her queen

♪ definitely some 90s and 00s rnb, rap, and neo soul

♫ definitely some 90s and 00s rnb, rap, and neo soul when she’s up in it-

♪ speaking of neo, she’s on Neyo HEAVY

♪ goes hard for the rap girlies, Flo Milli, Ice Spice, Bree Runway, Rico Nasty, Monaleo, Megan The Stallion

♬ “DOECHIIIIIIIIII!”

♫ if there’s one thing about riri, it’s Doechii

♫ Spooky Coochie>>>

♪ COLE WORLD, a middle school favorite

♬ “Now put a finger in the sky if you want it nigga!”

♪ definitely on her Kendrick things too

♪ spotify user to the fullest

♪ fuck Sony headphones, she made her own lil’ bluetooth noise canceling headset with good bass to not only make sure she can listen to music but FEEL that shii

♪ also she didn’t feel like paying $300+ for that so…

♪ she can’t ever listen to an album on shuffle, she feels it ruins the “cinematic experience”

♬ “I know you did NOT just skip that shit.”

♬ “Riri, it was literally an interlude.”

♬ “I said turn that shit back!”

♪ she’ll backhand slap you if you dare try it with a Weeknd album, that’s just an unspoken rule for her never to skip a Weeknd song in an album (a/n I may be projecting w/ this one lmao)

♪ is an avid playlist maker and has playlists for every single mood and activity

♬ “Tryna smoke? Lemme pull up this playlist i got-”

♬ “You goin’ to the store? Wait, lemme hook up my driving playlist-”

♬ “You having trouble studying? Hol’ on- I got this good playlist I use for when I'm doing my math homework!”

♬ “Okayyyy some chill rnb so far, Sade, Erykah Badu, D’Angelo, Alicia Keys… Rico Nasty, Bktherula, Destroy Lonely, Carti???

♬ “What? I tend to get pissed off about an hour in! Especially if it’s word problems!”

♪ she listens to both, but she keeps the “Cochise >>> Carti” opinion to herself

♪ Frank Ocean makes her tear up for no reason so she barely listens to him unless she’s in the mood to cry

♪ she was a Nicki fan… she still IS one, who you frontin’ on?

♬ “R-R-R-Roman!”

♪ honestly, she was on everybody part of Young Money, Bedrock was a moment in time

♪ she was definitely an Ariana Grande fan in middle school tho, don’t play with her

♫ she still gon’ blast her My Everything and Yours Truly albums in her garage, don’t get it twisted

♪ she was a 1D fan in elementary school but she’ll forever deny it happened

♫ she’ll blast Big Time Rush like a bitch though (Boyfriend is a hood classic)

♪ MINDLESS BEHAVIOR RIDER

♪ she still has their CDs stowed away in her garage somewhere

♪ (cannon) anime watcher on her jpop/jrock shii

♫ and we can’t forget the OSTs in her playlist

♫ Ouran High School host club outro>>>

♪ Lamp listener, definitely a comfort artist for her

♪ she fucks w/ Shuri’s kpop (cannon) stuff too though she’s not a fan

♫ she’ll shake ass to Kick It by NCT on the low, though

♪ she’s on plugging/trap so you know she definitely on her hyper pop shit too

♪ her top 10 artists: Kehlani, Lamp, J. Cole, Bktherula, Janet Jackson, PARTYNEXTDOOR, Mac Demarco, Victoria Monet, Doechii, Rico Nasty

a riri mix for realism:

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ladyescapism · 1 year

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fractured bonds - part 1

summary: Rhys' little sister has always been nothing but loyal to her brother and court. however, the cauldron chooses the most inconvenient male as her mate: Eris Vanserra. will Ryn accept the heir of autumn as her mate? will her family?

part 2

a/n: there will be multiple parts for this series. I am on spring break so I will have some more time to write lol

warnings: none, I think

wc: 1,900

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seated at the table with her family, listening to Rhys deal with Keir, Ryn was sick to her stomach. She loved Mor, her cousin who was more like a sister. And listening to one of the males that hurt her the most ask for the one place she had found solace, made her want to kill the bastard. But things were just going from bad to worse for her family it seemed.

Eris made his appearance. That snide, arrogant, pompous ass who had delt her family numerous blows over the centuries was now seated at the same table. Ryn hated how handsome he was, how the inflection of his voice was so condescending, but she was curious to how his voice would change if he was with someone he cared about.

If Eris could care about anyone other than himself.

She stayed silent, like she was supposed to. The silent sister of the High Lord. Always watching, always listening. Always patiently waiting for someone to fall into her trap and be brought to their knees.

Keir stood and looked to her, earning a sneer from Cassian, her most over-protective brother.

“Anything to add, girl?”

Keir liked her, for whatever reason. Well, as much as Keir liked anyone female.

“Be on your way, Keir,” Ryn replied, turning her head back towards her wine and taking a small sip.

The door shut behind Keir and Azriel gave a nod, indicating that they were not being listened to.

When Eris spoke, Ryn couldn’t help herself. She stared at him as he spoke to her family, that cool, placid expression never leaving his face. He was too handsome for her own good. If he had never been involved with Mor, in any way, she might have acted on her attraction. She was never one to dismiss a male simply because he was dangerous. Hell, that was half of the appeal.

“Staring is rude, Kathryn,” Eris drawled out. “See something you like?”

Ryn kept a cool face, impervious to his school-yard taunts. “I’m assessing you,” she said, deciding to mix lies with the truth. “And I’m finding you lacking.”

“Lacking in what?”

“Anything interesting.”

She turned her gaze back to her brother, pure dismissal in her posture, the same treatment she gave Keir. She gave Rhys a nod, indicating him to go on. Rhys quirked an eyebrow, the only indication that he found the interaction amusing, and continued on. Mor, who’s defenses had already crumbled, gave her a look of bewilderment. That would be fun to explain later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Battle of the Foyer was hard fought but ended in a stalemate. Thankfully, there had been no losses, yet.

She had gone off on her own, drawn back to the Court of Nightmares. Some ancient voice echoed the order to return to her ancestral home, a voice she could not help but obey.

Ryn snuck past the defenses of the mountain easily. Having been trained by the Spymaster himself, she was undetectable.

She followed the old paths she knew like the back of her hand. The paths that carved deep into the bedrock, perfect for listening to echoes of whispered conversations. She was drawn to a voice among the crowd that formed after their departure. That deep, elegant voice, currently discussing politics with members of Keir’s family.

Eris finished his conversation and made his way across the room, towards the guest quarters, if she remembered correctly.

Ryn turned and took a servant’s path to see what room Eris went into. She stopped herself before the path she was on met with the hallway. This path was blocked by an inconspicuous tapestry. She heard his footsteps getting near and she stilled herself perfectly, silencing her breath as to not be detected. The footsteps continued past.

She lifted the tapestry back just far enough to see what room he went into, just as Eris looked behind him.

He spotted her.

Ryn took off. Running as quietly as she could, she made a break for the throne room, desperate to get lost in the crowd. But before she could make it, she felt a hand grip her shoulder.

She slammed into the wall, the impact sending pain shooting through the back of her head. She didn’t make a sound, though, even as she came face to face with the heir of Autumn. The warmth of his body contrasted the cold dampness of the stone wall to her back. The juxtaposition gave her chills.

His eyes danced over her features, mirth swirling in the darkness where light should live. In the sunlight, his eyes would be a lovely shade of golden amber, Ryn thought. Eris’s eyes crinkled in amusement at her obvious appreciation of his features, despite their current situation.

“Still finding me lacking?”

She said nothing to him but tested the strength of his grip.

“Tsk, tsk, lovely,” he crooned. “I’m not letting you go so easily.”

“Why not?”

Eris gave her a wolf’s grin. That meant she was prey, she supposed. Ryn had never willingly been prey in her life, and she wasn’t going to start now.

“Why are you following me?”

“I was making sure you behaved, Eris. That’s all.”

“Well, was I a good boy,” he asked, mock submission lightening his tone.

Ryn decided to see how far she could get with Eris. She had enough room between the rock and his body to straighten her back and elongate her neck, bringing her lips dangerously close to his. “I don’t think you remember how to be good.”

“I was never good to begin with.”

“I don’t believe you,” Ryn taunted. “I think you could be a very good boy, in the right circumstance.”

The mirth was replaced with the anger only fueled by threatened male pride. And for a moment, Ryn remembered her vulnerability. Alone, in a hallway designed to be undetectable, and without anyone knowing where she was. Not to mention, he already had the physical advantage.

“I am not the type of male that needs to remind people that he is dangerous.”

“Then what are you doing right now?”

Ryn held Eris’s eyes, refusing to break contact even as his stare darkened, and a brief moment of indecision crossed his features before he schooled them back to cool indifference. “Proving it.”

One hand caressed up her arm, across her chest, and gently came to rest on her neck, applying no pressure. Eris tilted his head so that he was whispering into her ear.

“How dangerous for you, if you were caught like this. In such a compromising position with your family’s sworn enemy. Will you report this back to your shadow singer? Your brother?”

A mix of truth and lies.

“Depends on how much excitement I want that day.”

She would never tell any of them this, coming back here and she would never speak of this interaction.

“I was assessing you earlier, too, lovely,” Eris said, suddenly changing subjects but never moving away from her.

“And?” She cursed herself for caring about what he said next.

“Why do you think I keep calling you lovely?”

His mouth moved closer to hers with every word.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. His amber and cinder smell, the look of him shrouded in the darkness of the corridor, the deep timbre of his voice sending chills down her spine, and the physical presence of him in her space and applying just the slightest amount of pressure with his body after never being this close to him before, was all too much. The need to taste him, to complete her sensory exploration of all Eris was, she rationalized to herself, drove her to force their lips to meet.

His lips were soft. And for a split second, that softness was all there was. There was no hand at her throat, no stone at her back, and no one else to consider. That softness melted away as Eris forced her back into the wall anew. She moaned, partly in pain, partly in arousal, as he pinned her.

Passion flowed from Eris, a beast freed from his restraints. They had only been kissing for a moment, but Ryn was already wondering what it would be like if he was fully released from his confines.

Eris tightened his thumb and middle finger just enough to apply the most delicious pressure to her neck and giving him the leverage to bring her closer.

Ryn pushed her tongue through his lips and began stroking her tongue over his, fighting for dominance in the kiss.

Just as Eris pushed his hips to meet hers, glass shattered somewhere in the distance. Ryn jumped and froze in shock. Eris ripped his lips from hers, whipping his head in the direction of the interruption and simultaneously shielding her from it.

Faint laughter floated form the same direction.

“Probably just a drunken reveler,” Ryn whispered.

Eris turned his head to look at her and found her blue eyes.

“Yes, I…” Eris trailed off. His eyes grew wide in shock.

And she felt it too.

The bond. That thread that tied the most equal of creatures together, was there, shimmering in the space between them. It was the most glorious and second most dreadful thing Ryn had ever experienced in her life.

Eris didn’t look too pleased, either. He ripped his hands from Ryn like she had caught fire. He turned and paced a few steps away, looking between the ceiling, the floor, and her. It was all Ryn could do to keep standing.

Mate mate mate. The word thrummed through her, echoing from deep within her soul. In her mind, however, all she could think was “Not him, why him.”

The male who had so carelessly left her cousin for dead on that forest floor. The male who had dragged Feyre across a frozen lake by her hair. The male who spat insult after insult at her brothers for being “lesser” somehow. The male who was now her mate.

“It is not safe,” Eris finally choked out. “Not here, not in my home.”

Ryn looked at him, and for the first time saw that he was letting any emotion show. He was sacred. Of her, for her, Ryn couldn’t tell. But she stared at him again.

“Not with war brewing,” she added.

“Not in general.”

Ryn fell silent again.

After a moment Eris spoke again.

“Here’s what we are going to do.” He finally looked her in the eyes again. “We are going to go home like nothing happened. And when it is safe, I’ll come for you.”

“What do you mean by safe? And come for me?” She could already see it. She herself stuffed into dresses and left to bear children and plan parties.

“I don’t know when it will be, but not until after the war is over and then some.”

“Will you claim me?” she sneered. “Make me your bride then lock me up, keep me barefoot and breeding a dozen heirs for you?”

Eris looked at the ground and shook his head.

“I will never be anything more than a cruel bastard in your eyes, will I? Even if I am your mate?”

“Eris, you have never given me a reason to believe otherwise.”

He didn’t respond.

“Your plan will work, short term. But the bond will start to weigh on us after a while.”

“We will cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Ryn gave Eris one more long look, and turned on her heel and began to walk away.

He didn’t stop her.

tag list:

@feysandzoyalailover @fanfictioniseverything @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @singhillada @marina468

#eris acotar #acotar imagine #acotar fic #eris x oc #a court of mist and fury #a court of wings and ruin #a court of silver flames #rhys sister #eris vanserra

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waxing2you · 3 months

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just watched zeemyth's BEDROCK.ZIP video. thoughts under readmore.

genuinely, i think this is the best video of this format ive ever seen in my life. the editing was so good that it made me worry that it was made as an advertisement. i fully thought it was a documentary about a missing minecraft player, in the same vein as CHUPPL's video about the velma dinkley forums. i played minecraft all the time as a kid (probably 11-12 years of it) and the style of veil's server just..... it was so familiar. it felt like the worlds i'd make when i would get off school. and that was so god damn scary.

the references from house of leaves are a huge part of the video, too. everything in the video is there for a reason. so i'll go over some of the main ideas of this video, because why not.

the generation of the bedrock stronghold is highly reminiscent of the house but it goes even deeper with the motifs of the doors being halved- or opened- in veil's server/the stronghold. this means nobody is SAFE there. nobody can rely on the protection of a door there. plus, the part where zeemyth had to jump off a high place repeatedly was genuinely unnerving. this makes me remember the lengths people will go to find out what they need- the feverish, irrational need to find. most notably.... caves. caves just have this aura about them that make you want to go in a litte deeper, around the corner, and boom. youre lost. also, its underground lol. i think the rooms zeemyth found represent the information you restlessly pursue, but it ends up being the kind that hurts. the end was incredible as well- he found it, but you need to find it yourself. he only gives the person who interviews him one hint-

left under the red arch.

#zeemyth #minecraft #house of leaves #left under the red arch #bedrock.zip #waxing to you guys

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wolfythewitch · 1 year

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aloo sorry to interrupt the au asks buuut i have something i need you to know. back in august i had this very important test i had to take to be able to graduate high school quick and i was so SO fucking nervous on the day but then!!! YOU posted the sweetest little bedrock bros art & it cheered me up so much i promised on the bros that i would pass that test.

and i did!!!! so i would like to dedicate this win to technoblade, tommyinnit and YOU... i graduated high school because of you how crazy is that

ps please post another one on my next test day i really want to get into tgat college thank you lyy

YOOOOO HOLY SHIT CONGRATS

#awkwardexxodus #wolfy tedtalks

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rebeccathenaturalist · 1 year

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Atmospheric Rivers and Drought: It’s More Complicated Than You Think

In recent weeks, the West Coast has been hit with multiple atmospheric rivers and bomb cyclones, causing massive storms, torrential rain, and the floods and landslides that often result. This includes areas of California that have been hit incredibly hard by drought over the past several years.

I’ve seen a lot of people elated that the snowpack on California’s mountains has been increasing at record speeds. And reservoirs are the highest they’ve been in years. These are certainly excellent silver linings amid the tragedy and loss of life brought by flooding, and in the short term they’ll bring some much-needed relief. Unfortunately, they aren’t going to bring California–and the rest of the West–out of the current drought.

You may have learned in school that the basic water cycle consists of evaporation, condensation, and precipitation. Which is all true, of course. But there’s a lot more to hydrology than that.

Hydrology can be defined as how water is captured, held, and safely released by the land. For instance, here in the Pacific Northwest (west of the Cascades, anyway) we’re accustomed to a long rainy season that starts in fall, goes all the way through winter, and in some years persists almost to summer. There are plenty of rainy days–not the heavy downpours we’ve been seeing, but a mix of steady rain, drizzles, and mists.

Once the rain hits the ground, the soil soaks it up like a sponge. Soil is made of a mix of eroded bedrock and decayed/decaying organic matter; the more organic matter in the soil, and the thicker the soil, the more water it can hold. Some of the water trickles through the soil to be released into streams and rivers above ground. The inherent sponginess of our soil slows the water down enough that some of it also sifts down into groundwater stores.

It’s the same thing in drier areas, too. Arid zones like the Northwest east of the Cascades, or large portions of central and southern California, don’t typically receive as much precipitation, and the soil doesn’t have as much absorbency. But the basic hydrological cycle is the same, and in a normal rain year groundwater reserves are replenished along with the snowpack and reservoirs.

The problem is that the atmospheric rivers and other massive storms that have been hitting the West Coast more frequently in recent years are too much for our natural hydrological system to handle. It’s like the difference between watering a garden with a sprinkling can versus a high-powered nozzle at full blast. Too much water falls at once; the soil becomes saturated more quickly, at which point it can no longer absorb any more rain.

Because more water is falling in a shorter period of time, the excess rain flows off the surface of the ground, no longer slowed by soil. This leads to increased flooding, and the super-saturated soil is more likely to create massive landslides. Although the reservoirs are able to capture some of the rain, there’s a lot that’s simply escaping downstream.

The soil is still sending some water down into the groundwater system. But the precipitation is concentrated into smaller periods of time during violent storms instead of stretched out over weeks of intermittent to steady rain. That means that by the time the soil has offloaded its excess water, the storm has passed and another dry period begins. Ultimately less precipitation is making it down through the soil into groundwater stores.

One storm won’t refill groundwater, either; often these aquifers and basins take years or even decades to fully recharge. Keep in mind that groundwater across western half of the United States has been used at a much higher rate than it replenishes for many decades due to the demand for water for agriculture, industry, and a rapidly growing population. These demands aren’t going away, either; they’ll continue sucking down water until everything runs dry.

And the larger snowpacks? Unfortunately, the hotter summers mean that they will still be melting faster than normal. The extra depth means that we’ve got more padding than we did a year ago, but it isn’t going to fix everything; it just buys us a little more time.

Both the drought and atmospheric rivers are symptoms of a larger problem: climate change. The higher average global temperatures are wreaking havoc on weather patterns, causing greater and more frequent extremes.

A lot of this is because warmer air can hold more humidity, which has a direct effect on how much precipitation is dropped by storms. The warming of both the atmosphere and the oceans leads directly to more powerful storms. Conversely, because precipitation events are concentrated into shorter periods of time, coupled with higher temperatures overall, we’re seeing longer and more extreme droughts worldwide.

All of this doesn’t mean you can’t be happy about the immediate relief given by higher reservoir levels and snowpack increases. After all, I’m pretty happy about the fact that some lives will certainly be saved because of it. This is legitimately a good turn of events, even if it came out of something awful. And who knows? Maybe there will be other little silver linings along the way; after all, rain sometimes brings super blooms of wildflowers.

My suggested takeaway from this article is: be balanced in your approach to climate news. Yes, we need to stay as motivated and engaged as we realistically can in the fight for a better climate future, and not let the momentary successes lull us into thinking the battle is over. But it’s really important for us to celebrate the wins we do get. Allowing ourselves to focus on good news can help increase emotional resilience and provide a much-needed break from doom and gloom headlines. In short: you aren’t ignoring the problems if you give yourself some time to think about something else, and in fact changing your mental channel for a while is a crucial act of self-care.

And then, when you feel ready to engage again, just remember that not all is lost, and there’s still plenty left to keep fighting for.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

#long post #flooding #climate change #drought #California #anthropogenic climate change #environment #environmentalism #conservation #weather #climate #rain #water #soil #hydrology #science #nature #scicomm #science communication

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desceros · 4 months

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hi sam!! kind of a different request, but would you list as many of your favorite orchestral pieces as you can? association with turtles v welcome but also optional! i have trouble doing my coursework because i can't listen to anything in the background while doing it (shows, music with lyrics), but i listened to scheherazade because of you and really loved it, plus got some work done to boot!! i'm not sure where to start in looking for more music like that so i thought i'd ask you. :)

oohhhh what a FUN ask, thank you so much!! i promise i am going to TRY to be REASONABLE with how much i talk about this. if i really did mention "as many as i could" i think i'd find out if tumblr has a character limit in text posts, hahaha!

so my favorite symphony of ALL TIME is symphony 9 by dvorak. absolute must-listen. my favorite moment of the entire piece (which you HAVE to listen to the entire thing to get REALLY feral about) is the last huge chord progression in the fourth movement that takes the db major brass chords from the second movement and puts it to the BOMBASTIC TYMPANI EB MINOR EXTRAVAGANZA from the first movement and makes me want to CHEW THROUGH BEDROCK, RAHHH

aside from that, here are a few that i love a lot and totes recommend:

all of scheherezade is, of course, absolutely stunning. it's one of my favorite pieces of all time. if you haven't listened to the other movements, i highly recommend! in this same vein is you liked that are pieces like the stepps by borodin, the polovstian dances (also borodin), marche slav by tchaikovsky, and to some extent saint-saens piano concerto no. 5 has some similar themes, particularly in the absolutely DELICIOUS second movement. it's called "orientalism" and while the, uh, intent has a history of. to say generously. problematic undertones. the pieces themselves are lovely.

russian easter overture by rimsky korsakov. i played this one in high school and man. it's just so FUN and PRETTY.

symphonie fantastique by hector berlioz. it's the story of this dude having a really bad acid trip. no i'm not kidding. also the fifth movement has the dies irie in my favorite iteration ever. eat your heart out, mozart.

...actually just literally anything by tchaikovsky. gun to my head, i'd say he's my favorite classical composer. i'm partial to his ballet work because that's what i played a lot of personally, but his overtures and concertos are quite fun. his romeo and juliet overture is extremely famous (though i personally vastly prefer the opening part over the latter, more famous part). every violinist you ever meet will be traumatized by him, though. so do be careful.

speaking of concertos: my favorite (ugh. i'm a traitor) is probably the barber violin concerto. it just has this. cinematic vibe to it that makes me think of something magical.

(....though the elgar cello concerto and the grieg piano concerto may have something to say about this.)

the planets suite by holst is very fun. you've probably heard mars, and you may recall the romance theme from jupiter if you've seen the movie braveheart. it's one of those mainstream pieces most people have heard. my particular favorite movement is uranus. it's so bouncy and fun!!! classical headbanger music here

beethoven is quite fun to listen to. for his orchestral work, i'm partial to symphony no. 5 since that was the first one i played and the drama of it is enthralling. (yes. i think it's better than nine. sue me.). that said, between you and me, i like the egmont overture better than his symphonies. that low open c on the viola is just so god damned juicy—[door bangs open] OH NO. IT'S THE PRETENTIOUS POLICE. THEY FOUND ME

i'll stop there. these are a few symphonic pieces, since you asked for those specifically. i also really love chamber music (which is just the strings section, sans the woodwinds/brass/percussion/etc), but i find those amazing to listen to as well! anywho i hope you enjoy some slash all of these and good luck with your studies!!

#ask tag #i think this was reasonable for a sampling without going too overboard!#i'm the same about not being able to listen to music with lyrics. but i also can't listen to anything i've played #otherwise i start thinking about bowings and whatnot lmfaoooo

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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Venture predation

Tomorrow (May 20), I’ll be at the GAITHERSBURG Book Festival with my novel Red Team Blues; then on Monday (May 22), I’m keynoting Public Knowledge’s Emerging Tech conference in DC.

On Tuesday (May 23), I’ll be in TORONTO for a book launch that’s part of WEPFest, a benefit for the West End Phoenix, onstage with Dave Bidini (The Rheostatics), Ron Diebert (Citizen Lab) and the whistleblower Dr Nancy Olivieri.

They said it couldn’t happen. After decades of antitrust enforcement against Predatory Pricing — selling goods below cost to kill existing competitors and prevent new ones from arising — the Chicago School of neoliberal economists “proved” that predatory pricing didn’t exist and that the courts could stand down and stop busting companies for it.

Predatory pricing — the economists explained — may be illegal, but it was also imaginary. A mirage. No one would do predatory pricing, because it was “irrational.” And even if there was someone irrational enough to try it, they would fail. Stand down, judges of America — predatory pricing is solved.

Chicago School economists — whose job (to quote David Roth) is to find new ways to say “actually, your boss is right” — held enormous sway of the federal judiciary. The billionaire-backed Manne Seminars offered free “continuing education” junkets to judges — all-expense-paid luxury vacations salted with lengthy your-boss-is-right econ seminars. 40% of the US federal judiciary got their heads filled up at a Manne Seminar.

For monopolists and other predators, the Manne Seminar was an excellent return on investment. After attending a Manne Seminar, the average judge’s legal decisions tipped decidedly in favor of monopoly, operating on the Chicago bedrock assumption that monopolies are “efficient,” and, where we see them in nature, we should celebrate them as the visible manifestation of the entrepreneurial genius of some Ayn Rand hero in a corporate boardroom:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/13/post-bork-era/#manne-down

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing. Even as post-Chicago economists showed that predatory pricing was both possible and rampant, a “rational” and effective strategy for cornering markets, suppressing competition, crushing innovation and gouging on price, judges continued to craft tortuous, unpassable tests that any predatory pricing case would have to satisfy to proceed. Economics moved on, but predatory pricing cases continued to fail the trial-by-ordeal constructed by Chicago-pilled judges.

Which is a shame, because there are at least three ways that predatory pricing can be effective:

Cost Signaling Predation: A predator tricks competitors into thinking they’ve found a new way to cut their costs, which allows them to drop prices. Competitors, fooled by the ruse, exit the market, not realizing that the predator is merely subsidizing their products’ costs to trick them.

Financial Market Predation: A predator tricks the competitors’ creditors into thinking the predator has a new way to cut costs. The creditors refuse to loan the prey companies the money needed to survive the price war, and the prey drops out of the war.

Reputation Effect Predation: A predator subsidizes prices in one region or one line of goods in order to trick prey into thinking that they’ll do the same elsewhere: “Don’t try to compete with us in Cleveland, or we’ll drop prices like we did in Tampa.”

These models of successful predation are decades old, and have broad acceptance within economics — outside of Chicago-style ideologues — but they’ve yet to make much of a dent in minds of the judges who hear Predatory Pricing cases.

While judges continue to hit the snooze-bar on any awakening to this phenomenon, a new kind of predator has emerged, using a new kind of predation: the Venture Predator, a predatory company backed by venture capital funds, who make lots of high-risk bets they must cash out in ten years or less, ideally for a 100x+ return.

Writing in the Journal of Corporation Law Matthew Wansley and Samuel Weinstein — both of the Cardozo School of Law at Yeshiva University — lay out a theory of Venture Predation in clear, irrefutable language, using it to explain the recent bubble we sometimes call the Millennial Lifestyle Subsidy:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4437360

What’s a Venture Predator? It’s “a startup that uses venture finance to price below its costs, chase its rivals out of the market, and grab market share.” The predator sets millions or billions of dollars on fire chasing “rapid, exponential growth” all in order to “create the impression that recoupment is possible” among future investors, such as blue-chip companies that might buy them out, or sucker retail investors who buy in at the IPO, anticipating years of monopoly pricing.

In other words, the Venture Predator constructs a pile of shit so large and impressive that investors are convinced that there must be a pony under there somewhere.

There’s another name for this kind of arrangement: a bezzle, which Galbraith described as “the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it.”

Millennial Lifestyle Subsidy companies are bezzles. Uber, annihilated tens of billions of dollars on its bezzle, destroying the taxi industry and laying waste to public transit investment, demolishing labor protections and convincing people that impossible self-driving robo-taxis were around the coner:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/16/ring-ring-lapd-calling/#uber-unter

But while Uber the company lost billions of dollars, Uber’s early investors and executives made out like bandits (or predators, I suppose). The founders were able to flog their shares on the secondary market long before the IPO. Same for the early investors, like Benchmark capital.

Since the company’s IPO, its finances have steadily worsened, and the company has resorted to increasingly sweaty balance-sheet manipulation tactics and PR offensives to make it seem like a viable business:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/05/a-lousy-taxi/#a-giant-asterisk

But Uber can’t ever recoup the billions it spent convincing the market that there was a pony beneath its pile of shit. The app Uber uses to connect riders with the employees it misclassifies as contractors isn’t hard to clone, and it’s not hard for drivers or riders to switch from one app to another:

https://locusmag.com/2019/01/cory-doctorow-disruption-for-thee-but-not-for-me/

Nor can Uber prevent its rivals from taking advantage of the hundreds of millions of dollars it spent on “regulatory entrepreneurship” — changing the laws to make it easier to misclassify workers and operate unlicensed taxi services.

It’s not clear whether Uber ever believed in robo-taxis, or whether they were just part of the bezzle. In any event, Uber’s no longer in the robotaxi races: after blowing $2.5B on self-driving cars, Uber produced a vehicle whose mean-distance-between-fatal-crashes was 0.5 miles. Uber had to pay another company $400M to take its self-driving unit off its hands:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Uber’s prices rose 92% between 2018–21, while its driver compensation has plunged. The company is finding it increasingly difficult to passengers into cars, and drivers onto the road. They have invented algorithmic wage disrimination, an exciting new field of labor-law violations, in order to trick drivers into thinking there’s a pony under all that shit:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

To Uber’s credit, they have been a wildly innovative company, inventing many new ways to make the pile of shit bigger and the pony more plausible. Back when Uber and Lyft were locked in head-to-head competition, Uber employees created huge pools of fake Lyft rider accounts, using them to set up and tear down rides in order to discover what Lyft was charging for rides in order to underprice them. Uber also covertly operated the microphones in its drivers’ phones to listen for the chimes the Lyft app made: drivers who had both Lyft and Uber installed on their devices were targeted for (strictly temporary) bonuses.

Uber won’t ever recoup, but that’s OK. The investors and execs made vast fortunes. Now, normally, you’d expect company founders and other managers with large piles of stocks in a VC-backed company to be committed to the business’s success, at least in the medium term, because their shares can’t be liquidated until well after the company goes public.

But the burgeoning “secondary market” for managers’ shares has turned investors and managers into co-conspirators in the Venture Predation bezzle: “half of Series A and B deals now have some secondary component for founders.” That means that founders can cash out before the bezzle ends.

The trick with any bezzle is to skip town while the mark is still energetically digging through the shit, before the pony is revealed for an illusion. That’s where crypto comes in: during the cryptocurrency bubble, VCs cashed out of their investments early through Initial Coin Offerings and other forms of securities fraud. The massive returns this generated were well worth the millions they sprinkled on Superbowl ads and bribes for Matt Damon.

But woe betide the VC who mistimes their exit. As Wework showed, it’s entirely possible for VCs to be left holding the bag if they get the timing wrong. Wework blew $12b on predatory pricing — promising tenants at rivals’ businesses moving bonuses or even a year’s free rent, all to make the pile of shit look larger and thus more apt to contain a pony. The company opened its co-working spaces as close as possible to existing shops, oversaturating hot markets and showing “growth” by poaching customers through deep subsidies, then pretending that those customers would stay when the subsidies evaporated. But Wework’s “product” was temporary hot-desks, occupied by people who could (and did) move at the drop of a hat.

To its competitors, its competitors’ creditors, and credulous investors, it appeared that Wework had developed some kind of “efficiency advantage” — a secret sauce that let it sell a product at a price that was far below its rivals’ costs. But once Wework filed for its IPO, its S-1 — the form that discloses the company’s finances — revealed the truth. Wework’s only “advantage” was the bafflegab of its cult-like leader and the torrent of cash supplied by its VCs.

Wework’s IPO was a disaster. After canceling a real IPO, the company eventually went public through a scammy SPAC, saw its shares immediately tank, and continue to fall, as its balance-sheet is still blood-red with losses.

Another Venture Predator is Bird, the company that flooded American cities with cheap, flimsy Chinese scooters, choking curbs and sidewalks. 25% of the gross revenues from each scooter ride had to be written off as depreciation on the scooter. As a Bird spokesperson told the LA Times: “There are very few unique companies for which you can build global scale really quickly and build a dominant market position before other people do, and for those rarefied companies scaling quickly matters more than short-term profits.”

Bird was another company that could never recoup, whose executives and investors could only cash out if they could maintain the faint hope of the pony underneath its pile of shitty scooters. It drove the company to some genuinely surreal lengths. For example, in 2018, I reported on the existence of a kit that let you buy an impounded Bird scooter for pennies and retrofit it to run without an app, so you could take it anywhere:

https://boingboing.net/2018/12/08/flipping-a-bird.html

Shortly thereafter, I got a legal threat from Linda Kwak, Bird’s Senior Corporate Counsel, claiming that publishing a link to a website that sells you a product you install by unscrewing one board and inserting another was a violation of Section 1201 of the DMCA, which was an astonishingly stupid claim:

https://www.eff.org/document/bird-rides-takedown-boing-boing-dec-20-2018

It was also an astonishingly stupid claim to make to me, a career activist with 20 years experience fighting DMCA1201, a decades-old professional affiliation with EFF, and a giant megaphone:

https://boingboing.net/2019/01/11/flipping-the-bird.html

But Bird was palpably desperate to keep its bezzle going, and Kwak — an employment lawyer with undeniable deficits in her understanding of copyright and cyber-law — was their champion

Fascinatingly, one thing Bird didn’t worry about was competition from Uber and Lyft, who piled into the e-scooter market. Bird circulated a (leaked) pitch-deck reassuring investors that Uber/Lyft weren’t gunning for them, because they ““won’t subsidize prices” as they prepared for their IPOs, which involved disclosing their finances to their investors.

Bird’s investors either lost money or made small-dollar returns, but they were outfoxed by Bird founder Travis VanderZanden, a superpredator who cashed out $44m in shares just as the VCs were piling in.

Venture Predation is another stinging rebuttal to the Chicago School’s blithe dismissal of Predatory Pricing as an illusion. Private firms — of the sort that VCs back — whose boards are made up of founders and VCs who stand to benefit from the pile-of-shit gambit are perfectly capable of spending huge fortunes to make Predatory Pricing work. VCs make a practice of repeatedly co-investing in businesses together, which fosters the kind of trust that allows for these gambits to be played again and again.

For later stage, pony-thirsty investors who get stuck holding the bag, the lure of monopoly profits is both powerful and plausible — after 40 years of antitrust neglect, monopolies are the kinds of things one can both attain and defend (think of Peter Thiel’s maxim, “competition is for losers,” or Warren Buffett’s terrifying priapisms induced by the mere thought of businesses with “wide, sustainable moats”).

In a world of Facebook and Google, dreaming of monopolies isn’t irrational — it’s aspirational.

VCs are ideally poised to play the Venture Predation gambit. They are risk-tolerant and need to cash out over short timescales. What’s more, VCs’ longstanding boasts of their ability to identify companies who have invented new, super-efficient ways to do boring things like “rent out office space” or “provide taxis” gives the pile-of-shit pony-pitch a plausible ring.

The Venture Predator gambit isn’t just a form of plute-on-plute violence in which billionaires fleece millionaires. Like any anticompetitive scam, Venture Predators are able to pick winners in the marketplace — rather than getting the taxi or the office rental service or the scooter that serves you best, you get the scammiest version.

Workers who are roped in by the scam also suffer — the authors raise the example of a cab driver who leases a car to drive for Uber, based on the early subsidies the company offered, only to find themselves unable to make payments once the bezzle ends and Uber starts clawing back the driver’s wages.

Then there’s the cost to society: during the decade-plus in which Uber was pissing away the Saudi royal family’s billions subsidizing rides, cities dismantled their public transit, even as residents made decisions about where to live and work based on the presumption that Uber was charging a fair, sustainable price for rides.

The authors propose a bunch of legislative fixes for this, but warn that none of them are likely to get through Congress or the Manne-pilled judiciary. But they do hold out hope for a proposed SEC rule “requiring large, private companies to make basic financial disclosures.” These disclosures would make it impossible for companies to pretend that they had built a better mousetrap when all they had was a bigger pile of shit.

Catch me on tour with Red Team Blues in Toronto, DC, Gaithersburg, Oxford, Hay, Manchester, Nottingham, London, and Berlin!

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/19/fake-it-till-you-make-it/#millennial-lifestyle-subsidy

[Image ID: A giant pile of manure with a pony sticking out of it.]

Image: Eli Duke (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/elisfanclub/6834356283

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/

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