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everyone thinks there is only light, in the beginning. a grandiose, rising sun breaking through the horizon in an explosion of light, an all-encompassing, bright ether that fizzes with the lingering effects of creation.
they're wrong.
that's not what it's like at all.
in the beginning, there is only darkness, only an all-encompassing nothingness. an all-seeing, never-ending abyss that cradles you close until you're spit out and begat, stolen from the soft, inky void, kicking and screaming into the world. it is the moment before waking, the consciousness of being unconscious and wanting to stay in the comforting embrace of slumber, your own longing causing your own wakefulness. awakening comes with its own awareness, a completeness to the mind and consciousness that was not there before.
what jackson remembers is this:
before he was awake, he was complete and whole. he doesn't know how he knew he was, but one doesn't know what they're missing until they've had a limb stolen from them, cruelly amputated from the joint, whose presence is missed, phantom pains tingling the remaining frayed nerves. he doesn't remember much, but jackson can remember the pain of ripping apart, can remember having something intrinsically him stolen from the very core of him and being spat out into the void of nothing, which then became something.
you can only move onwards, never backwards, propelled forward by some unseen force intuitively, instinctively, and so that is how jackson continued - forward. soon the inky expanse became dotted with blazing stars and suns, planets spun together with the nebulous living thing that was galaxy sugar. things came and went, came and went, came and went.
this is what jackson remembers about his birth.
he doesn't remember too much after it - just suddenly being . he doesn't even remember if he even breathed in the beginning or if he had to be taught to do so. perhaps his body instinctively knew how, like newborns who cry and screech out of the womb, stolen from where they are warm and safe and prompted to now rely on their own new lungs from now on. one day he was swaddled in the inky velvet of the void and the next thing he knew - he just knew. he knew what he was, knew who he was, and knew what he was supposed to do and how to do it, if unconsciously. first he was nothing, and then, he was something.
he remembers the after - the after of his birth. he remembers first came the waters then the skies, and while the air always seemed to be there, he became more aware of it when everything came together, when all the colors finally came together to create the painting of existence.
sometimes, when he gets the phantom pains of his missing piece he'll take respite in his rooms or in a quiet, shadowed glade and reminisce of what was in the before the beginning where there was everything and nothing, jackson and what is now not jackson.
the universe began and jackson was empty. he didn't know what he was at first but no one knows what hunger is at first either, but he is. he's hungry.
when jackson finally graces olympus with his presence for the winter solstice, sometimes he hears conversations about the beginning, the before. he knows that he is one of, if not the oldest beings still around today, but he doesn't need everyone else to be more afraid of him than they already are and so keeps it to himself. he’s not sure if anyone would have ever believed him if he said anything.
jackson has never talked about his birth before, not to anyone. he can't say he hasn't thought about it - he'd thought about his creation and subsequent dragging existence during the periods of his life he likes to label the Before, before mark that is.
jackson had a lot of thoughts before mark and he will continue to have thoughts after mark, the only difference is that now he can share them, his thoughts, his moods, the random ramblings in his brain that sometimes can only come out as sounds like one of mark's lively animals with someone who will listen, who cares to listen.
he didn't think it'd make much of a difference before, but he was stupider back then, a young upstart too prideful to see past his own ignorant hubris. what did he know before? what was there to know with one’s eyes closed? love has given jackson more than a roseate gaze. there is nothing better than to handle the dealings of his court, complete his duties to the world above in mark's realm and settle matters in his own and come home to warm arms and warmer eyes.
what could be better than embraces that feel like the first sip of tea, smoky aromatics enlightening the senses, that first fragrant taste, that lingering warmth settling in the lower stomach, the affection, the comfort. battlefields full of newly dead souls and over-crowded hospitals are nothing compared to the overflowing abundance he has now.
jackson looks up when one of his aides dismisses the last spirit in today's current queue, he's been distracted by sentimentality. but it's fine and fair in his mind, how long had he been so fully focused on all his work, over working on particularly lonely despondent days. he's never had something this nice and worthy to distract him from his work before and it's a nice change of pace, having something to look forward to after work instead of dreading the next day to do it all over again, a cycle of endless clerical monotony. he’s had to shuffle many things around - he’s become a lot more adaptable in his schedule - but it’s all worth it to jackson.
later, when even the majority of the restless spirits are quiet and calm, jackson lounges on his bed, going over a few last minute reports to better prepare himself for tomorrow. he's been reading a few troublesome reports out loud before sleeping so he can sleep on what to do with them, soundboarding. jackson trails off when he feels movement against his thigh. he looks down, hand coming up automatically to soothe mark back into slumber, running gentle fingers through mark’s hair that’s a darker, earthy tree bark brown in the winter. mark sighs against his side, tucking himself firmly against the bed and jackson’s hip, breaths evening out as he falls back into a deeper, restful sleep.
jackson runs the back of his index finger along the velvet of mark’s upturned cheek. oh how fast the seasons can change. how just a over a decade ago, jackson had just toured mark through his realm, how they finally got together and have stayed together and jackson knows they will stay together.
seeing him is refreshing, like the chill of mint when it is first tasted, chilling the senses and working down the spine, all hairs standing at attention. jackson hopes that it will always feel this way, that his heart will always stutter in his chest, that his hands will become useless and clammy, that he will forget how to speak whenever he sees mark. he hopes this feeling will only grow and expand. he’s the happiest he’s ever been. he feels precious and safe and whole with mark. he hopes he makes mark feel this way too.
as if sensing his thoughts and agreeing, mark shuffles impossibly closer. it makes jackson feel like a star about to burst, getting to have this, getting to have moments like these. he puts away his work and slides down to rest at a more even level with mark. everything can wait until tomorrow, some things are just more important.
—
in the beginning, jackson hadn’t realized at first why the other gods had avoided him. he first thought it was because he had many duties to the underworld and schedules simply could not match up, busy through every season, every day, every hour. just as life continues and persists, so does death.
he knows now what the others think of him - as if he’s some brutal conqueror, a scavenger that looks for opportunities to take away life’s gifts to ruin them.
but life and afterlife are not so different from each other; one is just dead instead of alive. once jackson’s realm started welcoming more and more complex creatures he noticed that their deaths were not an upgrade nor a degradation to their souls, rather it was their physical body that could longer continue. creatures came down as their truest self: the purest of beauties, the vilest of demons, or the human in-between. life and death are not the antithesis of each other; they’re mirrors.
jackson knew others had certain thoughts of him but he thought the gods who were friendly with him had decided to look past appearances and pantheon gossip to try to know the real him. he snorts. perhaps he shouldn’t have made assumptions of others’ willingness either.
—
if the underworld wasn't jackson's domain, perhaps he wouldn't have noticed the slight changes to it, but it is his domain. it’s the place he spends most of his time, the place where his power is the strongest and so he does notice all the small details that have changed. his realm is majorly the same, but it is also significantly different.
the weather in his domain has been the warmest he’s ever let it be ever - jackson can forgo his fancy furred over-cloak most days now. he has absolute control over his domain, but before he usually didn't care too much for the temperature - those who would be affected by the chill of death shouldn't have been in his realm anyway.
his own gardens were notorious before — famed for their dark, glittering beauty, but absolutely nothing can compare to the pristine state they are now. his orchards are filled with the literal fruits of mark's love: there are sweet-smelling blood oranges that dye the mouth a vibrant, raw crimson, bushes of blackberries that stain fingers a dark, smoky indigo, shrubs of pomegranates, plump and ripe with seeds, ready to burst at their seams.
the fields of punishment are flowering with blooming asphodels, petals spread open around a diamond middle, glinting like the edge of a polished, sharpened sword - stars in a darkened sky. the jeweled walkway he strolls on is lined with towering columns of white poplars, manicured to perfection.
his cloak flows out behind him, the black silk running like ink rivulets behind him. walking through his realm lets him relax, away from others’ scrutiny. it brings jackson a peace like almost nothing else can. well, except for one other thing.
speaking of which, jackson hasn’t seen mark in a while. he’s been wandering around for a bit, searching for him. his eyes trace over his orchards and fields, gut telling him to not move on, to stay here.
his eyes scan over the fields again and almost startles when he catches the sight of a familiar figure.
jackson can’t believe he almost missed it, but there, in a clear glade of the meadows lays mark, slumbering on a cushion of grass and asphodel. he lounges on his arms, laid down majorly on his side and stomach, bearing his back. mark’s silk robes have been wrinkled in sleep, layers mussed carelessly around his limbs, a few shifts away from indecent exposure.
jackson’s heart thuds loudly in his chest. he quickly struts forward, his figure cutting through the air, steadily making his way over to mark’s side. even though jackson knows that mark is just as powerful as he is, jackson still gets that lightning jolt of fear whenever mark is left vulnerable in his realm. it never fails to warm his heart to have mark here with him. nothing would dare touch him here, but it’s the thought, the trust mark displays so openly, his confidence in his safety in jackson’s realm that makes jackson react just so. he never wants mark to doubt him, to think he cannot trust jackson.
mark’s lips and fingers are tinted a dark pink, scraps of fruit laying a few centimeters away. jackson shakes his head and smiles, soft and fond. mark has been eating pomegranates again.
time has been creeping closer to winter, the autumn harvest coming up soon. mark has been his seasonal tired, working long days above ground tending to the agricultural fields with the cattle and the farmers.
jackson kneels next to him, banishing the food scraps and rearranging mark’s limbs gently so that jackson can place mark’s head in jackson’s lap. he traces a finger over mark’s eyebrow. “beautiful,” he whispers.
“mm, jackson?” mark slurs, eyelids blinking heavily. he turns towards jackson’s voice, his body sleep heavy and warm in jackson’s embrace.
jackson hushes him. “shh, baobei , go back to sleep. i’m here.”
jackson will always be here.
—
even when jackson was younger, he had already been millenia older than most of the pantheon. truthfully, he has been older and is younger than the other gods in many ways. he doesn’t have the socialization the other gods have had, the experience in different types of companionship. as he observed the others form friendships, relationships, companionships he too remembered the emptiness inside him and desired that closeness too. he prepared his domain for visitors, polishing everything there was to be polished, scrubbing everything there was to be scrubbed, preparing lavish gifts and keeping his pantry almost overfilled.
jackson allows his shadows to take him to where he knows his colleagues like to linger when they can relax from their duties for a while. jackson doesn’t mean to eavesdrop but fate churns in the mixing bowl of the cosmos in directions even jackson can’t follow. he’s not sure if he’s grateful or hurt. perhaps he is both.
“are you going to go?”
“to his realm? are you insane?! of course not!”
“then why did you tell him-”
“you think i wanted to refuse him to his face? he’s the god of death! i don’t want to get on his bad side! i’ll just say something in my realm came up - mortals are always doing weird things anyway.”
“if you were trying to get him to like you shouldn’t we still go then?”
“and end up dead ourselves?! everyone knows nothing can survive in the underworld - everything there is all dead, its patron god even more so.”
jackson isn’t dead, but surely, this is how it feels to be.
jackson knows that the others don’t understand how his realm works, but he thought they would at least give audience to him on what actually happens. in the beginning, even jackson didn’t understand his domain so of course he can’t hold knowledge over the others’ heads. he just thought they would have given him a chance to explain what he does.
he leaves as quietly as he arrived.
—
in the beginning, jackson used to receive gifts.
presents of all different shapes and sizes. they started out almost insignificantly miniscule– small yet still brightly shining in all that they were, given to him with the gentle hand of a mother.
jackson kept all of his presents close to heart for a long time until one day he realized he could no longer carry all of them around as more and more gifts kept arriving. and so, his domain expanded.
soon the gifts started growing until they were multi-faceted, all shining still just as bright as that very first gift.
in the long eons when jackson didn’t have anyone, he at least had these.
—
in the beginning, when the wars were won and there was peace for a period and gods could finally gather without a call for violence and retribution, it was decided that there would be an annual meeting the gods would attend. it was agreed upon it would take place on the winter solstice of each year. it was to promote peace between the gods and cooperation between the realms, the recent bloodshed weighing heavily in everyone’s minds.
jackson too had been busy — the war between the gods and the titans took heavy tolls of all life forms. jackson has never been so busy dealing with the souls that now populate his realm, making sure the titans are restrained in tartarus, finding places to sort and store plants, herd cattle, handle the acre long lines of mortal souls waiting for entrance to hades. he’s sure the bruises under his eyes are as dark as his robes.
his job is a thankless one, but it doesn’t stop the pride he feels in himself at handling it all.
he lingers in the shadow of the entryway to olympus, gathering his bearings and the energy to meet and make nice with the rest of the gods, to keep a smile on his face. no one can be afraid of him if he’s making them laugh. it’s when he's on the precipice right before movement when his eyes catch on the shine of golden hair before he can step from one of his shadows. the golden haired god passes by, strolling right past two minor gods and past jackson’s hidden alcove, smelling of orange blossoms and honey, and oddly enough, smelling of the iron of blood and sour bile.
jackson feels as though he’s just drunk one of zeus’ lightning bolts, all of his hair and his instincts on high alert. it’s the sudden spike of adrenaline, the cold, minty fear not his own vine creeping up his palette that wakes him up. it’s like jackson was in a bubble that has now burst, sound drowned out and then attacking his senses all at once: the first gurgling, gasping breaths of a newborn, the winds that rustles the forest canopy, the exhaustive droning heat of the desert.
jackson’s hands shake. he knows this god.
mark tuan, the god of life, the harbinger of spring.
jackson stays several more moments hidden, enshrouded in his shadows, not wanting to meet him. he wouldn’t know how to face mark.
plus jackson doesn’t know what mark thinks of him. what if mark had the same views of the other gods? what if he didn’t? jackson isn’t brave enough to find out currently.
jackson steps out from the alcove and pauses when he can smell the lingering scent of blooming blossoms, electric ozone and fields of fresh wheat. he swallows and crosses the threshold into olympus.
—
it is the beginning of winter and the underworld has never been warmer.
mark is here for longer now, life in the above world calmer and easier to manage with much of life dormant for the cold season. it’s nice spending time together. they don’t say anything as they walk together hand in hand between large stone pots of cypress trees, comfortable. it’s been several years but mark hasn’t discovered all of the underworld yet; he delights in exploring new crevices and corners, having jackson explain the form and function of all his realm.
“you know, you’ve made such a difference here. i don’t think i would have noticed if i did not remember what it was like before,” jackson muses. sure, his realm looks and feels different superficially but all of the changes have happened within jackson. his realm is just a reflection of his own changed state.
“mm,” mark agrees. “there’s only so much the others understand.”
jackson smiles, wry. “it’s not like they try to understand anyway.”
“what do you mean?”
“you know that many of the other gods don’t actually like me.”
mark frowns. “why wouldn’t they like you? they even laugh at your jokes!”
jackson wants to embrace him and never let go. his eyes are soft and sad. “mark, for all of the others’ existences i have been steadily amassing all the souls here in the underworld. many don’t like that eventually practically everything in their realms will end up here with me.”
“that’s stupid. everyone has their domains, how could they not at least understand you have duties to yours?”
“many have never thought of it that way, i think.”
mark’s frown deepens. he stops them from walking further and looks jackson in the eye. he doesn’t blink, dark eyes intense – the calm before the storm, the waves pulled back before a tsunami. his grip on jackson’s wrist is firm but gentle. “are the other gods not respecting you?”
jackson is silent for a few moments, thoughtful. “they respect me a little more now — especially with you here.” he tosses a grin at mark before it slowly softens back into a contemplative frown. “they didn’t use to, although you may have already known that.”
jackson snorts. “they were out right terrified of me in the beginning though…” he trails off, eyes lost in distant memories.
“they believed i was stealing,” jackson continues to explain, wry. his eyes turn down along with the corners of his mouth.
“stealing?” mark asks, eyebrows furrowed.
“i don’t think the other gods know how old i actually am. i was there in the beginning, you know. when life started to die, many didn’t know where it went in the after — life went to me. eventually other gods came to be and when they found out that i was the one who had dominion over the dead, they believed i had trapped life in the underworld for my own power.”
mark jerks, a motion aborted and goes distinctly, silently still.
“you were there at the start…are you sure?”
“am i sure?”
“you didn’t just get appointed to be the lord of the dead? you were there when the other gods came to be?”
“mark, i don’t understand what-”
“how were you born?” mark interrupts with a question that sounds like a demand.
“i…” jackson pauses and observes. mark’s eyes flick from one unseen point to another and back to jackson’s face, trying to piece together whatever puzzle he’s thought up for himself.
“i was there when everything came together from nothing. i believe i was made whole but it felt like something was-”
“taken from you, split from your very essence, like a human body waking up and discovering one of its organs is missing,” mark finishes.
jackson stares at him, open mouthed. “yes, how did you know…?”
“i was there, in the beginning too.”
a moment, and then —
“it's you," jackson whispers, voice quiet as if being loud in this moment would ruin it. "in the beginning, you're the one...i thought you had come to be later…" he trails off before meeting mark's eyes. "you're the one who kept giving me those gifts in the beginning."
mark stares up at him with wide doe eyes, his mouth moving but in not knowing what to say, stays silent. he startles when he registers what jackson has said. "wait, gifts?"
"yeah, the...gifts," jackson finishes lamely. his frowns, brow furrowing as an awkward silence settles upon them, a blanket thrown over them like children in a fort.
mark stares hard at him, his eyes flashing as his gaze moves from point to point again, trying to put things together. "gifts," he repeats.
"did, did you not mean to send me them?" jackson swallows, he doesn't know what he'd do if mark says no, but knows that he wouldn't love him any less, couldn't love him any less. he's been shooting forward like an arrow his whole life, this is no different. mark may not have meant anything then, but it doesn't mean that things don't mean anything now.
"gifts? jackson what are you talking about?"
"the...gifts? you know the first things you gave me? i didn't know what they were at first - they were so small! but as time went by, you gave me a lot of stuff so how can i even complain!"
mark remains frozen in thought so jackson continues to ramble on. “before there was any kind of system you used to give me all sorts of things - amoebas and plants and all kinds of creatures - and then once all the godly domains established themselves everything started to fall into order.”
jackson watches mark’s face go through several emotions at once - expressions like a rolling tide, continually transforming until it settles upon the shore of realization.
“jackson, you really saw those things as gifts?”
“i-yes?”
the waterline of mark’s eyes moisten and turn red. his lower lip trembles.
“for the longest time i was angry and bitter knowing that i would have to send away the lives i have raised, that innate knowledge that everything i cared for and tended to would eventually leave my realm for yours,” mark’s breathing hitches as pearlescent tears fall from his eyes. “but to know that you see them as...that i have assumed as grievously like the others...” mark’s face crumples.
jackson’s hands flail, heart shattering in his chest as tears make their way down mark’s face, tear tracks like estuaries flowing inland. his hands hover over mark’s shaking shoulders, hesitant, before he decides, fuck it, mark can always push him away but jackson can’t bear to not attempt to comfort him. the second jackson’s hands land on his shoulders, mark throws himself into jackson’s chest.
“you’re so good, so good,” mark sobs, face pressed into jackson’s collar. jackson feels every one of those sobs echo in his own chest, a gunshot in a cathedral.
mark’s hands scramble up jackson’s shoulders to claw as his robes, pulling jackson closer by the cloth, nails pressing hard enough against him that jackson can feel the tiny, muffled pricks where mark grips at him, knuckles white and strained.
mark clutches at him like he’d rather lose breath than proximity, an alcoholic still in denial and clutching at a bottle. jackson holds him until he relaxes enough to talk to him, until his trembling calms from high-tide to low.
“in the beginning,” mark starts, “when i had just figured out that i was to be the overseer of what became life in the universe, i was so angry at you or rather, what you represented. life was so hard to sustain in the beginning, it was all too easy to kill, single-celled and simple.”
mark swallows. “eventually, life became more complex but no matter what i did, no matter how i tried to nurture stronger and fiercer creatures, you kept taking them from me. or at least, i thought you did.”
“i thought you were giving them to me,” jackson whispers, stomach in knots.
jackson simultaneously feels as though he is caught in a hurricane and sinking down the depths of the deep waters of the ocean. his assumptions of others had gotten him hurt before but it is nothing compared to this. this is a miscommunication on an astronomical level. jackson would rather suffer through tartarus than go through this with mark, than assume something of mark that simply isn’t true. other gods have made assumptions of him, he would not be one to do that to mark, not when jackson knows the others have made assumptions of mark too.
the waterline of mark’s eyes gather more tears at the edge like a dam, not spilling over as he stares up at jackson. they glitter in the corner of mark’s eyes like diamonds.
“how could i not see it before?” mark asks, looking at jackson like he’s known jackson his whole existence, looking at jackson like it is the first time he’s laid eyes on him. “my everything gets revived by you.”
mark snorts, rubbing the spot on his chest where his heart is softly. “it’s like you were a part of me, taken and then returned. i feel complete with you, like all i had was my heart but had no blood to pump through the arteries. can’t you feel it, how good it feels to be together - it’s like a reunion.”
mark’s eyes flick back to his own, lips tilting up in the corners. “if that makes sense…” he trails off.
jackson swallows, mouth dry and eyes wet. he knows exactly what mark is describing. having that empty, hollow place within him and having it finally filled and comforted only once mark came into his life, wool threading together into fabric, metal linking together into chains, mark and jackson, jackson and mark — sewn together in the perpetual cycle of life and death, death and life.
jackson grabs for mark’s hand, lifting it up and pressing a gentle kiss to his wrist, worshipful. “i understand,” he murmurs against mark’s pulse. jackson thinks of his realm, dark and dreary and cold, of what mark has brought to it - warmth and life. “you brought color back to me.”
jackson presses mark’s hand against his chest, as if the truth could come physically spilling from his heart and into mark’s grasp. mark’s fingers startle slightly when they feel the beat of jackson’s heart, head jerking up to lock their gazes together.
oh.
oh.
“it’s you,” mark says, words whispered in wonderment. “it’s you.”
jackson looks into mark’s eyes and finds his own reflected back at him.
—
jackson doesn’t know how the end will come, if it ever does. however, he does know that he will end as he began – with mark.