Nov 14, 2025
I drew it for @nevertoomanyspiders
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I drew it for @nevertoomanyspiders
Vodník Mokromil
Be my sun in these dark waters
My piece for Märchenstunde, a fairy tale-themed Law/Luffy zine @strawhearttaleszine 🐯👒Aftersales are currently open so check it out if you haven't yet!!
((Law is actually a vodnik but I'm calling him a water imp for ease of reading.))
[ Read on AO3 ]
—————
Grabbing his fishing rod like he did every Friday, a wide grin spread on Luffy’s lips. For some reason, he’d always loved the lake behind their village—loved the calm, soft hum of the water, loved playing in the shallows with his friends, and he loved the fish swimming happily below the surface.
They were the tastiest fish ever.
“I’m off!” Luffy announced to no one in particular.
“Luffy, wait!” Sabo called after him, voice full of alarm. “You know you can’t go today! No one has time to go with you!”
Luffy simply grinned wider, looking back at his dishevelled, clearly distressed brother. “I’ll be fine! Stop worrying, you’ll get wrinkles,” he noted, sticking his tongue out at him.
“Luffy, I swear—” Sabo growled, voice low and dangerous as his hand curled into a fist.
Before he had the chance to say anything more, Luffy was gone, his carefree laughter the only thing lingering in the space he had vacated.
Quickly running to the door, Sabo yelled after his runaway brother, “Luffy, if you fall into the lake again and die, I’m going to kill you!!”
—————
It was a day like any other for Trafalgar Law, the local water imp. He woke up in his bed on the lake floor, had breakfast, then grabbed one of the human anatomy books he had gotten from Shachi and Penguin—two young men from the nearby village whom Law had, begrudgingly, come to call his friends—over the years.
A perfectly normal, boring day.
Until a loud splash came from above.
He tried to ignore it—probably some idiot trying to throw a coin in to ‘make a wish’ and dropping their entire savings—but that soon became impossible when an entire human body came floating down, right into the middle of Law’s living room.
Law closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He was sure that if he pretended this wasn’t happening, it would go away. There was no way someone was stupid enough to drown in this lake of all lakes, much less right in the dreaded water imp’s goddamned house.
There was absolutely no way. He hadn’t been getting enough sleep lately; he was just imagining it, he was sure of it.
“Um, Captain? Are you going to let him die?” Bepo the catfish—his best friend of over twelve years—spoke uncertainly.
Law sighed deeply.
So, it wasn’t just some ridiculous hallucination.
Finally opening his eyes, Law took in the sight before him. The young man was still struggling but his movements were growing weak, strength quickly leaving him as more water entered his lungs. His short, black hair was flowing gently in the water, partly hiding his face but even so, Law recognised that straw hat and the scar under his eye. A guy who’d been coming to the lake nearly every day, sometimes with friends, sometimes with his brothers, sometimes alone just to look out at the water surface, splashing his feet and humming a song to himself, completely off-key.
No, Law hadn’t been watching him.
Not at all.
He simply…noticed him, that’s all.
"Vodnika the Fountain Spirit" appears to be based on vodník (water spirits from Czech and Slovakian mythology).
Souls
The river was a source - giving life, fertilizing the land. Other times it became a killer or, free and unchained, swept away villages only to settle in a completely new riverbed.
There was no chance to negotiate with such a power.
You could just hope in its favour.
The first people to believe in a river spirit were the fishermen. More than anyone else they were living on the water and tossing a piece of bread into the depths and pray for a catch and safe return home seemed like a rather reasonable life strategy.
The being of the river kept watching them from the river bottom. Ever since it had stirred to consciousness, it had been breathing with the rhythm of the stream and flowing in the currents. Humans were… strange circumstances.
They came the closest to it when they were falling down through the water, losing their lives. Whenever that happened, it was reaching them with long, cold fingers and studied them with curiosity. The death didn’t scare it, didn’t move it and didn’t thrill it. The drowned were just becoming a part of the underwater world - they belonged to it.
White, half-translucent souls that were leaving the bodies, were rising up, disappearing into the blue heights. It wasn’t interested in them.
It would be safer to stay down there, but the river and the bank were in an infinite conversation. Even this creature, still ignorant to words, couldn’t escape that dialogue.
Sometimes it was just watching the herons in the reeds. Tall grey birds searched the waters for prey with sharp yellow eyes and cautiously walked through the shallows. Bound to the river, still not its prisoners.
I want to understand.
The being watched them with an envy it didn’t know how to name.
Once it heard a new sound. Muffled under the waves it still stole its breath. It had to come closer.
There was a girl sitting on a bank and she was singing a song. The words didn’t matter, nor her voice nor her. The melody mattered.The music, rough and crude, hidden behind all that.
Two dark eyes were watching her from the water. It was the first time when something not river-bound awakened hunger in them.
I want to understand.
“Away from the water!”
The song was torn apart by a severe order of a crone, plodding her way here from the village. Both the girl and the river spirit flinched; neither had expected such an intrusion.
“A wassermann might pull you under, you fool, come here!” the old woman scolded the girl and she obeyed, rushing towards her.
And someone in the coldness under the waves gasped. He had a name.
Since that moment the Wassermann couldn’t really leave the banks, sometimes he even dared to walk on them, in the uncomfortable unknown of dry land and sharp grass. He was collecting music like small jewels. Now that he knew what to look for, it was everywhere – and always with humans. Women on fields or kids in shallow water sang, the fishermen hummed in their boats, boys blew the willow whistles. When he was lucky enough to find such a forgotten toy, he didn’t let it go until he could whistle all the melodies he managed to learn so far. Then it finally gave in to the water and rot.
One night the musicians sat down by the river. He didn’t know where they came from or why, but they played - maybe just for themselves. They had nothing but various pieces of wood and strings and drums with skins, but what their music was beyond compare to anything the Wassermann heard so far.
It was like a brook hurrying towards the river.
Like a flood.
Like a sky ripped open when the water connects the ground, the clouds, and the river in one for a fleeting moment.
Now he already knew the word envy. The music wasn’t in their instruments they used. It lived right inside them.
I want to understand!
When one of the musicians decided to go for a swim, it wasn’t Wassermann’s fault he chose a place with a tricky current. But it was his decision to not let him swim back. Those were the rules after all: the Wassermann was allowed to pull a man under.
He didn’t care for the wide-open eyes of the dying man at the slightest. Only for what came after them: a half-transparent soul that left the body and that was still shivering with what used to fill the young man’s life. Music. It was the first time he didn’t let the soul go.
While the body descended, the Wassermann caught the soul in his hand. With a decisive move he stuffed it in his mouth, trying to eat it. But the soul fought back and scrambled to get out so much, he had to spit it back.
It almost escaped - but the bony fingers grasped it once more.
The river spirit and the small, angry soul battled among the waters and no one could say who’d win. Finally the Wassermann found a large shell and with a clap he trapped the soul inside.
Then he was sitting there, holding it with both hands, his heart racing.
The soul of a musician was still trying to flee.
Only after a long while he lowered his eyes to his hands. Cut by the sharp shell edges they bled a little.
But they could kill and not get harmed.
In the end he tossed the shell as far as he could. The freed soul immediately disappeared to the surface.
However the Wassermann kept sitting there for a long time afterwards, trembling.
I want to understand…
A wish can hurt.
Can't make it today, a Slavic river spirit stole my soul. Yeah, it's stored in a porcelain teapot now. It has elevated his social status, he's already bragging about it to his river spirit pals. Mhm...not getting it back anytime soon, sooo sorry
Vodník and their steed
Creatuanary 2025 Day 23: Vadyanoy