#for those in peril on the sea

[victusinveritas]

Fisherman's Memorial, Gloucester Mass.

Photo by Jason Kennedy.

[regicidal-defenestration]

Saw a "Doctor Who Facts You Might Not Know" type post and like. One of the facts. I don't have the book on me to check. But I'm one of their fun facts is from the Fourth Doctor Mister Men book

[pa1nrema1ns]

Master and Apprentice || Sung Jin-woo (Part 1 of 3)

Siren!Jin-woo x Deaf!Omega!reader

A/N - Hello everyone! This fic was inspired by the lovely @forbidden-sunlight's siren!au. We both collaborated on this piece and it serves as a direct sequel to her imagine, so do be sure to check it out first! This story picks up right where her imagine left off.

╰┈➤ Chapter Index

🪸 Prequel by @forbidden-sunlight 🌊 Part 2: Two Intertwining Melodies 🦈Part 3: In a Sea of Fire

Content warnings: 18+ MDNI, mythical creatures au, canon divergent, a/b/o dynamics, afab!reader, suggestive themes, obsessive thoughts, slightly ooc Jin-woo (he's very reverent towards Ashborn), mentions of violence, death, and despair, forbidden romance (humans and sirens are natural enemies), eventual yandere!Jin-woo.

Word Count - 3.6k

Summary - Sung Jin-woo seeks answers about his potential mate from Ashborn in the deepest depths of the abyss.

Dividers by @anitalenia and @firefly-graphics

After what feels like an eternity, Jin-woo comes to an abrupt stop. He wasn’t tired in the slightest, but he couldn’t finish this journey unless he was in the right frame of mind. If he was going to face the sea monarch, Ashborn, then he needed to compose himself. He was his mentor’s prized disciple, after all.

Resolute in his decision, Jin-woo pinches his brow, shuts his eyes, and releases a deep, suffering sigh. He had to stop ruminating over the useless ‘what ifs’ of his current situation and focus on the matter at hand. You emitting pheromones in his presence was proof enough that you were a compatible mate, but this would be meaningless if you were unreceptive to him. It also begs the question, was humanity even capable of consorting with sirens? In search of an answer, he reminisces about the tales of old passed down by generations of his kin, as well as the many speculations made by humans.

No one knew the exact origins of his species. Most humans assumed the progenitors were Persephone’s handmaidens, punished by Demeter after Hades had taken her daughter to the underworld and forced her into becoming his queen. Some stories also claimed that seafoam  birthed them, but Jin-woo scoffed at this particularly ridiculous rumor. A scholar had recently published an article on how sirens may actually be the offspring of the river deity Achelous and a divine songstress, citing notations from various mythos on this theory. In truth, reality was far simpler than any of these far-fetched narratives.

There was just no definitive explanation for the existence of sirens. They were not interchangeable with the peaceful denizens of the ocean, known as mermaids and mermen. While all fell under the umbrella of the term ‘merfolk,’ the sirens had a far more hostile and bloodstained relationship with humans.

Since time immemorial, his brethren were viewed as nothing but a scourge upon this world of humanity. Beautiful as a raging typhoon and every bit as devastating, the sirens served as harbingers of doom and destruction for those foolish enough to risk the perilous waters. Their heavenly voices were tantamount to the funeral dirges used to usher the dead into the afterlife. It would be understandable to believe that the sirens were the monsters in this baleful story. However, human nature at its core is fraught with wickedness, and men soon grew wise to the machinations of merfolk.

Odysseus was the first to survive an encounter with sirens. During his voyage to Ithaca, the cunning man had instructed his crew to plug their ears with beeswax, effectively blocking the intoxicating songs that had ended the lives of so many before them. Emboldened by the success of Odysseus’s scheme, other sailors began using this method to conquer the sea and establish trade routes. Within a matter of a couple hundred years, humans not only overcame their fear of sirens, but they also poached them. Huntsmen would capture, torture, and kill Jin-woo’s ancestors simply for crossing paths with them. Worse yet, these scoundrels would often murder merfolk solely to harvest their organs, bones, and scales. They would then use the defiled corpses as ingredients for commodities, medication, and even aphrodisiacs. It was truly grotesque, if not outright barbaric, and more than justified the ire his kind felt towards humanity. While they hunted for the noble sake of survival, men did it for bloodsport and money.

The horrific fates suffered by many of their beloved brothers and sisters particularly infuriated the alphas, with their robust constitutions and natural sense of leadership. With a thirst for vengeance, they began targeting and attacking ships, ports, and even beaches. The alphas considered any place or vehicle that harbored humans as eligible targets. The less temperamental betas remained neutral and avoided the bloodshed, opting to prey upon shoals of fish and other maritime animals instead. Omegas could not join in the hunt, as they were far too precious to lose. They were the most cherished and talented singers amongst the sirens and required around-the-clock protection because of their significant rarity. These were the origins of the current hierarchical structure Jin-woo adhered to.

After recalling the tumultuous history of his people in its entirety, Jin-woo clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white. This was so damn frustrating! Rather than granting him an understanding of his attraction, it just proved all the more why it was so illogical. 

Defeated, Jin-woo raises his head, opens his eyes, and continues to swim.

Another hour passes before he finds himself at the ingress of Ashborn’s lair. His enigmatic teacher lived in almost complete obscurity. Devoid of any light, and enveloped by a suffocating aura, this nautical cavern intimidated all who dared to approach it. Well, almost all that is apart from Jin-woo. He effortlessly permeates the invisible barrier designed to keep intruders at bay and ventures into his master’s spiritual domain.

Despite being an ancient and powerful king of the sea, Ashborn made the strange decision to emulate a land-like environment in his personal chambers.

As Jin-woo manifests into the realm, his appearance gives way to a form more befitting of a land dweller. His tail separates into two legs, his scales smoothen into skin, and he loses the winged fins on his ears and back. Once finished with this metamorphosis, Jin-woo takes a deep breath. Fresh pine, grass, and flowers perfume the air as he’s greeted by a lush valley. It had been a while since he had visited, and the setting had required him to transform into a human. Interestingly, transfiguration was one of the first skills Ashborn taught him. Speaking of his mentor –

“My disciple, it is good to see you again, though you appear…troubled. Tell me, what ails you so?” A rumbling voice rings across the horizon, signaling Ashborn’s approach; the tenebrous essence of the powerful deity contrasting with the greenery of the land. He appears in front of Jin-woo as a great dark knight. Much like his surroundings, Ashborn’s current visage was nothing but an illusion. Even the bravest of warriors said that his lifelike image invoked sheer terror in their hearts.

Many speculate he possesses a massive stature, at least several leagues in height and breadth alone, with piercing eyes and endless tendrils of dark hair. Others claim he is the son of Poseidon, one of the twelve Olympians, and a God of destruction who presided over the sea. However, Jin-woo never once witnessed this side of his teacher in all the years he’s been under his mentorship. Ashborn certainly exuded dignity, but he still displayed a humble attitude. And without fail, he would always appear in that strange, armored suit whenever he was in Jin-woo’s presence.

“My teacher, I must ask for your help on an urgent matter,” Jin-woo starts, anxiously running his tongue across his bottom lip. “This morning, while I was scavenging, I stumbled across the unmistakable aroma of an unmarked omega. It…it was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. As if I was being beckoned by someone or something. I wanted, no, I needed to heed its call.”

Ashborn listens in silence, his expression indiscernible. Jin-woo continued.

 “When I arrived, I was in front of a monstrosity of a ship – a yacht right by the sandbanks. At first, I assumed that someone had taken an unfortunate siren captive. But when I finally saw her–”

“You recognized she was human. Not only that, but she belongs to the lowest level of the hierarchy, an omega. Speak if I am wrong, my dear pupil.” Jin-woo lowers his head in shame, fringe obscuring his eyes. This action all but confirms it.

“I don’t know what to do or how to proceed, teacher. Everything I’ve learned about these creatures has made me detest them. But I can’t bring myself to hate her. How could this even be possible? We are not even of the same species. She’s my enemy, my prey…. At least, she’s supposed to be.” His voice lowers into a near whisper as he ends his confused rambling.

“And yet you don’t view her that way, do you child?” Ashborn poses a question he already knows the answer to but needs to hear in his pupil’s own words.

“No, I don’t,” Jin-woo replies grimly. “I yearn to know more about her. And not just that. I want to meet her, court her, and make her mine. If she’ll even have me, that is… So please, teacher, tell me if there is any meaning behind what I feel. Am I destined for something that bears no place in reality?”

Ashborn remains uncharacteristically quiet while faced with such a loaded question. All is eerily silent for a few moments, save for the cheerful chirping of the illusionary songbirds. At last, the monarch gazes at Jin-woo and gives him the answer he so desperately desires.

“It is entirely possible Sung Jin-woo, alpha of Jindo island, for I am proof of such a fantastical circumstance. My first and only love was also a human omega. A woman I devoted my entire being to over a millennium ago.”

Jin-woo’s eyes widened in shock at this revelation. His mentor had fallen in love at some point, and it was with a member of the human race? This was unheard of.

“I never knew you had a lover,” Jin-woo murmurs softly. “What was she like? Do you still remember everything about her after so many years?”

“Let me show you, my disciple. It is a tragic tale that words alone cannot properly convey.” With a wave of Ashborn’s hand, their surroundings began to morph and alter. The valley transforms into a spacious, yet quaint medieval village composed of several wooden houses with a bustling marketplace at its center.

When Jin-woo regains his bearings, he notices his mentor has also metamorphosized. A man with a sun kissed complexion, long dark hair, and a beard stands where he once stood. Though visibly unrecognizable, he was unmistakably Ashborn. A crimson cape was clasped to the pristine silver armor he wore. A paladin. Jin-woo recalls. He had some knowledge of the past lives of men through his rare excursions onto the Mainland. While disguised as a human, Jin-woo once traded in his goods for a textbook on history. He was loath to admit just how intriguing he had found it.

Ashborn speaks, his voice no longer resonating within the confines of shadowy steel.

“It was here in this village that I came across her. She was the only daughter of a peasant farmer. A strong-willed, rapscallion of a woman with a wit sharper than any blade. I can remember her beauty, her warmth, and her tenacity as clear and concise as the day we met.” He says with a wistful gaze. The scene then shifts to a woman in a pure white gown. Her eyes remained hidden, but it did nothing to impede upon her loveliness. The woman runs animatedly towards a man who looks identical to Ashborn’s borrowed likeness and leaps into his arms. The man then effortlessly spins her around before bringing her into a kiss. Jin-woo watches on, mesmerized by what was unfolding in front of him.

“I feared her rejection once she knew the truth of my identity,” Ashborn admits. “On the night we first made love, I finally revealed to her my status as ruler of the sea. However, it did not matter. She loved me wholly and unconditionally, regardless of who or what I was. Such was the strength of her resolve.” In the next instance, they return to the same valley from earlier. What differs this time is that the man and woman are there, unacknowledging of Jin-woo and Ashborn’s presence. Lost in their own special world. The woman has a flower crown on her head, and she sits on the grass, holding the man’s head in her lap. Both appear happy and at ease.

“For the first time in my existence, I experienced true contentment. I long to return to those days, but alas, our bliss did not last.”

Ashborn solemnly shuts his eyes as darkness overtakes the sky and rain falls. The man is now shown standing at a grave with an expression of anguish marring his face. The woman is nowhere to be seen, although Jin-woo knows exactly where she’s at.

“A plague was scourging the land and indiscriminately ending the lives of thousands. I tried to protect her with my magic, but it was to no avail. She fell gravely ill despite my best efforts. I discovered shortly thereafter that omegas were more susceptible to sickness than their contemporaries. If I had known beforehand, I would’ve brought her to the sea with me, away from that damned disease. But I was a fool who was willing to love and live with her as a man, not as a king. And as punishment for my hubris, an ailment snuffed out her life.”

At the end of his recollection, Ashborn’s lair returns to its original state. His mentor had also regained his shadowy exterior. The valley appears completely untouched by time, as if it were still one thousand years in the past. That’s why his lair looks like this. Jin-woo thinks as he finally recognizes its significance, It was their personal sanctuary. After a few moments of silence, Ashborn speaks.

“Although our circumstances are similar, you still have the privilege of choice. I cannot turn back time, nor can I change the past, but I am grateful. I experienced unspeakable grief, yes, but I also would have never encountered such love, tenderness, and passion had I not taken a chance on my omega. You, my disciple, still have free rein over your decision. Should you choose to pursue this woman, you have my blessing and irrefutable proof that she is a viable mate for you. If not, you will still receive my unwavering support in your future endeavors. The choice is yours to make.”

Jin-woo’s throat bobs. He feels an incredible sense of guilt at unearthing his master’s secret.

“My teacher, I apologize for prying into your past. I – I did not mean to bring up painful memories for you. I cannot imagine what you have endured. As of right now, I am not sure what it is I want, but I know for a fact I cannot give up on this human. I will need some time to contemplate and sort out my feelings. If you will excuse me.”

Jin-woo bows his head before turning to take his leave. As he approaches the exit, a sudden thought emerges at the forefront of his mind.

“Teacher, there is one more question I must ask. This human, she does not speak with words. She communicates with her hands and gestures. Is this some type of sorcery or spell that she’s casting?”

“It is most likely sign language, a manner of non-verbal communication used by humans who are unable to vocalize or hear. Perhaps she cannot speak, or has a hearing impairment, so she must express herself through other means.” Ashborn answers, curiosity lacing his voice.

Jin-woo feels his heart sinking. A siren’s serenade played a pivotal role in the mating ritual and was performed just prior to consummating an eternal bond. If what Ashborn said is true, then there is a possibility you could be immune to his song. This meant he wouldn't be able to use it on you when the time came…

He grits his teeth as he remembers your smiling face. Try as he might, Jin-woo just could not get you out of his head, nor was he willing to let you escape his grasp. You may not have realized it yet, but you had unknowingly sunk your fangs into him and the seeds of obsession were already beginning to take root. Rather than being discouraged by Ashborn’s observation, he instead finds himself reinvigorated.

“Teacher, disregard everything I said earlier. I now know what it is I must do.”

Ashborn peers into the eyes of his disciple, relieved by the determination that lights them. This was much more like the obstinate young man he knew.

“I choose to seek this omega and stake my claim, no matter what challenges may await the two of us,” Jin-woo proclaims proudly. “I will make her mine, but only if she consents to my proposal. And if not through song, then through other courtship methods. I am strong, stronger than any other alpha in my territory, and I know I can protect her from all who would wish her harm. I won’t let my mate slip through my fingers.”

“But what of maladies and the passage of time? You can fight against gods and monsters until the end of your days, but sickness or her ephemeral lifespan will not spare this young woman. In the end, your time with her shall be fleeting.” Ashborn ruthlessly counters Jin-woo’s declaration of protection.

Jin-woo bites his lip, not expecting this development. However, before he can muster a response, his mentor graces him with an answer.

“I know of one way you can overcome this. There is a recipe for an elixir known as the Holy Water of Life. It is a miraculous potion that can imbue invulnerability to communicable diseases, extend lifespan, and transform the consumer into a siren. I unfortunately did not have knowledge of such a panacea while I was with my love. Of course, I live with the regret of not discovering it sooner, as now I have no such use for it, but this does not mean I will idly stand by and let history repeat itself with my protégé.”

With a flash of light, an ancient scroll appears in front of Jin-woo. It unravels by itself to reveal its contents to him. Jin-woo’s eyes widen as he reads. Is this…?

“Behold. The ingredients for crafting the Holy Water of Life. I bequeath this boon unto you, my disciple. However, heed my warning as the acquisition of these components requires you to conquer all 100 floors of the Demon’s Castle and to defeat its king, Baran. This is a treacherous dungeon that may claim your life if you are unprepared for it, but it can also impart you with unspeakable power should you prevail.”

Jin-woo perks up at this information, his interest now fully piqued. “Tell me, master, where can I find the Demon’s Castle?”

“It hides far away, in the city of Seoul, within an incorporeal dominion. It is a flame-ridden landscape that will require you to assume the form of a human to enter the castle. Knowing all the risks it entails; do you still accept my offer?”

“I do,” Jinwoo confidently states.

“Very well,” Ashborn nods his assent, and a key materializes into Jin-woo’s palm.

“Use this key to open the gate to the Demon’s Castle. I have also implanted it with the coordinates to the dungeon’s location. You need only close your eyes and grasp onto the key to visualize it.”

Following the instructions, Jin-woo sees a map that details the exact distance from his current whereabouts to the metropolitan area of Seoul. It will be a lengthy trip, even with his impressive swimming prowess. He estimates it will take roughly half a day to arrive at his destination. Undeterred, Jin-woo presses onward.

“Teacher, I cannot thank you enough for all your help and guidance over these last few years. I give you my word; I will return alive and well, both with the elixir and Baran’s head. And then I will meet with the omega and court her in earnest.”

He departs without another word, although his promise relays an unspoken farewell between them. After some time passes, Ashborn stares at the vast skies of his domain and muses to himself.

“You have grown so much from when I rescued you from the Cartenon Temple all those years ago, Sung Jin-woo. I could not be prouder of you, my disciple. Till our next encounter.”

12 hours later...

Jin-woo finally emerges from the dark, briny waters that frame Seoul’s coastline.

After leaving Ashborn’s lair, he briefly returned home to pack and prepare for the journey ahead. Both Jin-ah and his mother were worried about his sudden departure, so he did the best he could to assuage their fears by giving them a sanitized version of the truth.

Jin-woo claimed Ashborn had provided him with a list of rare ingredients that were only available for purchase in the human markets at Seoul. He even promised to bring back a box of chocolates as a souvenir, something his mother and little sister had enjoyed during one of his return trips to the surface. He then traveled the full 413-kilometer distance from Jindo-gun to Seoul, stopping only for a few hours to rest and recuperate.

As he approaches land, he assumes the form of a naked human man and walks inland from the sea. However, Jin-woo comes to a halt when he becomes more aware of his current state of nudity. While it didn’t bother him, it would cause a lot of unnecessary trouble if any nosy beachgoers happened upon him and asked questions. It is also…pretty embarrassing to admit that he is…wobbly on these legs. Very much so.

He quickly summons his magical inventory and grabs a simple black t-shirt, boxers, fitted jeans, and athletic sneakers (‘Adidas’, the portly sales attendant had called them). As worthless as he found human decorum to be, Jin-woo needed to remain as inconspicuous as possible while he was in disguise. Once dressed, he strolled into the city. After 45 minutes, he found himself at the designated street junction on the map. Taking a deep breath, he brings forth the key, turns it, and unlocks the gate. 

⚓︎ To be continued...

[streetwiseangel]

been thinking a lot about terms like “wilderness” and “nature/natural” as well as “captive” and the feral/domestic delineation. they’re all ideas that uphold the illusion of species supremacy by asserting that anything people touch will inevitably help shepherd the universe towards its one true destiny—the childish ideal that all life ought to participate in full servitude to the human race

[secretmellowblog]

On the subject of the Titanic ‘submersible’ that was lost in the deep with all its wealthy tourists— it’s so insane/eerie in hindsight to read this article from the Smithsonian that interviews the CEO Stockton Rush long before the disaster.

Despite the Smithsonian supposedly being an organization that cares about science and truth, and the fact that there were SO MANY obvious red flags from the beginning and so many people criticizing the company…..the article is a puff piece uncritically glorifying the CEO’s obviously terrible submersible project. It compares him in glowing terms to Elon Musk. It is an article about how private ventures like those of Stockton Rush and Elon Musk can and should be the future of the world.

We’ve obviously learned now that there were whistleblowers at the company who were warning for a long time that Stockton Rush’s submersible was unsafe— only to be fired and then sued. It makes sense the submersible was so unsafe, because the CEO in this interview is open about how he has no background in underwater engineering and is annoyed by quote “regulations that needlessly prioritize passenger safety.”

Soon after, the private [submersible] market died too, Rush found, for two reasons that were “understandable but illogical.” First, subs gained a reputation for danger. Working on offshore rigs in harsh locations like the North Sea, saturation divers, who breathe gas mixtures to avoid diving sicknesses, would be taken in subs to work at great depths. It was the world’s most perilous job, with frequent fatalities. (“It wasn’t the sub’s fault,” says Rush.) To save lives, the industries moved toward using underwater robots to perform the same work.

Second, tourist subs, which could once be skippered by anyone with a U.S. Coast Guard captain’s license, were regulated by the Passenger Vessel Safety Act of 1993, which imposed rigorous new manufacturing and inspection requirements and prohibited dives below 150 feet. The law was well-meaning, Rush says, but he believes it needlessly prioritized passenger safety over commercial innovation (a position a less adventurous submariner might find open to debate). “There hasn’t been an injury in the commercial sub industry in over 35 years. It’s obscenely safe, because they have all these regulations. But it also hasn’t innovated or grown—because they have all these regulations.”

The fact that Stockton Rush (who was piloting the submarine when the disaster happened) is on record complaining about the evils of regulations that prioritize people’s safety, and the Smithsonian uncritically regurgitated that rhetoric in their glowing puff piece about how rich tycoons like Elon Musk and Stockton Rush are going to save the world is just…..in hindsight of how everything ended it’s just so much horrible black comedy? It’s like a satire about the dangers of uncritically worshipping the rich.

It is mentioned in the article that Rush chose to make his submersible in a different shape, and with a different (cheaper) material than is usually used for submersibles. The article frames this as a result of daring innovation, and not of negligence/ignorance. This passage in particular, which in context is supposed to portray Rush’s critics as joyless naysayers who were proven wrong by the noble tycoon, is pretty foreboding in hindsight:

Rush planned to pilot the sub himself, which critics said was an unnecessary risk: Under pressure, the experimental carbon fiber hull might, in the jargon of the sub world, “collapse catastrophically.”

And then!!

The exact problem that happened to Titan this weekend, happened on Titan’s very first test voyage to the Titanic! The experimental carbon fiber hull had an issue and it caused communications to break down!

The dive was going according to plan until about 10,000 feet, when the descent unexpectedly halted, possibly, Rush says, because the density of the salt water added extra buoyancy to the carbon fiber hull. He now used thrusters to drive Titan deeper, which interfered with the communications system, and he lost contact with the support crew. He recalls the next hour in hallucinogenic terms. “It was like being on the Starship Enterprise,” he says. “There were these particles going by, like stars. Every so often a jellyfish would go whipping by. It was the childhood dream.”

Both Rush and the article writer treat this as a fun quirky story, instead of a serious safety failure and red flag with his experimental macgyvered regulation-flaunting submersible.

Other highlights from the article include:

Stockton rush saying that if 3/4 of the planet is water, why haven’t we monetized it?

Stockton saying we will “colonize the ocean long before we colonize space”

Lots of weird pro colonialism stuff in general??? This article loves colonialism and thinks it’s cool

Rush saying he plans for this to eventually help find more underwater resources for the US to exploit and profit from

Elon musk comparisons. The article writer does not mention that Elon Musk’s rockets explode and therefore it would be a bad idea to get in one of them, because that would imply it’s a bad idea to get into the submersible

Stockton rush seeing himself as Captain Kirk

The article writer comparing the tourists who plan to join Rush to Englishmen who went on colonialist journeys to Africa as if that’s like, a good thing. So much pro colonialism stuff in this article

So many sentences about Stockton Rush being handsome when he literally just looks like some guy

The article beginning with an editor’s note from years later disclaiming that the extraordinary submersible they’re advertising in this article is uh. It’s now uhhhh

But yeah it really does just bring home how so many organizations that supposedly care about scientific truth or journalistic integrity are willing to uncritically platform propaganda for wealthy CEOS. It’s frustrating how easily people fall for the fake myths that careless wealthy people invent for themselves, and even more frustrating that supposedly respectable institutions will platform irresponsible lies that end up getting people killed.

Rush is such an obvious and simple example of this, and his negligence is “only” killing five people including himself. But to me it feels like a cautionary tale to bear in mind when it comes to uncritical puff piece media coverage of similar “daring tycoon innovations” by people like Bezos or Musk.

[cowpokemythology]

immortal he, return to me.

playlist pairing: ghost!jacaerys velaryon x fem!reader word count: 8.8k description: the sea swallowed your heart the day it took your husband to a watery grave, two lives cruelly ripped away by the stranger's greedy hands. but, you should've known, he was too stubborn to stay away for long. tags: angst, smut (18+), lots of grief, mentions of canon-typical violence, gore?, spoilers for fire & blood/s3, lots of talk of death and the supernatural, inconsistent and unclear ghost lore because it's just vibes. a/n: this is my first fic, please bear with me. ALSO first time writing smut, sorry if it's cringe as hell. also, sorry it took me ten million years, life kept me busy. from here on out, i will not tease with false promises of release dates lmao. the quote in the beginning is from paradise lost by milton.

“our state cannot be severed, we are one, one flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself." 

The beaches of Dragonstone crawled with winter’s mist and your Jacaerys was dead.

He had promised you a safe return. 

You’d stopped him before he’d left that morning. Pleading, a hand clasping one of his own. The way his calluses, worn from swordplay and dragon riding than any real work, brushed against your skin is still imprinted into your memory. You do not know why your mind clung to this empty detail. Perhaps, you knew even then, that this would be the last time you’d see your husband. 

Your touch had been gentle, easy for him to break through if he wished to brush past. He’d stopped for you, though. When his honeyed eyes had met yours, they were softened. 

“My love…” He’d murmured, a low lilt. The way he moves back into your orbit almost makes you believe that there’s an invisible tether, endlessly tugging you back into each other.

He raises your hand to his plush lips, brushing them across the ridges of your knuckles. His other slides around your waist, melding to the small of your back and drawing you close. The familiar smell of cedar and dragon smoke envelops you, something so uniquely Jacaerys that he never could wash away. The warm lines of your bodies pressed against each other. Your chemise is a flimsy barrier between the heat of him, the blood of the dragon. You’d always privately thought that if anyone could simply feel how warm he was, that any barb of bastardry would be swallowed. You could still feel it through his thick doublet.

Your heart hurts with his affection, worry carved into every crevice of your face. If you could, you would tug him back into bed. If he was entwined with you, beneath the safety of your furs, he would face no danger. You would keep your sweet boy with constellations of freckles and raw umber eyes and he, in turn, would keep you.

You were too old, now, to hide like children.

He sees this, of course he does. He speaks before you can put voice to the multitudes of protests on the tip of your tongue.

“I must go.” He tells you, the words whispered against the back of your hand. You see the resignation in his expression, the trepidation. But a fire burns there too. One that has been raging since he’d returned from the North to a keep bereft of Lucerys’ laughter. 

He’s been hungry for this, to fight, to avenge his brother, to win back what his mother had had stolen, to prove himself to those who sneer at his parentage. He’s been reeling against the council for months to put him to use. That much, you can understand. You cannot rebuke his going, however you can’t help but lament over the peril of it all. 

“I know…” You reply in a resigned breath, your eyes memorizing everything about his form.

He hums in response. His hand releases yours in favor of cupping your cheek, you can feel his warmth branding your skin. You lean into the touch as if you’re freezing. He gently drops his head to slant his mouth over yours, not yet a kiss.

“I will return to you, you must know that. I do not think even the Stranger himself could keep me from you.” Jacaerys whispers against your lips. It was a promise of the cosmic kind, but uttered with the naivety and assuredness of youth. You were both hardly twenty, you had lives stretched out for leagues in front of you. It did not seem plausible, then, for such strong lights to be extinguished. 

“Do not tempt him.” You murmur in response, a furrow in your brow. You’ve never been pious, but this day was as good as any to be superstitious.

The puff of breath that leaves him is amused and then he’s kissing you. 

His mouth is pillowed against yours. You respond to it eagerly, eyes fluttering shut as you melt into him. Soft hands curl into his padded doublet, pressing yourself so close it seems you’re trying to meld your body to his. And maybe you were. If you could, you’d thought you’d make a home for yourself in his ribs and stay there for all eternity. His hands flex slightly around your waist, a pleased noise leaving his throat.

You try to pour your prayers to him through your lips, to imbue him with safety. He kisses you as he always does; sweet, gentle, and all-consuming. There is a withheld passion in him that sets you aflame. He makes your body buzz and your blood sing.

The kiss does not last nearly long enough. Dark ochre eyes flutter open to meet yours, his lashes like those of a doe’s. Jacaerys has always been heart-achingly beautiful. Every bit of him, perfectly sculpted by the loving hands of unforgiving gods. You wondered if they’d regretted it, if they’d melded his cupid’s bow and carved out sharp shoulder blades and decided that this beauty was to be ephemeral.

“Come home to me.” You breathe out, beseeching him with your gaze.

Jace’s gentle smile in return is woefully disarming. His thumbs brush over your hips, as if he too, were memorizing the feel of you. The way the pads of his fingers catch on your nightdress make you shiver. He presses a final, gentle, kiss to your forehead.

“I love you.” The words are pressed into your skin.

His warm hands retract from you regretfully, like waves receding from a stalwart shore. His eyes take you in for a moment more before, in a turn of red velvet, he’s gone. The thud of the mahogany door shutting behind him is a resounding omen of sealed fate.

-

When the dragonseeds do return, their heads are hung low in face of their costly victory. Your husband was not among them, nor was his steed. It seems the dragons sensed the loss as keenly as their riders. The scaly beasts seemed deflated, mournful. Far less proud than how they’d left, with a true dragon prince at their helm. Their chuffs are low, quiet. Everything was stilted, heavy. The stench of sulfur and the sharp tang of iron that hung in that room has not left you since.

It is Addam of Hull who tells you. He kindly takes your arm, guiding you a short distance away. With your heads bent towards each other; he tells you of your husband’s bravery, his strength, and his fate. Of bolts embedded in tender flesh, numb fingers grasping to ship wood, and the blood of the dragon returning to the salt of the sea. 

Many eyes, draconic and human alike, averted their gazes as a raw cry tore itself from your throat. Your hands clawed at your chest for a heart that no longer existed. It lay at the bottom of the sea, with so many other sunken wrecks and bones.

-

The light has gone out of your life. The world around you is grayed and dull, the fog and winter clouds invade in his absence.

You have not known life without Jacaerys, and that remains true even now. You’d been at each other’s sides since the glow of youthful infancy, to the awkward, jutting limbs of adolescence, to the shining pride of (what you could barely call) adulthood. The yarn of your fates, your souls, were intertwined. Together, you formed a tapestry that was supposed to tell the tale of a prosperous king and queen. You knew him better than you knew yourself. You knew his skin was as soft as downy petals, the smell of the oils you’d run through his curls each night, the way his warmth bled into you, and how his smile felt pressed into your collarbone. 

You knew his kindness in the way he’d pressed daisies into your palms as children, you knew his strength in the way he wielded steel easier than breathing, you knew his frustrations in the tick of a jaw over a comment of dark tresses, and you knew his tears; hidden away in privacy. You knew the way they’d shimmer in his eyes until he could not withhold them any longer, the defeat in a downturned head as the first droplet slid down his cheek. You’d hoped he’d always know the feel of your lips as you kissed them away and kept them close to your heart.

You would never kiss him again. Nor would you ever know him, feel him.

Without him, you’ve withered, more phantom than woman. 

You did not leave your bed for two weeks. It is a sea you drown in. It’s much too vast without another body to keep it warm. You shiver despite the furs piled upon you and you hardly ever find sleep. When you do rest, it is fitful, light, or forced by exhaustion. If you’d had the capacity to think of it, you would’ve been surprised that you did not drown in your tears.

You keep your curtains closed. Gone are the days when you invited a welcome sea breeze to billow through your rooms, there was no longer a Velaryon prince to share in it. You refused to lay eyes upon the endless azure blanket that had stolen your breath from your lungs. 

It was much like a tomb, your rooms. It was shrouded in constant darkness. You did not even permit a lit candle or hearth. You would not feel any more warmth, even should your chambers set alight with you inside. All comfort seemed to be extinguished with the soul of Jacaerys.

There was a constant pain in your chest, an ache where your heart used to reside. It was bleeding, seeping out of your every pore. It was so empty yet the weight that pressed upon you was greater still. It was difficult to breathe without him. This weight kept you lying, motionless, in a bed that was now only yours.

 It took all the energy you had to force some of the food your handmaiden brought you down your throat. It all crumbled like ash in your mouth. 

At first, the sobs that had racked your body had hurt your ribs. No comforting hand of a maester or handmaiden could rouse you from these fits of grief. It felt pathetic but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Who could blame you? You’ve lost part of yourself. You’d never hurt so much.

It came in fits. Lots of your time was spent in a haunted daze. Unseeing eyes gazing at a wall or ceiling, hands tangled in furs drawn up to your chin. It was as if your mind refused to live in a world without Jacaerys in it, therefore it would not take part in it. The passage of time meant little. You would wake and soon it was nightfall again, another day spent bleeding out in bed as you stared at uncaring stone. 

You can see the concern shining in the eyes of your maids. You can hear them murmuring to each other as they prepare your chambers, when they think you sleep. About your ashen skin, your frailing body, of the heartache that has drained every bit of life from you. 

At some point, and you really can’t remember when, you’d drug one of his old cloaks to bed with you. It had been in a moment of haziness in your grieving stupor, a late night when a storm raged not just in your heart, but outside the walls of Dragonstone. Your bare feet had drug across the floor with a soft scrape, leading you to his old wardrobe. A cloak, of deep crimson, found its way into your hands. It was an old one, one he had not donned for some time. But it was soft and weighted in your hands. Sheltered amongst his other dressings, it smelt distinctly of him. Of rosemary oil, old cedar, the smell of Vermax’s scales, and the underlying hint of the specific musk that clung to his skin. The fabric has not left your hands ever since.

You distinctly remember a time, in recent memory, when he’d returned late to your chambers from flying with Vermax. He’d left for the dragonmount with a tick in his jaw and a deep furrow in his brow, frustrated by his perceived coddling by those at the council and his own mother. Sometimes, there was a restlessness in him that not even you could settle. You knew, far too well by now, that it is a burden he must unleash in the sky. When he’d returned; his shoulders were unburdened, his curls windswept, his cheeks tinged with lasting nips from the air, and a small smile revealed a small dimple in his cheeks . A light sparkled in his eyes as he laid eyes on you, his wife.

You’d laughed as he swept you into his arms. You had soon wrinkled your nose and wriggled in his hold as he buried his face to your neck, his nose was still cold from outside. His curls tickled your chin and jaw, the smell of dragon was thick and cloying in your nostrils.

“At least wash first, Jacaerys. Your smell will transfer to me.” You’d huffed, exasperation laced with ever present affection. He’d merely hummed in response, a bright smile spreading against your skin. His arms pulled you even closer, melding your bodies together as he lent over you. He nipped lightly at the skin of your neck in retaliation, making you jolt in his arms. Any additional scolding died on your tongue as he brushed those sinful lips up your throat to smother your face in kisses. 

You would give anything to smell the heavy scent of cinders and sulfur on him again. He could smell of volcanic ash for the rest of your life and you would not care so long as he was breathing in your arms. You lay, prone with suffering, clutching the cloak to your chest. If you closed your eyes hard enough, you could almost pretend he was beside you again. Your tears soaked the fabric like blood seeping through gauze. The smell of him faded by the day, and you still refused to let go. Your face was pressed to the fabric, almost as if you wanted to smother yourself in it.

“Please, please, please.” You mouth into the red expanse, begging for a return of something that will never come.

You could only find sleep clutching the linens, like a child with a prized blanket or doll.

-

It is on the morn of the third week without him that you find the strength to leave your chambers. That is when he begins to come back to you. -

Since rising, you can hardly stand to be in the keep of Dragonstone. It is too empty. Barren. You drift the halls like a ghost, palored and untouchable. The twisting walls and damp darkness feel all too much like a crypt.

You have not seen the Queen since the news of her son’s death. The servants whisper to each other in fear, about the mother who has had all love burned away from her with the loss of her eldest. You do not try to go to her, you fear to lay eyes upon the woman Rhaenyra has become.

Baela is on the back of Moondancer more than ever before, flying the dragon to near exhaustion every day. You understand it, you can no longer stand the stifling labyrinth of the keep yourself.

That is why, today, you’ve taken to the beaches. 

You had scarcely allowed your handmaidens to run a comb through your tresses before you’d been up and moving. You’d thrown a woolen dress over your chemise and some shoes before abruptly departing, with his cloak slung over your shoulders like a blanket. You’d ignored the confused calls of your helpers, you’d apologize to them later. The walls had felt as if they were closing in on you, suffocating you. You’d remained in there too long. A moment longer, and you’d felt as if you’d be buried under ancient rubble. It’d caused a thick panic to seize your throat, you needed escape. You couldn’t breathe that stale air any longer.

You keep your eyes trained on the sand in front of you. You refuse to acknowledge the water, as if that would give it power over you. The sound of the sliding waves, coming, receding, and coming again, seemed to taunt you. You are glad for the heavy fog. It covers you like a shroud, hiding your heavy grief and sunken disposition to the eyes of all, including the gods.

The sea is greedy and unknowable. It has stolen from you, it mocks you. Yet, you cannot help but feel the nostalgia and comfort from the constant white noise. When it was sunny, he used to walk arm and arm with you along these very same shores.

The sand tracks your steps, a reminder of the breath that still fills your lungs and your blood still flowing through your veins. Even if you were missing your heart. The wind blows your hair around you, the occasional wisp of it brushing your cheek. The cold bit at your nose and cheeks, you kept the lower half of your face buried in the crimson cloak around your shoulders.

You do not know how long you walk for, you’re in a daze. You could have made entire laps around the isle and you would not notice. Your eyes flick up once, to gauge your surroundings, that’s when you see him.

And it is him. You know it is. You’d know him anywhere, even at this distance. It’s the faint outline through the fog, tousled curls, a billowing cloak, a lithe form. It makes you stop in your tracks, your breath evacuating your lungs. 

You’re left stunned. Your body doesn’t know what to do with itself. Your stomach drops and your heart hammers painfully in your chest. Your limbs are paralyzed. Your eyes are trained on him, chest scarcely moving with breath. You watch him as… he seems to be watching you. The world has frozen. Your body doesn’t know whether it should be afraid, hopeful, or some other third emotion.

Have you gone mad? Has your grief touched you so deeply that it has irrevocably harmed your mind? Your gut twists with the wrongness of it all, of this. He was dead, you knew this. The ocean holds its breath. You feel a sweat break out along your brow, alarm bells ringing in every section of your mind. And that isn’t right, this is your Jacaerys. That was him. It was him-

The tether that seems to immortally tie you together tugged at your heart, reeling you in like a fish on a line. Every fiber of your being buzzed with the urge to rush to him, to combine his sinews with your own so he might never leave you again. You want to cling to him so tightly that your nails would draw rivulets of fire and blood.

My love, my love, my love-

You shut your eyes tightly, taking three deep breaths. For an instant, the scent of cedar engulfs you so completely that it sucks the air from your lungs. There’s a brush of fingers across your cheek that causes your body to shudder, they are frigid. A faint whisper of a low, regal voice reaches you on the wind.

In a moment, it’s all gone.

 You open your eyes. There is no one around you. The fog is empty of all its secrets. The sea continues sighing as it always does. The smell of something earthy and pungent reaches your nose, the wind is picking up. A storm is on the horizon. 

You stand there for a moment longer, every sense searching for any trace of him.

When the rain starts, you’re forced to turn and pick your way back to the keep.

-

The storm that began when you left has not ceased, that does not stop you.

You keep coming back to that spot. Over and over and over again, hoping for just a glimpse of him, any hint.

You feel as if you��re going mad. You can feel him there, something of his presence. You know him, you would know him anywhere. He’s there, he’s here, somewhere. He’s trying to get back to you, like he promised.

And yet, you do not see another trace of him for a long while. You keep returning to the shore each day. It’s almost an obsession, the search. You pace around the beaches, heading down at dawn and only coerced to retreat at nightfall.

There is one day when you break down. You stare down the Narrow Sea with angry eyes. Your hands and chest tremble with the extent of it. Why won’t it reveal him to you again? Why must it take everything? Why must it withhold him?

You wade into the surf, despite the cold air around you. It laps at your calves. It begs for you to wade closer, to dive beneath it’s all knowing depths to drag your heart back to the surface. The laughing white tops dance and swirl, turning your legs numb only after a few moments.

In the turn of a moment, you snap. You curse, spit, and cry at the ocean. You kick and throw sand like a woman deranged. You hiss out venomous words of hatred and raving disgust. You beg and cry for your husband back. You offer the ocean anything it wants.

The outburst leaves your chest heaving. You slowly slide to your knees, sobs wracking your chest as the rain soaks your clothes… his cloak is heavy on your back. It almost feels like cool arms around you. The waves soak your dress, the push and pull of the tide causing your body to lull to and fro.

A knight of the Queensguard finds you just after sunset, still sitting where you collapsed. He thinks you are almost dead. Your hands tremble, lips blue, eyes glossy. Your whole body is wracked with powerful shivers, yet you hardly notice when he calls out to you. Your gaze is still trained on the dark ocean, waiting for any slight glimpse of brown hair or pale skin. -

Your efforts, it seems, are not in vain. You sense the traces of him constantly after that. 

One morning, you catch the tail end of his scent on your sheets. You spot a red flash of velvet turning down the hall, hear murmurings that sound strangely like his voice when you stand on your terrace, feel a caress on your cheek when you cry, feel the brush of curls under your chin when you try to rest at night combined with a heavy weight on your chest.

He is trying to come back to you, you know it. 

Every day he gets closer. -

You have not dreamt often since his death, but when you do it is always the same thing.

It begins with you falling. The air is so limitless that you think you might be flailing until you turn to dust. It is not dark, nor silent. The air is bright and you can see clouds above you. Around you, the screams of men, the roar of dragons, and splintering wood consumes your hearing. The smell of sulfur and burnt flesh makes your stomach turn.

Then you hit the water. Your body is wracked with pain from the impact, every limb stings. You’re stunned with shock and cannot move, sinking. You will drown here. Up and down are confused in your scrambled mind. When your lips part for air, water invades like a greedy interloper; filling your lungs and aiming to take your life. Your limbs flail and claw towards where the light shines down, reaching for you.

Finally, you break through the waves, coughing and sputtering. Your lungs heave with the exertion of spitting up water while simultaneously fighting to get air in. Legs kick beneath you to keep you afloat, though every movement shoots pain through you. When you hit the water, it felt like hitting hard earth. Your body burns, exhaustion begging you to just cease and let the sea claim you.

Adrenaline burns through your veins like fire. You cannot give up. You made a promise.

A piece of driftwood bumps into your side, a savior amongst the chaos. You cling to it, your hands shaking. If you could just hold on, hold out, you could make it back to her. What else could you possibly do? And Vermax… Oh, poor Vermax-

You don’t have the time to process your dear companions death before you feel some split through your shoulder. It jolts you forward, your chin smacking against the rough wreckage you hold onto. Then, the pain blooms through you- white hot. You grunt, your eyes screwing shut. It’s unlike anything you’ve felt before, it reaches deep within you and feels like it’s trying to break through to your chest. The wound throbs, radiating through your whole body. Blood gushed around the crossbow bolt in your back as if it was eager to jump in the water below. Before you can even think, another pain embeds itself in your lower back, making your muscles lock as you cry out. You lose control of yourself for a moment, your body slipping down your refuge. You dig your nails into the wet and decaying wood, splinters embedding themselves under your skin.

Something wet and warm fills your mouth, it tastes like iron, it dribbles down your chin like a drunkard's dribbling wine. It’s getting harder to hold on, your body fighting between survival and giving into the pain. But you must. You’ve no choice but to hold on. Someone will find you, someone will help-

You must make it back to your mother, your family, to your heart…

Something rips through your neck, cruel iron revealing red muscle to the world. Everything goes black. -

You wake choking. Your lungs take a few moments to suck in a full breath. You’re panting, lying on your side, Jace’s old cloak clutched in your fingers. In the darkness, the deep red seeps through your hands like his blood. Your eyes are cloudy with tears, a sob lodged in your throat. The recurring dream rarely lets you sleep through the night without grief. 

When you shift, you feel a warm arm around your waist, a body pressed at your back.

It makes you freeze, your veins turning to ice.

He notices this. He has always been so attuned to you. That remains so, even in death. A gentle shushing reaches your ears, a toned arm tightening around your side. Curls tickle your neck, his nose bumping against the hard bone of your shoulder.

“It’s alright, my love. It’s me, I promise.” The royal timbre of his voice brushes over your skin. And it’s so real… so tangible. You can feel him against you, his voice is right at your ear, and, when you look, you can see his arm around you… As if his death and these past months were all but an extended nightmare. 

Was it?

“Jace?” You breathe, voice wavering. You can almost taste your heart in your throat, your palms becoming clammy. You move to turn to face him but his grip around you tightens, holding you still.

“I don’t-” He stops. When he speaks again, it’s quiet. “I don’t wish for you to see me... like this.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, something like fear gripping your heart. Unease takes hold of you and you shift against him, breath picking up.

“What-” You start, still trying to wrap your mind around what was happening. He’d made his way back to you but what had happened? What did he mean?

Your words are cut off by the brush of lips over your skin, skimming across your shoulder. His lips are as plush as you remember. They brand themselves into your memory once again. It makes you shudder. He begins to press soft kisses to the crook of your neck.

“I am sorry it took me so long…” Jacaerys begins, his arm around you shifts so he can rub circles into your stomach. The touch causes your eyes to flutter shut, it was a familiar comfort. “But I’m back now. I swear, I will never leave you again.”

Your mind fights against itself. You struggle to even wrap your head around how he’s managed to appear like this when you’ve been trying to catch glimpses of him for weeks. On the one hand, you know he’s dead. He is not alive, he has not tried to convince you otherwise. What was he? Should you be indulging in something so… unnatural?

The other part of you begs all rationality to quiet. He was Jacaerys wasn’t he? Your heart, your husband… the person you’ve been begging to return to you. He has granted your wish, has he not? You are in no position to be picky about the way in which he has done it. You would know him even at the end of the world, deafened and blind, you’d know him.

The relief of his return is what ends up winning.

“I’ve missed you.” The words are reverently pressed against your skin, as if you were the Maiden and your body a place of worship. One arm slides under your body to hold you close as his other slides down to your hips, a cool hand brushing over your abdomen. Which was odd… how has the blood of the dragon cooled within him?

His kisses become more insistent, lips trailing across your pulse and your throat. When his teeth nip at the sensitive skin, you jerk against him. You’ve not been touched like this in such a long time, not since he’s left you. You feel the familiar stirring in your stomach, the desire for him. You're dazed, left breathless by his sudden return to you and the heat he is kindling under your skin.

“Missed you too… so much…” You whisper in response, your body being wound by his expert touches. It’s almost overwhelming. You’ve grieved painfully for him and now he was here… touching you.

You suck in a breath as he uses his teeth to tug your chemise sleeve down your shoulder. Jacaerys takes advantage of the open skin, left undisturbed since his absence. You can feel him almost trembling against you as he presses desperate kisses along wherever he can reach. The one arm tightens around your ribs, palm brushing underneath your chest. The other brushes along your abdomen, traveling along your thigh. He toys, dangerously, with the hem of your chemise. Despite the coolness of his skin, his touch brands you all the same. The faint smell of cedarwood and sea salt reaches your nose, filling your lungs. You're surrounded, held, by just him, him, him.

It hits you then, the bittersweetness of it all. He is here, but not as he was. He will never be your Jacaerys again. Here was his spectre, to give you a sliver of what you’d had while he’d lived. Jacaerys’ bright shining light and warmth has been dulled to dim cinders. You cannot help the tears brimming your eyes. It is a complicated thing, the emotions that swirl within you. He has defied the Stranger to be here with you again, but things will not return to how they were.

Your lungs shake with a withheld sob, warm tears trailing down your flushed cheeks. It is an odd opposition to the feelings his touches are evoking. You find one of his hands, the one lingering near your chest, and you bring it up to your lips to press a kiss to his palm. His hands are still soft yet so cold… 

Jace can feel your chest heaving, the quiet sounds of heartbreak you try to withhold. Your heated tears soak into his hand pressed against your plush mouth. He stops his heated kisses, stills his wandering hands. You cannot see it, but his brows furrowed with concern. His forehead presses to your shoulder, a shuddering breath leaving him. Warm breath brushes over bare skin.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, my love. I didn’t mean to- I… I didn’t wish to upset you. I will stop. I’ve only missed you so much, I could not help-” His voice is apologetic, saddened. It breaks his heart to see you so distraught. Jacaerys thinks his advances are unwanted, that you are disgusted by his undead return.

That could not be farther from the truth.

You cut him off quickly.

“No-” Your voice cracks over the words. You swallow thickly, clutching his hand to your lips as if he’ll disappear at the slightest loosening. “Please. Please, stay. I want you. I need you so badly, Jacaerys… Let me be close to you again. Let us be one.” You utter, voice watery and edging on desperation. 

You crave this closeness with him, to feel your husband as yours once again. You have no clue if he will even be able to return to you after this. What rules to the dead follow? You will take all you can of him, let him consume you, possess you.

His fingers mess with the lacy bottom of your nightdress again, testing the waters. He presses his lips to your shoulder blade.

“You are sure?” Jacaerys whispers against you, needing your permission. He wants his wife again. To feel as if he can be hers in the way she needs him again, even if just for a short moment.

“Please…” You almost beg, desire sweeping through your undertones. Your gentle hand finds his own on your thigh, guiding his nimble hand under your chemise and between her thighs. There is an audible hitch in his breath as you guide him to cup you through your small clothes.

You sniffle and gasp, arching into his touch.

Jacaerys curses softly, you feel long lashes brush against your skin as he screws his eyes shut. He shifts against you, hand leaving your guidance only for a moment to grasp your thigh. It’s hitched over his hip, opening you for him. You’re almost surprised to feel that his skin is bare behind you. You ache to look upon him, to cup his face and kiss him till your heart is whole again… but you stay how he wants you.

His hand returns to you again, gingerly brushing over the inside of your thigh. He’s memorizing the feel of you again, of your smooth skin under his own. You feel so alive, so plush, thrumming with the ichor of life. He groans as his hand slips to the apex of your thighs again, feeling your smallclothes are already damp. You wriggle against him, hiccuping with soft cries as your tears refuse to cease. 

He whispers your name, a breathless prayer. His chin perches on your shoulder as he continues to feel you through your fabric. Downy curls brush across your cheek, soaking up the dampness that lies upon it. His other hand moves from your kisses to tug down the neckline of your chemise, revealing your bare chest. You whine as he takes one in his palm, thumbing over it. Your eyes flutter shut, head leaning back against him. He takes this as an invitation to kiss your bare throat. You push yourself back into him, feeling his arousal at your haunches. Jacaerys makes a soft noise of pleasure, hips grinding against you for only a moment.

His hand at your core shifts. Your breath picks up, stuttering over gentle whimpers, as he slides his nimble fingers beneath your smallclothes. He’s murmuring soft words into your skin, yet your mind can hardly process them when his fingers swipe through your wet center. You gasp, pressing back into him as your hips jerk into his touch.

He groans, biting lightly at your shoulder before soothing it with his tongue.

“Oh, my love…” He murmurs, sounding almost amazed. Jacaerys is breathless behind you, massaging your breast in one hand as the other explores your arousal. You can hardly take the perceived teasing, squirming in his hold.

Your tears have begun to slow, your sweet grief overshadowed by pleasure. You had not realized how much you’d craved his gentle intimacy till you had it again.

“Jacaerys, please.” You moan, hand reaching to wrap loosely around his wrist. He shushes you gently, pressing soothing kisses to the crook of your shoulder.

“I’ve got you…” Your husband soothes. His lithe digits press your clit for a moment, making you mewl, before he’s sliding a finger into you.

You gasp at the feeling, you have not felt such pleasure for too long. He’s mesmerized. His kisses have ceased their gentle assault as he watches with amazement, his eyes focused on his hand beneath your nightdress. You’re already slick enough for him to make the slide easy. The way you tighten your hand around his wrist and shift back against him is indicator enough that you need more.

His second finger breaches you easily. Your moan comes louder now, almost a sigh of relief. His fingers have always reached so much deeper than yours can, brushing against the gummy spot within you that he only knew to reach. You roll your hips with every gentle push of his fingers, a slow rhythm being set. He hums, lips skimming across your skin. Every once in a while, he sucks marks into your neck, laying waste to the previously clean slate. His hips buck against you, trying to find some friction. He cannot help it, it’s almost embarrassing. He craves you more than life itself.

Lashes brush across your cheeks as your eyes flutter. Every pump of his digits has you whining. He always stretches you so fully, so deeply. The sounds are almost embarrassing, a slick slide becoming apparent with every thrust. Your body welcomes his touch into your tight heat, wet and eager. Your cheeks burn, mind hazy with the pleasure of it all. Momentarily, you forget every bit of the world around you. You are his again and he is yours. You gladly let him take whatever he wants from you. Your heart is his.

He begins to curl his fingers within you, picking up the gentle pace. His thumb finds your pearl, rubbing it in tight circles. Your plump lips part over a mewl, your hips jerking into his every touch. Jacaerys feels as if he might come simply at the feeling of you against him once again; as your body melds to his, the way you squeeze his fingers tightly, the way you cry and beg for more. It has been far too long. But he never intends to leave you again.

“My poor wife…” He mumbles to you, his voice low and punched out. “Her pleasure has been neglected for far too long… I will fix that. I’ll make sure you never go without a warm bed for the rest of your life.” The undead prince promises. It does not occur to you at the time to think too deeply about his words.

Soon, you're writhing against him. Your eyes screw tightly shut, your throat constricting over moans. Your cunt squeezes and flutters around his digits, brought to release at his expert touches. You ride it out beautifully; lips parted, red marks blooming across the one side of your throat, body flushed, and your grasp on his wrist forcing him still as you take your pleasure from him. He can feel your release dripping down his palm, messy and desperate. It makes his body tighten with desire. He craves to be inside you, to make you his wife again, to feel the ultimate form of connection they can share.

“That’s it… Take what you need, my girl. You can have it all…” He praises, the filthy words curling over your skin. And you do.

You slump back into him, grip growing slack around his arm. He gingerly pulls his fingers from you, shushing you as you whine at the loss. His arm leaves you for a moment… but you hear him licking his hand clean of your release. It makes your gut swirl with heat, your body buzzing with the eagerness of having him again.

Jacaerys’ veined hand keeps working at your breast as he lets you catch your breath. Soon enough, you're shifting against him again. You can feel his cock pressed against you and he’s been so so patient. You press yourself back to him, you both moan in tandem with him at the friction it provides. 

He suckles at your neck, breathing heavily. His hand tightens at your chest, feeling you almost roughly.

“Please.” He utters. Jacaerys was never one to beg easily. But his soft whimper always made your knees weak and heart flutter, arousal flowing through your veins like the wine of the gods. “Let me take you again, my heart… I’ve missed you. I just.. I just need you again.”

You're nodding before he can finish his next sentence. You want to kiss him so badly. You want to lick into his mouth as you let him claim you. You wish to spend all night with him warming your bed and pressing his imprint back into your body till the memory is ingrained into your sinews forever.

“Take me…” You breathe.

That’s all he needs.

Jacaerys moans against you. His nips at your pulse point as his free hand slides your small clothes down your legs. You kick them away swiftly. He hitches your leg over his bony hip once again, exposing your bared core. 

He positions himself at your entrance, almost trembling with the effort to hold himself back. He pants against you, pressing his nose to your throat. Your eyes flutter as you feel his disheveled hair caressing your skin. Your body hums with anticipation, clenching around nothing.

It’s a momentary stillness, almost as if the room itself is holding its breath.

Then, he’s pushing into you.

You’ve never felt so complete. Your lips part over a silent moan, your body trembling against him. He groans loudly into your neck, almost whimpering. He mouths over your skin, as if to distract himself from the overwhelming pressure of sliding home to you once again. His kisses are wet and hot, tongue laving over your throat as if he was trying to eat you.

Your body flutters around him. He moves slowly, letting you adjust to taking him once again. It used to be a nightly ritual for you both, but now… it was something reverent. Your chest heaves, he fills you so completely. He isn’t even pressed in fully yet but it forces your body to make room for him. It’s beautiful. Jace’s hand tightens on your thigh, keeping you spread open despite your fluttering muscles.

Soon, you can almost feel him in your lungs. His hips press flush to your backside. You both pant, breathing synced. His thumb brushes your nipple, causing you to mewl and squirm against him. Your cunt flutters, adjusting to the stretch. You cannot handle the stillness any longer.

“Jacaerys…” You moan. He knows that inflection in your voice all too well. He rolls his hips against you, punching a groan out of you both. He feels almost frenzied, having your perfect body wrapped around his cock once again.

Soft rolls soon turn into gentle thrusts. It feels like he forces the air out of you with every move. The stretch soon becomes intensely pleasurable. His hand on your chest and thigh holds you in place, holding you open for him to take, for the slick slide of his cock. And you’re so much more than willing.

Your eyes flutter closed, your mouth parted with continuous whines and mewls. You sing so prettily for him. He tries to bite back his pathetic whimpers, but it’s little use. He’s soon moaning into your neck, always so loud and needy for you. He can feel your walls sucking him in, pulling him deeper with every thrust. His hips hit your plump backside with every move. He feels as if he’s reached heaven.

“My love..” He whines against your skin, greedily kissing and licking at any skin he can. He nips at your jaw, your throat, your pulse, your shoulder, even your arm. It’s frenzied, wet, hot, desperate.

“I’m sorry..” He rambles on, causing your chest to tighten. You whine, mouth opening to argue his apology but a moan takes its place as he picks up his pace. 

“Broke my promise..” Jacaerys continues, nosing along your jaw. “But not anymore. Not leaving you ever again… My wife… my beautiful beautiful girl… Always so good for me. Saw you mourning me..” As he speaks, his hand moves from your thigh, finding your pearl and pressing mercilessly into it. It causes your body to jolt, your cunt fluttering around him. You’re left almost breathless with pleasure, voice hoarse from crying out to him in bliss.

“I’ll take care of you now.. I promise. Never again, never breaking my promise again… I’ve got you.” He murmurs, an oath formed with a gentle kiss to the thudding pulse beating against your neck. You gasp out, rolling your hips back into him with every firm slide of him within you.

You’re embarrassingly close already, body spasming around his length. He hits every place within you that makes your body light with fiery rapture. His hand has never moved from your chest, firmly holding you against his own as he feels you. The other works mercilessly at your clit, playing you like an instrument made just for him. 

“I love you, I love you, I love you…” You repeat over and over again, the confession barely made over heaving breaths. Then, you’re pushed over the edge.

You cry out, gasping as waves of pleasure roll through you. You gasp and ramble meaningless sweet things, incoherent. You hear yourself repeating his name like a prayer. You clench tightly around him, taking all the pleasure you can. It makes him whine, arms tightening around you as he finds himself in a similar state.

Jace’s breaths are shaky, raspy as he pleads your name. It rolls off his tongue easier than his own, the sound melting over you like honey. The tight slide of him within you, the sounds you make, the all consuming heat of you against him has him following you over the edge.

A hand slides from your chest to your throat, tilting your head back against him as he muffles his pathetic moans into your throat. He pumps his hips; once, twice more before he’s spilling into you. He fills you to the very brim and you’ve craved that very warmth. You feel so alive, so full, so thoroughly had. 

Panting is the only thing heard in the room, breathy whines reverberating off the stone walls. His hands slacken around you, shifting to a comfortable hold. You can feel Jace practically drooling on your shoulder, no doubt blissed out as he always is after such intimacy. He is pressed deeply within you, kissing your womb. He makes no move to remove himself yet.

But eventually, you whine from the overstimulating feeling and your body’s sensitivity. He shudders as he pulls out of you. You can feel his release dripping down your thighs. You regret the absence but you both know your bodies well enough to know it must be done.

You take advantage of the lull in his guard. You turn quickly in his arms to face him, too swift for him to make a move to stop you.

Jacaerys speaks your name, startled. It’s a protest that comes much too late.

Your heart feels as if it shatters in your chest.

He is your Jacaerys… but he is changed. He looks much like he did before. His skin contains its color, as if he still holds life. His freckles stand out on the bridge of his nose, his curls disheveled across his forehead, his eyes watery as they meet yours. 

But what catches your attention the most is the crossbow bolt through his neck. The wound does not ooze and bleed as it would normally, it is more a stationary part of him now. There is only the red, irritated flesh where the metal enters and exits him. It is a cruel reminder of how he’d suffered his fate.

Jacaerys shuts his eyes tightly at the sound of your startled gasp. He turns his head into the pillow beneath him, almost looking ashamed. He hadn’t wanted you to see him like this… and yet you’d discovered him anyway. 

Trembling hands reach out to cup his face, tilting it towards your own. When his eyes find yours, he finds your bright eyes filled with tears. Your bottom lip wavers with the effort to withhold your cries. He shushes you gently, his own hand coming up to brush away the first tear that falls. 

“Oh, Jacaerys…” You murmur weakly. You're quick to pull him to you, clinging to him so tightly that he thinks his apparition of flesh will blend with your life. As your hands slide around his back to hug him, you discover two more bolts. One in his shoulder, the other in his lower back. You whimper against him, face pressed into his collarbone. You cannot imagine the pain he’d gone through… the fear he’d felt as he felt life slipping through his fingers and bleeding into a hungry ocean. Your warm tears seep into his skin. He holds you close in turn, his hands press their firm marks into your skin, clutching you close like you’re salvation. He buries his face deeply into your hair and shutting his own bleary eyes.

You’ve seen him, the worst of him, and your first instinct is to pull him to you… not to flinch away in fear or disgust… He loves you, more than anything else.

“I’m so sorry.” You sob into him, chest heaving with the weight of it. “I’m so sorry, Jace…”

He shakes his head immediately, pressing his lips to your hair.

“Don’t.” Jacaerys murmurs to you, his voice quiet and shaky. “It is no fault of yours, my heart…” 

He gently pulls away to make you look up at him, his eyes soft as they meet your own. He presses your foreheads together.

“I’ve made it back to you, my love. I told you… the Stranger could not even keep me. I belong to you. Heart, body, and soul… You shall never be without me again. I will crawl back to you if I have to, always.” He promises. You do not comprehend the full extent of it but your heart warms with the words of utter devotion. Jacaerys has defied death and will continue to do so… for you.

He’s always been so stubborn.

Your eyes flutter shut as his lips brush your tears away.

“I am yours… I love you.” You whisper to him, throat tight but your words sincere.

Then, you press close to kiss him. It is all gentle and saccharine. 

That night, you fall asleep with him in your bed. His tresses brush your chin as his face is buried into your neck, you can feel his breath fan across you, his plush lips pressed to your skin. His hand rests protectively over your still beating heart. You cannot feel the beat of his own, but his chest rises and falls with your breaths. Your arms rest around his shoulders, greedily holding him to you, face pressed to the crown of his head. The smell of cedar chokes you but you happily suffocate in it. His old cloak is wrapped around you both.

It is the best sleep you’ve had in weeks. -

The next morning, you wake alone. 

You feel the most rested you have since Jacaerys has passed. The memory of his loving touch, even if just a dream, was a pleasant one you cling to as the Sun coaxes you awake. You are unsure if it was real. The more that dawn lights your rooms, the more unlikely it seems. The storm that has haunted Dragonstone for weeks has seemingly passed. 

Strangely, your immediate grief is stifled as your eyes flutter open, something warm and pleasant wrapped about you like a blanket. Your body hums with the feeling of rest and intimate exertion. Jace’s burgundy cloak is tucked nicely around you, you bury your face into it until your handmaidens come to rouse you from your bed. 

You are groggy, still half-asleep as they begin to dress you.

You are startled when one of your maidens gasps, stilling in her braiding of your hair. 

“My lady! What has happened to your neck?” 

Her hand cautiously brushes along your shoulder and you hiss, the skin surprisingly sensitive. Your eyes sharpen, finding what she’s talking about in the mirror.

Lying stark in hues of red, pink, and purples are violent looking love bites.

[merbear25]

Hello! Glad to see requests are open! Seeing that may I get a small thing for Zoro, Law and Mihawk. I've been having the idea of a devil fruit user reader falling into the water and needing rescuing (I'm very aware Law is also a devil fruit user but that just gives extra angst does it not). Hurt/comfort of course

Hello! Thanks for sending this in. I decided to change it a little for Law's, but I hope you like it anyway 💜💜

Even with precautions set in place, the sea was where the unexpected could happen. Whether a storm, sea monster, or battle taking place, the threat of the water was something you could never escape. Luckily, those closest to you were always prepared to protect.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, can be read as platonic or romantic, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, headcanons/scenarios, reader is a devil fruit user

If you went overboard… (Zoro, Law, Mihawk)

Zoro: He’d always been protective over those closest to him, so you were no exception. Though never overbearing, he still kept an eye on you. During times of peril, he kept you in arm's length as often as he could. You were capable—strong in your own right. However, there were dangers that automatically made you far more vulnerable. 

That day’s waters were vicious. The waves cascading over the railings gave no sign of the storm letting up. One wrong step was all it took to send you hurtling overboard. A shriek that pierced even during the hurricane-like winds sent the other hearts onboard plummeting.

Their cries for you weren’t accompanied by Zoro’s, but his action traveled faster than their worried calls. Before your limp body had the chance to sink much lower than the surface, he was there, diving in after you.

He was never short of prepared. Even when taking one of many naps, being aware of his surroundings never faltered. 

A watchful eye on everything and everyone, his friends being the ones calling for actions guided by the heart.

He wasn’t one to hound others on things they were already aware of. The unexpected should be expected, and that meant there’d be times when you were made vulnerable and in need of help, just like all the others.

Law: The sea gave no pardons to anyone. Your devil fruit abilities came with a burden that at times felt more like a curse. The calm waters the Polar Tang was cutting through turned dark as the daytime sky transformed into night. With night came more blind spots because of the abyss inevitably closing in.

A sudden wack against the side sent some of the crew members to the floor. Books flew off the shelves and the alarm sounded through the metal rooms. Red lights that blinked in urgency left split seconds of total darkness in your room. Another slam caused you to trip and miss the door handle.

Water started spouting through the cracks, and with each attack against the submarine the cracks grew in size. Your cries for help were quickly silenced by the rising water. The cold ocean held you in a tight embrace against your bedroom floor, yet offering no comfort. An immediate drop outside your room jolted you awake.

It would come as second nature. No thought, just action. You were one of the few who he considered close to him.

Rescuing you, no matter how often, came with some lectures, though. Even if it wasn’t entirely your fault, he mostly did it as a way of expressing his fear of losing someone he cared about again.

Thorough check-ups after such shocks to the system were given, even if you protested saying you were just fine.

Mihawk: Holding the title of the greatest swordsman marked him and anyone close to him as a target. The bullseye seen by the world was drifting casually through the seas, catching the rays of that day’s sun. The rippling water from an approaching ship didn’t even cause him to open his eyes. He was still enjoying the warmth of the sun, but with the supposed enemy drawing nearer, he was left with no choice but to give them even a fraction of his attention.

The captain baited Mihawk, wanting to see the swordsman’s raw power for himself, even if that meant putting his crew’s lives in jeopardy. However, Mihawk wasn’t known for being temperamental, which many of these hecklers seemed to forget. A smooth swing of his sword and their ships sank to pits of the ocean floor.

When a shot was fired at you, the bullet was sliced in mid air. Though you hung around someone whose composure didn’t break, you flinched enough for the both of you. A motion back one step too far was all it took for you to lose your footing and slip into the shackles bound to you by the devil fruit. His challengers were swatted like the pests they were before he dove in after you.

Even his lectures were articulated like advice, which you accepted without protest.

He’d insist on giving you training to help you control these impulses, albeit natural, were life threatening in the wrong situations.

That being said, he obviously knew that once you were overboard, you required his full attention. He simply wanted to offer you assistance to prevent this from happening more frequently.

[h3artw0rms]

The Shuriman chanting from the song "Ashes and Blood" is one of the best lore tied songs in my opinion!

Translated, it means:

Beyond these walls, the storm's fury grows

Over land and sea, the storm's fury grows

But I have nothing to fear!

For the blue bird is with me

Which is a clear reference to the wind goddess/ wind spirit Janna Jinx was talking about in that very cave where she was battling Vi.

In LoL she's a deity that actually exists, she helps the citizens of Zaun, but especially children. In earlier lore, she was a Zaunite herself, a human girl who helped others, but was seen as a kind of saint (parallel to Arcane Viktor now? Who knows!)

Anyway, the lyrics can be interpreted as the following:

"Beyond these walls, the storm's fury grows / Over land and sea, the storm's fury grows" Janna is a protector, born from the prayers of those in desperate situations. For someone living in such a precarious state, the storm outside could symbolize the chaos, danger, or turmoil in the world, whether literal storms or the metaphorical struggles of life in Zaun or elsewhere. Despite this overwhelming fury, the speaker feels no fear because Janna, often depicted as a benevolent blue bird, is present to shield them.

This aligns with how Janna is worshiped in Zaun as a guardian spirit. The people in the harsh, industrialized, and often hazardous environment of Zaun look to her for safety. The "walls" in the lyrics could represent physical barriers, like the buildings in Zaun, or emotional barriers, a symbol of vulnerability. Yet, no matter how strong the storm outside, Janna’s presence provides reassurance and protection.

"But I have nothing to fear! / For the blue bird is with me" It's Janna herself. In this interpretation, the blue bird becomes not just a symbol of Janna’s watchfulness but also a representation of hope and faith. It embodies the idea that no matter how fierce the outside world becomes, the winds and Janna will always safeguard those who trust in her.

These lines mirror the hope and protection Janna brings. The blue bird, as a manifestation of her essence, reassures those in peril. To believers, the sight of a blue bird is a promise that they are not alone, and Janna’s winds will shield them from harm.

In official LoL lore, it says:

Seafarers might spot a bright blue bird just before a healthy tailwind billowed their sails. Others could swear they’d heard a whistling in the air right before a storm, as if to warn them of its approach. As word of these omens spread, sightings of the bird grew more common. Some even swore they had seen the bird transform into a woman. With tapered ears and flowing hair, this mysterious maiden was said to float above the water and direct the wind with a flick of her staff.

It's great how Arcane built parallels between Jinx and Viktor honestly. Janna is fictitious in the world of Arcane, but to me, Jinx is the blue bird that appeared before the storm/ rage of Piltover (as we will soon see when she starts the revolution, hence the blue flag she holds in ber hand in the trailer) and Viktor being the savior who helps the Zaunites in some other way, especially at the mention of Janna's staff and Viktor himself having a staff.

[trikaranos]

TRIKARANOS CHAPTER II: THRESHOLD (part 2)

TRIKARANOS is a comic about Crassus until it isn't. Intended for an adult audience.

lmao it was way longer than I planned for it to be between uploads. life! my laptop stopped working, I had bills to pay, jobs to work to pay those bills. etc. well! at long last! and hopefully it won't be so long before I can post the next part hah a

⭐ Trikaranos will always be free to read! at some point in the future I plan on setting up a patreon to support my ability to make comics, like this one!

⭐ There is no set update schedule (alas. chapters vary in length and will be posted as I finish working on them. sometimes a page involves drawing stairs and that takes forever.)

⭐ alternative places to read it (coming soon!)

PREVIOUS UPDATE | START HERE | ToC (coming soon!)

misc talking under the cut

Crassus himself, being very young, escaped the immediate peril, but perceiving that he was surrounded on all sides by the huntsmen of the tyrants, he took with him three friends and ten servants and fled with exceeding speed into Spain, where he had been before, while his father was praetor there, and had made friends. But finding all men filled with fear and trembling at the cruelty of Marius as though he were close upon them, he had not the courage to present himself to any one. Instead, he plunged into some fields along the sea-shore belonging to Vibius Paciacus. In these there was a spacious cave, where he hid himself.

Plutarch, Crassus 4

CAVE ARC CAVE ARC CAVE ARC. INTO THE CAVE YOU GOOOOO to enter the cave you must go through the mouth. doors are mouths, caves are mouths, rome is a mouth and a stomach.

anyway. romans and their brothers. oof. there's a lot to unpack there, and we're for sure going to get into it later.

[timetravellibrarian]

He was intriguing. That was a word you could describe Trafalgar Law as. With his expression hidden behind that hat and his seemingly elaborate plans, there's no question he is.

At first when you had met him in the bustling groves of the Sabaody Archipelago you wouldnt have guessed he would become an ally.

The crew had split up, exploring the place known to be a stop for both pirates and nobles alike. You had ended up exploring the market for something new to wear, this time with your own money instead of borrowed money from Nami that lead to a perilous amount of interest.

Little did you know that you were as famous as your bounty poster suggested, bumping into crews that not only knew your friends but also you too.

First impressions matter, no matter where you are and who you're dealing with and the first thing you said when your gaze fell on him there was certainly a lasting impression.

The dark circles, the goatee, the large hat and especially the jeans.

The Surgeon of Death

"You look like a backalley doctor."

Not only did he look shocked, but also offended. Mainly because his own crew were hiding their guffaws horribly, seeing the vision of what you meant.

This was before everything had gone haywire and crews were forced to claw their way out of the doors of death from which Admiral Kizaru and the Pacifistas had the keys to.

Now sitting on the chair beside Luffy in the hospital room aboard the Polar Tang, having flashes of the war playing through your mind left you unaware of the footsteps approaching. The so called "Surgeon of death" had become part of your usual routine, mainly checking on your wounds and informing you on your captain's condition.

You watched as he checked Luffy's vitals. You never left your friend's side since that day, not trusting anyone. Afterall, he was the only one in the crew who's state of being you were sure of.

"Are you going to keep glaring at me the whole time?" His voice broke through your thoughts as you absentmindedly watched him take out bandages he would use to redress Luffy's wounds

"Hm?"

He rolled up his sleeves, allowing more of those tattoos to be visible as he washed his hands. Your eyes fell on those inked hands that both saved lives as a doctor and the cause of unknown terrors as a pirate.

"You're worried about Strawhat-ya?" He stated, lifting Luffy's body as carefully as he could under your harsh gaze.

"Partly," You began, crossing your arms, " I'm curious. Why?"

Law felt something invisible wrap around his neck as soon as his hands had gone off of your captain. He had heard about one of the strawhats having a mysterious devil fruit. One that didn't need the beholder to even lift a finger.

He smirked, feeling your power pressing harder on his neck and allowing little air to flow through his body,"Why?"

Somehow he kept a somewhat confused expression despite the dire consequences of your actions.

"I'm not playing around, Trafalgar."

"I know you're not."

He had a chance to just throw you and Luffy out into sea. You were both anchors afterall. Turn you in for your bounties. Tortured us for treasure. Cut your organs up for whatever sick operations landed him the title he held.

So many questions in your vigilant mind .

"I felt like it," Law said, not being fully honest but also not lying. His eyes didn't leave your face, gauging out your reaction.

"Sounds like something a backalley doctor would say." You let go of him, watching as he took deep breaths to control the panic that he has hidden behind his calm facade.

"DINNERS READY!" a yell from somewhere aboard the ship had called out.

"Sorry for that." You said, no longer looking at him and instead focusing on your unconscious captain. Your fingers had intertwined with his, feeling his pulse at the wrist with your fingers to remind you that he was still alive, even after all the death and destruction of the war

Law hummed in thought, hands lingering on his neck before letting go of the initial threat to his life." I'll have dinner sent to you."

He walked out of the room to join his crew, leaving you to your thoughts as you guarded Luffy.

Two things were decided. One. You wouldn't leave your captain's side until he would wake up.

Two. Trafalgar Law found you just as intriguing.

[themisplaceddemigod]

i'm immortal, i can wait

PJ!Apollo x F!Reader

summary - Apollo has loved you since he first saw you, but he's had to wait several years before he could make such a confession. Especially since you're the child of his scariest uncle, Poseidon.

warnings - Apollo is his own warning. that and his haikus, also i am KEEPING JASON ALIVE in the Trials of Apollo part of this (curse you Rick)

He met you in person when you were fourteen.

Westover Hall, you had been summoned to collect two demigod kids with your brother Percy and friends Annabeth and Thalia. The mission turned sour, Annabeth was kidnapped, and Artemis saved the day before calling him to give you all a lift back to camp.

Both of you could remember how red your face turned when you'd seen him, and he wouldn't tell you but he'd heard you talking about how hot he was with Thalia. It boosted his ego (which quite frankly does not need any more boosting), and he was smug the whole ride.

"Percy, you never told me you had a sister!" He spoke so loudly the whole bus could hear him.

"Um, because we've never met in person?" You brother suggested, a little nervously. Apollo was pretty chill, but that made him even scarier.

The god of the sun just laughed, before turning to look at you. The way his eyes roamed your figure felt less-than-innocent, and your face flushed as you yet again turned a bright shade of red. You couldn't believe the Apollo, the hottest Olympian, was actually staring at you with interest. Like he found you pretty enough to be stared at.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" He smiled flirtatiously, earning some aggressive threats from the Hunters behind you, which he ignored. "Just kidding, I know it already. (Name), right? Pretty name."

You felt as if you might explode. From embarrassment, from being flustered, you didn't know. Maybe he was toying with you, as gods tended to do, but then he looked at you again and genuine interest and attraction glimmered in his stunning blue eyes.

"Thank you, Lord Apollo," you stammered out, unsure of what else to say.

"So shy," he teased, grinning, "Cute. I like you."

Of course, he had to restrain himself from charming you entirely, since you were still a minor. Poseidon would have his head if he touched you at this age, so he decided it was best to wait a few years.

Those few years were full of struggle and pain for you, losing so many friends in the battles with Kronos and then Gaea. Apollo almost intervened just to comfort you several times, but was stopped by his sister convincing him to give you a few more years - and also reminding him that the Olympians could not intervene.

But you grew into such a beautiful, smart, brave woman - and extremely sexy, but he would have to keep that to himself - and Apollo felt lucky to have watched this growth. It made his attraction to you all the more prominent, and he began to feel something he hasn't felt in centuries - genuine. true love.

And it scared him.

His past lovers that he had really, truly loved had both been killed in gruesome ways. He was afraid of what being with him would mean for you, but ultimately decided on getting Poseidon's permission first.

The god of the sea said no.

Then came his trials.

The first demigods he went to were you and Percy, of course. Since he was stuck with an infuriating little girl, he hoped that you might tag along on his perilous journey to make it a little better.

To his delight, you agreed.

"What's so funny?" He demanded when he caught you snickering during a break from all the running.

"You," you laughed, "Never thought the god Apollo would be reduced to an average teenage boy with acne." You laughed even more at that, and he pouted, but enjoyed hearing you laugh nonetheless.

His first sign that you might have a crush on him too came when he mentioned he'd turned some gossipers into ravens just for telling on his previous cheating girlfriend. The mere mention of his ex-girlfriend seemed to irritate you, and Apollo was amused.

Though his turn for jealousy came when he noticed how close you were to Jason Grace. He couldn't do anything, though, so he watched miserably as you got along with the son of Jupiter so well that any outsider would think you were dating.

"What's with the pout, then?" You had asked him when you noticed how upset he looked.

"I am not pouting!"

"Yes you are."

You stepped closer, and your intoxicating scent filled his nostrils. He felt like a schoolboy with a massive crush, just you being that close scrambling his thoughts and making it difficult for him to answer.

"Alright, keep your secrets," you laughed, then walked away, and Apollo was left disappointed.

He was not even going to talk about the whole thing with Reyna. You had suddenly gotten so angry with him after that, you hadn't spoken to him for two days - unless absolutely necessary. It hurt, but he knew you must have been even more hurt by what had been implied.

The end of the trials eventually came and relieved all of you, the defeat of the Triumvirate taking a great weight off the world's - and yours - shoulders. Apollo disappeared after he went to fight Python, and for two weeks you heard no word from him or Olympus.

Then suddenly he was in the middle of camp, spouting the worst haikus you had ever heard in your life. And that was saying something, since all his haikus were pretty terrible.

"Like captured water

You hold me in your cupped hands

I flow on your palm."

Your jaw dropped. That was even worse than you assumed it would be, especially since he chose to center it around the fact that you're a daughter of Poseidon.

"Lord Apollo-"

"See what I did there?" He winked, coming up to you with a cheerful grin. "Did you like it?"

"Well-"

"Fear not! I have another one prepared that is sure to woo you."

Your face flushed, "Please don't say "woo", your kids are listening!"

He was already reciting his next haiku.

"You shatter my sleep

All milk-need and petal lips

You smile and I melt."

You frowned in confusion, "What does that even mean?"

"Aha! See I knew that was the one!"

"I didn't-what?"

He ignored your puzzlement in favour of coming so close to you his overwhelming godly power almost made you pass out.

"I'm sorry I haven't been around for two weeks," he apologised sincerely. "I was in a coma. I swear on the River Styx that it's the truth. But I came here as soon as I woke up, for you." He grinned like that was the best confession he could muster.

"Are you serious?" You breathed out, unable to believe what you were hearing.

"Technically I wanted you when you were fourteen, but that would have come across as creepy apparently," he informed you, "So I had to wait a few years until you turned the right age. That was okay with me, I'm immortal, I can wait."

Your jaw dropped further, "Are you, um-is this-?"

"A love confession? Yes!" He gleefully exclaimed, as if it were perfectly normal for an Olympian to invade camp and profess his love for a demigod.

The entire camp was silent, except for the Aphrodite girls who seemed to be glaring holes into you while trying to curse you - fortunately only the Apollo kids (ironically) had the power to curse a person to speak in rhymes.

"And what did...what did my dad think of this?" You cleared your throat, slightly nervous.

"Oh he was against it at first," Apollo admitted, "BUT he came around. It seems the trials proved a lot more than I thought."

"Well, uh, that's great," you half-smiled, not sure why you felt a sense of dread. This should be the happiest moment of your life.

Apollo's smile faltered, "Do you not-"

"No I do!" You quickly cut him off, sparing him the embarrassment of being rejected in front of a few dozen kids MUCH younger than him. "It's just...you're a god..."

He sighed, "Let's go take a walk."

A few minutes later you were away from prying eyes, sitting by the lake since it always calmed you down. Water soothed you, as cliche as that is for a Poseidon kid.

"I'm just worried," you started after a few minutes of silence, "You know, about all your mortal affairs and having demigod children and all that." You sighed. "I know it's silly. But I just don't think I can go through with it knowing that."

He frowned, but understood, "I can always stop-"

You laughed bitterly, "All the gods promised a woman what. Zeus promised Hera, but there's Jason and Thalia. Poseidon promised Amphitrite, but here Percy, Tyson and I are. It's in your nature, you can't help it."

He felt offended by that, "Yes well, none of them had the displeasure of being turned into mortal for a few months. It changes a god, you know."

You turned to look at him, "Are you really sure about this? That this is what you want? I'm what you want?"

"I've waited for you since you were fourteen," he reminded you, "Of course I'm sure." Despite your reluctance, he took your hand. "Please, just give me a chance."

You thought it over for a moment, before smiling softly, "Fine. You have your chance. But the first mortal affair you have-"

"I won't need them," he smiled, moving closer, "You can have all my children."

Your jaw dropped at his blatant suggestion, a deep blush forming on your cheeks, "Are you crazy?! I can't-"

"You can," he leaned in even closer, "Once I make you immortal."

You started stuttering and stammering just then, uttering some kind of incomprehensible nonsense that the god of the sun just laughed at. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, before finally leaning in and claiming your lips.

He had waited long enough, now he was going to kiss you every chance he got.

[archivequinn]

What's your secret, envoy? emperor geta x fem!reader

Summary: Desperation drives you to the gates of the Roman Empire when your brother is dragged away to fight as a gladiator in their blood-soaked arenas. With nothing left to lose, you strike a perilous bargain with the cunning Emperor Geta—your freedom and future in exchange for your brother’s life. But what begins as a desperate ploy turns into a tangled web of intrigue, betrayal, and forbidden ties. You never imagined that the ruthless emperor would become more than an adversary—and that the most dangerous risk of all would be losing him.

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three (completed) ao3 link

Darkness had fallen, and the flickering light of the torches surrounding the arena cast dancing shadows on the ancient stone walls. The weight of chains stretched from wrist to wrist, from wrist to ankle, echoing with every step you took.

Fatigue and resignation were etched onto Geta’s face, but the last spark in his eyes had not yet dimmed. Looking at him, you felt in your bones that this moment had finally come, that the inevitable was now here, confronting you.

The screams and cheers echoing through the arena were like a death march rising from the heart of Rome. The crowd was filled with the fervor of ruthless savagery; in their hands were roses and mud-mixed stones, hurling at you the paradox of life and death.

On one side, a barbaric crowd hungry for blood; on the other, roses, symbols intertwined with death. The air carried the mingled scents of soil, sweat, and fire, imprinting the moment indelibly into your memory.

As the sky transitioned from a copper-hued sunset to the absolute blackness of night, Macrinus's arrogant gaze gleamed before you. Reclining on his throne with the demeanor of a king assured of his victory, he listened to the frenzied cheers of the crowd.

Beside him sat Caracalla, his face utterly different; tense with rage, you could almost hear the blood coursing through his veins. His hatred for Geta seemed like the hidden playwright of this dark theater.

Geta suddenly stopped. The clinking sound of the chains reverberated on the stone floor. Standing confidently in the center of the arena, he held his head high. “People of Rome!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the stone walls and reaching every corner.

The weight in his voice imbued each word with both fury and hope. “Today, here before you, a conspiracy is being staged. Macrinus is a traitor who has infiltrated the heart of our empire! Can’t you see his treachery?”

For a moment, the crowd fell silent, but it was short-lived. Screams, laughter, and jeers rose again, crashing over you like a wave. Geta’s voice was lost in this sea.

Though he continued speaking, the crowd’s minds were already sealed with a predetermined verdict. They wanted blood. The eyes looking at you sought not justice but mere entertainment.

Geta’s words were like winds wasted in the void. You looked at him, your heart constricting, helplessness clutching at you. Geta’s hands trembled into fists; the chains clattered once more. Among the faces watching, there was no mercy, only cruelty.

At that moment, Macrinus rose from his seat. As his steps echoed in the arena, the crowd began to quiet down. That arrogant, mocking smile never left his face. His hands moved like those of an actor initiating a play, and his voice rang out, cold and cutting.

“People of Rome!” Macrinus declared, his every word dripping like venom.

“Today, you will not only witness the punishment of traitors. No! Today, I present to you a tragedy! You will see how these two traitors pay the price of their betrayal. But the one to execute their punishment will not be an ordinary gladiator…”

The crowd held its breath. Everyone waited to hear what Macrinus would say. His voice lowered, but its impact grew stronger, slithering like a serpent and feeding the crowd’s curiosity.

“Their executioner will be one of this woman’s own blood! Her brother!”

For a moment, everything seemed frozen. Your mind refused to comprehend it. “No…” you murmured, the word breaking like a fractured prayer before leaving your lips.

Your eyes turned to Geta. He was just as shocked as you, but his expression quickly shifted to one of anger.

When one of the slave gates opened, the figure emerging was initially just a vague silhouette in the darkness. The crowd held its breath. As the echoes of footsteps drew closer, your heart began to race. Your eyes recognized the figure. Broad shoulders, a face weary but hardened—it was your brother.

No. This had to be a nightmare. It couldn’t be real. But there he was. His chained hands were visible beneath the coarse, heavy pieces of gladiator armor. The crowd’s shouts and cheers rose once more. The people were enthralled by this dramatic display.

Geta leaned toward you, his voice firm and sharp. “You must pull yourself together.”

Ignoring the weight of your chains, you surged forward, running toward your brother. But just as you moved, the world froze with the sharp cry of an arrow. The arrow embedded itself in the sands before you, halting your steps.

Geta suddenly appeared beside you, pulling you back. He extended his arms protectively in front of you like a shield. “Stay calm,” he said in a low voice, though a storm raged within him. “They’re luring us into a trap.”

Macrinus’s voice filled the arena with mocking resonance. “Ah, how touching! But there is no mercy in this arena! Without blood, there is no victory! The people of Rome want victory, they want tragedy, they want blood! But only one will leave this arena alive!”

A brief silence fell before he widened his smile and added, “And the decision of who that will be… is in your hands.”

As the crowd erupted in wild cheers over this merciless proposition, tears streamed down your cheeks, and you saw the same anguish in your brother’s eyes.

Geta turned to Caracalla, his voice now an unstoppable eruption of fury. “Are you really watching this, brother?” he shouted, his voice reverberating against the stone walls of the arena. “Can’t you see how Macrinus has deceived you? This game, this plan, all of it is his doing! He lied to make you kill us! He lied to turn you against me!”

Caracalla sat on the throne on the other side of the arena. His face seemed expressionless, but there was a flicker in his eyes. Yet what was it? Doubt? Or anger? You knew you wouldn’t get an answer in that moment, but you heard Geta’s voice rise even further in one last desperate effort.

“Are you so blind that you can’t see Macrinus’s true face?” he cried, his voice sharp like a cutting wind. “He’s the traitor! Not us! He’s the one poisoning Rome! He’s the one who turned you against me!”

At that very moment, one of the large gates in the corner of the arena slowly began to open. The crowd momentarily ceased their cheers, turning their attention to the gate. Beyond it, General Acacius and his elite soldiers emerged. Acacius stepped forward with a composed demeanor, his face bearing an expression as unyielding as stone. The silence of the crowd turned into a murmur; some greeted Acacius with surprise, while others speculated on his intentions.

Seeing Acacius enter the arena, a glimmer of hope appeared in Geta’s eyes. “Finally…” he murmured.

Acacius approached the center of the arena and bowed toward Caracalla. However, this did not please Macrinus. “General, what are you doing here? The game has started, and it is not your place to entertain the crowd!” he snapped, his voice tinged with irritation.

Acacius spoke with cold certainty in his tone, “Your Majesty, I am responsible for the security of Rome. However, I sense that there is a darker plan unfolding behind these public games.”

Macrinus, his anger plain on his face, demanded, “What are you implying, General?”

Acacius took another step forward, standing directly in front of Macrinus. “Betrayal and manipulation. And the one responsible for it is you, Macrinus.”

Turning to Caracalla, Acacius spoke in a measured tone, “Your Majesty, I have evidence to prove Macrinus’s treacherous schemes.”

Caracalla hesitated for a moment. His gaze shifted from Macrinus to Geta and finally to Acacius. The crowd held their breath, waiting in tense silence.

Caracalla’s face was like a stone mask. His silence made every breath in the arena feel heavy. At last, he turned to Macrinus and spoke with a mocking smile, “How curious, Macrinus. It seems everyone has a story to tell today.”

Macrinus let out a confident laugh, attempting to mask the tension in the air. “Your Majesty, this general’s loyalty has long been questionable. Don’t let him waste your time with supposed evidence. Justice must be served to Geta and these traitors!”

But Caracalla ignored Macrinus’s words and focused his gaze on Acacius. “Do you have evidence, General? And if so, why have you waited until now?”

Acacius, feeling the weight of the question, replied in a calm voice, “Because traitors work in the shadows, Your Majesty. I waited for the right moment.”

Despite the cheers of the crowd, Caracalla seemed lost in thought. Finally, he raised his hand, silencing the arena. A wave of quiet spread, broken only by the whisper of the wind and the crackle of the torches.

At that moment, Macrinus lost his feigned smile and raised his voice. “Your Majesty, this is a trap! Acacius and Geta’s collaboration is nothing less than treason against Rome!”

Acacius turned to Macrinus, his voice as firm as steel. “Watch your words, Macrinus. No one understands treachery better than you.”

At that instant, Acacius reached into an inner pocket of his armor and produced a carefully folded parchment. His expression remained stoic, but his eyes shone with the determination that matched the gravity of his words. “Your Majesty, this parchment contains the proof of Macrinus’s treacherous plans—details of conspiracies that threaten Rome’s security…” As he spoke, a murmur rose among the crowd.

The whispers spread like sparks under the flickering light of the torches.

Macrinus, struggling to maintain his mocking facade, said, “Who can guarantee the reliability of this so-called evidence?” But the panic in his voice was impossible to hide.

At that moment, the leader of the archers stationed at the edge of the arena was staring at Macrinus, waiting for his orders. Macrinus scanned the crowd quickly, then furrowed his brow and gave a low command: “Prepare.”

The archers drew their bows, aiming at the four figures in the arena. The tension was so thick it felt difficult to breathe. The murmurs of the crowd foretold an impending storm.

As you tried to understand how everything had reached this point, your eyes drifted to Geta. There was a strength in his stance, one that seemed to defy all the chaos in the world. When your eyes met, a spark of both fear and something else lit up within you. His gaze seemed to say, “You wil be okay.”

Geta stepped forward and suddenly pulled you into his arms. The warmth of his chest was stronger than the cold steel of his chains. It was as if you weren’t standing in the middle of an arena, as if you weren’t in the shadow of death. He whispered, his voice low enough for only you to hear, “If this is our end, I’ll die protecting you.”

In that moment, everything froze. The flames of the torches danced in your eyes as you felt Geta’s hands on your shoulders. His embrace wasn’t just protective—it was a reflection of all the emotions he had suppressed. A warmth spread through you, momentarily erasing all fear.

Macrinus’s voice cut through the moment. “Archers!” he shouted, his anger echoing through the crowd. But just then, chaos erupted among the spectators. Those who believed in Macrinus’s schemes clashed with those opposing him. Torches toppled over, and the crowd at the edge of the arena began scuffling with the guards.

Amid the chaos, someone accidentally bumped into an archer. Losing his balance, the archer released his bow, and the arrow shot through the air, piercing the silence of the arena as it landed on the ground. The tension peaked. A scream rose from the crowd, and people began to scatter in panic.

In that instant, Geta reflexively pulled you to the ground, wrapping his arms around you. The arrow had struck just a few steps away. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said, his breath warm against your neck. The tears streaming from your eyes were the expression of a feeling that was neither pure fear nor pure happiness. When you looked at Geta’s face, you saw that his eyes, too, were brimming with tears.

Acacius’s gaze was locked on Macrinus, who was attempting to retreat.

Meanwhile, the guards in the arena quickly moved to secure Caracalla’s safety. Soldiers rushed toward the emperor’s throne, escorting him to the palace gates to protect him from the chaos among the crowd.

Only four people remained in the center of the arena: You, Geta, Acacius, and your brother. The sands glowed with sparks from the fallen torches. Your heart knew that everything would unravel in this fleeting chaos. Geta’s hands were still on you, and when you turned to him, words caught in your throat. He simply whispered to you, “Never forget me.”

As the chaos grew, Macrinus retreated to a corner of the arena. But Acacius, sword drawn, began to pursue him.

The turmoil within the arena escalated. Shouts echoed among the crowd, and a full-blown rebellion erupted. For a brief moment, Geta turned to you, his face holding something you had never seen before—a mixture of love and sorrow.

“You must stay here,” he said, his voice softer than before. “I can’t protect you if you put yourself in danger.”

“No, Geta! You can’t go!” you cried, tears burning down your cheeks. But Geta had already made his decision. He gave you one last look—a gaze that wasn’t just a farewell but the passing of an eternal memory to you. “Forgive me,” he said. Then he surged forward, following Acacius.

You tried to run after him, but a strong hand on your shoulder stopped you. When you turned, you saw the determined look on your brother’s face. “Don’t leave him! Please!” you shouted, but your brother held you firmly.

“No,” he said, his voice hard and resolute. “Listen to me. I can’t leave you here. We have to get out of here. Now!”

He wrapped his arms around you, almost carrying you away from the chaos of the arena. But your mind and heart remained with Geta. With each step, you felt further away from him, and each breath became an unbearable torment.

Your brother quickly led you out of the arena to a waiting horse. “No! Let me go!” you shouted, but he didn’t listen. He placed you on the horse, your hands trembling, your eyes still locked on the fading sight of the arena. “Something will happen to Geta! I can’t leave him alone!”

Gripping the reins tightly, your brother said, “He risked everything to save us. We must honor his sacrifice!” He spurred the horse forward. Behind you, Geta’s face remained frozen in your mind as the last image you saw of him. Your eyes were still filled with tears, and everything felt like a dream—or rather, a nightmare. But one thing was certain: Geta’s choice had changed your life forever.

You found yourself inside an old stone-walled warehouse where your brother had dragged you. The interior was dark, illuminated only by the faint moonlight streaming through a narrow window in the wall, casting soft shadows. The distant screams and the sharp clash of metal against metal outside planted deep roots of fear in your heart. From afar, the silhouette of Rome was visible; massive fires painted the sky orange, and smoke rose like a heavy shroud. The city was burning. Rome was burning.

Your brother stood with one hand on your shoulder, the other gripping the hilt of his sword, on high alert. "You’re safe here," he said, though his voice didn’t sound particularly confident. His words didn’t comfort you.

Your eyes remained locked on the distant flames. Trembling with a storm of emotions swirling inside you, you muttered, "Geta... He’s dead. He... He tried to save us but failed. I... I couldn’t protect him..." Your voice was hoarse and filled with sorrow.

Your brother spoke without looking at you. "We had to survive. Geta knew that. That’s why he risked everything." But those words didn’t console you; instead, they brought another wave of guilt and grief. You collapsed to your knees, your throat tight with emotion. Tears streamed down your cheeks as the weight of your grief crushed you to the ground. Watching Rome burn, you remembered Geta’s face. The determination, courage, and... farewell in his eyes. You felt as though something inside you had shattered.

Crying was like trying to purge all the heaviness inside you, but it also left you feeling more drained. Your eyes burned, your shoulders shook. Finally, when your tears dried and your breathing grew uneven, exhaustion settled over you like a heavy blanket. Your eyelids succumbed to their own weight, and you slipped into a dark unconsciousness.

You didn’t know how much time had passed. It was as if your grief had disconnected you from time. But after a while, a sharp "clattering" sound pulled you back to reality. The echo of horse hooves reached your ears. Your heart began to race; the silence of the warehouse was torn apart by the resounding sound. A whistling noise came from above the rafters, like a cold wind slipping inside. You heard the creak of the door as it opened.

Your brother instantly rose to his feet on high alert. One hand went to the hilt of his sword, while the other protectively pushed you behind him. "Stay behind me," he said, his voice now tired but just as protective. Your heart pounded as you tried to guess who they were. But then, everything went still.

Then, the moonlight illuminated the faces of those who had entered. You suddenly recognized the two riders before you: Geta and Acacius.

At that moment, your world froze. You stared in disbelief. Standing before you was Geta, alive and breathing. His face bore a few scars, and he looked exhausted but strong. And then, your body moved as if it had a will of its own. "Geta!" you cried, your voice trembling, but this time not with sorrow— with joy.

You ran towards him. Your brother tried to say something, but you didn’t hear him. In that moment, all you cared about was reaching Geta. Tears streamed from your eyes, but they carried an entirely different meaning now. Geta bent slightly toward you, and when you threw your arms around his neck, it felt as if time itself had stopped. You held him tightly, as if letting go would make everything vanish again.

"You... You’re alive! I thought I lost you! I was so scared!" you said, words tumbling out of your mouth as your mind struggled to process everything. When Geta’s strong arms wrapped around you, a deep sense of comfort washed over you.

Behind you, Acacius exchanged a brief look with your brother, his face tired yet determined as he gave a small nod. In the darkness of the night, the only thing holding you all together was love and the instinct to survive.

Clinging to Geta, you felt waves of happiness and relief wash over you. The weight in your heart seemed to lift entirely. His warm voice broke the silence: "Don’t worry anymore. Everything is under control." His words rang with the solidity of a promise, though your mind was still struggling to grasp what had happened.

You pulled back slightly from his embrace to look into his eyes. "What happened? What did you go through?" you asked, your words shaky but filled with hope.

A faint smile appeared on Geta’s lips. "Macrinus has been captured. He’s been thrown into the dungeon and won’t pose a threat again. We also quelled the rebellion among the people. The city will be rebuilt now. There’s a light of hope for everyone," he said. His voice was weary but carried the relief of a hard-fought victory. As you watched his expression, you found yourself admiring his courage and leadership once more.

Acacius stepped forward, as stoic as ever, though a flicker of pride and satisfaction shone in his eyes. "Emperor," he said formally to Geta, "Tonight, Rome saw not an emperor but a hero of the people. Your loyalty and bravery will become a legend."

Geta turned to him, nodding. "This victory isn’t mine alone. It belongs to everyone here. And to you, Acacius. Rome could never have had a better general, and never will."

Acacius’s lips twitched slightly in what might have been a faint smile—a quiet expression of gratitude. But when Geta turned back to you, his face was entirely different. His eyes softened, as though he’d found his one source of peace amidst all the chaos. "But above all, seeing you here... That is my greatest victory."

Those words filled your heart with warmth. "I thought I’d lost you," you said, tears accompanying your words. "It felt like the whole world had stopped, Geta. Without you... I would be nothing."

Geta took one of your hands in his. The warmth of his palm melted away all your fears. "And I would never leave you," he said, his voice low but resolute. "No force, no rebellion, no war could ever separate me from you."

His words brought a faint smile to your lips. In that moment, the entire world seemed to quiet down. While Rome’s smoke rose in the distance, you felt safe at Geta’s side. His eyes held a promise—a future of countless days together filled with hope.

The following days were spent rebuilding Rome. The people looked upon both Geta and Acacius with deep respect. Acacius received an honorary medal from the Senate and was declared the commander-in-chief of the army. Your brother was hailed as a hero who restored his family’s honor. But your world was defined by being at Geta’s side.

One day, as you walked through Rome’s quiet gardens, Geta was beside you, his usual calm yet profound expression on his face. Amidst the birdsong, you noticed him suddenly stop. "I need to say something," he said, his voice taking on a serious tone.

Your heart skipped a beat. "What is it?" you asked, smiling slightly.

Geta took your hands in his. His eyes locked onto yours as if he understood the entire world within them. "I’ve seen many things in my life—power, war, betrayal. But after meeting you, I realized that the most important thing isn’t loyalty; it’s love. Before you, I wasn’t living, only existing. And now... I know what it means to truly live."

His words deeply moved you. Your eyes welled up, but with happiness this time. Being with him made all the chaos of the world feel meaningful.

In that moment, Geta leaned down, and his lips softly met yours. It was a moment beyond everything—a moment transcending all the complexities of life. Rome might have burned, and the world might have been changing. But your world was complete in Geta’s arms.

And in that moment, after all the struggles, losses, and fears, you were truly happy. It was a happiness that would last forever.

taglist: @hesvoid3434 @drowning-in-cosmic-hopes @quuinyoung @cokepowder55 @justnobodynothingmore @arluna @multyfangirl @sarahskywalker-amidala @spiderxparker @your-nightmaredoll @avenjames-anderson @fruitylikeabagofskittles @urlivingdeadgirl @flawssy-227 @t-folklore13 @carlaaa76-blog7 @nicholaschavezslut69 @zalera8310

[gloomskulls]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ FAKE DATE? NO, THIS IS A HEIST [eddie munson x reader]

pairings: grown up!eddie munson x reader

⇢ ˗ˏˋ SUMMARY ୨୧ There's a fancy family event you need a fake date for. Eddie agrees...but only if he gets to masquerade as a mysterious rich heir with a tragic backstory. Everything is smooth sailing until Auntie gets nosey and starts questioning him, and he totally commits to the act.

⇢ ˗ˏˋ WARNING ୨୧ none tbh, but lemme know if anything triggers you!

a/n: s5 is literally coming, and I can't be nothing more than nostalgic.

When you asked Eddie Munson to be your fake date for your cousin's wedding, you knew you were bargaining with the devil. Fun, quiet, and easy was far fetched with him. All you needed was a warm body to stand next to you and nod once in a while to relatives asking if you were seeing someone. This way, you could sidestep those pesky questions about 'when are you settling down?'

But Eddie? Eddie had other plans.

From the second you saw his attire, you knew, you were in trouble, when he walked up to your house in a proper suit; no band tee glamored blazer, no half-button with that signature 'I don't care' energy, but the 'i am so mature, but just for today'.

The suit was a bit too big on him (probably cause it was thrifted), curls a bit tidied up for the Eddie Munson to have, and worse yet, he had them sunglasses on indoors... At 6 p.m.

"Why do you look like you're about to sell me a stolen car?" You commented.

Eddie grinned and flipped down his shades, "Because, darling," he drawled, pretending it was old Hollywood, "This is not just a fake date. This is a performance."

You groaned; this was already giving you regrets about your life choices.

From there, Eddie was fully committed to whatever persona he had just conjured in his mind. He strutted down the hallway with a sense of ownership, brazenly slinging his arm over your shoulder and casting his best toothy grin at strangers.

Now your favorite moment of the night. Aunt Linda.

Aunt Linda was the family's self appointed human lie detector. She knew one hundred percent when anyone was faking a relationship. This woman could smell a phony date like a bloodhound—and you were so close to fleeing her interrogation—until baam! She trapped you near the dessert table, glaring down Eddie like he was an alley alleyway dog she thought you picked up on the way.

"Oh, sweetling!" Aunt Linda cooed. "And who is this handsome young man?"

Eddie, with all the style in the world, defiantly withdrew his sunglasses (in slow motion for dramatic effect).

"Edwardo Von Munson," he said with a low sultry drawl, grabbing your hand, as if you were a delicate victorian woman suffering from a case of vapours.

You almost coughed on your drink. "Pardon?"

Eddie tightened his grip slightly. A signal. Don't go out of character.

"Oh my!" Aunt Linda beamed. "And what is it that you do, Edwardo?"

Eddie leaned in as though probing the depths of his very existence. "I am..." pause, dramatic effect, "An orphaned oil tycoon."

Silence.

You were staring at him in utter horror.

"Orphaned?" Aunt Linda echoed across the hall.

Eddie nodded solemnly. "Tragic accident. My parents...lost at sea. Swallowed whole by the cruel mistress they called the Atlantic."

Aunt Linda put a hand on her heart. "Oh, how awful!"

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you said, "Eddie—"

"Edwardo, darling," he corrected, smooth as ever.

You shot him a glare.

"But how did you two meet?" Aunt Linda pressed, practically drooling over this sordid narrative.

Your mouth opened to say something normal, like, 'Through mutual friends' or something cliché, 'At a record store.' But Eddie was already grasping your hand again.

"I saved her," he proclaimed, eyes sparkling with fake sorrow, "from a gang of highly trained jewel thieves."

Jesus Christ.

Aunt Linda was lost on the last bit. "Jewel thieves?"

He nodded seriously. "She was in dire peril. Surrounded. Nowhere to run. Nothing but her wits and her—" He turned to you. "What do you do again?" He whispered

You shot daggers at him. "Retail."

"—her wits and her retail expertise to protect her!" Eddie turned back to Aunt Linda, his curls bouncing as he threw himself into this insanity. "I swooped in, fought off seven armed men with nothing but a mini pocket knife I had in my pocket, and carried her to safety. She's been madly in love with me ever since."

Aunt Linda began trembling. "A mini pocket knife?"

Eddie nodded seriously. "A benchmade knife, Linda. They never saw it coming."

You were about to murder him.

But before you could actually kill him, your cousin, the bride needed you for some photos. You grabbed Eddie's arm and pulled him away from Aunt Linda before she could ask any more questions.

The second you were out of earshot, you turned on him. "Orphaned oil tycoon? Street fight? What the hell was that?"

Eddie grinned, hands in pockets. "I panicked."

"You panicked?"

"Look, you needed a fake date," he shrugged, "I gave you an experience."

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "You're lucky my aunt loves drama."

Eddie smirked as he edged closer. "Admit it. You had fun."

Staring at him forced a monotone face, but you finally cracked up at the whole ludicrousness of it—the crazy backstory, the overdramatic pauses, the fact that Aunt Linda now thought you were having a secret affair with a tragically mysterious orphan billionaire.

You huffed and shook your head. "You are a menace."

Eddie grinned. "Yeah, but now Aunt Linda thinks I'm a very rich menace." He chuckled. "And that, my dear, is what we call a successful heist." He added

@gloomskulls 2024. DON'T COPY, TRANSLATE OR USE ANY OF MY WORKS HERE OR ANY OTHER WEBSITES. Photos don't belong to me

[alexanderlightweight]

Hello!! May I ask for more All Your Cracks I’ll Paint Gold? I think I’ve caught all the updates on here but I’m really looking forward to scenes where the Shadowhunters realize that Alexander is with Magnus (could be SFW or NSFW 😏) or more Alexander interactions with Ragnar or even Cat and other Downworlders. So, really, I’m asking for more of AYCIPG. Thank you!

here we go! here is more and this a bit softer, something sweet in their relationship.

hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

-

all your cracks I'll paint gold

Cat watches as yet another fire message bounces — quite literally — off the wards and turns to ash.

“And this isn’t overkill?” She finds herself asking Ragnor, who takes a huff from his pipe and then blows a green smoke ring at her.

“Magnus’ lad was deruned Cat, I think ignoring all nephilim correspondence is valid.”

“I meant the exploding messages. It can’t be good for the environment or the wards.”

Ragnor just laughs, and they both return to watching where Magnus is currently coaxing a scowling shadowhunter into the water.

Not because Magnus’ Alexander is scared of the water, but because Magnus summoned a plethora of magical wildlife and a few of them got a little too familiar with Magnus’ boy.

Which means that Magnus is now trying to make up for the mistakes of earlier, except Magnus is having too good of a time to be sincerely sorry.

In fact, he keeps bursting into real laughter.  The kind that shakes his body until he’s wild with joy.

Cat takes a long sip of her deliciously cold beer and watches with a small grin.

This is worth taking one of her rare days off, and every moment spent like this, with the people she loves makes her life better.

—-

Magnus can’t help the grin that threatens to take over his face.

Or the fact that despite the world currently being in some sort of peril, he and Ragnor and Catarina and Alexander are frolicking about— he has no regrets.

They’ve more than earned this and better yet, they don’t need to earn this.

The water is cool, the sand warm but not burning and just enough clouds to keep the sun from blinding you.

Magnus tries not to laugh, but he can’t help it and Alexander steps back from where he was slowly getting back into the water.

“Magnus, if the starfish are back just tell me now. If you wait until I’m in the water again, I will not forgive you this time.”

Alexander’s voice is low, sincere and full of intent and yet the way he’s looking warily at the ocean makes Magnus laugh all over again and its a minute before he finally reaches out a hand.

“Alexander, I really do apologize. I didn’t know they’d find nephil blood so... tasty.”

Alexander glowers, the demonic runes that tie him to Magnus dark and gleaming under the overcast sky.

“I didn’t realize you were so happy with other things leaving hickies on me.”

That causes Magnus to pause and his hand drops, especially when Alexander makes no move to take it.

“Darling, I know you’re upset. But those aren’t hickies.”

“Did another creature put its mouth on me and leave marks? Those are hickies. You do it all the time. Even your magic does it!”

Magnus rather regrets that he let the conversation get this far, because he’s now feeling something of a building anger at the thought of it going on like this.

It was one thing when it was merely amusing that a few greedy sea creatures found Alexander’s blood particularly appetizing.

Now, faced with Alexander’s pout and looking over the sluggishly and very small bleeding marks on Alexander’s legs and thighs, Magnus thinks he might have mistakenly found this so humorous.

“They’re not hickies.” Magnus repeats, because destroying the ecosystem of the ocean is not in his schedule.  “They are nibbles, from very curious creatures. Not hickies.” 

Alexander raises his eyebrow in an arch and Magnus decides to cheat.

Magic pulls Alexander into the water and Magnus grabs him, holding him with fingers and magic and he finally has Alexander.

Who has decided that apparently, the way to remain safe is to wrap both his arms and legs around Magnus and cling like a koala to a tree.

“If my nephil blood lures them in, I’m counting on your demon blood to ward them off.” 

Alexander mutters against his ear, but there is laughter in his voice and his muscles are relaxed against Magnus.

A few months ago, Magnus couldn’t have imagined Alexander being this happy and carefree, couldn’t have imagined it for himself either.

But especially not Alexander who had just been deruned.

Moments like these make Magnus wonder if the pain was worth it, to be here and free like this.

He hasn’t asked.

He won’t.

If Alexander wants to share those thoughts then Magnus will wait for him to open up. Just because Magnus is enjoying himself in ways he never thought possible doesn’t mean Alexander feels the price paid is worth it.

Since the price is one that was paid by Alexander alone.

Because Magnus doesn’t think they could be here like this, if Alexander still bore nephilim runes and was devoted to the Institute, sworn the Clave.

Here, Alexander has no guilt at leaving the fighting to others.

Alexander has paid his pound of flesh — more than in fact — and he’s not eager to give even a drop of blood or sweat to the world that tried to kill him.

“I’ll protect you, Alexander.” Magnus promises and then, because he can’t help it.

He pinches Alexander's ass.

Muscles tense delightfully against him and then Alexander is pulling away to give him a dower look.

“Oh, it seems like I missed a crab.” Magnus blinks innocently and then gets a salty, wet kiss that cuts him off before he can spew further bullshit.

“Crab my ass.” Alexander mutters against his lips but Magnus pretends that he can’t hear over the sound of the ocean.

[theresattrpgforthat]

Sci-fi games with minimal crunch - ideally that can be played solo, or at least converted into solo play!

THEME: Solo Sci-Fi

Hello there! I definitely have a bunch of solo sci-fi games, so I tried to mix it up a little bit - there's some games with space and aliens, but others that focus on other elements of sci-fi, like androids, the digital world, and time travel! I hope there's something here that works for you.

Tranquility Outpost, by KingDunnad.

Tranquillity Outpost. Humanity’s singular moon colony, located in the Sea of Tranquillity. Last week, you stopped receiving messages from Earth. From what you can tell, it doesn’t look good down there. Help who you can and we’ll all thrive here.

This is a tarot-based solo journaling game where you will take on the role of a moon outpost’s administrator while grappling with emotions of your own. It explores themes of grief, loneliness, hope, altruism, and the ways we can raise each other up.

This game uses the Major Arcana to represent each visitor, representing the kind of archetype they represent.These archetypes might be relational (the Father, the Child, The Leader) or they might be more related to societal roles (The Priest, The Patient, The Addict). The Minor Arcana are separated into four different piles, representing your character's current emotional state.

When you meet a visitor, you draw a card that represents how you're feeling when they visit. The Minor Arcana card that you draw will flesh out the themes of the visitor's request, but much of the suggestions are rather broad, which I think is very fitting for a tarot-based game.

Altogether, Tranquility is a highly interpretive game, so if you want to take the over-arching themes given to you and make a personalized story, you might like this game.

The Vacant Lot, by Invisible Cuts.

In this small solo game, you are a Vacant Lot, an android left to wait out in a tower after the end of the world slowly becoming sentient.

As you define who you are by your acts of violence, in relation to what you've learned of 'people' on 'the net', you will create a unique encounter to be used in your Corp Borg or Cy-borg game.

The Vacant Lot is combat-focused as well as descriptive: your stats are ambition, base programming and self-awareness, which feel very narrative, but you also have Rage and Energy, which can build or be depleted as you strive to avoid failure. The game requires three different-colored d6s; you place these dice on a wheel that represents your personality, and ink it in as you play.

The pattern by which you ink your wheel will connect to various advancements, such as extra damage, control over other machines, or an increase in motivation.

This game can be paired with a multiplayer game by turning the Vacant Lot into an encounter in either a Corp Borg or Cy_Borg game. I really love games like this, that can be paired with a group game down the road, although I don't think that you necessarily have to do that for this game to be fruitful in itself.

Net Divers, by Reyes Makes Games.

The digital landscape runs far and deep, some say there is a piece of all of us hiding somewhere. It is your job to collect those pieces, no matter how deeply buried they are. And this new job has perhaps the most obscure information yet. Its location is fragmented across the Net, and it is up to you to track down these pieces and the final hiding place. Do you work alone? Is this a favour or a task bestowed by something greater than you?

Net Divers is a solo tabletop journaling game about scouring the web for a secret. It can be used solo as is or adjusted for use with other game systems requiring research or Net Running. It is inspired by games like Hypnospace Outlaw and Welcome to the Game.

Net Divers is great for folks who like their polyhedral dice; it uses a good number of different sizes to roll for various stats and tables. You have three tracks: Stress, Peril, & Net Instability, which will all affect how well you're able to navigate the netscape and recover the fragments that you need to find.

When it comes to narrative and randomness, Net Divers has a nice mix. Your mission, the websites you visit, and the number of fragments you need to find are all randomly generated, but your user's personal details, like their name and their wallpaper, are all under your control.

Thematically, I think Net Divers is both an homage and a lament for the early internet, when it was interconnected, free and full of creativity.

Project Benthos, by Meghan Cross.

You are a member of the Biological Team for the Exploration and Examination of the Natural Terraquan Habitats of Obscure Subnautical Species, more colloquially known as Project BENTHOS, an elite research team devoted to uncovering the mysteries held at the bottom of the ocean. You and the other four members of Project: BENTHOS are stationed at The Forge - a first-of-its-kind ocean floor research station, equipped with everything needed to support life on the ocean floor for a four month deployment.

Earlier today, one of your colleagues left The Forge on a routine sea walk. It is now several hours past the time they were supposed to have returned and a tremor of anxiety is beginning to shake the station. There is only enough equipment for one person to go out in search of them, and it has been determined that you will be the one to go. You have four hours of oxygen, a finicky GPS unit, and a vague idea of where they were heading, and that is going to have to be enough. As you step into the airlock, you make a promise to them and to yourself - you will bring them back to The Forge, or die trying.

Project Benthos uses a deck of cards; you toss them around your room to replicate the sea floor, which feels like a very dynamic way of inviting play! It feels like there is the potential for horror, although the game is not categorized as such. I suppose that it might be a horror game if you want it to be. Since this is a journaling game, I suspect that most of game play has to do with drawing prompts from the floor and figuring out what they mean for you.

Stellanati: First Contact, by Drone Garden Studios.

Not much happens in the sleepy town of Annabell, Texas. Which made the bright light and thundering crash on your property in the middle of the night all the more surprising. You discovered a wrecked machine and an injured creature. Being the kind-hearted soul you are, you take in the creature and try to nurse it back to health. It shares with you visions of its home-world, which is desperate to return to.

But how can you get it home if you don't even know how to heal it?

Stellanati: First Contact is a game based on the The Wretched, which has been popularized as the Wretched & Alone game engine. Most of these kinds of games are expected to end in horror or tragedy, so don't expect a happy ending for you or Stellanati.

For this game, you need a deck of cards, a d6, a bunch of tokens, and (optionally) a tumbling block tower. Each house of cards represents a different kind of theme surrounding the care of an alien being. You technically have a chance to succeed, but in order to do so, you need to avoid drawing all 4 kings and having the tumbling block tower fall down on you before you can get Stellanati to full health.

If you want the experience of interacting with something alien from yourself and you like giving your characters a terrible time, perhaps consider Stellanati: First Contact.

Maintenance Log, by Damn Golem.

Maintenance Log is a solo rpg. You are a maintenance engineer on a decrepit colony ship.

This is a game with a lot packed onto two pages, revolving mostly around ticking tracks and trying to manage a number of problems all at once. Fill the wrong track too quickly, and you could alter the ending of the game, which inevitably comes once you've borrowed enough energy from the cold sleep pods.

One thing that gives me Traveller vibes about this game is the fact that your age determines your expertise: the younger you are, the more time you have to do maintenance on the ship, but the less equipped you are to deal with problems. You can only work until you hit your 70's, which limits the time you have to keep the ship running.

Maintenance Log doesn't have to be a journalling game, but it can be if you want it to be. If you want a game about managing resources as best as you can in the loneliness of space, then you might like this game.

Close the Loop On Your Way Out, by the_spongmonkey

Use a mysterious time device to travel in time and grab random items in your vicinity. Uh oh, now strange and dangerous things are trying to kill you as a result of your temporal meddling! Use those items in inventive ways to prevent your untimely demise. If you make it out alive, just make sure to return those to when/where you found them. That's right, CLOSE THE LOOP ON YOUR WAY OUT!

Close the Loop On Your Way Out feels like a lighthearted game, even though you're racing against the consequences of your actions. There are three stages to this game: the initial romp of finding random items, the consequences of meddling with time, and then your mad dash to try and put everything to rights.

The bulk of the game is focused on dice-rolling, but I think that if you want to add to it, you can journal all of your attempts to put things back together before the timeline falls apart.

Some More Thoughts..

If you want some more solo sci-fi offerings, here are some runners-up I was considering!

UFOs over Varginha, by Nekyia TTRPG.

Escape Velocity, by Euan.

Countdown, by buttersmooth.

Redshift Blueshift Generations, by Dallas J. Haugh

Digital Nightmares, by Uncharted.

If you like what I do, you can always leave a token of appreciation at my Ko-Fi!

[chibieggplant]

Beneath Steel Exteriors

Idea from @maybe-some-ideas

The crew attempts to coax you and Law into expressing your feelings by trapping you both in a room together. However, they overlook the fact that Law can effortlessly teleport out

Warnings: claustrophobia mentioned/described

The hushed hum of the Polar Tang masked whispers of conspiracy as Shachi orchestrated a scheme among the crew. Their target: the enigmatic bond developing between their stoic Captain and the feisty new addition to their pirate family. You radiated irresistible charm and wit that had inadvertently ensnared Law's curiosity during your shared adventures, your fierce spirit contrasting beautifully with Law's impassive exterior. Yet, Law remained as unfathomable as ever, attempting to conceal any hints of growing affection behind his signature smirk and stoic mask.

Despite his best efforts, however, Law wasn't entirely successful at concealing the subtle changes blooming beneath his composed exterior. The crew of the Polar Tang, seasoned sailors who read people better than they navigated treacherous seas, noticed the slightest deviations in their captain's usual demeanour - lingering soft glances cast in your direction, a faint smile curving his lips at the sound of your laughter, a fierce protectiveness surfacing during perilous encounters and rare moments where he allowed himself to relax around you. These tiny cracks in Law's armour didn't go unnoticed by those close to him.

On the other side of the coin, you had found yourself inexplicably drawn to Law. His rare compliments or words of praise would often make your cheeks flush, you constantly seek out opportunities to assist him in the sickbay drawn by his quiet strength and hidden vulnerability. Slowly but surely, the signs of your shared attraction become impossible to ignore, sending ripples throughout the crew and igniting a spark of anticipation among them.

In the dimly lit corner of the submarine, Shachi, a well-known mastermind of countless successful pranks, summoned his trusted accomplices - Bepo, Penguin, and Ikkaku. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he revealed their latest mission. "Gather round, comrades!" He whispered dramatically, a triumphant grin playing on his lips. "Our captain's poker face may fool the Marines, but not us." The group leaned in closer, intrigued whispers filling the air. "We'll orchestrate a 'supply shortage,' requiring Law and our fiery new crewmate to…" Shachi paused, savouring the anticipation building among his accomplices, "...investigate the matter together in the most secluded place aboard - the supply closet." Laughter filled the air as they shared knowing glances, their expressions reflecting hopefulness and determination.

With their plan set into motion, Law found himself ambushed and pushed into the cramped supply room, his sharp eyes locked onto you as you clumsily followed suit, a flush spreading across your face like wildfire as you stumbled into him. Before either of you could react, the heavy metal door slammed shut behind you, the sound reverberating through the corridor and leaving you both alone in the sudden darkness. Law's hand reached instinctively for the door handle, only to find it locked. "Shachi..." he muttered under his breath.

Locked together in the small, dim space, Law's eyes widened in shock, his body tense as he turned to face you. Your faces were mere inches apart, your breathing synchronized by the enclosed space. The air hung heavy with unspoken tension, a tangible force crackling between you. Law cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to ignore the unfamiliar warmth spreading through his chest

Letting out an exasperated sigh, his annoyance evident, he grumbled under his breath,"is this really necessary?" In response, you crossed your arms defiantly, your eyes narrowing into angry slits. "What the hell is their problem?" You retorted indignantly, fully aware of the crew's meddling intentions to engineer a romantic encounter between you and Law.

Law simply shrugged, feigning nonchalance despite a flicker of amusement beneath his stoic exterior. In that moment, realization struck Law, causing his signature smirk to resurface. With a flicker of devilish delight in his eyes, Law activated his Devil Fruit powers, and in the blink of an eye, Law found himself standing outside the supply room. Leaving you confused and alone within the cramped space. "Idiots," he muttered under his breath, already plotting his next move.

Savoring his newfound freedom, Law departed from the ship without a word, eager to clear his head and calm his racing heart, still overwhelmed by the memories of you being so close. As Law slipped away unnoticed, convinced someone would eventually come to your rescue, he decided to take advantage of the incidental solitude.

Unbeknownst to Law, however, most of the crew was preoccupied with a spontaneous game of cards while others diligently tended to their duties. Hours slipped by like sand through an hourglass, each tick of the unseen clock amplifying your escalating emotions trapped alone in the supply closet. Your initial annoyance morphed into simmering anger as the walls seemed to encroach upon you. Panic replaced irritation when your calls for help echoed back empty, the crew's laughter a distant memory. The confines of the closet started to suffocate you, awakening a latent claustrophobia you had hoped to leave buried in the depths of your past. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as your pounding fists weakened against the unrelenting metal door.

Law stepped foot aboard the Polar Tang after several hours spent exploring the nearby island, his mind buzzing with newfound clarity, that is until he was greeted by the sight of his crew in high spirits. Their boisterous laughter fell flat against the backdrop of Law's return. Brows knitting together, Law surveyed the room, noticing your conspicuous absence. He raised an eyebrow, confusion turning into alarm as he demanded, “Where’s y/n?” The revelrous atmosphere dissipated instantly, replaced by awkward silence and guilty glances. Shachi, face reddening, stuttered with feigned innocence, “A-are…are they not with you?” Law’s heart skipped a beat, panic seeping into his veins like poison. He swore under his breath, berating himself for his momentary lapse in judgment, for being so careless, for leaving you alone in that suffocating closet. Without another word he moved swiftly toward the storage room, dread filling his chest as his mind conjured worst-case scenarios of your state after hours confined in that cramped space.

Law's heart pounded frantically against his ribcage as he raced through the dimly lit hallways of the Polar Tang, his mind consumed by a sense of impending doom. Guilt gnawed at his core - a harsh reminder of his negligence in forgetting about your plight. *Dammit, Law! Why did you assume someone else would handle this?* He berated himself mentally. Frantic energy coursed through his body, fueled by his growing concern for your well-being. Reaching the supply closet, blame seared through his veins - a heavy burden he bore solely because of his carelessness. The locked door greeted Law with an unspoken rebuke, a cruel reminder of the time he had wasted. Frantic energy surged through his limbs once again, and Law teleported to the other side with a burst of Devil Fruit power. Instantly, his gaze landed upon you curled up in the corner, his heart sank at the sight compared to your usual vibrant attitude. Your dishevelled hair framed your pale face with the wild tangle of emotions swirling within your clouded eyes. Each shallow gasp echoed in the confined space, a testament to the terror consuming you. Law's anger melted away, immediately replaced by a surge of concern that threatened to overwhelm him entirely. “Y/n,” he called out softly, moving towards you with calculated steps to avoid startling you further. Without hesitation, Law knelt, enveloping your trembling form in his strong, albeit cold embrace. Sincere regret weighed heavily in his voice as he apologized, “It's alright, you’re okay, I've got you.” You met his gaze, recognition gradually returning to your panic-stricken features. Your body relaxed against his touch, tears streaming freely down your flushed cheeks.

As you trembled in his arms, Law felt a wave of protectiveness flood over him, a feeling reserved for only those close to him. His fingers traced soothing circles across your back, trying to calm your racing heartbeat. *I should have never left them alone.* He silently reprimanded himself, guilt gnawing at his conscience. Your shallow breaths gradually evened out, your racing heartbeat synchronizing with Law's. Brushing away a stray lock of hair from your tear-stained face, his fingertips lingering on your soft skin, Law offered a sincere apology. “I'm so sorry, y/n. I didn't… I didn't think,” he admitted, his composed exterior cracking slightly. You sniffled, nodding against his chest, still struggling to speak coherently amidst your heavy breaths. “It's… okay,” you managed to croak out, your hands gripping onto his coat tightly. He continued to comfort you until you breaths became normal again. Finally, pulling back slightly, Law cupped your cheek, studying your face intently. “Are you alright now?” You nodded again, embarrassment now mingling with your residual fear. “Y-yes…” Law hesitated before gently wiping away the remaining tear trails with his thumb in an unexpected tender gesture. "Good," he murmured softly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Law stood up, lifting you effortlessly with him. He could sense the tension still coiled tightly in your frame, your claustrophobia still fresh in your mind. Your fragile state tugged at a hidden thread of tenderness he didn't realize he harbored within himself. You and Law emerged onto the deck of the Polar Tang, where the cool sea breeze greeted you like a welcome reprieve from the suffocating confines of the supply closet. Gently setting you down, Law hesitated before speaking, wrestling internally with his thoughts. "Y/n," he started awkwardly, his gaze momentarily drifting toward the horizon to escape your probing eyes. He felt exposed, vulnerable - feelings foreign to his typically formulated behaviour. "I didn't realize..." Law swallowed hard, gathering his scattered emotions. He turned back to face you, determination replacing his usual indifference. "I've been ignorant to your feelings, and...” He paused, searching for the right words, “…and maybe to mine too,” he admitted, surprising even himself. Your shocked expression only served to heighten Law's nervous energy. Taking another deep breath to steady himself, Law continued hesitantly, "Y/n, I value your presence on this ship more than just... more than just as a crewmate..." His sentence trailed off, leaving you suspended in anticipation. Law's heart hammered against his chest like waves crashing against jagged rocks, mirroring the turbulent ocean stretching out before them. Glancing down at your surprised face, he noticed the faint traces of tears still clinging to your lashes, and his resolve solidified. "I... Y/n," Law began again, his voice quieter this time, "do you... could you possibly..." Law trailed off, his face flushing slightly, struggling to put his complex feelings into words.

Law swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry as a desert. *I don't want to ruin our friendship!* He thought hastily, pushing aside the unfamiliar emotions swirling inside him. However, the sincerity shining in your eyes made it impossible to ignore. Steeling his nerves, he forced the words past his lips. “I mean, if you... if you'd like..." Law trailed off lamely, internally kicking himself for sounding so unsure. The silence stretched uncomfortably, broken only by the distant waves crashing against the ship's hull. You stared at him expectantly, your brow furrowed slightly. And even as you fidgeted from one foot to the other, the fabric of your clothes wrinkled and stained from hours of confinement, even in your dishevelled state, Law still believed you were the most beautiful person on earth. He knew you had feelings for him - they were too obvious to ignore. But acknowledging those feelings... It was terrifying. He had built walls around his heart, protecting himself from getting hurt. Letting anyone inside those walls felt like a vulnerability he wasn't sure he could handle. And yet... looking at you now, seeing the hope warring with uncertainty in your eyes... Law couldn't bring himself to push you away. Taking a shaky breath, he reached out tentatively, his hand hovering near yours.

Your eyes followed Law's movements, your breath catching in your throat as he reached out to you. Slowly, you extended your trembling hand, your warmth meeting his cool touch. The connection between you crackled with palpable electricity - the culmination of suppressed emotions finally breaking through both of your carefully constructed walls. Law's heart skipped a beat as you intertwined your fingers with his. Finally finding the courage to meet your gaze, Law spoke sincerely, “Y/n, I…” He faltered, searching for the appropriate words to convey the storm raging in his heart. “I don't understand these feelings myself,” he confessed honestly, "...but I'm certain of one thing: I care for you beyond the bounds of crewmate and Captain." His words hung in the air like delicate glass ornaments, fragile and vulnerable to breakage. Glancing down at your entwined hands, he continued, “If you’re willing to tolerate my idiocy…” A slight smirk played on his lips as he glanced back at you, “then maybe… perhaps we could figure this out together?” He left his confession hanging, leaving the final decision in your trembling hands. His heart pounded anxiously in his chest, feeling exposed but hopeful.

Your eyes widened in surprise at Law's confession, your rapid heartbeats echoing loudly in your ears. As your shock subsided, a warmth bloomed within your chest, dispelling the last remnants of your panic attack. You studied your interlaced fingers, trying to comprehend the situation unfolding before you. Law, the man you admired from afar, confessed feelings for you. Swallowing your disbelief, you looked up at Law, your gaze meeting his intense gaze. “You... really mean it?” You asked softly, afraid that it might just be a cruel joke. Law nodded earnestly, his eyes softening slightly. “Yes,” he confirmed, “I do.” You smiled tentatively, a blush tinting your cheeks. “Then... Then yes,” you finally managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll try to understand these feelings with you.” As your acceptance registered, relief flooded through Law’s system like cool water on scorched earth. With a genuine smile, he pulled you close, embracing you gently. *Maybe opening up isn’t such a bad thing after all.* Law mused, enjoying the warmth radiating off you. Pulling back, he rested his forehead against yours. “Thank you,” he whispered sincerely before pressing a tender kiss to your temple. Your newfound bond seemed to mend the lingering tension in the air. Together, you walked towards the crew, unaware of the curious gazes following you. Law knew you would both have quite the explanation coming your way, but for now, he simply cherished the warmth of your hand in his.