#for those in peril on the sea
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Fisherman's Memorial, Gloucester Mass.
Photo by Jason Kennedy.
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Breaking: Debris found near Titanic site indicates that the OceanGate submersible Titan imploded; all 5 aboard lost
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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
#this is by no means a bad thing I just forget they actually exist in the world and not just on my shelf as a gift from my grandma ages ago#on a related note the Eight book is so funny it contains; of all enemies; the Silurians and Sea Devils#no companions no other characters just those. I don't even know if I can name another story with them and Eight in#the perils of making a fun little gift book aimed at a wide audience about a character from a critical flop of a film and niche eu stuff
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been thinking a lot about terms like âwildernessâ and ânature/naturalâ as well as âcaptiveâ and the feral/domestic delineation. theyâre 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 destinyâthe childish ideal that all life ought to participate in full servitude to the human race
#what use is captive in describing the temperament of a creature#is a creature in peril not captive to their fate?#do the doves who dive from sea cliffs feel more free than those who only know the ledge of high rise apartments?#is there really such a thing as space untouched by human influence#does human influence necessarily imply value or lack thereof?#just thinking
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On the subject of the Titanic âsubmersibleâ that was lost in the deep with all its wealthy touristsâ itâs 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 companyâŚ..the article is a puff piece uncritically glorifying the CEOâs 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.
Weâve obviously learned now that there were whistleblowers at the company who were warning for a long time that Stockton Rushâs submersible was unsafeâ 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 âregulations that needlessly prioritize passenger safety.â
Soon after, the private [submersible] market died too, Rush found, for two reasons that were âunderstandable but illogical.â 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 worldâs most perilous job, with frequent fatalities. (âIt wasnât the subâs fault,â 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 captainâs 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). âThere hasnât been an injury in the commercial sub industry in over 35 years. Itâs obscenely safe, because they have all these regulations. But it also hasnât innovated or grownâbecause they have all these regulations.â
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 peopleâs 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 justâŚ..in hindsight of how everything ended itâs just so much horrible black comedy? Itâs 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 Rushâs 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, âcollapse catastrophically.â
And then!!
The exact problem that happened to Titan this weekend, happened on Titanâs 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. âIt was like being on the Starship Enterprise,â he says. âThere were these particles going by, like stars. Every so often a jellyfish would go whipping by. It was the childhood dream.â
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 havenât we monetized it?
Stockton saying we will âcolonize the ocean long before we colonize spaceâ
Lots of weird pro colonialism stuff in general??? This article loves colonialism and thinks itâs 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 Muskâs rockets explode and therefore it would be a bad idea to get in one of them, because that would imply itâs 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 thatâs 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 editorâs note from years later disclaiming that the extraordinary submersible theyâre advertising in this article is uh. Itâs 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. Itâs 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 âonlyâ 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 âdaring tycoon innovationsâ by people like Bezos or Musk.
#titanic#oceangate#titanic submersible#sorry this is just so fascinating to me#itâs like a parody or piece of satire#if it were in a novel it would feel like the symbolism was too obvious and on the nose
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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.
â°â⤠Chapter Index
𪸠Prequel by @forbidden-sunlight đ Part 2: Two Intertwining Melodies đŚPart 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 wasnât tired in the slightest, but he couldnât 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 mentorâs 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 âwhat ifsâ 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 Persephoneâs 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,â 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 Odysseusâs 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-wooâs 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.Â
Defeated, Jin-woo raises his head, opens his eyes, and continues to swim.
Another hour passes before he finds himself at the ingress of Ashbornâs 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 masterâs 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 heâs 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 â
âMy disciple, it is good to see you again, though you appearâŚtroubled. Tell me, what ails you so?â A rumbling voice rings across the horizon, signaling Ashbornâs 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, Ashbornâs 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 heâs 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-wooâs presence.
âMy teacher, I must ask for your help on an urgent matter,â Jin-woo starts, anxiously running his tongue across his bottom lip. âThis morning, while I was scavenging, I stumbled across the unmistakable aroma of an unmarked omega. ItâŚit 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.â
Ashborn listens in silence, his expression indiscernible. Jin-woo continued.
 âWhen I arrived, I was in front of a monstrosity of a ship â a yacht right by the sandbanks. At first, I assumed that someone had taken an unfortunate siren captive. But when I finally saw herââ
âYou 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.â Jin-woo lowers his head in shame, fringe obscuring his eyes. This action all but confirms it.
âI donât know what to do or how to proceed, teacher. Everything Iâve learned about these creatures has made me detest them. But I canât bring myself to hate her. How could this even be possible? We are not even of the same species. Sheâs my enemy, my preyâŚ. At least, sheâs supposed to be.â His voice lowers into a near whisper as he ends his confused rambling.
âAnd yet you donât view her that way, do you child?â Ashborn poses a question he already knows the answer to but needs to hear in his pupilâs own words.
âNo, I donât,â Jin-woo replies grimly. âI yearn to know more about her. And not just that. I want to meet her, court her, and make her mine. If sheâll 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?â
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.
âIt 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.â
Jin-wooâs 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.
âI never knew you had a lover,â Jin-woo murmurs softly. âWhat was she like? Do you still remember everything about her after so many years?â
âLet me show you, my disciple. It is a tragic tale that words alone cannot properly convey.â With a wave of Ashbornâs 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.
âIt 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.â 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 Ashbornâs 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.
âI feared her rejection once she knew the truth of my identity,â Ashborn admits. âOn 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.â 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 Ashbornâs presence. Lost in their own special world. The woman has a flower crown on her head, and she sits on the grass, holding the manâs head in her lap. Both appear happy and at ease.
âFor the first time in my existence, I experienced true contentment. I long to return to those days, but alas, our bliss did not last.â
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 sheâs at.
âA 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 wouldâve 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.â
At the end of his recollection, Ashbornâs 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. Thatâs 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.
âAlthough 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.â
Jin-wooâs throat bobs. He feels an incredible sense of guilt at unearthing his masterâs secret.
âMy teacher, I apologize for prying into your past. I â 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.â
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.
âTeacher, 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 sheâs casting?â
âIt 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.â Ashborn answers, curiosity lacing his voice.
Jin-woo feels his heart sinking. A sirenâs 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 cameâŚ
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 Ashbornâs observation, he instead finds himself reinvigorated.
âTeacher, disregard everything I said earlier. I now know what it is I must do.â
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.
âI choose to seek this omega and stake my claim, no matter what challenges may await the two of us,â Jin-woo proclaims proudly. âI 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 wonât let my mate slip through my fingers.â
âBut 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.â Ashborn ruthlessly counters Jin-wooâs 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.
âI 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 protĂŠgĂŠ.â
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-wooâs eyes widen as he reads. Is thisâŚ?
âBehold. 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 Demonâs 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.â
Jin-woo perks up at this information, his interest now fully piqued. âTell me, master, where can I find the Demonâs Castle?â
âIt 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?â
âI do,â Jinwoo confidently states.
âVery well,â Ashborn nods his assent, and a key materializes into Jin-wooâs palm.
âUse this key to open the gate to the Demonâs Castle. I have also implanted it with the coordinates to the dungeonâs location. You need only close your eyes and grasp onto the key to visualize it.â
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.
âTeacher, 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 Baranâs head. And then I will meet with the omega and court her in earnest.â
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.
âYou 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.â
12 hours later...
Jin-woo finally emerges from the dark, briny waters that frame Seoulâs coastline.
After leaving Ashbornâs 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 didnât bother him, it would cause a lot of unnecessary trouble if any nosy beachgoers happened upon him and asked questions. It is alsoâŚpretty embarrassing to admit that he isâŚwobbly 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 (âAdidasâ, 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.Â
âď¸ To be continued...
#solo leveling#ore dake level up na ken#sung jin woo x reader#solo leveling x reader#sung jinwoo x reader#sung jin-woo x reader#sung jinwoo x you#sung jin woo x you#sung jinwoo x y/n#sung jin woo x y/n#yandere x reader#siren x reader#monster x reader#sung jinwoo#sung jin-woo#sung jin woo#manhwa x reader#siren x you#ashborn#solo leveling fanfic#yandere siren#yandere x you#soft yandere#yandere fanfiction
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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 đđ
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: Heâd 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 capableâstrong in your own right. However, there were dangers that automatically made you far more vulnerable.Â
That dayâs 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 werenât accompanied by Zoroâs, 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.Â
A watchful eye on everything and everyone, his friends being the ones calling for actions guided by the heart.
He wasnât one to hound others on things they were already aware of. The unexpected should be expected, and that meant thereâd 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 wasnât 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 dayâs sun. The rippling water from an approaching ship didnât 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 swordsmanâs raw power for himself, even if that meant putting his crewâs lives in jeopardy. However, Mihawk wasnât 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 didnât 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.
Heâd 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.
#one piece#x reader#one piece x reader#one piece imagine#one piece x you#op#one piece headcanons#op x reader#op x you#zoro x reader#zoro x you#roronoa zoro#law x reader#law x you#law trafalgar#trafalgar law#mihawk x reader#mihawk x you#dracule mihawk#one piece fluff
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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, Jannaâs 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 Jannaâs 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 Jannaâs 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 theyâd 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.
#arcane#arcane spoilers#arcane season 2#arcane janna#janna#arcane league of legends#League of Legends#lol janna#league of legends janna#jinx#viktor lol#viktor arcane#woodkid#ashes and blood
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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
â 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!
â 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.)
â 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.
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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.
#percy jackson#pjo#pjo hoo#hoo#heroes of olympus#trials of apollo#toa#apollo#pj apollo#apollo x reader#apollo x you#pj apollo x reader#pj apollo x you
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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 Getaâyour freedom and future in exchange for your brotherâs 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 adversaryâand 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 Getaâs 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. âPeople of Rome!â 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. âToday, here before you, a conspiracy is being staged. Macrinus is a traitor who has infiltrated the heart of our empire! Canât you see his treachery?â
For a moment, the crowd fell silent, but it was short-lived. Screams, laughter, and jeers rose again, crashing over you like a wave. Getaâs voice was lost in this sea.
Though he continued speaking, the crowdâs minds were already sealed with a predetermined verdict. They wanted blood. The eyes looking at you sought not justice but mere entertainment.
Getaâs words were like winds wasted in the void. You looked at him, your heart constricting, helplessness clutching at you. Getaâs 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.
âPeople of Rome!â Macrinus declared, his every word dripping like venom.
âToday, 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 gladiatorâŚâ
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 crowdâs curiosity.
âTheir executioner will be one of this womanâs own blood! Her brother!â
For a moment, everything seemed frozen. Your mind refused to comprehend it. âNoâŚâ 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 hardenedâit was your brother.
No. This had to be a nightmare. It couldnât be real. But there he was. His chained hands were visible beneath the coarse, heavy pieces of gladiator armor. The crowdâs shouts and cheers rose once more. The people were enthralled by this dramatic display.
Geta leaned toward you, his voice firm and sharp. âYou must pull yourself together.â
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. âStay calm,â he said in a low voice, though a storm raged within him. âTheyâre luring us into a trap.â
Macrinusâs voice filled the arena with mocking resonance. âAh, 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!â
A brief silence fell before he widened his smile and added, âAnd the decision of who that will be⌠is in your hands.â
As the crowd erupted in wild cheers over this merciless proposition, tears streamed down your cheeks, and you saw the same anguish in your brotherâs eyes.
Geta turned to Caracalla, his voice now an unstoppable eruption of fury. âAre you really watching this, brother?â he shouted, his voice reverberating against the stone walls of the arena. âCanât 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!â
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 wouldnât get an answer in that moment, but you heard Getaâs voice rise even further in one last desperate effort.
âAre you so blind that you canât see Macrinusâs true face?â he cried, his voice sharp like a cutting wind. âHeâs the traitor! Not us! Heâs the one poisoning Rome! Heâs the one who turned you against me!â
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 Getaâs eyes. âFinallyâŚâ he murmured.
Acacius approached the center of the arena and bowed toward Caracalla. However, this did not please Macrinus. âGeneral, what are you doing here? The game has started, and it is not your place to entertain the crowd!â he snapped, his voice tinged with irritation.
Acacius spoke with cold certainty in his tone, âYour Majesty, I am responsible for the security of Rome. However, I sense that there is a darker plan unfolding behind these public games.â
Macrinus, his anger plain on his face, demanded, âWhat are you implying, General?â
Acacius took another step forward, standing directly in front of Macrinus. âBetrayal and manipulation. And the one responsible for it is you, Macrinus.â
Turning to Caracalla, Acacius spoke in a measured tone, âYour Majesty, I have evidence to prove Macrinusâs treacherous schemes.â
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.
Caracallaâs 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, âHow curious, Macrinus. It seems everyone has a story to tell today.â
Macrinus let out a confident laugh, attempting to mask the tension in the air. âYour Majesty, this generalâs loyalty has long been questionable. Donât let him waste your time with supposed evidence. Justice must be served to Geta and these traitors!â
But Caracalla ignored Macrinusâs words and focused his gaze on Acacius. âDo you have evidence, General? And if so, why have you waited until now?â
Acacius, feeling the weight of the question, replied in a calm voice, âBecause traitors work in the shadows, Your Majesty. I waited for the right moment.â
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. âYour Majesty, this is a trap! Acacius and Getaâs collaboration is nothing less than treason against Rome!â
Acacius turned to Macrinus, his voice as firm as steel. âWatch your words, Macrinus. No one understands treachery better than you.â
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. âYour Majesty, this parchment contains the proof of Macrinusâs treacherous plansâdetails of conspiracies that threaten Romeâs securityâŚâ 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, âWho can guarantee the reliability of this so-called evidence?â 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: âPrepare.â
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, âYou wil be okay.â
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 werenât standing in the middle of an arena, as if you werenât in the shadow of death. He whispered, his voice low enough for only you to hear, âIf this is our end, Iâll die protecting you.â
In that moment, everything froze. The flames of the torches danced in your eyes as you felt Getaâs hands on your shoulders. His embrace wasnât just protectiveâit was a reflection of all the emotions he had suppressed. A warmth spread through you, momentarily erasing all fear.
Macrinusâs voice cut through the moment. âArchers!â he shouted, his anger echoing through the crowd. But just then, chaos erupted among the spectators. Those who believed in Macrinusâs 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. âI wonât let anything happen to you,â 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 Getaâs face, you saw that his eyes, too, were brimming with tears.
Acaciusâs gaze was locked on Macrinus, who was attempting to retreat.
Meanwhile, the guards in the arena quickly moved to secure Caracallaâs safety. Soldiers rushed toward the emperorâs 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. Getaâs hands were still on you, and when you turned to him, words caught in your throat. He simply whispered to you, âNever forget me.â
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 beforeâa mixture of love and sorrow.
âYou must stay here,â he said, his voice softer than before. âI canât protect you if you put yourself in danger.â
âNo, Geta! You canât go!â you cried, tears burning down your cheeks. But Geta had already made his decision. He gave you one last lookâa gaze that wasnât just a farewell but the passing of an eternal memory to you. âForgive me,â 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 brotherâs face. âDonât leave him! Please!â you shouted, but your brother held you firmly.
âNo,â he said, his voice hard and resolute. âListen to me. I canât leave you here. We have to get out of here. Now!â
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. âNo! Let me go!â you shouted, but he didnât listen. He placed you on the horse, your hands trembling, your eyes still locked on the fading sight of the arena. âSomething will happen to Geta! I canât leave him alone!â
Gripping the reins tightly, your brother said, âHe risked everything to save us. We must honor his sacrifice!â He spurred the horse forward. Behind you, Getaâs 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 dreamâor rather, a nightmare. But one thing was certain: Getaâs 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. "Youâre safe here," he said, though his voice didnât sound particularly confident. His words didnât comfort you.
Your eyes remained locked on the distant flames. Trembling with a storm of emotions swirling inside you, you muttered, "Geta... Heâs dead. He... He tried to save us but failed. I... I couldnât protect him..." Your voice was hoarse and filled with sorrow.
Your brother spoke without looking at you. "We had to survive. Geta knew that. Thatâs why he risked everything." But those words didnât 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 Getaâs 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 didnât 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 sorrowâ with joy.
You ran towards him. Your brother tried to say something, but you didnât 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... Youâre 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 Getaâs 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: "Donât 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 Getaâs lips. "Macrinus has been captured. Heâs been thrown into the dungeon and wonât pose a threat again. We also quelled the rebellion among the people. The city will be rebuilt now. Thereâs 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 isnât mine alone. It belongs to everyone here. And to you, Acacius. Rome could never have had a better general, and never will."
Acaciusâs lips twitched slightly in what might have been a faint smileâa quiet expression of gratitude. But when Geta turned back to you, his face was entirely different. His eyes softened, as though heâd 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 Iâd 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 Romeâs smoke rose in the distance, you felt safe at Getaâs side. His eyes held a promiseâa 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 familyâs honor. But your world was defined by being at Getaâs side.
One day, as you walked through Romeâs 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. "Iâve seen many things in my lifeâpower, war, betrayal. But after meeting you, I realized that the most important thing isnât loyalty; itâs love. Before you, I wasnât 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 everythingâa moment transcending all the complexities of life. Rome might have burned, and the world might have been changing. But your world was complete in Getaâs 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
#emperor geta x y/n#emperor geta fic#emperor geta x you#emperor geta#emperor caracalla#emperor geta x oc#emperor geta x reader#emperor geta x female reader#emperor geta fanfic#emperor geta gladiator 2#gladiator movie#gladiator#gladiator 2#gladiator ii
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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 toâŚ" 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, âWhereâs y/n?â The revelrous atmosphere dissipated instantly, replaced by awkward silence and guilty glances. Shachi, face reddening, stuttered with feigned innocence, âA-areâŚare they not with you?â Lawâs 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. âY/n,â 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, âIt's alright, youâre okay, I've got you.â 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. âI'm so sorry, y/n. I didn't⌠I didn't think,â he admitted, his composed exterior cracking slightly. You sniffled, nodding against his chest, still struggling to speak coherently amidst your heavy breaths. âIt's⌠okay,â 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. âAre you alright now?â You nodded again, embarrassment now mingling with your residual fear. âY-yesâŚâ 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...â He paused, searching for the right words, ââŚand maybe to mine too,â 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. âI 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, âY/n, IâŚâ He faltered, searching for the appropriate words to convey the storm raging in his heart. âI don't understand these feelings myself,â 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, âIf youâre willing to tolerate my idiocyâŚâ A slight smirk played on his lips as he glanced back at you, âthen maybe⌠perhaps we could figure this out together?â 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. âYou... really mean it?â You asked softly, afraid that it might just be a cruel joke. Law nodded earnestly, his eyes softening slightly. âYes,â he confirmed, âI do.â You smiled tentatively, a blush tinting your cheeks. âThen... Then yes,â you finally managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper. âIâll try to understand these feelings with you.â As your acceptance registered, relief flooded through Lawâs system like cool water on scorched earth. With a genuine smile, he pulled you close, embracing you gently. *Maybe opening up isnât such a bad thing after all.* Law mused, enjoying the warmth radiating off you. Pulling back, he rested his forehead against yours. âThank you,â 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.
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Actually, was thinking about that ficlet I posted and I wanna talk more about Gale as Icarus. Because the Icarus myth isn't just about hubris, it's about moderation. Yes, flying too close to the sun melts his wings. But he's also warned against flying too low, lest his wings get wet with the sea spray and weigh him down. He cannot fly too high nor too low, be too complacent nor too ambitious, but rather must take the middle route.
Yes, Gale is ambitious and in reaching to be closer to the gods - to Mystra - he found himself burned. And if he keeps reaching he may actually achieve godhood, may reach that shining sun, but he loses his humanity and those close to him in the process.
And yet there's the other side. The fear, the guilt, the lack of self-worth, the reluctance to challenge what he's always believed in, weighing him down into the sea of hopelessness, pushing him towards self-sacrifice. Like Icarus, people may talk more of the dangers of him reaching too high, but the lows, too, are equally perilous.
Gale's arc is not simply one of tempering his hubris and ambition, of not flying too close to the sun, but also of not flying so low that he loses himself to despair. It's about holding onto hope, without believing that the only way to escape the darkness threatening to swallow him is to fly so high that he loses himself anyway. It's the middle path that eventually leads him to freedom.
My sweet Icarus, indeed
#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#meta#character analysis#not to toot my own horn or anything i was just thinking about it and i was like 'wait this is accidentally a better analogy than i thought'#which i do love it when that happens lol
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â đŹđđđ đĄđ¨đŽđŹđ đ°/ đđđ§đđŚđ˘ & đ đ§!đŤđđđđđŤ
where Nanami and you spend the first morning in your new house by the seaside...
a/n: happy, happy birthday @bas-writes!! another year around the sun, another year closer to dilf age. either way i hope it will be a good one for you! wishing you all the best and sending warm hugs (´,,â˘Ďâ˘,,)âĄ
cw: brief mention of alcohol, rest is pure fluff word count: 1.4k
Never would you have thought to wake up in a house by the seaside, but here you are. Your house, to be precise. It still feels like a dream, and it probably will for a long time while you settle in and really make this place a home.
Itâs still early, the sun is barely up, and all you can hear are the waves crashing against the shore outside, and the soft breathing of your partner in bed next to you. Peaceful, his face relaxed, as it has been ever since you finished packing up the last moving box. Youâve fought enough in the past. There were times when you thought you wouldnât make it; rope dancing on the verge of death and crawling back towards the light with bloody palms. Itâs what you do as jujutsu sorcerers, itâs whatâs expected of you.
Nanami had always dreamt of settling down somewhere by the sea, of leaving it all behind. He told you about it one night in the corner of a dark bar, after a perilous mission neither of you knew how you made it out alive, the aftershock still rattling in your bones and soothed by too much whiskey.Â
His fingers were dancing over the rim of his emptied glass, and he didnât look at you, because he knew heâd spill the words all over the counter, about this deep, ravenous affection he felt towards you. Instead he spoke softly about his dream house, his voice low and raspy. How he imagined blue window frames and kitchen herbs growing outside, and a back door that always creaked a little leading towards the shore, and shelves up to the ceiling filled with books in the bedroom and having all the time in the world to finally read them.
You had your eyes closed while listening to Nanami, your hand slightly resting against his on the bar counter, your knees touching, neither of you pulling away. You could picture it all so clearlyâpicture him so clearly. Nanami didnât belong to the jujutsu world; his heart was too kind, shining way too bright, and thatâs what attracts those who want to diminish it. No, Nanami clearly belonged in this house by the seaside, his only worries being which of his unread books to pick up for reading next and if the dough for his bread has risen enough to put it in the oven.
âAm I allowed to visit you there?â, you were asking with an amused smile, resting your head on your elbow while looking at him. Despite the playful teasing in your voice, your heart felt so heavy, torn apart by deep longing and a fear of losing who wasnât even yours. Silence fell between you. Nanami had loosened his tie before running a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. There was something on his mind, as if he was pondering on his next words.Â
âNo,â he had mumbled before looking up from his glass, seeking your gaze. For a brief second, his eyes were flickering to your lips, then to your eyes again. Thinking back, this was probably the moment his resilience within him crumbled, his equally tired heart giving up on denying his true feelings towards you. A smile had tugged on the corner of his mouth.Â
âNo, because I imagine you living there with me.â
What followed were thousands of kisses, countless nights of keeping the loneliness ashore by holding each other in your arms, mumbled confessions against every inch of your bare skin, you moving into his apartment and packed moving boxes a few years later⌠everything leading to waking up after the first night in your seaside house of your dreams.Â
You are finally free.Â
Nanamiâs arm rests around your middle, instinctively pulling you closer even in his sleep, as if his body remembers the shape of you. The only thing heâs fighting now is sleep; torn between stirring awake and wanting to keep his eyes closed for a while longer. When you brush your lips gently against his forehead, Nanami lets out a small groan and his eyelids flutter a little.Â
âShh,â you whisper and run your fingers through his hair. âSleep, itâs still too early.â
âUp already?â, he mumbles, his voice still drowsy and hoarse. He forces his eyes to open a bit more, big hands cupping your cheeks. âDid you have a bad dream?â
You shake your head slightly and nuzzle your face into his palms, taking a deep inhale and laughing quietly when Nanami gently pulls you to his lips, humming a little. Even half-asleep his ways of showing you his affection know no limits; as if every second he spends not kissing or touching you is a wasted one.
âWe made it,â you speak gently against his lips, brushing a few strands of blond hair out of his face, tracing his cheek bones. Nanami lets out a content sigh, visibly melting under your touch. You spent many mornings like this together, limbs intertwined and whispered sweet nothings in your ears, but today feels special somehow. Even though most of your belongings are still in boxes, this place feels like a home already.
âWe did, my love,â Nanami mutters back and brushes his lips against yours once more. It seems like he doesnât want to fall asleep again either, rather be awake with you at dawn while listening to the sound of the shores while the sun slowly rises. You smile softly, your hands wandering over his torso, his skin warm and velvet under your fingertips; and Nanami kisses down your jaw and your neck in return, nuzzling his face in the crook above your shoulder where his breath is hot and heavy against your skin.
You stay like this for a while, your hearts finding a steady rhythm. Neither of you feels the urge to get up, not even to grab some coffee and tea (youâd have to find the box with kitchen stuff first anyway). Itâs like the reality has to sink in first, that you are finally free of your shackles; that the heaviest decisions from now on will be which sweet little treat to get from the bakery down the street and where to built another bookshelf in your house, because you will run out of space inevitably.Â
âDo you ever think about the mysterious ways life works?â, you think out loud while staring at the ceiling. âLike, if you hadnât kissed me at that bar one nightââ
âThen I would have kissed you another time, another place. Everything led me back to you,â Nanami interrupts you, tenderly, and pulls you closer so your head rests against his chest. His fingers run up and down your spine, enjoying your bare skin against his. âMy heart was orbiting around you. It still does.â He kisses the top of your head and sighs deeply. âYou were always the light that guided me. For the longest time, I didnât dare to think much about the future⌠until you waltzed into my life. And changed pretty much everything.â
You look up at Nanami. His expression is soft, apologetic almost. He looks at you with pure adoration and a gratefulness you can feel deep in your soul.
âI really love you, utterly and entirely, with all my being,â he mumbles before tilting your chin up with his fingers, gazing into your eyes, before kissing you again. Your lips part for him so willingly, they always do. Nanami has his ways of making you fall apart in the best way possible, cracking even the hardest bits of you open like a pomegranate, every bit of you shattering into the loveliest mess.
âYou have my whole heart,â you whisper back, blinking back a few tears. Nanami is never overly sappy, but he always speaks whatâs on his mind, and in this moment these words had to fall out of his mouth like a vow. As if these bedroom walls will remember the love they held, even long after you two are gone; like a momento for times to come when the two of you will return to being stardust, a tiny glimpse of âWe were here, and there was nothing but love between usâ.
For now, youâll stay in this bed for a little longer. When youâve been on the run your whole life, you deserve to rest and to let calmness wash over you. The future is always unknown, but you have a feeling that yours will always be golden; with specs of blue when youâre dancing under the stars together, your feet in the salt water and your hands entwined, hearts ablaze.
#jjk x reader#nanami x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#nanami kento x reader#jjk fluff#jjk imagines#jjk scenarios#nanami kento#jjk x you#jjk x gender neutral reader#jjk x y/n
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Orsinium headcanon:
Due to it's remote location and firm extradition laws, Orsinium has become a popular choice for Altmer refugees. Those who survive the perilous trek find the city cold, often frightening to those with no familiarity for Orcs, but ultimately far safer than back in Alinor.
Most of them congregate in the outskirts of Orsinium Minor, in an area called "Little Alinor" or "the golden district". Though many struggle with poverty, a few have thrived by setting up businesses, the more flexible minded elves modifying traditional recipes to Orcish tastes and selling them as street foods. Of particular note is a variety of steamed bun, originally made as a small finger dish filled with sea food, now made large enough to fit in the hand and filled with cabbage and pork, which has become a staple breakfast food for blue collar orcs working stupid long hours and needing a hot breakfast.
However, many Altmer immigrants, whether intentionally or not, avoid interactions with Orcs, and as a result, have a reputation for being snooty at best, or outright suspicious at worst. They are also notorious for being skittish, shy, and particularly distrustful around strange Altmer, who might be Thalmor agents. Those of a more anxious disposition struggle between the fear of other Altmer and the fear of a people they are told are violent and dangerous.
However, the newer generation often adapts well, young flexible minds taking in the culture, making Orcish friends and picking up the language and trends. On the other hand, Altmer countercultures also arise, with some young Altmer clinging to their parents old ways, and looking down their nose at the other "corrupted" youths. Street fights are not uncommon.
Little Alinor is a place caught between two vastly different cultures, being dragged kicking and screaming out of rigid conformity. Though despite the cold stone and Wrothgar weather, it's still a safe home. As Arlith Urayel, purveyor of Arliths Gifts and known dissident to the Third Aldmeri Dominion states: "I live in a place where a single poorly chosen word can get my nose broken, and I am safer than I've ever been my entire life."
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renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part ix)
a/n: Silverwing being ride-or-die is my new favourite trope
Princess Aemma Velaryon's death reached Dragonstone only after her forlorn brother, Prince Lucerys, feverishly searched the seas and skies alike for any sign of her or Silverwing. All he came upon of her was the shredded length of her velvet cloak by the shores of Shipbreaker's Bay, his sister's sweet lavender perfume lost to the salt of the sea. He had clung to it like it was his lifeline, and that's how they found him in the Sea Dragon tower, within Aemma's chambersâcrying his eyes out and calling out to her.
Luke sobbed deeply, pulling at his hair. "It should've been me."
Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon walked in on Luke, eager to see her children again, and eventually registering his undone suffering. Once the mother noticed the familiar article of clothingâformerly her ownâshe went insensate. Her shoulders shook, composure gone to ashes, and sank to her knees. Daemon was stoic to the scene, save for his hand that went to direly fist at his sword.
The older prince spoke first, relieving the tension. Despite his grave face, his tone was forbidding, intending to burn. "Who the fuck did this?"
Luke's upper lip curled, his hands clenching at his sister's cape. "Him."
Nothing else needed to be said. The reality of who was capable of executing such treason was well understood, though uttering his name was like spitting venom.
Rhaenyra roared out with the visceral fury of a dragon, and once that drained, she was but an empty vessel. She heaved a solemn breath, palming at her abdomen. The misery that wracked her labours was far less cruel than whatever this was, the anguish overwhelming, her chest aching with the burden of mourning two daughters, their deaths igniting the flames of war.
When she tearily looked to her side, Daemon had disappeared.
Prince Daemon had been conditioned to barbarity and grief, so much they were welcome drinking companions of his. Aemma was no different to this addition. In her, he saw echoes of his own turbulent youthâthe same steely determination, the same unpredictability, the restless drive to remain an enigma to those around her. Perhaps it was this reflection of his own wild spirit that spurred him to seek out grisly revenge.
Daemon's warpath toward Caraxes suddenly stopped as he saw him standing before the painted table. The hollow swordsman. The one-eyed kinslayer. A mirror of Daemon's worst motivations. Here stood the rider of the beast that had slain his daughter.
Daemon unsheathed Dark Sister without hesitation, the Valyrian blade slicing through the air with a menacing swish.
"Poetic justice or self-destruction?" he muttered, masking his fury.
Aemond bore a black smile, barely lifting his lips. "Depends on which of us you ask, uncle."
X
Rumours had begun to spread that Aemond Targaryen had defected to the Blacks. Some even called it a surrender. Perhaps it was the stabs of a prickling conscience, the blood stains of love in his hands, or the affliction of sorrow that had overtaken him, making him ready to face the wrath of a grieving motherâand his own death. Bereft of his truest calling, shattered by dreams he had destroyed with his hands, the one-eyed prince swiftly concluded that life held no meaning without his princess. He intended to follow her footsteps soon enough, to fulfil the conclusive detail of their promise: never to part from Aemma henceforth.
Without Aemond and Vhagar, Kingâs Landing had become perilously vulnerable. The soaring pall of the largest and most terrifying dragon no longer loomed over the capital, and it was clear to all that their strongest defence was now absent. The Greens' was evidently morale staggered. With Vhagarâs absence, Rhaenyraâs forces could bring the fire with seven dragons and fewer consequences, and rumours of dissent spread throughout the city. The Greens were losing their grip, outmatched in numbers and firepower, leaving the smallfolk exposed and the city teetering on the edge of defeat.
Terrible fables spoke of King Aegon and Aemond One-Eyeâs grandiose schemes to slay the false queen under the guise of begging for mercy. But these tales were discredited when it was revealed that Aemond had been imprisoned in the chambers of the late princessâa ruthless move orchestrated by Queen Rhaenyra. It was, in every sense, a final sentence.
âIf that savage snake truly loved her,â Rhaenyra had said vengefully to her husband, âthen that place will drive him mad. Let his evil haunt him. I want to see the fear in his eyes when I burn him.â
Yet fear was not something Aemond would entertain. He would sooner fall on his sword than show terror before his wretched half-sister.
Over time, however, he did fallâdeeper into madness consumed by the unfamiliarity of being locked in the space that had once been Aemmaâs. The burden of memory became the iron bars and chains of this prison. Numb to everything else, he wandered her chambers aimlessly, haunted by her absence. She was everywhere and nowhere at onceâin the vanity, where strands of her hair clung to her hairbrush; in the bureau, where her meticulously folded maps and lists remained undisturbed; and in the faint perfume that lingered in the air, forever scenting her dresser.
A full moon's cycle passed before Aemond began hearing her voice. A breathy echo, a laughing whisper, a figment of his broken mind. With each crash of the waves against the jagged rocks beneath her balcony, he would catch that soft, familiar sound: My friend.
The echo eased him in ways nothing else could, drawing a smile to his face. If this was madness, it was madness he welcomed. My love, he thought, and in that moment, he wouldâve gladly surrendered to it.
Jace was the one who finally confronted Aemond, his vengeance boiling over upon his return from the Vale. Sword in hand, he cornered the one-eyed prince in his sister's chambers. What was surprising was how the captive did not baulk at the sight of the angry prince. He simply tilted his head, offering his neck and awaiting the onslaught.
"Fucking murderous cunt," Jace spat, barely above a whisper, trembling with restrained fury.
Aemond was inured now. It resounded in his mind with every breath, a constant reminder of what he'd become. His gaze remained distant, vacant as he met Jace's stare.
"Mount your dragon," Jace ordered, dripping with disdain. "I only spare you this avail because of how dearly Aemma loved you."
Aemond didnât even blink. It took more effort than expected to form words after days of silence.
"I will not fight you," he muttered, voice gravelly from disuse. "So, get it over with. Finish me."
But Jace wasn't about to grant him that release.
"You're coming with me," he growled, eyes blazing with wrath. "I won't believe my sister is gone until I see it with my eyes. Find me Silverwing, and only then will you get what you so desperately crave."
Aemond turned away, blinking back a rare sting of emotion clouding his vision. He had been so benumbed, that the sensation sliced him raw. His jaw clenched, forcing his voice through the anguish tightening his throat.
"Silverwing sank beneath the waves."
"Then she should've washed ashore by now," Jace snapped, his tone sharpening. "Or been spotted near Storm's End, or found by sailors off Driftmark. Someone would've seen her. I will not grieve with my family until I know for certain. Until Iâve seen damning proof."
Aemondâs teeth ground together in frustration. "My hope ended with her."
"Hope?" Jace sneered, the word wresting bitterly in his mouth. "Know this, uncleâgods forbid I find what I seek, you wonât just be dead to the realm, youâll be nothing more than a relic of a prince no one will remember."
X
We cannot know the ancient minds of dragons. They were not merely instruments of warâthey were beasts of chaos, as unreliable as the gales they rode. A bitter reminder of how little command Targaryens truly held, even over their own beasts. Yet, the Good Queen's Silverwing had always been distinct from the othersâgentler, some would say, with a serenity that belied the strength coiled within her shimmering, pale-scaled body.
Her loyalty to her peaceful rider ran deeper than bloodshed or battle, for it was not assumed upon command or duty but of a friendship that transcended power. It was instinctual, a mutual loneliness that they shared. Silverwing had intuited Aemmaâs presence since her first touch upon her scales, the soft whispers of affection, the implicit trust.
Following Aemma's descent from her dragon's saddle, the waters hit her hard, churning her into the abyss. Just as the waves threatened to pull her deeper, Silverwing cut through them, her talons outstretched, and in a swift, precise motion, she plucked Aemma from the depths before the sea could claim her entirely. Silverwingâs grip was painstaking, cradling her riderâs limp form between her sharp talons, ensuring she was protected. With a great struggle, Silverwing battered her wings against the storm, fighting the oceanâs pull, lifting them both back into the air, finding cover above the storm clouds.
And now, in the quiet of this remote sanctuary, camouflaged against rocks, their bond held firm, even as Aemma lay unconscious amidst the mud and grass, suspended between life and death.
The old dragon sensed more than the warmth of her rider's skin when she nudged her snout against her constantly, letting out a low, concerned rumble. She felt the pulse of her heart, flimsy but steady, the rhythm of her breath, shallow but resilient. Every beat, every rise and fall of Aemmaâs chest was a call to Silverwing, one that she refused to neglect.
Silverwing would shift her body closer at night, nestling Aemma to the earth, her massive wing folded protectively over the young princess' limp body like a shroud of safety from the bitter storms and the chilliness of dusk. Her fiery breaths ghosted over Aemma, keeping her warm.
Days turned into nights, and nights into days, but Silverwing never left, only venturing far enough to find sustenance, returning quickly, her eyes scanning the skies for any threats that might approach. But none came. The world remained unaware of the little hidden firth by the hills and the fragile life it cradled.
Silverwingâs troth was not just an animal instinctâit was a devotion to the one person who had never treated her as a mere beast. For nigh on a week, Aemma had doted on her, spoken to her in the tongue of Old Valyria, just as Alysanne did, with the same reverence and care, and Silverwing, in turn, had taken her into the skies, free from the burdens of the mortal realm.
In this isolated place, far from the throes of war, Silverwing held the last vestige of hope for her riderâs survival. It wasn't until a dark-haired sailor had stumbled upon their refuge that the mighty she-dragon let out her first roar in a while.
Addam of Hull hadn't expected much that day. He had set out on his small boat with nothing but the hope of catching enough fish to feed Driftmark's shores. The oceans had been restless ever since the bloodshed over Shipbreaker's Bay, and his mind had drifted as the waves lapped at the sides of his skiff. He cast his net, whistling a well-known sea shanty, letting the salt air fill his lungs, when something unusual caught his eye, beyond a small inlet of water rambling away from the beach.
A flash of silver. A rustle in the trees.
As his little skiff crept closer and into the currents of the slight strait, Addamâs heart surged. There, nestled within the protective embrace of the rocks, lay a great silvery-blue dragon that was the name on everyone's fuller lipsâSilverwing. Her glittering hide was unmistakable, though it bore the wear of days spent at the mercy of the weather. She lay low to the ground, her immense wings tucked tightly around something as if guarding a prized jewel.
Addam wasted no time. He rowed forth, with all the strength he could muster, his mind racing. Could it be? Could Princess Aemma have survived the hand of fate, the cruel sea, her murderous husband, and the relentless storm? Could it be that Rhaeynra's heir was very much still alive?
As he drew nigher, disembarking his boat and clambering up the rocks, Silverwing raised her head, her auburn eyes locking onto him with a vicious intensity. She cautioned him with a low rumble, ready to spew out her ire.
For a moment, Addam feared she truly might lash out, mistaking him for a foe, but she did not move. Instead, she took a prudent sniff and juddered her head, softening almost.
Eventually, she unfurled her wings narrowly, revealing the motionless form of Princess Aemma cradled beneath her. She was drenched, emaciated, tattered, bruised, and her silver hair matted to her gaunt face, but her chest rose and fell.
There was yet life in her. Barely. All alone. No one else. Just Silverwing standing vigil over her as if sheâd been guarding the princess all these days. Ten days.
"Gods be good," Addam murmured.
Silverwing shifted away, stooping into the rocky niche, as if to offer her rider to him, but kept her weather eye on him. Addam made quick work of it, lifting her carefully into his arms off the wet ground. She was light, too light, but she stirred faintly at his touch.
"Princess?" He was unsure if she could hear him.
As he carried her back toward the boat, shrouded her in the coils of his nets, her fiery guardian observed the sailor, her vigilant eyes never leaving Aemmaâs form.
She pierced a startling trill at her rider's saviour.
Addam jerked in shock, nearly dropping his docking ropes.
Silverwing rose off the ground, and shook herself off, wings beginning to unfurl as if preparing to take flight.
"Youâer, stay," Addam stammered, desperately gesturing with his palms, trying to convey some form of command to the dragon.
He knew full well he was speaking to a creature that answered to no man but her rider, and she was not going to let just anyone snatch the princess away unless she was certain they meant no harm.
Carefully, Addam took a step closer, heart thudding in his chest as he bowed his head to the dragon.
"I'm not here to harm her," he said softly as if Silverwing could understand his plea. "I want to save her."
For a long moment, the dragon stayed unmoving, watching him closely, casting her own unfamiliar judgement. Then, with a slow and deliberate movement, she backed away scarcely.
"Thank you," he whispered, though he wasnât entirely sure if he was thanking the dragon, the gods, or fate itself.
X
Returning Princess Aemma in such a state to her kin on Dragonstone would have them questioning Addam's heartening intentions toward her. Rather than have them cast their vile aspersions on him and taint his shoddy name further, the brothers knew it was only proper to nurse the princess to health before anything else. The secret of Aemma's survival would remain closely guarded for a while longer.
"She thinks I'm her father," Addam quietly shared with his brother, Alyn, upon the fifth evening of secretively nursing Princess Aemma in their meagre home. It had been a total of sixteen days since she was believed deceased.
Alyn raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the small, makeshift room where their heir to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms lay in a thrifty cot, wrapped in linen blankets and tended to with great care. Her condition had steadily improved, but she remained barely conscious and frail.
"What do you mean, âshe thinks Iâm her fatherâ? Is she delirious?" He asked.
Addam leaned against the doorframe, picking off the herbs from his thumb. "Perhaps she seeks comfort. And she finds it in the late Laenor."
As they spoke, a soft groan emanated from the cot, interrupting them. Aemma stirred, her dark eyes fluttering open briefly before closing again. Her lips moved silently, murmuring incoherent words. Addam and Alyn exchanged a glance, their choices harshening.
Alyn's brow furrowed. "How is she then?"
"Better than expected," Addam replied, shaking his head. "Her fever broke, I've stopped feeding her milk of the poppy. She recalls her mother often. The poor thing had nearly cracked every rib in her chest, the healers had to brace her spine with wood until yesterday. The blood of Old Valyria heals quick, I suppose."
Alyn nodded, absorbing the solemnity of his brotherâs words. "And the dragon?"
"Stays close, hovers around the Driftmark groves. I've been feeding her, too," Addam said, shaking his head with a small, wry smile.
Alyn clapped his brother on his back, grateful for him. "How are you faring?"
Addam shrugged casually. "Iâm doing what I can."
"Good. Keep watch," Alyn instructed, nodding at him. "On the morrow, Iâll prepare a fresh supply of herbs and check on the guards. There's only so long that we can keep her out of prying eyes."
Addam sat by the firelight in the hearth, his eyes constantly drifting to the young girl as she lay nestled beneath the heavy blankets, adjusting them around her again, his movements careful, almost tender. Every now and then, Aemma would stir, her brow twitching in her sleep, speaking illegibly. The flicker of the flames stained her face in hues of gold and shadow, silvery hair glinting, making her seem almost unearthly, untouchable. She could not have been older than fifteen, an age no child should have to raise battlements in a war.
âSheâs strong,â Addam murmured, more to himself than to anyone in particular. âStronger than I imagined.â
"A future queen," Alyn said. "There's hope for her yet."
X
The second sons of the Blacks and Greens, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and Aemond Targaryen, were unlikely allies as they scoured the realm despite their bitterness, united on a front to find a whiff of Aemma or Silverwing, searching high and low, from the misty mountains of the Vale to the shadowed peaks of Harrenhal and the foggy forests of the Riverlands. Every whisper of a silver-blue dragon sighting raised their hopes, only to be dashed moments later.
The weight of Aemma's absence dangled over them like a blade. Jace was fierce, relentless in finding that damned dragon himself, dead or alive. Maybe they were on a wild goose chase, led astray to not confront the reality that awaited them. Every dead end with clueless lords and fishermen was a new wound, yet he never yielded.
Their unwavering trepidation whenever the folk and lords saw Aemond cut deeper than a lash of a thousand scorpions. Each glance was a reminder, a searing echo of his own words to Aemma that fateful night: "Better to be feared than scorned." But now, as their suspicions pressed down on him, the question gnawed at his memoryâwas it really? The cold satisfaction he once sought had curdled into something far more bitter, and he found himself wondering whether 'fear' had ever truly been the answer, or if it had only left him more isolated, more empty.
Aemond, however, wore a stoic mask over his understanding of the truth, though beneath it, the torment tore at his soul. If Aemma's room had been perfect chaos, this was his purgatory. His nights grew sleepless, plagued by the recollections of his mistakes, the sight of her empty saddle still burned behind his eyes. He carried the guilt like a second skin, abrading when it got too thin. A little part of him was driven to heed Jace, an insignificant confidence, not by burden but by desperationâa need for redemption, to see her alive, to prove to himself that she had somehow survived.
Now, close to five nights, it had become custom for Jace, drunk on grief and rage, to drag his feet outside Aemond's pitched tent, embracing his shining sword, fighting his morals. Fighting the inevitable. Jace never spoke to Aemond directly, but his accusations found a way into his earshot.
"Aemma was good. Peaceful," he would hear Jace lament. "She had dreams. She was our sunshine. Now sheâs out there somewhere, alone in death. Or worse. And you, of all people, claim to be the one who loved her? You never did. You fucking murderer. Selfish cunt."
This night, a familiar darkness flickered alight in Aemond. Unfailing despair powered him to react. He walked out of his tent, stepping forward in a threat until Jace's raging face was inches apart, his sword slipping from his grasp. His single eye narrowed.
"Say it again," Aemond dared, his voice low and cold. "Say that I do not love her. Say it, bastard."
Jace shoved him by his chest, his rage boiling over. "You threw her away like she was nothing! For your treacherous family! You never gave a fuck about her, and that is the truth!"
Aemond stumbled back but didnât fight back. How could he, he had nothing left to withstand. His mouth twisted in pain, but his voice remained hard.
"Hate me all you want. Blame me. Strike me down. Your words hold facts. But donât think for one second that your fury burns hotter than mine. Or that your love for her transcends mine own."
"Fuck you!"
Jace shoved him again, shouting out his rage, this time harder, the power of his wrath pushing Aemond back a step. And again and again, until Aemond fell back into the mud. Back again to ten years ago, when a spiteful Aegon had towered over him, Sunfyre peering over his shoulder mockingly.
Jace met his gaze, the two facing eye to eye, the consequence of years of rivalry and betrayal still fresh between them. But beneath it, there was something else nowâshared desperation, grief that only they could understand. The closest brother of Aemma and her husband.
Aemond's breath hitched, bearing himself with his palms, the words barely escaping through his gritted teeth. He looked Jace in the eye, his jaw tight.
"I have nothing left. Seize your sword and end it all."
Jace leaned down, seething, his voice trembling with scorn. "Look at where your absolution got you. Begging your foes for death. Pathetic."
Aemondâs hand twitched toward his dagger on instinct, his face a storm of rage and remorse. He had been so accustomed to being on his back, bearing through the punches thrown, facing defeat, now when he was made to encounter this yet again.
"Yes. That is all you see," Aemond agreed, his expression darkening. "All you ever see. Aegon, Rhaenyra, you. A pathetic boy too sightless for power. I've belonged nowhere but with Aemma all my life"âhis voice crackedâ"and now she's gone, too. And I am left trapped in this resenting world."
Jace stayed quiet, breathing deeply.
"I could not save her," he whispered, the words hollow as they left him. "No atonement will ever free me from this, even while I chase forgiveness from a ghost. I will never know peace again until my last breath."
His trembling fingers unsheathed his dagger and threw it to Jace's feet. "Make your shot count, nephew. Plunge it into my other eye, and take what is due. I do not care anymore."
Jaceâs mouth opened, but no words came out. He took a step back, torn between fury and pity, his expression unreadable. He looked away, blinking back tears as if the significance of Aemondâs words was too much to bear. He couldnât bring himself to speakâthere was nothing left to say.
"You don't deserve peace, not even in death," Jace eventually whispered before walking away.
X
The air was dense with the scent of salt and damp wood as Aemma lay in a bed draped with soft linens, the faint sounds of the lapping waves against the rocky shores of Driftmark echoing in her ears. Her body felt heavy, as though weighed down by an invisible force. Pain coursed through her like a vicious tide, abrupt and relentless, yet there was a warmth surrounding her that whispered of safety.
Fingers of consciousness began to weave their way through the fog enveloping her mind. Flashes of memory flickered like distant constellationsâSilverwingâs fierce wings, the chaos of the storm, and Addamâs urgent voice calling her name. She struggled against the haze, her heart pounding with the remnants of fear and desperation.
"Aemma." The voice broke through her reverie, softer now, tinged with concern.
She fought to open her eyes, the effort feeling monumental. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered, and the dim light of the stuffy room began to emerge. A figure stood at the foot of the bed, cloaked and hooded, shrouded in shadow.
A wave of shock washed over her, and before she could fully grasp the situation, he lunged forward, pressing a warm hand to her lips to silence her gasp. Heart racing, Aemmaâs gaze narrowed, the edges of her memory sharpening.
"Ssh, my love," he shushed her.
She recognized the intensity in his gaze, even from beneath the hood. He hovered close, his presence both alarming and strangely familiar. His silver hair rolled off his neck and shoulders, catching the light and casting shadows that accentuated the depth of his expression. One striking violet eye shone through the darkness, piercing and filled with emotion, while the other was shrouded in shadow.
âAemond,â she murmured, her voice barely a whisper, like the faintest breeze. It felt like a lifetime since she had last spoken, her throat dry and cracked.
He flinched at the sound of her voice as if she had struck a nerve. Slowly, he lifted his head, an indigo eye swirling with a charged stormâpain, regret, and something darker lurking beneath the surface.
His voice was as firm as steel, yet equally gentle. "We've done our parts here. Youâre coming with me, and this time, forever."
X
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