#Outside Of Destiny《OOC》

[fctedivided]

Thinking of my ship children atm;

Estelle @trickyxkisses

Patrina @vixlenxe

Caityln @tiredstudents

[saintobio]

TITANIC.

deep in the heart of the Atlantic, an unexpected love defies the lines drawn by social class and destiny.

𝇈𓈒 genre. tragedy, angst, forbidden love, titanic au

𝇈𓈒 pairings. rafayel, fem!reader

𝇈𓈒 tags. first class!rafayel, artist!rafayel, third class!reader, singer!reader, social class differences, classism, might be ooc (esp thomas), not set in l&ds universe, mentions of arranged marriage, cheating, suicide attempt, allusions to sex trafficking and prostitution, violence (not from raf), explicit smut, nudity, cunnilingus, fellatio, unprotected sex, drowning, hypothermia, deaths, sinking of the ship, major character death.

𝇈𓈒 notes. 22.2k wc. dividers by drinkthesky and mikeykuns. events are exactly the same as the film, except for some small alterations. this was so fun to write albeit being really tedious and time-consuming 🤧 please enjoy, and reblogs are highly appreciated !

The RMS Titanic was known as the largest and most luxurious liner in the world. When the White Star Line first announced the ship’s launch, various headlines were even made across the globe, dubbing it ‘The Unsinkable Ship’ or ‘The Ship That Even God Himself Couldn’t Sink’. A bit ambitious, of course, but the hubris that came along with it was mostly from the upper echelon of the society who had the means to experience the ship’s impressive size and unparalleled luxury. It was all they ever talked about for months and months, waiting in full excitement to board the ship on its maiden voyage, scrambling to secure tickets to its first-class accommodations as if their money were merely falling from the skies. 

Indeed, the Titanic was a grand ship, but for you and the other third-class passengers, it was anything but. 

Your passage was paid for, not by a stroke of luck or generational wealth, but by a woman who recruited female entertainers to join the ship’s voyage. Just a month ago, your contract as a singer had ended when the pub you worked at shuttered its doors, leaving you without income and desperate to find a way to support your mother and sister. It was during one of those aimless nights, jobless and searching for a way to survive, that the proprietress noticed you. And it was exactly while she was posting a job vacancy outside her establishment when she claimed how your background and experience in singing and performing made you a perfect candidate for her offer.

You envied the wealthy. Truly. Because they had the privilege to turn down job offers, with countless others waiting in the wings or an inheritance ready to secure their future. Some of them didn’t even have to work at all. But for those on the other side of society—people like you who were struggling to make ends meet—certainly, the proposition was a windfall.

‘It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to board the Titanic,’ they’d say. ‘You wouldn’t have been able to set foot on it, even if you traded everything you owned,’ they’d say. ‘Only a fool would turn down such a chance.’ So, who were you to refuse? Beggars can’t be choosers, after all. Besides, who would deny the American dream? You considered that America held the promise of something greater, with the country being called the Land of Opportunities—a chance that might finally bring the stroke of luck you needed to lift your mother and sister out of the squalor of the slums back home. 

A new beginning, a better life, and a future far from the harsh reality you were leaving behind.

And so, with the White Star Line boarding ticket on your hand, you turned back for one final glance at the place you had always known as home. 

You soon made your way toward the deck of the ship, and your eyes searched the crowd to find your mother and sister standing among the sea of people, waving to you with hopeful, bittersweet smiles. You swallowed the lump in your throat and forced a smile of your own, holding back the tears that threatened to spill as you waved back, trying to etch their faces into your memory for the days to come.

“Farewell!” you heard one of your colleagues, Eliza, shout to her family by the dock. Like you, she too fought hard to keep her tears from spilling, feeling that familiar tightness in her chest as she waved goodbye.  

“Won’t you come back?” you asked softly, your eyes drifting back to your own family.  

Eliza turned to you with lachrymose eyes. “There’s no certainty how this journey will end for people like us. We’re often the last to know and the first to lose.” She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself as the ship’s horn blared, signaling the imminent departure. “But maybe… maybe this time will be different.”

You nodded, her deep words eventually sinking into you. The scent of the salty sea air, the cool breeze brushing against your cheeks, the creaking of the ship—all became imprinted in your mind as you both stood there, knowing that this might be the last time you’d see your families again. For a long time. 

And as the ship’s engines roared to life, pushing the mighty vessel away from the dock, you clung to the belief that, somehow, this journey could still hold something brighter for you. The only way to live through life’s uncertainties and vicissitudes was to keep an optimistic mind. 

~~

Rafayel was once a celebrated artist across the continent. And today, he was among the elite who was surrounded by wealth and privilege, the same people who loved to talk about money and politics. He spent his first few days in the ship sketching its grandiose interiors and its ostentatious passengers, capturing the essence of their extravagant lives in his art. But despite his success and the admiration he received in his precedent years, there was a quiet loneliness within him now. A yearning for something more than the gilded cage he inhabited. The life of the wealthy—the first class people—just became too distasteful for him to paint on his canvas. 

He couldn’t quite pinpoint when his disdain for high society began, but it had been long enough for him to realize that the lives of the wealthy and powerful were far from the glamorous façade they presented. In truth, they were dull and repetitive, filled with people who indulged in their riches and flaunted their possessions to your face. It was a never-ending competition of who had more, a relentless display of entitlement over who could command others at the whim of their fortune.

That was why when Rafayel stood on the deck of the Titanic that afternoon, despite his extremely comfortable and luxurious surroundings, he couldn’t help but lament over the idea that he was a prisoner in a ship, journeying to a place he never even once dreamed of going to. But being a painter who no longer flourished in the world of art, he somehow had to find a way to keep up with the lifestyle he had been living. And boarding this colossal ship together with a woman he didn’t love was his ticket to regain the success he had lost. 

“You know,” Thomas, his agent, remarked as he leaned casually against the railings, “If not for Arielle, you’d never make it big anywhere else. Your time’s running out. Your paintings aren’t selling anymore. Soon, you won’t even be able to afford yourself. And knowing you, you can’t even live on tinned fish and cheap garments.”

Rafayel sighed inwardly, too weary to explain that the decline in his work’s quality over the past two years wasn’t due to a loss of skill, but rather a lack of inspiration. Being surrounded by the vain and self-absorbed had drained his creative spirit. Yet, the harsh truth was that with his paintings gathering dust and his exhibitions drawing fewer attendees, his rent payments had inevitably turned into mounting debts. It came to a point where he no longer had many choices for himself, financially speaking. 

“You seem to hold Arielle in such a high regard,” he retorted, “Why don’t you marry her yourself?”

Thomas met his glare, unimpressed by his tone. “You brat. I’m doing this for you, Rafayel. I had to arrange this marriage between you two,” he repeated the same tired justification. “Didn’t you hear her? She’s the heiress to a wealthy family in New York, and she has all the connections you need to make a name for yourself there again. She’s willing to do it if you marry her. How can you speak ill of a beautiful woman who only wants your love?”

“Love isn’t something you can demand.” 

He decided to ignore Thomas’s presence for a minute, tired of hearing his inane excuse of why he had to set up Rafayel with Arielle. Instead, he focused on his easel that was set up beside the rail, capturing the shimmering ocean under the twilight sky as he tried to find inspiration from the aureate horizon ahead of him. The soft brush strokes of his latest painting were interrupted by the occasional laugh or clink of fine china from the nearby dining room, but his mind wandered to a world he rarely saw—the lower decks.

Rafayel often wandered the first-class decks as he sought inspiration for his next masterpiece. Yet, today was the first time he noticed the decks below, and most importantly, you. You were a young woman from third-class, conversing with another female friend in your humble clothings, and seemingly longing for something beyond your reach. There was something about your warm, dreamy eyes that captivated him. And perhaps it was the stark contrast to the steely, formal interactions he was accustomed to in first-class.

You caught his eye once, which turned into a fleeting moment where your worlds collided, but his intense gaze seemed to have made your heart skip a beat. You were quick to look away as expected, and he felt awful knowing he might have made you uncomfortable. 

“Oh, forget it.” Thomas waved a hand to his face, cutting him out of trance. “You’re aiming too low with those third-class women. You should be focused on a higher destination.”

Rafayel sighed in response. “Just leave me alone for a while. I need some space to paint in peace.”

~~

Tonight, like every other night since you boarded, you had been told to sing. That your voice should fill the room with melodies, entrancing the well-dressed crowd of first-class passengers who watched you with a delicate balance of interest and indifference. Thankfully, the grand halls of the ship were already filled with laughter and music long before you were tasked to perform. Now, you were walking through the corridor, your heels clicking against the polished wood floor, while the elegant dress you wore swished around your ankles. 

Frankly, it was mostly the men who were interested in your performances, and their women often indifferent.

You had performed in worse places than this, so you couldn’t complain. Besides, most of the guests, with their sparkling jewels and tailored suits, still applauded politely after every song, and some would even smile as you made eye contact with them. Admittingly, you did feel a little thrill at the attention, at being seen. 

Because that was what you had always dreamed of as a child: to perform for the wealthy, to have your voice fill the room, and draw attention to your every move.

“Funny, isn’t it?” Eliza mused one night as you both settled into your cramped cabins in the steerage. It had been a tiring evening of performances for the first-class passengers. “Others dream of being wealthy, but you seem to dream of serving the wealthy.”

You adjusted the covers, keeping yourself warm. “I just feel like there are consequences to having so much money in your hands. I’m content with having just enough to get by.”

As the days passed and as the Titanic made its last final stop at a port in Ireland, that was when you began to notice things. Little things. The way some of the men in the audience looked at you, their eyes lingering far too long, with a hunger that made your skin prickle. The way your manager, Mrs. Hawthorne, hovered by the bar while speaking in low, hushed tones to the richest men in the room. You noticed how she always had a keen eye on you, watching as you moved from the stage to the back, and back again. It felt as if she was gauging something, calculating a certain transaction in her head.

After another night of singing, you found yourself backstage, wiping a sheen of sweat from your brow. Your voice was raspy, and your throat dry from hours of performance, but you felt a little bit of joy knowing you had done well. You were reaching for a glass of water when Mrs. Hawthorne appeared beside you—her smile a little too wide, but her eyes a little too sharp. A look that undoubtedly reminded you of a predator to its prey. 

“Lovely performance tonight, my dear,” she said smoothly, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. “But our clients… they might want a little more than just a pretty song. You understand what I’m saying, right?”

Your stomach twisted at the suggestion in her words. “What do you mean, Mrs. Hawthorne?”

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Some of these gentlemen… Well, they’ve paid a lot for your company. They expect a bit more than just a few songs. A bit of private entertainment, if you will.”

You blinked twice in the same second. “P-Private entertainment? You didn’t say anything about that when you hired me.”

Her grip tightened on your shoulder. “It’s all part of the package, dear. You want to keep your place on this ship, don’t you? Want to make those dreams come true?” Her eyes flickered darkly, and her aura became more and more austere as you refused. “Just be accommodating. Smile, laugh, let them buy you a drink or two... and if they ask for more, well... oblige. Surely, you aren’t a virgin to be acting like you’re new to this.”

The stubborn side of you pulled away from her touch. Everything that was coming out of her mouth brought you profound disgust. “I’m not a whore, Mrs. Hawthorne,” you hissed, getting straight to the point. “I’ve never done those things.” 

She only chuckled softly. A cold, cruel chuckle that made your skin crawl. “Not yet, you haven’t. But this is a long voyage, and there are a lot of men here with deep pockets and lonely nights. You’re either useful to them or you’re not useful to me. However, I must remind you that your place in this ship is paid for by me. So, if I were you, sweetie, I’d make my choice correctly.”

“You…” Trapped and horrified at the situation you had thrown yourself into, you stared back at her in resistance. “You can’t do this! This is illegal—”

“Oh, sue me,” Mrs. Hawthorne replied in sarcasm before stepping back, her smile fading into the crowd. “Do what I say or you will be thrown off this ship. I have contacts back home that can surely check on your mother and sister, too.”

Your fingers tightened around the empty glass as she walked away, leaving you snapped into the dark and twisted reality of your current situation. All this damn time, the job you thought would bring you closer to your dreams was nothing but a front. A trap, with no escape in sight.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered just how much you were willing to endure to survive this journey. The faces of your mother and sister appeared before your eyes, their once hopeful gazes turning into a look of despair. Afraid for their lives. Hurt. Perished. 

No, you couldn’t let that happen. You thought as you swallowed your pride. 

~~

Alongside Eliza and your other colleagues, you were forced to endure the advances of the wealthy men who frequented the gambling rooms below deck. The stench of cigars and alcohol, the rough hands, and the leering eyes became your nightmare-turned-reality while being in a prison that was supposedly dubbed as the ship of dreams.

You had never felt so degraded. You were overcome with a sense of filth and self-loathing, feeling as though you were utterly sullied. You felt so low, so disgusted with your own skin that your femininity was not respected.

How could Mrs. Hawthorne do this? That was all you ever thought about as you sat perched on a wealthy man’s lap, his rough hands roaming over your body as he laughed, more at the cards in his hand than at the joke one of the other old men had told him. The other men at the table barely noticed you, their eyes glazed with the haze of a high-stakes game as they bet all their money and fortune on a mere deck of cards. You had seen this look before, the detachment, the sense that you were nothing more than an accessory, a toy to be played with.

Your colleagues, fellow entertainers, were scattered around the room, their eyes hollow as they performed their duties, doing what they could to survive. But tonight, it was too much. 

The disgusting old man’s grip tightened on your thigh, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered something vile. “Why don’t you let me have a taste later when I win this game, beautiful?” 

“I-I need some air,” you muttered, trying to stand, but he pulled you back down with his iron grip.

“Not yet, darling. Wait until I have you naked on my bed,” he slurred, his voice thick with alcohol. You couldn’t imagine letting an old man touch you like that, and the mere thought of it made you sick to your stomach. “You will please me when I tell you so.”

“Let me go!” 

“Pipe it down, will you?!” 

You felt panic clawing at your insides as you bit down the screams that were trying to rise from your throat. It was as though the room was closing in on you, the walls narrowing until you couldn’t breathe. Until you suffocated. Without thinking, you wrenched yourself free and kicked the old man on the shin, stumbling out of the chair and into the corridor with your pulse racing as you broke into a run.

I’m sorry. You repeated your apologies to your mother and sister in your mind, over and over, as you sprinted across the deck. The click-clack of your heels ricocheted into the distance as you sobbed. I’m sorry I can’t make it. I’m sorry… 

This wasn’t the life you had dreamed of, and you couldn’t bear the thought of being treated like an object, sold off to the wealthy and losing your dignity in the process. Night after night. Tears streamed down your face as you thought about letting down your family back home, about this being the last time you would ever see them, and about your own foolishness in embracing such cruelty.

You didn’t stop running and crying until you reached the stern of the ship, the cold night air nipping at your skin as you desperately tried to catch your breath. Breathe, you told yourself. But wouldn’t it be better if you didn’t? You leaned over the railing, the dark, icy waters below calling to you and offering a way out. And for a moment, you considered it. You considered it an escape. Anything was better than the life you were trapped in. 

You knew you wouldn’t last another day in this ship without having your dignity stripped off you, especially not when it was the last thing you had for yourself. You may not have the money, the power, and the influence that these wealthy people had, but one priceless thing you owned for yourself was your dignity. And that wasn’t something they could take away from you. 

Perhaps it was the adrenaline. The rush. The heavy emotions. Whatever it was, the overwhelming thoughts led you to climb over the railings, afraid and ready at the same time, to throw yourself into the gelid waters of the North Atlantic. Your trembling body and unstable breath didn’t stop you from looking down, waiting for the perfect timing… 

“I’m sorry.” A sob escaped your lips as you closed your eyes, uttering a prayer in hitched whispers. 

But before you could make the fatal leap, a strong hand suddenly grabbed your arm, making you gasp in horror at the unexpected intruder. You felt yourself being pulled back, and turned to see a man with amaranthine hair and kaleidoscopic eyes. “Miss, what are you doing?” 

“I—” you choked on your words now that the shameful reality of what you had almost done was crashing over you. “You know what I-I’m doing. Mind your own business!”

“I can’t do that now,” he spoke with urgency, eyes softening as he looked at you with an earnest gaze. “Whatever you do to yourself, I’ll be held responsible. Think about it.”

What is wrong with this guy? You swallowed, confused by his insistence in pulling you back. Judging by the way he dressed, he was obviously another first-class passenger. So, why did he care about saving a mere third-class woman? Weren’t they all the same? You held your breath and glared at him, distrustful of his approach. “L-Let me go! You’re distracting me.”

The guy used his thumb to wipe the faint tears on your wet cheeks. “Let’s talk about this,” he said, “Jumping from here would be the most excruciating way to die, trust me.” 

“How would you know?” you snapped, antagonism misdirected towards a man who was only trying to help. “You don’t get it. I don’t wanna go back there… with those old men…” 

For a moment, his eyes flickered with recognition. “You’re the singer, right? I’ve heard you perform. You have a siren’s voice.”

“I’m no longer performing for people like you,” you bit back, trying to wipe away your tears. But in that instant, in that span of a second, you lost your footing and slipped from the railings. “Aaah!” Your scream pierced the evening air as you felt a cold rush of fear slapping your face. “Aah! Help! Help me! Please!” 

“Hold on! I got you!” He gritted his teeth as he struggled to pull you back up, but determined with all his might to do so. “I… told you… you wouldn’t jump,” he panted, the muscles on his neck straining with the effort to pull you with your weight. You could see it in his eyes—the panic, the fear. Someone a stranger shouldn’t have for a person he didn’t know. And it brought you a thick sense of shame and guilt knowing you had him involved. 

With your help, you extended another hand toward the railings and fought to climb back in. It was a struggle, but he eventually pulled you back onto the deck where both of you collapsed against the floor, gasping for breath like a freshly caught fish. You looked up at him, taking in his relieved yet gentle expression, and feeling nothing but shame for the terrible situation you had put him through.

“T-Thank you,” you stammered, your chest heaving as you tried to steady your breathing. “Thank you, and I-I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright. You’re alright now.”

“W-What’s your name?”

He exhaled, a faint smile touching his lips as he shook his head. It was the first time through that near-death experience where you began to feel relaxed. “I’m offended you don’t know.”

“I…” 

“I’m kidding. It’s Rafayel,” he said with a polite handshake, helping you to your feet. “Please remember your savior’s name.”

Before you could say more, the sound of footsteps approached, and you heard the old man’s voice, slurred and angry, as him and the Master-at-Arms headed towards you like you were a culprit they had been trying to catch. “There she is! That little whore! She thinks she can run away?!”

Panic seized you again, but the man beside you—Rafayel—stepped forward, placing himself between you and the approaching figures as if he was protecting you. “She’s with me,” he strictly said upon realizing the situation quickly enough. His voice was also firm, leaving no room for argument. “Leave her alone. It won’t end well if you insist on taking this innocent lady.” 

The Master-at-Arms and security personnel hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances between Rafayel and the old man, who was clearly bristling with indignation. Yet, Rafayel’s gaze remained firm and unyielding, and it was evident that his social standing intimidated the crew. Unlike you, they seemed to recognize who he was and decided to back off.

So after a tense silence, the security personnel, clearly wary of challenging someone of Rafayel's stature, nodded reluctantly. They led the inebriated old man away, assuring him that they would find another woman who would be more willing to accommodate him for the night. 

When they were gone, Rafayel turned back to you with his already softened eyes. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice filled with a kindness you hadn’t expected. It was clear that through his gaze, he seemed to have picked up the puzzle pieces for the reason of your near-suicide. And he sympathized with you for it, as if he had once tried to go through that route, too. “Don’t worry about that old man. I’ll see to it that he won’t bother you again. Any of them.” 

You nodded, though your legs felt like they might give out beneath you. The events that night were far too much for you to process. “Thank you,” you whispered. “You saved me twice today.” 

He smiled, a small, sad smile, and offered you his hand. “Come with me. You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt something other than fear. You felt safe. And it strangely came from a stranger you knew little about except his name. However, he immediately noticed your hesitation, knowing that it was rooting from your mistrust and fear for the men in first-class who wanted to bed you, so he was quick to clear out his intentions. 

“I’m not like those people,” he said, clearing his throat. His words were accompanied by a reassuring smile, and the earnestness in his eyes provided some comfort to the uncertainty in your heart. “I’m not a businessman, not a politician, definitely not royalty. I don’t gamble, I have no vices. I’m just an artist. You can trust me. I won’t do anything bad to you.”

Yet again, you weren’t given a chance to fully express your gratitude, only because a slightly older man with brown hair approached, shooting a disapproving look at Rafayel. 

“I’m sure she knows her way back into steerage,” the other guy said curtly, his tone carrying a sharp reprimand as though engaging in a silent argument with Rafayel. “Don’t risk your image by accompanying her down there or offering her a place in first-class.”

Rafayel, visibly frustrated, shot back with the temper of a child. “Thomas, treat her like a human being—”

“I’m okay,” you interjected with a shaky voice, trying to ease the tension because you truly didn’t want to cause any more trouble on the man who had just saved you. You simply glanced at ‘Thomas’ before sending Rafayel a smile of gratitude. “He’s right, Rafayel. Your help means more to me than I can ever express, but it’s best that I return to my cabin on my own.”

Rafayel’s eyes searched yours, and for a moment, it seemed like he might argue further. But then he chose to relent when his shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. He clearly didn’t want to force anything on you. “Alright,” he said quietly, though his gaze remained passionately concerned. “But please, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to find me. I’m not far.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, the gratitude in your eyes more profound than words could express. But Thomas was there to humble you from the fantasy of being the damsel in distress. From his watchful gaze alone, you knew he was telling you that you weren’t and would never be welcome into their part of the ship after tonight. “Thank you, Rafayel. I’ll be alright. I promise.”

All Rafayel could do was nod as he reluctantly stepped back. Thomas could only give a brusque nod as well, signaling the end of the conversation. And as they turned to leave, you watched Rafayel go and felt a strange pang of sadness at parting with a person you just met. It was odd, definitely, but the momentary relief Rafayel’s intervention gave you was briefly replaced by the gruesome reality of your life at the steerage. 

Turning back towards the staircase leading to steerage, you took a deep breath and started down the steps. The ship’s luxurious surroundings became more and more minimalistic as you descended, with the opulence of first-class fading away into the more sterile accommodations of steerage.

~~

When you woke up the next morning, you thought everything that had happened was both a dream and a nightmare. 

Eliza was staring at you from the opposite bunk bed, seemingly envious yet happy for you at the same time. For what reason? You weren’t sure yet. And neither did she say why she carried that look on her face as you got up from bed, wiping your eyes and realizing it was another dreadful day of being imprisoned in the Titanic. 

“What’s wrong, Eliza?” you asked. 

She offered you a small smile. “Nothing, just…” 

It horrified you to see the marks on Eliza’s neck. And the pained expressions on her face, a reflection of someone who had been stripped of her dignity—someone who could have been you if not for Rafayel’s intervention. You couldn’t escape the grim reality that, despite his heroic act, your fate might soon mirror hers. Mrs. Hawthorne still held the chains around your neck after all, compelling you to do things against your will in exchange for your life, your family's safety, and your livelihood.

But to your surprise, Mrs. Hawthorne was a different person when she knocked on your cabin door that morning. You had braced yourself for the punishment of failing to fulfill your ‘duties’ to the old man the previous night, but her demeanor was unusually pleasant. Her smile seemed almost too pleased, leaving you wary and confused about her true intentions.

Has she gone mad?

“Good morning,” she spoke in the same merry voice that you hated, displaying a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Y/N, from now on, your services as an entertainer are no longer required.”

Your heartbeat took a pause. “What do you mean? I-Is it because of last night?”

She placed the papers on the small table beside you and sat down. “Your contract has been terminated. You’re free from your duties as of now.”

So suddenly… You stared at her, trying to process the sudden change in her demeanor. “But why? I don’t understand. Not even long ago, you were asking me to—”

“A gentleman from first-class, someone with rather striking purple hair, has paid a considerable sum to terminate your contract.” The cruel woman sighed, rolling her eyes. “He covered the cost of your ticket and added extra, more than enough to ensure you were released from your obligations.”

Your mind instantly connected the dots. “Rafayel? H-He did that? But why?”

Mrs. Hawthorne’s expression turned cold. “He made it very clear that he wanted you to stop entertaining people against your will. He even went so far as to threaten me with legal consequences if I didn’t comply. Said something about ensuring I’d face charges once the ship docks in New York if I didn’t let you go. What a boastful young man! If not for his money, I’d have cursed him out in the face. I don’t know what you did to woo that guy, but consider yourself lucky.”

What? You couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t ever believe Rafayel went out of his way to save you. Again. 

“Go and enjoy the ship like any other passenger,” Mrs. Hawthorne continued, her words dripping with a false sense of privilege. As if living in peace on this ship was a luxury for you. “I’ll inform the crew that you’re no longer required in the entertainment department.”

As Mrs. Hawthorne exited your cabin, you sat in silence and finally understood the reason behind Eliza’s gaze. But you didn’t expect this, either. You could only glance out the porthole in guilt, seeing the vast expanse of the ocean stretching out before you. This new freedom felt both exhilarating and daunting if you were being honest to yourself. For the first time since you boarded, you now had a chance to explore the ship on your own terms, but the uncertainty of what lies ahead lingered in the back of your mind.

Because, then… What about your family? What about your income? What about your dream of performing on Broadway? 

Only an ungrateful person would think selfishly about herself first before the person that generously saved her from this predicament. So, even if you swore to never bother him again, you had to take the risk. You had to seize your newfound freedom, at least, to thank him properly. 

With that in mind, you made your way near the staircases leading to the upper decks. You had ‘borrowed’ a costume from the entertainers’ closet, the only suitable and elegant clothing you could find to pass as a first-class passenger. But as you walked through the luxurious parts of the ship, the sound of a piano drifted through the air, and its melody guided your next steps like a sailor entranced by a siren’s voice. The rhythm. The melody. It was drawing you closer and closer. 

Before you knew it, you followed the enchanting tune, only to find yourself stumbling upon Rafayel in a room adjacent to the music room. There he was, deeply engrossed in his painting, the soft glow of the sun warmly illuminated his focused expression and the canvas before him.

Rafayel looked up, surprised. “Y/N? ” he said, his gentle smile lighting up his face as he noticed you. “I didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

You flushed, feeling out of place. The irony of stumbling into the wrong room seemed to have brought you to the right person. “I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to intrude. I followed the music, but it led me here.”

His curiosity was piqued. “And what brings you to this part of the ship? The music room is across the hall, miss.”

“I was just exploring,” you replied, smiling and feigning innocence. “Trying to see a bit more of this grand vessel.”

His response was a soft chuckle. “Well, you’ve found quite the place. May I offer you a seat?”

To your surprise, you found yourself seated next to him, eyes wide as you were immediately captivated by his artwork. The painting before you was breathtaking, truly mesmerizing. It was a picturesque depiction of the ocean and sunset, and every intricate color blended beautifully on the canvas. “Rafayel, did you paint this? It’s incredible! It’s so beautiful!”

“You flatter me too much, but I’ll take the compliment. It’s a work-in-progress, though.” He chuckled, wiping his paint-splattered hand with a towel. Despite the barriers of social class, a connection naturally seemed to spark between you both. “If you’re interested, I might even give you a discount on it.”

You knew he was joking, but if you had the means, you would have bought his masterpiece without hesitation. “You must be famous all over Europe. It makes sense why…”

“Actually, you’re mistaken,” he corrected, his smile dimming just a bit. “No one buys my paintings anymore. My art exhibits have become quite empty. I’ve been living off my savings and selling off my most prized possessions just to keep up with my lifestyle. Money and fame are fleeting, after all.”

“But why?” you asked, genuinely curious. “With paintings like these, I’m sure people would want to buy them.”

“It’s been a while since I painted something like this,” he replied, eyes locking into yours. “My recent works have been more somber. People tend to shy away from dull, lifeless art.”

You hesitated. “Is it because of a lack of inspiration?”

He stood up, smiling softly as if you were the first person to understand. “You could say that.”

Driven by curiosity, you glanced around the room and noticed several paintings concealed beneath dust covers. You looked at him for permission, and he gave it through a simple nod. However, when you pulled the covers back, you were taken aback to find that the paintings depicted intimate, nude portraits of women—women who appeared to belong to high society. To say you were surprised was understatement. You were rather stunned, astounded.  

Rafayel, leaning casually against the wall, seemed to sense your astonishment. “Didn’t expect it, huh?” he asked with a hint of amusement. “Before you get the wrong idea, these are merely commissioned paintings. I didn’t paint them because I’m particularly intrigued with female anatomy or anything.” 

“But they’re live paintings, you say?” you asked, truly amazed by the thought. “I… Wow.” 

He hummed in agreement. “These kinds of paintings were what made me popular. Royals and high society people have a penchant for risqué art. It’s often erotic to them. They love commissioning nude portraits to gift to their husbands. My most significant client was the First Lady of France. I spent three months there, painting her repeatedly until an entire room in the palace was filled with her nude portraits. I even felt like I’m more familiar with every inch of her body than her husband, you know?” he jested just a little before continuing, “Anyway, so word spread about my paintings of the First Lady, and soon enough, French women flocked to have their own portraits done, too.”

You stared at the paintings, the elegant yet provocative depictions of high-society women capturing your attention in a way that you didn’t expect. And you supposed the perfect definition to your emotion right now would be fascination, because it wasn’t anything you had seen before. 

Rafayel’s voice, on the other hand, broke through your thoughts. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How something so intimate and personal can become a symbol of status and power.”

You turned to him with no judgement in your eyes. “It’s admirable, really. You’re very talented.”

Rafayel pushed himself off the wall and walked over to the covered canvases, his fingers lightly grazing the edges of the dust covers. “Most people see me as just another artist, another name on a list of commissioned painters. But this,” he gestured to the paintings, “was what set me apart. It wasn’t just about the art itself but about the allure and the mystique. It drew people in, gave them something to talk about.”

You nodded slowly, absorbing his words. “And now? Does it still hold the same appeal for you?”

His expression may have softened, but a hint of melancholy blanketed his gaze. “Not as much. The thrill has faded. The commissions came, and the fame followed, but it wasn’t as fulfilling as I’d hoped. It’s easy to get lost in the glamor and forget why you started painting in the first place.”

You took a step closer as the air between you silenced into a quiet understanding. “What did you want to achieve? What was it you hoped to find in your art?”

He looked at you with his deep vulnerable eyes. “I wanted to capture the essence of beauty and emotion. I wanted my art to connect with people on a deeper level, to make them feel something genuine. But over time, it became less about that and more about what would sell.”

There was a brief silence as you considered his words. “Then, to me it sounds like you’re looking for something more meaningful.”

“Perhaps.” Rafayel nodded, his gaze turning back to the portraits. “I want to paint again, but not just for the sake of profit or reputation. I want to create something that speaks to who I am, something that brings back that initial spark of passion.”

“Maybe you’ll find that inspiration again.” You plastered an encouraging smile on your face. “Sometimes, the most unexpected encounters can reignite a lost passion.”

“I suppose so. And maybe, finding the right subject or the right moment will make all the difference.”

There was a brief, comfortable silence that settled between you. The intimacy of the moment, coupled with the way Rafayel glanced at your lips, created a sense of attraction that—like a magnet—pulled you closer to him. What was it about this man that drew you in like a moth to a flame?

But you had to think straight, of course. You woke yourself up to the reason why you were even here in the first place. Though, as you finally broke the silence, a small smile played on his lips. “Thank you… Rafayel. I heard about what you did for me. You didn’t need to do that.”

He put a handsome smile on display. “It’s the right thing to do. You don’t deserve to live like that.”

You didn’t want to go into details and ask him about how he found out how Mrs. Hawthorne’s illicit business operated, but you trusted that Rafayel was smart enough to figure it all out. Everything that had led you here; from your attempt to jump off the ship, to him freeing you from the chains of being an ‘entertainer’. It was an unspoken understanding between the savior and the saved.

You stepped closer to him. “I feel terrible, though. You said you sold off some of your belongings to save money, but you ended up spending them for me.”

Rafayel was amused at that, on the other hand. “Hey, I never said I’m completely broke. It’d take at least five more years for that to happen.” 

“Lucky you, then.” You glanced around the room one last time, the paintings now seeming less like mere objects of scandal and more like symbols of Rafayel’s journey as an artist. You respected the nature of his paintings just as he respected you. 

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, playfully wiggling his eyebrows. 

“To where?”

“To your accommodations down in third-class,” he suggested with a strange glint of excitement in his eyes, taking your hand in his, “I’ve always been curious. Can you show me?” 

~~

There were many things you learned about Rafayel. Firstly, he was an easy-going man who preferred rowdy pubs over formal cotillions. He didn’t care about social classes, something he had proven when you first met him, but watching him effortlessly bond with the other people from the steerage made your heart soften into mush. He began to feel almost unreal to you, like a dream, because you never imagined a man from such a high status could be so genuine, so down-to-earth. Yet, there he was, laughing and enjoying a pint of cheap beer with your fellow third-class passengers, without a scintilla of judgment or hesitation.

Secondly, he could certainly dance. You never saw it coming until he grabbed your hand and pulled you into the makeshift dance floor, inviting you to join him in a playful tap dance together with the other passengers. The lively, upbeat music of the steerage seemed to fuel his spirit far more than the refined, classical tunes often heard in the first-class dining halls. 

“How’d you learn to dance?” you shouted over the music, spinning as Rafayel twirled you with an effortless grace.

He grinned, shrugging casually. “I’d call it au naturel.”

And lastly, he was far more charming than you ever anticipated. Despite his tipsiness, Rafayel remained by your side the entire evening, his presence around you gave way to subtle protectiveness that never wavered throughout the night. What amused you, though, was the reversal of roles—you felt like you were the one guarding him, a vulnerable first-class man surrounded by a roomful of third-class passengers, where he could easily become a target for discomfort or even theft. Yet, much to your relief, nothing of the sort occurred. Instead, his natural charm seemed to win everyone over, defusing any tension that might have arisen.

“Rafayel, please be careful on your way back,” you said, concern evident in your voice as you watched his half-lidded eyes and his unsteady sway from the alcohol. He stood outside your cabin, clearly tipsy. “Do you want me to help you get back up there? I don’t think I can enter past the gates, though.”

He swayed for a moment before leaning in, resting his forehead against yours. His eyes, clouded with intoxication, locked onto yours. “No need. That wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me.”

You decided to tease him, hoping to break the sexual tension. “Well, getting this close to me isn’t exactly gentlemanly, either, Mr. Rafayel.”

“Touché.” His cool breath fanned across your face as he chuckled. “I guess I’m not much of a gentleman after all.” 

For a moment, you forgot about the crowded halls of the third-class cabins, the distant hum of the ship’s engines, and the people bustling around you. It felt like it was just the two of you, suspended in time. Your heart couldn’t stop racing at an unreasonable pace. 

Rafayel’s smile widened, his lips only a couple inches away from yours. “But if I were, would I have had the pleasure of meeting you?” 

Your heart fluttered in your chest. “Maybe not. But I’m glad you’re here now, gentleman or not.” 

He lingered there for a minute longer, his forehead still resting against yours, before he finally pulled away with a reluctant sigh. “Alright, I should head back… before I lose any more of my honor.” His grin eventually faded into a soft smile as he caressed your cheek with his gentle hand. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun, Y/N. Thank you.” 

As romantic and noble as he seemed, you knew your boundaries. You knew your place in society was no way near his. “You’re always welcome here,” you said, gently holding his hand—the one that had touched your cheek. “But you don’t belong down here, so up you go.”

“I’d rather be wherever you are,” he whispered, planting a kiss on your hand and making your heart pound wildly against your chest. 

Though you cherished the moment, you knew it wasn’t the right time. He was under the influence of alcohol, and you worried he might regret his actions and words later. After all, you were a mere woman from the steerage, not someone he could proudly show off and be with. You had nothing to offer, nothing to match his way of living. You only had yourself, but you didn’t know if that was enough. 

With that in mind, you had to keep your composure. Being too ambitious might one day bite you back the hard way.  

“Good night, Rafayel,” you said, taking a step back, watching as he turned and stumbled a little before catching his balance. “Be careful, okay?”

“Always, sweetheart. Always.” He glanced back, flashing you one last grin. Then, with a mischievous wink, he started to make his way back to the upper decks, leaving you with a warmth in your chest that lingered long after he was gone.

If only you two weren’t divided by social classes. 

~~

Slap! 

“What on Earth was that stupid act you pulled down there?!” Arielle’s voice resounded across the room with a harshness Rafayel hadn’t heard from her before. But honestly, the sting of her slap wasn’t what shocked him, it was the way she had shown her true nature from being a sweet, passionate lady into a manipulative, entitled woman who seemed to think she had a claim over him. “I can’t believe you were mingling with those filthy third-class people while I was waiting for you in my suite last night!”

Keeping his head turned in the direction she’d struck, Rafayel clenched his jaw. “You don’t know those people. They’re better than most of the ones up here on this ship.”

“And what?” she snapped, her ocean-blue eyes blazing with fury that almost matched the deep crimson of her hair. “You went down there for some whore? Don’t push me, Rafayel. You are not to see that lowly woman ever again.”

Rafayel’s patience wore thin at the mention of you, and he finally looked up to glare at her. “Stop trying to control me, Arielle.”

“You are my husband-to-be.” Her reminder was more so a warning to him. “It is a privilege for you to be married to me. So start acting the part. You will live by my rules, spend my money, and enjoy the privileges I grant you. Don’t think you’re above your place now, especially with your boring paintings not selling anymore.”

Frankly, Rafayel had never imagined himself marrying this woman. The engagement ring on her finger wasn’t even something he had chosen—it was bought and meticulously picked out by Thomas because Rafayel couldn’t be bothered to find one himself. If he already felt this way about the engagement, how much more about the impending marriage? Her relentless need to control everything was already a nightmare he could clearly see unfolding. And he knew he would never have the freedom to be the man of his own house, always trailing behind her like a shadow, always listening to her commands like a broken man. He would have to obey her every whim like a pathetic servant, living solely for her pleasures and demands. 

The wedding hadn’t even happened yet, but he already wanted to put a pistol to his mouth and end everything. 

“Don’t you dare ruin our reputation by mingling down there again,” she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain as if she were speaking of animals rather than people. “I mean it, Rafayel. You know exactly what I’m capable of doing to that whore.” 

That threat was enough to force him into a tense, angry silence. “...Don’t you dare touch her.” 

Arielle scoffed. Despite the jewelry and makeup that made her quite the face of a luxurious woman, Rafayel could only see how rotten she was on the inside. “I will do what I want if you do not behave yourself.” 

He didn’t even try to console or win her back after she stormed out of the room and slammed the door shut with a loud bang. Why should he? He held no affection for her, and he certainly didn’t care about winning her over. He was even contemplating telling Arielle directly to her face that he wanted to call off the wedding, to let her know he didn’t need her to survive on his own, but things were easier said than done. And more importantly, there were various factors that held him back.

One of them, being his longtime friend and agent, Thomas, who soon entered his private suite. The guy’s lips were already tightened into a thin line as he eyed the red mark on Rafayel’s cheek. “I told you not to get involved with that third-class woman. You’re already engaged to Arielle. Why can’t you just appreciate what you have?” 

Rafayel remained silent, leaning against the table and rubbing his temples in frustration. He couldn’t believe that the person closest to him would be the first to side with someone else.

“And can we talk about why you paid that shady woman, Hawthorne, to release the third-class girl from being a hostess?” Thomas continued. “Her problems are none of your business. You’re just involving yourself in all these rumors.”

Rafayel’s eyes hardened. “You know Y/N didn’t consent to that situation. She was clearly deceived into it—didn’t you see her nearly jumping off the ship trying to escape those men? Helping her was the right thing to do. She has a mother and sister waiting for her.”

“This is not about what’s right or wrong. It’s about maintaining appearances. And if you start ignoring the rules for everyone you meet, you’ll find yourself in quite a predicament.” His agent stared at him blankly, sighing. “It’s not just about you, Raf. Your aunt Talia—she’s counting on you. She’s the only family you have left. She invested everything she had to support your career, hoping that you would make something of yourself. But things didn’t turn out the way we all had hoped for, did it? Besides, this marriage isn’t just a contract. It’s a way to secure your future and her well-being.”

He could feel his jaw tightening at the clear attempt to draw guilt from him. “I’m aware of what my aunt did for me, but this isn’t what she envisioned for me. She wanted me to be happy, to succeed on my own terms, not to be trapped in a marriage I didn’t ask for.”

“You’re being short-sighted,” pointed out Thomas, “By marrying Arielle, you secure not only your future but also Talia’s. You know she’s been struggling with her health. She needs to know that you’re stable, that you’re not making reckless decisions that could jeopardize her security. If you back out now, it could destroy her.”

Rafayel’s gaze dropped to the floor as his mind grappled into a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—frustration, guilt, and helplessness. 

“Is this really about me,” Rafayel said quietly, “or is it about what will happen if I defy you?”

“I know Arielle isn’t the kindest person,” Thomas continued, ignoring his question. “But sometimes, we have to make sacrifices for the greater good. And this marriage might not be perfect, but it’s a step towards securing everything you’ve worked for. It’s what will keep Talia safe and secure, not some fleeting romance on a ship or a misguided impulse.”

Rafayel’s silence became pregnant with contemplation. He was ultimately speechless, not because he agreed with his agent, but because the tables had turned in a way where the guilt and pressure was now placed on his shoulders squarely. 

Sensing his deep thoughts, Thomas stepped closer and placed a hand on Rafayel’s shoulder with a reassuring grip. “Think about it carefully. The right decision isn’t always the easiest one, but it’s often the one that will ensure a future worth living.”

~~

Another day had passed since that fateful night when Rafayel had pulled you from the brink of ending your life. 

You had already settled back into the confines of the steerage, trying to adjust to the routine of your life as best as you could while Mrs. Hawthorne stuck to her word of leaving you alone. But as each supposedly normal day went by, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The brief moments you had shared with Rafayel suddenly felt like a distant dream, and you wondered if it was all just a fleeting impulse on his part. 

Did he actually regret spending time with you that night? Getting to know you? Opening his heart to you? Despite the joy he seemed to express, you wondered if he felt disgusted with his actions the moment he woke up sober. Because as kind and down-to-Earth as Rafayel appeared, he was still part of the wealthy elite, like the rest of them. He was born into a rich household, accustomed to the life of high society, and it wouldn’t be all too surprising for him to view the unsophisticated passengers of the third-class as pitiful. 

But a small part of you believed Rafayel was better than that. No, he was more genuine than that. 

It was early in the morning when you found yourself drawn to the upper decks from your humble area in the third-class decks. You watched the first-class passengers from the starboard side, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who had saved your life and made you feel special. He should be there somewhere. Some place where the sun had risen. After all, didn’t he say you could come find him anytime? Your eyes searched aimlessly through the crowd, hoping for a sign, a familiar face. 

Until he appeared.

Rafayel stopped by the railing, engaged in a conversation with the captain of the ship. Next to him was a graceful woman clinging on his arm, a girl with luscious red hair, pearlescent skin, and crystal blue eyes. The dress she wore was bedight with intricate patterns, sewn carefully through hours of labor to highlight the detailed gold threads on the satin dress. She was about the same age as you, it seemed, but her aura was the epitome of elegance and wealth, someone you could never be. Though, despite the distance, you could see the tension in Rafayel’s posture and the way he didn’t appear to be present in the conversation at all.

Then, he happened to have looked in your direction. 

Contrary to the expectations in your head, he didn’t greet you with a familiar smile or a friendly wave. No, he avoided your eyes not even two seconds after he met your gaze. It was as if he was intentionally keeping his distance, and the sight left you feeling inexplicably hollow.

“Hang on,” you could hear one of your cabin roommates say, “Isn’t that the gentleman from first-class who danced with us?” 

“Who’s that woman next to him?” 

“Oh, first-class people. They’re all the same.” 

“Did he just ignore you, Y/N?”

He did. And it hurt in a way you didn’t expect. You couldn’t quite understand your feelings or why they were so intense when you should have anticipated this, should have expected it. Or did you really believe he could be some sort of prince charming who would fall for a poor woman after meeting her for a few days? This was no fairytale. 

God, but it was unbearable—the silence, the misunderstandings, the thought. As foolish as it might sound, you needed to hear it from him directly. Growing fond of Rafayel was already an abyss you had thrown yourself into, and you were willing to walk that path just to speak to him again.

You weren’t sure how you did it so well, but by using the same old trick, you were able to sneak into the first-class deck smoothly. The transition from steerage to first-class was blunt, and you already knew you had to yet again play the role of a wealthy woman, or at least a nouveau riche, just to blend in. But that wasn’t what you were focusing on this journey, you weren’t there to dillydally with the elite. You were there to see a certain amaranthine-haired man who had saved your life countless times in this ship. 

When you spotted Rafayel slipping into a private room—the same room where he painted, you followed him like a spy, hoping not to be seen or caught by other onlookers in the area. You still had the decency to knock softly at first, but when there was no answer, you decided to let yourself in. The room was dimly lit, with rich, velvet drapes decorating the walls. And the smell of paint and canvas was an unmistakable association to him. Of Rafayel, who was there standing by a large window, his back to you.

“Rafayel,” you said softly, taking a tentative step forward but inexplicably drawn to his beautiful, radiant face. “Hi.”

He turned to look at you in an unwelcome surprise, however. “What are you doing here? You can’t be here.”

You closed the door behind you, the soft click signaling your privacy. “I just… I don’t know why I’m here. Frankly, I just wanted to see you. I wanted to understand if I did something wrong.”

There was guilt in his eyes, you saw that. But he was quick to cloud it with a look of resistance. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said in a neutral tone, his eyes avoiding yours. “It’s just... it’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” you repeated. “It’s because I’m from steerage, isn’t it…”

“No,” Rafayel interrupted firmly, as if the thought was absurd. “It’s not about where you come from. That doesn’t matter to me.”

You felt the distance he was placing between you two as you stood in front of him, not wanting to wear your heart on your sleeve. But it did sting. The way he was struggling to meet your eyes, the way he was looking at anywhere but you. 

“I have a fiancé,” he dropped the hard cold truth, “I’m engaged, and it’d be disrespectful for me to spend time with another woman behind her back.”

The revelation struck you like lightning, probably worse than the impact it would have on you if you had jumped off the ship that other night. “...I see.” 

“I apologize,” he quickly added, still averting the direction of his gaze. “I didn’t mean to lead you on.”

There must be a logical reason why he had never mentioned his fiancé the moment he had met you. But whatever it was, the pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, and yet, the complete picture remained frustratingly out of reach. The pain in your chest was undeniable, truly, but you tried to mask it with a smile. You knew when and how to feign a calm composure in the most critical situations. 

“If that’s how it is,” you said quietly, “then I understand. I just needed to know.”

Rafayel’s eyes were an amalgam of shame and despair. “I’m sorry. You should leave before anyone sees you here.”

You didn’t wish to carry any grudge or bitterness towards a man who saved your life. If anything, you were still grateful for everything he did for you up to this point. You were happy that while you were drowning in a sea of despair, he became the buoy that you could hold onto. Even for a short, fleeting moment. So, despite the ache in your heart, you brought it upon yourself to show appreciation for one last time. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave you alone now,” you spoke softly and faintly, “But before I go, I just want to say, Rafayel, that you are the most talented artist I have ever met. I admire your eye for art… I do, and also your passion for what you love. I hope that when this ship docks, you’ll find all the inspiration you need to create wonderful paintings again. I hope you never lose faith in yourself, because I know you’ll make it big out there. Even bigger than you already are, I can see it happening. You are an amazing person and a blessing to everyone around you, Raf. I wish you and your fiancé all the best.”

You didn’t wait for his response, neither did you look at his eyes and hope for him to stop you. He didn’t need to. You knew your place, and it wasn’t anywhere near him or any part of the first-class rooms and amenities. It was at the bottom of this ship, in a small cabin with two bunk beds and your limited garments. Their world was not meant for you. 

It never was.

~~

“So, when’s the big day?”

As usual, the grand dining hall was abuzz with the chatter and clinking of expensive cutlery. The long table was set with exquisite silverware, and the servants moved about with practiced grace, ensuring every need was met with precision that defined the excellent service of the White Star Line crew. Yet, despite the utmost grandeur of the setting, Rafayel felt strangely detached.

He sat at the head of the table, surrounded by the elite passengers of the Titanic, staring blankly at the plate in front of him. Little did everyone know, his thoughts kept drifting back to the conversation he had had with you yesterday. The way you had looked at him with those searching eyes, the way you had quietly accepted the painful truth he had laid bare. The image of your hurt expression haunted him, so much so that he disregarded the polished and pretentious world that now surrounded him.

Arielle was there seated beside him, and was occupied in an animated conversation with a group of socialites. Her laughter was light, her gestures demure and sophisticated, but to Rafayel, it all seemed pretentious. He knew she was only trying to look happy on the surface, trying to keep up with the appearances. She often glanced his way, her eyes carrying annoyance whenever he didn’t respond to her attempts to include him in the conversation. It was clear she was treating him as nothing more than a decorative accessory to her social standing, rather than—as she called it—a future husband. The more he observed her, the more he felt like a mere piece of furniture, simply existing for her to use.

The disparity between this world and the brief moments of freedom he had experienced with you in the steerage was jarring. The laughter, the warmth, the raw honesty of those times were replaced by the superficial chatter and insincere pleasantries of the elite. The perfect lives they spoke of in high society wasn’t where he wanted his art to thrive. They were of no raw and unfiltered essence as the dreams you spoke of and the hardships you had endured. Your ability to find beauty in even the smallest things was where visions of empowerment bloom. 

And in realizing that, he knew, all along, that you were the inspiration he had long been searching for.

“Darling?” Arielle’s hand rested lightly on his arm, a gesture meant to convey affection but to Rafayel felt like a shackle. She leaned in close, her voice a sultry whisper that he barely registered. “Rafayel, are you even listening? Everyone’s talking about our wedding. Aren’t you excited?”

“Of course, Arielle,” he said, forcing a smile before his gaze wandered to the window, where the sun was beginning to set over the horizon. He wondered where you were or how you were doing. Were you singing your heart out somewhere? Dancing with your friends down at the steerage? Drinking happily with fellow passengers who didn’t care about money or status or anything of the sort?

Truth be told, things began to strike him with a painful clarity. He knew long ago that the inspiration he had once sought was never meant to be found among the pomp and pretense of high society. But only now did he open his eyes to the times that had breathed life into his art, that had given him a glimpse of something real and meaningful. And they were moments with you.

But how could he have that inspiration now when the vibrant muse that had sparked his creativity was out of reach? 

Rafayel’s gaze fell to his plate, the food before him growing cold and unappetizing. “Excuse me.”

~~

Come Josephine… in my flying machine 

Going up she goes, up she goes 

The cold wind nipped at your cheeks as you stood at the bow of the ship, singing under your breath, and gazing out at the endless expanse of ocean stretching before you. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold, as if the universe itself was offering an evanescent moment of beauty in a world that often felt so cruel. 

Balance yourself like a bird on a beam

In the air she goes, there she goes

You gripped the railing tightly, feeling the ship’s gentle sway beneath your feet, wondering how easily Rafayel would have captured the landscape forever in his canvas. You closed your eyes, letting the wind wash over you, trying to gather your thoughts, trying to push away the feeling of longing that had settled deep in your chest.

But then you heard it—the soft crunch of footsteps approaching from behind. You knew, even before turning, who it was. Your heart instantly tightened in your chest, holding your breath as you felt his presence come nearer. Slowly, you turned around, finding Rafayel standing there, his purple hair catching the light of the setting sun, his eyes apologetic and full of yearning.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled his words, taking a deep breath. “I lied to you.”

You felt a pang in your chest, both relief and hurt swelling inside you. “Why… are you saying this?” you asked softly, your eyes never leaving his. “Didn’t you regret everything?”

“No,” was his swift answer, shaking his head slowly and stepping closer. “No, I didn’t regret getting closer to you. Not for a second.” He then paused, only for his voice to break just a little. “But I was bound by obligations. Bound by things that I thought would help me and the people I care about. It’s all materialistic and I’m ashamed to admit it to you.”

You turned back toward the ocean, gripping the railing as the wind whipped through your hair. In that moment, truthfully, staring at the endless sea felt like you were flying. “Because I’m from third-class? Because I won’t understand your world?”

“No, it was never about that,” Rafayel replied urgently, stepping closer until he was beside you. Until he was holding you by the waist, both hands securing you from behind. “I’ve been living a life that was never mine. About to marry a woman I don’t love, painting for people I despise, pretending to fit into a place that feels like a prison. And then I met you.”

“Raf…” You could feel the changing rhythm of your heart as you turned to face him, searching his face, trying to understand. “She’ll give you a better life. You deserve to have a woman of the same class as you.” 

“I don’t understand why we’re kept apart by such rigid lines. There’s so much more to life than these divisions,” he spoke in a troubled expression, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face. “The truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you. About how you made me feel alive again, how you gave me the inspiration I’d been longing to find.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart melt, allowing your walls to break. “This sounds ridiculous, but I’ve missed you,” you admitted softly, your hand still under his, feeling the warmth of his touch despite the cold wind around you. “I wanted to forget you, but I couldn’t…”

“I don’t want you to forget me,” he whispered, leaning closer as a pained smile tugged at his lips. “I want to be the one you remember. I want… I want to be the reason you smile, the reason you feel alive.”

You felt a tear escape your eye, and he gently brushed it away with his thumb. “Rafayel, I—”

“I’m done pretending,” declared he, “I just want to be with you, for however long we have. I don’t care what it costs me.”

Was this real? Your heart felt like it was about to burst, and you were scared that this might just be a dream, an illusion that you would soon wake up from. But then he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your face. “May I?” he asked, his eyes flickering to your lips.

And you nodded, you allowed it. A soft gasp escaped your mouth as his lips captured yours in a deep, searching kiss. The world seemed to fade away as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer as you kissed him back with all the pent-up emotions you’d been holding onto for days. His lips were warm and soft, encasing yours in a passionate lock, while his tongue was sweet and tender, exploring your mouth in a loving, burning kiss.

For a moment, there was only the sensation of his lips on yours, the taste of the sea in the air, the feel of his heart beating against yours. The world, the ship, everything around you seemed to disappear, leaving just the two of you on the edge of the world.

~~

“We’re going to get caught—!” There was an obvious hint of nervous laughter in your voice as both of you giggled while racing through the corridors of the first-class halls.

“Shh,” he hushed you with a grin, placing a finger to his lips. “We’re almost there.”

All the while, Rafayel held your hand tightly as he guided you toward his private room. The thrill of sneaking around, hidden from prying eyes, seemed to fill him with a rush of adrenaline. But you couldn’t blame him, for you certainly shared the same thrill. There was a certain excitement in having you there, in his world, in his arms, like you belonged to him.

And he was right about being near. Because just a few more steps down the corridor, he finally stopped in front of one of the larger doors and pulled you into a lavish suite that seemed like an entirely different dimension. And good lord, you could hardly believe your eyes. Even though you had heard countless descriptions of the luxury on this ship, seeing it with your own eyes felt undeniably surreal. Left and right, no matter where you looked, the room was adorned with rich furnishings, a plush king-sized bed piled high with soft pillows, and even a private fireplace to keep the cold at bay during the night. His private suite alone was the size of ten basic cabins in the steerage. You didn’t bother asking the cost of his boarding ticket, knowing full well that it was more than what you could ever afford in your lifetime. 

To be able to throw so much money away for a mere couple nights on a ship, though, you couldn’t imagine yourself doing that. 

“Wow,” you marveled nonetheless, spinning around in awe while Rafayel watched your delight with a warm smile, leaning in to kiss your temple. “Your room is enormous.” 

“Can you stay right here for a second?” he asked, violet eyes meeting yours. “And close your eyes while you’re at it.” 

“Okay…” Curious but trusting, you smiled and shut your eyes, wondering what he was up to or what he was planning. It wasn’t long until you heard the faint sounds of rustling, drawers being opened and closed, the click of a safe, and then his footsteps as he returned behind you. “Are you done?” 

“There’s something I want to give you.” His raspy voice nearly tickled your ear. When you opened your eyes, you realized you were in front of a mirror, and you could see him from behind as he opened a velvet box and fished out a stunning, glistening heart-shaped blue diamond. Best believe your mouth was on the floor right at the next second. You were simply awestricken, and anyone who would look at it with a straight face was absurd. The jewel sparkled with an otherworldly brilliance, reflecting the tiny specks of light from the chandelier, yet maintaining its regal, deep blue color.

“The Heart of the Ocean,” you gasped, recognizing it instantly. It was a gem of legend, one you had only ever heard about in whispered tales when you were a little girl. “How… how did you get this?”

“The First Lady of France gave it to me,” he patiently explained while bearing a wistful smile. “It’s her token of gratitude for the time I spent painting her. Thomas insists it to be my gift—a dowry, actually—for Arielle.” He paused, his kaleidoscopic eyes staring at you through the mirror. “But now I realize it belongs to someone else entirely.”

Disbelief coursed through you. “Wait, I-I don’t understand. You can’t be serious…?”

“I am,” was his confirmation, stepping closer with a sincere gaze. With a delicate touch, he lifted the necklace and draped the cool, weighty chain around your neck. His fingers brushed softly against your skin as he fastened the clasp, then he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. “You’re the one who deserves this and everything I have to give.” 

You stared at the gem resting just above your heart, its blue depths shimmering like the ocean beyond the ship. It felt like a treasure meant for someone else, someone more deserving. For an ordinary girl, you felt undeserving of such a rare, exquisite gem. “It’s… stunning,” you breathed, your fingers grazing its cool surface. “But why give it to me?”

“Because you’re the one who holds my heart,” Rafayel whispered, his voice low and filled with emotion. “I want you to have it… to know that you’re more precious to me than any jewel.”

“Rafayel!” Your heart swelled, and you turned to face him, feeling a rush of emotions you couldn’t quite put into words. You could feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, wondering what you did in your past life to be blessed with such a man. “I don’t deserve this—I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve everything and more, my sweet.” His words held all the sincerity and genuineness you had to hear. “I want to capture the way I see you right now. Will you let me paint you?”

Heat permeated your cheeks at his request, but you were willing. More than willing to be his muse. “I’d be honored,” you said, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your chest. An intimate idea suddenly formed in your head. “But if I’m to wear something so special… I want to do it right. I want you to paint me like one of your French girls, Rafayel. Wearing only this.”

~~

Being in the middle of the Atlantic exposed you to the cold, freezing temperatures. 

Yet, how come Rafayel’s room felt quite… hot? 

Perhaps it was the crackling fireplace offering the heated atmosphere. But you weren’t sure if it was really just that. Your heart pounded at an erratic pace, racing with every beat as you watched Rafayel arrange the couch in the middle. Meanwhile, you stood on the side, a thin robe on, as he padded the pillow before settling into his seat. It’s now or never, you thought as you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. I shouldn’t be nervous around him. 

“Monsieur,” you teased, taking in slow, measured steps in front of him. “Your muse is ready.” 

The artist himself was blushing. His cheeks were limned with a deep rosy red, clearing his throat and trying to avoid looking at places he shouldn’t be. He gestured to the cushioned couch, his voice a bit shaky as he fought to keep his focus on the task at hand. “Uh, you can… you can sit there.” 

You wondered whether this was considered you betraying your principles by willingly exposing yourself to him. Had you become a hypocrite, denying advances from wealthy men as an entertainer, but now willingly revealing yourself to someone of the same class? Not long ago, you were just running away from said first-class men, despising every inch of your skin that they desired to touch. So, why were you here? Why didn’t you feel the same way?

Firstly, Rafayel was different. He was respectful, kind, and everything the others were not. You could feel the sincerity in his gaze, the way he looked at you as though you were something precious. He saw you like you were the art, not his paintings, nor the landscapes. You. And so, you began to slowly undress, letting your robe fall to the floor, and immediately feeling the cool air hugging your bare skin. Rafayel’s gaze remained fixed on you, full of reverence and awe, as though he were witnessing something profoundly sacred.

When all that was left was the blue diamond nestled against your naked figure, you moved to the couch he had arranged and lay on your side on the cushions. Rafayel took a deep breath, as if steadying himself, and then moved to his easel with his brushes in hand. “Stay still, sweetheart. Move your left hand a little closer to your face.”

You did as told, shifting awkwardly on the couch to place yourself in the exact position he had envisioned for his art. Dear God, the tension was surely eating at you. You knew he could feel it, too. Especially when his eyes fell to the intimate places of your body—admiring, studying. Your best move was to clear your throat and break the ice. “Not so professional now, are we, Monsieur Rafayel?” 

He was mixing his paint as you teased him, the corner of his lips being pulled into an upward slope. “I am very professional, just so you know.” You were glad to hear him returning the small banter. “Now, don’t be moving your mouth too much, sweetheart. Save it for later.”

“Hey!”

“Just kidding.”  

The hours eventually passed in a delicate silence. You didn’t catch when exactly the awkwardness had begun to fade, but now, the only sound in this quiet room was the soft, rhythmic strokes of his brush against the canvas. You felt his eyes on you, studying every line and curve, every shadow and light, capturing not just your likeness but something deeper—something more human. It was as if he was painting not just your body but your soul, the very essence of who you were.

You remained still for him like a doll, and throughout it, all you could think about was this moment. Him. This encounter. Despite the initial horrors your job as entertainer presented, everything still led you to this—to Rafayel. To the man who saw you as the true art, not the colors he was blending in his canvas. 

Were things too good to be true? 

It took some time, probably a good hour or two when he finally pulled away from his canvas, his breath coming in soft, quiet exhales. You could see the emotion in his eyes as he gazed at the finished piece. “This is how I’ll always remember you,” Rafayel said, dreamy eyes staring right back at you. “As the one who wore my heart.”

Overwhelmed by the tenderness in his gaze, by the raw, unguarded love that radiated from his every word, you stood, crossing the room to him where he met you halfway and pulled you into his arms. You felt his heartbeat against yours, his breath warm against your ear.

“You are amazing,” you whispered against his shoulder, holding him tightly. “Thank you for seeing me.”

And for that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of you, entwined in each other’s embrace, lost in the profound connection that had brought you both together on the edge of this endless ocean. To forget about everything and everyone seemed to be the lingering thought in your heads, and it manifested in the way his hands trailed down your curves, pulling you closer to him. Your lips were inches away, a proximity so near that you could feel his minty breath fanning your face. 

“Beautiful,” he spoke in a hushed voice, face mesmerized by the sight of you. “I want to kiss you.” 

“Then, kiss me,” you replied, your fingers reaching up to his collar, gently pulling him down. Nothing stopped you when you pressed your lips to his in a passionate, fervent kiss. Nothing prevented you when your fingers began to work on the buttons of his shirt with slow and deliberate movements. The fabric of his shirt soon fell away, revealing the lean, muscular contours of his torso. You trailed kisses along his chest, savoring the feel of his warm skin beneath your lips. “I’m yours, Rafayel,” you breathed back into his mouth as the kiss deepened, catching your breath between each shared moment. “Touch me, feel me, do whatever you want with me. I want you just the same.”

“You drive me crazy,” he grunted under his breath, hands roaming over your body. His touch confirmed to you that the desire was mutual, driven by an urgent need to connect on a level beyond words. His hands moved with a gentle yet insistent hunger, caressing the curve of your waist, exploring the delicate arch of your back. And in your ardent lip-locking exchange, you could feel the slopes of your breasts being pressed against his chest. Rafayel then bit your lower lip, fully submitting to his carnal desires, before reaching down to give your bum a tight squeeze. 

“R-Raf.” 

“Tell me if you want to stop—”

“Don’t stop. Don’t.” 

With your consent, he guided you to sit up on the couch, not knowing how his touch ignited an inextinguishable fire within you. While on his lap, you moved your body against his and traced your fingers along his collarbone, down to the ridges of his abdomen, feeling the heat of his body beneath your fingertips. He returned the favor by cupping your mounds, massaging the plump flesh as if he was desperate to feel how soft they were. 

One thing led to another. And before you knew it, you were already crawling out of his lap, only to kneel on the carpeted floor in between his knees, undoing the buttons of his trousers. Your eyes widened as soon as you released his aching member from the confines of his undergarment, revealing a handsome size that was proportionate to his height. 

“Don’t stare at it like that,” he whined, cheeks flushed red as he leaned back on the couch, wrapping a hand around his shaft. Who knew Rafayel can get quite shy, too?

You found it adorable, if anything. But the equal lust you shared in your gazes remained on each other, even as you joined his hands at doing the job. Up and down did you stroke his length, watching him hold back a moan, only to crumble as soon as you decided to replace your hand with your mouth. It’s warm, you heard him say. It feels good, sweetheart. His cute little groans were in fact a pleasure for you to hear, encouraging you to do better at bobbing your head and sucking his entire length. You didn’t care about the string of saliva that appeared when you released his member with a pop, now using your tongue and dragging it from the base to the tip, where it swirled itself around until his cock began to twitch. 

“How’d you learn these things?” Rafayel’s quiet groan was more so a jealous complaint. But he couldn’t take it anymore, he had to have you. He had to have a taste of you, too. 

So to your surprise, he suddenly carried you in his arms, moving in a rush as you shifted from the couch to the bed. His movements were clearly driven by a primal need to leave his mark on you, to feel each other in the most intimate way. Because you didn’t expect him to lay you gently on his bed, climbing on top of you like a hungry shark who was ready to devour a small fish. 

He started with your neck of course, feathering soft, tender kisses around the skin before moving to your breasts, alternating between squeezing and sucking the flesh, nipping and biting at your nipple. It didn’t surprise you to see him hungrily trapping your breast in a tight suction, revealing a red mark that would later be the same color as his hair. 

“R-Rafayel.” By now, you were arching your back, legs spread open as he began to descend further and further until he met the perfect spot. Him staring at your womanhood almost made you wish to close the distance between your thighs, but he didn’t allow it. In fact, he was quick to dive head-on into your sopping cunt, lapping the entrance with his tongue—teasing and exploring your walls, your insides, until you were screaming his name. “R-Raf—! Mhm…!” 

“You taste so sweet,” he spoke under his breath, encircling his thumb on your sensitive bud before looking back at your slit, slightly spreading them apart to look at the exact hole he was about to enter. And he did. He didn’t hesitate one bit at positioning his fully erect manhood on your entrance, its tip soaked by the wetness of your core before he eventually slid himself right in. A series of curses were released by him, while as for you, the dulcet melody of your moans were just what he needed to hear. “Damn it, Y/N… You feel really good.” 

“Ngh—! Y-You—aaah!” You could feel your body being dragged back and forth, your hips being jostled as he continued to sink himself into you. His pace started slow and sensual at first, relishing the way your bodies intertwined, moving together with a fluid grace. At the same time, his kisses were soft and sweet, exploring every inch of your collarbone, while your own nails clawed at his back in the same passion. You felt it—him, the tip of his member hitting your sensitive spot and sending you into a euphoric trance. Every time his cock kissed your cervix, you were a moaning mess, your legs shaking violently at the electrifying pleasure spreading all over your body. He was inside you, all of him. “Haaah!” 

The act itself was a beautiful, raw expression of the desire that had been building between you. You moved together with a synchrony that transcended mere physicality knowing that it wasn’t just an act of sex, but an exchange of love. 

As you reached the peak of your intimacy, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only the two of you, lost in a moment of pure, unadulterated passion. And when the waves of pleasure finally subsided, you lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms. The residues of Rafayel’s love for you remained in between your thighs, a visual proof of the passion he harbored for you.

Rafayel’s breath was heavy, but his body relaxed against yours. He held you close, his touch gentle now, with the intensity of the earlier moments shifting to tender intimacy. “Once the ship docks in New York,” he said in a soft whisper. “Come with me. I want to leave everything behind and start new with you. Let’s both figure it out, together.”

You nestled closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart against yours. At that moment, it was as if everything had fallen into place. “Together.” 

~~

On the night of April 14th, everything on the ship took a daunting turn. 

Literally. But before you could get to that part, you were strolling the first-class decks at the time, hand-in-hand with Rafayel, as he escorted you to the exit.

“Must you really go back down there?” he asked softly, embracing you in his toned, protective arms. “Can’t you stay here with me? Just for a little while longer?”

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the thought of leaving him for a while. But you knew you had to honor the constraints of your position because the risk of discovery was too great to ignore. Especially for his part. “I wish I could stay,” you replied, pulling away to squeeze his hand. “But I can’t. I need to go back to steerage for now, and then we’ll find a way to meet again.”

“I’ll come to you, every day.” Rafayel acted like a stubborn kid as a frown played across his features. Yet, he still leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that lingered a little over a minute. 

What interrupted your romantic moment was the sudden sound of shouting and panicked voices that erupted from the bow of the ship. The noise was chaotic, and it immediately turned into a cacophony of warnings and vigilance as the watchmen, officers, and quartermasters ran about, speaking jargons you could barely interpret. You both pulled apart, the intensity of the moment breaking as the shouts grew louder, more frantic. Something was dangerously off. 

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice laced with worry.

Rafayel, his expression now a mask of alarm, could only hold you closer. “I don’t know, but we need to find out.”

You didn’t need to be told. The shudder of the ship, the deafening screech against the starboard side, and the massive iceberg passing slowly by were all the signs you needed to understand the gravity of the situation.

The Titanic struck an iceberg. 

“Aaah!” 

“Watch out!” 

“Rafayel.” You turned to your lover, the fear in your eyes mirrored by the shock and disbelief in his face. “I’m scared.” 

“It’s okay.” He pulled you gently but urgently, soothing your worries by rubbing your back in comfort. “I don’t think it’s serious. I’m sure this ship’s made to withstand that much impact—”

“You saw it with your own eyes, Raf!” It was the irrational fear consuming you, leading you to overthink everything as you saw how the crew members and officers alike were running in every direction, their faces pale with fear. “The iceberg… We’re not safe. You know we aren’t.” 

As you both stepped into the corridor, the commotion was unmistakable. And he himself knew he could not play the situation as something trivial. Because otherwise, the ship’s own crewmen wouldn’t have been as alarmed. It didn’t help that Rafayel also caught Mr. Andrews, the very man who designed the ship, clutching rolls of blueprints as he hurried to meet the captain.

“Mr. Andrews.” Rafayel stopped him before he could walk any further. “How serious is it? We saw the iceberg.” 

The respectable man looked between you two, his eyes clouded with an apologetic haze. Though, staying calm appeared natural to him, only giving Rafayel a gentle pat on the shoulder and urging him to make his way to safety. “Make sure to wear your life jackets and secure yourselves a spot on the lifeboats available. And also,” he paused, swallowing hard. “Try not to cause panic to other passengers for now. All rationality is lost the moment fear strikes.” 

While you and Rafayel hoped to hear a more reassuring answer, of words saying that the issue at hand wasn’t anything to be alarmed about, Mr. Andrews’ words were clear. 

The ship was about to sink.

~~

It was your decision to inform only the closest people you knew about the unsightly situation. But it was Rafayel who requested if you could both let Thomas know first, seeing as he simply couldn’t abandon his longtime friend. Despite their disagreements, he had been there for him in his artistic journey, and never not once gave up on supporting Rafayel’s dreams. He was family to him, one way or another, and that was why Rafayel insisted he had to know. 

So, you did. Rafayel and you, hearts racing and hands intertwined, made your way back to his first-class suite, both determined to find Thomas and inform him of the dire situation. In your short walk, the stewards were already scrambling about, opening doors, shouting and instructing everyone to put on their life jackets. 

“Everyone, please put your lifebelts on and come up to the deck!”

“Can you tell me what’s going on, please? I felt the ship shudder.” 

“Madam, there is no cause for alarm. This is just a precaution. Now put your lifebelts on, please.”

Meanwhile, as you reached the door to Rafayel’s suite, you were met with an unexpected and unsettling audience. The Master at Arms, his security personnel, and Thomas stood in the hallway, their faces grim and serious. But it was Arielle who stood out, with the reason being…

“You!” Arielle’s voice immediately cut through the hubbub like a blade as she stormed up to you, her vibrant blue eyes electrifying you with her anger. Without a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you toward her. The stretch on your scalp was sharp, but the shock of her attack was what shook you to the core. “You wretched little thief!” she spat, her voice dripping with venom as she threw you onto the floor, kicking you, smacking you, and pulling your hair. “You lowly whore! Trying to seduce my fiancé and worm your way into his life!”

You winced, trying to free yourself from her grasp. “I-It hurts!” 

“Arielle, stop! Stop hurting her!” Rafayel’s voice was fierce and desperate as he lunged to intervene, trying to wrench Arielle’s hand away from you, but to no avail. She was unstoppable. And his efforts were futile against her relentless aggression. “Enough! Let her go!”

“You slept with this whore?!” Arielle’s face twisted with rage as she sent a crisp slap to his face. The hurt. The betrayal. You could understand why she felt that way and you wanted to apologize, to beg on her knees not to pour her anger out on Rafayel, but she already turned to the officers and Thomas, her voice rising in a commanding tone. “Gentlemen, this woman has been sneaking into the first-class areas illegally! She’s been trying to lure in first-class men, including my fiancé. She should be sent down to steerage and locked up immediately. She’s a threat to the order of this ship!”

The officers, unsure of what to do, looked to Rafayel for guidance. He was just pulling you to him, protecting you in his arms, as he shot his fiancé a glare. “Arielle, enough, will you?! We have more pressing issues right now and we need to focus on that—”

“If you won’t do it, then I will cause a scene on this ship!” Arielle’s eyes narrowed as she watched him hold you close. “I’ll make a huge scandal out of this!” 

The officers, now caught between their duty and Arielle’s demands, began to move toward you with a forceful stance. They were already firm with the decision to take you away, in spite of your resistance, as you looked at Rafayel for any sort of help. 

“Come with us, miss!” 

“N-No… Rafayel,” you pleaded, your voice trembling. “Help me. Please.”

“Don’t touch her!” Rafayel’s fiery gaze didn’t intimidate the officers, even as he tried to retrieve you back from their grasps. But Thomas had intervened, pulling his friend back, and ensuring he wouldn’t meddle any further. “Thomas, let me go—they’re taking Y/N away! She did nothing wrong! It was all me!” 

The Master at Arms stepped in between, glancing at an enraged Arielle and a pitiful you. What did you expect? The rich were always favored, and the poor oppressed. You would never win against her in a tug of war. “We’ll send her back to where she belongs, Madam. You can rest easy now.” 

“Nooo!” 

The last thing you saw before being forced out of sight was Rafayel’s anguished face, pain and sorrow clinging into every line of his expression as he heard your screams, saw your tears, and felt your fear at being taken harshly away. 

You knew, right at that moment, that this was only the beginning of an impending maritime disaster.

~~

The cold, metal bars of the brig felt like a cage around your body and soul, confining you to the sterile environment below decks and reminding you exactly of just where you belonged—at the bottom. In your confinement, your breath came in shallow gasps as you heard the muffled commotion of the crew members outside, the frantic shouts, and the loud creaking of the ship. They had locked you in here, unjustly accused and abandoned, and now, trapped.

Your eyes darted toward the small porthole above, the glass fogging up with your breath. You could see the deep blue water sloshing against it, confirming your worst fears that the majestic Titanic was indeed sinking before your eyes.

“Help! Help me!” It would only be a matter of time until you’d drown in this confined space, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. There was no knight in shining armor like Rafayel ready to save you. Even if you screamed for help, your voice raw and desperate, there was still no response except the relentless sound of rushing water.

And speaking of, the icy water began to seep under the door, slowly flooding the room you were kept in like a prisoner. You could feel the coldness against your feet, then your legs, creeping higher with every passing minute. Or two. Or three. 

“Damn it, it’s so cold!” The fear clawed at you, and your heart pounded in your chest as you continued to scream, your voice hoarse and breaking in the process. You cried and let your screaming voice echo through the confined space. But the water continued to rise, and still, no one came. “Help! Please… someone… anyone!” 

In a couple minutes more, your body began to tremble, and a fusion of cold and fear overtook you as the water reached almost past your thighs. The panic only set in deeper, and your breathing became staggered as you struggled with an attack of anxiety. Anyone in your state would have passed out by now, surely. But you tried not to give up as you pounded on the door, hoping that someone would hear you. Or that God himself have mercy on you. 

“...Please!” Yet, nothing changed. No other presence outside your door came to your aid. Your shoulders slumped at the thought, and you leaned back against the cold metal wall, the water now up to your chest. All you could do at that moment was close your eyes, a tear slipping down your cheek as you slowly accepted the inevitable. You were going to die here, alone in the dark, in a place that no one would ever find. “Please… help me.” 

You took one last, shaky breath, feeling the coldness envelop your entire being. And while you had already given up on life, you thought about your mother and sister back home who were probably unaware of the tragedy that struck the ship you boarded. You wondered when they would hear news about the sinking of the ship. Perhaps in the morning? Perhaps another day more? You were haunted by the despair in their faces, the grief of losing a daughter and a sister, just when they thought that you would make it across the continent safe and sound. 

A thought of Rafayel also crossed your mind—a bittersweet memory of his touch, his kiss, and the way he looked at you. A man who was merely a stranger to you before you boarded this ship, but now became the lover you would keep in your heart as the promise of forever finally came to an end. You hoped that, even if he had already abandoned you, he would be sent somewhere warm and safe, away from the glacial waters of the Atlantic where you would soon sink into as another dead body in the deep seabed. 

~~

Up on the first-class decks, the passengers were scrambling toward the lifeboats, their voices adding into the pandemonium as things were becoming clearer that the Titanic was about to be submerged. The officers barked orders, and women and children were ushered toward the boats, the urgency growing as they prevented the men—no matter the social class—from getting into the lifeboats. 

Rafayel stood among the crowd, his eyes distant and unfocused, as if he were miles away. He didn’t even notice Arielle dragging his arm with a tight grip, her voice shrill with frustration as she argued with an officer. “Why can’t he come on the boat with me? He’s my fiancé!” she insisted, her face flushed with anger. “This is unacceptable! We are first-class passengers!” 

“Women and children only, ma’am!” the officer replied firmly, already turning to help another passenger, ignoring her selfish, hubristic demands. 

But the thing was, Rafayel hardly heard her nagging. His mind was elsewhere—back in the brig, where he knew you were locked up, alone and scared for your life. He could hear Thomas’s voice in his ear, the warning, the plea not to pursue you, to stay with his people, to secure his own safety. Selfish, all of them. It was all Rafayel ever thought about as he spaced out. 

Thomas, sensing his hesitation, leaned closer and whispered urgently, “Rafayel, don’t be foolish. We can arrange a seat for you on the next lifeboat. Think about your future, your life! Your aunt Talia is waiting for you!”

Rafayel’s heartbeat slowed as he glanced at Thomas, then at Arielle, who still gripped his arm tightly. His eyes moved over the frightened faces of the people around him—the elites he had grown to resent, their fear and desperation laid bare, yet their arrogance and selfishness still overpowering even in the middle of a crisis. 

“Are we going to be seated according to class?” 

“I don’t want to sit with those stinky steerage people!” 

He saw his own reflection in their panic-stricken eyes, and in that moment, he knew. He knew he couldn’t leave you to drown alone in the cold darkness. The thought of you trapped below, your face filled with fear, haunted him like a ghost who was seeking for justice. You didn’t deserve to be there. 

You, the one person who had shown him what it meant to truly live, was more important to him than anything else in this cruel world.

Thus, without another word, he pulled free from Arielle’s grasp as soon as the officers were guiding her into the lifeboat. It was the right timing, and Rafayel calculated that perfectly in his head, knowing that Arielle would be stopped if she even dared to get off the boat and endangered the passengers and officers who were already secured in it.  

“Rafayel!” Arielle shouted, her voice rising in disbelief as she tried to snatch his arm. “What are you doing?!”

“Madam, stay put!” 

“Get your hands off me—Rafayel, come back! You bastard!”

He didn’t answer. He simply didn’t give a damn about her anymore. And he only turned, his legs moving with purpose, his heart pounding in his chest as he pushed through the crowd, ignoring the protests of those around him. He could hear Thomas calling after him, Arielle bursting into frustrated tears at seeing him escape, but their voices soon faded amidst the furor. 

His mind was made up. Right at the beginning. He was going to find you, no matter what it took, no matter what happened to him. Rafayel knew he was running against time here, against the very odds of survival, but he didn’t care. No. His feet pounded against the deck, his breath coming in harsh bursts, as he made his way toward the lower decks. 

He was coming for you. And nothing, not the cold, the water, nor the imminent doom of the Titanic, would stop him now.

~~

The water was up to your waist now, freezing and relentless, biting into your skin with a cruel ferocity that made your entire body tremble. Your teeth chattered uncontrollably as you banged your fists against the locked door, your hands now raw and bruised because of it. Every breath felt like a knife in your lungs, and every exhale was a desperate sob. Pathetic. You felt weak, hopeless, with the cold sapping every bit of strength you had left. You were shaking, shivering, down to a point where you became numb.

I can’t think straight… 

The water climbed higher, reaching your lower abdomen, then your stomach, and you felt the sorrow settle in. It was about time you gave up. Resting your forehead against the cold metal, closing your eyes, you let the tears slip down your cheeks being the only warm thing you could feel on your face.

This is how I’ll die…. 

No, not yet. Because suddenly, there was a loud crash—the sound of wood splintering and metal bending. You blinked, too disoriented to understand what was happening beyond the door that was forced open. A rush of water followed, and there he was.

There he goddamn was. Rafayel, soaked and breathless, his face clouded with fret and remorse. 

“R… Rafayel?” you exhaled his name, eyes wide open, wondering if you had already died and this was nothing more than a hallucination. 

But he brought you back to reality as he surged forward, pulling you into a desperate, breathless kiss, with lips that were cold but full of life, of urgency, of love. “I’m so sorry," he whispered against your lips, the apology written on his face was more than any words could describe. “I love you… I couldn’t leave you. I couldn’t.”

Tears pooled your eyes the same way the gelid waters filled the room, and you cupped his face, feeling the warmth of his skin against your cold fingers. “Y-You c-came back,” you whispered, your voice breaking with emotion as you spoke through gritted teeth. “I thought you—”

“I did. I’m here now. I’m sorry, Y/N. I love you, I’m so sorry.” He pressed his forehead against yours, his hands trembling as he embraced your body. “We need to go,” he said urgently, pulling you with him. You didn’t exactly have the leisure of time to have an emotional exchange right now. “Come on. Can you swim?”

“I can… a little.” 

With that, you waded through the freezing water together, your legs numb and heavy as you fought against the strong currents. The corridors were eerily quiet, flooded with icy water that was quickly rising like it was filling up a tank. Had you been alone, without a man holding you in his arms, you would have been swept away by the harsh waves. Your body alone was already shaking from both the cold and the adrenaline coursing through your veins, but Rafayel held you tightly, guiding you through the flooded passages as he focused on looking for the way out. Honestly, you admired him. He was doing so much better at handling a situation like this than you, and that came from someone with a social standing like his. It was as though he had always navigated hardships, so used to dealing with different crises.

“Raf, I-I’m s-so cold!” 

“I know. I’ll get us out of here, okay?” 

Finally, you reached a ladder, and you forced yourself to keep moving, pushing your exhausted legs up the staircase despite the weight of your drenched clothes pulling you down. By the third-class gates, you were already panting, sore everywhere, when you saw a clatter between the crowd of people being held back by stewards. 

You spotted Eliza, her face pale and tear-streaked. It was the first time you had seen her again since this morning, and this horrific way of reuniting with her wasn’t anything you saw coming. “They won’t let us up.” She burst into a sob. “They said we can’t pass through, not until the first-class people have filled the boats!”

Her words made Rafayel’s eyes flash with anger towards the stewards guarding the gates. “This is absurd! You can’t keep them like animals. They have the right to live!” He turned to the other men with a commanding presence. “Gentlemen, come on! Help me break down this gate!”

The men nodded, understanding that a first-class man like him genuinely wanted to help, and together they grabbed a wooden bench nearby and slammed it against the metal gate. Once, twice, and finally, with a loud crack, the gate burst open. Despite the protests of the stewards, the crowd surged forward, feeling nothing but relief as they flooded through the open passage where the freezing waters had yet to reach.

“Go!” Rafayel urged, pulling you along as you ran through the hallways together. You pushed through the panicked crowd, dodging falling debris and slippery floors, until you finally reached the deck. He picked up one of the discarded life jackets on the floor and quickly wrapped it around your frail body, the click of the straps securing you underneath. Before you could even process everything that was happening, you could already feel his lips being pressed on your forehead. “You’re okay. I’m here.” 

“Rafayel.” You looked up at him, hands clutching into his shirt with your tearful, shiny eyes. “How are we going to make it?” 

The night air alone was frigid, and the deck was too crowded with people. Somehow, in the middle of all the ensuing chaos, a group of men—the ship’s orchestra—were playing a symphony of melodies in the background. They held their instruments with complete disregard to the horrors of their surroundings, and your heart broke at the sight. Until the very end, they stuck to their duty of maintaining calm and peace for the passengers. Of playing music, performing for the sake of others. 

Good luck to each of you, sirs.

Rafayel turned to you, tugging your hand. “You need to get on one of those boats,” was his firm insistence. “It’s your best chance.”

You scanned through the havoc, looking for a vacant lifeboat, but the crew was shouting ‘women and children only’. That was enough for you to immediately shake your head in response. “No, I’m not leaving you.”

“You have to,” he urged, his voice breaking. “I’ll be fine, I promise. Just go.”

“But—”

“Y/N, you need to listen to me, okay?” He was already pulling you towards one of the lifeboats, pushing through the crowd, to make way for you. “You need to get on that lifeboat. I’ll be okay. I… I have an arrangement with one of the other boats there. Really. I’ll come find you as soon as they rescue us.” 

“No, I—”

“Officer, I have a lady here!” Rafayel announced, his hand carefully guiding you upward. At this hour, the ship was already tilted at an angle of around 5 to 10 degrees while into the evacuation process, so they still had the time and space to get more women into the boat. And as soon as the officer saw you, you were quickly pulled up, but your hands refused to let go of Rafayel’s. “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. I’ll meet you later.”

“Come on, ma’am. Get in the boat!” 

As the pressuring eyes pierced through you, you reluctantly nodded and let go of his hand, swallowing back the tears as you climbed onto the lifeboat. But as you sat there, the arctic wind whipping against your face, you looked at the crying women and children around you. Their faces were draped by the anguish of seeing the men they were leaving behind—fathers, husbands, lovers, and sons. You looked back at Rafayel standing on the deck next to those men. And among them, his eyes were filled with love, of relief knowing that you were safe now like it was his only goal. You suddenly remembered the words you had told him not long ago, about figuring this life together.

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t leave him.

With a burst of adrenaline, you leaped off the lifeboat and back onto the deck, nearly losing your footing and the railing hitting your stomach as you landed, but you didn’t mind it. You had to reunite with him. 

“No!” You could hear Rafayel shouting while you ran toward him. “Goddamn… Y/N! Are you crazy?!”

You ran and ran, pushing past the people, carrying your heavy feet across the slippery floors until you finally met with Rafayel by the upper decks, panting heavily and feeling your legs wobble from the strenuous effort. “I can’t—I’m staying with you!”

Rafayel’s eyes were lachrymose as he saw you, catching you in his arms, holding you tight as lips passionately crashed into yours. “You’re so stupid, Y/N,” he murmured against your lips, though his voice was filled with such raw emotion. “Why did you do that?! You’re so stupid.” 

“Maybe, I am,” you whispered back, hot tears falling from your eyes like waterfall. “But I’m not leaving you.”

You shared another kiss. A deeper kiss this time around, as you felt each other’s lips embracing the remaining warmth it could offer. It was at that time where you realized that you had never felt any kind of love that was nearly as pure as that.

And across the water, on another lifeboat that was already rowing away from the titled ship, Arielle watched the two of you with tears gushing down her face. Her maid tried to rub her back, seeing that your romantic interaction with her then-fiancé was a sight for sore eyes. Though the frustration igniting in Arielle’s veins was hidden under her curtain of clothes, her hands were trembling as she clung to the edge of the boat. She was cursing the two of you under her breath, and could feel her heart breaking apart as the distance between her and Rafayel grew wider, especially as the realization sank in that he would never be hers. Not now, not ever.

But you didn’t see her. She was completely out of the picture between the two lovers on the upper decks.

Because you only saw Rafayel, and he only saw you. 

~~

Contrary to the quiet of the sea, the screams around you were deafening. 

The ship had tilted sharply by now, the deck at a steep angle, and every step urged you to fight against gravity. It was heavy, it definitely was. But you fought through it knowing that Rafayel’s hand was tightly intertwined with yours, his eyes scanning the rapidly flooding deck for any sign of a lifeboat, any hope of escape.

But there was none. 

The lifeboats were all gone, already drifting far away into the dark waters of the Atlantic, leaving behind only the desperate and the doomed. A distress flare shot up into the sky, bursting into a bright, fleeting light before fading back into the cold, endless night. It illuminated the panic-stricken faces around you for a moment, then disappeared, swallowed by the darkness.

You could hear the officers yelling for the boats to come back, demanding that they weren’t even half-filled. You could hear passengers shrieking as some of them slipped through the tilted floors, their bodies hitting the obstructions with a loud bang. Prayers were sent out by the priest who was holding onto a railing, with the other believers clutching his hand as the ship continued its incline. Others had already given up on staying on the ship, jumping instead to the crisp waters of the ocean thinking that their life jackets would be enough to keep them alive and afloat for another hour. 

Rafayel looked at you with a determined face, unfazed by the growing number of lost souls around him. “We need to get to the stern,” he urgently told you. “It’s our only choice.”

You nodded, your heart thumping loud and fast, and together you began to climb, pushing with your all might against the sharp incline of the deck. Water rushed in from all sides, pouring over the railings, swallowing everything in its path. But you wrestled against the pull, your muscles burning as you climbed upwards, gripping onto anything you could find—the rails, the sides of doors, anything to keep yourself from sliding back into the icy depths below.

“I’m falling—!” 

“I got you.” Rafayel was right beside you, pulling you up when your strength faltered, guiding you through the path. 

The ship groaned beneath you, the metal screaming in protest as it began to break apart, the sound like a giant beast roaring into the night. It was scary. God, it was the most frightening sound you had ever heard. But you kept moving, kept climbing, until finally, you reached the stern, the very back of the ship that rose high into the air above the freezing water.

“Quick. Cimb over!” Rafayel urged, helping you over the railing. “Hold on tight. No matter what happens, do not let go.”

You did as he said, your fingers gripping the cold, wet metal of the railing. It was getting more and more difficult for you to think straight, to think rational, as the temperature of your body dropped low. The stern was now almost vertical, towering above the rest of the ship that was disappearing into the dark, unforgiving sea, but Rafayel’s voice kept you steady and awake. He climbed over beside you, his face close to yours and the fog of his breath visible in the cold air. 

“Th-This is where w-we first met,” you reminded him, your voice trembling from the subzero temperatures. “Right h-here… on the stern.”

He displayed a small forlorn smile. “And it’s the best thing that ever happened to me,” he replied softly, his voice carrying over the wind as he briefly pressed his lips onto yours. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Y/N. I couldn’t exchange this memory for the world.”

You felt tears sting your eyes, your chest tightening because of this heavily poignant scene. The ship shuddered violently, and you gripped the railing even tighter as Rafayel reached out, cupping your face with one hand, his thumb brushing away a tear that slipped down your cheek.

“I never thought I’d find someone like you,” he continued, mellow eyes staring straight into your soul, “You’ve shown me what it means to truly live, to feel, to love. I saw the most beautiful art in you.”

“I love you.” You swallowed hard, feeling the lump in your throat. You couldn’t even hear your voice anymore as the words trembled on your lips. “I love you so much.”

He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead in return. “I love you, too. More than I ever thought possible. And I promise… after this night, you’ll be sleeping in a warm, comfortable bed. In my arms. Under a blanket. It doesn’t matter how, Y/N. As long as you’re safe. I won’t let go.”

“Raf—”

The ship groaned again, louder this time, and you felt it begin to shift beneath you, the stern rising even higher into the air. “Hold on tight!” Rafayel shouted over the roar, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close to him. “Just hold on!”

“Aaah!” 

“Haaaaah!” 

The ship tilted further, and you clung to the railing with everything you had, your body pressed against his, locked between him and the metal railings. It was ironic, truly, how the cold Atlantic wind whipped around you, while the stars above flickered like distant, indifferent eyes as if the universe was seeing all of it unfold. The clear skies could only watch the disaster like a silent audience. While deep below, the ocean was a dark, churning mass, ready to swallow everything whole.

“I’ll never let go.” You held your breath and leaned your face close to your lover’s chest. “No matter what.”

“Together,” he promised. “Until the very end.”

And as the ship continued its descent into the icy abyss, you held on, holding each other close, refusing to let go. The ship was slowly dragging you and Rafayel down with it, and you could feel the brisk waters rush up around you, like a torrent of cold that bit into your skin and stole the breath from your lungs.

“Hold your breath in as long as you can!” Rafayel shouted, his voice muffled against the growling ocean. You tightened your grasp onto the railing, your hands numb and slipping, as the ship sank deeper and deeper into oblivion.

And then, with a sudden, violent pull, the ship disappeared beneath the surface, and you were plunged into the bone-chilling depths of the North Atlantic. You expected the cold to be immediate and shocking, like a thousand needles penetrating your skin and making you numb. Yet, in spite of the lack of sensation, you kicked and fought against the water, your lungs burning as you struggled to find the surface.

Need… to stay… alive, you thought. For him. 

As soon as your head broke through the icy water, you gasped and choked on the cold air like a fish on the surface. Around you was a sight of horror—people flailing, gasping, some disappearing beneath the waves. Screams and cries filled the void, with their despair being the last horrifying things you had heard. You spun around, desperately searching for Rafayel, hoping that he was somewhere near. Safe. Alive. 

Then you saw him—his pallid pale bobbing up and down among the waves, his eyes looking for yours among the throng of flailing passengers. Without second thought, you swam desperately toward him and longed to be embraced by his arms again. “R-Rafayel!” 

“Y/N! A-Are you okay?” he asked, kissing your face over a million times that night. 

You two waded through the agonizing pressures of the polar water, and you tugged at his hand, suggesting you couldn’t move any more than you have. The exhaustion, the lack of oxygen, the subzero temperatures were beginning to overcome you. You were freezing to death. “I can’t… a-anymore!”  

“No, Y/N. You can do it. Come on, over there!” Rafayel shouted, pointing to a floating piece of debris—a wooden door bobbing nearby. He reached for your hand, guiding you toward it through the frigid water. “Climb up!”

With a tremendous effort, you managed to haul yourself onto the door even though your body was shaking uncontrollably from the cold. You reached out to Rafayel, pulling him toward the edge, but as he tried to climb up, the door tipped dangerously, threatening to submerge again. That was how he landed on a decision to leave it be. 

“It’s okay,” Rafayel murmured, his voice weak but accepting. “You stay. Stay up there.”

He remained floating beside you, ensuring no one would try and push you off the door, while his lips turned blue and his face became pale. You could hardly even recognize the color of his eyes, nor his hair, nor his once rosy cheeks. 

“Rafayel, p-please,” you begged in a raspy voice, desperately trying to pull your weak body up until he stopped you. “W-We’ll find another way.”

He shook his head, his eyes soft as he looked at you. His gaze was the only warm thing he could offer against the cold. “This… this is enough. Just stay there… please.”

Tears began to blur your vision, but they froze on your cheeks before they could even warm them. Still, you held his hand tightly, your fingers gripping his as if you could tether him to life itself. “All y-you did… since the d-day we met… was s-save my life.” 

“A-And I’ll s-save you again,” he struggled to speak as his body shook from the cold, his jaws clacking with every shiver. “I’ll save you again a m-milion times, okay? Y-You will live, Y/N. This isn’t where y-you’re supposed to b-be.” 

Holding his hand, you pressed a kiss on top of it. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

~~

The watch on your left wrist said it was already past 2:00 am, yet time passed by in an excruciating crawl. 

By this time, screams around you had long faded, replaced by the chilling silence of the dead and dying. You didn’t think there was anything more terrifying than the Titanic sinking, but this deadly silence was all and everything that would traumatize you for years to come. 

Your fingers were already benumbed, the cold penetrating deep into your bones, but you didn’t let go of Rafayel’s hand as you held onto him and prayed for a miracle. While staring into the clear, starry skies, you imagined how your life would become after this night. Perhaps, once the boats come back to rescue you both, you could truly start fresh with him. 

You could imagine Rafayel pursuing his passion for art by starting off as a small artist. You could imagine his paintings being celebrated again, and how you’d be by his side during his exhibits, proud of how far he had come without the help of anyone but himself. 

You could imagine your own bit of success too, having the chance to perform at Broadway, even as a mere extra, and being able to bring your mother and sister with you to live in the beautiful New York City. 

You could imagine all the beautiful kids you’d raise with Rafayel. Those mini carbon copies of his running around the house, playing around as carefree as their father. 

“Rafayel?” you whispered after a long silence, turning to him and shaking his hand lightly. “Where do we go after this?”

But his eyes were closed now, his face unnaturally still, his body half-submerged in the freezing water. His skin had turned a pallid blue, his lips white and cracked. No… You shook him harder, panic rising in your chest as his face was as solid as a block of ice. “Rafayel!” you called out, your voice trembling at the suggestion of his current state. “Wake up! Please… wake up!”

Silence. Nothing but heartbreaking silence. The lack of response made you sob, but you still managed to pull his hand closer to your chest, feeling your heart being torn asunder as you looked at him. “No, no, no… please, no…” You clutched him desperately, feeling the weight of his cold, unmoving body against the wood. “Rafayel, please. Please. Open your eyes. P-Please… You said you’d n-never let go.” 

Along with your quiet tears, the ocean around you had become lull as if a deathly silence fell over the waters. The shrieks and cries were no more, replaced by the soft lapping of the waves and the distant creaking of the lifeboats. 

And the Titanic, once called the unsinkable ship, was nothing more than a myth.

If not for the faint voice carried over the water, you would have passed out. But someone was calling out, a beam of light flashing your way, forcing you to stay awake. You turned your head, blinking away tears, and saw a lifeboat finally coming back. After what seemed like eons, the crew shone their lights around, searching for survivors, hoping to save anyone at all. 

But for the most part, they were too late. 

“Over here!” you screamed, waving your hand frantically as your voice wasn’t loud enough for anyone to hear. “Please, help us!”

The beam of light turned toward you, and you heard the oars slicing through the water as the lifeboat approached. Relief may have flooded through you, but then you looked back at Rafayel, his face still and peaceful, like he was sleeping.

“Miss, let him go,” one of the men in the lifeboat carefully said, reaching out to you. “He’s gone… you have to let go.”

“No!” you protested, holding onto Rafayel’s hand tighter, eyes filling up with tears again. “I can’t. I can’t let him go.”

“Please, miss,” the man urged, his voice softening into a pained tone. “You have to let go… or you’ll go down with him.”

Your chest tightened with agony, every fiber of your being screaming to hold on. To never let go. You promised him. You made a vow to him that you would figure everything out together. But as you looked at Rafayel’s face, so serene in death, you knew he was already gone. He had left long before you could say goodbye. 

Tears streamed down your face as you leaned down, pressing a final kiss to his cold, unresponsive lips. “I love you,” you whispered, voice breaking into a sob. “I’ll never forget about you.”

With trembling hands, you released your grip on his hand, watching as his body slowly slipped beneath the icy water, sinking into the heart of the ocean. Your heart shattered as you watched him disappear, Rafayel, the love of your life slipping away forever.

Strong hands soon pulled you up into the lifeboat, and you collapsed, your body numb and cold, but nothing compared to the emptiness in your chest. It was as though someone carved a massive hole in your chest, excavating your heart out, only to leave a hollow space. The men wrapped a blanket around you, their voices were barely registered in your mind as they asked if you were okay. 

But you weren’t. You would never be the same again. You stared out into the endless, dark sea, where Rafayel had disappeared, knowing a piece of you had gone with him, lost forever in the cold, unforgiving waters of the Atlantic.

~~

The room was quiet and still, filled with the soft light of the morning sun glowing through the windows. Meanwhile, you stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down your dress and your fingers trembling slightly as you adjusted the hem. The reflection staring back at you seemed almost foreign—older, wiser, yet with the same eyes that saw the tragic event that had happened in the years since that fateful night.

A soft knock on the door broke your reverie. Then, Zayne’s gentle and patient voice came from the other side. “Are you ready, love?” he asked, his tone careful, knowing this wasn’t easy for you. “We don’t have to do the interviews if you’re not feeling up to it. I’ll tell them you’ve changed your mind. No one can blame you.”

You turned around to meet his warm, olive eyes as he entered the room. His presence had always been a comforting, steady anchor in the storm that had been your life since the sinking. Beyond being your husband, he had been your rock, your safe harbor, ever since that day. He never pressured you, never pushed for more than you could give. He had simply been there, and over time, you had found solace in him.

“I’m okay,” you spoke almost inaudibly, though he could recognize the uncertainty in your voice, worried that you might not be able to go through an interview as a survivor of the most tragic maritime disaster in history. “I’m fine. I just… It’s surreal to me that it’s been ten years.”

Zayne nodded, coming closer and taking your hand in his, letting his thumb brush over your knuckles in a soothing motion. “I know,” he said softly. “But you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. If you do, I’ll be right by your side.”

You smiled faintly, the warmth of his hand reassuring you. But before you could respond, a younger voice suddenly cut through the room.

“Mom? Dad?” It was your son appearing in the doorway, his purple hair catching the light, and his eyes a striking kaleidoscope of indigo and magenta. “Can we go now?”

Your heart clenched as you looked at him—so young, so full of life, and yet a constant reminder of the man who had given him that life. The same man who had given you so much more than he ever realized.

“We’re coming, sweetheart,” you assured him, reaching out to smooth your son’s hair. He looked at you with a curious tilt of his head, and for a moment, you saw Rafayel’s mischievous grin, his playful personality shining through in the child you had brought into the world.

You exchanged a glance with Zayne, who offered a small, understanding smile. He had never asked about your traumatic past, about the love that you had lost to the cold depths of the Atlantic, because he knew that part of you would always belong to Rafayel. And he accepted that. He accepted you and loved you despite it.

Taking a deep breath, you stood up with a more determined mien. “Yes, we’re ready,” you said, more to yourself than to anyone else. 

The world deserves to know who he was, what he did… and his story.

As the three of you walked out of the room, your son chattered excitedly, blissfully unaware of the history you were about to share to the world. But as you looked at him, you saw Rafayel’s spirit through his eyes. Instead of it being a haunting image, you felt warmth spreading through your chest. 

Because Rafayel had given you so much more than a son—he had given you a story of a lifetime, one that was worth telling.

[anundyingfidelity]

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part VI)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.5k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: some suicide thoughts, very suggestive stuff, nudity, sexual tension barely starting, misogyny coming from you know who lol.

Notes: i was eager to drop this so here it is. hope i can make justice to the slow burn/slow sexual tension. aaaa as always thanks for reading!! ily all!

this fic tags: @k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak @drasticemotions @soldirboy @deans-spinster-witch

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | | Part VIII

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part VI: Don't Lay Your Red Hand On Me

“Where the fuck are we going?” Ben asked, checking the picture outside the windshield.

The sun was already setting down, and there have been hours since you started driving. At least he had been able to see the damn sunset again after being caged for so long.

Despite his questioning look and not trusting you completely, both made it to your car in the middle of the mess of blood and headless corpses around the building, with him naked under the effects of your invisibility powers. Somehow, you still managed to reassure Soldier Boy it was to protect him. In fact, as you guided both out of the place, you were scared of your abilities not working properly to have him covered. The last thing you wanted was the cameras to have a look at him, escaping with your help.

Now, with Soldier Boy dressed in his clothes and you still wiping some of the dry blood from your skin, you drove without a destiny in mind. Just somewhere you could take him far away from Homelander and Vought. He was, in fact, your top priority and needed to be protected, even if you knew you were nothing compared to his strength and abilities, you still had the urgency of him trusting you, to feel like you really cared. And you did care, but for the wrong reasons and those, he didn’t have to know.

“Far away,” you responded, picking up your phone with one hand as you drove through the highway.

“That doesn’t tell me anything,” he insisted, looking at you switching your attention between the device in your hands and the road.

You dialed Grace, ignoring his voice. She didn’t answer immediately. You cursed under your breath and dialed again. No answer anew, just the ring and the automatic voicemail message. Well, fuck. You had to play with what you had.

“Hey, it’s me,” you began the message. “Please call me when you can, I have to inform you of something. It’s urgent, please call me back.”

Ben rolled his eyes, annoyed as fuck for your silence towards his demands. “You’re gonna tell me now what the fuck is going on? You’re a fucking supe and everyone is dead back there! And not ‘cause of me.”

“First, nothing to fear from me. Okay? You’re the one who’d kill me in a blink. Second, I don’t know!” you yelled as a response, clearly irritated. “I don’t know shit! I know we need to run and that’s all. So just shut up and let me drive.”

“Christ on a cross, you women are fucking irritating,” Ben fumed. He saw a cheap motel by the road and he would’ve guessed you were going there because you slowed down and pulled up in the parking lot. He sighed. “Home, shitty home.”

“Got any ideas? Because I’m all ears,” you stopped the engine and got down the car, taking the sports bag with you. The supe rolled his eyes and before he went out, you came right to his half open door. “Stay here, I'll check in.”

Ben shut his eyes, watching you closing the car door with a loud thud, and you left to get a room. He felt the need to storm behind and shout out what he really thought of your stupid ass bossing him around. If it wasn’t because he wasn’t really half the way out of the fucking car, he should have been arguing and insisting for some real answers. But for some reason he stayed back. When you came back after a short time he followed you to a double bed room you’d be using just for the night.

Once you entered, you decided a shower was first thing on the list, and then you had to communicate with Grace as soon as fucking possible. Checking around, you were thankful to find a couple of towels in the bathroom, while Ben settled on his own space, lying down on one of the beds.

He observed you thoroughly as you studied yourself in the dirty mirror hanging on the wall. The disgusting grimace you made told him you were looking for more blood to wipe off. And before he could speak again you turned to see him.

“I'm gonna take a shower,” you announced.

He raised a brow. “Mind some company, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes as you started to unbutton your blouse, his eyes checking shamelessly the little exposed skin didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Don't even think about it.”

And with that, you just disappeared inside the bathroom. The noise of water running compensated both of you for the silence. He turned on the cheap TV to have some noise for himself too, deciding he’d go for a shower after you. Probably if he was in a different mood would have just tried to get in your pants. Ben was getting so damn stressed out. First you took out his weed, then you announced he would have medication for his fucking stress disorder or some shit, and later, agents and employees of the facility just started to die violently without reason. He thought if any of you would be next while you walked him out.

It was too much to handle right now. He needed something to take it all out. Something, anything, somebody. Just to release it the only way he knew: with sexual pleasure. He didn't understand yet what the fuck was happening. Did you really care about him? You could just have left him there to handle everything by himself and run away. Yet, you took him out of the facility and he, once again, had a glimpse of your courage. Maybe a little. And he started to like that. Suddenly, he heard the shower being turned off and minutes later you came out of the bathroom sooner than he expected, dressed in the same clothing, drying the droplets on your face and wet hair.

“I’m gonna get some dinner, stay here” you announced, taking your phone and the room and car keys. “The door will be locked, don’t do anything stupid.”

Ben scoffed, standing up before making his way to take a shower himself. He faced you directly, just a couple of inches separating both of you. Your gaze challenged him to step closer. “I’m not a fucking animal.”

You hummed, without looking away from his eyes. “Sometimes I doubt you.”

“Locking the fucking door won’t do shit, why you keep doing this?” Ben asked, visible confusion on his features. He really looked tired as hell. Tired of your bullshit.

“It’s not because of you. I perfectly understand that, just wait for me here.”

With that, you turned on your heels and left the room. From the other side, you locked the door. Ben let out a deep breath. He knew it was easy to tear it apart, and again, run after you to have damn answers for once. But instead, he decided to calm himself a little and get rid of his clothes. Inside the shower, he let the warm water take care of the burdens he was carrying, without knowing, on his back. He wondered if he’d been better dead by now, if sleeping in a chamber was a greater choice than this, just running along with you, a woman, who just seemed to fuck him up even more instead of playing real like you had promised. If he knew how to kill himself, probably would’ve done it already. He was getting sick of hiding, of being a fucking experiment, to be under someone’s else’s orders… The worst part of it all is that he never had the right to choose on his own faith. Not even his own death.

Out of the room, you were a few feet away from the door you left behind when your phone started to ring softly. An unknown number appeared on the screen and cautiously you answered, making your way to the car, getting inside on the co-pilot seat.

“Hello?” a voice you knew too well started to speak after some seconds of silence.

“Grace?”

The woman on the other line breathed out. “Yeah, it’s me. Uhm, couldn’t attend earlier, sorry…”

“It’s okay,” you shook your head, as if she could see you face to face. “We’ve been compromised. My lab assistants, the nurses, scientists, guards… Everyone is dead.”

“Fuck,” Grace hissed. She sounded exhausted. “Where is Soldier Boy?”

“I took him out, checked us in at a motel. Can’t go back to my old place. Not yet.”

“You have the copies of the project, right?”

For a moment you felt she was doubting you, but you answered anyway, surprised she would even ask that. “I do.”

There was a little silence coming from her. You continued. “I don’t think I told you yet, but… Fuck, I received a visit from Homelander a couple of days ago. He crashed into my apartment… He knows.”

Grace cursed under her breath. “Y/N, we’re playing with fire here.”

You swallowed thickly, feeling your heartbeat raising. “What’s going on with you? Something happened back there?”

“Victoria Neuman came, saying she wanted to talk to me. She kinda threatened my life, and I’m on the run… Now I can make the puzzle.”

“You think they might be working together?”

“Probably. Senator Bishop was found dead, and guess who is running now with Robert Singer for vice president.”

You chuckled. The whole situation was so ironically clear. “Victoria, that stupid, smart bitch.”

“I’m gonna get some information on her, I know some people who’d know more than I do. I’ll call once I find something.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for that. Do you need me to do anything?”

“Just keep Soldier Boy busy. Work on that injection as soon as you can,” she ordered.

You nodded to yourself, taking a look around the empty lot. “Yes, ma’am.”

After a somewhat long time, Ben saw you entering the room and locking the door. You left a paper bag and water on the nightstand by his bed, where he laid down like he was having a nice day on the beach with only a towel around his hips. He noticed you looked down at him a little longer than usual, but he wasn’t going to let that slip. A sleazy smirk formed on his lips.

“My eyes are up here, sugar.”

You turned away your gaze for a moment before looking back up at him again, confident this time as you locked up your eyes with his half-lidded ones.

“Stop the pet names, Soldier Boy.”

Ben stood up on his feet slowly under your eyes following his moves. His muscular frame towering over your figure as the towel fell to the floor, revealing his bare figure to you. He was growing fond of the way you didn’t step back, ever, from him.

“Well, you never complained back there. Speaking of,” he took the bottle of water between his hands and took a sip from it before his green orbs focused on you anew. “I think you owe me an explanation.”

“I already told you. I don’t know shit.”

“Fucking lies,” the supe hissed. “Tell me now.”

You shrugged and crossed your arms on your chest, tired of him. “I have nothing.”

“Sweetheart, you never shut your piehole during our sessions. Don’t back up now,” he dared, stepping closer to you, eyelids narrowing.

Neither Ben or you dared to look away. You had to act like it, for your good. What if Soldier Boy found out that probably Homelander was behind all of it? It was going to be the end of him, his son; the fucking abusive experiment would be gone with a blast. But Vought was still around. It wasn’t just about Homelander or personal payback. It was more than that.

Homelander was barely the tip of the iceberg. And you were afraid Ben would never understand the mission. Would he say yes to use his blood to create even more experiments after all he went through, even if you explained everything? You knew his answer. The next step was getting it from him and it was going to be the hardest thing ever. But you could think of that later. There was nothing that a small cut accident couldn’t do.

“I’m not talking because I have nothing to tell you, Ben,” you lied, looking at him with your brows knitting together. “I wish I knew, but I’m just as scared as you might be.”

“I’m not scared,” he replied a little too fast. “I want to know why you took me out.”

“Why not?” you insisted. “You deserve another chance.”

And I need you alive to find a cure to this curse.

Ben scrutinized your face. This time, he couldn’t read through you. What did he know though, was that he was tired. A burning ache was forming inside him once again and he needed to release it. He was used to sensing your heartbeats, the blood running on your veins, and still now there was no glimpse of you reacting to his teasing. Any other woman would have thrown herself at him, he was used to it. Now, there wasn’t anyone. Just you, paying no attention to his perfectly sculpted body and his cock between his legs. It had to be the fact that you were a supe. Not as powerful, but still. A clear advantage in the cursed world you all lived in. He took in your body, thinking into luring you to give in and imagining how it would be to have you crying under him, moaning his name exactly like numerous women have. Just for the night.

“Don’t think about it, Soldier Boy,” you voiced out, like if you read his nasty mind. “I’m not gonna do that.”

His eyes went back to your face. “Y’know, I used to have lines of women like you during my days. Countless lines of rich whores, waiting to have a good fuck with me. Pretty ladies whose husbands would leave unattended, cute little secretaries, bombshell Hollywood actresses… All of them, just wet holes ready for me. I’d take them all.”

You chuckled at his pathetic little speech. If that was his way of getting you to bed, it wasn’t working. Not now, not never.

“I’m not just any rich whore, Ben. I don’t want to fuck you, you can use the bathroom to take care of your little problem down there.”

You saw how his jaw clenched as he held his eyes with yours.

He smirked. “Maybe not today, pretty thing. But you’ll see.”

“Be my guest.”

Ben turned around, giving you a clear view of his ass as he locked himself inside the bathroom. The sound of the shower running was not enough to cover his moans and grunts as he jerked himself off. You just decided to sleep. There was a long drive waiting for you in the morning.

[bumblesimagines]

Jocelyn (the idol)

there is no "us." we were never anything.

it was just for fun.

i haven't been with anyone since.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

CW/TW: Possible ooc behavior I did not finish the show Sam Levinson stop ruining female characters challenge (impossible), soft angst?, drug mention, mentions of Jocelyn's mental breakdown

Show was ass but Lily-Rose did really well with what she was given

(Y/N) stared up into the twinkling night sky, the sound of distant city traffic mixing in with the music still playing throughout the house despite the party slowly coming to an end with more and more people returning home or passing out somewhere in the house. He wondered if the paparazzi outside the security gates had already slunk back to their miserable lives or if they continued lingering about to snap photos of those who came and went. They'd always been a pain in the ass to deal with like greedy vultures constantly flying about in hopes of getting a shot of something juicy. He was sure there'd be articles written and posted with photos of his car entering the premises with clickbait titles and headlines. 

"There's a party going on... and you're out here looking like you're at a funeral." Jocelyn's familiar voice filled his ears, the clicking of her heels growing near until she stood beside him and plucked the cigarette from his fingers. She brought it to her tinted lips and inhaled, smoke soon slipping from her mouth. "Come inside and have a drink with me. It's been a while since we last spoke." 

"There's not much to talk about, Joce." He told her, tilting his head to look at her. 

Jocelyn looked just about the same since the last time he saw her face to face, if not a bit healthier and happier. She'd been unpredictable then; the mixture of drugs and alcohol she used to cope with the neverending grief over her mother's death sent her down a dangerous spiral of constantly shifting moods and impulsive decisions. It'd been exhausting being around her, especially when one minute she despised him and the next nobody would be able to pry her off him. In the end, Chaim and Destiny were forced to admit she was truly unwell and had her admitted to a hospital. 

"Well, there's your new album, the new movie you were in, and my upcoming single." Jocelyn pointed out with a soft chuckle, her head cocking to the side. Her eyes softened. "There's also.. us and what happened." 

"There is no "us." We were never anything, Joce. We were barely even friends. All we ever did was have sex and argue every time we recorded." (Y/N) took the cigarette back, taking a deep breath before he butted it out and flicked it out toward the cliff. Flirting, drinking, taking pills and powders they should've ignored, hooking up, recording a song or two, arguing over random things; it was an irritating cycle that pushed his limits and patience. "It was just for fun."

"We went out together to clubs and events or did you forget that? We were something. Maybe not a couple but we were more than 'barely friends.'" Jocelyn scoffed softly, her eyebrows furrowing and jaw visibly clenching. "No matter how much you say that it was all for the fans and to get them hyped for the songs, you can't deny we had something." 

"We were fuckbuddies at most, Joce. I don't get why you're still hung up on that."

"Because I haven't been with anyone since! I thought about you while I was recovering, while I was in that hospital trying to get better. I... I thought maybe we'd be serious when I was discharged . I.. I thought you would at least be kind enough to visit after but you went full fucking ghost on me. And maybe the worst part is that I still want you."

[andreal831]

Outside of Elijah/Klaus (cause there was absolutely 0 reason both of them died), which character in all of TVDU do you think had the most unnecessary/dumb death?

Honestly Klaus and Elijah aren't even in my top. Yes, both of them dying was dumb, but there are so many other death's that were more unnecessary. At least Elijah and Klaus made it to the end of TO.

Some honorable mentions: Hayley, Tyler, Gia, Josh, Enzo, Jo, Lexi, Sophie, Eve, Jesse, Aaron, Aya, Jackson, all of the hybrids, Carol, Henry, Celeste (first time), Genevie (first time and kind of second time). I'm sure there are more.

But my most unnecessary/dumb death is Cami O'Connell.

There was zero reason for her to die and it was because she wasn't meant to die. I firmly believe she was meant to be the school psychologist in Legacies. It would have made so much sense for her to be there for Hope after Hope lost so much of her family. It also would have allow a woman on the show to have a happy ending that wasn't centered around a man. Her happy ending would have been watching over Hope and helping all of the supernatural children, fulfilling her family's destiny.

Cami still had so much of a story left to tell. She was so young and full of promise. She lost her entire family due to the supernatural world and then was forced into it herself. If anyone in TO is a parallel to Elena, it is Cami. Her family legacy was so entrenched in the supernatural that it was only a matter of time before she herself was pulled into it.

Even her death made no sense. Lucien wanted to hurt Klaus for 'stealing' Aurora from him, but at that point, Lucien had the ability to kill Klaus. Sure, maybe he wanted him to suffer, so why not go after Hope? She was out in the bayou essentially unprotected (let's be honest, what could Mary have done?).

Even if we accept Lucien wanted to make it even by taking away Klaus' love, how did they not save her? Like two days later the entire Mikaelson gang is bitten and Freya just magically thinks of a way to freeze them and save them all? They couldn't have thought of that a little quicker? It's funny how they always manage to think of life saving magic when the plot/Mikaelsons require it, but there's no other options when it comes to sacrificing other characters.

Even if we accept that she died, they really didn't even make an effort to bring her back? Davina was able to be brought back from the dead after her soul was shredded. I know the other side was gone at that point, but let's not pretend the show didn't just bring back characters with very little rhyme or reason. The Mikaelsons didn't even attempt to find a way to bring her back.

And no one even say it was to help Klaus' character development. I hate when women are killed to further a man's development. It was clear in the writing that Klaus still needed Cami for his development. He was just at the brink of trying to be a better person, he was nowhere near done. We can clearly see this in the amount of scenes Hayley becomes ooc in order to be Cami for Klaus. Or Caroline coming in season 5, which made no sense, was clearly meant to be Cami.

Cami was an O'Connell and this meant something in New Orleans. People who claim her character was just a love interest were not watching. Her character was going to unite New Orleans. Not Hayley, not Hope, and definitely not the Mikaelsons. Every faction adored her. Marcel and Vincent loved her and would have done anything to keep her safe. The Mikaelsons each loved her outside of her relationship with Klaus. She would have always been a mother figure to Hope, no matter what her relationship was. Hayley loved her as well. We don't see her interact with the wolves too much but that's because they were largely forgotten in the writing. But every faction loved her and respected her. Her legacy was fixing the war in New Orleans. Which I love the writers just kind of dropped and everything magically go better when the Mikaelsons left, even though the war had been going on longer than the Mikaelsons were there.

The writers had not planned to kill her off but because of the toxicity of the fandom, they killed her off. This is just bad writing. They writers often cared more about ratings than the actual art of story telling and the show suffered because of it.

Thanks for the ask! What other deaths do you all think were unnecessary?

[hanlimz]

[hanlimz's 200 event!: sunghoon + 3 (hugs) and 14 (kisses)]

synopsis: forbidden relationship, dangerous consequences, and tender love. / for my love @nyxvrse <3 mwah love u sm ! hope u enjoy~ pairing: knight!y/n x prince!sunghoon genre/warnings: fluff, angst if you squint / some mention of death (no one dies tho), poor historically accurate dialogue ㅠㅠ, maybe ooc sunghoon (?), idk a descriptive kiss? wc: ~1.7k (OOPS LOL) a/n: why is it always Not my biases that i write the longest fic for ? like? my hee fic is staring at me with over 6k words rn n my need to write for sunjaywon is off the CHARTS but my brain won't let me LMAO ㅠㅠ / anyways, this is a part of my 200 followers event! feel free to request!

sunghoon is urging you forward with a solid hand encircling your wrist. his touch tethers you to reality, and the clarity you experience in his presence is addicting; colors are more vibrant, every new rush of adrenaline echoes throughout your entire body, and the crisp, morning air burns as it finds its way down to your lungs. sunghoon's fingers press into your flesh in the same way he has been etched into your heart. as you run, dewdrops bead on the worn leather of your work boots—the remnants of the night's storm having not yet been victim to the summer sun. the loose fitting linen of sunghoon's casual attire ripples in the breeze, and you find yourself mesmerized by it. mesmerized by him.

under the canopy of a large willow tree, sunghoon stops. his breathing is heavy and labored, and he has to lean against the damp bark of the tree to chase after it. still entranced by his natural beauty and hidden away from the rest of the world by the billowing branches, you take a hesitant step closer to sunghoon; he glances up at you and allows a hint of mischief to swim in his gaze. even through his fatigue, his lips manage to quirk up at the corners, and his grin sends a wave of heat flowing over your body. however, his playfulness and your susceptibility are both dangerous. there are rules to follow, and there are consequences for breaking them. fraternizing outside of kingdom-sanctioned duties is strictly forbidden, and a mistake could cost you your life.

a knight is never meant to fall in love with royalty, and you are no exception.

as sunghoon skirts his hand to rest at the taper of your waist, he bunches the fabric of your training blouse betwixt his slender fingers and tugs you into his lean frame. the tip of his nose brushes against the side of yours, and his mouth ghosts over your cupid's bow. prince sunghoon is poised, graceful, and positively hypnotizing. like the pied piper, his song has enchanted your very being; he's taken your heart in his hands and flipped your world of order and rigidity on its head. however, a phantom of doubt haunts your thoughts, forcing you to pull away and leave him wanting.

"your majesty—"

"please, [y/n] ... i've told you how i want you to address me—how much i loathe that ridiculous title escaping your lips," he cuts you off, reaching up to cup your cheek. the warmth of his hand blossoms against your face, and you like to think that the lines of his palms foretell stories of a shared future, a joint destiny. "call me by my name."

"sunghoon ..." you protest in spite of his seemingly magnetic pull, "you know the punishment for this is severe. if we're found out here, together ... it would spell danger for the both of us."

he simpers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "well, it's good that i have you to protect me, then. don't you agree?"

"you know that's not what i meant."

"i know," he replies, attempting to hold you infinitely closer. the tantalizing scent of jasmine and citrus mixes with the mint leaf he had been chewing on earlier, and you have to stop yourself from falling even deeper under his allure. "but, tell me then what i should do? what should i do when i'm in love with someone who i'm unable to love freely? tell me, [y/n]—what danger is greater than the threat of a life where i am left without you?"

sunghoon is greeted with an obtrusive silence. in the quiet, you can feel his beautifully deep eyes searching your face for any semblance of fear or reluctance. his calm seas of umber seep through the cracks in your stony facade like the natural stream that had made its way past the castle walls. when you glance up at him, the familiar hint of mischief in his gaze is replaced by two pools of sincerity and assurance. sunghoon's certainty frightens you; his willingness to pour out his heart and allow it to lay bare is enough to leave you dazed.

"you are who i want, [y/n]. you are who i need," he declares, pressing his forehead against yours. "in every life after this one—i know i will love you all the same."

his words are reminiscent of ice water cascading down the plains and valleys of your body. his love is a foreign concept to you, and the raw emotion in his voice is almost too much for you to handle. sunghoon's passion glows through his royal attire; it warms the tips of your fingers that had gone numb with nerves. hot tears welling up behind your eyes appear pearlescent as they catch the emerging sunlight. sunghoon has let you into his soul, and—by doing so—has taught your caged heart the intricacies of pure adoration.

desperate to feel him against you once more, you let your wet eyelashes ghost over the apples of his cheeks. "i'm taken by you, prince sunghoon," you whisper, "you're like nothing i've ever had the pleasure of indulging in before ... soft skin, kind heart, gentle hands. every part of me is rough—jagged and sharp." as you inhale, sunghoon records the bridge of your nose under the pad of his thumb. a fond smile graces his delicately charming features, and you find yourself compelled to tell him the truth.

"i don't want to hurt you, sunghoon," you confess, attempting to ignore the urge to succumb to the methodical swipe of his fingers against your cheekbone. "i want to be able to be tender with you—to cook dinner with you, to hang your laundry next to mine on the line, to call for you when the sun sets so we could watch it side by side. i want to hold you in my arms and keep you in my heart, but i'm afraid of what my love might look like—what it might do to you."

sunghoon is still smiling after you finish; his hands are still mapping the way your body feels beneath them, and the unadulterated devotion in his eyes has yet to waver. "you won't hurt me, [y/n]," he says, a fiery gleam of determination blazing in his gaze. "you could never hurt me."

"how can you be so sure, sunghoon?"

"because, i know you," he says, simply.

"you know me?" you reply, unconvinced.

"i know the way you love, [y/n]," sunghoon urges. "i saw you scrub floorboards and mop the marble when my sister's lady in waiting had fallen ill. i watch when you go into town to play quoits with the children. i know you sneak some of your leftover dinner for mister kwon when he works late nights in the marker. and, i've woken up to see your head resting on your folded arms at the foot of my bed more times than i'm able to count." he chuckles and glances at the grass, "you're already tender and soft and sweet, and i find it absurd that you don't believe so yourself."

blood boils under your cheeks, "well, those were—"

"let me show you," sunghoon proposes, and you're thrown off by the severity of his tone. leaning in, he brings his mouth to brush over yours, "will you let me show you how tender you are?"

air is punched from your lungs with the weight of his question. you know exactly what his words imply, you are all too familiar with the peril that lurks deep beneath them. darkness looms over you; it overtakes your vision for a moment as you consider the conflicting emotions warring within, but sunghoon is patient. each of his movements reflects the slow ascent of the sun in the late morning sky; he coaxes you from your cocoon to bask in his light, bathed in all of the warmth he knows you deserve. it feels good. it feels like silken bedclothes and summer fruit and muffled laughter. it feels right.

"show me," you murmur.

and within seconds, sunghoon is kissing you.

it begins like two feathers tickling your lips; in this manner, his mellow nature is not lost on you. his hands are star-crossed spirits dancing up and down the length of your torso. sunghoon lingers everywhere he can reach, committing the way your body thrums in his palms to memory. though, like a series of symphonic movements, a newfound vigor awakens in him; greed and hunger flow together with all the love he has for you, and sunghoon charges forward. he hums into your mouth as his fingers curl into the stifling cotton of your day clothes. you push back, splaying a fervent hand across the expanse of his neck and pulling the hair at the nape of his neck. stumbling in a wonderfully disordered waltz and swaying like the branches above your heads, the two of you kiss until you run out of breath to share.

when you pull away, sunghoon starts to laugh. the sound is rich and full, a resurgent melody before the conclusion of a piece. inhaling proves to be difficult as the both of you recover from going without oxygen for so long, but you deem it trivial. your heaving chest, your pounding heart, your trembling legs—they make you feel like more than just a cog in the kingdom's machine. they make you feel human. they make you feel alive.

pressing your forehead to sunghoon's, your labored breaths mingle once more. "i'm taken by you, prince sunghoon," you say again.

his amusement turns boyish, and sunghoon cannot contain the bout of giggles that escape from past his lips. in a flash, his grip tightens at your waist; slender fingers dig into your flesh, and you almost yelp until the surprise melts away. in sunghoon's arms, you experience flight for the first time in your life. he turns with you in his hold, various hues and shapes bleed together as the world is likened to a watercolor painting, and you swear a pair of wings sprouts from between your shoulder blades. they seem remain even as your feet touch the ground, manifesting in the form of your heart fluttering with untamed freedom and fierce love.

"and i, you, [y/n]." sunghoon replies, "my knight in cotton armor."

you chuckle at his silly response, and in this moment, the world seems incredibly small. enamored with one another, two dewdrops meet at the conclave of their respective blades of grass. joining together, indulging in the quiet, becoming one beneath the decades old willow tree—they have not yet fallen victim to the summer sun, and it feels good. it feels right.

[magical-girl-trucy]

I think I've finally figured out what bothers me so much about Spirit of Justice, and what about it feels OOC. It's not just the flanderization, it's the refusal to let these characters change.

Phoenix already got his aa4 privileges taken away in Dual Destinies, but it's so much worst in SoJ. During Rite to the Turnabout, he never once thinks about what's going to happen to Trucy if he's gone. In fact, when Phoenix is threatened with getting cursed or whatever, he thinks about Apollo and Athena, without even bothering to think of Trucy. It doesn't really make sense.

They flashback to the class trial, despite that being around 25 years ago. As if that still has such a grip on his life when that doesn't make ANY sense now.

And, of course, there's the first half of Turnabout Revolution. When Maya is kidnapped, Phoenix...does not tell anyone about it, lets himself get blackmailed, fights FOR the killer despite knowing ahead of time that the archeologist's death was not an accident. This not only is out of character, this goes against what he learned all the way back in the SECOND game! And it has to be Apollo to push Phoenix out of it, just like what Edgeworth did in Farewell. It is infuriating.

Then there's Maya, who, if you recall, ends Trials and Tribulations with wanting nothing to do with Khurain anymore. She is thoroughly traumatized by everything that has happened. And what do we see in Spirit of Justice, 8-9ish years later? STILL "in training" to be the master. They threw her into a lingo, as if she didn't even exist at all, then completely ignored her character development in T&T, just like they did with Phoenix. Just...why?

With Ema, it's the opposite problem. I'm fine with off-screen development, but they threw away so many aspects of her characterization in aa4. What was even the point of making her an investigator if she was still going to have to be the lead detective? What change actually was there to her job? Was this just an excuse to make her less bitter? The sad munching animation and the sappest puppy dog eyes in the world is good though that can stay.

Don't even get me started on Athena btw because I could make an entirely separate post about her.

If I wanted to dig even deeper, I could talk about Larry in Turnabout Time Travel because what the actual hell did they do to him. That isn't my man. But I think I've gotten my point across.

(No complaints about Pearl btw she's the best written returning character in this game outside of Apollo and Trucy and I am not joking)

[mcntsee]

Decade

Summary: Kaz Brekker x sister! reader. Facing the aftermath of crows’ departures, a dangerous job was proposed, tensions rose, and Kaz’s façade wavered and a sacrifice was made. Based on this request.

Warnings: Sacrifice, violence, grief, “death”, Kaz is ooc at one point

Y/n and Kaz stood at a crossroads, both literally and metaphorically. The sprawling city, a web of treachery and ambition, seemed to mirror the shattered remains of their once-undefeatable crew. The passage of time had etched lines of experience on their faces and shadows of pain in their hearts, leaving Y/n to bear witness to the transformation of her brother, Kaz, into a colder, more enigmatic version of himself.

As each crow had departed, Kaz had grown increasingly desperate and reckless. Inej had set sail to find freedom on the open sea, Wylan and Jesper had left the criminal life behind for a “normal” existence, and Nina had been taken from them after the heart-wrenching loss of Matthias. With each departure, Kaz’s grasp on control seemed to slip, his grip on the world loosening as if trying to reclaim the pieces that had been stolen from him.

The glint of determination in Kaz’s eyes had given way to a consuming darkness. A storm of unresolved emotions that raged beneath his meticulously constructed façade. Each separation had chipped away at the carefully crafted armor he had worn for so long, leaving raw wounds that festered in the shadows. His desperation, once buried deep, now oozed to the surface in the form of reckless schemes and increasingly dangerous jobs.

Y/n had borne witness to this transformation, watching as her brother’s demeanor grew colder and his tactics more extreme. The warmth that had once lingered in his gaze when he looked at his fellow crows had faded, replaced by a calculating edge that had been honed in the crucible of their struggles. Kaz had become a riddle even to those who had known him best, his actions driven by a relentless pursuit of control and vengeance.

The dimly lit room seemed to hold its breath as Kaz’s voice wove intricate tales of danger and deception. The details of the new job hung heavily in the air, but Y/n’s growing unease was impossible to ignore. “This sounds like a suicide mission.” she had finally blurted out, her voice a mixture of frustration and genuine concern.

Tension crackled in the air, an electric current charging the atmosphere. Kaz’s gaze bore into Y/n’s, his defiant expression a reflection of the turmoil that churned beneath the surface. Their words clashed, leaving wounds that cut deeper than any blade.

In the midst of the storm of words, Y/n’s voice softened, a tremor of vulnerability threading through her words. “I miss the old you, Kaz.” she confessed, a sense of longing in her voice. For a fleeting moment, the impervious façade that Kaz had constructed wavered, revealing a glimpse of the brother she had once known. “That version of me is dead, Y/n.” he replied, a touch of sorrow tainting his words.

The charged exchange reached an impasse, marked by an intriguing directive. “Meet me outside the club in three hours.” Kaz commanded, his words heavy with an unspoken weight.

Their rendezvous led them to ascend a towering building, the sprawling panorama of the city unfolding below them. With each step, the weight of their shared history pressed upon them, the bond that had once united them now stretched thin. The rooftop awaited, a stage where the threads of fate were manipulated by Pekka Rollins, orchestrating a cruel and twisted dance.

The confrontation erupted in a sudden burst of violence. Guards emerged from the shadows, their movements swift and practiced, ensnaring Y/n and Kaz in an iron grip. Pekka’s grin held a malevolent gleam, a puppet master relishing his control over their destinies.

Pekka positioned Kaz in front of him, the barrel of a gun trained unwaveringly on Kaz’s form. Y/n was restrained across from them, held captive by a guard’s steely grip. A chill crept down Kaz’s spine as Pekka’s grin twisted into a sinister snarl. “I’ve had enough of you, you barrel scum.” Pekka spat, his words dripping with venom. The unmistakable click of the gun’s safety being disengaged sent a shiver through the room, the sound amplifying the threat that hung in the air.

Y/n’s heart raced as the tension reached a fever pitch. In a moment of heart-stopping determination, she lunged forward, her elbow connecting with the guard’s nose with all her strength. The guard staggered back, blood streaming from his nose, and for an instant, the grip on Y/n loosened.

With an adrenaline-fueled burst of energy, Y/n sprinted towards Pekka, her eyes fixed on the gun pointed at Kaz. The guard reacted quickly, his gun drawn and fired. The first shot found its mark, striking Y/n in the shoulder. Pain exploded through her, but she pushed on, her resolve unbroken.

The second shot seared through her calf, a fresh wave of agony crashing over her. Yet, fueled by sheer determination, she continued her charge. With a surge of strength, Y/n launched herself at Pekka, a whirlwind of determination and fury that shattered the room’s fragile balance.

Their bodies collided, a tangle of limbs and desperation, as Y/n tackled Pekka over the building’s ledge. In that split second, the world seemed to freeze as Pekka’s eyes widened with shock. The wind howled around them as they plummeted, the abyss below consuming them.

Kaz’s senses sharpened as a heart-stopping clarity settled over him. “No!” he roared, his voice a raw and desperate plea. His heart thundered in his chest, his eyes locked on the figures plummeting into the abyss. His sister—his world—disappearing into the endless darkness.

As Y/n fell, a whirlwind of memories swirled through her mind. Moments of shared laughter, secret confidences, and the unbreakable bond she shared with Kaz danced before her eyes. With a final, steadying breath, she closed her eyes, embracing the unknown that awaited her.

Kaz’s gaze remained riveted on the void, his knuckles white as his fists clenched. He strained to catch a glimpse of Y/n’s form, his silent prayer echoing in the night. But as seconds stretched into an agonizing eternity, a cruel reality settled over him. She was gone. “No…”

Ten years had passed since that fateful night, a decade of shadows and whispers that wrapped around Kaz like a suffocating cloak. In the aftermath, he had become a phantom, rarely seen beyond the confines of the Crow Club's walls. He had exacted vengeance upon each of the men who had played a role in Pekka's ambush, leaving a trail of death in his wake. But the weight of his sister's sacrifice lingered, an indelible scar etched into his soul.

He had returned to the Crow Club that night, his movements robotic and his demeanor cold. Locking himself in his office, he had shut himself away from the world for months, consumed by a maelstrom of guilt and grief. Jobs became an afterthought, the thrill of the heist no longer able to fill the void that had been left behind.

However, a decade later, Kaz had finally mustered the courage to venture into Lij to meet with a contractor. The air hung heavy with memories, each step a reminder of the past he had tried to bury. As he navigated the streets, however, he found himself haunted by visions of his sister—fragments of her, an older version, lingering at the periphery of his vision. He dismissed them as figments of his tormented imagination, a cruel trick his mind played on him.

After signing several contracts, Kaz found himself wandering the market, surrounded by the hum of life that continued to thrive even in the face of his own despair. It was there, amidst the bustle and noise, that he heard a voice call his name—his real name, not the alias he had adopted to shield himself from the world. He spun around, muscles tensed, ready to face a threat. But instead, he was met with a sight that sent his heart into overdrive—Y/n, standing before him, her smile a bittersweet echo of the past.

Kaz's breath caught in his throat, his mind a whirlwind of disbelief and confusion. He muttered something under his breath, his voice wavering. "This is not real. You've lost it, Brekker." His instinct was to retreat, to put distance between himself and the haunting apparition that stood before him.

Yet, Y/n stepped forward, her gaze unwavering, and spoke words that cut through the walls he had built around himself. "You'd think after ten years my brother would be happy to see me again." Her words held a lightness he had long forgotten, a playfulness that once defined their relationship.

In that moment, something shifted within Kaz. For the first time in his life, he found himself battling the ghosts of his past, his fears, and his overwhelming need for control. His brain urged him to flee, to escape the impossible reality that seemed to mock him. But there was something different this time—an ache in his chest, a yearning for the connection he had lost.

Y/n's smile was a lifeline, an anchor in the storm that raged within him. In a swift motion, he disregarded the barriers that had once kept him safe. With a vulnerability he had long suppressed, Kaz closed the distance between them and enveloped Y/n in a hug—an embrace that was both desperate and tender.

Y/n laughed, the sound a melody that echoed through the market. She hugged him back, the weight of a decade's worth of absence and longing evaporating in that simple gesture. While their bodies were locked in the embrace, Kaz's voice trembled as he finally uttered the words that had haunted him for years. "I thought you were dead."

Y/n's response was soft, her hands gently cupping his face as she drew back slightly. Her left arm trembled, a detail that didn't escape Kaz's notice. Her words were an invitation, a lifeline thrown to a brother who had long been lost in the darkness. "Let's have some tea and catch up?" she suggested, her voice carrying a warmth that melted away the years of isolation and pain.

Kaz nodded, a simple gesture that belied the torrent of emotions surging within him. For the first time in a decade, he allowed himself to lower his guard, to let go of the fears and ghosts that had held him captive. As they walked side by side, the bustling market around them fading into the background, Kaz dared to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, he could find a sliver of light amidst the shadows.

Y/n began to walk, and Kaz followed in her wake, a hesitant anticipation in his steps. Before long, they reached their destination—a modest house that held the secrets of his sister's life over the past ten years. Y/n attempted to unlock the door, her left arm trembling once again. He stepped forward, a silent offer hanging in the air. "May I?" he asked, his voice gentle. Y/n's smile was her response as she handed him the keys, her gratitude evident in her gaze.

As they entered the house, Kaz's eyes roved over the surroundings, each corner a tableau of memories he had missed. He moved from picture to picture, his gaze lingering on each frame as he studied the portraits adorning the walls. His sister and a man stood in one photograph, their smiles frozen in time. He continued his exploration, his eyes tracing the presence of the same man in several portraits. There was a story woven within the frames, one that begged to be unveiled.

His steps carried him to a picture of two children, their innocent faces frozen in a moment of laughter. He opened his mouth to inquire about their identities, but before the words could escape, a cacophony of joyous voices shattered the silence. Two children burst into the room, their boundless energy a stark contrast to the years of solitude Kaz had endured.

"Ma!" they exclaimed in unison, their arms reaching out to embrace Y/n. She welcomed them with open arms, the love in her eyes a testament to the years they had shared. As the children released their hold, the older brother pointed at Kaz and asked a question that tugged at the corners of Kaz's lips. "Who is that, ma?"

Y/n's laughter filled the room, a melody that danced upon the air. "That would be your uncle Kaz," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of mirth. Kaz's gaze shifted from Y/n to the children, his heart a mix of awe and surprise. The younger of the two gasped, his small hand covering his mouth as realization dawned. "You have the same name as me!" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with wonder.

“Kaz, this is Jordie,” said y/n while pointing at the oldest who in response gave a shy wave, “and this is Kaz.” she said while pointing at the youngest. Kaz found himself speechless for a moment, his mind swirling with emotions that defied description. The sight of his nephews, the legacy of the family he had believed to be lost forever, left him humbled and amazed. With a steadying breath, he knelt down, his movements deliberate as he met the gaze of the two children.

"Can I get a hug?" he asked, his voice soft but sincere. The response was immediate and joyful, a chorus of laughter and footsteps that rushed towards him. Small arms enveloped him, their embrace soft but firm none the less.

As the echoes of their joyful laughter began to fade, Y/n gently turned to her children, her voice filled with warmth. "Why don't you two go upstairs and play for a while?" she suggested. Without hesitation, the young boys bounded away, their laughter and excitement filling the air. With a shared glance, Y/n and Kaz watched them go, a silent acknowledgment of the profound moment they had just shared.

"Tea?" Y/n's voice broke the stillness, the simple question carrying a sense of normalcy amidst the extraordinary circumstances. Kaz nodded, his gaze lingering on her as he made his way to the table. Y/n quickly prepared the tea, her movements deft but accompanied by the persistent tremor in her left arm. She placed the cups on the table and settled down beside Kaz, the fragility of her condition at odds with her unwavering strength.

Kaz's eyes shifted from the tea to Y/n's arm, his curiosity piqued. "Why is your arm shaking so much?" he inquired, his voice carrying a note of concern. Y/n looked down at her trembling arm, her fingers gently tracing the path of the trembling. Her words were soft, carrying a weight that only a decade of silence could give. "It hit one of the rocks in the water when I fell ten years ago." Her fingers moved in a soothing rhythm, a gesture of self-comfort as she spoke the words that had haunted her.

"Nerve damage," she continued, her voice tinged with resignation. "Hasn't stopped shaking since." Kaz's gaze shifted from her arm to meet her eyes, the concern etched on his features palpable. He regarded her with a mixture of understanding and compassion, a silent acknowledgement of the pain that had woven its way into her life.

His next question was gentle, a gesture that sought to bridge the gap between the years they had spent apart. "Does it still hurt?" he inquired, his voice low and tinged with a vulnerability that he had rarely shown. Y/n's response was honest, her eyes holding his as she offered a glimpse into her reality. "Some days more than others," she admitted, her words a testament to the resilience she had cultivated over the years.

As they sipped their tea, the room seemed to embrace the fragile peace that had settled between them. Y/n's eyes held a genuine curiosity as she turned the conversation toward him. "What have you been up to in these past years?" she asked, her voice gentle. Kaz's response was measured, his words guarded yet filled with a quiet certainty. "Just casual business."

The exchange led to a shift in the conversation, and he inquired about her life with equal curiosity. Y/n's smile held a hint of nostalgia as she began to speak of the man she had met—Ezra. His name resonated in the air, a key to unlocking the chapters of her life that had been hidden from him. "We got married," she explained, her gaze distant yet filled with a quiet contentment. "And a little while later, came the kids."

In the quiet of that moment, as the teacups sat forgotten between them, the years of separation seemed to fade into the background. The echoes of a past that had haunted them both began to soften, replaced by the tentative hope of a future that held the promise of healing and renewal.

@thescorpioscrow I changed some stuff, and for that I apologize. Writer’s block was not helping me. Hope you still enjoyed it!

[johnwickcaretaker]

OOC Post from the Author: Down with the High Table Summary

Here's a summary/masterlist of the events from the Down with the High Table roleplay, so that people can reread it more easily. I really like organizing things, if you couldn't tell. Events may be slightly out of order because timelines were converging and threads formed with multiple people, but I did my best to include all the posts and to faithfully summarize what we did. - @thewhumpcaretaker Tags for participants: @evren-sadwrn @rosevette @r1-jw-lover

As the numerous faked deaths of the High Table members and associates came to light, John Wick watched his friends turn against each other. Akira Shimazu pursued Caine, the D’Antonios, and the Marquis de Gramont on a vengeful murder spree. Gianna sought to kill her brother. The Marquis de Gramont was being hunted for failing to complete his contract against John.

John was angry.

He realized he had to bring them together against the system that had done so much damage to all of them. So he sought out the Bowery King to distribute a declaration of war on the High Table. First, he would take out High Table communications, preventing his allies from being stormed by hundreds of hitmen constantly (although hitmen would still converge on locations known to be important, such as the Continentals). Then, they would take out all High Table members and Continentals who opposed the revolution, along with their assets.

John spent the first night taking down the Accountants in New York, while others joined his cause around the world. The rebels took out communications in all other cities except Paris, where WUXIA Radio was putting up a significant resistance.

Meanwhile, the High Table members responded to the call. Akira reluctantly joined the rebellion because she didn’t want to be on John’s bad side. But she insisted that he promise her the Osaka Continental would be protected, to which he agreed, ordering all of Osaka’s rebels to defend the Continental. Gianna sided with the High Table, stating that it was her destiny to rule. The Marquis’ contract was expanded to include taking down the entire revolt, and in frustration with the High Table, she sided with John.

The Adjudicator responded to John’s declaration of war with a promise to take down the rebellion. They then asked Akira to stand down, and moved against the Osaka Continental when she refused.

While fighting commenced in Osaka, John flew to Italy to kill Gianna and tasked the Marquis with persuading WUXIA Radio to join their side. It was around this time that news of the rebellion reached Sofia Al-Azwar, and she offered her forces in support of John. Akira warmly welcomed her. After learning that John had teamed up with Vincent, Sofia sent reinforcements to Paris to keep an eye on him, because she was suspicious of his loyalties. She herself planned to go to Osaka to help Akira.

Gianna was preparing herself for the imminent fight, and for her probable death. John begged Gianna to reconsider, and Akira suggested that she ask John about life outside the High Table. Once John reached her, Gianna agreed to surrender if John would help her fake her death so that she could live a peaceful life of cats and gardening. He agreed, and announced her death.

The Marquis succeeded in persuading WUXIA Radio to side with them, because his ex worked there. He had also been sober for three days. John congratulated her on both accomplishments, and tasked him with taking down the Paris Continental, which had sided with the High Table.

The battle for Osaka had taken a turn for the worse, and Akira told John that she needed immediate support. He flew to Osaka, and not long after his arrival, The Adjudicator withdrew, and Akira announced the withdrawal. However, John sustained severe bullet wounds during the fight. He fell unconscious.

Meanwhile, the Marquis got a very emotionally manipulative email from The Adjudicator. Due to the stress, she abandoned his leadership of the Paris Continental fight and relapsed.

John woke up to see this and responded with frustration, before realizing that the Marquis had actually taken too much and passed out. John then wrote a long apology, unsure whether the Marquis would live to read it. He also shouted at The Adjudicator and hung up on them.

But there was no time to rest. He flew to Paris and took down the Continental, despite still having bullet wounds and a broken rib. He used adrenaline shots to get through the battle, and won, but suffered a small heart attack. Vincent awoke and the two reconciled. Still feeling protective over Vincent, John suggested that he seek shelter in New York, as he was incapacitated and couldn’t do much to help if anything happened to him. But Vincent refused, because she was scared of Winston after shooting Charon.

While the Paris drama was unfolding, Akira and Sofia were bonding over their shared annoyance with John and his war. Sofia flew to Osaka to help Akira rebuild, and expressed motherly affection for her, which made Akira very happy.

The Adjudicator continued to bicker with the Marquis, who asked John if she could blow up their Administrative Office. He responded, “Please do. In fact, that’s your new assignment: blow up the administration office as soon as you can.”

As Easter morning dawned in Europe, The Adjudicator told Sofia to stand down or see the Casablanca Continental deconsecrated. Sofia refused and began preparing for battle. She was still in Osaka, and John was not available to help. So she and Akira requested help from Katia. Katia agreed to send troops to Casablanca, and even gave a blood marker to Akira as assurance of her loyalty. Katia and The Adjudicator reached Casablanca in quick succession.

However, shortly after the battle began, Katia agreed to a “chat” with The Adjudicator. Concerned, Sofia prepared to fly to Morocco. Katia subsequently switched sides, so that the Casablanca was now outnumbered two-to-one. She also told The Adjudicator where Sofia’s daughter was hidden.

John and Sofia flew to rescue her daughter, leaving Akira to continue rebuilding the hotel. Sofia gave a rousing speech to keep her troops motiviated. Meanwhile, John and Akira continued to ponder why Katia would switch sides. When Winston told John that The Director had not been seen since last night, he realized that The Adjudicator’s forces must be holding her hostage in New York, using her as leverage against Katia. John began to have an internal crisis over The Director’s safety and his complicated feelings about his childhood.

Akira offered to go to New York to rescue The Director and made quick work of that task. Once there, she found that the situation in New York was not as stable as they had thought. The Adjudicator’s troops were preparing to attack the NY Continental. It would not be safe to bring Sofia’s daughter to NY as they had planned.

Simultaneously, John and Sofia fought their way through a hostile Berlin to the ballet studio where Katia’s hitmen were waiting to intercept them. John told Katia that The Director was no longer in danger, and she switched back to their side.

The Marquis successfully burnt down the Administration Office with all exits locked, causing The Adjudicator great distress which they expressed by writing an “EMERGENCY MEMORANDUM.”

John asked him to go to Casablanca, but he paid no attention and instead asked if he could start burning down High Table bases at will. John said yes.

John, Sofia, and Katia made the perilous journey back through Berlin to the airport, then flew to Osaka to drop off Sofia’s daughter. Sofia was still shaken by the danger her daughter had been through. After landing, John immediately got back on the plane to return to Casablanca.

As the final day of the revolution began in Europe, the Marquis informed John that he had destroyed the vehicles on the way to New York, as well as many bases, taking out most of The Adjudicator’s forces in the area and securing the region once more.

The Adjudicator, meanwhile, had continued to bicker with the Marquis, this time over his bounty. The Adjudicator tried to raise it even further, but was informed that the High Table did not have a sufficient budget for that.

As he flew back towards Morocco, John questioned The Adjudicator about their reasoning for siding with the High Table and taking such violent measures in its defense. They explained that they wished to restore order, and feared that John’s new world would be a dictatorship in which he was allowed to do anything he pleased on a whim, and let him subjects fight amongst themselves without restraint.

John explained that he hoped to hand over control of the High Table to an elected official (probably the Bowery King), and that he hoped the organization would become an ethically-run justice system operating outside of governments, acting for the protection of civilians. Upon realizing that such a system would need adjudication and a delicious amount of paperwork, The Adjudicator gladly switched sides and withdrew from Casablanca, effectively ending the war.

John announced that the High Table had fallen. He left the post-war reconstruction efforts and elections in the capable hands of Akira, Sofia, and the Marquis, and went home to rest. And finally, Sofia retired and went to live at Osaka with her daughter and Akira.

[pray-they-see-you]

𝔓𝔯𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔬 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔒𝔫𝔢 𝔚𝔥𝔬 𝔚𝔞𝔱𝔠𝔥𝔢𝔰, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔶 𝔰𝔥𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔤𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔱 𝔟𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔰 𝔢𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔩.

alt text: Pray to The One Who Watches, and They shall grant bliss eternal.

𝔖𝔱𝔢𝔭 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔱𝔥, 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔩. 𝔗𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔪𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔱𝔬 𝔩𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢.

alt text: Step forth, young soul. There is much to see and much to learn here.

<< welcome, welcome! glad to see you've stumbled upon my humble little dsmp sona rp blog !! >>

<< my name is [REDACTED], but you can call me ace! boo works as well if you're coming from my c!ranboo rp blog @vibrant-eyed-one >>

<< some info about my sona/muse; they're usually known as The One Who Watches, mostly by their followers and other mortals, though their most common nickname outside of this is Spector >>

<< they go by they/them (tolerates he as well though it's rare outside of worship from followers) and serve as a guardian/spectator of sort, keeping a close eye on fate/destiny/how things are supposed to go/etc and ensuring that nothing intervenes with that >>

<< they're technically a repurposed mortal soul, they were once a player but their soul was repurposed upon their final death - due to a screwup in the ascension they have no memory of their mortal life and they have no defense against command codes, which leads to XD using them to toy with mortals (they're scared of him as of now, fully terrified of Prime as of post-smiting [like being in their presence alone will make them panic terrified] and are neutral about Venus) >>

<< some deets about their followers; they're known by the title the followers of the truth, having created the title themselves (spector had no part in this, their followers started using this on their own and they were like "alright i guess this is a thing now" lol) >>

<< tags; >>

#they watch... - roleplays

#answer their calls - answered asks

#amongst the gods - roleplays with other divine characters (usually gods/deities)

#let ace speak - ooc stuff

<< Spector drawings coming soon !! workin hard on a design for them wheeeee >>

<< dividers by @cafekitsune !! my eternal devotion to the makers of free-to-use dividers frfr <3 >>

[digi-dest-stories]

Miraculous Destiny AU Lore

OC characters in this AU! Most of these are reoccurring or important OCs in the school. There's only one that's not technically an OC and that's Liam. He's just possibly OOC, since I don't know much about him.

Some of them did get changed as I was writing this.

~~~~

Main/Secondary-

Alicia: One of Sammi's best friends and classmates! She's a big fan of animes, specifically ones that contain magical heroines. So when the superheroes appear, specifically Glitter Lucky, she fangirls (which is a bit awkward and flattering for Sammi). She'll try to constantly talk to the heroine whenever she sees her swinging around town and is always excited when they get to have an actual conversation. Outside of this, she's a very sweet girl who does her best to make everyone feel happy and included.

Blake: Another one of Sammi's best friends and classmates! A little more shy compared to Alicia, but still just as friendly. They enjoy hanging out with their little friend group, though they don't really talk much compared to everyone. They just kinda stay around in the background and listen to conversation around them. They don't enjoy getting roped into dangerous situations though, such as when Alicia wants to run off to watch the heroes despite the school telling them to go hide somewhere safe.

Tobias: A character who I changed to appear later on, as opposed to him immediately being part of the group. He's a new kid who arrived later on in the school year, transferring over from homeschooling. He was a bit reserved at first, preferring to keep his own company, before Sammi somehow roped him into her friend group. Despite their friendship, they know little about him, as he doesn't really talk about himself. He's whipsmart and observant, able to identify when Akumas or Digimon are about to be manifested.

Casey: One of Reiner's friends and his 'second-in-command'. They're a rather laid-back person who keeps their other friends in check and makes sure their boss/friend isn't too stressed. Though they're not a flashy hero like Dark Claw and Glitter Lucky, they still do their best to help out during Akuma/Digimon attacks. Usually just trying to herd civilians and bystanders out of the way, so that the heroes can get their job done without worrying about others. It takes a lot to get them upset or overly emotional.

~~~~

Completely Secondary (Mostly in the background but sometimes have important appearances)-

Liam: E.R.'s big brother! He's just as friendly and as goofy as his little brother, though much less accident-prone. Though friendly, he is somewhat overprotective of E.R. He won't protest against his hobbies, but he does disapprove of some of the more dangerous stunts. And his friendship with Riot, since he's still skeptical of his change in behavior. He's also good friends with the Mayor's son, Gary. He tries to encourage his friend's interests and hobbies, especially given how happy it seems to make him.

Vivian: One of E.R.'s friends, nicknamed Viv. She's got the biggest crush on him, which he is oblivious too (just like how she's oblivious to his obvious crush on someone else). She gets flustered around him easily, making it obvious. She's friendly, though a bit overwhelming and very chatty. She's also rather clumsy, seeming to trip on nothing but air most of the time. It's a fact that she's embarrassed by, though her friends reassure that it is alright and that she's fine.

Alexander: One of E.R.'s friends, nicknamed Alex. They met at a skatepark competition, where E.R. had accidentally been launched off a ramp and ended up crashing into him. The two became fast friends in the hospital room, sharing tips and tricks with one another. He's a hyperactive guy who enjoys the thrill of life and who is in the hospital almost as much as E.R. He doesn't have nearly as many broken bones though. He thinks the heroes are the coolest and gives them his full support.

Diana: One of E.R.'s friends, nicknamed Dia. The one who's a little more relaxed compared to everyone else. She prefers to just hang out and watch the others, usually being the one to persuade them away from the more dangerous stunts. It doesn't always work, given the nature of her friends, but she still tries. Like E.R., she keeps a medical kit on her just in case of emergencies - Which, between all the akumas and digimon and stuff, happens a lot. She really admires what the heroes do, though she worries about Lucky given her age.

Finn: A self-taught coder and self-proclaimed hacker who is homeschooled. He has declared Grayson as his 'rival', mostly out of jealousy and admiration of the other's computer skills. He always sets up competitions or puzzles to see how the two compare, keeping track on who wins the most. Despite their rivalry, they do hang out from time to time, because they're both just lonely kids at the end of the day. He doesn't have much company (or friends) otherwise. He's a sweet kid, if not a huge dork.

Sammi's Classmates (Just Names): Maria, Juniper, Tyrone, Dennis, Tyler, Henry, Vickey, Gale, Alva, Jake. They have some individual character traits that I won't delve into, at least not in this post.

Reiner's Friends (Just Names): Nico, Kenzo, Arata. Former members of his 'gang', now just a group of friends that like to hang out together. They do still treat him like he's their leader, though most of their actual commands come from Casey.

~~~~

Antagonistic Secondary-

Julianna: One of Henrietta's "friends". Typical mean girl, who talks trash about other people and enjoys playing cruel 'pranks'. She instigates the most of the bullying and pressures the other two into helping her. She's from a richer part of town, which is how she met Henrietta, though she only befriended the girl because she was the mayor's daughter. Her parents had told her to get close with her to make their own family look better. She's very unpleasant and little people enjoy her company, not even her friends.

Ariana: One of Henrietta's "friends". Another typical mean girl, who likes to listen to gossip and spread rumors about people. She's almost always scrolling on her phone, texting her friends or posting on social media. She's good at lying and can weasel her way out of any situation with the use of fake tears. She's convinced everyone she's the best of the three, even though she is actually the worst. She wormed her way into the friend group in order to gain a better status, since she's not from a well-known or prominent family.

Ivan + Chris: Riot's former friends, who used to help him bully other kids. They're still bullies themselves and pick on basically everyone in the school. Sammi's one of the few kids they leave alone, only because they're afraid of Reiner, who has previously beaten the shit out of them. They also leave Riot alone for the same reason - Like Reiner, he kicked their asses just by himself.

[tartarusrising-rp]

OOC INFO

Name/Alias: T Pronouns: He/They Age: 32 Timezone: GMT-3

IC INFO

Character Name: Sophia Barton Character Age: 40 Character Birthday (with year): May 1, 1984 Gender & Pronouns: Cis Woman, She/her Affiliation: Civilian Occupation: COO of a Business Conglomerate Faceclaim: Katie McGrath

BIOGRAPHY

Sophia Barton should be the heir to one of the most powerful business empires in the country. Should. This is what she had been trained for her entire life, anyway. While other teenagers were out partying and worrying about prom dates, Sophia was preparing for a future that had been planned out for her since before she was born.

She was good at it, too. Sophia excelled in that kind of structure and pressure. When she was finally old enough to take an official role in her mother's company, it was obvious to everyone she had what it took to succeed. Being Cordelia Barton's daughter came with its set of advantages and open doors, but Sophia earned what she got.

In fact, Sophia earned quite a bit more. Thanks in no small part to her business acumen, Barton Industries saw a growth much more expansive than projected, and it seemed like it would be a matter of time until Cordelia retired and let Sophia fully take control of their empire for good.

That never happened. In fact, Cordelia made sure to accept most of the credit for the growth of the company, both privately and publicly, and little by little made her intentions clearer and clearer: she wasn't going to retire; the company wouldn't be Sophia's for a long time.

Sophia's frustration with the turn of events was difficult to hide, as much as she supported her mother publicly. Her destiny was being kept from her, and no matter how much she tried to convince her mother to let go, she never inched closer to success.

What Sophia didn't expect was for help to come from the outside — and from nefarious means to boot. Of course she was aware that Tartarus existed and likely walked among her peers, but she never saw herself as a potential ally; and that was exactly what was offered.

For inside information and access, they offered to undermine Cordelia's influence and boost her own, and resources to build her own empire should she choose, and the death Barton Industries.

It felt too easy, that certainly it was her mother's move to find a reason to get rid of her for good, but the more she was contacted, the more she was convinced the offer was true. Another matter completely was whether to accept it — Sophia had always played it by the book. Fiercely, yes, but without breaking a single law. Did she have it in her to change that?

The answer was no, until Cordelia told her to her face she didn't have what it took to run her company without her help. That night Sophia shared the information she had about a merger she conducted with her informant in Tartarus. A week later, one of her mother's loyalists in the board of directors disappeared mysteriously during an international trip.

It cannot be denied that the deal is working in her favor but also guilt and uncertainty have started to creep in. Cheating was never her way of solving problems, and neither was violence. Either way, however Sophia may feel about her choices, it is far too late to change her mind now.

[shhlima]

Congratulations JANA, you have been accepted into the University of Lima as BREE BROWN!! To keep your spot at UoL make sure that you send us your account within 24 HOURS and complete the CHECKLIST. But beware, Shady Lima is just waiting to expose your secret!

OOC INFO

NAME/ALIAS: Jana PRONOUNS: she/they AGE: 33 TIMEZONE: est ACTIVITY LEVEL: 7/10 mon, wed and fri are tougher days for me PREVIOUS RP BLOG: [removed for privacy] ANYTHING ELSE?: nope!

INTRODUCTION

Hey, Lima, I’m BREE BROWN but everyone calls me BREE, I identify as a CIS WOMAN and use SHE/HER pronouns. I was born on FEBRUARY 16 making me TWENTY years old and an AQUARIUS. Most people call me the ICE QUEEN, maybe that’s because I am INTELLIGENT but also GUARDED. If I had to describe my vibe, I would say it revolves around PERFECTLY MANICURED NAILS, FLAWLESS SKIN AND A FUCK ASS BOB. Of course there is one thing I hope no one ever finds out, and that's THAT I MAKE ONLY FANS CONTENT. Anyway, on a more fun note, people always say I look like RYAN DESTINY.

FAMILY INFORMATION

HOMETOWN: Westerville, Ohio, USA FAMILY: Brown TYPE OF SIBLING: full BIRTH ORDER: middle PARENTS STATUS: married POSSIBLE SIBLINGS: full, half and/or adopted

SCHOOL DATA

YEAR IN SCHOOL: Junior MAJOR/MINOR: Philosophy Major (pre-law) & African American Studies Minor EXTRACURRICULARS: cheerleading (tumbler) & Mathletes LIVING QUARTERS: two bedroom off campus apartment OCCUPATION: OnlyFans content creator (anonymous)

HEADCANONS

Growing up her parents demanded absolute perfection out of her because what purpose was there in doing something if you weren’t going to perfect it. she has spent her whole life pushing herself beyond what an average person could handle and it has built her into a gifted and brilliant young woman but it has also fostered impossible standards that have made her critical and judgmental toward others and herself.

Despite her impenetrable and untouchable fortress of an exterior, she is a deeply sensitive and insecure person who is most insecure about her inability to attain perfection, even though, logically, she knows it's impossible, it's how she was raised, it's what her parents have always expected of her. Because of this she has always prioritized succeeding and overachieving which has left her feeling as though she is always on the outside and that she is alone. No matter how many teams or groups she joins, there is everyone else and then there’s her. it’s made her the kind of person who pushes people away before ever really getting close to them.

Given all of the pressures and expectations thrust upon her every second of everyday by her parents, her coaches, her professors and herself, it shouldn't be surprising that, two decades in, she needed an escape. Truly, she tried everything, roller sating, cooking, both of which she loves but when that didn't help, she tried kickboxing, she tried music, she tried painting, nothing seemed to quiet her mind and let her feel... free. Then on a whim, she created an instagram, laydee_lilith, she just wanted a space where she could be herself anonymously. It wasn't until she posted a bikini photo that she started getting more engagement, even without showing her face.

It is worth noting that she is not an easy person to get to know, she is not an easy person to love, she will test you in a million different ways rooting for your failure while secretly hoping for your success. However, if you manage to gain her trust, her loyalty and her love there is no mountain she won’t climb, no ocean she won’t swim, there is nothing she wouldn’t do for you.

Feeling wanted and desired was fine, but what made being laydee_lilith so addicting was feeling like she could be anyone. For once Bree didn't have to be perfect, she didn't have to be much of anything, she could just exist in her body and it was enough. So when her following said she should start an OnlyFans, she did. Now a year and a half after she first created her instagram, she feels pretty good about her ability to be who everyone wants her to be and have laydee_lilith just for her.

[soraavalon]

DM: [something] is like 'Hey guys, isn't it weird have you guys ever noticed that there's always six of us?' Tark (OOC): *laughs* Yeah! DM: 'Even when one of us isn't there, there's somebody else comes in immediately and there's always like six of us, isn't that weird?' Tark (OOC): Except that no one can take the place of Tark, 'cause he is like irreplaceable. DM: Yeah, but he's not around sometimes. Moriarty (OOC): The one time he didn't show up Nathaniel got grabbed... Tark (OOC): Alright! Alright alright! Tark still feels guilty about that, leave him alone! Moriarty (OOC): *laughing* Eudora (OOC): It's definitely Tark's fault. Tark (OOC): Yeah! He thinks so. Eudora (OOC): The only reason that happened is because Tark wasn't there. Tark (OOC): Yeah! DM: Tark is a narcissist, of course he thinks that. Tark (OOC): I know, that's what I'm saying. Nathaniel (OOC): Fruits, say your thing. Marigold (OOC): Oh, I was saying have we ever noticed that the Bag Man and Tark are never in the same place? -laughter- Tark (OOC): Ah, you foiled my plan! Marigold (OOC): He's always carrying around a Bag of Holding. Tark (OOC): You uncovered my plan! My Bag Man plan. DM: [something] Bag of Holding. Stealing hot boys. Tark's the Bag Man. Tark (OOC): Tark's the Bag Man. Eudora (OOC): Confirmed. Tark (OOC): #Tark'stheBagMan DM: It's a slippery slope from creating Dispel Magic to crawling into the Arcane Weave. Tark (OOC): Right? Nathaniel (OOC): Oh my god. Tark (OOC): You never know. The Bag Man could be outside of time, so it could be that Tark turns into the Bag Man. And then goes back and is like 'You're kind of cute.' Nathaniel (OOC): I think I've [something] about Moriarty. Moriarty becomes the Bag Man. There's so much potential here. Tark (OOC): There is. DM: We know time is weird in Relni. Nathaniel (OOC): Nathaniel himself could be the Bag Man, who knows? DM: True. We know time is weird in Relni 'cause there was the whole thing with the Saints of the Sunmaker. Tark (OOC) & Hunt (OOC): Yep. DM: That he was like 'I'm picking twelve in this order... Oh shit, wait they're not being born in that order. Meh, it'll be fine. They'll figure it out.' Tark (OOC): It'll all work out. Eudora (OOC): Something something saints, destiny, something something. DM: Yeah. Tark (OOC): Something mumble mumble, I don't know what to do, mumble mumble.

[xaracosmia]

ꕥ — WELCOME TO CATA COSMIA, KAFKA. 🌓

ꕥ  — OOC INFORMATION;

name / alias: kyuu age: 29 pronouns: any ooc contact: twitter/tumblr @ kyuu333 other characters in xc: ryuunosuke naruhodou (ace attorney), an shiraishi (project sekai), missile (ghost trick)

ꕥ  — IC INFORMATION;

name: Kafka age: Unknown (25+) pronouns: he/she/they series: Honkai Star Rail canon point: version 2.0 (Penacony part 1) app triggers: manipulation, mind control, spider & insect motif

personality:

Kafka is very amicable on the surface. She always seems friendly, calm, and elegant, never really losing her cool or getting angry. She approaches everything with an air of curiosity and playfulness. However, there's always something unsettling about how she carries herself. She has a dangerous aura, and her honeyed words are difficult to trust…unless she forces you to trust them. She has many secrets and enjoys being mysterious, so it's hard to tell when she's being genuine.

While she's always lighthearted and smiling, she is capable of murder and manipulation without batting an eye, and is definitely not above petty larceny. She has a habit of not following rules. If people try to kill her, she’ll return the favor. She has a bit of a sadistic streak and likes to “play with her food” to be dramatic. Among the Stellaron Hunters, she’s the one who most resembles a deadly thespian. She has no problem with collapsing societies and dooming worlds if it's needed to complete her missions. Business is business, after all.

Outside of that commitment, however, she seems to hold no intense ill will towards anyone, especially not towards innocent or ignorant parties. She’s self aware about her reputation and doesn’t take any scorn or harsh words personally.

She enjoys violin, classical music, and very fancy coats.

something your muse struggles with: an inability to feel any fear at all.

your muse’s greatest strength: an uncanny ability to keep her cool at all times, which helps her play mind games.

history / background:

Kafka is an infamous outlaw known across the stars, yet much about her remains a mystery to the public. She is a human hailing from the planet Pteruges-V, “New Babylon,” a world contaminated by Stellaron. The people living there are unable to feel fear, and she is no exception. She was a Devil Hunter, hunting people who had become “devils” when their lack of fear drove them to be dominated by desire and pleasure.

One day, someone named Elio, “Destiny's Slave,” approached her and recruited her to join the Stellaron Hunters. Her lack of fear leaves a void in her heart and mind that she can't comprehend. Elio promised her that if she worked with him, he could help her change that part of her. Thus, she became his second in command and a menace across galaxies and beyond. She and another Stellaron Hunter named Sam were Elio’s earlier members – they worked together to recruit Blade and Silver Wolf, following Elio's instructions. All of the Hunters follow his “script,” as he has the ability to see future possibilities. They regularly go on missions to ensure that they are headed towards their desired destiny; oftentimes it involves stealing Stellaron. The heinous crimes that Kafka and the others commit across worlds are, presumably, all part of the script. It’s possible that some of it is just for fun, though.

At some point, Elio brought Stelle/Caelus – a vessel artificially created to house Stellaron – to Kafka, and told her that the two of them would change each other. They are each other's destiny. Kafka became their mentor and taught them everything – general knowledge, common sense, and how to fight. Afterwards when she dropped them off at Herta Space Station so that they’d be recruited to the Astral Express, she wiped their memory of her.

powers / abilities:

Spirit Whisper - with the right words, she can manipulate minds. This ability allows her to do a variety of things to someone's psyche, from temporarily taking control of their actions and thoughts to erasing entire memories. If she wants to be flashy about it, she can conjure strings of energy resembling spider silk, and whoever it touches falls under her control. The strings are also capable of physical damage.

Lightning Aspect - she's able to apply shock damage to her every attack, which can cause lingering DoT (damage over time). As she belongs to the path of Nihility, the DoT effect is quite potent. It’ll last, and it’ll hurt.

inherent abilities: 

-incredible agility, made more impressive that she can be this fast in heels

-impressive combat prowess, from her experience as a Devil Hunter

items / weapons:

-a katana with a red blade

-two sub machine guns

starting ability: Spirit Whisper starting item: katana

extra: 

-She’s named after the Bohemian Jewish novelist Franz Kafka, and her design is specifically inspired by The Metamorphosis with all her insect motifs.

-Her bounty back home is 10.899 billion credits, which is the highest bounty between her, Silver Wolf, and Blade.

-She’s pan and fuck it I’m giving her all the gender.

-I’m gonna be REAL meta here and say that Elio foresaw the mfrp isekai incoming and warned Kafka about it. However, all he told her is to not be concerned, as it won’t alter the script. So she was like okay <3 yay <3. She knows absolutely nothing about the premise coming in and she prefers it this way. It’s more fun.

discord id: nessun.dorma. passcode: my criminal wife i like her

[the-king-andthe-lionheart]

Considering how the fandom behaves, if any other character heard the voice of their dead father coming out of a heart tree to give advice and strength to his child, they’d never shut up about it.  We know from experience that Stansa’s take the most innocuous things and overblow them and talk about it at length.  If what happened to Arya happened to Sansa we’d never hear the end of it.  It would be dissected and interpreted as Sansa having some great magical destiny, and that it means she’ll be the next ruler of Winterfell, etc. etc.  But because it happened to Arya, everyone dismisses it, says it was nothing but Bran when there is legitimately no proof it was him, and then never discusses it.  Everything about Arya’s arc is dismissed and never discussed in the general fandom because people hate that she’s a Key Five Player and one of the heroes of the story.  She’s constantly mischaracterized to the point of completely shredding her character and she’s constantly demonized and relegated as a “weapon” or a “lapdog”.  So yeah. we Arya fans are going to keep talking about this and calling people out and trying to make fans of the books see that what they think they know about Arya (because either they’ve never read her chapters, or shallowly did so, or let the show establish clear biases against Arya’s character even though Arya was OOC in the show since Day 1, or let extremely biased anti Arya meta and analysis influence them) is wrong.  And we know it’s wrong because every time I see someone discussing Arya outside of our group, it’s always garbage fanon.  For instance, someone the other day legitimately said in the ASOIAF that Arya’s favorite song was the Danny Flint song and how messed up that was because that song was about r*pe.  This was completely untrue.  But apparently a quote by Wyman Manderly in ADWD (a quote by the way was not saying “Arya” likes the Danny Flint song, but a song about the Long Night, so this person also can’t read to save their lives), a man who barely knows Arya, apparently knows what song Arya likes.  Yeah, sure.  Like I said, garbage interpretation and a blatant mischaracterization of Arya making her seem like some sick monster who loves songs about SA.  And this is what we have to deal with on a daily basis.

"The fandom: *crickets*"

Do you consider yourself and the many Arya stans and others who have talked about this to not be part of the fandom, then?

This, lady and gentlemen and non-binary folks, is a trap... But you know what, I feel like taking the bait.

I am part of said fandom but because I'm part of it, does that mean I am not allowed to criticize it ? Am I not allowed to feel annoyed when my favorite character is treated badly by the fandom and call people out when I feel like it ? This is still my blog, if you were annoyed by the generality, then just block me and move on.

Genuinely why are you there ? Don't you have anything better to do. ? This not the first time I've talked about Arya and how I think she is badly treated by the fandom in general and it's probably not going to be the last time.