#but this is set in Titans universe
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I'm a real sucker for matching variant cover sets so I'm starting an appreciation series for them!!
Starting off with my all-time favorite set, World's Finest: Teen Titans #1-6 variant covers by Evan "Doc" Shaner
I'm an extremely obsessively huge fan of so normal about the titans so they will probably come up a lot during this, but this cover set is by far my favorite!! While connecting covers are very cool, the simplicity of this one's matching while highlighting each individual character across the 6 issues is just sooooooooooo good to me. Each one encapsulates the entire character is just one page so well and aaaaaaaaa thank you doc shaner. ALSO this series itself is phenomenal it's such a great introduction to the team it's written by Mark Waid and I would highly recommend it!!
#dc comics#batfamily#dc universe#dcu#teen titans#worlds finest teen titans#robin#dick grayson#wonder girl#donna troy#speedy#roy harper#kid flash#wally west#bumblebee#karen beecher#aqualad#garth#seriously any time i see a matching cover set i hit the buy button#but ESPECIALLY for the titans#op robin
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old friend ౨ৎ eren jaeger
pairing: eren jaeger x reader
synopsis: you knew eren for most of your life - your mom having been friends with his for so many years. he was your best friend and you were his. until you weren’t
wc: 3.8k
content!: friends to lovers, swearing, smut, oral sex, piv, fluff
you knew eren for most of your life - your mom having been friends with his for so many years. so naturally as kids, you hung out all the time. play dates, sleepovers, baths, you went everywhere together. he was your best friend and you were his.
when you entered your adolescence, you grew apart a bit and began leading different lives and make different friends. when you got your first boyfriend, it sparked the first ever real argument between you and eren. he claimed you were leaving him in the dust but it was plain and clear that it was simply jealousy. you were still friends you just had different priorities, eventually eren was starring in a new tv show where he acted as the main character so you saw him less and less. it's not like he forgot about you but now he was thrown into the limelight and things changed.
during college, that's when things really dried out. you still had his number, both of you sending the occasional holiday greetings and birthday wishes. you attended and graduated from university, now landed a job in fashion pr. you had an apartment, nothing too crazy and a little on the smaller side but it was only you living there and it was decorated completely to your liking so you barely had any qualms.
it was saturday night and your friend, dayana, invited you to a bar down town. convincing you it would be fun and bribing you with a ride there, you agreed. you hopped out of the shower to moisturize your body before moving onto your makeup.
you got dressed into a black off shoulder top with a pair of bootcut jeans and black kitten heels. you got your purse and utilities, put them into your handbag and left your house. dayana was downstairs waiting in her car, cigarette in hand when she looked up to see you coming. she smiled and unlocked the doors to let you in the passenger seat.
"hey boo, you ready?" she asked, leaning over to give you a hug. "yeah let's go" you smiled, turning on your joint playlist.
you met dayana when she was your roommate in college and instantly connected. without her college would have sucked for you. you'd spent almost everyday together and did almost everything together, making the best memories. she always dragged you along to whatever function was going on. even though you would be skeptical you always had a great time. you'd led each other to make some not great choices but what's life if not making mistakes to learn from. you also led each other to a life of greatness and abundance, so there was a good balance.
you two were singing and chatting the whole way there, which took longer than necessary - thanks to la traffic. you unbuckled your seatbelt and got out of the car when dayana went to the bouncer to get the both of you in the building.
you got in and head straight for a seat in the corner. you got on the high chairs and ordered a plate of nachos and fries to share. you ordered a tray of mimosas and dayana ordered a few shots of pink whitney. "ugh i needed this" you sighed with a playful smile on your face that made dayana giggle.
you spent the night laughing and talking about your lives as if you don't update each other everyday. you were on your fifth drink, luckily the food helped you not feel the drunk as much. "oh my god, okay don't look now but that guy over there is staring so fucking hard at you" you leaned over to whisper to her. disregarding your instructions she whipped her head in the direction you spoke of and caught the guy's eye. he shot a smile her way and she sent a small wave before turning back to you.
"okay you literally don't listen" you giggled. "is he still looking?" she asked. you sent a subtle look over to him and he was still looking back at her. "yeah. he's cute you should go talk to him" you told her. "aw but i don't want to leave you alone" she frowned holding your hand. "no it's okay. plus he is really fine, better take your ass over there before i do" you joked. she rolled her eyes fondly and got down to straighten out her skirt. "i'll let you know how it goes" she smiled before grabbing her drink and walking over to his table.
you grabbed your own and walked over to the bar to order more. "hey, can i get a shot of bloody mary" you told the bartender, before sipping on your almost done drink. he shortly after pushed the drink in front of you and you tilted your head back slightly to gulp it down. "can i get another one? thank you" you smiled.
you went on your phone for a bit before you heard your name being called. you looked over your shoulder to see eren - his hair was cut and slightly curly in the right places, he wore a plain black shirt under a black carhartt jacket with jeans that were a little baggy and adidas. "oh my gosh, hii" you smiled, getting up to give him a hug. he gladly returned it engulfing your body in a bear hug, arms around your torso.
"what are you doing here?" he asked, sitting down with you. "oh i'm here with my friend dayana" you pointed in the direction of the blonde now very obviously flirting with the man from before. "oh cool cool. well how you been? its been forever" he asked. "um i've been pretty good. i have a nice job and i got a cute little apartment in westwood" you told him. "alright nice, m'happy for you" he nudged your shoulder.
he waved the bartender over to order a jagerbomb. "you still drink those?" you furrowed your eyebrows at the memory of him getting blackout drunk from those when you were teenagers. "duh, they're good. plus they're literally named after me." "yeah i don't think so" you giggled. and he smiled, the smile you haven't seen in person in a few years the smile that you missed so dearly. "so what's been up with you? i finished attack on titan by the way" you said.
"really? what'd you think?" he asked, getting excited. "oh my god so good, i literally sobbed at the ending like oh my god" you put your hand to your chest. "right? i cried reading the script" he chuckled. "anyways i've been alright, doing stuff here and there you know. after we wrapped i've been on a bit of a break" he told you. "yeah well you're still everywhere on my feed" you joked. "yeah? do i at least look good" he asked. "great" you laughed.
"so, are you seeing anybody?" he asked, taking a shot. "not really, just sex and whatever. nothing serious" you answered. he nod his head and now it was your turn to ask. "what about you? what's been going on with you and salem?" you asked, referring to the headlines you'd read about him 'spotted' with a model. "nothing actually, just publicity. she's not really my type. but since we were in that shoot together, managers thought it'd be good" he told you. you nod your head.
"mm cool" you smiled and he gave you a look you couldn't decipher. you felt a tap on your shoulder and looked to see dayana with the guy on her arm. "think i'm gonna head out" she gave you a teasing smirk. "will you be okay here?" she asked. you looked over at eren before answering "uh yeah, just catching up. this is eren by the way" you introduced him. "hi, i'm dayana" she smiled. "anyways i've got to go. y/n can you close the tab for me, i'll pay back tomorrow" she asked. "yeah. stay safe, have fun" you winked at her. "oh girl i will" she smirked, walking away with her guy.
"she seems nice" he smiled at you. "she is. i love her" you sipped on your drink. "oh by the way i can drop you home. or you can come back to my house if you want." he offered. you thought it over for a second before answering "yeah, that sounds nice." you smiled.
you talked more at the bar before deciding it was enough alcohol if eren was to be driving home. you closed the tab and handed the bar tender your credit card before getting up with eren. "won't your friends or whoever miss you?" you asked him. "no they're good. come on, car's down this way" he said, grabbing your hand. he led you down the road to a black bmw parked by the sidewalk.
you got in the passenger seat and he drove in the direction of his house. it was a gorgeous two story house with even more gorgeous landscaping. "armin lives here too, that's why the lawn looks so nice" he unbuckled his seatbelt. "yeah cause i knew damn well that could not be under your care" you laughed. "alright not too much"
he pulled out his keys and opened the front door that led into the living room. it was furnished with a large white sofa and a matching arm chair by the window, round wooden coffee table in the middle of the room. you looked around more at the decor before following eren into the kitchen. "it is so nice here oh my god. where's armin? i wanna say hi" you said. "oh he's not here right now, he's in greece with his dad" he told you. "oh that's so cool, i'd love to go to greece" you said, before opening your phone to text dayana where you were.
"do you want anything?" he asked, opening the fridge. "um just some water, had a little too much tonight it's catching up to me" you laughed. he grabbed a cold water bottle from the fridge and put it down in front of you. "you hungry or anything? want a cookie?" he asked opening the container that was filled with chocolate chip cookies. you grabbed one and took a bite "mmm did you make these?" you asked him. "nah they're from the grocery store. but armin makes me put them in that container so it looks nicer in the kitchen. he's a real bitch about his aesthetics" he laughed, making you laugh.
he sat down next to you and took a sip from the water he gave you. "i missed you, by the way" you whispered. "i missed you too like a lot. i should've reached out more just been busy." he said. "no it's okay, phone works both ways you know." you nudged his shoulder. neither of you said anything for a while, relishing in the comfortable silence. "remember when we got into a huge fight because of isaiah" you brought up with a giggle. "ugh how could i forget, fucking hated that guy." he scoffed.
"yeah and you were right to" you sighed, remembering the turmoil he'd put you through in junior year. "always am" he shrugged. "i had a little crush on you actually, that's why i was so upset" he admitted with a laugh to brush it off. your head snapped toward him. "really??" you asked, finishing the cookie he gave you. "yeah i thought that was obvious, felt pretty obvious to me" you nod your head. "i think i had a crush on you too, like afterwards. but then you know we drifted apart and whatever" you shrugged.
"hmm well, back together now" he smiled, taking a sip. "yeah guess we are." you smiled back. "do you still like me?" he asked out of nowhere. suddenly you got all awkward and shy, it was showing by the way you twisted your face. "i don't know" you giggled. "i do." he said. you now turned to look him in the face to see if he was playing around or not but he looked serious.
"are you joking?" you furrowed your eyebrows. "i'm not, i'm serious. you don't even know how bad i've missed you." he pushed a curl out of your face. "then why didn't you say anything" you sighed. "i thought you got tired of me." he was rubbing his thumb along your jaw, not breaking eye contact. "i could never, i thought you got tired of me"
"never" he chuckled. you stayed like that for a moment before he asked "can i kiss you?" you nod your head and leaned in to press your lips against his in a needy kiss, arms immediately around his neck. "wait, are you still drunk?" he pulled away. "sober enough to know i want this" you answered finding his mouth again. he pulled you onto his lap, soft hands rubbing against your thighs. "god i can't believe we've never done this" he said. "then let's make up for lost time" you smirked, moving to kiss on his neck.
he let out a soft groan feeling your soft lips on the skin of his neck. you pushed your hand up underneath his shirt, rubbing a hand over his toned abs. you could feel him getting hard underneath you and whined your hips across his lap, the friction of your jeans rubbing on your crotch turned you on. "fuck okay we're not doing this here" he sighed, getting up from underneath you. you furrowed your eyebrows before he picked you up high in his arms and spun in the direction of the stairs making you giggle.
he moved up the stairs at he pressed kisses along your exposed shoulders. he opened a door to what you assumed was his room and moved to rest you on the bed. he leaned down to turn on his lamp and threw off his jacket. you kicked off your heels and got on your knees to crawl to the edge of the bed.
you reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it up, ogling his abs and v-line that led down to his dick hidden under his boxers. "you got so muscly" you said, feeling him up. "had to" he smirked.
he kissed you again, now rushed and sloppy, gripping the skin of your ass. he laid you back down on the bed, hovering over you. he let go slowly biting your swollen lips before he lined kisses down your neck, sucking and leaving bruises along your collarbone and the top of your breasts. he reveled in the soft moans he managed to get out of you, sounding so angelic.
he lifted your shirt off you staring at your bare tits. he brushed over your nipple with the pads of his thumb, squeezing it. he put a nipple in his mouth, sucking and licking on it while his hand groped at its twin. you squirmed around letting out soft moans of pleasure. "you like getting your tits played with?" he smirked. you bit your lips and nod your head.
he got on his knees off you and and unbuttoned your jeans, tugging them down, lifting your hips to help him. "is it alright if i touch you here, princess" he asked, resting a thumb on your mons. "mhm" you mumbled with a smile.
through your panties, he pressed his thumb on your clit drawing out small whimpers from you. he moved his fingers down your clothed slit, cocky smirk on his face "jesus baby these are soaked" he chuckled. "eren please" you whimpered. "please what? tell me what you want" he continued rubbing you through your panties. "want you to go down on me" you whispered. he hooked his fingers through the waistband and tugged them down. suddenly shy, you squeezed your legs together to cover yourself.
"don't hide from me, you're fucking gorgeous" he got down between your legs, resting them on his shoulders, lining kisses down them. he stopped just before your entrance, sucking on your thighs leaving marks. he sucked and licked on your clit like he hadn't eaten in days, he was sloppy with it but still mindful making sure you came.
he worked his tongue over your slit while continuing to suck on your folds. "eren! oh my god" you cried out, closing your eyes and looking away. "ah-ah look at me baby" he whispered. you followed his instructions but the eye contact and the stimulation was sending you over the edge. he pinched the skin on your ass to get you to look back at him.
"fuck ren im so close!" you whined. he just continued working his tongue over you while your rode your hips against his face and tangled your hand through his hair. you felt the familiar sensation in your lower body that let you know you were about to cum.
seconds later you were sighing in relief as eren lapped up every last drop from your cunt. "you still good, baby?" he asked, pushing his middle and ring finger past your folds, reaching further than yours ever could. "so good" you whined. he curled them inside you, rubbing against your walls, hitting the perfect spots inside you.
"god you're fingers feel so good" you moaned. "i'm gonna cum again, eren. mmm feels so good" you whimpered. "cum on these fingers baby" he leaned down and kissed you, tongue immediately in your mouth. you bit his lip feeling yourself reach climax and moaned into his mouth as your cum pooled around his fingers. he leaned up to suck your essence off him before pulling his jeans off and grabbing a condom from his nightstand.
he eased his boxers down off his hips and dick sprung out from the waistband. it looked about seven inches, tip the same pink as his lips and cut. he pushed the condom down his length and hovered on top of you, your arms finding their place around his neck bringing him closer. he lined his tip up with your hole and gently pushed himself inside you. he was stretching you out so good, the pain mixed with the pleasure was driving you crazy.
he was taking his time but you needed more "ren, fuck me harder please" you groaned. he followed orders and spread your legs further, pushing himself deeper inside you. he moved at a faster pace, hands squeezing tightly around your hips. "god y/n you're milking me dry" he whimpered. his dick hit your g spot so right you weren't sure how much longer you would last. when he put his hand on your tit, squeezing and tugging at your nipple your chest arched into his hand.
he moved his thumb to your sensitive clit rubbing slow circles over it, making you jump. "oh my god!" you wailed. "that my new name, princess? i like it" he said with a cocky grin on his face.
"you can give me another one right baby?" he asked, increasing the speed on your clit while he dug his hips into you. you only whined in response, quieting a moan. "don't. i wanna hear you" he moved your hand from over your mouth. "ren fuck i'm gonna cum, i'm so fucking close" "go ahead baby" was all he said and for the third time that time you came, face hot and chest heaving.
"good girl, knew you could give me one more" he leaned down to kiss your forehead before he felt himself close too. he continued pumping inside you, until he whimpered and groaned not breaking eye contact with you as he came too.
he flopped down in the bed next to you with a grin on his face. he reached a hand out to your cheek bringing you in for a gentle kiss. your legs entangled each other's and his arms wrapped around you bringing you closer as if to completely morph into you. "you okay?" he asked, rubbing a thumb over your cheek.
"yeah i'm okay" you smiled. "i'll be right back" he told you. he got up and pulled the condom off to throw it away before he put his boxers on and went out the room.
you heard his footsteps descend down the stairs before he came back with two glasses of water. you sat up in the bed and he handed you a cup. "thanks ren" you smiled, gulping it down.
he left the room again and went down the hallway. you heard water running for a bit before he came back into the room with a silly smile on his face. "what?" you furrowed your eyebrows. he didn't say anything he just picked your bare body up in his arms and carried you down the hall into his bathroom.
he had drawn a bath for you, lit with candles. "thanks to armin and his self care sundays i have these prepared" he said, arms secure around you. "this is so cute" you giggled before peppering his face in kisses.
he let you down and you slowly stepped in sinking into the bubbles. he leaned back on the counter and just watched you. "you're not getting in?" you asked him. "don't wanna disturb you" he shrugged. "it's your bath tub" you said back. "it's your bath" he retorted. "just get in the tub dummy" you rolled your eyes fondly.
he chuckled and pulled off his boxers throwing them into the hamper in the corner. you moved your knees up to your chest to make room for him in the tub as he eased in, sloshing the soap around. "m'getting flashbacks from when we were little. feel like my mom is about to yell at me for splashing" you joked.
you stayed in the tub giving each other full and detailed updates on how your lives have been since you were close. you stayed so long the bath began to run cold and that was your sign to wash up and get out.
eren stepped out of the tub and wrapped his towel around his waist before going to the closet to get a spare towel for you. you picked up your phone to see the time read 12:43 am. "hey um it's getting late, think i could get that ride home now?" you asked. "oh...i was thinking you could just stay here. i mean- i mean if you want."
you were having a good time and weren't ready to go home anyways so you agreed. he gave you one of his shirts and a pair of clean boxers to wear to bed before getting dressed himself. "are you sure though, don't wanna rob you of your bed" you hesitated. "plenty of room, now come here." he plopped down on the bed, beckoning you over.
you got under his comforters sneaking closer to him. he threw his arm over your waist and pulled you closer to him. "i'm so glad i ran into you tonight" he said, so close you could feel his breathing on your forehead. "yeah me too" you looked up. you entangled your legs between his, eyelids growing heavy. "i really don't want you out of my life again" he whispered, caressing your waist underneath his shirt.
#NIA WRITES ࿐#eren jaeger x reader#eren jaeger#eren jaeger x black reader#attack on titan#eren jaeger smut#eren jeager fluff#alternate universe#modern setting#friends to lovers#black reader#eren jeager x you
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some genius came up with the idea of putting your f/os into the Weezer album template...so here you go 😂😂😂
#i can't breathe;;;;; what an ABNORMAL set of characters omfggg#mad mod#augustus st. cloud#dave the octopus#baldi#f/os#neil richards#teen titans#dc#dc animated universe#dcau#augustus saint cloud#the venture brothers#venture bros#dr octavius brine#the penguins of madagascar#tpom#pom#baldi's basics in education and learning#baldi's basics#bbieal#starleskatalks
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You ever just suddenly unlock a memory of something from your childhood that lay completely forgotten in the back of your mind for nearly a decade?
I just had the cartoon Puppy in my Pocket: Adventures in Pocketville pop into my head today and I INSTANTLY got flashbacks to the summer of 2011. It was on every day at 3pm after My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic. I watched it every single day for that entire summer, I even dragged my parents home from whatever they were doing just so I never missed an episode.
I collected all these figures and this plushie of Princess Ava (my favourite character and the reason why siamese cats are my favourite cat breed) which I DIDN'T lose, by the way, I know exactly where it is, it's buried in my toy basket under a mountain of plushies stacked on top of it and I couldn't be bothered getting it for this one photo so have a stock image instead.
Genuinely one of my favourite cartoons as a kid.
So today I remembered it and out of curiosity, I checked to see if it had a TV Tropes page and it does. I was aware that the cartoon is Italian dubbed into English. This is important and ultimately led to one of the most horrific discoveries I've ever made in my life.
Puppy in my Pocket: Adventures in Pocketville was made by an Italian company called Mondo TV. That raised alarm bells for me when I read that particular part of the TV Tropes page. I remember hearing that name in several "Worst Animated Movies of All Time" lists on YouTube
So I clicked on the blue link to Mondo TV on TV Tropes to see what else they made and…
THIS WONDERFUL PART OF MY CHILDHOOD THAT BROUGHT ME SO MANY FOND MEMORIES
WAS MADE BY THE SAME PEOPLE WHO MADE THESE
The fucking SHIVER THAT RAN DOWN MY SPINE. I can't believe that the people who made Puppy In My Pocket also made the fucking animated Titanic movies (with talking animals, nobody dying because everybody got saved by magic whales, a dog that does a rap number in 1912 and Atlantis) and that one North Korean Lion King/Jungle Book crossover soccer anime 😭
I've seen the likes of Nostalgia Critic, PhantomStrider and Saberspark tear these movies apart!
Suddenly I'm 200% certain that Puppy in my Pocket isn't nearly as good as I remember and I've decided that I won't rewatch it because I want to keep those wholesome memories and not destroy them any further.
To say I'm distraught would be an understatement
#melon's ramblings#When I was searching for a poster of the animated Titanic movie I nearly used an image of the Wrong Animated Titanic movie.#Which is concerning.#There's fucking THREE animated Titanic movies. One is unrelated to the other two#Just.... Two separate Italian studios decided they both wanted to make an animated Titanic movie with talking mice independent of each othe#The unrelated Titanic movie at least shows the actual tragedy part of the sinking but it's also a Cinderella story.#Seriously I grew up in Northern Ireland the Titanic is a Big Deal™ here. Part of the curriculum and everything#These movies are already pissing me off enough#BUT THE FACT THAT MY NOSTALGIC HEARTWARMING PET SHOW IS CONNECTED TO THEM MAKES ME WANT TO COMMIT SELF DEFENESTRATION#I don't want to think about how the magic moonbeam dolphin tears letting Girl Titanic Protagonist understand animals#is probably similar to the magic that lets Katie understand animals in Puppy in my Pocket#Are they set in the same universe????????#HOLY FUCK ARE THEY SET IN THE SAME UNIVERSE??????
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James Gunn is an idiot and I’m not sorry for saying it. Erasing decades worth of animated television from canon because you want the dcu to line up with the dcau is stupid.
#yes what I’m saying is bold but he ain’t even going to see it and I’m not going to be famous so it’s fine#erasing justice league teen titans batman beyond and more from canon was a stupid idea#especially since they weren’t set in the same universe#anti james gunn
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SWIPE RIGHT | Armin Arlert x Reader
Part 1
One swipe to the right and you found yourself going on dates with Armin Arlert, loving how he treated you right. Who could possibly resist such a gentle and compassionate man? It's only a matter of time before he officially asked you to be his girlfriend...
Pairing(s): Armin Arlert x Fem!Reader
Warning: -
Word count: 2.3k
Author Note
Hi, guys! Some of you might have read this AU before on Tumblr. Apparently it was posted on my secondary blog? Which means I cannot interact with the comment and such, that's a bummer T^T So I took the post down and republished it here. I hope you enjoy the story and stay tuned for the next part! :3
It all started with a quick swipe to the right in your phone. He was one of the few people you swiped right on in that damn yellow dating app. You wouldn’t have downloaded the app in the first place if Sasha hadn’t told you to. After your messy break up with your last ex almost two years ago, you didn’t feel like finding someone else to date. However, once you came across the name “Armin”, you couldn’t help but swipe right. You scrolled down to read his profile. He appeared to be normal, almost too normal. You lost count of how many cringe-worthy men you’ve encountered there. Seeing his profile gave you a new hope that there were still men out there who were okay.
Lucky for you, Armin also swiped right. The chat was wonderful; you two had a lot in common. You found out that Armin was pursuing his master degree in Political Science at one of the most prestigious universities in your country. Fine art and literature were a few of his interests. A week after you both matched on the app, Armin began calling you. At first he only called for a maximum of ten to fifteen minutes, during which you both exchanged stories about your days. A month later, you received an unexpected text from him.
Would you like to meet up next Thursday?
“Say yes!” Sasha, who was with you at the time the notification popped up, squealed. “Ooh! Say yes, (Y/N)! So far he’s nice, right?”
“He’s a stranger, though.”
“You guys call each other almost every night; at this point he’s not a stranger. Not really.”
You left the text unanswered for several hours. After Sasha had left your apartment, you finally opened it and typed:
Sure. Just name the time and place :)
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The days went by incredibly quickly. It was Thursday night, and you were standing outside your apartment building. Armin said he would pick you up at seven. You knew he was taking you to dinner, but you had no idea where. So, you dressed rather casually. Just a simple polo shirt, a tennis skirt, and some sneakers. Sasha urged you to dress more formally, but you refused. You didn’t really want to overdo it on your first date.
“But isn’t it a date?” Sasha motioned for you to put on one of her blazers and pants. “Come on, I bet Armin’s taking you somewhere fancy. He looks like some Mister Fancypants.”
“I don’t know, this might not be a date. I’ll just be out with a friend. A new friend.”
“Yeah, friend,” Sasha scoffed, rolling her eyes.
A pair of bright headlights appeared from a nearby crossroad, followed by a black convertible. You weren’t sure if it was Armin’s car, but it pulled over in front of your apartment. The front window rolled down and you saw Armin for the first time.
Armin smiled and quickly exited his car. You noticed he was around four inches taller than you and wore his blond hair in a long undercut with bangs. He’s dressed simply in a white button-up shirt with two of the top buttons undone.
“(Y/N), it’s a pleasure to meet you!” Armin walked up to you with his arms open.
You weren’t quite sure of what to do. Was he expecting you to hug him? You had no idea! You decided to wait until he was a few inches away from you before leaning in for a hug, wrapping your arms around his back. The scent of his cologne, a light earthy scent, filled your nostrils.
“Hello, Armin. How was the drive here?”
“Ah, I took a few wrong turns, but here I am!” Armin drew back, but his hand was still on your upper arm. “Are you ready for dinner?”
You smiled and nodded. He opened the door for you, muttering ‘be careful’ as you slid into the passenger seat, before going around the car and got behind the steering wheel. He even helped you fasten your seat belt, which made your heart flutters a little. After ensuring that you’re comfortable in your seat, the car swerved and you were both on your way to the restaurant.
Neither you nor Armin talked much along the way. You weren’t really a talkative person and neither was Armin. Besides, there was music playing from the stereo. He offered you to play your own music but you told him it’s okay. You liked seeing him enjoy his playlist, which mostly consisted of 50s or 60s music.
It took nearly twenty minutes to get uptown. You went there every day because you worked in one of the stores, but you always left right after work. You had no clue what it looked like at night and you were mesmerized. Your gaze wandered out the window, as if soaking in every single detail of the buildings and lights. Before you could take in your surroundings any further, the car turned into the lobby of a restaurant, and you regretted Sasha’s suggestion to wear a blazer. The restaurant appeared to be quite fancy from the outside. You really felt out of place. Running away sounded like a good idea.
Before you could plan your escape, Armin had already stopped the car and handed the keys to the valet. He walked around the vehicle to open your door and held out his hand to you.
“Are you feeling alright, (Y/N)?” His smile faded, replaced by a concerned expression.
“I’m fine.” You tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace. You took his hand and got out of the car.
As if he could read your mind, Armin wrapped his hand around your waist, pulled you closer, and guided you to the entrance of the place. “You look lovely, (Y/N).” He spoke in hushed tones.
You felt like you were on the verge of passing out. Fortunately, Armin handled all of the talking with the servers. Apparently he reserved a private dining room for the two of you. As you both walked to the room, you couldn’t help but admire the interior design of the place. Dim lighting, dark walls with a few windows looking out onto the outdoor area, rows and rows of wine bottles behind the bar, jazz music playing in the background, and minimalist yet expensive-looking dining tables.
The ambiance continued in the private room. Armin drew the chair for you before sitting across from it. The server handed the menu. It was quite expensive, for sure. Everything on the menu looked delicious but intimidating. You ended up ordering the crusted salmon with broccolini, while Armin chose the veal milanese. Armin also ordered some appetizers, desserts, and two mocktails for both of you.
After the server left, you turned to face Armin. “If you had told me where we were going I would have dressed more appropriately.”
“Why? What’s the matter with your outfit? I think it is perfectly fine.”
“Other women out there are dressed in blazers and dresses.”
“True, but none of them are as lovely as you.”
You could tell Armin was a smooth talker from the way he texted you. Meeting the man in person, on the other hand, was a whole new experience for you.
While waiting for your meals to be served, you had an interesting conversation with Armin about things he studied in his master’s program and what you do for work as a freelance virtual assistant and a marketing manager. The conversation continued even after the meals were served, all the way until you were both enjoying your desserts.
You discovered that Armin was well off and came from a wealthy family. While finishing his master’s degree, he was working as a market research analyst for one of his family’s businesses. He studied abroad in his final year of undergraduate school, eventually graduating with double degrees. You were starting to realize that outside the dating app, Armin is so out of your league. However, you didn’t sense even a slight of arrogance in Armin’s demeanor. He listened to your stories and asked questions, showing you that he was paying attention to what you were saying.
After finishing your desserts, you both left the restaurant. Of course, Armin paid for everything and wrapped his hand around your waist again on your way out. He didn’t let go until the valet returned his car, and he opened the door for you again. When the car was back on the street, the feeling of uneasiness dissipated and you leaned your head against the window.
“You don’t have a curfew, do you?” Armin asked, his eyes fixed on the road.
“Nah, but my best friend might call to check up on me.”
“Fantastic. Fancy for a night ride?”
You turned your head so fast and nodded excitedly. You always loved a night ride. You used to have a lot of fun with Sasha and your other best friend, Connie. Unfortunately, due to his job Connie was transferred to another city. He was the one who had a driver’s license. So neither you nor Sasha could go on night rides anymore.
Armin’s car sped through the streets before merging onto a highway.
“I hope you’re not feeling sick.” Armin pushed a button and the hardtop of the car was retracted. You let out a gasp.
“I love it.” You raised one of your hands up, feeling the summer breeze against your skin. “Summer nights are the best time to go for a night ride, you know? I used to do this a lot with my friends… Just, not in a convertible.”
“I agree.” Armin gave a nod.
The highway came to an end and you were hugging yourself. Apparently, the wind was too cold and you didn’t realize it until your fingertips froze. The car came to a halt before a red light.
“(Y/N), here. Have my jacket.” Armin reached back into the backseat for his jacket and handed it to you. “Do you want me to pull back the hardtop?”
“No, no! It’s fine, Armin. I’m just a little cold.”
Armin carefully put the jacket around your shoulders and grabbed your hands, taking them in his own hands and rubbing them to keep you warm. The light turned green. Armin focused back to the road, but he kept your hand in one of his while the other gripped the steering wheel.
Again, neither of you talked a lot during the ride, though you could feel his glances on you a few times. Around 10.30 PM, Armin drove you back to your apartment. You didn’t want the evening to end, but you knew you had to go home. Especially since you had to work the following day.
Armin parked in a parking lot near your apartment building. He helped you out, and walked you home. He moved his hand from holding your hand, to wrapping it around your shoulder, making sure his jacket didn’t slip off.
You stopped at the entrance. “You wanna drop by?”
“Only if you insist.”
You brought him inside, entered the elevator, and were soon on your floor. Armin trailed close behind you. You knew Sasha would freak out if she found out. As much as she encouraged you to go on dates, you knew she wouldn’t approve of you inviting a stranger into your apartment.
Armin is not just some random stranger, you thought to yourself.
You finally arrived in front of your unit and searched your bag for the keys.
“Now, before you come in, I must warn you that my place is not the tidiest—”
“(Y/N), thank you for the invitation, but I’m only here to make sure you reach your apartment safely.”
You turned around, stunned, and stared at him. “I see…” You felt so foolish for inviting him in.
“Don’t get me wrong, (Y/N). I just don’t think it’s a good idea. After all, this is only our first date. I will gladly stop by and have an even more pleasant conversation with you on our next date.”
“...This is a date? This is not just a friendly outing?”
“Of course.”
“And now you’re asking me out for a second date?”
“Indeed. I had a great time with you, (Y/N). I would love to go on another date with you, and another one, and then another. That is, if you are up to it.”
“Of course. Yeah, sure. I would like to. I would love to.” You nodded, internally cursing yourself for your pathetic response. You couldn’t help yourself. Something about the way Armin spoke made your stomach flutters and your brain turned into a useless, gooey mush.
“Wonderful! (Y/N)...” Armin seemed like he was about to say something.
“Yes?” You tilted your head, trying to encourage him to speak up.
“I’m sorry if this is rude and disrespectful but… may I kiss you?”
“You… what?”
“I’m so sorry, it’s just… I thought you’re very pretty and cute, and I wanted to kiss you all evening but—”
You quickly stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. Armin stopped speaking and stared into your eyes for what felt like an eternity. The next thing you knew, his hand was on your cheek and he was kissing your lips. The moment your lips touched, tons of fireworks exploded inside you. It was a brief, innocent kiss, but it felt endless.
You hated when Armin pulled away, but the fireworks erupted again as he pecked the top of your head.
“Thank you for today, (Y/N).” Armin stroked your cheek, “Now get some rest. I’ll text you first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.” You simply nodded. Armin must have noticed how red your face was because after you answered he just chuckled and returned to the elevator.
Once Armin was out of sight, you dashed into your apartment and slammed the door shut. You didn’t give much thought to what happened as you cleaned up. However, once you were in bed, you found yourself tossing and turning, unable to sleep. You couldn’t think of anything other than Armin and the evening you spent with him.
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and stay tuned for the next part!
This fic is also available on Ao3
Read Part 2
#attack on titan#shingeki no kyoujin#aot au#snk fanfiction#aot fanfiction#snk au#attack on titan au#aot x you#aot x reader#aot x y/n#snk x y/n#snk x you#snk x reader#armin arlert x you#armin arlert x y/n#armin arlert x reader#armin arlert#sasha braus#alternate universe#modern setting#pov second person#reader insert#fluff#light angst#implied sex#online dating#new blog#new account
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Status: On going (4/?) Chapter 2, Chapter 3 (almost done), Chapter 4 MDNI
Armin is in his final year of his master's degree, his studies are going swimmingly, but a wrong done to him by Eren brings up old grudges, envy, jealousy and unspoken words. On a rainy morning, the handsome blond meets Erin, a three-year student who works part-time at the university cafeteria; there is an immediate spark between them, an unexpected and overwhelming attraction, one that will clash with his introspection, instilling in him not a few doubts about the outcome of their acquaintance. And if Armin himself isn't already hesitant enough, Eren will step in. Something about the girl gives rise to mixed feelings in the brunette who finally manages to understand what drove him to continually hurt his best friend: he is in love with him and really doesn't like others buzzing around him. However, it is one thing to understand it, another to admit it, and yet another to voice it and confess. The fear of losing Armin is great, but with his actions he is pushing him further and further away.
Other stories will intertwine in the background: one mature but secret, one born on tiptoe, one passionate and angry.
#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#eren jaeger#armin x reader#armin arlert#eren jaeger x armin arlert#mikasa ackerman#levi x hanji#levi x hange#levi ackerman#mikasa x jean#jean kirstein#fanfic#alternate universe#modern au#eren yeager#modern setting#idiots in denial#idiots in love#smut#slow burn#reiner braun#reiner x porco#porco galliard
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We need to bring back Gun Batman immediately where the FUCK is he
titans of tomorrow
aftermath:
#while I have many problems with Titans of Tomorrow it's actually the arc that made me really like Tim#specifically because Gun Batman made sense for Tim. up until that point he tended to prioritize outcomes over the process of getting there#leading him to piss off a lot of people and being an asshole. but it never escalated to murder (unless we count that time he was drugged#which I don't but it's fair) until we see Gun Batman. and it's an escalation but not one that feels like much of a stretch (unlike others)#and the shit Tim does?? so fucking interesting throughout but obviously the standout moment is when he's like 'what if I kill myself'#and he WOULD HAVE DONE IT if he wasn't interrupted. we see both sides of Tim. there is ruthlessness and there is self-sacrifice#and they are NOT diametrically opposed. I think Gun Batman stuck with me so much because he and Tim are so much alike#they are both willing to give all of themself and make sacrifices for a goal they truly believe in. Just in different ways#not to mention how much more interesting it makes literally all of Tim's stuff after that. Many of the future selves were very ooc so I#did not care. but Tim?? I was watching that fucker like a hawk. He kept doing shady shit and I was like 'oooh he's being like Gun Batman'#with the pinnacle of that vibe being Red Robin. where he is tap-dancing over what is and isn't villainy + just at the end of his rope#and we (arguably because technically we don't know but...come on) see his nature escalate to the point of murder#I was like 'omg THIS IS IT!! GUN BATMAN!!! HE'S BACK BABY!!' which only got more reinforced as he made a#HIT LIST and was a dick to everyone around him and set up a fucking Saw trap for Captain Boomerang#...and then the universe reset. lmao. Gun Batman was gone. Sad day for me. I lost my favorite version of Tim + the reason it was my fave#...EXCEPT THEN HE CAME BACK!!!!! He was not the same and base Tim was a very different character but it was still Gun Batman#and Gun Batman remembers EVERYTHING and is like 'hey you remember this guy? don't ask if I shot him. you don't? damn universe is fucked#anyways I'm gonna go kill some people. hope a long period of time in isolation didn't fuck you up too bad. see ya!'#and then fucked off until he came back with the DUMBEST FUCKING NAME and that's how you know he came up with it himself#Tim is incapable of naming himself it's why he kept the name Red Robin because the times we've seen him name himself#it's been SAVIOR and DRAKE#and then he left?? idk he hasn't been back yet. I hope he comes back from hypertime and this time he's a bit more pointed
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You know what’s interesting?
Dick didn’t set out to murder Zucco with the intent of being a killer. He viewed it as an unfortunate byproduct of his actions.
His real goal was to “purge the world of criminals” because “darkness needs light.”
Do you realize how unhinged that sounds? It means Robin wasn’t created from anger. It was created from the messed up psyche of a child who realized at 8 years old that the entire world needs something better than what it was given and so he went out and became it.
I cant properly explain how insane that is. It’s like putting the logic of the Joker inside the mind of child but turning it for good. Everything is falling into place now. That is why the Joker hates Dick-he is the one Robin the man couldn’t break. Literally COULDN’T because when he’s facing Dick, he’s facing the version of himself that would have existed if he had put himself to good. That was would break HIM.
Imagine spending the better part of your life doing your utmost worst to show Batman that people and the system are inherently evil only to have him fall head over cowl for a version of yourself to completely invalidate your reason for existing. How psychotic would you turn when you realize you have nothing to prove?
This also explains why Dick is so well adjusted and sociable in a way that Bruce and the others aren’t.
Bruce loses it when he loses his children, he thinks it’s a failure of his abilities and doubts his life’s work.
Jason loses it when he thinks he’s been replaced because his reason for being is having someone care for him.
Tim loses it when he comes to a dead-end. He feels helpless and lost when he doesn’t know the next move because his reason for being is being able to solve what’s wrong.
Damian loses it when he feels abandoned. He feels hurt and broken because he’s a child who wants to be loved.
The reason Dick was the perfect choice for Dark Crisis and to become the dawn of DCU is because his sole reason for being is to be the light.
That is why Bruce refused to destroy a planet when Superman asked him too. That is why Dick was the only person in the universe who could control the Darkness infecting him when even Deathstroke lost his mind to it. That is why the evil Justice League chose Dick of every one to kill-to make a point.
This is why he’s looked up to by major heroes such as Superman, Wonderwoman, the Titans, the children, the villains, and the civilians.
This is why Harvey Dent called Robin Dick “Batman’s secret weapon.”
Although anger was the baseline emotion, Dick doesn’t have anger issues because:
Robin wasn’t created for revenge. It was created with the intention of building a world so unrealistically good, that the level of the vision Richard Grayson was aiming for and set the standards for- is so terrifyingly inconceivable.
And that-is why he is a happy, feral, monster.
#robin was so much more than the result of an angry child#he set the standards so high he scared bruce for what he aiming#bruce didn’t enable him-he leashed him#dick grayson#nightwing#bruce wayne#batman#joker#tim drake#red robin#damian wayne#robin#jason todd#red hood#robin dick grayson#batfamily#dc universe
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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.
#rafayel x reader#rafayel x you#rafayel x y/n#rafayel angst#rafayel smut#rafayel fic#love and deepspace x reader#love and deepspace x you#lads x reader#lads x you#lds x reader#lnds x reader#lads smut#lads angst#lads rafayel#l&ds rafayel
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The Bracket has been set!
This year's competitor pool is hot, with 23 returning competitors and 41 new appearances. In Round 1, the matches will be broken up into 4 waves, divided by the quadrants displayed on the bracket. The matches will all be listed below the cut, for everyone's reference.
SIDE A, PART 1
Donatello Hamato (Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) v.s L Lawliet (Death Note)
Mary Anta (Cemetery Mary) v.s Rui Kamishiro (Project Sekai)
Izuku Midoriya (My Hero Academia) v.s Branch (Dreamworks Trolls)
Snufkin (Moominvalley) v.s Futaba Sakura (Persona 5)
Gordon Freeman (Half Life) v.s Sherlock Holmes (Sherlock Holmes)
Blathers (Animal Crossing) v.s Princess Bubblegum (Adventure Time)
Jonathan Sims (The Magnus Archives) v.s Zane (Lego Ninjago)
Tomoko Kuroki (Watamote) v.s Cloud Strife (Final Fantasy 7)
SIDE A, PART 2
Frieren (Sousou no Frieren) v.s Papyrus (Undertale)
Tech (Star Wars: The Bad Batch) v.s Ferb Fletcher (Phineas & Ferb)
Stanford Pines (Gravity Falls) v.s Twilight Sparkle (My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic)
Berdly (Deltarune) v.s Gregory House (House M.D)
Data (Star Trek) v.s Idia Shroud (Twisted Wonderland)
Peridot (Steven Universe) v.s Penny Polendina (RWBY)
Sig (Puyo Puyo) v.s Marcy Wu (Amphibia)
Jotaro Kujo (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure) v.s Miles Edgeworth (Ace Attorney)
SIDE B, PART 1
Monkey D. Luffy (One Piece) v.s Alhaitham (Genshin Impact)
Laios Touden (Dungeon Meshi) v.s Iggy Maxwell (Our Wonderland)
Dendy (OK KO: Let's Be Heroes) v.s Gin Ibushi (Your Turn To Die)
Norma Khan (Dead End: Paranormal Park) v.s Link (The Legend of Zelda)
Starfire (Teen Titans) v.s Luz Noceda (The Owl House)
Siffrin (In Stars And Time) v.s Huey Duck (Ducktales 2017)
Lilo Pelekai (Lilo & Stitch) v.s Saiki Kusuo (The Disastrous Life of Saiki K.)
Woo Young Woo (Extraordinary Attorney Woo) v.s Miles "Tails" Prower (Sonic the Hedgehog)
SIDE B, PART 2
Razputin Aquato (Psychonauts) v.s Linhardt von Hevring (Fire Emblem Three Houses)
Ranpo Edogawa (Bungou Stray Dogs) v.s Entrapta (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)
Murderbot (The Murderbot Diaries) v.s Kieran (Pokemon Scarlet & Violet)
Twyla Boogeyman (Monster High) v.s Marina Ida (Splatoon)
Hiccup Haddock (How To Train Your Dragon) v.s Batman (DC Comics)
Abed Nadir (Community) v.s Red Son (Lego Monkie Kid)
Uzi Doorman (Murder Drones) v.s Bingo Heeler (Bluey)
Gillion Tidestrider (Just Roll With It) v.s Spongebob Squarepants (Spongebob Squarepants)
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I think Dionysos' design in Hades 2 is intentionally discomforting because he's drunk to the point he's sweating & needs to be derobed because the war is actively making him suffer. But that's just me I think. I don't think he's posing for anyone or meant to look sexy, the setting of Hades 2 is dire and honestly I think anyone would be drinking this heavily to distract themselves from it. Sure I think the anatomy and just general sprite could be better but we gotta take the situation he's in into account yaknow?
In Hades 1, he was the fun drunk cousin because the circumstances weren't as serious, PLUS for a majority of the game he doesn't actually know Zag's true mission, he just thinks, "hey youre cool. come join us on Olympus!"
But in Hades 2, they're at war with the TITAN OF TIME, and their whole mountain is in shambles. In addition, Ares has gone missing. The situation is DIRE. It's SERIOUS. And he said himself he's not one for that kind of conflict. So he's just in his secret party spot drinking himself pathetic. If you thought Hades 1 Dionysos was drunk out of his head Hades 2 Dionysos is drunk out if this fucking universe bro
Also the focus on his thong might be to distract the viewer from noticing that he's actively stressed out. So while yes I make jokes about how he should close his legs I think it does fit.
#hades game#hades 2#hades supergiant#hadesgame#dionysus hades#dionysus#character design#starryshocks yaps again
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press four for more options. | part four.
( Read on AO3 )
Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 4.6k Summary: After seeing your ex with his new girl at a work party, you take the not-so-smart advice from a friend to call a sex hotline to get over him. Your match? A baritone bossy dom named Levi.
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - alternate universe (modern), sex work, pet names, alcohol, mentions of drugs, jokes about death Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics
part three. / return to part one. | masterlist
Night comes around.
You do not call.
In fact, you don't call the Scout Services Hotline a single time that whole weekend.
As you scroll mindlessly through social media in your bed, fluttering between apps without retaining a single word or meme, your cell phone weighs heavily in your hand.
Don't call.
Just don't call.
It isn't like you're devoid of things to do.
Going out is an option.
Being around people may help your mood — but you don’t feel like unearthing from your snuggie poncho.
Putting on a movie can be a great distraction — but you know your attention span would barely last through the opening credits.
It was him.
Right there.
Right in front of you.
Levi from Scout Services, alive and in the flesh, holding your phone.
No amount of mental gymnastics can make you doubt otherwise.
He has a voice like no other; one that haunts your day dreams and soothes your nightmares, one that brings this sudden urge to do better for yourself—
Ironically, to be independent and strong on your own.
Which, actually, really fucking sucks now that you’re stuck with the decision to totally disappear from the gym, too.
(Kind of thwarts the whole ‘new me’ chest-puffing you’d started Friday with.)
So you make a final decision:
You still have to go to the gym Saturday, Sunday, and Monday.
Even if you say nothing, keep to yourself, remain a shadow, you have to go.
(There’s a fragile line drawn in the sands of reality. You can toe the edge, but you refuse to. This is his livelihood. You’re not delusional to believe you’re a main character exception.)
Coincidentally, Levi goes every day, too.
Your stomach flip-flops with the unsettling realization that your perch on a treadmill actually gives you a perfect vantage point to watch him as he sets his station up every morning.
Meticulously he sets towels down to place his shaker bottle and water thermos down, as if worried the ground hadn’t been cleaned overnight.
He even takes the disinfectant cloths and cleans every dumbbell he lines up neatly before starting his workout.
The dark-haired man truly is less-than-average in height, which isn’t a turn-off to you in the slightest, but his arms — his goddamn arms.
Levi wasn’t kidding when he told you that he could pick you up.
He could probably pick two of you up, one arm each.
They’re so toned, his forearms veiny from morning dehydration.
Training vigorously in his own world, not once does he notice that you’re the bumbling idiot that’s tripped on the treadmill (see: a few times) from dissociating.
Hell, he hasn’t a single fucking clue that you’re close enough to yell across the room to him.
Would he know?
That you’re Scarlet.
His, in some made-up world.
(Does your voice stand out in a sea of lonely people?)
The cleaning ritual extends to his cooldown, where he properly cleans each piece of equipment before nestling it back in its place.
Levi sits on his phone for a second, dropping down to a bench to scroll — text messages.
(Damn it, have you really resorted to minor stalking?)
As soon as he stands, though, you drop your chin to watch your sneakers rhythmically pass one another on the treadmill belt.
He passes like a ghost, evaporating into the men’s locker room without a word.
This is torture.
You miss him.
But you still refuse to call.
Can't — because in another world you may be his, but in this world, he is not yours.
.
.
— —
.
.
Tuesday night rolls around and you decide you hate life.
Annie, Eren, Reiner, and Mikasa are already there by the time you walk into the downtown hotspot.
The boys as well as Mikasa are still in their suit attire from work, their ties loosened at their necks. Annie’s in a hoodie and jeans, clearly much more interested in having a comfortable evening.
If the emptied shot glasses are any indicator of the plans for this evening, then you steel yourself for one hell of a Wednesday.
You glide through the busy crowds of the bar towards the group.
Bodies upon bodies crowd this place — it’s never not a zoo at this hour, no matter the day. Saying excuse me would only waste breath.
A live band croons on the far end of the smoky bar, forcing everyone to talk ten decibels higher just to hear the conversation.
(Can’t you turn around and go home while you’re ahead?)
In the sea of people, a pair of emerald green eyes over by a cluster of tables in the right-hand corner catch your movement. They widen, recognizing your face, and a lopsided grin of surprise follows.
“Holy shit, she left her cave!” Eren yells, holding up a cheap beer in salute to your arrival.
(Thanks Jeager, you little fuck.)
You don’t hear what she says, but you can see Mikasa’s lips part in tandem with a sharp elbow jab straight to his ribs.
Eren instantly falters his salute, souring in pain.
“I know. Don’t be so shocked,” you state to your colleagues, leaning up against the circular high-top table. “Am I the last to show?”
“Nah, you’re right on time. Armin and Jean’re on their way,” Reiner grunts, holding onto a comically small cosmopolitan in his rather large hand. “Sasha’s on babysitting duty with Nicco.”
You look around the bar for any other familiar faces.
“And Connie?”
“Passed out,” Mikasa supplies. “Took edibles after work.”
“There’s no chance in hell anyone’s waking him,” Eren snorts. “Fucker’s toast.”
Reiner sighs. “For what it’s worth, Jean tried.”
“No, Armin tried,” Annie corrects, finally piping up. She holds something on the rocks — brandy? Whiskey? You can’t tell. “Jean just laughed and kept trying to draw shit on his face.”
“You didn’t see the Snapchat he sent?” Eren asks after a gulp of his beer.
You shake your head, knowing damn well you’ve avoided using your phone for the last several days.
Missed texts, abandoned tagged tweets, your streak in your mobile game ruined — anything so you wouldn’t be tempted to click that little number.
Damn it.
Enough wallowing.
“I’m gonna go grab a drink,” you state, disengaging with the table. “Anyone need anything?”
From your peripheral, you see a familiar mop of blonde hair walking towards your group. At his side is a much taller man sliding through the crowd, navigating the shorter one to the tiny table you’ve commandeered from the masses.
Armin and Jean.
Reiner and Annie shake their heads.
“Nope, I’m solid.”
“Good here.”
“Eren’s got the next round of shots,” Mikasa flatly states. “You’re fine.”
“Ha, hell yeah!” Eren exclaims, before he settles into a confused pause of silence. His head whips to Mikasa, blinking twice. “Wait, what?”
You don’t stick around for that aftermath.
Squeezing back into the lion’s den of people, you try not to get hit with any too-full beverages or waving hands.
You manage to weave and duck, eventually finding a small empty corner at the edge of the bar.
Success.
You rush to claim it before someone else can, your forearm on the wooden surface.
Holding up two fingers to get the one of the three bartender’s attention, she nods once to acknowledge she sees you — she’ll get there eventually.
Two empty stools are available, so you scoot onto the one closest to the wall while waiting for your turn and drop your purse onto the other while you situate yourself.
It’ll likely take a while if the busyness of the staff has anything to say about it.
An hour.
All you need to do is last one whole hour.
Chat a bit, mingle a little so everyone at work doesn’t think you’re a total goddamn recluse, then you can go—
“Is this seat taken?”
A question sounding to your left breaks your train of thought.
The seat.
The one next to you, where your purse lay.
Way to go, dumbass.
You answer on autopilot, not thinking twice about it.
“Oh — shit, yeah. I mean, no! No it’s not. I’m sorry.”
As your torso turns to grab your purse off of the deep red stool, your eyes drop to make sure nothing spills out of it.
“Hold on, let me just move—”
Your chin lifts to find yourself staring eye to eye with Levi.
Wait.
Levi?!
His cheekbones look even sharper under the warm hue of the bar lights overhead, lips parted like he was interrupted in asking a question.
The whites of his eyes grow more prominent with every passing second, making the blue-gray color of them stand out in stark contrast to the black curtain of fringe falling against his temples.
The realization that you spoke — that he’s seen your face before — seems to be hitting him like a goddamn freight train.
Your blood runs cold as your own eyes round.
“...my stuff.”
Weakly you finish your thought, wishing for nothing but death right now.
Maybe a stranger, like a secret agent with wicked strength, will simply rush the bar and put you in a headlock and knock you out.
Maybe your drink will be poisoned.
You’re happy for anything so long as it’s swift.
Levi grunts in acknowledgement, slowly finding a spot on the empty stool beside yours.
Both of you swivel towards the bar, staring ahead.
Silence.
For what feels like hours, neither of you speak. The noise of the bar becomes overwhelming.
Somehow the surrounding voices feel amplified when you’ve lost your own.
It’s trapped between a thousand apologies and half a dozen explanations that sound worse than the one before it.
You need to get up.
Excuse yourself out.
Leave.
You won’t get your damn drink, but that’s fine so long as you’re not here.
“How’s your phone?”
Eventually Levi speaks, and you find yourself wishing he hadn’t.
The effect of his voice is even worse in person — so buttery smooth, the gravel much deeper in his chest now that there isn’t a phone receiver to dilute it.
“Not… damaged,” you reply cautiously.
“Good.”
Another stretch of silence passes, and you forget about ordering drinks altogether.
Your eyes drop to view his folded hands, how the veins protrude even when resting.
His fingers are slender, strong, and hate yourself for yearning.
You have to apologize.
This is crossing a line.
You need to—
“So—”
“I’m canceling my subscription.”
You blurt a fraction later than Levi, proclaiming your innocence before he can ever condemn it.
When you meet his steely eyes, they squint with curiosity.
From the crown of your head to your chin, he assesses in a serpentine pattern before eventually finding your eyes once more.
“How come?” he asks, leaning further against the bar top.
“I— how come?”
You repeat his question in surprise.
Wildly gesturing towards the space between you with your hand, you snort.
“Uh, because that’s the right thing to do in this circumstance? Because seeing you in person is borderline unethical?”
He hums at that, not giving you much to work with.
“And for the record, I did not stalk you to this bar.”
“Didn’t think you did.”
“I’m actually here with friends—”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
Levi interrupts, seemingly unbothered by your rambling.
“At the gym. I can make an educated guess and say you knew it was me from the second I opened my trap, but you didn’t say anything.”
Why isn’t he freaking out?
Shouldn’t he be freaking out?
Just as you open your mouth to continue professing your innocence, the bartender walks over and points to you.
“What can I get you?”
You blanch, no longer remember how to order drinks.
“I—”
“I got her tab,” Levi interrupts casually, tapping his index finger into the counter. “Two hard seltzers.”
Then he has the audacity to glance your way.
“Pineapple, right?”
Holy shit, he remembers your favorite flavor?
Is this a flex?
(It kind of feels like a flex; a way to say I know you, I was there.)
“...pineapple’s fine,” you murmur in return, hesitant.
The bartender doesn’t waste another second to rummage in the mini fridge on the other side of the bar for two slim cans.
For another agonizing thirty seconds, neither of you say a word.
He raises his chin to watch whatever sport’s game is playing overhead on the television.
You stare at your mirrored reflection in the bar backsplash.
This is real life.
The man you’ve spent hours talking to over the phone to, getting off to, is sitting right beside you, yet he isn’t trying to create distance.
If anything, he’s buying you a damn drink and asking you why.
Why didn’t you say something?
“I didn’t say anything at the gym because that would have been extremely inappropriate,” you finally argue under your breath, keeping the conversation strictly between you. “What would I have said? ‘Oh hey, guy I've paid to talk to on the phone every single night for the past week. Isn’t it crazy that I actually go to the same gym as you?’ That’s so creepy.”
When he says nothing, still staring at you, you continue to bury yourself into a deeper grave.
“I mean, I thought you lived, like… a billion miles from me. Maybe from another planet.”
His brows pinch with amusement.
“On Mars, or…?”
Oh.
He’s joking.
He’s actually joking about this.
You turn your chin, brow furrowed. “This isn’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, and you have to force yourself to maintain eye contact.
“I wondered why you looked so scared of me on Friday. Thought maybe I smelled like shit from my workout.”
No, you want to say. Unfortunately it was the goddamn opposite.
“So you’re not…”
“Worried you’re a stalker trying to dox me because of my job?”
Levi blatantly finishes, and you wince.
Clearly he notices your embarrassment, because he sighs and relaxes his shoulders.
“I’m more pissed that you didn’t call all weekend, but then again, that’s the nature of the job.”
You both watch each other for a moment as the bartender returns, passing you both pineapple hard seltzers to nurse.
He pushes your can to your hand, nudging the icy-cold aluminum against your thumb, then picks up his own.
“The nature of the job?” you repeat, and he nods.
“People get bored. Run out of funds. Novelty wears off fast.”
Levi shrugs, sipping his drink.
“Just because you like talking to someone doesn’t mean they stick around. Wouldn’t blame 'em — shit gets expensive quick.”
“I just…”
You trail off, fighting to find the correct words to say.
“...I thought it wasn’t right to call again, knowing I knew what you looked like, so I didn’t.”
Explaining yourself makes your tongue feel sluggish, like you were caught red-handed in a crime you didn’t know you’d committed until hindsight.
“I can leave you alone,” you decide to add, holding your drink tighter. “Like I said, I’m here with my friends and… after all, you were doing your job. A great job. You’re kind of the reason I’m even here in the first place.”
Levi’s brow knits, and your eyes widen.
“Not like that!”
“Pretty shit at asserting yourself even in person,” he murmurs like it’s a cheeky inside joke, and he sips once more. “So how am I the reason?”
He’s not angry.
Hell, he’s conversational.
Not the least bit worried about how you’ve both managed to get here.
Might as well be honest.
“Because I decided to stop being a little less scared of the world,” you confess softly. “It— That’s why I got to the gym so early on Friday. I wanted to start doing strength training, like how you talk about how much you love it. And… I thought, maybe, I’d spend more time with friends. Get out there more. Be more assertive — beyond right now, obviously.”
The dark-haired man’s expression smooths at that in a mixture of recognition and surprise.
The slide of his brow is beautiful, and your heart squeezes at the sight of an animated Levi in the flesh, just as you pictured.
“Do you have to go back to your friends right now?”
At first you don’t quite register his question, but then it causes butterflies to flutter in your stomach.
He looks left to right, as if trying to find your troop of buddies, before returning his attention back to you.
“You don’t… want me to leave?”
Levi shakes his head.
You feel bolted to your stool, unable to move even if you wanted to.
Simultaneously you sip your drinks, keeping eye contact.
It feels intimate.
Too intimate.
“So, then…” You start slowly. “What does this mean?”
“Well,” Levi begins, mulling it over in his head. “Means the whole provider-client relationship has basically gone to shit. You know my face, now I know yours.”
“Right.”
“Then again, that professionalism was already well into a shit pile way before Friday morning.”
You blink, not following. “Huh?”
“There’s nothing in the company policy about what to do when you stumble into your client at the damn local gym, but there sure as hell wasn’t anything about…”
Levi trails off, clenching his jaw in debate.
“...about crossing the line I practically leapt over. I’m good at my job because of my detachment, but this was the only time I bordered on unethical myself. That wasn’t fair to you, and I’m sorry.”
Sorry.
Levi… was sorry?
The words blurt faster than you can stop yourself. “Why the hell are you sorry?”
His eyes widen with a budding uncertainty.
“I… just said I crossed the line?”
“When?”
“On the phone?”
“Okay, duh, but when?”
“Our last session.”
“So that was real.”
Levi actually got off to your voice.
If you weren’t in such shock about sitting here face-to-face with him at a local bar, then perhaps your ego would have, in fact, made a crash landing on Mars.
He considers his next words very carefully.
“It wasn’t supposed to be.”
Then he sips more before shaking his head.
“Look. It’s… a job a friend of mine got me. I’m not a real-life Casanova or any of that shit. Hell, most of my time was spent training punks to fight in a boxing ring, so I never had the energy for relationships or dating.”
You can't hide your surprise. “You were a fighter?”
He makes a noncommittal face.
“Loosely. Personal trainer, training in general — fell into it after I got out of the service.”
“Right, you were in the army,” you murmur, and the edge of his lips upticks at your recollection.
“A couple of months ago the gym I worked for went under, money got tight, so I thought I’d try it out. Guess everyone says it's hard to teach an old dog new tricks, but bossing fighters around and fielding horny-ass callers ain't all that different."
Levi turns his chin just so to regard you under a wispy black fringe.
“I can usually predict what someone wants. The people that call this hotline shit, they’re in and out."
He takes a pause.
"You, though — the second I picked up your call, you threw me through a goddamn loop.”
You use your nail on your index finger to absently scratch the side of your thumb, attempting to process everything he’s telling you.
"First night we spoke, actually, I ended up at this very bar to contemplate why the fuck I wanted you to call back. Didn't want you blowing your money on it, obviously, it's overpriced and ridiculous, but — it clearly shook me up enough for me to take then ten-minute walk in the middle of the night in the first place."
Ten minutes.
That length of time strikes something in you.
“So, your… office building isn’t far?” you slowly ask.
Levi shakes his head. “No, no office. I work remotely. Kind of the reason why I took the gig in the first place. I wouldn’t do this shit if I had an audience in a damn two-by-four cube.”
You’re not sure what possesses you to confess it, but you point past your shoulder.
“My apartment complex is actually six blocks down the street.”
Ten minutes away, is your implication.
His hand had raised to sip from his seltzer can, but it halts immediately.
His eyes narrow.
“The complex on Junction Ave?”
“Yeah," you say.
“Right across from—”
“The Reiss deli.”
That narrowed gaze shoots wide. “You’re shitting me.”
“You say the word shit a lot.”
“Baby, I live there,” he blurts.
“Wait, what?”
Now it’s your turn for your eyes to nearly pop out of your skull.
(You’re too shocked to even process what he called you.)
He huffs in a brief laugh, shaking his head.
“You gotta be fucking with me.”
“I’m not! Wait, you live in the same building as me?”
“You said Thomas was your goddamn mailman,” Levi states. “Do you know how many fucking Thomas the Mailmen there are in this world? I didn’t think we’d have the same one.”
Holy shit.
Oh, holy shit.
You sit up taller in your seat. “Wait, what floor?”
“Sixteenth.”
“I’m on the tenth!” you exclaim in your shock. “Holy shit, so you…”
Have been right above me this entire time.
Your phone buzzes, ruining your train of thought.
Reflexively you look down to see the preview of Annie’s message over your lock screen.
[A. LEONHART]: Did u die?
Right.
You’re here with friends.
“Friends wondering where you are?” Levi inquiries at the sight of your growing frown.
“Yeah, give me a sec.”
You swipe the screen north and type a reply.
[ME]: Talking to someone. Be over in a bit.
Annie’s reply is immediate, and you turn your phone from Levi’s view in mortification.
[A. LEONHART]: 🍆🍆🍆🍆🍆
[A. LEONHART]: WINGMAN??? NEED????
[ME]: NO! Do not come over here!
[A. LEONHART]: ok ok ok noted
[A. LEONHART]: i’ll keep jaeger to the left end of the bar
“Looks urgent.”
“Huh?”
You shoot a glance back up to Levi, who’s now angled towards you with his cheek squished against his clenched fist. His elbow props him up on the bar top.
“No! No. It’s just my friend Annie. She — is actually the one who gave me the number to that hotline in the first place,” you confess.
Levi hums in that delicious way you’ve come to crave.
“I don’t want to derail your evening. I’ve already taken you away from them for a while.”
Your heart is hesitant, but it grows despite yourself.
“If you want me to stay, then I’ll stay,” you quietly state. “I… liked talking to you. I mean, beyond the whole — you know.”
He nods once, setting his drink down.
“For what it’s worth, I don’t want you to disappear, either. My job’s not exactly corporate. Not many people can separate fantasy from reality. With you, I never had to bullshit what it was, but…”
Levi trails off, sighing heavily.
“...but I also understand if it’s just a fantasy, for you.”
Something nestles itself between the lines of his words.
Something he isn’t saying outright, sussing out if he has any right to try.
“Do you really mean that, Levi?”
That sigh turns into a curbed huff, smile fleeting but enough to bring your stomach butterflies.
“Damn. Sounds nice, hearing my name in person.”
Oh, sweet Jesus.
You could scream into your damn seltzer, but you decide to play it as cool as you possibly can.
“So Levi’s your real name?”
He nods.
“Not creative enough to come up with an alias."
Levi shifts, rolling out a shoulder.
"But to answer your question, I’m saying I… yeah, I mean it. I wouldn’t mind asking you out for coffee sometime, given we seem to run on the same gym schedule as it is. Just didn’t know if you wanted to leave it at the hotline and call it a day — no pun intended.”
Are you seriously hearing what he’s saying right now?
Does Levi want to step out of a fantasy and into your reality?
Your lips part with a million questions only to end up blurting a very stupid one:
“Are you single?”
That earns a bark of a laugh, causing his head to gloriously drop back, exposing his neck.
(All you want to do is sink your teeth into it.)
“Yes. Very,” he promises. “Are you, still?”
“Very,” you promise back.
“And my job doesn’t bother you?”
You haven't quite gotten that far, logistically, but it's only a coffee.
He isn't asking to marry you.
Besides, he talks about it like any other office job. You can't find any ill feeling toward it.
“Work is work,” you argue with a one-shoulder shrug. “Sure, it’s unconventional, but… I’m so used to not knowing what I want, or second-guessing what’s good for me, and I don’t think I’ve ever second guessed a damn thing with you.”
Bringing the seltzer back up to his mouth, Levi smirks against the can, mulling something over.
You smile in return, sipping your drink.
It's the truth.
He may not really know you, but he knows you.
Just as you're beginning to think you know him.
“Well, if you don’t get too wasted with your friends tonight—”
He steals a ballpoint pen from a dampened closed check from his left side.
Then he snatches a napkin from one of the bartending stations with lemons, limes, and straws.
Hunching over, he scribbles on said napkin, before turning a cheek to you.
“—and you end up going to the gym tomorrow morning—”
Levi then sits up taller, folds the napkin, and reaches for your hand resting on the bar top.
His skin is smooth.
Heated.
Your entire body melts to his whim as he turns your wrist over, palm facing up.
One by one his fingers unfurl your fingers, nestles the napkin in your hand, then closes your fist for safe keeping.
“—give me a call.”
Leaving a twenty on the bar counter, Levi lets go of your hand to slip off of his stool.
You say nothing as you watch him give you one last once-over, expression full of admiration, before turning into the sea of people.
A call.
Flexing your hand, you uncrinkle the napkin to read the number etched black on white.
Not the Scout Services Hotline.
No — his number.
Your attention flies back to the original spot where you've now properly abandoned your friends, but you know they'll forgive you for your absence.
Annie knows.
She'll cover for your abrupt disappearance.
On autopilot you yank out your phone, bypassing the texts from your friends, emails from work, and tap the little telephone icon.
Zero through nine appear.
Hastily you type the number, hesitation long gone, and press send.
One ring.
Two.
By the third, it abruptly cuts. You hear shuffling in the background. Cars beeping.
“Hello, Levi Ackerman speaking.”
Levi Ackerman.
Knowing his full name warms your heart.
Standing from your stool, you rise to your toes to search the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Levi stands there on the sidewalk, holding his phone up to his ear.
“Hi, Levi. It’s formerly Scarlet.”
Immediately he turns to the bar, searching the very same window.
Searching for you.
You smile to yourself.
"My schedule just opened up. I know it's a little late for some coffee, but..."
Trailing off, your teeth catch your bottom lip.
Be selfish.
"Are you free for some tea now?”
.
FIN
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
How are we feeling, Hotliner Nation? I teased that this may not be the end of this story. I'm not against writing a sequel, whether to continue the immediate story or time skip, but I wanted to see what people thought before I spoke too soon. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed our hotline journey together.
In the meantime I invite you to follow me here or subscribe to my AO3, as I have other projects in the works (including finishing the final chapters of my canon-based amnesia au with Levi, Silver Underground.)
The last two months have been such a wonderful journey, and I thank every single one of you for engaging the way you have. I never anticipated such a frenzy when I started P4, so sincerely, from the bottom of my heart - thank you for the comments, reblogs, inbox mssgs, etc. Every reblog gives this writer wings.
#levi ackerman x reader#levi ackerman x you#levi ackerman x female reader#attack on titan fanfiction#snk fanfiction#snk fanfic#aot fanfic#aot fic#snk fic#levi ackerman fanfiction#levi ackerman smut#levi ackerman fanfic#shingeki no kyojin fanfiction#aot fanfiction#shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction#aot smut#aot x reader#snk smut#snk x reader
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got any headcanons for our dear old mad mod?
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YES I DO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING 👀👀👀
not sure how the inspiration hit, but these are all headcanons concerning Mad Mod's past, and how he was as a young man...i hope you find them intriguing 😉
Mad Mod General headcanons 💖
👑 Mad Mod used to be a highly-trained baton twirler. Moddy didn't just pick up those cane-spinning skills on the street: he was selected as an athletic English youth to be part of a military morale-boosting programme. i conservatively place Mad Mod as being in his mid-sixties by the time he meets the Teen Titans, assuming the year 2003 is roughly accurate. this means he was born sometime in the 30s, and was one of the earliest British precursors to modern, competitive baton twirling (which became popular in America in the 50s, and later in the UK around the 70s/80s). this time frame puts our young Moddy in stead to be extremely patriotic, and to emerge into his young adulthood by the late 50s: juuust at the cusp of what would become 60s Mod culture. as a young man, Mad Mod would entertain his mates at the pub with his stick-spinning parlour tricks, and he eventually had his own cane custom-made just for the aesthetic 💎
👑 he never talks about it, but Mad Mod grew up in quite an impoverished family. Mad Mod actually had a number of brothers and sisters back home in England, but he hasn't seen any of them in years. as a kid he was often pushed around and bullied by his siblings, and forgotten about by his overworked mother (whilst his father was never in the picture). as a small, skinny, thoughtful child, Mad Mod had to learn quickly how to use his wit to survive. it wasn't long before he started studying the shadier characters who lived around his neighbourhood, and implementing their techniques to rob unsuspecting charlies for a couple of extra quid.
Mad Mod worked hard in school, and scrimped and saved every last stolen penny until he was able to hotfoot it to Soho in London. there, he was quickly snapped up as a fashion designer's apprentice, who noted the young man's excellent style and aptitude for design. years later, working as a fashion designer on Carnaby Street (and smuggling out stolen goods through his clothes), Mad Mod resented his working class roots, and always told anyone who asked that he had no family at all 👛 👑 Mad Mod's terror of becoming old started young. due to his overbite, Mad Mod was often mocked as looking like an old man in his youth, with his large, crooked teeth being compared to dentures. as he grew, Mad Mod developed a type of gerontophobia: he was routinely horrified that his body would one day break down. eventually, this morphed into a physical revulsion toward older people, as well as an aversion to signs of his own ageing body. this phobia followed him into his teens and young adulthood, and was only placated by the sudden emergence of the Mods in the 60s. the sharp style, modern-sounding music and youth subculture element of the Mods gave Mad Mod a weapon to fight back against his fear: suddenly he was young, and attractive, and he had the world in the palm of his hand. yet this style was always a plaster over his insecurities. no matter how many pints he knocked back or people he slept with, Mad Mod would always go home every night and look in the mirror, obsessively checking for wrinkles or stray grey hairs. 💔
#i'm sure there are plenty of historical inaccuracies in here but i hope it's an interesting set of ideas!#mad mod#neil richards#teen titans#dc animated universe#dc#dcau#starleskasks#starleskawrites#long post
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Yandere DC Purge Au
A/N: inspired by a bot on janitor ai here's the link reader is this universes wolverine fem reader, yandere themes
Getting home from the Titans Tower, you shrug off your brown leather biker jacket, letting the heavy garment fall to the floor with an audible thump.
Boot clad feet accidentally kick a small black elegantly wrapped package that been slipped through your mail slot. (E/c) Eyes full of curiosity, you bend down to pick up the box, it was a little bigger than your hand, unable to fight the curiosity, you threw your helmet on the couch and used your sharp pointer finger nail to tear a seam into the paper, your mind moved a mile a minute as five neat letters in black envelopes were revealed.
Your heart falls to your stomach, you knew what these letters meant, what they entailed, you'd been chosen, and not by one yandere, but five. You didn't bother to read the letters, setting them down on your coffee table like the paper was going to bite you, sitting on the couch with a groan, your shoulders coiled like a animal ready to pounce. In all your 24 years you'd never had to deal with a yandere, while you were aware of them of course, your particular lifestyle didn't allow for such things, you were a hero after all, you couldn't help but tense, yes you were a formidable fighter, yes you had confidence in your abilities to defend yourself but five separate psycho's? That was a lot to deal with even for you.
You had a day to prepare, that's all the decency the government allowed people like her. A day to prepare for the insanity that was the Purge. All former plans for a quiet week off patrols were gone, replaced by your fierce determination. You wouldn't be caught, you'd been caged enough for your lifetime.
The next morning you make your way into the Titans Tower business as usual, you had no idea who the senders of the letters were so you kept your guard up.
It was a tradition for the team to hang out one last time before the purge, since all crime, including all yandere crime, was legal, the team technically got a week long vacation. So they liked to hangout the day before those infamous sirens would ring out across the city. The whole team was there, doing their usual things when you were approached by Rachel Roth aka Raven.
"Your mind is.. guarded tonight, are you alright?" Her soft monotone voice calls out dragging you from your mind, "Yeah just ..tense about tomorrow ya know?" Your voice gruff yet feminine, you didn't mind the fact that she was peaking into your head, having long since gotten used to her antics, instead you lean back on the counter surveying the room with a calculated gaze. You kept your thoughts clear knowing she had a penchant for reading your mind without permission, you didn't want to tell the team about the letters for a multitude of reasons, the main one being you didn't know if it was one of them who sent it. Of course you trusted your team but you'd learned long ago to trust yourself before anyone else.
And your enhanced animal like senses told you danger was a foot. "Any big plans for the week?" You ask casually still observing your other teammates.
"I rented a cabin in the snow, very tranquil, very secluded.." she paused a moment her dark eyes scanning your features, "You could come with me- if you don't want to spend the purge alone?" The question hung heavy in the air, the intensity in her gaze made you smirk, no way in hell were you taking a trip right now.
"I actually have some plans already." You smiled at the dark haired sorceress, trying to soothe the wound of denial. "Well if you at any point change your mind simply call for me and I'll be there." She says flatly, but her steel gaze was as intense as ever.
"Definitely." You respond before pushing off the counter, "I'm gonna hit the gym, see you later Rav."
'Well that was something' you thought to yourself, she'd always been attached to you, finding comfort in your troubled past, but she'd never looked so..like that before.
Shaking off the encounter you find yourself in the gym toned (s/c) arms stretching across your chest in preparation, a training dummy standing across from you. Just before you throw the first punch Conner aka Superboy walks in the room his arms crossed. "You wanna keep playing with that thing or you want a real fight?" The tall wall of a man asks walking closer to you, this wasn't out of the ordinary as you were one of the only people on the team who could keep up with Conner physically.
"let's go." You say getting into a fighting stance, your feet wide, fists in front of your face.
The spar was intense as usual with him, he didn't hold back, because of your healing factor he didn't need to, and you preferred it that way. You two danced around the mat swiping at each other, trading blows that would send a normal human to the grave. Your adamantium covered skeleton allowed you to land hits on him that actually sent him reeling. Your breath came out in heavy pants as Conner made an expert dodge, he sweeps his leg under you catching you off guard enough to stumble backwards, he grips your tank top stopping you from hitting the mat staring at you for a second too long before bringing you into a head lock, panting in your ear, "You give?" You could hear the smirk on his face, you growl under your breath, "Fuck off.", elbowing him hard enough to make him release you, instead of getting angry he just grins at you looking like an animal about to pounce.
The spar ends in a draw both of you covered in sweat, "you wanna hang out tomorrow?" He asks wiping his forehead, you pause thinking over the fact that tomorrow was the first night of the Purge, sure is didn't start until 7pm but it was risky as hell to go about business as usual on the day of.
"Sorry big guy I'm fully booked." The lie flows off your tongue easily enough, you couldn't risk getting Conner involved in whatever the yanderes had planned for you tomorrow, you also couldn't rule him out as a suspect yet.
The rest of your day is full of similar interactions with your team, Garfield aka Beast Boy had invited you over to his place for a gaming fueled sleepover, pouting when you decline, Kori aka Starfire had offered to straight up stay with you for the duration of the purge, looking absolutely confused as to why you'd said no.
The day ends with you gathering your things as you wouldn't be in the tower for a week. Damian, the current Robin and leader of your team walks over before you can leave. "I assume you've made preparations?" The enigmatic man spoke in that usual Damian tone that you could never quite get a read on. "I'll be fine." Was your simple answer. His green eyes studied you, taking in your response. He simply smirks at you before bidding you goodnight.
You got zero sleep that night the rainy Gotham skies a background to your inner turmoil. Your instincts said to run so you were. A few minutes before the sirens go off, you're in your garage, a duffle bag thrown over your shoulders, when you notice your bike's tires have been slashed, both of them deflated.
Cursing under your breath you steady your nerves before heading back up to your apartment. Navigating the streets of Gotham on the first night of the purge was a bad idea even for a self healing mutant with adamantium claws like yourself. Instead you choose to take the situation as it came, barricading the front door with a bookshelf, you pour yourself a double shot of whiskey and light the cigar you'd been saving for a special occasion.
The shrill terror inducing sound of the annual purge sirens go off on schedule, you remain unflinching as you prepare yourself for the inevitable encounter.
About five minutes after the bell stops ringing there's a loud knock on your door, the handle jingling seconds after, "(Y/n), open the door." The command was given pleadingly. You recognized that voice, the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention. You were prepared for some nobody to try and claim you. Not him.
"We're getting in there no matter what so you may as well just," a loud bang shook the wood, "Open up." A second voice spoke out, this one just as familiar as the first, your heart fell to your stomach at the realization, the other three didn't need to speak for you to guess they were out there.
Your eyes quickly scan the window of your apartment, you were on the third floor but it was an easy drop for someone with your healing ability.
"Don't make this harder than it needs to be." The third gruff voice speaks before a gunshot is heard, the bastard had shot out your front door lock, a blue eye peaked in the hole locking onto you instantly a predatory look in the gaze. "There you are kitty." He says before glaring at the bookshelf in his way, it doesn't take much for him to start throwing his shoulder into the wood of the door.
"Don't scare her." The fourth voice chimed in but did nothing to stop the man barreling into your apartment. By the time the five entered you had already booked it out the window, your broken ankles healing as you sprint down the dimly lit Gotham streets.
"She's on the move." Bruce finally speaks, his authoritative voice left no room for argument. Damian was the first to act scaling down the apartment so fast he skipped some steps, he was a man on a mission.
Dick was quick to follow flipping out the window and landing gracefully before giving chase. Tim quickly pulled out a tablet tracking your every move.
Jason snarls at the chase, running after you like a beast on the hunt. Bruce follows behind in the batmobile with Tim guiding him to your location in the passenger seat, each man's heart burning for you.
The night had just begun and you were now playing a game you wanted no part in.
#yananswers#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x y/n#yandere dc imagine#yandere dc x reader#yandere dc#yandere batfamily x reader#yandere batfamily#yandere batfam#yandere batfam x reader
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🔍🌙♥️ here’s the tim sticker sheet i designed for the @timdrakeflipzine , with all sorts of alternative media and universe robins and red robins and—
🫶 if you’re interested in the exhaustive list of tim’s included…
young justice 2019 drake (ft. earth 3 ginger tim)
dark knights of steel
unternet tim
bat kid from the animated batman under the red hood movie
regular tim in a fun outfit vaguely based on some older panels :3
lego tim
futures end tim in his batman beyond run
dunce cap red robin from batman unlimited
rebirth robin
new 52 red robin
preboot/2009 red robin
90’s robin
gotham by gaslight
dc bombshells batgirl tim
another set of two silly tims (one w his motorcycle and red robin base suit, the other with his skateboard and camera and superboy shirt)
bald arkhamverse tim
mister sarcastic
superboy mourning/red and black robin costume
young justice animated tim
savior/titans tomorrow tim
gotham knights robin
wayne family adventures
a silly tim as ceo of wayne enterprises :3
if you can believe it, this was after i had to cut down on some other ideas :]
#tim drake#tim drake flip zine#robin#red robin#dc#dc comics#art#as always#timkon#(if you squint)#god am i going to tag all of these. (yes i am)#young justice#dark knights of steel#unternet#bat kid (under the red hood)#batman beyond tim#futures end#batman unlimited#gotham by gaslight#dc bombshells#arkhamverse#mister sarcastic#young justice animated#savior tim drake#titans tomorrow#gotham knights#wayne family adventures#ceo tim drake
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