#it could be argued that it was done is self defense but was it really?

[roseofdarkness0]

I would like to argue against that, as in it wasn't without meaning, but I do see your point and I tip my hat to you

Kinda sad when you realise the first person D-16 killed wasn't sentinel it was his best friend.

[janiehellion]

Breaking Through

ONESHOT

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: Daryl’s reckless behavior on a supply run nearly gets him killed, pushing you to remind him how to stay humble. Little did you know, his attitude was hiding something much deeper that only you could break through.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: DARYL DIXON X FEM!READER

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: MOMMY KINK / SMUT / BODY WORSHIP / ORAL SEX / EDGING / TEASING / HURT / COMFORT / AFTERCARE / LANGUAGE

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 7.799

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ: LATE S5 & EARLY S6

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇꜱᴛᴇᴅ ʙʏ: @mayday2007

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's ɴᴏᴛᴇ: I truly hope I did your request justice! I also hope that the length of it is okay and that it met your expectations. And thank you so much for your patience!

MASTERLIST & REQUEST GUIDELINES

You leaned against the porch, one of the few spots in Alexandria that didn’t make you want to rip your hair out. It all felt too damn clean sometimes, too fake even. Here, it was easy to forget how the world had gone to shit, but... Daryl? He never let himself forget. He was walking around by the gate, looking like an animal waiting for a fight, and you knew why...

Rick and a few others were getting ready for a run—another trip outside the safe walls to scavenge for supplies. But more than that, it was an excuse for Daryl to escape the suffocation of Alexandria. He’d rather be out there with the walkers than in here, playing pretend.

"Daryl," you called out, and he stopped pacing and turned to face you, his eyes narrowing like he was already preparing for a lecture from you.

"What?" He grunted, sounding as defensive as ever. He was always on alert these days, and it was only getting worse since you arrived in Alexandria.

"Listen," you started, stepping down from the porch and running toward him as he prepared to leave. "I know you hate this place, and I understand; I really do, but you need to keep your head on straight out there. You’re not just out there for yourself. You’ve got Rick, Glenn, and Michonne with you today. You fuck anything up; they could get hurt too. Please, just be careful."

He looked away, scuffing his boot against the ground like a stubborn child who didn’t want to hear what you were saying. "Ain’t no damn kid. Can handle myself," he growled back at you.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. This wasn’t the first time you’d had this conversation, and it sure as hell wouldn’t be the last. "You might be able to handle yourself, sure, and we all know that you are more than capable of doing that, but that doesn’t mean you can act reckless. You need to listen to Rick, do what he says, and stop acting like a damn brat. You keep pulling this shit, and one of these days, it’s gonna bite you in the ass. Literally."

Daryl clenched his jaw and scoffed, and for a moment, you thought he might actually argue with you. But then he just shook his head. "Yer done now?"

"No, Daryl, I’m not done," you snapped back, feeling your frustration grow and almost boil over. "I’m tired of watching you do this bullshit, okay? We’re all trying to make this work, and you’re out there acting like you’ve got a death wish. We’ve lost too many people already, and I’m not about to lose you or anyone else because you couldn’t keep your damn self in check."

For a second, you saw something like vulnerability, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He looked away again, like he was trying to block out your words, not wanting to listen to you.

"Just... think about what I said, okay?" You said, the tone in your voice softening slightly. You didn’t want to push him too hard, but you couldn’t just let this slide again all the time. "I’m not trying to piss you off, Daryl. I just don’t want to see you get hurt. We all need you to come back. I... I need you to come back."

He didn’t say anything; he just gave you a nod before finally turning away. But as you watched him walk toward Rick, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that something bad was going to happen on this run.

Rick was already waiting by the gate, his hands on his hips as he looked around Alexandria. He seemed to be tired, but when he saw you approaching as well, he gave you a small smile.

"Did you talk to him?" Rick asked, his voice whispering, so only you could hear.

"Yeah," you replied, glancing over at Daryl, who was busy playing around with his knife. "But you know how he is. Stubborn as hell."

Rick laughed a little, but there was no real humor in it. "Yeah. Isn't that the truth? Don’t worry, I'll keep an eye on him while we’re out there, alright? If he does something stupid..."

"You'll make sure he doesn’t," you interrupted, not needing him to finish the sentence.

"Alright. Got it. We’ll be back before you know it," Rick said, louder now and turning to the gate as it opened, and Glenn arrived with the car. "We’re heading out. Stay close, keep quiet, and don’t take any unnecessary risks. We get what we need, and we get back. That's it."

You watched as Daryl took his crossbow and walked with Rick and the others over to the truck. You were worried, sure, but you forced yourself to stay calm. This was Daryl Dixon, after all. He was tough, he was resourceful, and he’d been through far worse than this. But still, there was that uncomfortable feeling in the back of your mind, the one that told you things weren’t going to go smoothly today.

Rick took Daryl aside in the meantime. "Listen, Daryl. We stick to the plan, and we get back without any extra bullshit. You got that?"

Daryl glared at Rick but didn’t say anything. You knew that look; it was the one that said he was going to do what he wanted anyway.

With that, Rick and the others—Glenn and Michonne, in this case—headed out, leaving you in Alexandria with the rest of the group.

You turned away, heading back to the house, but your thoughts were still with Daryl. You just hoped he’d listen to you for once, or rather, Rick. Because if he didn’t, you weren’t sure you’d be able to forgive him—or yourself—if something went wrong.

The truck stopped at the side of a parking lot some time later. Abandoned cars were standing around all over the place, with their windows shattered and rotting corpses still sitting in some of them. It was a graveyard. Rick turned off the engine and looked over to the building, his face already showing that things were about to get rough.

"This place is full of walkers," Rick mumbled, looking around the area. "Okay… We get in, we get out. No fucking around. Got it?"

Everyone nodded, even Daryl, though the look in his eyes told a different story. Alexandria was killing him slowly, suffocating him with its safety and daily routine, and one could see he was just waiting to break free, to remind himself what it felt like to be out there again, in the real world, and not living in an illusion.

"Stick together," Rick continued, his eyes narrowing at Daryl like he could read his mind. "We’re hitting that grocery store, grabbing what we can, and getting the hell out. Nothing else, no bullshit."

Daryl grunted in response, his hand tightening around his crossbow. He wasn’t making any promises; that was clear enough, but at least he wasn’t outright showing it. That would have to be good enough. The four of them got out of the truck, their weapons ready, and slowly made their way toward the store. It looked like it had been raided a few times already, but Rick had heard from Aaron that a shipment had been left behind in the storage rooms—lots of canned food, water, and even medicine inside the small pharmacy of the store, locked up in the back, just waiting to be taken. Easy, if they played it safe.

Of course, playing it safe had not been Daryl’s way of doing it lately, not when his blood was boiling, and especially not since the prison, Terminus, and the other hell everyone went through. And especially not ever since Alexandria.

They went through the side entrance, which was once for the people that had worked there, the glass doors hanging off their hinges, and one could easily guess how most of the walkers got into the store in the first place, apart from those walkers that’ve died inside while scavenging. The inside of the store was pure chaos, with broken shelves, rotten food, and other empty products all across the floor. They moved quietly as Rick led the way, his Colt Python out and ready as always, Glenn close behind with his knife drawn, and Michonne with her sword, while Daryl was at the end, pointing his crossbow around as well. They soon made it to the back of the store, where the stockroom doors were, without drawing any attention so far.

"Alright," Rick whispered, motioning for the others to cover him. "Glenn and I will try to open the door. Michonne, watch our backs. Daryl, you—"

But before Rick could finish, Daryl was already moving. He didn’t like waiting, didn’t like standing around while others decided what to do, or having to wait for a plan. Without a word, he went off to the right, disappearing down one of the side aisles, his crossbow at the ready.

"Daryl!" Rick hissed, but there was no stopping him.

"Shit," Glenn grumbled in a bit of annoyance and panic, his eyes looking at Rick. "Where the hell is he going? What is he doing?"

Rick shook his head in frustration. "Just... just stay here," he ordered before walking after Daryl, cursing to himself with every step.

Daryl moved fast, his crossbow raised as he approached the loading dock at the back of the store from another side. He could hear the sounds of walkers moving behind the metal door, but this was exactly what he was looking for. He shoved the door open with a grunt, with the door making a noise that could be heard all throughout the whole store.

The walkers inside turned at the sound, and they immediately moved forward, their arms outstretched.

"C’mon, ya ugly bastards," Daryl mumbled, the first bolt killing the nearest walker in an instant. The walker fell to the ground, but the others kept coming.

He reloaded quickly, but just as he was about to fire again, a hand grabbed his shoulder, pulling him off balance. He hadn’t noticed the few other walkers, hidden in an open employee restroom nearby, their fingers grabbing his vest with their teeth only inches away from his face.

"Fuck!" Daryl growled, kicking the walker in front of him back and grabbing his knife. But he soon stumbled, falling down to the floor with the two of them on top of him. The impact knocked the knife from his hands, letting it slide across the floor, just out of reach, as he struggled to push the walkers off.

Then, just as the walkers’ teeth were about to bite into his flesh, several gunshots could be heard. Daryl gasped for breath, shoving the dead off him as he got to his feet, his heart racing while he looked over at Rick standing in the doorway with his Colt Python.

"You stupid son of a bitch," Rick said, lowering the gun. "What the hell were you even thinking?"

Daryl wiped the blood from his face, glaring at Rick but not saying a single word. He didn’t need to—he knew he’d fucked up, and Rick certainly knew it too.

But Rick didn’t wait for an explanation. "We need to hurry. Get your damn ass back to the truck. Now!"

For now, Daryl didn’t argue. He grabbed his crossbow and knife, putting it over his shoulder as he moved past Rick and over to Glenn and Michonne. He could feel Rick’s eyes on his back, judging him, and it took everything in him not to lash out. But he knew Rick was right. He’d been reckless, and it had nearly cost him his life. Not only that, but the supply run failed with the other walkers in the front of the store now moving toward the storage room.

Once outside, Daryl couldn’t ignore the thought that he’d fucked up more than just the run. He’d broken the trust, not just with Rick but with you. And he knew he’d have to face the consequences when he got back.

The sun was starting to set when you saw Rick and the others coming through the gate. You’d been waiting, walking around Alexandria, trying to distract yourself. But the deal had been clear—Rick would bring Daryl back in one piece and tell you every detail. But the moment you caught sight of Rick, you knew something had gone wrong. It was written all over his face, as was the fact that they had no supplies with them.

"Rick," you called out, running over to him.

He looked up at you, nodding and narrowing his eyes. You hated that look. It meant bad news, and you were tired of bad news.

"What happened?" You demanded as he walked next to you. "Where’s Daryl?"

"He’s fine," Rick said, holding up a hand to calm you down, though it didn’t do shit for your nerves. "I don't know where he is right now. Jumped right out of the truck. Physically, he’s okay. But, hell, it was close. Too close. Again."

Your stomach dropped at his words. This was getting out of hand. "What do you mean, 'close'?"

Rick rubbed the back of his neck, looking away for a moment. "We were in that store Aaron told us about, wanting to get the supplies. Daryl decided to go off on his own, like he always does lately. Didn’t wait for us as a backup, just did his own thing. Not even telling us that there was an easier way and that he has seen it. Next thing I know, he’s nearly got two walkers biting into his damn neck."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You asked, your hands balling into fists at your sides. "I told him—hell, we both told him so many times—not to pull that lone wolf bullshit anymore! And he still did it? I can’t fucking believe it!"

Rick nodded. "Yeah. Same old Daryl, too stubborn for his own good. I got there in time, but if I hadn’t... well, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now."

You sucked in a breath, trying to calm the rage inside you. But it was hard—damn hard—when you pictured Daryl almost getting himself killed because he couldn’t follow simple instructions. "What the hell is wrong with him, Rick? Why does he keep doing this shit? Is Alexandria that bad for him? I mean, yeah, we all aren’t used to this... illusion, but hell, we’re at least trying to make the best of it! All of us!"

Rick sighed, leaning against the porch railing once you both arrived at the house. "I don’t think it’s only about Alexandria, not entirely. But yeah, it’s too controlled, too... fake. So he goes out there, trying to prove he’s still... still who he was out there. But it’s not like none of us tries the exact same thing. We all do. Or did."

You shook your head in frustration. "I get it; I do. But we can’t keep going on like this. He’s going to get himself killed—or worse, get someone else hurt. I’m fucking done sitting around, hoping he’ll pull his head out of his damn ass!"

Rick looked at you with a small smile. "By now I was thinking the same thing on the way back. We’ve tried to talk sense into him, but he isn’t listening. He’s too stubborn."

"That’s it," you finally said. "I’m handling this. If he won’t listen to you, maybe he’ll finally listen to me. But one way or another, this shit stops today, I swear."

Rick’s eyebrows moved up in surprise before he nodded slowly. "You sure? I don’t think you should push him into a corner."

You smirked, but it was more due to annoyance than amusement. "Oh, I’m sure. He’s going to learn today that there’s more than one way to get his damn ass in line. Trust me, Rick. Otherwise… Otherwise, I just don’t know what to do anymore."

Rick laughed a little and shook his head. "Alright then. Just don’t go too hard on him. And you must remember that it takes time. With… all of this."

You waved him off, already halfway down the steps of the porch. "He’ll be fine, Rick."

As you headed toward the garage, where you knew Daryl was probably working on his bike, your mind was already racing with what you were going to say. This wasn’t just about Daryl acting like a reckless asshole—this was about keeping him and the others alive, keeping him from throwing away everything you’d fought so hard for in this new world, with the rest of the group.

The moment you stepped into the garage, he barely looked your way, too focused on tightening a bolt that didn’t even need any more tightening. But you weren’t about to let him ignore you, not after what Rick had told you.

"Daryl," you started, but he only grunted in response, and that was about it—just a damn grunt, like he couldn’t be bothered to reply with words. And it pissed you off how he could be so nonchalant after nearly getting himself killed.

"Look at me," you snapped, stepping closer to him. "I said... Look at me, Dixon."

He paused, his hand stilling on the wrench, before finally looking into your eyes with a scoff.

"You think you can just go off on your own and do whatever the fuck you want? Well, guess what, Daryl? You almost got your damn throat ripped out today. And for what? Because you couldn’t listen? Because you’re too stubborn to accept that you’re part of a community now, and not some lone wolf out there in the woods with a group he helps out every now and then?" You said, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Ain’t like that," he mumbled, but it didn’t really sound like he was trying to defend himself.

"Bullshit!" You shot back, stepping even closer until you were right in his face, close enough to see the way his eyes widened slightly. "It’s exactly like that, and you know it. And for what? To prove something? To whom? You ain’t gotta prove anything to me, Daryl. And certainly not our group. But you do owe it to us to stop acting like a fucking idiot!"

He turned away from you, but you weren’t done yet. "This isn’t just about you anymore, Dixon. Every time you pull this shit, you put everyone at risk. Everyone! You get bit, we lose a member of this group. A member of our damn family! You die, and we all suffer! Do you even get that? Or are you that stuck with your own damn head up your ass that you can’t see that?"

"Ain’t need ya shittin’ on me," he growled, his voice quiet, but you caught something like guilt in it. "Can handle my ass."

"Clearly," you snapped at him with sarcasm. "Because you handled yourself so well today that Rick had to pull your ass out of a walker’s mouth. Real smooth, Daryl! Real fucking smooth!"

He flinched at that, his eyes narrowing as he turned back to face you. "Ain’t like I needed any damn help."

You didn’t back down, though. You were way past that. "And that’s the problem, Daryl. You think that you don’t need anyone. But guess what? You do. You need us, and we need you. So stop acting like an asshole and start thinking about what you’re doing to everyone else."

For a second, you thought he might lash out. But instead, he just looked at you—really looked at you—like he was trying to figure something out. "Why ya care s’ much?" He finally asked.

You huffed, rolling your eyes. "Because I give a shit, you damn idiot. Because I... care about you more than anyone else here even knows, and I’m not about to watch you throw your life away over some macho bullshit, or whatever you’re trying to act like. You think I want to lose you? You think any of us do?"

He stared at you. "Ain’t tryna make shit harder," he muttered, looking down at the ground, shrugging his shoulders. "Jus’... can’t stand it ‘ere sometimes. Ain’t me ‘round ‘ere."

"Who you are isn’t some reckless idiot who doesn’t give a damn about anyone else. Who you are is someone who’s saved more lives than you can count, someone who’s part of a family now. And yeah, maybe it’s different here and maybe it’s hard, but that doesn’t give you the right to check out whenever you feel like it, as if this community is a fucking hotel!"

He didn’t say anything; he just kept looking at you with those blue, searching eyes, like he was waiting for you to give him something—some kind of direction.

You took a deep breath. "Daryl, you need to stop this shit. You need to stop before you get yourself killed. And if you won’t listen to Rick, then you’ll damn well listen to me. Got it?"

"Yeah," he said, almost whispering. "Got it."

"Good," you said. "Because this stops now. You’re done running off, done putting yourself at risk for no damn reason. From now on, you listen, just like before. We’re all a big team, Daryl, and we still are despite everything. Understand?"

"Yeah… Do ya still lo—" He started but stopped himself from speaking any further. "Are ya mad?"

"What? No, I’m not mad," you answered, stepping back to leave, wanting to give him some space. "But I’m hurt and disappointed."

Daryl sat there for a long time after you left. He gritted his teeth, and his fists were clenched, but it wasn’t anger. It was guilt. Shame even. All he knew was that he’d fucked up.

"Stupid, stupid fuckin’ idiot," he mumbled to himself, running a hand through his hair while he could still hear your voice in his head. "Fuckin’ piece o' shit. Can’t even keep yer damn head straight."

He felt like a fool, like a stubborn kid who’d just been put in his place. But it wasn’t just the anger that stuck with him—it was the look in your eyes, the pain and fear of what could’ve happened to him.

"Gotta make this right," he grumbled, now walking around the garage. "Ain’t gonna let her think I’m some reckless asshole who don’t care ‘bout nothin’." He rubbed the back of his neck. "She’s right… Been actin’ like a damn idiot. But… shit, need t’ prove I ain’t just some fuckup."

He knew you’d left him alone on purpose, letting him think about it, just like you’ve done several times before. But this time, he wasn’t going to sit here and wait for you to come back. He had a plan—a rather half-baked plan, but it was all he had. He needed to show you how much you meant to him and how much he needed you.

"Fuck, she’s gonna kill me," he sighed, shaking his head as he made his way out of the garage. And he knew exactly where and in what house he was going to find you.

You were already half asleep, lying on the floor on a mattress, when you felt someone being there—before you even opened your eyes. It was Daryl, of course, kneeling over you as he carefully pulled the sheets back.

"What the hell are you doing, Dixon?" You mumbled, still groggy. "Leave me alone."

He didn’t answer right away; he just pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another, moving down your arm, his lips barely touching your skin. It was slow on purpose, like he was trying to worship every inch of you to make up for all the stupid shit he’d done. And it was working, even if it pissed you off that he thought he could just... seduce his way out of this.

"Daryl," you warned, but your voice was weak due to the way his strong, big hands were now sliding down your sides to your waist.

"‘M sorry," he whispered, before he kissed the sensitive spot on your neck. "Fucked it up, I know that. But need ya to know... I ain’t a fool. I need ya, more than ya fuckin’ know."

You wanted to stay mad, to shove him away from you and tell him to get his shit together, but his touch—God, it was like he knew exactly what he was doing, like he was taking away your anger with every kiss and every touch of his hands. And when he put his head lower, kissing along your ribs after he pulled up your shirt, you felt almost frustrated.

"Daryl," you breathed out as a warning again, but he didn’t stop. He slid his hands further up your shirt, pulling it over your head as he kissed down your ribs, his fingers grabbing your body like he was trying to show you that he was still alive.

"Need ya," he mumbled against your skin, his voice sounding almost desperate. "Need ya t’ know I ain’t takin’ this for granted."

"Daryl, stop…" You started, but your words were cut off by a gasp as he found that spot just above your waist, his lips kissing you harder, and his teeth softly biting your skin. You felt a shiver run through you, and hell, you hated how much you wanted this, how much you wanted him to keep going.

"I’ll stop if ya want me to, I swear," he whispered, but he didn’t stop, not really. His hands slid down, undoing your pants and wanting to slide them down, which made you stop breathing for a moment.

You were looking at him, your eyes narrowing. "You think you can just—" You started, but then he shut you up—kissing you hard and long, cutting off your words. And fuck, if it didn’t make your whole body shiver with need.

"Can’t help it," he muttered against your lips, his voice a little shaky, like he was losing control. "Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya, ‘bout how much I need ya."

"You think this makes up for what you did? For your reckless behavior?" You asked, shaking your head slightly.

"Nah," he admitted. "Gotta show ya somehow. Gotta show ya how much I fuckin’ care."

You grabbed his wrists, pulling his hands away from your pants, even though you were already aching for him. "You don’t get to touch me like that," you said. "Not until I say so."

He swallowed hard, his breath stopping as he nodded, his eyes wide. "Please," he whispered, looking up at you and waiting for permission.

"Please what?" You demanded, tightening your grip on his wrists. "You think you can just come in here and expect me to forgive you? After everything?"

"Nah," he stammered, his eyes looking down to the floor again. "But… I need ya. I need ya t’ see that I can make it right."

"You wanna make it right, Daryl?" You asked again. "Then you’re gonna do exactly what I say, like I said."

"Yeah," he answered, his body almost trembling with the need to make you forgive him. "I’ll do whatever ya want."

You let go of his wrists, letting them fall back to his sides. "Take off your clothes," you ordered, the tone in your voice leaving no room for argument.

He hesitated for just a second, but then he started to stand up and get out of his clothes, his hands shaking as he got out of his shirt, then his pants, and the rest, until he was standing there, naked and vulnerable before you.

"Now get back on your knees," you demanded, watching as his eyes widened.

He dropped to his knees, waiting for your next command. And fuck, if that didn’t send a rush of power straight through you.

You stood over him, your hand reaching out to grab his hair, pulling his head back so he was forced to look up at you. "Look at me."

And he did. He slowly looked up in shame.

"You don’t get to play the lone wolf out there," you continued, stepping closer, your hand grabbing his chin, moving his head up further. "Not anymore. You almost got yourself killed."

"I know," he muttered. "‘M sorry..."

He wanted—no, he needed—to show you how he felt about his mistakes, and he was ready to do it on his knees if that’s what you demanded.

You let go of him, letting him fall forward, as you lay back down onto the mattress. "Show me," you simply said.

And he did—God, he did... He kissed every inch of you, his lips moving lower, his hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you might disappear, and he held onto you like you were the only person able to keep him safe.

He didn’t need to be told twice—he knew what he had to do to make things right.

You leaned back on the mattress, spreading your legs just enough to invite him closer, and watched his hands shake a little as they slid up your thighs.

"Yes," he whispered quietly. He was trying to be tough, but you could see through it. The man was already lost in you, in the need to make you feel good to make up for his earlier bullshit.

No, he couldn’t keep his hands off you; the way he now nearly ripped off the rest of your clothes was almost urgent.

"Goddamn," he whispered, his eyes wide and hungry as he took in the sight of you. "So fuckin’ beautiful."

His hands were trembling as he reached for your bra, fumbling with it before finally getting it off. He slid it off your shoulders, throwing it over to your pants on the floor, his eyes never leaving your breasts.

Daryl’s mouth went dry as he leaned in, his lips stopping just above one nipple. "Can’t believe yer lettin’ me touch ya like this," he whispered, more to himself than to you. Then he closed his mouth around your nipple, his tongue moving over it, making you gasp.

He sucked and licked, using his teeth just a little, sliding them lightly against it, while his other hand was pinching and rolling the other.

"Fuck, Daryl," you groaned, your hands moving through his hair, holding him close as he worshiped your breasts like they were the most important things in the world. "Don’t stop."

He growled against your skin and kept going; he kept sucking, licking, and teasing until your nipples were swollen and hard, sensitive to every little touch.

He soon pulled back, a line of spit connecting his mouth to your nipple before it broke, and he greedily licked over it once more. His eyes were full with need, his breathing heavy as he looked up at you, like he was waiting for permission to keep going.

"You’re going to be a good boy and keep worshipping me?" You asked, your voice teasing and commanding him at the same time.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Please… Need t’…"

"Then do it," you ordered, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

Daryl’s hands moved lower, sliding down your sides, moving along your hips before coming to a stop between your legs. His fingers brushed against your pussy, finding you already wet and wanting, and he let out a growl.

He started slowly, almost with hesitation, like he was worshipping at some holy altar. His lips brushed over the inside of your thighs, soft at first, but when you grabbed his hair again, he got the message. His mouth found your pussy the moment he ripped off your panties, and it was as if a switch flipped.

Daryl buried his face between your legs, his tongue working desperately, like he couldn’t get enough of you. You let out a moan, your hand tightening in his hair, guiding him but also keeping him under your control.

"Fuck, Daryl," you breathed out. "Just like that."

And he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. Every part of him was focused on you—on the taste of you, the way you trembled when he hit just the right spot. He was completely at your mercy, with the need to prove himself to make you proud.

You could feel him moan against you and how he was getting lost in it, in you. You knew he was desperate for more, desperate for any sign that he was doing good and that you’d forgive him. But you weren’t about to make it easy for him. Not yet, at least.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to get him away from you, and he looked up at you, his lips wet and parted, already missing the taste of you. "Please," he growled out, and you could see the need to do more, to have more of you.

"You keep listening to me. You understand?" You asked, caressing his head gently.

"Yeah," he stammered and nodded in return.

You pushed his head back down, with his tongue slipping inside your pussy almost immediately, like he was trying to eat out every bit of forgiveness he could get.

And fuck, did it feel good. The way he was eating out your pussy, every little move of his tongue, the way he sucked on your clit just hard enough to make you see stars—it was like he was made for this, made to worship you.

"Fuck, don’… don’ make me stop," he growled out in between. He was trembling now, hands still gripping your hips tightly, his eyes wide with something that seemed close to panic, like he couldn’t stand being away from you for even a second.

But you leaned down, grabbing his chin, forcing him to look at you. "You want to make this right? You wait until I’m ready."

He nodded quickly, swallowing hard, his eyes pleading without a word and barely holding it together. He was ready to do anything you asked, to wait as long as you wanted him to, just for a chance to taste you again.

"Good boy," you moaned, suddenly pulling him up to kiss you, tasting yourself on his lips. He kissed you like he was starved for it, holding on for dear life.

And you could feel how hard he was—the desperate twitching of his already leaking cock against your thigh—but you weren’t done teasing him yet. "You’re doing so good, Daryl. Go on now."

"Yes, mommy," he whimpered, the word coming out of his mouth before he could even stop it.

"What did you just call me?" You asked in shock and froze.

Daryl’s eyes widened in shock and panic. "Didn’t mean t’ say that," he said, his voice trembling. "I jus’—"

"Say it again," you commanded, cutting him off. "Say it."

He swallowed hard, his eyes looking around as if searching for an escape, but he knew he couldn’t hide from you. "Yes, mommy," he whispered quietly, a shiver running through him as he said the word again.

But you didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped to the floor. "Good boy," you simply answered. "Go on…"

He didn’t hesitate, his hands following the curves of your body again, his lips following close behind. He kissed down your neck, in between your breasts, along your stomach as he moved lower, his hands soon enough sliding up your thighs and over your pussy.

"Shit," he mumbled, his eyes widening as he realized just how ready you were for him. "Yer so fuckin’ wet."

He didn’t say anything else, too focused on what he was doing. His fingers moved through your wet folds, teasing you until you were trembling with need, and he circled your clit with his thumb slowly on purpose, watching your face for every little reaction.

And one moan—that was all he needed. He leaned in, his mouth replacing his fingers, his tongue sliding over your clit, licking and sucking it gently all over. He didn’t rush, didn’t hurry, and took his time.

"Fuck, Daryl," you moaned, your fingers gripping his hair, holding him in place as he devoured you. "That’s it… don’t stop."

He didn’t need to be told twice. He kept going, kept licking, sucking, and teasing until you were right on the edge and close to coming.

The control he was giving you made you feel powerful, and hell, if that wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever experienced.

"Please, mommy," he begged. "Lemme make ya cum now."

"Keep going," you commanded, feeling yourself getting closer due to his words. "Don’t stop. Oh, fuck…"

He obeyed, and when you finally came, you gasped and moaned, your body arching and trembling under the force of it. But as soon as you began to come down from your orgasm, you noticed how he started to get more aggressive, his hands gripping your hips harder. He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning into yours as he moved back up.

"Wanna fuck ya," he growled almost primal, grabbing his cock and pushing it against your pussy.

But you shoved him back. "Not so fast," you said. "You’re going to do it my way."

He looked at you with frustration and desperation. "But… I need ya," he said, his voice cracking a little bit. "Please!"

You didn’t give in. Instead, you watched as he tried to hold himself back. "If you want more, you’re going to have to do it my way, Daryl. How many times do I have to tell you?"

"Yeah, ‘kay," he murmured and nodded, his voice trembling.

"Not yet," you said, wrapping your hand around his shaft. The hardness of his cock was pulsing against your hand, and you enjoyed the power it gave you. "You’re going to wait a little longer."

Daryl’s breath hitched, his fingers digging into the mattress as he tried to control himself. "Please," he begged, his voice raw and desperate. "Need it."

You only smiled, slowly stroking him, your movements maddeningly slow. "You want more?" You teased, leaning closer to him. "You want me to keep going? To make you cum already as well?"

He nodded quickly. "Yes! Please, mommy. Can’t take it no more!"

You took your time, each move up and down his shaft, making him moan and writhe.

"Fuck, don’ stop," he groaned. "Please, I can’t—"

"Hush now," you interrupted, squeezing his cock. "You’re going to wait until I say so. If you want to be a good boy, you’ll follow my instructions."

Daryl’s cock was coated in his pre-cum and throbbing in your hand, and every time you squeezed just a little harder, he would shiver, his voice breaking into pleas and whimpers.

"Please… ‘M so close," he whimpered. "Can’t hold back much longer."

You looked down at him, smirking, and then you jerked him faster and harder, bringing him right to the edge. His body was tense and almost painfully trying to hold off his orgasm.

"Daryl," you said softly, your hand driving him mad. "I want you to beg for it. Just a little bit more."

His pleas turned into desperate murmurs as he struggled with himself. "Please… Need t’… Jus’ let me... Oh fuck!"

With a final pump, you brought him right to the very edge again, feeling his cock throbbing against your palm. Then, just when you could see he was about to break, you pulled back, stopping altogether.

Daryl let out a whimper, his eyes desperate. "Fuck, please… Need it."

You leaned in close, kissing his neck. "Not yet. I want you to really feel it, to know how much you need me."

"Please," he begged again. "Please..."

"Tell me how much you need it," you smiled at him.

He swallowed hard, his voice cracking as he spoke. "Need it so bad, mommy, please... Need t’ cum for ya. Need ya..."

You gave him one final, hard stroke, and then you stopped again, making him groan and tremble over you, the muscles in his arms tensing up painfully hard. "Good boy," you whispered, finally giving him permission to slide into your pussy, just not all the way.

"No further," you said. "Just the tip. Hold it back."

He groaned, his hands gripping the sheets next to you on the mattress. "Please," he begged, his voice breaking. "Lemme fuck ya..."

You ignored his pleas, your hand still pumping up and down his shaft. "Say it," you commanded. "Say you’re my good boy, Daryl."

"‘M yer good boy," he mumbled, closing his eyes in embarrassment.

Finally, when you could see the look on his face—the way he was practically begging to come—you leaned in. "You want it now?"

"Yeah," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Please, mommy..."

His cock was pulsing, the tip pressing into you just enough to make him groan but not enough to give him what he wanted.

You watched as a sudden tear rolled down his cheek—a single, small, and tiny drop. The sight of it—so rare for someone like Daryl—made you widen your eyes. You could see the complete surrender—the way he was completely at your mercy.

Without warning, you pushed against him, taking him all the way in, and made him cry out, his body shuddering as he filled you up and feeling your pussy stretch around his cock. The look of shock and ecstasy on his face was too much, even for you. His eyes widened, his lips parting slightly, and his cock was pulsing inside you, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"Fuck! Fuck…"

And the moment you took him in fully, he came hard inside of you with a loud groan, his body trying to push in as deep as possible as he reached his orgasm, while you held him close, feeling the last of his cum filling you up as he finished.

You soon lay there, your body still tingling, but Daryl, on the other hand, was a mess after he quickly pulled out of you. Now his walls were coming back up, and he was doing his best to act like he didn’t need a damn thing from you.

He was trying to play it cool, turning his face away, still shaking a little bit. "Jus’… gotta go," he mumbled, trying to shove you away. "Don’ need ya all up in m’ shit now."

"Oh, come on. You can’t be serious," you smirked, running a finger teasingly down his chest.

He glared at you, trying to push you away once more. "‘M fine. Jus’ leave me ‘lone," he grumbled.

"Look at you, all tough and cold again. But you were begging for it only a minute ago." You let your hand move over his skin, feeling his muscles twitch. "And now you’re just going to be an ass about it? Not a chance."

He froze as you touched him. "Shut up," he snapped. "Don’t need yer damn pity."

You rolled your eyes, leaning in close. "Pity? This isn’t pity, Daryl."

He tried to pull away again, but you held him close, your hands moving up to his chin. You tilted his head so he had no choice but to look at you.

"Seriously?" You said with a smile. "You’re going to act like a brat now? After everything?" You moved closer, teasing him with a kiss on his lips.

Daryl’s breath stopped for a second, and you felt him shudder under your touch. "Fuck off," he muttered, but it was sounding rather weak, almost as if he was trying to convince himself more than you.

You laughed, cupping his chin more firmly. "Make me. Or... maybe you really are just a brat who needs to be put in his place all over again."

He shivered as he fought with himself. "No… Don’ need this," he mumbled, but it was clear he was losing the battle against himself. His voice was getting quieter, and he knew that he was failing miserably.

Then, you finally met his lips with yours. It was a slow, gentle kiss, with you wanting to give him reassurance. He moaned against them, the sound full of desperation.

When you pulled back, you saw how his eyes were wide, and he suddenly nuzzled up against you, his face buried in your neck, his body trembling as if he was trying to hold onto whatever was left of his defenses.

"‘M so sorry," he murmured against your skin, his voice breaking. "Didn’ mean t’... I jus’—"

You ran your fingers through his hair, cuddling him closer as he clung to you. "Quiet," you whispered, putting your lips against his forehead. "It’s okay."

He wrapped his arms around you, his grip a little rough as if he was afraid you might slip away. "I fucked up," he said. "Almos’ got m’self killed an’ hurt ya. ‘M so damn sorry."

You held him close, his body pressed against yours. "I know," you said softly. "But you’re still alive, Daryl."

But the moment of calm was ruined when Daryl’s body tensed up again, with him starting to sob violently.

"Shit," he choked out, tears rolling down his cheeks. "‘M such a fuckin’ asshole. Messed everythin’ up. Could’ve died an’—"

You shushed him, holding him even tighter, pressing kisses to his temples. You didn’t say much, letting your actions speak louder than any words even could.

He kept mumbling apologies, his sobs so intense that they shook his whole body. "Ain’t good ‘nough. ‘M worthless. Jus’ a useless piece o’ shit," he sobbed further, his voice cracking.

You gently cupped his face again, lifting it so you could look into his wet eyes. Slowly, you wiped the tears away with your thumbs, kissing his cheeks where the tears had been rolling down.

"Hush," you whispered softly. "You’re not a useless piece of shit. You’re not worthless. You made a mistake, but you’re here, and you’re alive. That’s what matters."

He needed to hear that you weren’t disappointed and that you still loved him despite everything.

Daryl looked up at you, his eyes all red and swollen, but his sobbing began to calm down. And as he finally started to relax, his grip on you softened, but he didn’t let go. He was still clinging to you, needing you to remind him that he was loved and that he was enough.

"Thanks," he whispered quietly. "For… everythin’."

You smiled to yourself, playing with his hair. "Anytime," you murmured, pressing another soft kiss to the top of his head.

You didn’t need to say anything more; your arms around him were enough to help him find his way back to feeling okay. The walls he’d built were finally down, and for now, he was just Daryl—raw and in need of someone to help him piece himself back together.

TAG-LIST: @itwasntaphasema

[coichii]

CLOCK OUT ✭

—(🎧)— chan was always so busy, working hard at creating music. you knew this and respected it, but you’d never thought it would make you his #2 when you were always #1

pairing - bf!bangchan ♥︎ fem!reader

genre: angst & comfort

word count: 1.4k

warnings: lots of swearing, arguing, and yelling. Crying & self deprecating thoughts.

You sigh as you read the clock. 9pm He was supposed to be here an hour ago. You feel the tears well up in your eyes as you throw your phone back on your bed. “Great. I got all dressed up for what.”

You and Chan were supposed to go on a date tonight, it’s his birthday after all. He was supposed to be at your shared apartment by 7pm to pick you up, but he never showed. You were starting to lose hope in him coming at all.

That’s when an idea came to your head. Usually when Chan got like this, he was really stressed. You wanted to help him in any way you could, so next thing you knew, you were heading out the door and driving towards his office.

◂—♥︎—▸

It took alottt of convincing from security before you were let in. It got to the point where a security guard you were familiar with had to vouch for you in order for you to be let in. You knew it was for security reasons, but jeez that took more time than you thought.

You quickly made your way to chans studio, stomach bubbling with nerves. You’ve never done this before, so you didn’t know exactly how he would react. Would he get happy I was there? Would he get angry? You didn’t know, and the uncertainty was slowly killing you.

“Well, no point in turning back now.” You mumble to yourself as you turn the knob of chans room and step in.

Immediately, you’re met with the sound of a track you’ve never heard before bouncing off the walls of the studio. The room is dimly lit, proving a relaxing atmosphere for whoever is in there.

After you get used to the room, your eyes immediately spot your boyfriend, who was not as relaxed.

His shoulders were tense, back slouched down as he rubbed circles into his temples. The scene had your heart thumping with hurt. All you wanted to do was make your boyfriend happy on his special day, and seeing him like this had your eyes watering.

“Channie baby?” You asked gently. No response. “Chan. Are you okay?” You ask softly, moving closer to him. You visibly see him stiffen, his lips pressing in a thin line. “Chan. Please, I’m here to he-“

“Damn it y/n! Can’t you be quiet for a few seconds! For fucks sake, can you not tell I’m busy!” He booms. He’s so loud your almost certain the sound proofed padding did little to nothing holding it in. “Why are you here. Can you leave me alone for once so I can finish this damn song!”

“The date Christopher.” You coldly stated, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes at any moment. “You were supposed to come home at 7pm. Seven! It is 9:30. You have no fucking excuse to yell at me.”

He scoffs at your defense, obviously not paying any mind to your feelings. “The date can wait y/n. I’m busy.” He said simply, voice calming as it it were no big deal. You weren’t calming down on the other hand. Your mind was blinded with rage, everything feeling red and hot with anger, but also embarrassment. A lot of embarrassment.

“Ok. Hope you feel the same way when you get home and you leave me the fuck alone.” You smiled bitterly, turning around and walking out of his studio, slamming the door with a ‘bang!’ Tears were streaming evenly down your cheeks at this point as you stomped throughout the hallways, covering your face in embarrassment as you walked past a very confused security staff out the door.

When you got to your car, all the emotions you somewhat tamed back began to flow, face crumbling with tears once again as you slammed your face into the steering wheel.

He had never yelled at you like this before. Sure he got frustrated before, but nothing like this. He was always incredibly patient with you and watched his mouth when his emotions were high. He’d never reacted like this before, it’s not like him.

So saying seeing the way he got so angry, the way his wire snapped and his voice got loud scared the shit out of you would be an understatement. You were scared you fucked up.

After composing yourself, which took roughly 15 whole minutes of sobbing, you were able to take a hold of the steering wheel and drive home. Your emotions were high the entire time, sniffle echoing throughout the car as you drove through the empty streets.

Unbeknownst to you, he was already feeling the guilt of what he had done.

◂—♥︎—▸

You trudged your way through the door, practically throwing your purse down on the floor as you make your way to your bedroom. You lazily change your clothes from the beautiful red dress you were wearing to a small spaghetti strap tank top and shorts. Not bothering to take a shower, you throw yourself on your bed and cover yourself with the warm sheets.

You know it be just a little petty to mute chans notifications, but you know how he gets whenever he gets even the slightest bit mad at you. Guilty. And after what he just did to you, you knew he would be extra guilty and practically spam your phone, and you were in the mood to sleep right about now.

So you quickly put your phone on do not disturb and shut it down, laying it on your night stand and closing your eyes. Hopefully, a little bit of sleep would help the pain go away.

◂—♥︎—▸

You’re awoken by the feeling of your arm being shaked rather roughly, quickly looking over to be face to face with Chan. You jump a bit, caught off guard before relaxing slightly.

You study his expression, a look of guilt and desperation evident in his eyes. He looked as if he’d been running, small beads of sweat causing his hair to stick to his face. “Had he ran into the apartment? Did he do that for me?”

“B- baby I’m so fucking sorry. I d-didn’t mean to. I swear t-to god I didn’t mean it. I was to stressed to r-realize what I saying. I’m so s-sorry y/n. P-please don’t leave me.” He practically pleaded, holding on to you as if you could slip right through his fingers at any moment.

“Woah woah Chan. I’m not going to leave you. I’m just hurt that’s all. I doubt it was even your fault. I shouldn’t have pushed that hard, I’m sor-“

“No.” He said sternly .Don’t apologize for something that is completely not your fault. I’m sorry y/n. I’m so sorry. You went to check on me when I missed our date. All I could do is yell at you and tell you it was no big deal. It was my fault. Don’t apologize for being compassionate and caring. Especially when it comes up as if I don’t.”

The look on his face had your heart shattering in to tiny pieces. Vulnerability, compassion, fear. It was all visible in his expression and it had you crumbling.

You feel yourself fall apart at his confession, tears free flowing once again from your red eyes as you plant your face into his chest.

“Y-you really hurt me you know? I was r-really fucking scared. I thought you were going to l-leave me.” You sobbed, letting everything go. He grabbed you, an attempt at keeping you grounded as you bawl.

“I know baby. I k-know. Let it out. I’m so so sorry. I would never leave you. Especially over something that was completely my fault. I’m so sorry I scared you love. I would never ever do that on purpose. ever. Please let me make it up to you. I’ll do anything and everything to keep you with me.”

You feel the sincerity in his voice. You know he’s being absolutely honest with his promise. So you you’re not surprised when you find yourself intertwining your pointer finger with his, a sign you’re about to make a promise.

“Promise?” You ask, voice cracking slightly. “I promise. I promise on everything I won’t do this again. I promise to better my self for you and make it up to you.” He’s sincere. You can tell. You know when he lies. “Ok. I trust you.”

Your voice goes quiet as you lay your head deeper into his chest, his comforting arms wrapping around your waist.

You know it’s going to be a while before everything comes back to normal, but you knew this was going to be a step in the right direction.

And he knew that for as long as he lived, he would never let this happen again.

back to masterlist

—

[beekeep]

Saw this post floating around, don’t wanna target anyone or argue with Zionists, but it is my duty (especially as an actually indigenous Jew) to educate well-meaning gentiles who might see this and think they have no right to speak on the matter. I’ll go point by point.

1) “Is it so terrible for a Jew to be a Zionist?”

If we were living in any other era, where the genocidal crimes of Israel were not as widely known (though they were very well documented), you could perhaps ask this question in sincerity. Many Jews (such as myself) grow up in religious educational settings which either fail to mention the human rights violations of the state or claim they’re justified because “they want to kill us!” Past a certain point, though, one can’t continue to claim ignorance of what Zionism actually does. Short answer: yes, it is terrible for anyone to claim to be a Zionist, but this will be more evident as I continue to analyze these arguments.

2) “Zionism is the belief in the inherent right of the Jewish people to return to their homeland”

First of all, Palestine is not the “homeland” of the Jewish people any more than Siberia is the homeland of indigenous american tribes. Is there a historical connection? Yes, but though assimilation and migration Jews have found homes across the world. For me, my homeland is Mexico, because my family has lived there for generations, partly through migration but mostly through having cultivated the land for millennia. Even biblically speaking, Palestine does not “belong” to the Jewish people, it belongs to G-d. Furthermore, there is no shortage of Jewish scholarship and activism that asserts that wherever we live, that is our homeland. Frankly, I’m more interested in fighting to stay where I am than fighting to force people out of their homes to accommodate me.

3) “Zionism is the belief in the Jewish right not to be murdered”

By murdering others instead? Once again, there is no shortage of Jewish scholarship and activism in favor of Jewish self defense where we live. Jewish resistance fighters lived and died fighting the nazis in Europe under the third reich. If Zionism was actually interested in preventing Jewish death, it would fight antisemitism where it is. “Preventing murder” is not an excuse to commit genocide.

4) “there are so many definitions of Zionism”

Sorry but I just think of this tweet from @jewdas on Twitter when I read this: “There’s a actual existing Zionism which practices apartheid and denial of human rights. But there’s another Zionism inside my head which is all rainbows and kosher marshmallows, so who can say which is the real Zionism?” In other words, the actual, material consequences of Zionist beliefs are more important than what any individual thinks their Zionism is. Once again, we live in the Information Age, where anyone can easily learn about the damage that Zionism has done in Palestine and abroad. There is no excuse to continue using the label that doesn’t presuppose complete ignorance of Israeli violence.

5) “zionists just want to be safe from antisemitism in the diaspora”

See points 3 & 4.

6) “and this is different from evangelical zionists”

Materially speaking, not really. Once again, see point 4. Until you pull all US/european colonial support for Israel, this claim falls flat.

7) “zionists just want to live peacefully with other indigenous people in the area”

That’s not what indigeneity is, it doesn’t mean “from there,” it’s a specific relationship to the land and to its cultivation. (On a side note, even biblically and historically speaking, Jews are not “from” Palestine.) See point 2. Zionism has proven it is not a peaceful ideology. See point 4.

8) “people refuse to see the difference in types of Zionism because they hate the Jews”

No, it’s because there are no material differences. See point 4. Evangelical Zionism and Jewish Zionism actually share quite a bit in common. The “Jewish state” would not exist without evangelical Zionists. See point 6. And the original Jewish Zionist thinkers had a vested interest in tying the two together.

tl;dr, Zionism is a violent ideology in practice, and no amount of making excuses can hide the fact that it is genocidal and serves European/American interests. Additionally, just because one is not Jewish does not mean one does not have a duty and an obligation to eliminate Zionism wherever it crops up. Zionism has had disastrous consequences for Palestinians, and as western citizens, we benefit from their suffering. It must end now. May Palestine be freed in our lifetimes.

[leviraaaaaa]

In another life?

Levi stared at you from across the room, watching you as you distractedly fumbled with the straps of your gear. He watched as your fingers clumsily attempted to work with the clasp on your thigh properly, only for it to keep slipping out of your grasp, again and again, earning annoyed huffs from you. You were late, you knew. The others in the room had already cleared out, leaving only you as you struggled and Levi as he watched. But the more you tried to hurry, the worse it kept getting, the belts getting all tangled up with each other and you looked like you were about to cry.

He would've left by now as well, if not for you and your misery that made him stick around. It was very unusual to see you this unsettled, specially right before an expedition. Your hands were trembling uncontrollably. Levi felt frustrated only by watching you. Finally, he sighed and stepped forward.

“Call yourself a captain and you can't even tie your gear.” He muttered as he kneeled in front of you. Without letting you protest, he slapped your shaking hands away and took the strap to his own hands.

You were about to argue but when he shot a glare at you. You shut up. Even you knew when to be stubborn and when to be not and the clock that ticked away on the wall was a clear indication of what the choice should be. Therefore, you settled with a quietly mumbled curse but stretched out your leg anyway.

His expert hands worked fluidly, slipping underneath the belt and wrapping it around your shin. He pulled out one end and the leather grasped to your leggings.

“Too tight?”

“No.”

He did the other leg too, finishing the task you'd been struggling with for the past 15 minutes within 10 seconds. When he was done, his hand hesitantly reached up for for the ones at your thighs. He shot a questioning glance up towards you for approval and you nodded. This was no time for proprietary. He went back to work.

“What's on your mind?” He asked, glancing at you with gray eyes when he was done. In them, he had worry.

Everything. You wanted to say when you looked at him. Everything.

But of course you don't.

You shook your head, standing up. Wordlessly, you stepped around him, picking up the the sword sheathes hanging on the wall and adjusted them to your waist.

Levi stood up as well, brushing down his pants. He was about to tell you he didn't buy it. There was something wrong, he could tell, but before he could part his mouth, someone entered.

“Levi—Ah, I see you're here as well.” Erwin's deep voice reaches you as you turned. “Shadis is asking about your absence. We have about 5 minutes until we depart. Is everything okay?” Erwin's blue eyes found you as he asked the last question. Levi didn't fail to notice.

“Yes, sir.” You replied, a little too quickly perhaps. Levi's eyes narrowed. “I'll meet you out, sir.”

You sidestepped Erwin, in a hurry to leave the room. But just before your face disappeared, he caught the sight of absolute despair that was etched on your face.

.

“What's wrong with her?”

Erwin turned around, not surprised to find Levi on his horse, stanidng out of formation and beside him. “Levi.” He said pointedly.

“Don't be an ass, I'm going back in a minute.” He snapped. He knew Erwin knew something. “What the hell is wrong with her?”

“Hange says she's sick. Threw up in the morning twice apparently. Refused to have breakfast as well.” He shrugged.

Now that he thinks about it, sure, he hadn't seen you down at breakfast hours. He had just assumed you'd gotten in earlier.

Levi looked outraged. “And you're letting her out like that?”

“Levi, really.” Erwin sighed, looking at him. “Since when does she listen to me?”

Levi felt irritated. It was stupid of him not to realize Erwin must have told you to stay in. More stupid of him to not realize you had said no, like the arrogant shit you were.

“Put me near her.” He said suddenly. “Let Eld handle my squad.”

Erwin gave him a strange look. It made Levi self-conscious. “What?” He said defensively. He knew it was strange, fuck, but he couldn't think of another way.

“She can take care of herself." Erwin said. "She's a soldier, she knows what she's getting into. If she thinks she can handle it, why not have a little faith?”

“If she dies out there because she's too fucking stubborn, you'd be the one sorry.”

Erwin looked thoughtful. “Heart getting in the way of your head, Levi?”

Levi felt heat rushing to his cheeks. But Erwin cut him off before he could say anything.

“But yes,” He nodded. “I was going to tell Hange to keep an eye on her. But you don't listen to me either, do you?” He looked at him, the blonde man's piercing blue eyes searing straight through Levi's soul. “Do as you may.”

Do as you may. Levi thought about the words as he turned his horse around. Do as he might— for a friend. If that's what you were.

.

“Are you supposed to be here?” You asked tiredly, glancing at him when his horse stopped beside you.

“No.”

You frowned.

“Last minute change of formation.” Levi lied.

“Erwin didn't tell me.”

“Because he sent me here to tell you.”

You gave him a skeptical look. It was clear you did not believe him, but you didn't say anything else.

And that's how Levi knew there was something definitely, definitely wrong. Anytime else, you would've never let this go easily. You would've pestered him, annoyed him with questions, teased him, made every use of it until you got the answers you were looking for. Then you would argue. Bicker at him to convince you were okay so he left you. You hated the idea of getting help anyways, specially from him.

.

Expedition had started a while ago. Neither you or Levi had exchanged any words since then.

The two of you were on watch duty, perched on a tree as you scanned around for any upcoming titans, the smoke gun ready at your hand. A bland job, unsuited for both of you and very below your skill level. But you weren't complaining and you always complained.

You looked pale. There were bruises under your eyes and your lips were chapped, you looked fragile as a bird, a very exhausted bird.

And it was because Levi was watching you so closely that he noticed the exact moment your eyes lost focus.

The exact moment your muscles went slack and the grip around your swords went loose.

The exact moment your legs crumbled and you dropped forward.

And it was because he was watching you, because in his guts, he was certain there was something wrong and every inch of him was guarded that his body kicked in just the exact moment you tipped and he dived forward, catching you seconds before you crashed onto the ground like a broken ragdoll.

—

You were sitting at a table in the sidelines, watching couples as they swayed in rhythm to the melody of the piano all around the ballroom. You hummed along, tapping your fingers as you took a swig of your drink.

It was a ball hosted with a goal to fund for the scouts. It looked all fancy, but really under those painted and polite faces were twisted thoughts and sly hearts. You could feel the political tension thrumming in the air. And though you never really liked the social expectations to meet when attending these, it was fun to dress up and get a taste of the life of nobles for a night.

Shame that it's your last ever one.

You startled when the dark-haired man appeared beside you and sank down on a chair without a word.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue impatiently, plucking off a glass from the nearby waiter. He swung one of his legs over the other, his irritated face stood out bluntly amongst all the polite smiles and pleasantries. "How long do we have to stay here?"

"Levi." You smiled. He didn't return your smile, or even turned to look at you. He merely frowned, the slight wrinkles around his eyes indicating the foul mood was not at all uncommon for him. "Manners."

"Manners? If Erwin forces me to talk to one more of those stuck up rich bastards—"

"You're the star here. 'Humanity's Strongest' remember?"

"What a joke." He huffed frustratedly. "Don't call me that. It's like I'm a product being advertised to be sold."

"If you put it that way." You shrugged. Raw words, you thought. No false Incase of politeness. He said what he thought, no filters. Always. "The human miracle, the thug from underground that held talent like no other, the one who'd save humankind. Sounds like a pretty tempting investment."

"I will pour this on you I swear."

You giggled.

"Lots of admirers though." You tilted your head to observe the group of young girls huddled in a corner, ogling at him, giggling softly and pointing. Levi shot them a halfhearted, disinterested glance, which only made them squeal louder. He scowled.

"Won't fucking leave me alone." He mumbled.

You smiled, watching him as he fidgeted, fingers holding the wine glass by the strange way you've always seen him, by the rim. He looked out of place. In this grand room filled with colors and vibrance, he was dressed in black. Trousers, shoes, waistcoat, suit—it was all different shades of black. And even his eyes were a shade of gray. It contrasted against the paleness of his skin.

He was beautiful, you thought, watching him from the corner of your eyes. Beautiful. But there was an edge to it. Like the way the sharp edge of a sword glitters in the moonlight. Intimidating. Dangerous. Mesmerizing.

It only ever made you want to steal a closer look, to peer at his heart to see if his soul was as stone made as he appeared.

You've known him for so long, since the first he ever became a scout. Yet here, right now, in the midst of all this grandeur and with him looking like someone straight out of a novel, you felt like a little child. A lovesick little teenager getting her first crush. Not a scout who's killed titans. It always felt like that. With him. It was like hoping for the moon, and you're only just a silly, silly human.

You've known him for so long and you've grown so close, yet now that you look at him, he's never felt further away.

You were only just a girl when it was him.

Levi was cruel, there was no other way to put it. But yet, as you came to realize through the years, the unkind words he threw at your way sometimes, they were only just that. He didn't mean half of it, almost as if he said them only out of habit. He was kind too, you noticed. In the strangest ways. He'd let you pester him all day, make him help you with his work, forcefully make him listen to every gossip you learnt about, rant about your little romance novels, and in turn, sometimes, when you pushed, he'd even share glimpses of your own life.

You think the strangest thing was that about him. That he pretended he didn't care, that he hated listening to you rant but somehow he always remembered the smallest details, some of which even you forgot sometimes. Levi seemed to always notice the day you didn't sleep enough, when you looked too tired, when you felt uncomfortable.He’d remind you to eat, to take care of yourself, to rest.

From a young age, you had learnt to accept that life was always going to be too short for you. That it will never be enough. There will always be something more you'd need. And so you had forced yourself to keep everyone at an arm's length. Fuck around but never, ever fall. Because it'd hurt so much less when the end bell finally rang.

So what were you to do, when your heart starts to beat differently for that one strange, complex man?

You liked the way Levi looked at you. His gaze honest and clear. You liked how straight he was with his words.

It was nice. To be with someone so rudely honest. Because Levi looked at you as if you were you. And it reminded you that this scarcity of life you were given weren't all you were.

You were a living, breathing person.

Levi made you feel alive.

A voice cut you off your thinking. There was a man in front of you, trying to gain your attention. And you smiled politely, rejecting what was probably the dozenth of man who proposed to you for a dance. Levi glanced at the dejected man who walked away sullen.

"Won't you dance?" He suddenly asked, looking at you. "You haven't moved an inch since you've been here. I thought you liked this shit."

You only shook your head.

"Why not? You look like you want to."

You smiled sheepishly. "Not tonight." Not ever.

He sat up straight, finally turning to look at you. He put his glass down, his expression serious. Steel gaze searing through your skin.

"You're resigning." The words were a statement but it was also a question.

You stared at him.

"You didn't tell me." He said accusingly. "I had to find out from fucking Erwin tonight. Why are you resigning?"

There was genuine concern underneath, and that made your heart throb a little.

"Well?" He demanded, the hint of frustration lacing his usually cool, flat voice at the lack of answer.

"Sure you know, Levi." You sighed.

He raised an eyebrow brow inquiringly, looking confused.

"What? Is this because you passed out during the last expedition? You've been a wet rag ever since." He said. " Don't tell me you blame yourself for that and think you're incapable or something."

"I am incapable."

"Bullshit. It was this one time and it's probably because you skipped meals or something. You're better than half the other idiots."

Oh.

You realized suddenly as you met his eyes.

He doesn't know.

Levi doesn't know yet.

No one told him.

Erwin hadn't told him. Your eyes found Erwin's blue ones in a corner of the room. He gave you a slight nod, turning his focus back to the men he was conversing with. He must've thought it would be best if you told him yourself.

You felt despair.

You clasped your fingers, then unclasped it. The room was suddenly so cold. You can't do this.

Levi was still watching at you, waiting, his brows furrowed. He spared a glance at Erwin as well. You couldn't help but think how strange fate was. It pushed rose colored glasses onto you, granting you those soft beautiful moments and convincing you that, this is nice, this is perfect, you can live like this.

Until you're here. Until suddenly the delusions slip out and reality is a far, far tougher enemy to defeat than titans.

How do you tell Levi time was running out?

That fate was a cruel, cruel little thing.

“What's going on?” He said quietly, his shoulders tense. Like he could sense your feelings somehow. There was a subtle sign of panic in him at your silence. “What aren't you telling me?”

“Oh." You muttered tiredly, eyes downcast. He was staring at you, narrowed gray eyes. You looked almost sad, melancholic. "Don't you know?"

"What?" He blinked.

"Levi," You looked up, bracing yourself for the next words. "I'm dying."

Levi choked on his drink.

—

Levi hadn't seen you since then.

He didn't know what happened to you.

You had disappeared the day after, your office cleared of all possessions, and Erwin had only told him you had gone back home. He had no way of contacting you, no way of visiting you, no way of confronting you to ask what the fuck were you talking about. He could hardly focus on his work because that's all he could think about. You looking at him with those eyes, with the saddest face he had ever seen you make. He can't forget the words you said, how you said it. That's all he could think about.

So when he received the letter, your neat, elegant handwriting on the smooth paper surface, he was relieved. And worried. And surprised.

You had wrote only two words.

"Meet me?"

He frowned. Meet you where?

But when he turned to look at the envelope, turning it on his hand to check the sender's address, he froze.

Behind it, was the address of a hospital.

—

Hange was going from corridor to corridor, swooping through room to room to find you as Levi quietly follows. He felt nauseous as he walked. He never liked hospitals. Today, he hated it even more.

It didn't take long. Hange asked a few nurses and they all seemed to know you. Levi registered it numbly, how often you must've come here for everyone to know you by name only. He remembered the times you’d disappear without explanation. Was that for hospital check ups? How long had you been sick and he hadn't realized?

“Ah!” Hange's excited yelp broke him out of his daze. They disappeared behind an open door. “There you are!”

From the other side, he could hear a muffled voice. A voice he knows. He doesn't step in though. His hands are balled into a fist as he squeezed them in his pockets. It didn't feel real. This can't be real. There's no way you're on the other side of that door.

“No, Erwin couldn't come. He's been so busy but Levi—huh, where did Levi go? Wait, let me go and—” Hange's head pops back out. “Shortie, are you being shy? She's looking for you!”

Fuck. Was there still time to leave this fucking place?

But no, Hange knew. They were looking at him with the same excited expression but their eyes had a strange, determined look. You have to do this, they were telling him. For your sake.

So he did. He exhaled sharply and hoped for composure and walked in.

And nothing in this world ever could've prepared him for what he saw.

Just over the few weeks, your eyes had sunken to your face and your cheeks were hollow. And your face was pale, almost as colorless as the white hospital walls. There were wires attached to you, through your wrist, through your nose.

You looked broken.

But your eyes lit up the moment you saw him.

"Hello." You smiled.

And yet somehow, he thought, in the strangest way, you still looked beautiful. Now more than ever. Beautiful in a way that terrified him. It made him feel sick to his stomach. But he couldn’t look away.

He swallowed the dread down.

"You look like shit." He said.

You broke into a smile.

"Sit." You patted across a chair beside you. "Don't worry, I've made them disinfect the room twice. No germs." You reassured him, grinning. You knew him so well.

He said nothing, but silently took a seat

When you beamed up at him and his heart tugged. It took so little to make you happy.

Then you turned back to Hange, the two of you slipping to easy conversation. He doesn't know for how long. He kept his eyes on the floor. To look anywhere but you. He doesn't know when the time passed, but every once a while you would laugh at something Hange said and that's the only time he would feel conscious, your voice bringing him back. That's the only time he spared a glance at you.

You laughed the same. You looked in pain, but you laughed the same.

It went on for a while more, as the two of you chatted, discussing such casual things, none of you addressing him. He was grateful for it, to be ignored. Grateful to not be expected to be included in the conversation. It was hard enough to be here. He's not you or Hange. He couldn't pretend everything's fine and laugh about it.

But he could almost convince himself that everything was fine. Everything was fine. He was in the meeting room in the Scouts headquarters with everyone else and you were fine. Hange was shitting about military police and you were agreeing. Hange was telling you about titans and you were listening. And in this version, you were fine. You weren't here in this small, colorless hospital room, with tubes and needles going through you.

“Right. It's getting late, so I gotta go. I hope you feel better, girlie,” Hange's voice snapped him out of his daze as they pushed back on the chair to get up. He dully notices Hange's choice of words. Feel better. Not get better. “We’ll try to come by when we can. Make sure to drop by when you can as well. C’mon Levi let's go.” They nudged his shoulders. Levi felt relief. He needed some fucking air.

But Levi was only about to stand up when your fingers reached out to wrap around his hand.

“Levi.” You asked him, speaking directly to him for the first time in the hour. “Stay a while?”

He flinched when you touched him. He doesn't meet your eyes. Instead they find Hange's brown ones, who were watching the interaction closely.

“Sure Levi, why don't you accompany her?” They smacked his shoulders casually, but Levi didn't miss the intentional squeeze. “You don't have anything to do today anyway.”

Levi considered rejecting you for a second, considered making up some shitty excuse to escape this room and escape you, but then he looked at your eager expression and he found himself sitting back down. Levi could get low, but even him wouldn't go this low. He couldn't go that cheap. He couldn't be that much of a fucking coward.

“Wonderful.” Hange grinned. “Tell shortie to behave please. He'd been a mess ever since you left.”

“I will.”

Then Hange was gone. Leaving the two of you with each other and a chilling silence.The first confrontation in weeks.

He didn't think this room could get any more fucking suffocating.

He glanced down where your hand touched his. Your wrist looked so slender it was as if he could break it just by wrapping his hand around it. Skin and bones, that's all you were. Fragile.

"I'm glad you came." You whispered.

Levi inhaled sharply. You could tell him to jump off an edge right then and he'd probably do it.

For a long moment, Levi said nothing, just stared at where your hand rested on his wrist. His fingers itched to pull you closer, but he held back. He holds you gently, so gently, like you were made of glass.

Like you were the most precious thing he's ever held in this lifetime and now you were slipping away.

"I don't understand." He said suddenly.

You stayed quiet. You knew what he meant.

He felt angry at you. So fucking pissed. He felt betrayed. It's like everyone knew except him. Erwin knew. Hange knew. He didn't. Then you fucking spring this on him and disappear for weeks. And that wasn’t fair. That wasn't fucking fair.

“You could've told me.”

You looked down, letting out a soft breath. “I didn’t know how.” you admitted. You never wanted to see that look on your face.

Not yet. Even now that you'd told him, you wished you didn't. You wished you had a little more time.

Levi clenched his jaw, casting his eyes to the sterile white floors.

“When?” His voice was rough.

“Always.”

So you'd been sick. From the day you'd arrived. He felt hollow. In Levi's head, he could remember you. He could remember the first he'd seen you. You were dying then and he hadn't known.

After a pause, he spoke again, his voice carefully blank and face expressionless. Silver eyes devoid of all emotions as they looked down at you.

“How long?”

You keep quiet. Not long. You don't tell him that though. After a while, you spoke. “I don't know.” You said. “Days? Weeks? Months? Who knows. I'm not getting better.” You smiled.

He doesn't know what to say to that. How to respond to that.

He doesn't know how to feel.

"You were fine." He said, almost numbly. As if affirming it would make it true.

"No " You shook your head. "No, I wasn't.”

"You were fine. Even weeks ago. You were fine.” He repeated, shaking his head. He knew it was pathetic. He knew it was hopeless. He knew he was just lying to himself because hell, if he's got to accept this shit. He pulled away his hand from you, ignoring the hurt look on your face. “You were fine. You went out on expeditions. You fought titans. You sparred with Miche. You were fucking fine.”

"I'm sorry." You whispered. But he shot a heated glare at you. That wasn't what he was asking.

“The meds stopped working." You shrugged. “It was always going to. Eventually. It's surprising that it even worked for so long.”

Finally, after minutes of agonizing silence, he let out a tired breath. “Leave it to you to find the stupidest way to die.” He muttered.

You smiled weakly. “Pretty pathetic, huh?”

So much pain. He was in so much pain, you knew.

Levi doesn't show it, he refused to show it, but fuck, you knew him so well, it hurt. He cared so much. So so much.

You'd seen him hold on to a dead comrade for months. Everyone would forget them, not Levi.

Levi can't let go.

It was his eyes that gave it away. Never had he ever looked at you that way. His eyes seared through your soul like he was searching for an answer. Searching for a way, something to hold onto you with. Like he knew. He knew you were fading away. Like he could feel the emptiness you felt with every breath. In his eyes, you saw the most subtle glimpse of despair.

The more you looked at him, the more you felt vulnerable. Something was breaking inside you at the sight of him. Every bit of desire you'd locked away was strangling your heart.

He was here, with his dark hair falling over his face and the silver gleaming through his half lidded eyes and shit, he was so beautiful. Since the day you met him. You felt so soft when he looked at you. So fragile.

You yearned. So badly. Would it be so wrong?

“Do you think I'm pretty?” You asked him.

Levi was confused, caught completely off-guard. “What?” His asked uncertainly?

“I want to know.”

“You want to know if I think you're pretty?”

“Yes.” You smiled.

“Do you always have to be so unserious?”

“Yes.”

Levi blinked. Then sighed. You and your fucking theatrics. “You’d think someone who's dying would ask smarter questions.” He muttered under his breath.

You held your gaze. You wanted him to answer.

Levi balled his hand to a fist. His fingernails digged into his hand. He knew he couldn't lie. Not when you were looking at him like that.

“...I don't know.” He exhaled softly. “Sure, I guess. You keep a neat face. I suppose you don't look that shitty.”

“Even now?’’ You looked at him pointedly.

He stared at you. You and your sunken cheeks and your fragile hands and your tired eyes. You looked ethereal.

Even now.

“Yes.”

You thought you might cry. It hurt. It hurt more because you knew he was being honest. You could tell from the way he was looking at you. He still saw you in the brightest light.

And that sums up the kind of person Levi is.

You're pretty, Levi. You want to tell him. You're so fucking pretty, did you know that?

You don't though.

But he did look so fucking pretty.

You felt sad suddenly. All those fucking years he chose to be a nonchalant bitch. He chose to act like he doesn't give a fuck. And now that you're here, to the end of your lifeline, now he was gonna look at you like that?

You can't do this.

You thought you could, but no. You overestimated your strength. You thought you could handle this. You thought you were strong enough, strong enough to be with him like this, strong enough to handle the way he was looking at you. But no. You should've never called him here.

You can't do this.

He has to go. For your sake. And for his.

“Levi.”

“What?” It was so unfair, you knew.

“Leave.”

His eyes widened. But you held your gaze.

Levi was startled at the sudden shift of mood, the abrupt turn the conversation took. He stared blankly.

“I want you to leave, Levi. And never come back.”

His mind felt empty. There was something strange in your eyes, a desperation. You were looking at him like you wanted him to understand something. Like you needed him to understand. But he didn't understand. What was happening? Why were you saying that?

“You don’t mean that.” He said flatly, after a stretched pause as he waited for an explanation. He looked as calm as ever, but you could see the confusion in his eyes.

You sighed, turning away and leaning back on your headrest. You refused to look at him.

“Did I do something wrong?” He pressed when you didn't respond.

You shook your head.

“I don't want you here anymore.”

“Why?” His voice was so blank but shit, you could just feel the strain underneath.

“I don't want you here anymore.” You repeated, closing your eyes. “I don't want you to see me like this.”

“You don't get to decide that.” He said, his voice harsh and laced, now with an anger as he started to realize where this was going.

“I can actually. I call the nurses. They kick you out.”

“You're being stupid. I can't just—” He sounded frustrated. “I can't just leave you here alone.”

You shook your head again.

“What the fuck? You're the one who brought me here. You're the one who wanted me to stay."

You did, didn't you? What were you thinking? Steadying your expression and masking the absolute heart wrenching pain you were feeling, you looked at him.

“I'm not going to let you do this.” You said calmly. “I'm gonna get worse. And then I'm gonna get worse. More and more. And you're gonna hate it. I'm not going to let you do this to yourself.”

He stared at you with disbelief.

“Let me go, Levi.” You whispered, your voice cracking. “You can't save me. Not this time.”

—

Well, you were a fucking idiot if you thought he was gonna give up just like that.

He wasn't going to leave you like that. In that soul less, lifeless, shitty ass hospital room, tied up to fucking machines and whatnot. He wasn't going to leave you there all alone. You're insane if you thought he was going to.

But he did leave you alone for the two weeks. He's known you too long. You get mad when people doesn't listen to and throw this big pissy rampage and Levi, for one, did not have the mood to deal with that and two, he suspected it would not be good for your health. Another reason is the hospital’s too fucking far from the headquarters. It took so much time or else he would've come earlier. He couldn't focus shit on his work because all he'd been thinking about were you and all he did was wait for another mail where you apologize and take back your words and ask him to come and visit again. You didn't.

He still showed up today, though.

With a bouquet of flowers in his hand. They felt heavy surprisingly. It was sappy as hell and he kept cringing internally everytime he looked at it. Fucking hell, he'd never though this day's come.

He looked up. It looked like it was going to rain today.

Then he braced himself. Knowing the stubborn shit you were, you were bound to throw out a reaction. But he hoped you'd forgotten about it. Hence, also the flowers. Hopefully, they'd be enough to calm you down. But frankly enough, he didn't give a fuck about your stupid reasons. For his own sake, he had to be there. He had to be with you.

So he stepped into the hospital, taking in a deep breath once the sterile scent kicked in.

He retraced his steps the last time he'd been here, taking the steps slowly. When he reached the floor you were on, he set off to the left corridor, trying to remember which room was yours. But he finds it soon enough, the familiar door.

He took a deep breath, the scent of hospitals making him suffocated. He felt nauseous again. He wondered how you looked now. Was he strong enough to do this?

Were you right? Maybe for his sake, he shouldn't be here. His heart pounded so hard against his chest and he couldn't breathe.

Fuck it.

He stepped in. Then halted.

Empty.

Everything was empty.

The shelves. The table. The bed. Every inch of the room sparkled like someone had just cleaned it recently, the scent of disinfectant hanging on the air. The last time he'd been here, there were those weird romance novels you used to like, piled on the table. All of them were gone. The bed was made up, white sheet spread smooth with the corners folded and the pillows fluffed. Like no one had ever laid there.

Like no one had ever been in this room.

“...you're…Captain Levi, aren't you?”

The soft voice startled him. He jolted, turning around to find a young girl looking at him curiously, reddish hair peeking through her blue nurse cap. He recognized her. He'd seen him the last time he was here, she was the one who showed Hange and him to your room. Her hazel eyes softened when he turned around.

“She's told us a lot about you.” She said, explaining.

Levi doesn't talk. He doesn't blink. He doesn't breathe. His hand gripped onto the bouquet harder.

“Has she been moved?” He asked, his voice harsh. He tried to steady it but his hands were sweaty and his heartbeat was rising. “Do you know where she's—”

But she was looking at him sadly, and Levi knew. Levi knew then.

The ground underneath swayed slightly and he found his eyes travelling to the floor. What was he doing here? Why did he come here today? He needs to leave leave leaveleaveleave—

He didn't need to hear the words from her, he already knew. He looked down to his hands, which were shaking slightly. The bouquet was almost haphazard from how tightly he'd been holding them. They felt heavier.

“She said you'd come back.” She told him, looking at him pitifully. “Come with me, please.”

Levi followed her. He didn't know why. He didn't even want to know why. But his head was empty and he could no longer form a thought. He could no longer think, only do what he's asked.

He didn't process where she's leading her, but then they're standing in front of a room. She tells him to wait and goes back in. Levi waited. He doesn't know for how long. Time meant nothing anymore.

She came out a couple seconds later, an envelope in her hand. She holds it out to him.

“She told me to give you this. She asked me to keep it. I told her she should just mail it but she insisted you'd come back.” She let out a soft sigh.

For a second, Levi doesn't do anything.

He stared at the paper in her hand blankly, unable to process it. His eyes hurt from staring, but in the back of his head, he already knew what it was. He should be curious, intrigued. Sad. Something. Anything. He shouldn't be this numb. But he couldn't show a reaction. He felt so tired. He stiffly reached out, taking the letter from her hand

He vaguely registered the elegant scroll of your writing on top of the white surface. To Levi, it said.

The girl looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to respond. To ask. To react. But when he didn't say anything, she looked almost disappointed.

“That's all, then.” She tells him, giving him a polite nod. “I'm sorry for your loss. I will be heading back now.”

Levi didn't say anything.

It's only when she's walking away, when she's getting further and further, he remembered something.

“Wait.” He called out, his voice hoarse. He has to ask. He needed to ask. He must know.

She stopped, turning back.

He let out a shaky breath. He needed to know. “Do you know when…” He inhaled, his voice was shaking, shit. He steadied it. “When did she…?”

He doesn't need to finish his sentence, she already knows. She looked at him. “Not long.” She answered kindly. “It’s been 3 days.”

3 days. You'd left the world 3 days ago.

“Did it..” He tried to find the right words to say. He remembered how you winced everytime you moved. “...was she in pain? When she passed?”

She shook her head. “No.” She said. “It was peaceful. She had a smile on her face.”

Right. Of course you fucking did.

Barely aware of his own actions, he turned to walk away. He needed to get out of here.

“Actually..” She started again, her voice hesitant, stopping Levi in his tracks. Like she wasn't sure she should say this. “The last word she said…it was your name.”

He can't breathe. “What?”

“‘Levi.’ she said.” The nurse told him with a soft look. “'Levi' was the last thing she said.”

—

Levi,

I knew you'd come back.

You stubborn fucking asshole. You were never going to listen to me in the first place.

Are you angry at me? You are, I know. You have every right to be. I know you're so mad at me right now and probably cursing me, but I couldn't let you be there. I know it's so cruel of me. But believe me, I had no choice. For my sake. For my sake, I couldn't let you be there. I couldn't let you see me die like that.

You have to understand. I was so scared, Levi. So terrified. And the more I looked at you, the more scared I felt.

I didn't want to leave you.

I don't care about rotting in a grave somewhere, Levi. I just didn't want to leave you.

You'd think after knowing from birth that you were going to die soon, you'd learn to not be afraid of it. You'd think being in the scouts, where everyday was a gamble, you'd learn to not be afraid of it. And I did. I swear I did. Death didn't scare me anymore. That's why I did so well in the scouts. You used to call me reckless, but there's no point of being scared for a life you were going to lose either way, was there?

I thought I could do this. I thought I could get over it. I thought I didn't have anything to lose.

But then I met you.

You with your stupid fucking ego and your stupid fucking attitude. You with the stupid hair and you with the stupid face. You with the prettiest eyes I've ever seen.

And it scared me so much. So much. What I felt for you. This constant yearning to be near you. I had so little time. All I ever wanted was to be with you. But I had so little time.

I'm sorry for always annoying the shit out of you. But I had so little time. I had to make the most of it. But as it turned out, it was never enough. It was never going to be enough.

The day the meds stopped working, the day I passed out on that expedition, the day the doctors told me there's nothing they could do anymore, the first thought I had was, “I can't be with Levi anymore.”

Not “I'm gonna die.”

But it was you I thought of.

It's so strange, isn't it? I've spent half a lifetime in hospitals and tied up to machines, having to take dozens of meds everyday just so my organs would keep functioning. I was so tired of it all, all I wanted was for it to end. I waited so eagerly for the day it'd all stop. But now that we're here, I'd do anything, I'd do anything to spend one last day with you. One last hour. One last minute. I'd give up anything to go out on one last expedition with you. Just to hear you call me a ‘suicidal fucking psycho’ again. Just to hear you get mad at me again. Just so you could lecture me. Just so you could smack my head and tell me what a fucking dumbass I am. Just one last time, for you to wrap my wounds with the gentlest hands.

I hope you know you changed everything.

You gave me my life back.

And I will owe it to you for eternity.

I'm rambling, aren't I? I don't know how much longer I have, at best 2-3 days. My lungs are going to shit and I've been tied to a nebulizer the whole week. I can't even hold the pen properly because my hands are shaking so bad and it hurts to even write. But I want to. I want to write. I want to tell you so much stuff, to tell you everything, to tell you anything. Shit, I wish you were here. It hurts to breathe, Levi, and I wish you were here. It always hurt so much less when you were here.

I think I'm going to stop here.

I can't fit a lifetime of unsaid things in one letter, could I?

Tell Hange I love them and tell Erwin, I said thank you. I'd write them letters as well if it didn't hurt so bad, so you're gonna have to relay it for me.

Don't be mean to Hange, okay? You know they love you. Let them take care of you. Let others take care of you. You don't have to be the strongest all the time. It's okay, I swear it is. It's okay to let go. It's okay to be selfish. You're gonna be okay, I promise.

I'm going to write one last thing. It's okay if you get mad at me for this, I deserve it. But I really needed to say this. I really wanted you to know. I'm just sorry it had to be in one shitty letter.

But I need you to forgive me, Levi. I'm sorry that I'm so much of a coward that I never said it to you when I had the time. I'm sorry that this is how I'm letting you know.

I really like you. You have no idea, do you?

You're such an asshole. But you're the most lovable asshole I've ever met.

It wasn't much of a life, but I hope you know that I've loved you with all of it.

If Hange's theory of multiple realities is true, I hope I get to meet you in every one. I hope you're my friend in every one. I hope I get to fall for you in every one.

Matbe I'll see you again. In another life, perhaps?

This time, I would do it right. This time, I wouldn't do this by a stupid letter. This time, I would say the words, true and honest, with every bit of my soul.

I love you, Levi. My heart failed to keep me alive but it never failed to love you.

With the little life I was given, I've loved you with all of it.

Till my last breath.

Sincerely.

P.s. I don't know if you found it, but I've stashed a bunch of those green tea you like in the bottom drawer. Parting gift.

—

Levi stood before a tombstone.

It was gray, like the sky. It was definitely going to rain.

He'd been standing here for a while now, in the cemetery, the letter clutched to his hand, the bouquet still on his other hand. The flowers were all wilted now, but the air still smelled like roses. The grave in front of him was fresh, it was obvious it's barely a couple days old. There was a name etched on the stone, a name he's known for so long. A name he knows so well.

Strangely, it didn't hurt. He didn't feel anything really. There was a strange vacancy in his chest, a voidness where his heart should be. He felt empty, like he lost a part of him somewhere.

He glanced at the letter again. It was wrinkled now, from how hard his fingers been clutching it. He glanced back at the last few sentences and he felt that familiar tug in his chest again.

Levi's head felt empty.

Out of all the ways he'd thought he might lose you, this wasn't one of them.

Out of all the scenarios he had ever imagined where there would come a time he had to lead a life without you being a part of it, this wasn't one of it. This was never one of them. Losing you like this was never one of them.

Being a scout meant there were no tomorrow's. You go out with the expectation of never coming back. And he knew that. Death was reality.

Yet. Wasn't that why he'd always been careful to stick around with you? Always making sure your gear was working, your straps were tightened, your swords were sharpened. Always looking for you first the moment the missions ended. Always the team he'd make Erwin pair him with. Because he thought as long as you were in his sight, as long as he was near enough to see you, you would be okay. He wouldn't let you die. All that for what if this is how it turned out?

Vaguely, he remembered his mother. Here he was again, after years. Nothing changed.

This was the one place his strength meant nothing. Nothing.

Him being humanity's strongest changed nothing.

“Fucking idiot.” He muttered quietly. “Don't even have the guts to say it to my face.”

He swallowed down the bitter taste in the back of his throat. What was he doing? Why was he talking to himself?

He felt angry. Angry at you. Angry because all you needed was to say it. To say it and he would've given up everything. He was angry at himself too. Who was he to condescend you when he was no better himself? When he never had the guts to say it as well?

At least you got to say your piece. Now he'll never get to.

“Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair. He felt restless. It was so fucking unfair. So, so fucking unfair. He had so much to say. So much he's never told you.

He never even got to say goodbye.

He sighed. Looked down to the bouquet. Then to his own surprise, he crouched down, laying the flowers gently on the stone surface.

“I hope you like them. They're all dead and shit now but,” He swallowed, his hands shaking.“Parting gift.”

His touch lingered, softly caressing the carvings of your name, tracing the familiar letters. His fingers shook when he reached the deathdate.

Finally, finally, it started to rain. First, a couple drops caressing his face, and then the sky was grieving with him, crashing onto this world and onto him. He was drenched in a second, his hair sticking to his forehead and his clothes sticking to his skin. He stood up, broken from his daze. He stuffed the envelope down the pocket of his jeans and hoped that was enough, but it was already half wet. The one last thing you'd left him and he couldn't even keep it in piece. He was well and truly an idiot.

He spared a glance at the sky. He wondered if it was the rain that made it all seem so black and white. Or maybe you had sucked the color out of this world when you passed.

He sighed. Does it matter anymore?

But he moved anyway, standing up and turning away.

He can't stay here forever.

He has to go back. Go back to the lifeless foul walls of the headquarters and his stuffy office. He had a shit ton of paperwork he needed to get done. He had to handle his squad. He had to prepare for next week's expedition. He had so much to do. So much to do.

He wondered vaguely how he was going to tell this to Hange.

But he continued walking, hands stuffed to his pocket, grabbing onto the letter. He doesn't look back.

Leaving half his heart on the stone where you lied beneathe.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

What is this feeling? p.3

Heyy guys, here's part 3, if you've missed part 2 here it is.

I'm sorry for not posting yesterday, but this month I'll be pretty inactive since I have to study for my exams :(

If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist.

"YN, you're good, but good isn’t enough."

Max’s words echoed in your ears as you sat across from him in the Red Bull hospitality suite. His sharp blue eyes studied you, a mix of determination and mischief glinting behind them.

"Okay, ouch," you muttered, crossing your arms defensively. "I’m working on it."

"You don’t just ‘work’ on being a winner," he said, leaning forward. "You have to become one. And lucky for you, I’ve decided to make you my new project."

"Your project?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," he said, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "I’m going to teach you everything I know. Strategy, focus, confidence—everything that makes a champion. By the time I’m done with you, you won’t just be good. You’ll be great."

You hesitated, unsure whether to feel flattered or insulted. "And what if I don’t want to be your ‘project’?"

"You don’t really have a choice," Max replied, leaning back and crossing his arms with a cocky smirk. "Besides, I’m very nice for doing this. You should thank me."

"Wow," you said, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a small laugh. "How generous of you."

"Exactly," he said, his smirk widening.

Over the following weeks, Max threw himself into his self-appointed role as your mentor. It started with small things: tips on cornering, feedback on your race starts, pointers about tire management. He’d pull up telemetry data, going over it in detail, explaining every nuance of what made him fast.

"You’re not braking late enough into Turn 1," he’d say, tracing a section of data with his finger. "And your exit speed here? Too slow. You’re leaving time on the table."

"You’re insufferable, you know that?" you shot back one day, though secretly you appreciated how much he cared.

"I’m efficient," he corrected with a smug grin.

But it wasn’t all technical. Max started nudging you out of your comfort zone in other ways, too.

"You need to stop eating lunch alone," he told you one afternoon, stealing a fry from your plate.

"I like eating alone," you argued, snatching the fry back.

"No, you think you do," he said. "But winners know how to command a room. You should join us. Be part of the team."

Reluctantly, you let him drag you into more social settings, and while you’d never admit it to him, you began to enjoy it.

Somewhere along the way, things shifted.

It wasn’t just the racing tips or the forced social interactions. It was the way Max would wait for you after sessions, leaning against the wall with an easy smile. It was the way he’d cheer you up after a bad qualifying run, cracking jokes until you couldn’t help but laugh. It was the way his confidence in you began to chip away at your own doubts.

"You’re getting better," he said one evening after a long day of practice. "I can see it."

"Thanks to you, I guess," you teased, nudging him lightly.

"Of course, thanks to me," he said, but there was a softness in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

By the time race day rolled around, you felt different. Lighter, more confident. Max’s faith in you had become your own, and as you lined up on the grid, you could see him watching you from the pit wall, arms crossed, a small smile playing on his lips.

The race was intense. Lap after lap, you pushed yourself harder than ever, channeling everything Max had taught you. The car felt like an extension of yourself, and when you crossed the finish line, the world seemed to erupt around you.

You’d done it. You’d won.

Climbing out of the car, you barely had time to process the cheers before someone was rushing toward you.

Max.

He reached you in seconds, pulling you into a tight hug. His arms wrapped around you, and for a moment, the rest of the world fell away.

"I knew you could do it," he said, his voice low and filled with pride.

"Thanks to you," you whispered, smiling against his shoulder.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. His eyes were softer than you’d ever seen them, his usual cockiness replaced by something warmer, more genuine.

"You were incredible," he said.

"So, does this mean I’m officially not your project anymore?" you teased, though your voice wavered slightly, the moment feeling too big for jokes.

Max chuckled, shaking his head. "You were never a project to me," he said. "Not really."

Before you could respond, the crowd surged around you—drivers, engineers, reporters. Max stepped back, giving you space, but his eyes never left yours.

Later, as the celebrations wound down and the paddock quieted, you found him leaning against the Red Bull motorhome, sipping a bottle of water.

"Hey," you said, approaching him.

"Hey," he replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. Then, almost shyly, you added, "You know, I couldn’t have done this without you."

Max shook his head. "You could have. I just helped you realize it."

You stepped closer, your heart racing. "Still, thank you."

He met your gaze, and for the first time, you saw vulnerability in his eyes. "Anytime," he said softly.

The distance between you felt impossibly small, and as the night stretched on, you realized something had changed—something that couldn’t be undone.

Max hadn’t just made you a winner. He’d made you believe in yourself. And in the process, you’d found something neither of you had been looking for but couldn’t ignore any longer.

Part 4

@justaf1girl, @anamiad00msday

[panxramic]

Missa cubito ohmygod today’s stream was SOOO.

Firstly, I haven’t talked about this but the fact that q!Missa has finally accepted the family home as his home too makes me want to snob. The fact that he calls it HIS home too, after spending so long distancing himself and saying that he doesn’t deserve to live with them? It makes my heart spin. And yes he still has his movements of self doubt but he knows now that this is his home and this is where he will always return to no matter what.

And I adore the little things that Missa notices. Last stream he got so giddy over the barrel in the house with his name on it and got so happy that he was included with the rest of the family even if he didn’t have anything in it. And then once again today gasping and getting happy at seeing the barrel again as if it was the first time all over. Missa loves being loved and he adores the little things the family does to show it. And how does he return the favor? With drawings he can leave behind dedicated to each one of them. Because he loves his family and he will find a way to physically show it even if he can’t be awake when they are.

And ohhh today with the cakes. He struggled so much and he lost so much energy trying to make the birthday cake for Tallulah but he would not give up until he got it done for both of them because his kids deserve it. And can I also point out I don’t think he realized it was also Chayanne’s birthday but he still made him a cake because he wanted to give something to his son and not make him feel left out. And when he was making the drawing for Tallulah he would not stop and he would not let ANYTHING distract him because his daughter deserves the world and she deserves the perfect painting.

Then come the raccoons. He goes and helps them clean because maybe he can earn money for the family and help out more around the house -> something Missa has always struggled with. He always wants to provide for the family the way they have him so he goes along with these raccoons. Then it all goes to shit when Bad logs on and he finds out it was his home they were cleaning. He finds the dead bodies and he gets scared because… who is this man he’s been calling his friend? Why does he have a grave of bodies underneath his home?

Missa runs. He tries to run away from q!Bad but he always finds him. And then it gets revealed that Missa was working with the raccoons and Bad backs away from Missa because how could he betray him. And Missa does try to explain it, he doesn’t know what is going on. He’s lost and confused and no one is answering his questions. q!Bad threatens and leaves q!Missa with the racoons just for the racoons to stab Missa in the back and rob him too.

This is when he asks himself, who can he trust? q!Bad isn’t who he thought he was, and the racoons betrayed him. He has considered q!Bad a friend for a long time because he’s always on when Missa is on and is always there to help (though if you ask me I would argue the opposite). He tried finding a way to justify Bad’s behavior, even the stuff chat brings up until he can’t. So, he goes back home and prepares a letter to Phil.

Because he realizes after everything in his life, after continuously trusting and relying on the wrong people, he concludes he can only trust q!Phil.

Missa never really leaves letters. His thing has always been paintings and small gifts. But for the first time (in what might be a long time) he leaves Phil a letter. Now that he’s accepted this is his home, he sees it’s also a place people can use to hurt him, in this case q!Bad.

Notice how when q!Bad came back and said he was gonna prank q!Phil and left, q!Missa immediately ran in to check on the kids? His priority and his fear will always be losing his family. He has spent so much of his life pushing himself a way from them, he doesn’t want to lose them when they’re so so close.

But as always… Missa runs. He runs away and sleeps somewhere else for tonight.

In his defense, I will say that this time it’s different. He’s running to protect his family. Is it the best option? I don’t think so. Missa always has struggled with feeling like he isn’t enough. And in this case, his families lives could be in danger so he runs away, because it’s his fault and he isn’t enough to protect them.

I will say. Things have changed. Because this time around he warned Phil. These two have had SOOO many instances of miscommunication and not talking to one another and we finally have a moment in which Phil is hearing directly from Missa. Not some other character, not his kids, Missa.

And the last thing Missa said when he went to bed. He wasn’t sleeping on a bed, because the only bed he will ever sleep on is the one in his home. LIKE FUCK. Yes he ran, yes he left to protect his family. But that’s his home. That’s where he will ALWAYS return to for comfort and safety. It isn’t a forever. It’s just for now.

For the first time, Missa is certain he will always have a home to return to.

[burnednotburied]

You're My People

AO3 Link

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Synopsis: You and Abby take refuge in an abandoned house to catch your breath and attempt to recover after the encounter with Ellie in the theater.

Tags: slight angst; hurt/comfort; mentions of death and blood; tending to injuries; (mostly) unspoken romantic feelings; reader is a young woman (same age as Abby)

Note: To be absolutely 100% clear, the reader is NOT meant to be Lev or Yara. Reader is a woman (about the same age as Abby) who met Abby on Seattle Day 1 when she was also meeting Lev and Yara. The four of them stuck together. None of this is super relevant for this story. (Just know that Yara was with them, but she was killed just as she was in the game, and Lev is around here somewhere.)

----------------------------------------------------------------

“Don’t ever let me see you again.”

That’s what Abby had said to that girl – Ellie – before walking away without so much as a backwards glance.

You had quietly followed Abby out of the theater, because what else could you do, but you didn’t know how you were supposed to feel about what you just saw.

Watching Abby incapacitate one man and shoot another in the face without hesitating. Seeing her beat Ellie into the floor while she lay there motionless.

And the other woman. The one who was pregnant…

“Good,” Abby had seethed when Ellie told her. She almost seemed happy about it. Happy to repay the wrong that was done to Mel. An eye for an eye. A life for a life.

If you hadn’t called out Abby’s name when you did, dragging her from the haze that was her desire for retribution…

Well, you could guess what would’ve happened.

You were just glad the two of you had decided not to bring Lev with you. That he was somewhere safe.

Neither of you spoke a word as you navigated through the dark streets of Seattle, her leading the way with you following quietly behind, just as you had been doing since you met. Although now you may have allowed for a bit more space between the two of you than you did before, trailing further behind. Lost in thought.

It had been three days since you met, but it felt like so much longer. A nagging voice in your head insisted that you really didn’t know Abby very well, despite how it felt.

She hadn’t given you any reason not to trust her. She had never hurt you. In fact, she had fought so hard to keep you and (more importantly) Lev and Yara safe. She had even turned against her own people, killed her own people, for the sake of protecting you.

No, that wasn’t right.

Those weren’t Abby’s people anymore.

“You’re my people.”

Abby had looked so earnest when she said it back on the Seraphite island just hours before. And you had believed her.

The words left you with a feeling deep in your chest that was hard to describe. You thought it might’ve been… belonging. Something you’d been hoping for but never found. You’d always wanted to truly belong to something.

Or someone.

There hadn’t been any time to dwell on the feelings or what they meant.

And now all you feel is a pit in your stomach.

Why were you so shaken up? This is stupid. You’ve killed before, and you’ve watched Abby kill.

But this felt different. It wasn’t self-defense. It wasn’t necessary. It was dark and angry and honestly terrifying. She was honestly terrifying.

But it was justified, wasn’t it? You could argue that maybe it was necessary.

Ellie had been hunting Abby for days, killing her friends and seemingly anything else in her path.

Ellie killed Owen.

You weren’t sure of the exact history between him and Abby, but you did know how important he was to her. And you had seen the look on her face when she found him dead.

Who’s to say Ellie would’ve ever stopped coming after Abby and the people close to her? Who’s to say she’ll even stop now?

You’re just beginning to arrange your fractured, contradicting thoughts in a way that makes sense when Abby comes to a sudden stop in front of you. You would’ve run into her if she hadn’t stretched her hand out behind her in warning.

“We need to stop. Get out of the rain. Regroup.” Her voice is strained.

You hadn’t really even noticed that it started raining again, harder this time, but you can walk in the rain. Lev is alone, waiting for the two of you to return.

You open your mouth to protest, only to shut it again when Abby turns to face you fully. She’s balancing her weight unevenly, heavily favoring her right leg. A significant bloodstain runs all the way down to her left ankle. And her face…  

The pregnant girl had come from nowhere, attacking Abby from behind. She managed to slash across Abby’s cheek with a knife before you took her down with an arrow through the shoulder. It had been your only real contribution to the fighting in the theater, but it had been unavoidable. Abby had been in danger.

Now she’s standing in front of you, soaked from head to toe, from the rain and with blood, and you have no idea how much of that blood is hers, but there are definitely some significant injuries that need to be tended to.

Abby takes in your silence and your wide-eyed stare for a moment before shifting a little in place and clearing her throat. “Um… we can try in there. Yeah? The houses here should all be deserted.” She gestures weakly to the building closest to you.

You finally find your voice. “Yes, yeah. Let’s—let’s go in there.”

You pull your gaze away from Abby’s and walk past her, toward the small house, pulling your bow from where it rests over your shoulder and notching an arrow in the string. It suddenly occurs to you that you’ve walked all this way without your weapon drawn while Abby was injured and unarmed. For a moment, you’re glad that the Wolves and the Seraphites are too distracted fighting each other elsewhere to be roaming around in this area. Or else you and Abby would probably have been killed by now, both of you practically stumbling through the streets like a couple of vulnerable, mindless children.

You shake your head, silently scolding yourself and promising to be more alert, starting right now with sweeping the house.

The front door is mostly intact and slightly ajar. You approach carefully, painstakingly forcing it further open with your shoulder, fighting against rusted hinges and warped wood. The floorboards creak beneath your boots as you step inside, quickly scanning the entryway for anything or anyone that poses a threat. Abby follows behind you, trying not to visibly limp on her injured leg and holding up a small flashlight taken from the aquarium.

“Come on. You need to sit down,” you say over your shoulder, just loud enough to be heard over the pouring rain outside. For a moment, it looks like she might argue with you, maybe insist that she make sure the building’s clear first, but she seems to decide against it, giving you a quick nod of her head in response.

With your bow still drawn, you lead the way through the first floor of the building, passing a bathroom and a kitchen before arriving in what was once the living room. The room is filled with furniture in various levels of destruction and decay, somehow the most well-preserved among them being an old couch pressed against the back wall.

You point to it. “Sit,” you tell Abby. The fact that she listens and moves toward the couch without protest, albeit very slowly, is further proof of the extent of her injuries and her level of exhaustion. “I’m going to check the rest of the house, okay? I’ll be back. Don’t move.”

Abby lets out a scoff, immediately followed by a second, more pained noise. “I couldn’t go anywhere if I wanted to.” An attempt at a joke, made through gritted teeth. You give her a hesitant, worried look, long enough that she forces a small smile and attempts to reassure you with, “I’m fine. Go.”

She’s lying and you know that, but you don’t have much of a choice. You turn to go quickly search the house.

The second floor is clear of any discernible threats but also of anything that would be useful in helping Abby. On your way back to the living room, you rummage through the downstairs bathroom and a couple of mostly empty coat closets in hopes of finding something. Medical supplies. Even clean cloths.

You find nothing there and move on to your last hope, the kitchen. This room is even more ransacked than the rest of the house, and still, you don’t find what you’re looking for.

“Ugh,” you loudly groan, clasping your hands together on the back of your neck and casting your gaze upward in frustration.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Abby quickly asks from the other room, sounding ready to jump up off the couch and rush to your rescue even in her current condition. It makes you smile until you remember that this is no time to be smiling.

“It’s nothing. The house is clear. I was just looking for some medical supplies.”

“Who needs medical supplies?” she asks, trying her hand at a second joke. This time you let yourself smile for just a second.

“You do, Abby,” you say, “You need medical supplies. Urgently.” You’re still staring up like the answer will be written up there if you just look hard enough, when something in the space between the one of the top cabinets and the ceiling catches your eye. If you’re not mistaken, it looks like the corner of a first aid kit.

It’s too high for you to reach standing, and there’s nothing for you to stand on top of. The countertops are broken, the pieces scattered across the room, and the wood of the lower cabinets is rickety and unstable at best.

You’re grumbling under your breath about damn high ceilings and unnaturally tall cabinets as you reenter the living room to find Abby almost exactly where you left her, left leg now up on the couch and elevated, right foot still on the floor. Both of her hands are hovering over the gash in her thigh, like she’s not sure if she should touch it or not, her face tense and focused. She’s in pain.

You pull your eyes away and look for something sturdy enough for you to stand on, eventually deciding on a mostly intact, only slight wobbly small metal table.

“Do you really think now is the best time to rearrange the furniture, honey?” Abby asks, glancing at you in her periphery. She’s joking again, and you know that, but you can’t help the warmth that pools in your cheeks at her use of the affectionate pet-name.

“I--“ You clear your throat, “I need something to stand on. I think I found something in the kitchen.”

“Aww, you can’t reach the top shelf by yourself?” Abby asks, amused. She turns her attention from her leg to watch as you drag the table out of the room. It squeaks along the floor the entire way, making her laugh softly.

 The fact that she’s being playful with you starts to ease your lingering panic about her many ailments. If she’s cracking jokes, she can’t be that close to dying, right?

“Crazy how you’ve lost like half your blood supply, and yet you still have enough energy to tease me,” you say, your own teeth gritted now. The table is much heavier than you anticipated. “And, for your information, the thing that I’m trying to get is not on the top shelf. It is above the top shelf. On top of the cabinet.”

“Uh huh. Sure… Take your time. I’m just over here, casually bleeding out.”

“Well, I’m no doctor. But I’m pretty sure that if the knife had hit any major arteries, you would’ve bled out a long time ago. So you’ll be fine for another minute. Probably.” With one final shove, you manage to get the table where you want it.

You carefully step up on the table, hoping that some sadistic asshole didn’t throw an empty first aid kit all the way up there just to waste the time and energy of some poor, desperate fool in need of medical supplies. (You, of course, being that poor desperate fool.)

After brushing off a thick layer of dust, you grab the handle. The kit is full.

“Yes!” you shout, nearly stumbling off the table in your excitement.

Abby can tease you all she wants and try to make light of the situation, but she can’t hide the look of relief that washes over her features when she sees what you’re carrying.

And, if you were paying closer attention to her face, she also wouldn’t have been able to mask the way her eyes go wide and her cheek – the one that’s not covered in blood – gets visibly pink when you get on your knees in front of her. “Uhhh hey, you can—you can sit on the couch.”

You raise your eyebrows, confused by her sudden nervousness. “No, the angle will be better this way,” you insist. “Just bring your leg over here.” She concedes, avoiding eye contact as you help her maneuver her injured leg so that her foot is back on the floor, practically between your knees.

There’s already a tear in her pant leg where the gash is. So to avoid having Abby stand up and take her pants off or cutting all the way around at mid-thigh, leaving her with half a pair of pants for the foreseeable future, you opt to just rip the fabric a little more on either side of the tear.

But you have a bad habit of occasionally thinking about something and then doing it, forgetting the often necessary in-between step of alerting the people around you to what you’re going to do first. You take the already-ripped fabric of her pants in your hands and tear, successfully making a hole large enough for you to properly clean and dress the wound.

The sound Abby makes when you do this surprises you. It’s almost sounds like a whimper—a noise that you don’t think you’ve ever heard her make before. There’s a twisting heat in your gut that seems to be a recurring side effect of being close to Abby, which you choose to ignore in favor of focusing on the more urgent (and honestly less daunting and less complicated) task at hand.

She’s quiet as you get to work cleaning the gash. Wincing slightly but remaining still.

The cut is deep, but as you expected it missed the femoral artery. You would have to stitch it up, though, and you told Abby as such. She nodded and watched you carefully as you quickly prepared, hoping to get this part over with as quickly as possible.

You moved even closer to her. Abby’s shin gently pressed against your front as you leaned over her knee, bringing your face closer, your movements precise and intentional.

Abby brings her hands down on either side of her legs, bracing herself. Her shoulders tense, muscles engaged. You have to tear your eyes away. Focus. You look back down at her thigh.

As you work, a strand of your hair falls from where you had tucked it behind your ear and into your face. You let out a light, annoyed huff. Before you attempt to blow the strand out of your eyeline, Abby’s fingers gently brush it back behind your ear. You feel yourself blush deeply, saying a quiet thank you before going back to sewing her up.

When the last stitch is done and you’ve carefully wrapped the wound, you feel Abby’s fingers run through your hair again, this time for no other reason but to draw your eyes up to meet hers.

“Come up here,” she says, her voice low. You stand, bringing the first aid kit with you, and feel the springs in the cushions creak beneath you as you sit on the couch, facing her, closer than is probably necessary. Before either one of you says anything else, you begin gently wiping away the blood surrounding the cut on her cheek, cleaning around the wound.

It's clear to you now that her wounds weren’t quite as detrimental as you had feared. With her leg sown up, her face was the only other thing that required your attention. Most everything else was superficial and would heal on its own. The rain had done a poor job of washing away all the blood, but it seems that much less of that blood had come from her than you had anticipated anyway.

“I can do that,” Abby says in a whisper, watching your face as you carefully and meticulously clean hers.

“I know,” you reply, just as quiet. “I want to.”

A few moments go by in silence until Abby once again breaks it.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” she begins, quickly adding, “Not sorry that I did it, but sorry that you had to… see me that way.” Her eyes are downcast. You know it’s weighing on her. Not just everything that happened today, but the fear that what happened could have a lasting effect on this thing you two have only just started to build. Call it trust or friendship or maybe something else entirely.

You shake your head. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad I was there. You shouldn’t have had to do that alone.” Abby nods, but you know it doesn’t do much to assuage her worries.

You still don’t understand what happened back in the theater. Or why it happened. Part of you wants to ask for the history now. How she knows Ellie. Why she wants Abby dead.

Maybe in time she will tell you, but you’ve already decided to trust her. To lean into whatever this thing between you is, and whatever it might become.

So instead, you ask another question that’s been in the back of your mind.

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” You pull your hand away from her face, finished cleaning the cut there. It may form a scar, but it doesn’t seem deep enough to warrant stitches. (And you’re not brave enough to try, on her lovely face so close to her eye.)

Abby smiles softly, leaning forward just a bit to bring your faces closer together. “You’re going to have to be more specific, honey.”

That pet-name again. It makes your head spin. Makes you want to close the already shrinking distance between you and press your lips to hers. But you don’t do that. Instead, you explain, “On the island. When you said that… I’m your people.” You pause, hesitating over the last few words.

Abby stops for a moment, almost looking confused, and you start to spiral internally. You realize that it was probably just something she said in the heat of the moment. To calm you down and get you to keep moving, towards safety. You wish you could take your question back, retract your stupid words. Swallow them up and hide them inside you, along with your ever-growing feelings.

Abby finally answers. “Yeah. Of course I meant it. You’re my people.”

“Yeah?” You break out into a grin.

She nods, smiling and sincere. “Yeah.”

It’s that one, small word that makes you close the distance between you. Not to kiss her, but to gently rest your forehead against hers. Abby seems stunned, like maybe she was expecting the other thing, or hoping for it, but she recovers quickly, closing her eyes and maintaining the physical contact. You close your eyes too.

“You’re my people too, Abigail Anderson.” You can feel her laugh quietly and open your eyes, pulling away just enough to see her face again. “So… where do we go from here?”

“Santa Barbara, California,” she says. You remember overhearing part of a conversation about that between Abby and Owen yesterday. You figured that’s where she would be heading; you had just hoped to be given the chance to tag along. But you guess you didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

So you nod your head thoughtfully. “Sounds good… Sunny.”

“Hmm, yeah. That’s what I hear.” You’re both smiling. Happy, strangely enough, given the circumstances.

“Abby…”

“Hmmm?”

“We are going back to get Lev before we leave though, right?”

----------------------------------------------------------------

Note: If you read all of that, THANK YOU! This is the first fanfic I’ve written—and the first time I’ve written at all in a long time—so this is me dipping my toes in the water.

[o-sunny-day]

Oh right. The other one.

CW: Undertale rant/analysis

Ive played Undertale- hundreds of times. and lately ive reflected on how the game is supposed to make you feel IN THE MOMENT- since ive kinda forgotten a lot of that. Because of the aforementioned ✨“hundreds of times”✨

Everything ofc still feels just as captivating, but nothings surprising because im not playing it from the perspective of someone who has absolutely no idea whats going to happen next. Sometimes I overlook and forget how the little details are supposed to make you feel/think about the characters. Like how Undyne is implied to be an abusive boss. After you get to know her, then replay, you hear how Papyrus talks about her at first, and see their interaction as you enter Waterfall, and you completely understand!

But BEFORE- youre like “oooohhh she’s threatening him-“

On this topic, I rewatched some playthroughs, and saw their first reactions to geno papyrus death, and I realized. that this room placement. IS SO COOL!!!!

Normally its like- yep! I just befriended/beat papyrus, time to continue on my way- oo hi sans! sure, ill go to Grillbys with you! Even on replays, you’re not really excepting him in any room hes in, im just like “oh yep, theres the man.”

But when you kill Papyrus for the first time, usually on a geno route. That same thing kicks in. You’re not predicting him to be there cause youre focused on the room youre in currently, but when you GET THERE youre like “oh yeah and thats where Sans is” but he’s NOT THERE and you stop for a millisecond and go “oh, no yeah, that makes sense.”

…the silence doesn’t help either.

Its worse that he’s all over the underground too, not just in the start of Waterfall. Even not seeing him in front of the mtt resort is just a slap in the face 😭

If youve gotten to the phase of killing people on purpose to see what will happen, youve also gotten to the phase of KNOWING theres gonna be consequences, so Sans not being there shoudnt hit as hard as it does BUT IT DOES (at least for me)

The typical reactions to Monster death in general that you cant avoid are Undyne and Sans’ speeches, and neutral run phonecalls. DIALOGUE. things that appear because of what you did. But with Sans its not what he does or says (up until the judgment hall) its what he doesn’t do.

He doesn’t bother to show up, to say anything to you because what is there to say??? Ignoring how personal it is for a sec- Sans knows this isnt your first time playing, but doesn’t comment on it (much). Right now he still believes the anomaly just wants to be happy, so gives the benefit of the doubt.

That is until you kill the dude that is impossible to kill on accident, or argue in self defense.

Now Sans knows the anomaly just wants to know what will happen. Doesn’t care if its bad or not, they’re just curious, so theres no point.

STILL he wants them to reset and do something ELSE so he halfway pleads with them in the judgment hall to rethink what they’ve done. The fact that he asks an answerable question feels important to me, like hes searching for something, ANY reason. But maybe hes trying to make you see that- there was no reason. Youre DUMB and you should RESET because- WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THIS????

What I also find really powerful even on replays, is the silence after he drops lines like this. Especially the judgment hall question. Sometimes I do sit there and soak in the silence like- “jesus. Yeah, why DID i do that?”

My main point of this entire thing is, I LOVE this game, I LOVE Papyrus and his impact on the game even when he isnt there, and I wish I could play it for the first time again, and fall in love with it all over again, but alas, hitting myself with a rock to screw up my memory only works 17% of the time,

so im happy enough sticking with changing my perspective, and taking a moment to remember what it felt like to accidentally kill toriel and realize your actions have consequences, to beat Undyne the Undying, to hug Asriel, to hear that Undertale was getting a “sequel”, and to hear that dreaded line, “Then why did you kill my brother.” all for the first time again.

[aita-blorbos]

WIBTA for testifying against my boyfriend in court?

My (20F) boyfriend P (21M)... well, to make a long story short, he's been accused of murdering my ex-boyfriend D (22M). Apparently, P pushed D right into the path of a live electrical wire that had been cut...! I don't know why P would ever do such a thing... he's such a sweet guy, really...! I feel awful for having to testify against him, because... I saw him there, arguing with D, and I know it could only have been him... I wonder if D got jealous of how happy we are together and wanted us to break up... I hope it was self-defense, because I really don't think that P is capable of murder...!!

I know it's my 'civic duty' to tell the truth, but I already feel so horrible... not just about this, but about that necklace I gave him when we first met... If he is a horrible, awful killer, then maybe I should have kept it...

EDIT: There's nothing really special about the necklace, P just keeps showing it to everyone he meets and saying how amazing I am... It's kind of embarrassing. And if he is a murderer, I don't want to be associated with him anymore...

EDIT 2: Stop asking about the necklace!!!! It's not important!!!!!! I'm just devastated!!!!!! Stop asking!!!!!!

EDIT 3: P just ate the necklace????? I guess that takes care of that... Also, I didn't have any involvement in this trial other than testifying. Stop accusing me of murdering D. I couldn't have done it, idiots.

EDIT 4: Go suck a dick, you hag of a defense attorney. I KNOW you're reading this and laughing. What, you think you caught a murderer? Do you think you're so cool? Eat shit.

FINAL EDIT: Okay, I admit it. I did kill D. I'm being sentenced to death for that and several other crimes I committed as a teen. In my defense, though, they all deserved what I gave them. I'll see you all on the other side!

[ficandkaboodle]

Vaginismus: Secondo x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: So . . . I'm already really bad at these types of things. But I think writing one of these on this type of subject matter is still important. Fanfiction is kind of a very rough place when it comes to acknowledging or writing for sexual disorders. On one hand, I am to assume this is because fanfic, by its very nature, is meant to be like wish fulfillment. Reader inserts are often meant to be the representations of the best versions of ourselves. But . . . I dunno, I feel like that can only go so far when you see representations of all kinds of disorders or issues or even complete non-issues. And yet virtually nothing is ever made with people who have conditions like vaginismus or whatever in mind. I love a good smut but sometimes, reading stuff makes me flinch inward and all I can focus on is the pain I would be in from even a pinky tip trying anything. I just think it's important to try and remind people that PiV isn't the only way to "get stuff done" and that it should be okay if that's a struggle for you. Some people can work their way out of the condition, and some people never do. And I think it should be okay to write about it because all too often it's easy to forget that or feel like you've lost out on being loved or understood over something that, in the grand scheme, is so silly. And since I have the condition and there's a chance I may never get out of it thanks to my fucked up noggin, I think this should be an opportunity to write about it. Hope I did okay. There might be more to follow . . .

Word Count: 2394 CW: Vaginismus and all the lovely self-loathing it entails, reader has a vagina, references to aspects of BDSM ig, MDNI

In your defense, you didn't think it would go this far. Certainly, one could argue that Secondo was a serious man: He wasn't prone to playing with food that wasn't absolutely his to consume. But you supposed you had forgotten that, or maybe you were just high on the the arrogant assumption that you might be a special case. Or maybe it just slipped your mind to intervene when the teasing glances, subtle and overt flirtations, and little talks between you kept going and going and going until --

Now look where it had gotten you: Sat in the office of the most intimidating Emeritus brother, a packet of documents lying on the desk before you, along with an elaborate green and silver fountain pen.

Secondo preferred to use contracts when it came to his potential bedmates he had a particular eye for. Ones he had an especial intention of keeping closer. Longer.

To many, this was an absolute honor. You knew plenty of siblings that would probably kill to be in your place. And as you sat wordlessly before both Papa and his documents, you contemplated throwing yourself onto those swords.

It would certainly be quicker and less painful than ducking out after coming this far.

You could picture it: St. Andrew's crosses, leather, hot wax searing deliciously into your skin, his sharp voice directing wicked degradation before salving you with praises. All the scrumptious things Papa II had gained a notoriety for indulging. You would gladly eat it all up and beg for seconds and thirds.

But you couldn't stop it there; it had to go further. Nobody just. Stops there. Nobody normal, anyway.

The problem was that you didn't consider yourself normal. Which was what made imagining him getting into position all the more mortifying even if in concept. You could picture yourself trying to convert the anticipation you were meant to feel from one of nerves into one of bliss but it doesn't matter. You try so hard to relax and be in the moment but it's a terrible moment!

You'd heard Secondo was blessed. The idea sat in your stomach while its surroundings shriveled in fear and constricted to an uncomfortable degree. Hell, it wouldn't even matter if he were the opposite of blessed: It would all hurt the same. It would still feel as though a needle were shanking its way into your most intimate parts, piercing onward until it struck your lungs and took the oxygen right out of you. And that would only be the beginning of it.

And just thinking that was enough to make the mask slip.

You prayed to Lucifer that the sound of you wordlessly nudging the papers and pen closer to Secondo would somehow be enough to disguise the whimper paining your throat. Unfortunately, it was not.

Your already throbbing stomach somehow made enough room to swallow your heart when you saw the older man's brow quirk.

"Something the matter, Sorella?" His voice, the one you'd grown to swoon into after all these passing weeks, made you want to flinch now. Fuck. You could feel your resolve slipping through your fingers like sand and creating further mess. You just needed to keep it together --

"N-no," you forced out. You tried not to dwell on how tight your voice sounded or how it even hurt just to utter that. A complete opposite to how smooth and natural it had been when you answered his invitation to his office earlier. You weren't even sure why you hadn't expected this to be the reason for such a request. You were so naive then . . .

You tried to push through the pain, tried add on, "I'm just --" but stopped almost immediately. You had no idea what to continue with. Fuck, you were fucking this up so badly! You seriously began to contemplate just standing up and leaving, but then where would that get you?

You still lived here, in the Abbey. Avoiding a Papa was virtually impossible at the end of the day. There was no way you two could carry on as though nothing had ever happened -- the flirting, the gazes, all that junk . . . Oh, Satanas, would you need to relocate? Uproot the life you'd finally managed to create for yourself here, sent off somewhere else just to hide the humiliation of what you were and what you had or hadn't done?

Satan, why did it feel so hot in here? Was that why the air suddenly feel like it was only oozing into your lungs with difficulty?

Clearly, Secondo did not take the silence well. His lips pressed into a thin line. "If I have insulted you, Sorella, I deeply apologize." No . . . "I thought you were aware of my practices." No!! He reached a large, ringed hand out to pull the items back towards him. And somehow, that was the final straw, the final snap before the dam collapsed.

It was like watching your last chance for something being taken away from you, even of your own accord! In fact, it was exactly that: Something you knew was necessary but it didn't have to be that way but fuck, your body and mind were at odds with each other and making it your problem and --

You hadn't even noticed that you'd turned into a crying, hiccuping mess, much less one that talked. It was only when you could see through your tears an actually surprised-looking Secondo (he was capable of shock?!) that you comprehended just what sort of state you were in.

And if it was enough to make the most emotionally constipated man in the Church look disquieted, then you must've been in a sorry state. The room only felt more hot as the burn of embarrassment enveloped you. You hoped it might even consume you in a full-throttle case of spontaneous human combustion as you struggled to swallow back up everything you'd just done.

"I-I-" you hiccuped wetly. It was so hard to formulate words underneath his gaze, which he never took off of you even as he reached for a box of tissues to offer you. You knew it was one of concern, searching for traces that maybe you needed help he couldn't offer you. But for the state your mind was currently in, it twisted it into one of disgust; like maybe all those affections he might've held for you an hour ago were being replaced with ones where all he saw was a madwoman.

It was almost too much. But it was also too late to go back now, wasn't it?

"I . . . My body doesn't work right," you finally admitted in a croaked murmur. Your eyes flew down to your lap in shame, watching your hands twist and tear at the wet tissues you'd just used. "It's a condition. Like my body clenches up down there at the mere thought of penetration. So . . . So sex is off the table, basically. I'm s-sorry . . ."

God, it sounded all so lame when you said it like that. But what else could you really do? How could you communicate to him the physical and mental pain it all caused you? How could you get across to him the embarrassment that came with pap smears, the shame you felt when recognizing how behind your peers you were? Would he sympathize or pity you if he learned that on a good day, you could get the very tip of a well-lubricated q-tip in and have to consider that a victory?

You weren't able to even formulate such thoughts, let alone predict how he might feel besides, perhaps, disappointment. Maybe even disgust.

Secondo liked the finer things in life, after all: How must he feel, knowing he'd wasted so much time and energy on something that was actually broken the whole time?

"I . . . I'm so sorry." At this, your fidgeting froze, your mind beckoning for you to glance up even the slightest. In doing so, even from such an awkward angle, you could see your Papa's expression remain nearly unchanged from before. It was still worried for you, though now with a touch of something more. "I can't imagine how difficult a spot you must've felt you were in . . . And for that, I apologize."

You gave a wobbly expression born of appreciation but also acknowledging the silliness of the sentiment. You gently huffed at the absurdity, "Don't apologize, you couldn't have known." A soft shrug allowed you to upright your position better. "If anything, I'm the one that should apologize. I should've said something in the beginning . . ."

At this, the older man shrugged back. "Perhaps, but I also can understand how uncomfortable that might've made you feel. Telling someone something so intimate can be difficult. Especially if it is like . . . Well." He gestured between the both of you.

You gave the smallest of chuckles (albeit, out of a desperate need to tenderize the mood) as you twisted the shredded pieces of napkin in your lap once more. Yet again, your eyes diverted from their connection with his. "Yeah, well, at least you would've known whether or not to waste time on me."

At that, the mood seemed to slightly change. You didn't feel threatened, but you knew that the breed of seriousness had shifted somewhat. Almost reprimanding. The eyes of Papa Emeritus II were just as intimidating out of the papal paints as they were in them, it seemed.

"I can assure you, Sorella," his normal nature of calmness returned, all traces of hesitancy from moments ago completely evaporated. "I don't see any of the time or what we've done together as a waste. If you have had any partners in the past that might've felt the opposite, then I sympathize greatly with you. But I also know that means you have no experience with anyone worth your time. That is, perhaps, the most disappointing thing of all here."

Damn. What do you even say to something like that? What could you say to something like that? Under normal circumstances, you might've argued in unfortunate defense of past failed connections, pinning the blame on you. After all, that's what made the most sense. or at least, it had. Until now, with the metaphorical mirror being propped up before you by one insistent Papa.

The room fell into silence as you searched for a response -- if you even needed to make one.

"Do you still want me?"

You almost jolted. You hadn't been expecting that to be what broke the silence.

"I . . . Well, yes. Of course I do, Papa." And you did. But . . . "But I don't know if --"

"I didn't ask for specifics, piccolina. I asked you: Do you still want to be with me?"

You struggled with a punctuated inhale. "Yes."

He hummed single low note before taking back the documents and pen. You watched curiously (and perplexedly) as he began to scribble and draw lines at seemingly random places. After what had felt like an eternity, he finally slid the packet back to you.

"Take a look. It's the roughest of drafts, of course, but we can properly revitalize it as needed. If you wish to make further retractions or additions, I give you the freedom to apply them."

Your brow furrowed as you picked up the papers for inspection. Of course, your eyes were immediately drawn to the instances of green ink that now freckled the paragraphs but you took especial time dialing it back and reading in full what these adjustments were meant to even mean.

Acts concerning penetration had been removed or adjusted as necessary, acts concerning outercourse or fondling had been either emphasized or added and asterisked.

"But . . . But Papa, I can't ask you to take away from your own pleasure," you objected. It was bad enough you'd strung him along, even if he argued that you hadn't. This was still quite a lot to grapple with in under ten minutes.

At this, Secondo cracked the first hint of amusement he'd had this entire session. He smirked as he reclined back in his hair. "And what, pray tell, makes you think I wouldn't derive pleasure from doing any of these things, piccolina?"

Porn, smut, the stories kiss-and-tell Siblings would often share in the cafeteria or in the hallways or the quad. Reddit posts.

"Well, I mean," you tried to argue. "They were there for a reason, weren't they? You enjoy those things." You ignored how the smirk on his face only seemed to grow. Hm. Maybe your words didn't have as much umph to them as you'd thought? Still, you continued. "A-and besides: I can't imagine you'd get off as easily from --" You glanced down at a word he'd scribbled in. " -- thigh jobs."

The low chuckle that rumbled from his chest settled your failure of a one-sided debated.

"Oh, Sorellina: You have much to learn about my proclivities," he sighed. "I understand that what the others might talk about may paint a certain picture of me. But I can assure you, any lover worth his salt should know that just shoving their dick into something is far from the end all, be all."

"And besides." The chair squeaked as he leaned in, hands folded on the dark wood of the desk. "It takes a true lover to relish in pleasure's many forms. I am more than happy to show you this, if you will let me."

It didn't matter that you had heard him say and gesture far cruder things: Just the words coming from his lips -- lips you had craved the taste of ever since your first sampling mere days ago -- coupled with the sincerity of his unbreaking eye contact. Your face was once again awash with a heat, a pleasant one born from blush.

You wanted to let him. You'd let him do whatever he could with you. You just needed to . . . let him.

Your body made picking up the pen feel weightier than it could've possibly been. But in a way, you were used to it: You were used to fighting your body and mind, always losing the battle so that they and their anxieties could be pacified while the other parts of you remained barren. Unsatisfied, with the conviction that it was only your burden to bear.

You didn't want a story to tell or even a milestone to complete so that you could better fit in with your peers: You just wanted to be understood. Or at least, like you wouldn't get left behind, chained by your own body and mind's complications.

As you stared at the green ink that formed your name on the pristine white paper, you felt a tightness in your throat. Never before had you felt so liberated . . .

[hughiecampbelle]

Imagine Hughies reaction when he knows Homelander had something to do with your disappearance, but he can't prove it:

"I'm sorry about your little friend."

"Homelander-" His voice got caught in his throat. Hughie was vibrating with anger. It was so stupid, he was so stupid, but he couldn't help it. His fists were balled, ready to punch him if he tried anything. He knew Homelander wouldn't even flinch. It wouldn't hurt him at all. But he had to try something. Anything. You were gone and he knew he had something to do with it. The last thing you were doing, the last place you were, was surveiling Homelander at Vought. No one's heard or seen from you since. They're not even sure you left the building. Butcher told him to be careful and work smart, but standing in front of him just made him angry, furious, and he couldn't think beyond what he might he doing to you.

"They've been missing for. . . what? Three days? Four? You know what happens the longer someone isn't found." He shrugged, sounding remorseful, but his features were smug looking. There was no real proof that he or anyone else at Vought knew where you were. Technically, you weren't even supposed to be at Vought, so your last known whereabouts were somewhere else in the city. It could be dangerous, all by yourself. Hughie should have known that instead of accusing him of a heinous crime. Homelander wasn't really concerned with you. You weren't a major threat, but you were nosey and that could cause some problems. If he had done anything, it would have been completely justified. You were trespassing and he was afraid for his life. He could argue self defense. He could argue a lot of angles.

"If you did this, if you hurt them, I will stop at nothing to kill you." Hughie had one small, insignificant advantage against Homelander: he was taller. It wasn't much, or really anything, but it made him squirm. Hughie would stop at nothing until you were back, safe and sound. If he or anyone else touched a hair on your head, he would find a way to destroy everything he ever cared about. Every person that meant something to him would find a gruesome end. Fuck what Butcher or M.M. or any of them said, he'd played it cool long enough. Homelander had to learn there were consequences to his actions.

"Good thing I had nothing to do with it."

[not-scared-of-microwaves]

I am Jon's number 1 supporter. Everything he's done is perfectly understandable and reasonable. Yeah, season 1 Jon was a bit of a dick to Martin, but if you picked your assistants but your boss assigned this random guy to assist you as well, and this guy isn't very good at his job, and then you find out it's because he literally wasn't qualified for the job in the first place? And add that to the fact that you already know you aren't qualified for the job you've been given, so you need to do a good job and this guy is making that harder? being a bit of a dick isn't necessarily justified, but it's certainly understandable.

Of course season 2 Jon was paranoid, and honestly I'd argue that he wasn't "paranoid" because can it really be called paranoia if you're right? Since he got the archivist job, he's felt like he's being watched and his best defense was pretending to be a jaded skeptic, but it's been proven that being skeptical didn't help, and he got literally eaten by a sentient worm infestation's worms. While hiding from the worms that came for him in his work place, the dead body of his predecessor was found in the tunnels. She was shot, probably by someone in the institute. Things keep showing up asking for specifically the Archivist. He's been given multiple reasons to believe that someone else in the archives is out to get him, and in the end it turns out he's right--Sasha isn't Sasha, and Gertrude was literally murdered by his boss. "His paranoia wasn't justified" it absolutely was. No, Martin and Tim didn't deserve to be stalked, but considering Jon's been nothing but an ass to Martin, and Martin continued to be nice to him, and there was certainly someone out to get him, yeah, it was a reasonable concern.

Season 3, 4 , & 5Jon? Every decision, however stupid they seem, were perfectly reasonable when you look at how he was being treated. He considers himself a monster, and everywhere he turns other people are encouraging this view. If he expresses remorse? Oh boohoo the monster feels guilty. If he doesn't? Where's his humanity, he's just a monster. If he doesn't tell people what's going on, he's not communicating and people are mad about it. If he does tell people what's going on, then he's dragging them down with him and he needs to stop involving people. Basira blames him for Daisy, until he dies, Tim blames him for Sasha, Melanie blames him for literally everything and never liked him to begin with, Georgie cut him off because he wasn't trying to get out (not that he could escape if he tried), Martin's isolating himself for the Lonely. Everywhere he turns he's met with criticism and a lack of sympathy. Of course he's going to throw himself into the Buried to get back someone he sees as more valued and more wanted than he is--if you already hate yourself, and everyone else is encouraging it, you'd do it too. He blames himself for the apocalypse, he blames himself for what happened to Daisy, the list goes on. Of course he's incredibly self sacrificing--take an already selfless person, load them up with self-loathing and guilt, and the only thing you're going to get is someone who places everyone elses value well above their own, and is self-sacrificing to the point of self-destruction.

He's done nothing wrong and that is a hill I will die on.

[correlance]

'Hazbin Hotel' Episode 6 plot hole: Angel Dust didn't just do drugs or porn. He also killed lots of people when he was alive.

I rewatched the entire show from the pilot to Episode 8, and one thing that is glaringly absent from Episode 6, and Charlie arguing that Angel Dust deserves redemption and to be in Heaven, is that Angel Dust has not only murdered people, but he seems to enjoy killing people to "blow off steam". This is especially apparent in Episodes 4 and 8.

In the pilot episode, if one still counts that as canon, Angel literally engaged in a turf war alongside Cherri Bomb, using his tommy guns to shoot down his opponents, and he also used the same guns and angelic steel bullets to injure and kill numerous angels in the extermination. Even if Angel was shooting to kill in self-defense, by Heaven's standards, it is still technically considered a mortal sin.

However, the biggest issue with Angel's path to redemption is that, according to previous Q&A interviews with series creator Vivienne Medrano (VivziePop), Angel was part of the mafia when he was alive, which is where he obviously gets his marksmanship and shooting skills from. That means that Angel also killed and murdered people in mob hits, with a kill count in the dozens, if not hundreds. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if Angel has dealt with folks that he and his family personally sent to Hell by murdering them in mafia hits.

I still don't understand how Episode 6 somehow overlooked this, especially since showing scenes when Angel was a living human, and him killing people, would've been simple and easy for Adam to do. In fact, in Christian and Biblical mythology and folklore, human souls are typically judged on what they did in life, and not in Hell, a fact that Alastor himself also aptly pointed out in the pilot episode:

"Redemption, oh the non-existent humanity! No, no, no, no. I don't think there's anything left that could save such loathsome sinners! The chance given was the life they lived before, the punishment is this! There is no undoing what is done!"

I really hope that the writers fix this by having Angel explain to Charlie what he did when he was alive. Currently, Charlie seems to be under the impression that Angel is in Hell because he was a drug addict, as well as a porn star. However, the true reason is likely because Angel killed a lot of people when he was alive and a mobster. While he wasn't a serial killer, like Alastor was, he doesn't seem to be remorseful about it, or even takes pleasure in killing. He also literally wanted to murder Sir Pentious, alongside Vaggie, in Episode 2 ("Can't we just kill him? Shoot him and spill his blood?"), with no hesitation or remorse.

So, how can Charlie redeem Angel Dust? The first step is actually addressing the fact that, y'know, Angel murdered people, and that his first reaction and instinct in a conflict is to be like R. Kelly, and pull out his gun, start blasting, and "cap some b*tches". I really hope that the show does this in Season 2, because with Angel, it's a major issue.

[cherienymphe]

When The Party’s Over XVIII (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Warnings: mentions of NON-CON, DUB-CON, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, mentions of DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, forced pregnancy, mentions of abortion, forbidden relationship, violence, jealousy, stalking, underage drinking, drug use, manipulation, corruption, public sex, innocent reader, Heyward!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies​ | divider by @silkholland​​

➥ series masterlist

summary: Manipulated into a secret relationship with Rafe Cameron, you’re finding it much easier said than done to do the right thing and walk away…especially when he refuses to let you.

~

You laid in bed, fingers clutching your pillow as you tearfully stared at your window. It was locked, as it always was these days, but that didn’t matter much when Rafe had already cemented himself in your life. Your throat hurt, and your eyes were tight from how much crying you’d done, and as your parents’ voices traveled through the wall, you felt your eyes water again.

They’d been arguing all afternoon and all night.

About you.

Your dad was too disappointed and too angry to even look for a silver lining in this while your mom, who’d always spoke of grandkids for as long as you could remember, was trying to find some positive in this. Her hurt and disappointment were still palpable too. After all, what parent dreamed of their eighteen-year-old kid getting knocked up before they even went off to college or had some semblance of a life?

You closed your eyes, thinking of how Rafe ruined everything.

As much as you hadn’t even wanted to the first time, you were resigning yourself to getting another abortion. Before, where you’d at least had some semblance of hope that a baby would put things into perspective for Rafe, now you knew just what he was capable of. As much as it didn’t sit right with you, you were much surer this time around.

…but then Rafe happened…again.

Your mind took you back to earlier in the day when you’d slapped him in the bathroom. You were sure that you’d never hit him before. In all the madness of what he put you through, you’d never tried to hurt him in any way that wasn’t self-defense. When the slap barely did anything, you’d hit him again and again.

While your parents were talking to Ward about your future, you were trying to hurt Rafe as badly as he’d hurt you.

“I can’t believe you,” you’d choked out, vision blurry from your tears. “I can’t believe you.”

That was all you’d been able to say for a while, so in shock and disbelief at what he’d done. Not even just with telling your parents, but getting you pregnant on purpose in the first place. You knew that he did. Everything was too coincidental. Not to mention, his words from that last night were still plain as day in your head.

He’d promised that everyone would know you were his.

“If you think-.”

“If I think what?” he’d wondered, stepping towards you and crowding you against the wall. “Hmm?”

You had swallowed, tearful gaze holding his cold one as he stared you down.

“If you thought I was going to let you get away from me, get rid of my child,” you flinched at the emphasis there. “…move on and run off to college like we never happened, maybe you are dumb.”

Your lips trembled, nails digging into your palms.

“If you’re even thinking there’s some way you can get out of this, I’m all too happy to tell you you’re wrong,” he spat. “My father will fight whatever legal battle you try to throw our way, and you know it.”

Rafe’s nose brushed yours, and the only sound you could really register was your heavy breathing.

“That baby is a Cameron. It belongs to me,” he quietly told you. “…and so does its mother.”

You had furiously blinked, more tears falling, and Rafe had reached up to wipe them away. His hands rested on your cheeks, thumbs brushing against your damp skin, and you had watched his face fall some, evening out.

“Don’t make this hard on yourself when it doesn’t need to be,” he’d whispered, almost begging. “You love kids. I know you do, and it’s how I know you hated getting rid of the first one.”

You’d looked away.

“You didn’t even give me a chance.”

“You didn’t give me a choice.”

Your eyes had met his again, more tears falling.

“I can take care of you both—I will take care of you both,” Rafe had darkly promised, and if it weren’t for the fact that your pregnancy had been intentional, you would’ve thought it sweet. “You’ll want for nothing-.”

“Except for someone who doesn’t hurt me and rape me, right?”

He’d pressed his lips together at that, and you shook your head, fighting back more tears.

“Rafe, you can’t do this,” you’d shakily whispered, tone pleading.

His brows drew together, and he tilted his head.

“…and what are you going to do to stop me? Hmm?”

You hadn’t had an answer for him.

“You can try and press charges, but we both know that won’t end well.”

You’d looked down at that.

“You can try and run from me, but I will always find you,” he’d promised. “…and if you think you can sneak off to Charlotte again, I’d like to see you try.”

You’d closed your eyes, hating the truth in his words more than anything.

“…and beautiful…”

You’d reluctantly opened your eyes at the nickname, trembling as Rafe pressed his hands to the wall on either side of your head. His dark blond hair kissed his forehead, and his blue eyes gleamed dangerously.

“If you try to keep this baby from me, I’ll ruin your fucking life.”

You released a shaky breath as he looked between your eyes.

“I’ll show you just how bad things can really get.”

You couldn’t imagine how things could get worse, but if Rafe was consistent with one thing, it was proving that particular thought wrong. When he reached up to touch your face, you shivered, and you could see that he was looking to where the faint bruise on your cheek would be if it weren’t for your makeup.

“It doesn’t make sense to try and do things the hard way each and every time when you’re just going to get the same result—right back to me.”

Rafe’s words rang true, even now as you laid in bed, but it didn’t mean you had to like them. God, you knew that coming up with anything to fight Rafe wouldn’t end well for you. You knew that it would only prolong the inevitable, but you had to at least try. You wanted to look back and at least say you tried. It was the right thing to do…right?

Sleep barely found you, and you tossed and turned most of the night.

As precarious as you wanted to claim your future was, it really wasn’t. There was really only one clear path, and you hated it. The events of yesterday didn’t even feel real, and yet, they were. Your parents knew about your relationship with Rafe, and they knew you were pregnant, and instead of the horrifying truth, Rafe had painted you both out to be some lovesick teenagers who just got too caught up in the whirlwind of it all.

Your dad hadn’t even said a word to you since yesterday, only your mom asking how you slept and if you’d eaten. It wasn’t unusual for her to ask those things, but you both knew there was a hidden meaning behind it. You hated the way she gazed at you, like you were precious, in a delicate position.

Like you were eating for two, now.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” she finally asked long after breakfast was over.

You both were sitting on the couch, and you stared at the wall as her gaze rested on you. You wanted to tell her it was because you’d only just found out yourself, but even revealing just how partially sinister Rafe was would come back to bite. If your parents knew the truth, they’d try to kill Rafe or throw him under the jail in a heartbeat, and Rafe was right about a lot of things lately, but especially when he’d said that Ward wasn’t going to let you smear the Cameron name.

Even if it was all true.

“I was scared, I guess.”

It wasn’t a lie.

You were scared. You never wanted your parents to know about any of this, to look at you with the disappointment they’d worn yesterday. You went to the fancy private school. You had the grades for scholarships and to get into any college you wanted. You didn’t stay in trouble like Pope. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen to you.

“Rafe sure does seem to care about you, a lot…” you closed your eyes at that. “…and he seems to really care about this baby too.”

You didn’t know what Rafe was.

He claimed to love you, but that hadn’t stopped him from hurting you in more ways than one. He claimed to care about this baby, but already he’d brought it up as an excuse to hurt you if need be. Rafe just didn’t like losing. At least, that’s what you thought, but even the sorest of losers wouldn’t go so far as to propose marriage. You really didn’t know what Rafe was, but determined to keep you was evident more than anything else.

…and you didn’t even know why.

“He’s so young, just like you, but he seemed very sincere when he talked about wanting to marry you.”

You swallowed at that.

“Do you want to marry him?”

That question didn’t require any thought.

Of course, you didn’t want to marry Rafe. You didn’t even want to be near him, but you kept that to yourself, merely shrugging. Your mom sighed, and you could see that she was trying to be gentle about all of this as opposed to your dad who could barely look at you.

“You do want this baby…right? Rafe definitely made it seem like you did, but I realized that I never got the chance to ask you.”

“I don’t know,” you quietly told her.

Deep down, that was the truth.

Like before, you didn’t want to get rid of it, but also like before, you knew that you needed to. If you ever wanted a chance at a life away from Rafe, you needed to, but you knew there was no chance of you getting to Charlotte without Rafe stopping you before you even made it on the Ferry.

“Well…that’s okay,” she relented, patting your leg. “You still have some time to think about it and talk it over with Rafe.”

You resisted the urge to huff at that, hating that your mom was so privy to this part of your life that you didn’t want anyone to know about. Hearing her talk about you and Rafe like some couple made your stomach turn, and you licked your lips as she continued.

“Just in case you’re…worried about what your dad and I might think, I want you to know that I’ll be happy with whatever you decide…”

You looked at her at that, and your shoulders dropped. The smile she sent you was comforting, but tight.

“…so, you should do what you feel is right, regardless of how you think it’ll make us feel.”

You could see the glimmer in her eyes, the hope on her face. Your mom was saying all the right things, but anyone could tell that she wanted you to keep this baby, no matter how much she tried to hide it. You didn’t even have the strength to tell her that because of Rafe, she’d probably get exactly what she wanted.

“Maybe…maybe we can get you to Charlotte again. Or maybe there’s someone on Outer Banks who…”

Pope trailed off as you lifted your head, looking at him with a blank face. It had been days since you’d been ambushed by Rafe and his dad, your dad still wasn’t talking to you, and Pope… Pope was desperately trying to come up with anything to get you out of this situation. You were still waiting for the other shoe to drop where he realized just how you became pregnant again.

After all, it happened after the day Pope learned the truth, and in this whole madness, his mind wasn’t letting him linger on the elephant in the room.

“You have to do something.”

“For what? For Rafe to stop me? Get mad at me again? Take it out on you again—or dad?”

You shrugged, finally feeling…defeated, and you could tell that it was written all over your face. Rafe had gotten to you because he was right. The only chance you had was to get off this island and never come back, and that just wasn’t practical. You were eighteen and pregnant with no credit, no savings, and no means of surviving away from your family. Even if they helped you out, it was just another way Rafe could find you and drag you back, and you didn’t need your family feeling any worse than they already did.

Especially Pope.

Besides, you hated Rafe, but you loved your family more than you could ever hate him, and you’d miss them too much. Even just the thought of trying to make it without them and with minimal contact was enough to make your throat tight. Rafe had you well and truly stuck, and as much as you didn’t want him to be right, he was.

Anything you did would just prolong the inevitable.

…and that’s how you found yourself in Bunny’s car on the way to the Cameron residence. You’d told your parents where you were going, and your mom had swallowed down her obvious curiosity while your dad had simply nodded. He still hadn’t spoken a word to you, and you tried not to take it personal, knowing how much this was to process even without the details only you knew about.

You found your hatred of Rafe bubbling to the surface at that.

Rafe’s inability to keep your relationship perils between you two was infuriating. First, he brought Pope into it, and now his dad and your parents. Maybe that was why he kept getting the upper hand because between the two of you, you were the only one who felt you had something to hide. Rafe had wanted the relationship out and in the open from the beginning, and you never foresaw your desire for secrecy being used against you one day.

Bunny was definitely curious as she dropped you off, and you ignored the questions in her eyes, only telling her you needed to talk to Rafe about something. It definitely wasn’t a lie, but the something in question was a pretty big something that you were choosing to leave out. You sighed to yourself as she drove off, thankful that Pope hadn’t been home when you left. Your brother would’ve happily tied you down to keep you from going to see Rafe alone.

The smile that Rose gave you when she opened the door told you that she knew.

You swallowed.

“Is Rafe home?”

His truck was in the yard, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” she sweetly said, gently rubbing your back as she ushered you inside. “He’s just upstairs but let me go and get him.”

As she made her way upstairs, you decided that you hated this already. She’d looked at you like you were some miracle sent from God to tame her demented stepson. She’d looked at you like some saving grace, and you didn’t need to be a mind reader to know she viewed you as an extension of Rafe in some way. Now that you were carrying his child, you belonged to him in their eyes, and the thought made you sick…because it wasn’t entirely untrue.

Movement at the top of the stairs drew your attention, and you absentmindedly took a step back at the sight of Rafe. You kept your eyes on him as he descended, and that smug curve of his lips was almost enough to make you flip him off and leave with no intentions of ever coming back. You faintly took note of Ward standing near the stairs as Rafe approached, but it was hard to focus on him.

Rafe had a way of stealing all of your attention, both the good and the bad.

Neither of you said a word as he walked outside, you following close behind. You were somewhat nervous as you followed him to the dock, recalling the last time you were with him near water. Rafe seemed to read our thoughts as he eyed the way you lingered on the grass, and you took a deep breath, glancing away.

“I don’t want to be with you,” you finally said. “I figured I’d make that clear up front.”

That obviously wasn’t what Rafe wanted to hear if the way he frowned indicated anything.

“You’re not good for me, and you’ve done too much to even consider moving past it all, and you know what else?” you licked your lips. “I don’t want you around this baby.”

Rafe shifted at that, glancing away, and you watched the sunlight glint off of his blue eyes.

“It’s not fair that you can do everything you’ve done, and still get it all. Everything you want. I hate it,” you choked out. “It sucks that you can hurt me over and over again and still have the right to call this baby yours, raise it with me, be in it’s life…and all because of who your dad is.”

He wouldn’t look at you, and you blinked back tears, struggling to swallow.

“It really fucking sucks…but there isn’t anything I can do about it,” you whispered, folding your arms over your chest just as he looked at you. “So, tell me what you want…”

“Besides you?”

“You’re not getting me,” you sneered. “I can’t keep you away from this baby, and so I can’t keep you out of my life, but we are nothing.”

Rafe smirked at that, and you glared at him, stepping closer.

“I’m serious, Rafe. You got what you wanted—me pregnant and tied to you forever, but that doesn’t mean anything when it comes to us. You’re it’s father, and that’s it,” you explained with a shrug.

Rafe slowly nodded, softly chuckling to himself, and it made you grind your teeth.

“We’ll see,” was all he said, and you didn’t know why that made you angrier than anything else, right now.

You pressed your lips together, angrily shaking your head at him.

“Fuck you,” you breathed. “You did a shitty thing, you know that?”

He didn’t respond, and you continued.

“My own dad can’t even look at me,” you tearfully confessed. “They never expected this from me, so does that make you feel good? Huh? Do you like that you just completely screwed me over?”

“Well,” he slowly started. “Maybe it’s a good thing you won’t be there much, anyway.”

You frowned at that, pausing as you blinked at him.

“What…what are you talking about?”

Rafe moved towards you, and you were frozen with confusion, studying his face as he reached up to brush his fingers across his mouth. His blue eyes drank you in with a small smile.

“You’re pregnant, beautiful,” he said as if that explained it all. “You need the right foods, the right vitamins, the proper care.”

You swallowed.

“You’ll need regular check-ups and constant looking after that your parents can’t give you because they both work, and I’d die before I trust your brother to make sure this baby is born healthy.”

Your lips parted, and you sharply inhaled. Rafe swiped his tongue between his lips, reaching up to gently touch your face.

“I’m a lot of things, but I won’t be a deadbeat. I’m going to be there for every moment of this pregnancy, and it’s either I come live with you, or you come live with me. Everyone involved knows what the obvious answer is,” he paused, letting out a breath. “Everyone except you apparently.”

You slapped his hand away, feeling like you’d been sucker punched.

“Rose and I don’t work…not yet, anyway,” he chuckled, and you didn’t linger on what that meant. “…and we have so much space here. You need to be in a place where you can be comfortable, and once my dad is finished with your parents, they’ll see it that way too.”

Tears finally spilled over, and you stumbled away from him.

“…and as for us,” his fingers grazed your neck. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”

His soft voice reached your ears, and Rafe pressed his nose to your hair, deeply inhaling.

“I hear those pregnancy hormones can be a bitch to cope with without some…help.”

You pushed him away, and the sound of his laugh filled your ears as you stumbled back to the house.

[etradio]

I wish Tsuyu had a bigger role in the Uraraka VS Toga fight- kinda like how Iida had a role in Shouto VS Touya.

With Iida, not only is he one of Shouto’s closer friends- but he also contrasts and parallels Shouto and Touya’s relationship.

Tenya looks up to his brother, and Tensei is motivated to do better because of that- they have a very wholesome brother-relationship.

While with the Todorokis… Touya has literally tried to killed Shouto and even indirectly Natsuo. Shouto has literally done absolutely nothing wrong to Touya- he was a baby when most of Touya’s trauma was happening, and he wasn’t allowed near him growing up. But Shouto still loves him unconditionally.

Even though the relationship between the Iida brothers is so different from the Todorokis- Tenya can still understand how Shouto feels. Tenya couldn’t save Tensei- so that was why he had to do everything he could so Shouto could save Touya (and the rest of his family + the civilians)

Tsuyu’s backstory is explained in an extra manga chapter that was then animated in one of the OVAs. We get insight into her family and one of her friends- though we don’t really know the reason WHY she became a hero. We still don’t in way.

What we do know is that Tsuyu believed a hero is someone who follows the rules. She tells Toga this, and says that Uraraka doesn’t care about the rules- she just wants to help, so she asks Toga to listen to her.

In my opinion, Tsuyu isn’t really a developed character. I’d say Ashido and Jirou have more development than her. Tsuyu’s reasoning in what a hero is- contradicts what the audience is shown.

“Heroes should follow the rules”

But what about the unjust rules?

Lady Nagant and Hawks are basically child soldiers. When Nagant asked if what they’re doing is the right thing- the HPSC president responded by pULLING OUT A GUN- when Nagant killed him, that could’ve been argued to be self-defense. Instead, she’s thrown in jail for people she was groomed to kill, and the murder of the HPSC president was covered up.

Hero society is shown to be corrupt- so I think we should’ve been shown more insight on how a character like Tsuyu handles the reality that laws aren’t always right. I want to see how she would’ve been forced to reevaluate her way of thinking. How the world that society said it was- was a lot more complicated than she thought.

People should follow the rules- but when the rules are harming people who just want to live their normal lives- we need to make adjustments to the rules so more people don’t have to suffer trying to become something they are not.

Tenya was also shown to be a very rule-abiding person at the beginning of the series. Even so, we see what his breaking point is- so what’s Tsuyu’s breaking point? How does she connect to the Uraraka & Toga arc?

From how I interpreted the arc, Toga was someone who needed to be understood as a human being. The reporter, Curious, wanted to understand her- but she only wanted to understand her as a news headline, as a martyr for the Liberation Army.

Uraraka says in the fight, that she can’t ignore all the hurt Toga caused, she can’t accept every part of Toga, she can’t love her in the way that Toga wants her to- but she wants to understand who Himiko Toga is, why she smiles and why she cries.

Uraraka saw the ‘ugliness’ in Toga’s heart, and she acknowledged that- but she also saw the beauty and pain in her heart as well.

How does Tsuyu fit into this????

It’s mentioned that Tsuyu struggled in middle school to make friends, as people couldn’t read her expression since she has a poker face. Perhaps she understands the whole ‘wanting to be understood’ thing?

It could also be a case of quirk discrimination. As we’ve been shown, mutation quirks are looked down upon.

The thing with Tenya is that role was a small part, and yet a big part of the arc he was in. He told Shouto that he is able to be the hero he wants to be now thanks in part to him- and that Shouto can be the hero he wants to be as well; he didn’t say much, and yet that says so much more.

Idk…maybe the role Tsuyu could’ve had is something like ‘She is someone who was discriminated against for her quirk, and people failed to understand her or see her as a human being- but she had a loving family and friends to support her’

-so then the conversation could’ve been more like Tsuyu trying to empathize with Toga and let her know that Uraraka was there to support Tsuyu, so now she’s here to help her as well.

Or it could even have mentioned Tsuyu’s friend from middle school- who also struggled to make friends as well. They were both people who others couldn’t understand them (because of their unexpressive faces) and because of that they connected to each other.

I think it was even mentioned that Himiko is the ‘oldest’ child of her family, so…what about her siblings? How does she feel about them? Could Tsuyu and Toga being older siblings parallel somehow???

The more I talk about this- the more I wonder if Tsuyu should’ve saved Toga or have an equal role to Uraraka. There could be a lot of similarities when I really think about it…

I think the ‘rule’ thing could’ve worked, but I think Tsuyu should’ve had her own arc and perspective shown for it to have more impact.

Maybe this is just a me- thing, but I think Tsuyu should’ve been fleshed out more if she is the character supporting one of the Savior trio.