#the SOLEMN man who had died two Weeks ago And

[slut4thebroken]

Second Chances

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Emmett x reader

Summary | Emmett takes advantage of your kindness and hospitality.

Warnings | Smut, 18+, non con, emotional manipulation, praise, guilt tripping, very large age gap, painful sex, first time, breeding, crying, bro has hella trauma fr.

Words | 2.5 k

Notes | Direct result of my Emmett brain rot (Also two fics in one day??🫣)

Ao3 link | <3

Masterlist

“Here you go.” You smiled, handing the steaming mug to him. 

“Thanks.” His voice was quiet as he took it from you and held it in his lap. 

“What’s your name?” You asked, sitting down next to him, hoping you weren’t intruding too much. He paused for a moment, seemingly debating if he actually wanted to make conversation with you and give you “personal” information about himself. 

“Emmett.” He finally said. 

You gave him your name and watched as his eyes dragged down your body, taking in every inch of you. With a blush, you cleared your throat and looked away for a moment to gather your thoughts. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else? Are you warm enough?” He looked over you again with a neutral expression that made you squirm a little. 

“Actually I’m still a little cold. Is there anywhere I could go that’s inside?” 

“Oh- yes! Of course.” You said quickly as you got to your feet. “My parents will be out of the house for another couple of hours so you can use some extra blankets and maybe lay down on the couch for a while.” You smiled. He didn’t return the expression as he stood up and followed you for a couple minutes until you finally walked up a porch to the front door. 

“Okay, let me just grab another blanket and then I’ll start the fire place as well.” You ran off to retrieve a blanket and when you came back, he was sitting on the couch looking around the room. 

He gave you a small “thank you” after you handed him the blanket and you could feel his eyes on you as you walked forward, then kneeled down in front of the fireplace. “You live here with your parents?” He suddenly asked, almost startling you. 

“Yeah. Since there’s three of us, we got our own place. A lot of other people had to share.” He hummed in acknowledgment and you finished up with starting the fire before turning around to face him, finding his eyes already on you. “Can I get you anything else?” 

“This is more than enough.” He said softly. 

“Okay�� Well, I’ll let you rest. If you’re hungry I can try to make something?” You offered with a kind smile. 

“Actually I’d rather talk with you.” 

“Oh-” You said, eyes widening in surprise— He didn’t seem like the kind of man who would want to make small talk with a stranger. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes. It’s been a while since I’ve talked to someone like this.” You hesitantly got up and sat down next to him on the couch. 

“Like what?” You asked curiously. 

“So loud… and about things other than survival.” His voice was still quiet, but this time there was a bit of a solemn undertone to it. 

“Oh.” You bit your lip, trying to think of what to say, but not really knowing how to approach this. “You never… had anyone to talk to about normal stuff? Surely it wasn’t all survival.” You can’t even imagine what he must have experienced. When he suddenly looked away and clenched his jaw, you realized that you might’ve over stepped. “I’m sorry, that was— I shouldn't have pried…”

“It’s fine. I had a family, but they’re gone now.” He still wasn’t looking at you. Taking one last sip from the mug, he leaned forward, then placed it on the coffee table. 

“God, I- I’m so sorry.” You said quietly. 

“It’s silly, but… I miss being able to hug them— to hug people.” He finally looked at you again, this time with a sad smile. “I remember the last time I felt someone’s touch… 11 weeks ago.” That must have been when his family died…

“Would you like a hug?” You offered nervously, hoping you weren’t too bold again. He studied you for another moment before nodding. 

“That would be really nice.” Once you had his approval, you moved closer and wrapped your arms around him, letting him do the same even though his wet clothes were starting to dampen yours. He let out a quiet breath and relaxed into the embrace. “Thank you… I’ve been so lonely.” He whispered, making you frown. 

“You won’t have to be anymore. The people here are very kind, you’ll make plenty of friends.” 

“I can tell.” His voice was a little amused now and he pulled back just enough to look at you. “If it’s not too much trouble… could I hug you a little more?” 

“Of course.” You said instantly, then let out a startled sound when he lifted you onto his lap so you were straddling his thighs. You thought he meant more as in for a longer period of time, not.. this…

“Thank you.” He said again, pulling you closer and burying his face in the crook of your neck. You were stiff for a few seconds, still trying to process this new development, but finally you relaxed into him and hugged him a little tighter. “I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like.” He whispered against your neck. 

“To hug?” You wondered, trying to understand. 

“Yes. But also the gentle touch of a woman.” A blush took over your face and you cleared your throat awkwardly. “You know, my wife… I was with her when she passed.” He said quietly. You were already dreading where this was going, not sure you could handle learning about any more of the pain he’s suffered since the start of everything. “I had a really hard time understanding and accepting this… but she said she wanted me to move on. To be happy again.” One of his arms stayed wrapped around your upper body, but the other moved a little lower, pulling you closer so your hips were also flush with his. 

“Emmett…” You said quietly, trying to pull away, but he just tightened his grip and you finally felt the bulge pressed up against your heat. You tried not to gasp at the realization.

“Shh… It’s okay. I just— You look so much like her…” You had no idea what to say. You’ve never been in a position like this before. “I’m sorry.” He suddenly pulled away and you stared down at him in confusion. “I’m sorry. I don’t deserve this. Not after everything I’ve done— everything I didn’t do.” Your lips parted, but no words could come out for a moment.  

“You deserve feeling safe and cared for. Everything you had to do was for the sake of staying alive.” At least you assumed it was. Honestly you have no idea what he’s done. “And it’s not your fault— what happened to your family. You did everything you could.” You said softly and he started shaking his head. “Yes. You can’t blame yourself, Emmett. Maybe that’s why your wife said that to you before she passed… because she knew how much you’d struggle with it.” 

“You remind me of her so much.” He said through a choked sob, making you freeze. You had no idea he’d get so emotional. Not knowing what else to do, you just pulled him back into the hug and held him tightly. “That’s exactly the kind of response she would’ve given.” He croaked. In response, you just hugged him even tighter. 

“It’s okay…” You whispered. “I’m so sorry, Emmett. No one deserves to go through what you have.” 

“It hurts.” He cried, making your heart ache for him. 

“Tell me what you need. How can I help?” You said quickly, not wanting to see him like this any longer. 

“Can I— can I kiss you?”

“What?!” You choked out, making him pull back to look at you. The tear tracks on his cheeks were far less than what you thought they’d be, but maybe they just wiped off on your dress. 

“Please. I miss her so much and… god you look exactly like her.” He whispered, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. 

“I…” You’ve never kissed anyone before. Are you really about to give it away to a stranger you just met less than an hour ago? “Emmett…”

“I know I don’t deserve it— I know. But I just… it hurts so bad, I can’t take it.” He all but whimpered, making your hesitant expression melt into something softer and more sympathetic. 

“…I’ve never kissed anyone before.” You admitted quietly and you swore his eyes darkened, but it was too hard to really tell. 

“I know I’m asking far too much of you— I know I don’t deserve your kindness,” 

“Stop saying things like that.” You frowned. “You deserve kindness, you deserve to feel loved, just like everyone else.” He stared at you for a moment, his eyes still glossy with tears, then he was suddenly leaning forward and capturing your lips in a kiss. You let out a muffled sound of surprise and brought your hands to his chest, trying to push him away. In response, he snaked his hand around your head to grasp your hair, holding you still as he moaned quietly. 

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled against your lips. You let out another startled sound when he suddenly threw you off of him so you were laying on your back on the couch. Before you could move away, he was crawling over you, kissing you again as his hands roamed your body. 

“Emmett-” You tried to say as you continued pushing his chest, but he was too strong. “Stop!” 

“I know.” He panted before snaking his hand down your stomach all the way to the apex of your thighs. He slipped under your dress easily and roughly cupped your sex, making you whimper. 

“Emmett, please stop.” 

“I will. I will— I just need this. I haven’t been with a woman in so long…” He whispered. “I promise I’ll be fast.” 

“Please don’t,” You whimpered, already feeling tears brimming in your eyes. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” His hand suddenly left your body to open his pants and free his cock, then he was pulling your panties to the side and lining up. 

“Please! I- I’m a..” You sobbed, trying anything to get this to stop. 

“I’ll be gentle.” He promised, then faltered and added, “At least… I’ll try to be.” When you felt the head of his cock drag through your folds, your body went completely rigid. 

“Please! Emmett, please don’t,” You cried, still trying to push him away. 

“Shh…” The blunt head of his cock was against your entrance now, pushing as hard as possible, trying to fit inside you. When he finally breached your opening, his hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your shrill scream. “Oh— fuck… I'm not gonna last.” He moaned loudly, letting his head drop down for a moment. The tears in your eyes were finally falling and you sobbed almost violently behind his hand. Your crying only got worse though when he continued pushing in. 

“Almost there.” He whispered and you let out an anguished sob in response. It felt like you were being ripped open as he continued pushing deeper, a lot farther than what you could comfortably take. “Good girl… Just a little more.” Your body was trembling from the pain and you started clawing at him, trying anything to get this to stop. But he was undeterred. When he finally bottomed out, he let out a low groan that was overshadowed by your cry of pain. 

“I know… I’m sorry. Fuck, you feel so good. Just like how she felt.” He whispered. “I think she’d be happy that it’s you.” He gave you a small smile, then slowly pulled out until only the tip was inside before forcing it back in. 

“Please!” You cried, the word coming out muffled from behind his hand. 

“God- your cunt is so good.” He groaned, picking up the pace, making you cry harder. 

“Stop! Please…” You whimpered brokenly. 

“I know, baby. I’m almost done, I promise.” He said breathily. You tried kicking your legs, thrashing under him, pushing him away, but he was too strong. “Just a little longer, you’re doing so good.” He removed his hand, but before you could scream, he was kissing you again. This time, he shoved his tongue passed your parted lips, licking into your mouth in a desperate, almost feral manner. That, along with the fact that you couldn’t focus on this kiss because of how hard you were crying, made it incredibly messy and sloppy and wet. 

He snapped his hips into you, chasing his orgasm as he kissed you like he’d never be able to kiss anyone ever again, making it feel like you could barely breathe. Mostly because of the kiss, but also because of how overwhelming the pain of the stretch was. He continued kissing you and his facial hair felt scratchy against face, only furthering your discomfort. 

“I’m close.” He whispered against your lips. At least it was almost over. “I haven’t filled up a cunt in over a year.” He practically growled, making you stiffen again. 

“N-no… Emmett, please don’t. Please pull out.” You begged desperately, trying to speak coherently through all of the crying. 

“I thought you said I deserve this? That I deserve to finally be happy after everything.” He frowned, making you falter. 

“I didn’t mean… this.” You choked out, not sure what else to say. 

“I know…” He said quietly, letting his eyes flutter shut. “I’ll try to pull out.” 

“Emmett, please. You have to,” He leaned down and cut you off with another kiss as his thrusts became even rougher. 

“You’re such a good girl…” He murmured against your lips, breathing heavily as he neared his release. “So good. I’m gonna make you mine. I’ll take care of you, just like I took care of her. But we’ll be safe this time...” You shook your head, unable to do anything else. “No monsters, no illness— It’s gonna be perfect. We’ll even have some boys, yeah?”

“No,” You sobbed, quickly feeling defeated. You couldn’t stop this no matter how hard you tried. “Please, Emmett… I just turned 18, I- I can’t…” He moaned quietly when you said that. 

“Shh. Yes you can. I’ll help you, baby, we’ll do it together.” You shook your head in disagreement as you continued to cry. “Fuck,” He choked out, eyes closing again. “Ready?” 

“No— no, Emmett… please. Please pull out!” You yelled, making him curse under his breath. With one final groan, he forced his cock all the way in, pushing up against your cervix uncomfortably. 

“Oh, good girl.” He moaned, lazily rutting into you as he rode out his high. “So fucking good. So tight… milking every fucking drop.” He said proudly, making you cry harder at the verbal reminder that he just came inside you. 

“Emmett…” You whimpered, feeling his cock twitch inside you. 

“Thank you.” He said through a breath. “Thank you so much.” He almost sounded like he was about to cry in relief and that made you falter. This man has been alone for weeks, just haunted by the memories of his family with no real outlet or source of comfort. So when someone finally offered him some… he jumped at the chance immediately. You probably would’ve done the same, had you lost your entire family. 

“And I meant what I said. I’m going to keep you safe this time, I promise.” He said quietly, reaching down to feel where his cock was bulging your stomach— where a baby would be growing soon enough. “All of you.” 

[whoopsyeahokay]

October Sun

summary: things had gone from weird to worse in a matter of seconds. it'd seemed all your secrets had decided to reveal themselves to Wally without so much as considering how you'd feel about it. you'd guessed that was the price you'd had to pay for your choice to share yourself with a member of Split River High's Afterlife Support Group.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: eventual smutty smut smut. and mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER SUN pt.10

You were six, sitting on your sister Aurora's lap in a hospital room. Monitors beeped—long intervals, pitched notes—and, below that, your great-aunt's rattled breathing. Everything stank of disinfectant.

Ginny lay in the bed; pruned and pale, translucent skin hanging from her bones. She was just past seventy, but had aged several decades in the two weeks since the symptoms had started. Now, she looked like the skeletons your neighbors strung up for Halloween. Ghastly. Small.

Dead.

Mommy dozed in the armchair across from you, her head at an awkward angle, mouth ajar, one hand rested on her swollen belly. For days, she'd subsisted on nothing but good ol' fashioned Celtic stubbornness, running herself into the ground to undo whatever had put Ginny in the hospital. Nothing worked. Potions, pastes, blood spells, smudging rituals; it didn't matter what Mommy and Nanna did, Ginny's doctor insisted her condition was deteriorating.

It was so strange, you thought, that Ginny didn't just tell them herself. After all, she was able to stand in front of you without assistance and seemed much healthier than she had even moments ago.

She'd been asleep, silvery and thin and wheezy, and then her eyes had popped open and she'd gotten to her feet with the grace of a ballerina. Auburn hair in fluffy curls, pinned neatly away from her face; lips bright, Victory red, and skin peachy.

She was as pretty as a picture in a church bell skirt and smart, collared blouse, the colors much more suited to her than the starch white of the hospital gown. The pendant of her necklace was now one of a pair dangling from her earlobes, silver circles glinting in the sterile light.

"Are you better?" You asked her, marveling at her loveliness.

Ginny crouched to meet you at your level and placed her hand on yours, green eyes bright as emeralds in the sun. She smiled, "Don't tell mummy. This will be our little secret." She addressed Aurora next, "I'll be back as soon as I can, pet."

Aurora nodded, solemn, and you both watched Ginny greet a young man in similarly outdated dress as he entered the room. You didn't know who he was, but Aurora must've because she offered him a watery smile, eyes glistening.

"Where's Ginny going?" You asked her.

She shushed you, murmuring, "You can't tell mom, okay?"

Annoyed, "I won't." You weren't 3, you knew how to keep a secret. You'd kept plenty for your new friend Hana. Like her crush on the crayon stealer, Simon Elroy, or how she always took two milks at recess instead of one.

"She's saying hello to Grandpa Jack." Aurora told you, but you sensed there was a lot more to it than that. You gave her your best glare. She rolled her eyes, "They're probably going to try and find out what's wrong with her."

But, "She's better, dummy," you said, craning your neck to watch her swan out of the room with a man who'd died before you were born.

Aurora sighed the way she did whenever she thought you said something stupid and pressed her hand to your cheek, forcing you to look at the bed.

You gasped, astonished that, there, under the layers of quilts your Nanna had brought, was Ginny; breath rattling, monitors beeping, white as a china doll and asleep.

That was how you learned that Traveling meant something different to your family.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

One second you were clung to Wally like a limpet, the next you'd vanished into thin air. Snapped out of existence like you'd never been there at all. Frantic, Wally looked left, right, to the back of the stage, and then spun around to face the rows of seats.

His jaw dropped, blood draining from his face. You stood at the top of the center aisle, shirt no longer rucked up the way Wally had made it; hair as tidy as it had been before he'd run his fingers through it; skin no longer sporting the perfect blush he'd coaxed to the surface.

Even from where he stood, Wally could see that your eyes burned a nebula of colors, the way they had when Wally caught up to you outside the school earlier. As soon as he'd registered it—proof that something magical had just transpired—they dimmed to their normal hue, just as the man behind you, Mr. Anderson, Wally identified, demanded, "What are you doing in here?"

He seemed angry, more so than the time Wally had watched him chew out a group of boys in the locker room showers for smoking weed. Mr. Anderson grabbed you by the arm and hauled you out of the theater like you'd been trespassing.

Wally charged up the aisle, thoughts of how you could fucking teleport taking a back seat to the desire to shove Mr. Anderson to the ground for assuming he had the right to touch you like that. The connection between you and Wally bittered, shrieked, fear and fury swirling together to pump through Wally's veins.

Oh hell no.

"I'm sorry," You apologized. Mr. Anderson released you, causing you to stumble from the momentum he'd used to force you into the hallway. "I won't let it happen again."

In an ill-fated attempt to wedge himself between you and Mr. Anderson, Wally checked the man's shoulder with his own, but little happened. Mr. Anderson had repositioned himself, almost like he'd anticipated the action, and the intention waned into a light graze. One that had no impact on the man, but that caused Wally to trip into the wall.

Mr. Anderson escorted you through the school toward your locker, gravely explaining that you'd overstayed your welcome by an hour and a half; the Wednesday team practices and club activities already packed up and gone.

Glancing outside, Wally was shocked to see the sky was dark. Apparently, making out with you was the equivalent of pressing a giant PAUSE button on the fourth dimension. He was sure no more than twenty minutes had passed since you'd jumped into his arms and kissed him within an inch of his sanity.

Teleportation and time manipulation? Wally gaped, images of his favorite comic book heroes swarming his mind. Holy shit, you were an X-Man. He had big fat feelings for a Mutant prodigy. Was he the Cyclops to your Marvel Girl?

Needing to do something to ensure Mr. Anderson wouldn't try to grab you again, Wally inserted himself between you and him. A move that appeared to influence Mr. Anderson to maintain the space Wally enforced with his presence.

Good, Wally thought, cracking his knuckles, because while he had no problem trying to beat his way into the living world to knock a few of Mr. Anderson's teeth out, he knew that would take a lot more than noble intention to pull off.

He loathed feeling helpless. Back in the day, he'd stood up for the kids who got bullied, had done his best to fend off the misguided idiots who'd used their post-puberty size for evil. Trouble was that now he couldn't do more than make a light flicker by concentrating really, really hard.

Don't be fooled: Dawn made it look easy, but it wasn't.

Finally reaching your locker, Mr. Anderson reiterated, "What were you doing in there?" His demeanor all wrong. Wally knew enough about the guy to know that, usually, he was a cool kind of dorky. Relatable. However, something had obviously possessed him because he was acting like you'd discovered his hidden collection of porn mags.

Wally didn't like it. He wanted Mr. Anderson to fuck off and leave you alone more than he'd wanted anything for a long time. Retaining his position between you and Mr. Anderson, chin up, hands balled into fists at his sides, Wally willed Mr. Anderson away.

You began, "I was just—" when Wally gritted out, stare fixed on the man's haggard face, "You don't owe this dickhead an explanation, baby."

But you spoke over him, "Mathilda asked me to look for something she'd forgotten in there yesterday. She's in the Mean Girl's Musical?" You supplied, and, jeez, you were quick on your feet.

Mr. Anderson was unimpressed, "For two hours?"

"No! No. I was studying in the library when she texted me."

Wally began to wonder how many yarns you'd had to spin for it to come so easily. Part of him was uncomfortable with the notion that it seemed like second nature to you, while another, bigger, part of him seared the way lemon juice stings a papercut.

He recognized it was self-preservation. A lifetime of harboring a massive secret that, okay, might not get you carted off in a straitjacket these days, but definitely wouldn't make it easy for you to go through life normally. He'd seen people ostracized for less. Like Katelynn who, a week before her death, had been spurned by her scene kid friends because she'd admitted to being a fan of Hilary Duff.

"Do you have to get anything from the library, then?" Mr. Anderson wanted to know, the V between his brows deepening when his phone buzzed in his blazer pocket. The third time in the short minutes since he'd found you.

"No." You said, cowed, even though you shouldn't be. He'd been the one whose conduct had been inappropriate. He should be begging for your forgiveness, not making you feel terrible like it was his job. "I swear, I won't let it happen again."

Wally's blood boiled.

"See that it doesn't." Mr. Anderson warned. His phone buzzed again. "Get your things and go home."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Anderson unpocketed and checked his phone as another call lit up the screen. Private, the caller ID claimed.

"You'll have to use the main entrance." He said, already backing away, "Everything else is locked up." Then he leveled you with a dark look of authority, "I assume you can make your own way out?"

Wally could feel the tension in your muscles, could hear your heart stutter behind your ribs. His fingers twitched, itching to bust the man's head right off his shoulders. And, damn, when had he last felt such violent inclinations? Even against those prima donna bullies, the rage hadn't distended into anything remotely close to this.

"Yeah, I..." You cleared your throat, "Yes."

Mr. Anderson retreated and took the next call that came through, his bark of, "Give me a minute," resonating through the empty hallway as he disappeared around the corner.

As soon as he was out of sight, Wally spun on his heel to face you. You shrunk against your locker, arms folded around your middle and eyes faraway, chewing the inside of your bottom lip as you lost yourself in thought.

Wally moved into your bubble, the connection between you calmed, and smoothed his hands down your waist; one into the back pocket of your jeans, the other gliding back up and into your hair.

He pulled you gently against him, tucked your head under his chin and asked, "You good, pretty girl?"

He felt you nod into his chest, "Yeah. That was just every shade of weird imaginable. Something was off about him." You leaned away just enough to gaze up at Wally. "He's usually so...friendly."

Wally pressed a kiss to the top of your head, "I don't want you to stick around, babe. I don't trust that dude not to do something stupid if he finds you again."

"For real?" You sounded stunned, "Him?"

"Honestly? Yeah. He was giving off serious Bundy vibes. You didn't do anything wrong and he acted like you'd cold-cocked his mama." Wally glared in the direction Mr. Anderson had gone, concluding, "Maybe he's the reason Maddie's blood was splattered all over the boiler room."

"Jesus, Wally, it wasn't a Fear Street massacre." You shunned the idea, disentangling yourself from him to open your locker. After a moment of reflection, "Do you really think he's capable?"

As you grabbed your backpack and started to shove what you needed into it, Wally leaned on the locker beside yours, shrugging, "Like I said, Bundy vibes. And I can't stop him if he decides to come back with a machete, so please," he implored, "Get your stuff and let's go."

Thankfully, you took his advice without further argument. Pulled on your leather jacket, slung your backpack over one shoulder, and held your hand out for Wally to take as if it was something you did all the time.

Champagne-fizz burst in Wally's chest as he accepted the invitation, lacing your fingers together and setting a leisurely but purposeful pace toward the atrium.

"So," He began, "You lie like that often?"

Shame bled into your features as you cast your gaze to the ground. You didn't look at him when you said, "Only when I have to."

"Do you have to do it a lot?"

"More than I'd like, yeah." You shrugged, audibly unhappy about the fact. "Trust me, it's not that I want to. But my family has a strict No One Can Know policy when it comes to our..." You lifted your free hand and air-quoted, "gifts."

Wally bumped into your side sportively. He took a beat to consider his question before he asked it, unsure if he was ready to hear anything other than what he wanted to. "Do you feel like you have to lie to me?"

You stopped and drew Wally back the two steps he'd taken ahead. Looking him square in the eye, you promised, "I'm not going to lie to you, Wally. About anything. Ever." Once he nodded to accept he understood, you moved along, "And anyway, you're now in on the one thing I have to lie about. So, unless I'm under a Fidelius Charm, I honestly don't have anything else to hide."

"A what charm?"

"Do we not have Harry Potter in the library?" You asked as if to no one in particular.

"Oh man, yeah. Rhonda got really into those books for awhile." Wally sloped toward you to stage-whisper by your ear, "She's a total nerd for them. Says she's a Slytherin." Wally straightened and snickered, "Whatever that means. She'd kill me if she ever found out I told you."

You drew an X over your heart, "I won't tell a soul," before you released Wally's hand to push the door to the atrium open with both of yours.

As he followed you down the ramp toward the front entrance, Wally was unable to ignore the elephant in the room any longer, "When were you going to tell me you could teleport?"

It startled a laugh out of you, the kind that starts with a snort. A wave of fondness washed over Wally and he grinned stupidly at you, all teeth and soft eyes.

"I can't." You corrected. Rather, "I can, uhm, project...astrally."

Whoa. You were officially the coolest person Wally had ever known.

A barrage of questions threatened to spill out of him, ranging from reasonable to unhinged. And who could blame him? Normal people couldn't leave their bodies at will and surf the cosmos!

"Astral projection is real?" He asked in as even a tone as he could manage.

"Being a ghost is real." You countered bluntly.

And, "Touché." He conceded, "But you can't blame a guy for being surprised when something out of the Twilight Zone can happen in real life."

You seesawed your head, lips adopting a playful smile. God, you were beautiful. "Fair." You said, winking at Wally who was then forced to swallow the need to pick you up and pin you to the nearest wall with his mouth.

The air was crisp when you both exited the school. He walked you to the picnic tables near the bus stop, resting on the end of a tabletop and pulling you between his legs. Like this, you were pressed flush against him, body fitted so perfectly into his.

The connection rumbled and flared, erupting volcano-hot, piloting Wally's actions. He slid his hands from your waist down to squeeze the pert swell of your ass, and dragged your hips against his.

You gasped, delicate, and let your head fall to the side to expose the column of your neck. Wally took advantage. Brushed his dry lips from your collar to the hinge of your jaw, little darts of tongue and drags of teeth.

"Fuck, baby, you don't know what you do to me," He groaned, his dick fattening in his sweatpants. And he sure as shit meant it. The connection between you was driving him crazy, keeping teenage boy hormones in check an impossible battle.

He rolled his hips, chasing the friction, using the leverage he had with his hands in your back pockets to drag you into his lap. He rearranged himself on the table, slid back to sit more comfortably, and encouraged you to rut against him.

Wally kissed you like it was the last time, like this was the only chance he'd ever have to do it. Slow, deep, slick. The sounds you made, fuck, wanton and needy; moans and gasps and punched-out sighs.

And then, because, of fucking course 'and then'—your phone buzzed right in Wally's palm. Long, sequential blitzes of vibration. A phone call.

You groaned in annoyance, taking your phone when Wally graciously handed it to you, and answered.

"Hey," You greeted, head on Wally's shoulder and body still.

His mama had raised a gentleman, he reminded himself and curled his long arms around you in a loose embrace, repeating football stats in his mind to cool his erection.

"Yeah," You were saying, "Yeah, I know, but I got caught up in the...Well, mom's a big girl, I'm sure she can find someone else to shake the floorboards this one time."

Wally tried to give you an inquiring look but the angle was too awkward, so instead he filed that tidbit away for later, above astral projection but below In Betweens. And, shit, that's right, you were both supposed to discuss your fritzy ghost powers, not dry hump on school property. Oops.

You growled, climbing off of Wally altogether and hopping to the ground, pacing as you expressed with sarcasm and sass, "Why don't you get your new husband to do it, or are we still keeping him in the dark about the family business?"

Wally barely made out the, "Could you stop being such a selfish little brat for o—" before you hung up on who Wally surmised was your sister. With your back to him, he couldn't tell how you felt about the exchange, but from the tension in your shoulders and how forcibly measured your breathing had become, he thought it was safe to assume not great.

"You guys don't get along?" He ventured.

On a last, heavy breath, you twirled back around, "Actually, we get along really well." You sucked your teeth, "It's our mom's choice of occupation that puts us at each other's throats." Wally knew what was coming, couldn't soften the disappointment. "I gotta go." You said regretfully.

He plastered on a smirk, aiming for levity but sounding too dismayed to stick the landing, "You'd think the universe didn't want us to help Maddie."

In what Wally could only describe as a fit of absolutely fucking not, you strode right up to him, slung your arms around his neck and pulled him into a hot, middle-finger-to-the-sky kiss.

"Fuck the universe," You said when you parted, breathless, perfect, his, "I'll come in early tomorrow. Like, seven-thirty-early. Can you meet me in the parking lot?"

Repeating his words from earlier, "Anything for you, pretty girl," Wally vowed, grinning at the prospect of cuddling up somewhere intimate with you in the morning.

Although his thoughts weren't wholly innocent, he recognized within himself the genuine desire to do anything to be near you, for however long you'd give him. Whether that was two minutes or two hours, Wally would be grateful.

"Great," You smiled, bright against the dark autumn evening, "I'll see you then."

A final, sweet stamp of your lips to Wally's cheek and you went on your way, Wally having to watch as you stepped over the boundary of the school grounds and into a world where he couldn't follow.

"Can't wait," He uttered and the connection between you both quieted completely.

💀___________________________

PART NINE - PART ELEVEN

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

[writingdumpster]

wait for me

pairing: Jake Seresin x reader (no pronouns used)

warnings: just being sad over jake leaving

summary: you and jake haven’t been dating long when he gets called away for an emergency deployment and you’re faced with deciding whether or not you’ll wait for him

word count: 1.1k

It was cruel really. Your whole life you had never let yourself fall in love. You were careful to avoid the people that had almost made you weak. You couldn’t afford it. You saw the way that love could break a person when your mother died, leaving your father in shambles for years. So at the young age of 13 you had vowed never to fall in love. And you had been doing so well.

That had all been ruined by a tall and muscular pilot who had wandered into the bakery where you worked six weeks ago. His smile was infectious. And he was quite persistent—but not in an invasive way. It took Jake one week of daily visits to convince you to go to the Hard Deck with him, with the assurance that his friends would be there as well.

You only ended up meeting one of Jake’s friends, a man that told you his name was Rooster. You remembered Jake being quite annoyed to see Rooster there. It was clear Jake told his friends not to come to their usual Friday hangout. Rooster was glad to stay and tell you embarrassing stories about Jake all night despite the constant hints that Jake dropped encouraging Rooster to leave. The stories Rooster told you only made you want Jake more. It took everything in you not to invite Jake inside when he dropped you off at your house that night. You couldn’t stop yourself from seeing him the next day though—or the one after that.

Now it had been six weeks since Rooster had third wheeled on your first date. You hadn’t told Jake that you loved him yet, but you knew you did. And you hated yourself for it.

You had been enjoying it until three days ago. You were practically laughing at your past self for writing off love when it could make you feel this way. And then Jake knocked on your door. That was usually the best part of your day, but when you opened the door that day the wide grin you were accustomed to didn’t greet you. Instead you were faced with a solemn and sad expression.

Jake sat you down to explain to you that he had been called on an emergency deployment. He was leaving three days later and would be gone for three months. Your heart had fallen through the floor. You had been right all along. All love would do was break your heart. Jake was well aware of your feelings on love. You’d told him all about why you were so reluctant to let him in. He was sure this was the end for the two of you.

Things had been strange since then. The two of you had been cautiously avoiding the topic of whether you would wait for Jake while he was gone. You had only started calling him your boyfriend the week before. It was like you both wanted to hold onto this time—this time that would never exist again, even if you did wait for Jake.

Today Jake was leaving though. You were going with him to the base, where he would get on a plane that would take him away from you—somewhere that you wouldn’t know and couldn’t go. He had given you a key to his house on the way out and asked you to find someone to check in on the place every week or so. He hadn’t said who, silently implying that he wanted that person to be you. He put his truck in park and then pulled out the key, handing it to you.

“Take it back to my place for me?” He asked. His voice was hollow. You nodded wordlessly and took the key. The two of you sat in the car, looking away from each other, unable to move—unable to leave the comfort the two of you had provided each other with for the last six weeks.

“I—” You paused, holding back tears. “I don’t want you to go.” Jake let out a sigh.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he told you. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly before opening the car door. You took a deep breath before following after him. He had his duffle bag in one hand and your hand in the other as he walked towards the room that family was meant to say goodbye in. You looked around at the crying children and spouses as they held each other tightly. You were standing in front of Jake, staring down at your shoes, neither of you touching.

“Y/N,” Jake called. You breathed in before looking up at him. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it before he could get it out. You gave him a sympathetic smile and raised your arms, wrapping them around his neck. Jake quickly reciprocated your actions, his arms moving around your waist. You leaned up towards him and kissed him. His lips were warm against yours and his fingers dug into your hips, pulling you impossibly close. The kiss left you breathless. When he finally pulled away he kept his forehead pressed to yours.

“Will you wait for me? Please will you wait for me?” Jake asked, staring into your eyes with more desperation than you could imagine. You nodded.

“Yes,” you told him. “Under one condition.”

“Anything,” he assured you.

“You promise not to make me wait forever,” you said, your voice breaking and a tear slipping from your eyes.

“Oh, baby,” Jake cooed. He pulled you into his chest and pressed his lips to your hairline. “Nothing is ever stopping me from coming home to you.”

“Jake, I—I—” You stuttered, terrified to tell him what you knew you felt. Jake wanted to say the words he knew were on your lips more than anything, but he wasn’t going to do that now. Not for the first time—it felt cruel to leave you that way after everything you had told him.

An announcement over the PA called all the soldiers to the airstrip and everyone started giving their final hugs and kisses. Jake kissed you again. He started to back away, one of the only remaining soldiers left in the room. His hands were still just barely holding onto yours. Jake looked at you and smiled as brightly as he could manage.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said.

“Jake, I love you,” you blurted out, grabbing onto his hands before he could slip away. Jake grinned. He leaned in and kissed you one last time, cupping your cheeks in his hands and letting you run your fingers through his hair. He finally released you, leaving one last chaste peck on your lips before picking up his bag.

“I love you too.”

[therealslimshakespeare]

me and anon are gonna throw hands because i was extremely into non-genderbent Gale for the mail order bride au, and am happy for them they got what they wanted, but beyond distraught because the vision you painted of "feminization Gale Cleven in a prairie dress" will remain just a vision. the subterfuge, the tension, the secrecy, the confusion, the twelfth night of it all... aaaah

Aaaah but there’s no need to throw hands because did you see, my dear, where I said that I had written it both ways? Because both ways intrigue me. In fact I made more progress on this way, take a wee peak if you like ☺️

Mail Order Bride AU || straight up Buck x Bucky CLEAGAN version

It’s with clear eyed rage and only the smallest tremor of his long boned hand that Gale Cleven picks up the detestable advert of three weeks gone from the kitchen table and gives the now memorized words a solemn read through.

“Wanted, wife. Of amiable disposition, not afraid of solitude, capable of shooting a firearm or willing to learn. Will be kept in comfort and treated respectfully as God intended. Klondike territory, cabin already built, stream nearby, gold vein found and mining in progress, two hundred acres of unseeded acreage. Major Bucky Egan, advertiser.”

It was the last line that infuriated Gale. Well, the second to last -he had no objection to the signer’s name. It was the Two Hundred Acres that some oaf of a gold digger wasn’t putting to any use. Gail would have that place baled and sold for hay in a month's time then plowed and sown in three. Four tops. Harvest in seven. Profit in seven and two weeks. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much but the pounding jealousy of such waste competed with the pounding in his bruised cheek and as he looked at the scorned advertisement this one last time, for he knew then, that it would be the last.

For he would leave this newsprint on the kitchen table and he would leave this kitchen and it’s peeling paint and residue of meals he once labored for and over in a twisted sort of love and he would walk over that threshold and leave behind the kitchen and the table and the newspaper and his father’s house and he would go somewhere and make something of himself where he could tack on a couple hundred acres of wasted prairie as an afterthought. He just needed to go somewhere out of the country. And change his name. And save up.

Because, when having the misfortune of being born a bit skewed in the face with an unfortunately stark resemblance to an absent mother who never did take much time trim his hair, a drunk father who sold ever more increasingly precious things to pay off his debts, and a sheriff with an eye on Gale when he went to call those debts in -you know at a certain age it’s time to go. The hope of being precious, more than the tiny race track two towns over and the mountain liquor his father stole from the brewers, had died out, and he was due at the sheriffs before tonight, and Gale had a mind of his own about that. That was one thing he didn’t stand for: being bartered without a say in it. So he packed a small satchel, put on his boots and strode out of town as if the sheriff wasn’t expecting him for dinner. And all he took from that old house was the tiny bit of cash he’d saved up and the memorized address from the newspaper clipping of a man he’d written telling him that he would accept his offer. Three weeks ago. The letter had likely not even gotten halfway there but Gale had run out of time, he’d have to make the man accept him.

Two hundred acres. What sorta man didn’t put two hundred acres to use? The sheriff didn’t so much as patrol five acres of prairie out here and Gale Cleven didn’t think there was much he wouldn’t do to see two hundred solid acres. He wasn’t scared of solitude. He wasn’t even scared of being a wife, there were ways to distract a man; at least he hoped, and for two hundred acres he’d do it. The Klondike was across the border, and while there might be a passé sent out to bring back the son of a debtor as collateral, they would not be looking for a sunny haired maiden demurely on her way to the man who had so kindly paid her way to a better future.

He wondered what sort of man paid for a wife. Why pay for a wife when you could pay for a woman? Were there no prostitutes in the Klondike? Gale had hopes that it meant he wanted a wife indeed, someone who’d manage the place while he was gone. Gale supposed he ought to give it a good try, as long as the ruse could hold up, before moving along with whatever profits he had managed. It wasn’t like such a man could be waist hurt by the betrayal of a bride he’s had all but shipped in with the latest crate of oranges.

Two hundred acres, Gale tightened the bonnet under his chin and tucked in the breadth of his shoulders under the swath of calico frock. He’d had to charm the lady at the counter of the general store, assure her it was for a sweetheart he was making an honest woman of. He tore the hem out himself, needing it longer, the stays were harder still to adjust, he kept his order small to not arouse suspicion but now laced in, he felt a great deal of regret and misjudgment for his capacity to breathe in such a contraption. In the mirror however, he looked persuasive, if perhaps a bit too chiseled, perhaps too freckled, flat in the chest but willowy in the waist, it would puzzle at least. The face however, as he had long suspected, was in perfect harmony against the frame of a simple lace collar, pink and purple rosebuds on a pale blue background dazzled against his complexion and a few wayward tendrils of golden hair escaped the sensible bun at the back of his neck to dance and belie the modesty of his bonnet.

Two hundred acres -his eyes alone could get him that. The waist might guarantee the shack. His lips he hoped would earn him a bed unmolested by further requirements. Yes, Gale Cleven was every inch a mail order bride, and he thought it not too conceited to assume he was more pleasing than many. He certainly felt more authentic than most. The calico and the flush would have to do for coming up there without having heard a response to his own acceptance. Gale would simply have to make the man want him to stay. There was always the use of firearms to fall back on, at least this time he wouldn’t be kin-slaying if he had to pull the trigger. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that; solitude, he hoped the advertisements’ warning was a promise.

[monamourbladie]

The Man of My Dreams - Blade x Reader (chapter 6)

Who said that the man of your dreams couldn’t be real? After having dreams of the same mystery man for 2 weeks straight, the reader sets off on a journey to find the mystery man known as “Blade” that had been occupying her mind every single night. After realizing that he might actually be a real person, and not just a man she made up, she will finally discover parts of her past that had been long forgotten and locked away. (Originally posted on AO3, which can be read here. Also posted on Wattpad, which is here.)

Chapters Masterlist

warnings: slow burn, slight enemies to lovers themes, fluff, HEAVY angst throughout the entire story (not kidding.), soulmates, memory loss, mutual pining, eventual smut, pwp, renheng themes

Tag List: (@ me to be added) @kimura-uzuri

Fu Xuan knew she had time to speak with the General before Kafka's interrogation was to take place. She quickly moved to a secluded location outside of the hotel and made a holograph call to the General. Quickly, he answered the call, looking concerned. "Is there something wrong, Diviner?" Fu Xuan let out a soft sigh, glancing at her hands. "You were right, General. About Y/n? It is her. The same one that was banished from the Luofu all that time ago." Jing Yuan simply hummed in response, his hand moving towards his chin in thought. "I see. I was afraid of that. I can't say it's not nice to see an old friend, however - even if we weren't that close at the time." Jing Yuan recalled the painful memory of the day everything went wrong. The day Yingxing died, and a grave sin was committed in an attempt to save his life. Jing Yuan tried his best to not think of it.

"How much does Y/n know?" he then asked. "I told her I must speak to you first before I tell her anything. She knows I know something grave. She doesn't remember she's a Vidyadhara... or that she was even married." Jing Yuan looked at Fu Xuan with a slight smirk, "Meaning, she has no idea the man she's been dreaming of was her husband in a past incarnation? How amusing." Fu Xuan shifted uncomfortably, "What should I tell her, General? She remembers nothing of her previous life. She has no idea of her sin, what she did to Yingxing, or even who she really is. Is it even safe to unlock those memories? And how did she even forget?"

Jing Yuan looked at her with a solemn expression. "Her reincarnation process was interrupted. The same happened to the Imbibitor Lunae, Dan Feng. Because neither of the two could complete a full reincarnation cycle, everything in their previous life was locked away - essentially making them believe they were an entirely new person. It would take nothing short of a miracle for their full memories to return, and for them to physically appear as a Vidyadhara once more. I don't think this is the time for that. Especially since, if Y/n were to fully return knowing everything she did - she'd still be banished. I don't feel like sending her to prison when she's already helped us so much with the Stellaron Hunters."

"So... what should I tell her, then?" Fu Xuan asked. "Tell her nothing. Tell her that once this all passes, I will set her aside and answer all of her questions. But for now - we can not risk her finding out about her previous incarnation. Especially if my hunch is correct, and that Blade is truly Yingxing, it could be disastrous." Fu Xuan nodded, bowing her head, "Yes, General. I will go catch up with our guests and begin the interrogation of Kafka momentarily." Jing Yuan nodded to her, "Good. Report to me once it is complete. And good luck - dealing with Kafka needs it," he chuckled. His hologram faded away, and Fu Xuan left to find the Trailblazers.

Fu Xuan remained at the center of the Commission where the Divination was to take place, waiting for the Trailblazers to return. Soon, Stelle, Welt, March, and Y/n walked up. Y/n walked straight up to Fu Xuan as the Cloud Knights guided Kafka to the center. "Well? Did you speak with the General?" she asked. Fu Xuan nodded, raising her hand to silence her, "Yes. And I'm afraid this will have to wait until after the Divination." Y/n glared at her, "No. You're going to tell me the truth right now. I have a right to know." FU Xuan grumbled, shaking her head, "I don't have time for this. You can talk with the General afterward like he requested! Now stand back with your friends and let me do my job," she snapped at Y/n. Y/n rolled her eyes and walked towards March and Stelle, "Whatever. I'll figure it out myself."

March immediately took notice of her frustrated demeanor and frowned. "Woah... what's got you all fired up?" March commented. Y/n crossed her arms as she stood beside her bubbly friend, "Fu Xuan knows the truth about what's going on with my dreams and refuses to tell me. She's claiming I have to speak with the General to learn the truth. As if it's so important I have to talk to the damn General of the freaking Luofu. Like, what is she even on?!" Y/n started ranting to March. "Oh! And one other thing that's  freaking perfect is apparently, the man in my dreams? Blade? She's claiming he's my husband! How ridiculous is that!" March immediately busted out laughing. "Oh, that's so funny! And so obviously wrong! You've never even met him, how could you be married? If you ask me, little missy up there is just spitballing everything she says! I doubt she'll even be able to fully do... whatever it is she's doing to Kafka," March muttered, looking over at Fu Xuan who was beginning the Divination process.

Brilliant shapes made of vibrant pink lights were swarming around Kafka, causing her to levitate. Fu Xuan's hands were raised in front of her, her eyes closed in focus as she Divined the truth of Kafka. As frustrated as Y/n was, she couldn't deny how beautiful this process was shaping out to look. The shapes swirled around Kafka as her smirk grew until Fu Xuan pulled back gasping for air - the same reaction she had after seeing through Y/n's memories. "That's... that's why you're here...?" she asked, her voice shaky. "All for that?" 

"What? Not what you were expecting?" Kafka smiled innocently down at her. "I... I can't believe it. But the Matrix of Prescience cannot be wrong," Fu Xuan muttered, looking down at her hands. The Trailblazers and Tingyun stepped closer to Fu Xuan to make sure everything was alright. "What did you see?" Y/n asked. "Kafka has nothing to do with the Stellaron, but... it's you." Fu Xuan pointed to Stelle. She let out a bitter laugh, "Absurd. I'd never thought it. "Me?" Stelle asked simply. "Ask her yourself. Speak to her as long as you'd wish." Fu Xuan stepped aside to allow Stelle to walk up to Kafka.

Y/n quickly moved forward and rest her hand on Stelle's shoulder, "Are you sure you want to speak with her?" she asked Stelle cautiously. Stelle glanced at her hand then back at her, slowly nodding. Y/n then removed her hand and watched as Stelle walked up to Kafka, whose smile only widened at the sight of her. Her obsession with Stelle was creepy at this point.

Y/n crossed her arms as she began to think over her dreams again. March hopped over and leaned on her shoulder, smiling. "Hey, miss pouty. Try and cheer up, okay? As I said, I doubt whatever Fu Xuan is trying to talk you into believing is a load of lies. Just live in the moment! Look around at the Luofu and how pretty it is! And that tree that we saw earlier? It was so pretty, I took so many photos of it!" March exclaimed. Y/n couldn't help but smile at her excited younger friend. She never failed to bring a smile to her face, even in times of feeling stressed out like right now. "Thanks, March. Can I see?" March nodded as she went to grab her camera, when a huge earthquake shook the planet. March immediately grabbed onto Y/n's arm, looking around frantically, "What's happening?!" 

"It's the tree!" Welt exclaimed, pointing at it. The ground shook intensely as the tree grew at an alarmingly fast rate, the top of the tree protruding past the clouds from its height. From the branches dropped glowing words in the Luofu's native language, beautiful yellow sparks falling from it slowly. It was so large that it completely obstructed most of the view of the Luofu now. 

"Kafka's escaping!" Fu Xuan yelled. Everyone turned to look at Stelle, who was currently trying to chase after Kafka. Her shackles had been magically broken and she immediately started to back up. As Stelle sprinted forward, a man dropped in front of her, holding his sword dangerously close to her - forcing her to keep her distance. Y/n looked over and immediately recognized him. It was Blade. He was here, so close to her...

"Let's go, Bladie~" Kafka called to him. "We've got two more places to visit." Blade twirled his sword behind his back as he kept a strong glare at Stelle. Y/n felt her heart pound out of her chest. She wanted to follow him. Y/n broke free of March's grasp and she gasped, yelling back at her as she ran, "Y/n, what are you doing?!" 

"BLADE!" She yelled, catching up to Stelle quickly. Blade began to turn to follow Kafka when he froze, recognizing the voice. The voice... from his dreams...? He turned back around fully and saw Y/n running up to him. He quickly drew his sword again, holding it taught, "Who are you?" He snapped. "Leave her, we don't have time for this!" Kafka yelled at him. "It's me! It's Y/n! You're the one from my dreams... you're... you're real," Y/n said, her gaze completely fixated on his. His glare softened, examining her face as he took in her words. Then it clicked in his mind...

Blade let his sword fall to his side. He felt so conflicted. The woman he had been longing to finally meet was right in front of him, but he had to run with Kafka... Kafka rolled her eyes and twirled her fingers, "Just take her with us, damn it!" Blade heard her voice in his head and he growled, closing his eyes. He let out a heavy sigh and immediately grabbed Y/n's wrist tightly, pulling her against his body as he leaned in to whisper, "Don't make me regret this."

His free arm slid around her waist, holding her flush against his body. After making sure he had a firm grip on her, he started to run. Y/n squealed in surprise, "Hey! Let go of - what do you think you're doing!?" she tried fighting it, but good God that man was so strong, she could barely move an inch in his hold. The Trailblazers started yelling after them, chasing after Kafka and Blade as they got away with Y/n. 

She wanted to resist, but something was stopping her from it... Maybe she was secretly okay with this? She was at least, until she saw them get closer to the ledge... "You better not fucking jump that!" she yelled. Kafka let out a laugh, "That's the fun part, Trailblazer." She raised her arms and fell backward off the platform, disappearing. Y/n grabbed Blade tighter as she hid her face in his chest, his grip on her tightening, "Better hold on..." he muttered, jumping head first after Kafka. Y/n screamed as they fell, fully convinced this was how she'd die.

To her utter surprise, she, Blade, and Kafka had landed feet first on a Starskiff deck that was docked below the platform, perfectly hidden from view. Kafka brushed off the dirt from her clothes as she regained her stature, looking at Blade with a pissed off gaze, "What the hell is wrong with you, Blade?" She snapped at him. Blade set Y/n down, rolling his eyes, "Don't you start." Y/n's knees immediately buckled, most likely from the fear of dropping that far so fast as she scrambled to find a place to sit down. Her breathing was jagged as she tried to process everything that had just happened.

"Don't I start? Don't I start?? Blade, you brought a fugitive with us! This was not a part of the script!" she snapped at him. "And out of everyone, it was an Astral Express member! Are you fucking insane?" she yelled. Blade waved his hand in irritants, "I'll get back to you in a damn minute, so shut up!" he snapped back at her. He turned from Kafka to Y/n, walking directly up to her. "Get up," he snapped at her. His voice was much colder in person than how it was in her dreams. She gulped as she stood up slowly. Blade gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, keeping it at his side, "Y/n, isn't it?" he asked coldly. She nodded quickly, "Y-yes... please tell me you've been having those dreams too so I don't feel like an absolute idiot," she asked nervously. She was greatly intimidated by him. His stature was much more intense in person, and he was way taller than she thought he'd be. She gulped as she looked up at him when he moved closer, clearly examining her.

Blade was silent for a few moments, "...Yes, I have been," he finally answered. "You've been in all of them. How are you here?" he asked her. Kafka scoffed, "This is her?" she muttered, rolling her eyes as she started piloting the Starskiff to the next destination. "I'm with the Astral Express. Kafka... she told us to come here. Said she needed help to get you out of prison..." Y/n replied. She couldn't help but blush from how close he was to her. Either he had no concept of personal space, or he was that close to her to get a reaction out of her. Either way, it was intimidating in the best ways.

"She managed just fine without you. What's the real reason why you're here?" Blade replied, his tone growing colder again. Y/n bit her lip, "That's why we came. But... when I realized I might have a chance of actually meeting you, I made sure to come with them. Even if I had a friend tell me to stay away from you," she answered truthfully. She hadn't thought about Dan Heng in a while, and now she was beginning to feel guilty that here she was doing the exact opposite of what she promised him. But now that she saw him in person... she didn't feel so bad about it.

"Good to know that friend of yours is afraid of me," Blade said with a smirk. "But, I must say I'm curious as to how you realized it was me." he set his sword down, crossing his arms. It was amusing to him just how short she was in comparison to him. But, he couldn't lie to himself - she was just as gorgeous as he secretly hope she'd be in person.

"Fu Xuan and General Jing Yuan all but confirmed it," she replied to him. She brushed some of the hair from her face as she let out a shaky sigh, "L-Listen... I don't want to cause any trouble. I really don't. I just... I felt compelled to talk to you. This was what I came on the Luofu for anyway, hoping I'd be able to find you if you truly did exist." Blade was amused by this. He slowly started to walk forward toward her, and she instinctively backed up. "How sentimental of you. How about you tell me what Jing Yuan told you, then?" She hit her back against the wall of the Starskiff, and she blushed brightly as his hand lay against her head. He had her practically pinned between her and the wall. She bit her lip, staying silent as she looked up at him flustered, "I..." Blade waited for a moment for her to answer, and when she didn't, he reached down for his sword slowly, "Don't make me use this on you, sweetheart. Just tell me what he told you," he said in a taunting tone. Her eyes widened at the nickname, and it served to make her all the more flustered by the situation she was in. Blade looked down at her with an amused sly smile. He was enjoying taunting her like this...

Before Y/n could fully answer, Kafka spoke up for them. "You're married, Blade. To her. Is that what it is?" Kafka said. Y/n looked over at Kafka, her mouth hanging open in surprise, "How... how did you know?" Blade looked back at Kafka in shock, then back at Y/n even more surprised. He immediately dropped his sword and removed his hand from beside her head, taking a large step back from her. "Excuse me?" He said in an angry tone, as if the mere thought offended him deeply. Kafka pulled out Y/n's jade pendant necklace, smirking. "You dropped this when we landed on the Starskiff. It's identical to Bladie's." Blade immediately moved forward and snatched it from Kafka's hand, examining it. Y/n felt nervous as he held it, "Hey! Be careful with that, it's a family heirloom!" she exclaimed.

"No... it can't be," he murmured. He looked down at his belt where he kept his jade pendant. His brows furrowed as he moved his hand to unhook it from his belt, holding it up to her pendant. He noticed that the two could be pieced together... so he connected the pendants.

And it was a perfect fit. Blade remained in complete silence as he and Y/n looked at their pendants that slotted perfectly into each other. It was obvious they were a one-of-a-kind pair. "What do you know of the Jade Pendant, Kafka?" Blade asked. His voice was calm and quiet now. Kafka crossed her arms and sat down on a chair behind the couple. "On the Luofu, those pendants are used in place of a traditional wedding ring. Although a ring could be bought for looks, the Pendant is the true symbol of marriage. According to legend, Vidyadharians specifically would place their pendant in their mouth before their reincarnation process in hopes of being reunited with their lover in their next life." Kafka began to smirk, "Cute, is it not?"

Y/n's heart began to race. Everything was slotting almost too perfectly into place. But it still felt like she was missing a huge chunk of information. "I don't mean to be rude, but I don't remember getting married to you," Y/n spoke up, looking up at Blade. He looked down at her for a moment, nodding in response, "Nor do I."

"Curious," Kafka said, standing up. She stepped between the pair and held the connected pendant in her hand, "Well, then if neither of you remembers, then I guess it's not true?" Kafka suggested. "It's just by pure coincidence that you two have been dreaming of each other for weeks on end, and have matching jade pendants that eludes to you two being married. No biggie, I suppose," Kafka said with a fake disappointed sigh. Blade rolled his eyes at her dramatization. "I have had memories for the longest time with a woman I could not recognize. I'm beginning to think that perhaps you are the woman in those memories, Y/n," Blade finally spoke up, turning to her. Y/n glanced up at him. She shrugged lightly, "Maybe. I've had the same kinds of memories, but I always thought they were dreams, since I had no idea what was happening in them." Y/n took a moment to recall a few of them. "But... now that I'm thinking about it, maybe you're right? In mine, there was always one man that I couldn't identify his voice, or what he looked like. But eventually, I started to see you appear in my dreams..."

Y/n and Blade both looked at each other. They felt a certain warmth and familiarity as they did, which caused Y/n to smile up at him. "What if... somehow... we really are married?" Y/n asked. "Then what?" Blade remained completely silent. He looked down at her, averting his eyes from her to the sky. "I don't know," he said simply. He then walked to the opposite side of the Starskiff, leaving Y/n and Kafka alone.

She felt her heart sink... he seemed irritated at the idea that they were married. Maybe she was stupid to come here and confront him in person. She understood that everything she was explaining seemed farfetched and completely unreal - she even thought that. But what she hoped was not the case was that Blade was angry at this development.

What else was she forgetting? Maybe if she managed to remember whatever it was, she'd find out the truth as to what she and Blade truly are.

[xtruss]

The Titan Submersible Was “An Accident Waiting to Happen”

Interviews and e-mails with expedition leaders and employees reveal how OceanGate ignored desperate warnings from inside and outside the company. “It’s a lemon,” one wrote.

— By Ben Taub | July 1, 2023

Stockton Rush, the co-founder and C.E.O. of OceanGate, inside Cyclops I, a submersible, on July 19, 2017. Photographs by Balazs Gardi

The primary task of a submersible is to not implode. The second is to reach the surface, even if the pilot is unconscious, with oxygen to spare. The third is for the occupants to be able to open the hatch once they surface. The fourth is for the submersible to be easy to find, through redundant tracking and communications systems, in case rescue is required. Only the fifth task is what is ordinarily thought of as the primary one: to transport people into the dark, hostile deep.

At dawn four summers ago, the French submariner and Titanic expert Paul-Henri Nargeolet stood on the bow of an expedition vessel in the North Atlantic. The air was cool and thick with fog, the sea placid, the engine switched off, and the Titanic was some thirty-eight hundred metres below. The crew had gathered for a solemn ceremony, to pay tribute to the more than fifteen hundred people who had died in the most famous maritime disaster more than a hundred years ago. Rob McCallum, the expedition leader, gave a short speech, then handed a wreath to Nargeolet, the oldest man on the ship. As is tradition, the youngest—McCallum’s nephew—was summoned to place his hand on the wreath, and he and Nargeolet let it fall into the sea.

Inside a hangar on the ship’s stern sat a submersible known as the Limiting Factor. In the previous year, McCallum, Nargeolet, and others had taken it around the Earth, as part of the Five Deeps Expedition, a journey to the deepest point in each ocean. The team had mapped unexplored trenches and collected scientific samples, and the Limiting Factor’s chief pilot, Victor Vescovo—a Texan hedge-fund manager who had financed the entire operation—had set numerous diving records. But, to another member of the expedition team, Patrick Lahey, the C.E.O. of Triton Submarines (which had designed and built the submersible), one record meant more than the rest: the marine-classification society DNV had certified the Limiting Factor’s “maximum permissible diving depth” as “unlimited.” That process was far from theoretical; a DNV inspection engineer was involved in every stage of the submersible’s creation, from design to sea trials and diving. He even sat in the passenger seat as Lahey piloted the Limiting Factor to the deepest point on Earth.

After the wreath sank from view, Vescovo climbed down the submersible hatch, and the dive began. For some members of the crew, the site of the wreck was familiar. McCallum, who co-founded a company called eyos Expeditions, had transported tourists to the Titanic in the two-thousands, using two Soviet submarines that had been rated to six thousand metres. Another crew member was a Titanic obsessive—his endless talk of davits and well decks still rattles in my head. But it was Paul-Henri Nargeolet whose life was most entwined with the Titanic. He had dived it more than thirty times, beginning shortly after its discovery, in 1985, and now served as the underwater-research director for the organization that owns salvaging rights to the wreck.

Nargeolet had also spent the past year as Vescovo’s safety manager. “When I set out on the Five Deeps project, I told Patrick Lahey, ‘Look, I don’t know submarine technology—I need someone who works for me to independently validate whatever design you come up with, and its construction and operation,’ ” Vescovo recalled, this week. “He recommended P. H. Nargeolet, whom he had known for decades.” Nargeolet, whose wife had recently died, was a former French naval commander—an underwater-explosives expert who had spent much of his life at sea. “He had a sterling reputation, the perfect résumé,” Vescovo said. “And he was French. And I love the French.”

When Vescovo reached the silty bottom at the Titanic site, he recalled his private preparations with Nargeolet. “He had very good knowledge of the currents and the wreck,” Vescovo told me. “He briefed me on very specific tactical things: ‘Stay away from this place on the stern’; ‘Don’t go here’; ‘Try and maintain this distance at this part of the wreck.’ ” Vescovo surfaced about seven hours later, exhausted and rattled from the debris that he had encountered at the ship’s ruins, which risk entangling submersibles that approach too close. But the Limiting Factor was completely fine. According to its certification from DNV, a “deep dive,” for insurance and inspection purposes, was anything below four thousand metres. A journey to the Titanic, thirty-eight hundred metres down, didn’t even count.

Nargeolet remained obsessed with the Titanic, and, before long, he was invited to return. “To P. H., the Titanic was Ulysses’ sirens—he could not resist it,” Vescovo told me. A couple of weeks ago, Nargeolet climbed into a radically different submersible, owned by a company called OceanGate, which had spent years marketing to the general public that, for a fee of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, it would bring people to the most famous shipwreck on Earth. “People are so enthralled with Titanic,” OceanGate’s founder, Stockton Rush, told a BBC documentary crew last year. “I read an article that said there are three words in the English language that are known throughout the planet. And that’s ‘Coca-Cola,’ ‘God,’ and ‘Titanic.’ ”

Nargeolet served as a guide to the wreck, Rush as the pilot. The other three occupants were tourists, including a father and son. But, before they reached the bottom, the submersible vanished, triggering an international search-and-rescue operation, with an accompanying media frenzy centered on counting down the hours until oxygen would run out.

McCallum, who was leading an expedition in Papua New Guinea at the time, knew the outcome almost instantly. “The report that I got immediately after the event—long before they were overdue—was that the sub was approaching thirty-five hundred metres,” he told me, while the oxygen clock was still ticking. “It dropped weights”—meaning that the team had aborted the dive—“then it lost comms, and lost tracking, and an implosion was heard.”

An investigation by the U.S. Coast Guard is ongoing; some debris from the wreckage has been salvaged, but the implosion was so violent and comprehensive that the precise cause of the disaster may never be known.

Until June 18th, a manned deep-ocean submersible had never imploded. But, to McCallum, Lahey, and other experts, the OceanGate disaster did not come as a surprise—they had been warning of the submersible’s design flaws for more than five years, filing complaints to the U.S. government and to OceanGate itself, and pleading with Rush to abandon his aspirations. As they mourned Nargeolet and the other passengers, they decided to reveal OceanGate’s history of knowingly shoddy design and construction. “You can’t cut corners in the deep,” McCallum had told Rush. “It’s not about being a disruptor. It’s about the laws of physics.”

The submersible Antipodes at the OceanGate headquarters, in Everett, Washington, on July 19, 2017.

Stockton Rush was named for two of his ancestors who signed the Declaration of Independence: Richard Stockton and Benjamin Rush. His maternal grandfather was an oil-and-shipping tycoon. As a teen-ager, Rush became an accomplished commercial jet pilot, and he studied aerospace engineering at Princeton, where he graduated in 1984.

Rush wanted to become a fighter pilot. But his eyesight wasn’t perfect, and so he went to business school instead. Years later, he expressed a desire to travel to space, and he reportedly dreamed of becoming the first human to set foot on Mars. In 2004, Rush travelled to the Mojave Desert, where he watched the launch of the first privately funded aircraft to brush against the edge of space. The only occupant was the test pilot; nevertheless, as Rush used to tell it, Richard Branson stood on the wing and announced that a new era of space tourism had arrived. At that point, Rush “abruptly lost interest,” according to a profile in Smithsonian magazine. “I didn’t want to go up into space as a tourist,” he said. “I wanted to be Captain Kirk on the Enterprise. I wanted to explore.”

Rush had grown up scuba diving in Tahiti, the Cayman Islands, and the Red Sea. In his mid-forties, he tinkered with a kit for a single-person mini-submersible, and piloted it around at shallow depths near Seattle, where he lived. A few years later, in 2009, he co-founded OceanGate, with a dream to bring tourists to the ocean world. “I had come across this business anomaly I couldn’t explain,” he recalled. “If three-quarters of the planet is water, how come you can’t access it?”

OceanGate’s first submersible wasn’t made by the company itself; it was built in 1973, and Lahey later piloted it in the North Sea, while working in the oil-and-gas industry. In the nineties, he helped refit it into a tourist submersible, and in 2009, after it had been sold a few times, and renamed Antipodes, OceanGate bought it. “I didn’t have any direct interaction with them at the time,” Lahey recalled. “Stockton was one of these people that was buying these older subs and trying to repurpose them.”

In 2015, OceanGate announced that it had built its first submersible, in collaboration with the University of Washington’s Applied Physics Laboratory. In fact, it was mostly a cosmetic and electrical refit; Lahey and his partners had built the underlying vessel, called Lula, for a Portuguese marine research nonprofit almost two decades before. It had a pressure hull that was the shape of a capsule pill and made of steel, with a large acrylic viewport on one end. It was designed to go no deeper than five hundred metres—a comfortable cruising depth for military submarines. OceanGate now called it Cyclops I.

Most submersibles have duplicate control systems, running on separate batteries—that way, if one system fails, the other still works. But, during the refit, engineers at the University of Washington rigged the Cyclops I to run from a single PlayStation 3 controller. “Stockton is very interested in being able to quickly train pilots,” Dave Dyer, a principal engineer, said, in a video published by his laboratory. Another engineer referred to it as “a combination steering wheel and gas pedal.”

Around that time, Rush set his sights on the Titanic. OceanGate would have to design a new submersible. But Rush decided to keep most of the design elements of Cyclops I. Suddenly, the University of Washington was no longer involved in the project, although OceanGate’s contract with the Applied Physics Laboratory was less than one-fifth complete; it is unclear what Dyer, who did not respond to an interview request, thought of Rush’s plan to essentially reconstruct a craft that was designed for five hundred metres of pressure to withstand eight times that much. As the company planned Cyclops II, Rush reached out to McCallum for help.

“He wanted me to run his Titanic operation for him,” McCallum recalled. “At the time, I was the only person he knew who had run commercial expedition trips to Titanic. Stockton’s plan was to go a step further and build a vehicle specifically for this multi-passenger expedition.” McCallum gave him some advice on marketing and logistics, and eventually visited the workshop, outside Seattle, where he examined the Cyclops I. He was disturbed by what he saw. “Everyone was drinking Kool-Aid and saying how cool they were with a Sony PlayStation,” he told me. “And I said at the time, ‘Does Sony know that it’s been used for this application? Because, you know, this is not what it was designed for.’ And now you have the hand controller talking to a Wi-Fi unit, which is talking to a black box, which is talking to the sub’s thrusters. There were multiple points of failure.” The system ran on Bluetooth, according to Rush. But, McCallum continued, “every sub in the world has hardwired controls for a reason—that if the signal drops out, you’re not fucked.”

One day, McCallum climbed into the Cyclops for a test dive at a marina. There, he met the chief pilot, David Lochridge, a Scotsman who had spent three decades as a submersible pilot and an engineer—first in the Royal Navy, then as a private contractor. Lochridge had worked all over the world: on offshore wind farms in the North Sea; on subsea-cables installations in the Atlantic, Indian, and Pacific oceans; on manned submarine trials with the Swedish Navy; on submarine-rescue operations for the navies of Britain and Singapore. But, during the harbor trial, the Cyclops got stuck in shallow water. “It was hilarious, because there were four very experienced operators in the sub, stuck at twenty or twenty-five feet, and we had to sit there for a few hours while they worked it out,” McCallum recalled. He liked and trusted Lochridge. But, of the sub, he said, “This thing is a mutt.”

Rush eventually decided that he would not attempt to have the Titanic-bound vehicle classed by a marine-certification agency such as DNV. He had no interest in welcoming into the project an external evaluator who would, as he saw it, “need to first be educated before being qualified to ‘validate’ any innovations.”

That marked the end of McCallum’s desire to be associated with the project. “The minute that I found out that he was not going to class the vehicle, that’s when I said, ��I’m sorry, I just can’t be involved,’ ” he told me. “I couldn’t tell him anything about the Five Deeps project at that time. But I was able to say, ‘Look, I am involved with other projects that are building classed subs’—of course, I was talking about the Limiting Factor—‘and I can tell you that the class society has been nothing but supportive. They are actually part of our innovation process. We’re using the brainpower of their engineers to feed into our design.

“Stockton didn’t like that,” McCallum continued. “He didn’t like to be told that he was on the fringe.” As word got out that Rush planned to take tourists to the Titanic, McCallum recalled, “people would ring me, and say, ‘We’ve always wanted to go to Titanic. What do you think?’ And I would tell them, ‘Never get in an unclassed sub. I wouldn’t do it, and you shouldn’t, either.’ ”

In early 2018, McCallum heard that Lochridge had left OceanGate. “I’d be keen to pick your brain if you have a few moments,” McCallum e-mailed him. “I’m keen to get a handle on exactly how bad things are. I do get reports, but I don’t know if they are accurate.” Whatever his differences with Rush, McCallum wanted the venture to succeed; the submersible industry is small, and a single disaster could destroy it. But the only way forward without a catastrophic operational failure—which he had been told was “certain,” he wrote—was for OceanGate to redesign the submersible in coördination with a classification society. “Stockton must be gutted,” McCallum told Lochridge, of his departure. “You were the star player . . . . . and the only one that gave me a hint of confidence.”

“I think you are going to [be] even more taken aback when I tell you what’s happening,” Lochridge replied. He added that he was afraid of retaliation from Rush—“We both know he has influence and money”—but would share his assessment with McCallum, in private: “That sub is Not safe to dive.”

“Do you think the sub could be made safe to dive, or is it a complete lemon?” McCallum replied. “You will get a lot of support from people in the industry . . . . everyone is watching and waiting and quietly shitting their pants.”

“It’s a lemon.”

“Oh dear,” McCallum replied. “Oh dear, oh dear.”

David Lochridge, OceanGate’s former director of marine operations, pilots Cyclops I during a test dive in Everett, on July 19, 2017.

Lochridge had been hired by OceanGate in May, 2015, as its director of marine operations and chief submersible pilot. The company moved him and his family to Washington, and helped him apply for a green card. But, before long, he was clashing with Rush and Tony Nissen, the company’s director of engineering, on matters of design and safety.

Every aspect of submersible design and construction is a trade-off between strength and weight. In order for the craft to remain suspended underwater, without rising or falling, the buoyancy of each component must be offset against the others. Most deep-ocean submersibles use spherical titanium hulls and are counterbalanced in water by syntactic foam, a buoyant material made up of millions of hollow glass balls, which is attached to the external frame. But this adds bulk to the submersible. And the weight of titanium limits the practical size of the pressure hull, so that it can accommodate no more than two or three people. Spheres are “the best geometry for pressure, but not for occupation,” as Rush put it.

The Cyclops II needed to fit as many passengers as possible. “You don’t do the coolest thing you’re ever going to do in your life by yourself,” Rush told an audience at the GeekWire Summit last fall. “You take your wife, your son, your daughter, your best friend. You’ve got to have four people” besides the pilot. Rush planned to have room for a Titanic guide and three passengers. The Cyclops II could fit that many occupants only if it had a cylindrical midsection. But the size dictated the choice of materials. The steel hull of Cyclops I was too thin for Titanic depths—but a thicker steel hull would add too much weight. In December, 2016, OceanGate announced that it had started construction on Cyclops II, and that its cylindrical midsection would be made of carbon fibre. The idea, Rush explained in interviews, was that carbon fibre was a strong material that was significantly lighter than traditional metals. “Carbon fibre is three times better than titanium on strength-to-buoyancy,” he said.

A month later, OceanGate hired a company called Spencer Composites to build the carbon-fibre hull. “They basically said, ‘This is the pressure we have to meet, this is the factor of safety, this is the basic envelope. Go design and build it,’ ” the founder, Brian Spencer, told CompositesWorld, in the spring of 2017. He was given a deadline of six weeks.

Toward the end of that year, Lochridge became increasingly concerned. OceanGate would soon begin manned sea trials for Cyclops II in the Bahamas, and he believed that there was a chance that they would result in catastrophe. The consequences for Lochridge could extend beyond OceanGate’s business and the trauma of losing colleagues; as director of marine operations, Lochridge had a contract specifying that he was ultimately responsible for “ensuring the safety of all crew and clients.”

On the workshop floor, he raised questions about potential flaws in the design and build processes. But his concerns were dismissed. OceanGate’s position was that such matters were outside the scope of his responsibilities; he was “not hired to provide engineering services, or to design or develop Cyclops II,” the company later said, in a court filing. Nevertheless, before the handover of the submersible to the operations team, Rush directed Lochridge to carry out an inspection, because his job description also required him to sign off on the submersible’s readiness for deployment.

On January 18, 2018, Lochridge studied each major component, and found several critical aspects to be defective or unproven. He drafted a detailed report, which has not previously been made public, and attached photographs of the elements of greatest concern. Glue was coming away from the seams of ballast bags, and mounting bolts threatened to rupture them; both sealing faces had errant plunge holes and O-ring grooves that deviated from standard design parameters. The exostructure and electrical pods used different metals, which could result in galvanic corrosion when exposed to seawater. The thruster cables posed “snagging hazards”; the iridium satellite beacon, to transmit the submersible’s position after surfacing, was attached with zip ties. The flooring was highly flammable; the interior vinyl wrapping emitted “highly toxic gasses upon ignition.”

To assess the carbon-fibre hull, Lochridge examined a small cross-section of material. He found that it had “very visible signs of delamination and porosity”—it seemed possible that, after repeated dives, it would come apart. He shone a light at the sample from behind, and photographed beams streaming through splits in the midsection in a disturbing, irregular pattern. The only safe way to dive, Lochridge concluded, was to first carry out a full scan of the hull.

The next day, Lochridge sent his report to Rush, Nissen, and other members of the OceanGate leadership. “Verbal communication of the key items I have addressed in my attached document have been dismissed on several occasions, so I feel now I must make this report so there is an official record in place,” he wrote. “Until suitable corrective actions are in place and closed out, Cyclops 2 (Titan) should not be manned during any of the upcoming trials.”

Rush was furious; he called a meeting that afternoon, and recorded it on his phone. For the next two hours, the OceanGate leadership insisted that no hull testing was necessary—an acoustic monitoring system, to detect fraying fibres, would serve in its place. According to the company, the system would alert the pilot to the possibility of catastrophic failure “with enough time to arrest the descent and safely return to surface.” But, in a court filing, Lochridge’s lawyer wrote, “this type of acoustic analysis would only show when a component is about to fail—often milliseconds before an implosion—and would not detect any existing flaws prior to putting pressure onto the hull.” A former senior employee who was present at the meeting told me, “We didn’t even have a baseline. We didn’t know what it would sound like if something went wrong.”

OceanGate’s lawyer wrote, “The parties found themselves at an impasse—Mr. Lochridge was not, and specifically stated that he could not be made comfortable with OceanGate’s testing protocol, while Mr. Rush was unwilling to change the company’s plans.” The meeting ended in Lochridge’s firing.

Soon afterward, Rush asked OceanGate’s director of finance and administration whether she’d like to take over as chief submersible pilot. “It freaked me out that he would want me to be head pilot, since my background is in accounting,” she told me. She added that several of the engineers were in their late teens and early twenties, and were at one point being paid fifteen dollars an hour. Without Lochridge around, “I could not work for Stockton,” she said. “I did not trust him.” As soon as she was able to line up a new job, she quit.

“I would consider myself pretty ballsy when it comes to doing things that are dangerous, but that sub is an accident waiting to happen,” Lochridge wrote to McCallum, two weeks later. “There’s no way on earth you could have paid me to dive the thing.” Of Rush, he added, “I don’t want to be seen as a Tattle tale but I’m so worried he kills himself and others in the quest to boost his ego.”

McCallum forwarded the exchange to Patrick Lahey, the C.E.O. of Triton Submarines, whose response was emphatic: if Lochridge “genuinely believes this submersible poses a threat to the occupants,” then he had a moral obligation to inform the authorities. “To remain quiet makes him complicit,” Lahey wrote. “I know that may sound ominous but it is true. History is full of horrific examples of accidents and tragedies that were a direct result of people’s silence.”

OceanGate claimed that Cyclops II had “the first pressure vessel of its kind in the world.” But there’s a reason that Triton and other manufacturers don’t use carbon fibre in their hulls. Under compression, “it’s a capricious fucking material, which is the last fucking thing you want to associate with a pressure boundary,” Lahey told me.

“With titanium, there’s a purpose to a pressure test that goes beyond just seeing whether it will survive,” John Ramsay, the designer of the Limiting Factor, explained. The metal gradually strengthens under repeated exposure to incredible stresses. With carbon fibre, however, pressure testing slowly breaks the hull, fibre by tiny fibre. “If you’re repeatedly nearing the threshold of the material, then there’s just no way of knowing how many cycles it will survive,” he said.

“It doesn’t get more sensational than dead people in a sub on the way to Titanic,” Lahey’s business partner, the co-founder of Triton Submarines, wrote to his team, on March 1, 2018. McCallum tried to reason with Rush directly. “You are wanting to use a prototype un-classed technology in a very hostile place,” he e-mailed. “As much as I appreciate entrepreneurship and innovation, you are potentially putting an entire industry at risk.”

Rush replied four days later, saying that he had “grown tired of industry players who try to use a safety argument to stop innovation and new entrants from entering their small existing market.” He understood that his approach “flies in the face of the submersible orthodoxy, but that is the nature of innovation,” he wrote. “We have heard the baseless cries of ‘you are going to kill someone’ way too often. I take this as a serious personal insult.”

In response, McCallum listed a number of specific concerns, from his “humble perch” as an expedition leader. “In your race to Titanic you are mirroring that famous catch cry ‘she is unsinkable,’ ” McCallum wrote. The correspondence ended soon afterward; Rush asked McCallum to work for him—then threatened him with a lawsuit, in an effort to silence him, when he declined.

By now, McCallum had introduced Lochridge to Lahey. Lahey wrote him, “If Ocean Gate is unwilling to consider or investigate your concerns with you directly perhaps some other means of getting them to pay attention is required.”

Lochridge replied that he had already contacted the United States Department of Labor, alleging to its Occupational Safety and Health Administration that he had been terminated in retaliation for raising safety concerns. He also sent the osha investigator Paul McDevitt a copy of his Cyclops II inspection report, hoping that the government might take actions that would “prevent the potential for harm to life.”

A few weeks later, McDevitt contacted OceanGate, noting that he was looking into Lochridge’s firing as a whistle-blower-protection matter. OceanGate’s lawyer Thomas Gilman soon issued Lochridge a court summons: he had ten days to withdraw his osha claim and pay OceanGate almost ten thousand dollars in legal expenses. Otherwise, Gilman wrote, OceanGate would sue him, take measures to destroy his professional reputation, and accuse him of immigration fraud. Gilman also reported to osha that Lochridge had orchestrated his own firing because he “wanted to leave his job and maintain his ability to collect unemployment benefits.” (McDevitt, of osha, notified the Coast Guard of Lochridge’s complaint. There is no evidence that the Coast Guard ever followed up.)

Lochridge received the summons while he was at his father’s funeral. He and his wife hired a lawyer, but it quickly became clear that “he didn’t have the money to fight this guy,” Lahey told me. (Lochridge declined to be interviewed.) Lahey covered the rest of the expenses, but, after more than half a year of legal wrangling, and threats of deportation, Lochridge withdrew his whistle-blower claim with osha so that he could go on with his life. Lahey was crestfallen. “He didn’t consult me about that decision,” Lahey recalled. “It’s not that he had to—it was his fight, not mine. But I was underwriting the cost of it, because I believed in the idea that this inspection report, which he wouldn’t share with anybody, needed to see the light of day.”

Stockton Rush in front of Cyclops I, on July 19, 2017.

A few weeks after Lochridge was fired, OceanGate announced that it was testing its new submersible in the marina of Everett, Washington, and would soon begin shallow-water trials in Puget Sound. To preëmpt any concerns about the carbon-fibre hull, the company touted the acoustic monitoring system, which was later patented in Rush’s name. “Safety is our number one priority,” Rush said, in an OceanGate press release. “We believe real-time health monitoring should be standard safety equipment on all manned-submersibles.”

“He’s spinning the fact that his sub requires a hull warning system into something positive,” Jarl Stromer, Triton’s regulatory and class-compliance manager, reported to Lahey. “He’s making it sound like the Cyclops is more advanced because it has this system when the opposite is true: The submersible is so experimental, and the factor of safety completely unknown, that it requires a system to warn the pilot of impending collapse.”

Like Lochridge, Triton’s outside counsel, Brad Patrick, considered the risk to life to be so evident that the government should get involved. He drafted a letter to McDevitt, the osha investigator, urging the Department of Labor to take “immediate and decisive action to stop OceanGate” from taking passengers to the Titanic “before people die. It is that simple.” He went on, “At the bottom of all of this is the inevitable tension betwixt greed and safety.”

But Patrick’s letter was never sent. Other people at Triton worried that the Department of Labor might perceive the letter as an attack on a business rival. By now, OceanGate had renamed Cyclops II “Titan,” apparently to honor the Titanic. “I cannot tell you how much I fucking hated it when he changed the goddam name to Titan,” Lahey told me. “That was uncomfortably close to our name.”

“Stockton strategically structured everything to be out of U.S. jurisdiction” for its Titanic pursuits, the former senior OceanGate employee told me. “It was deliberate.” In a legal filing, the company reported that the submersible was “being developed and assembled in Washington, but will be owned by a Bahamian entity, will be registered in the Bahamas and will operate exclusively outside the territorial waters of the United States.” Although it is illegal to transport passengers in an unclassed, experimental submersible, “under U.S. regulations, you can kill crew,” McCallum told me. “You do get in a little bit of trouble, in the eyes of the law. But, if you kill a passenger, you’re in big trouble. And so everyone was classified as a ‘mission specialist.’ There were no passengers—the word ‘passenger’ was never used.” No one bought tickets; they contributed an amount of money set by Rush to one of OceanGate’s entities, to fund their own missions.

“It is truly hard to imagine the discernment it took for Stockton to string together each of the links in the chain,” Patrick noted. “ ‘How do I avoid liability in Washington State? How do I avoid liability with an offshore corporate structure? How do I keep the U.S. Coast Guard from breathing down my neck?’ ”

But OceanGate had a retired Coast Guard rear admiral, John Lockwood, on its board of directors. “His experiences at the highest levels of the Coast Guard and in international maritime affairs will allow OceanGate to refine our client offerings,” Rush announced with his appointment, in 2013. Lockwood said that he hoped “to help bring operational and regulatory expertise” to OceanGate’s affairs. (Lockwood did not respond to a request for comment.) Still, Rush failed to win over the submersible industry. When he asked Don Walsh, a renowned oceanographer who reached the deepest point in the ocean, in 1960, to consult on the Titanic venture, Walsh replied, “I am concerned that my affiliation with your program at this late date would appear to be nothing more than an endorsement of what you are already doing.”

That spring, more than three dozen industry experts sent a letter to OceanGate, expressing their “unanimous concern” about its upcoming Titanic expedition—for which it had already sold places. Among the signers were Lahey, McCallum, Walsh, and a Coast Guard senior inspector. “OceanGate’s anticipated dive schedule in the spring of 2018 meant that they were going to take people down, and we had a great deal of concern about them surviving that trip,” Patrick told me. But sea trials were a disaster, owing to problems with the launch-and-recovery system, and OceanGate scuttled its Titanic operations for that year. Lochridge broke the news to Lahey. “Lives have been saved for a short while anyway,” he wrote.

OceanGate kept selling tickets, but did not dive to the Titanic for the next three years. It appears that the company spent this period testing materials, and that it built several iterations of the carbon-fibre hull. But it is difficult to know what tests were done, exactly, and how many hulls were made, and by whom, because Rush’s public statements are deeply unreliable. He claimed at various points to have design and testing partnerships with Boeing and nasa, and that at least one iteration of the hull would be built at the Marshall Space Flight Center, in Huntsville, Alabama. But none of those things were true. Meanwhile, soon after Lochridge’s departure, a college newspaper quoted a recent graduate as saying that he and his classmates had started working on the Titan’s electrical systems as interns, while they were still in school. “The whole electrical system,” he said. “That was our design, we implemented it, and it works.”

By the time that OceanGate finally began diving to the Titanic, in 2021, it had refined its pitch to its “mission specialists.” The days of insinuating that Titan was safe had ended. Now Rush portrayed the submersible as existing at the very fringe of what was physically possible. Clients signed waivers and were informed that the submersible was experimental and unclassed. But the framing was that this was how pioneering exploration is done.

“We were all told—intimately informed—that this was a dangerous mission that could result in death,” an OceanGate “mission specialist” told Fox News last week. “We were versed in how the sub operated. We were versed in various protocols. But there’s a limit . . . it’s not a safe operation, inherently. And that’s part of research and development and exploration.” He went on, “If the Wright brothers had crashed on their first flight, they would have still left the bonds of Earth.” Another “mission specialist” wrote in a blog post that, a month before the implosion, Rush had confessed that he’d “gotten the carbon fiber used to make the Titan at a big discount from Boeing because it was past its shelf-life for use in airplanes.”

“Carbon fibre makes noise,” Rush told David Pogue, a CBS News correspondent, last summer, during one of the Titanic expeditions. “It crackles. The first time you pressurize it, if you think about it—of those million fibres, a couple of ’em are sorta weak. They shouldn’t have made the team.” He spoke of signs of hull breakage as if it were perfectly routine. “The first time we took it to full pressure, it made a bunch of noise. The second time, it made very little noise.”

Fibres do not regenerate between dives. Nevertheless, Rush seemed unconcerned. “It’s a huge amount of pressure from the point where we’d say, ‘Oh, the hull’s not happy,’ to when it implodes,” he noted. “You just have to stop your descent.”

It’s not clear that Rush could always stop his descent. Once, as he piloted passengers to the wreck, a malfunction prevented Rush from dropping weights. Passengers calmly discussed sleeping on the bottom of the ocean, thirty-eight hundred metres down; after twenty-four hours, a drop-weight mechanism would dissolve in the seawater, allowing the submersible to surface. Eventually, Rush managed to release the weights manually, using a hydraulic pump. “This is why you want your pilot to be an engineer,” a passenger said, smiling, as another “mission specialist” filmed her.

Last year, a BBC documentary crew joined the expedition. Rush stayed on the surface vessel while Scott Griffith, OceanGate’s director of logistics and quality assurance, piloted a scientist and three other passengers down. (Griffith did not respond to a request for comment.) During the launch, a diver in the water noticed and reported to the surface vessel that something with a thruster seemed off. Nevertheless, the mission continued.

More than two hours passed; after Titan touched down in the silt, Griffith fired the thrusters and realized something was wrong.“I don’t know what’s going on,” he said. As he fiddled with the PlayStation controller, a passenger looked out the viewport.

“Am I spinning?” Griffith asked.

“Yes.”

“I am?”

“Looks like it,” another passenger said.

“Oh, my God,” Griffith muttered. One of the thrusters had been installed in the wrong direction. “The only thing I can do is a three-sixty,” he said.

They were in the debris field, three hundred metres from the intact part of the wreck. One of the clients said that she had delayed buying a car, getting married, and having kids, all “because I wanted to go to Titanic,” but they couldn’t make their way over to its bow. Griffith relayed the situation to the ship. Rush’s solution was to “remap the PS3 controller.”

Rush couldn’t remember where the buttons were, and it seems as though there was no spare controller on the ship. Someone loaded an image of a PlayStation 3 controller from the Internet, and Rush worked out a new button routine. “Yeah—left and right might be forward and back. Huh. I don’t know,” he said. “It might work.”

“Right is forward,” Griffith read off his screen, two and a half miles below. “Uh—I’m going to have to write this down.”

“Right is forward,” Rush said. “Great! Live with it.”

Shipwrecks are notoriously difficult and dangerous to dive. Rusted cables drape the Titanic, moving with the currents; a broken crow’s nest dangles over the deck. Griffith piloted the submersible over to the wreck, and passengers within feet of it, while teaching himself in real time to operate a Bluetooth controller whose buttons suddenly had different functions than those for which he had trained.

Various models of Cyclops II are exhibited alongside a model of the Titanic, at the OceanGate headquarters, on July 19, 2017.

“If you’re not breaking things, you’re not innovating,” Rush said, at the GeekWire Summit last fall. “If you’re operating within a known environment, as most submersible manufacturers do—they don’t break things. To me, the more stuff you’ve broken, the more innovative you’ve been.”

The Titan’s viewport was made of acrylic and seven inches thick. “That’s another thing where I broke the rules,” Rush said to Pogue, the CBS News journalist. He went on to refer to a “very well-known” acrylic expert, Jerry D. Stachiw, who wrote an eleven-hundred-page manual called “Handbook of Acrylics for Submersibles, Hyperbaric Chambers, and Aquaria.” “It has safety factors that—they were so high, he didn’t call ’em safety factors. He called ’em conversion factors,” Rush said. “According to the rules,” he added, his viewport was “not allowed.”

It seemed as if Rush believed that acrylic’s transparent quality would give him ample warning before failure. “You can see every surface,” he said. “And if you’ve overstressed it, or you’ve even come close, it starts to get this crazing effect.”

“And if that happened underwater . . .”

“You just stop and go to the surface.”

“You would have time to get back up?” Pogue asked.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s way more warning than you need.”

John Ramsay, who has designed several acrylic-hulled submersibles, was less sure. “You’ll probably never be able to find out the source of failure” of the Titan, he told me, in a recent phone call from his cottage in southwest England. But it seems as though Rush did not understand how acrylic limits are calculated. “Where Stockton is talking about those things called conversion factors . . .”

Ramsay grabbed a copy of Stachiw’s acrylic handbook from his spare bedroom. When Stachiw’s team was doing its tests, “they would pressurize it really fast, the acrylic would implode, and then they would assign a conversion factor, to tabulate a safe diving depth,” he explained. “So let’s say the sample imploded at twelve hundred metres. You apply a conversion factor of six, and you get a rating of two hundred metres.” He paused, and spoke slowly, to make sure I understood the gravity of what followed. “It’s specifically not called a safety factor, because the acrylic is not safe to twelve hundred metres,” he said. “I’ve got a massive report on all of this, because we’ve just had to reverse engineer all of Jerry Statchiw’s work to determine when our own acrylic will fail.” The risk zone begins at about twice the depth rating.

According to David Lochridge’s court filings, from 2018, Cyclops II’s viewport had a depth rating of only thirteen hundred metres, approximately one-third of Titanic’s depth. It is possible that this had changed by the time passengers finally dived. But, Lochridge’s lawyer wrote, OceanGate “refused to pay for the manufacturer to build a viewport that would meet the required depth.”

In May, Rush invited Victor Vescovo to join his Titanic expedition. “I turned him down,” Vescovo told me. “I didn’t even want the appearance that I was sanctioning his operation.” But his friend—the British billionaire Hamish Harding, whom Vescovo had previously taken in the Limiting Factor to the bottom of the Mariana Trench—signed up to be a “mission specialist.”

On the morning of June 18th, Rush climbed inside the Titan, along with Harding, the British Pakistani businessman Shahzada Dawood, and his nineteen-year-old son, Suleman, who had reportedly told a relative that he was terrified of diving in a submersible but would do so anyway, because it was Father’s Day. He carried with him a Rubik’s Cube so that he could solve it in front of the Titanic wreck. The fifth diver was P. H. Nargeolet, the Titanic expert—Vescovo’s former safety adviser, Lahey and McCallum’s old shipmate and friend. He had been working with OceanGate for at least a year as a wreck navigator, historian, and guide.

The force of the implosion would have been so violent that everyone on board would have died before the water touched their bodies.

For the Five Deeps crew, Nargeolet’s legacy is complicated by the circumstances of his final dives. “I had a conversation with P. H. just as recently as a few months ago,” Lahey told me. “I kept giving him shit for going out there. I said, ‘P. H., by you being out there, you legitimize what this guy’s doing. It’s a tacit endorsement. And, worse than that, I think he’s using your involvement with the project, and your presence on the site, as a way to fucking lure people into it.’ ”

Nargeolet replied that he was getting old. He was a grieving widower, and, as he told people several times in recent years, “if you have to go, that would be a good way. Instant.”

“I said, ‘O.K., so you’re ready to fucking die? Is that what it is, P. H.?’ ” Lahey recalled. “And he said, ‘No, no, but I figure that, maybe if I’m out there, I can help them avoid a tragedy.’ But instead he found himself right in the fucking center of a tragedy. And he didn’t deserve to go that way.”

“I loved P. H. Nargeolet,” Lahey continued. He started choking up. “He was a brilliant human being and somebody that I had the privilege of knowing for almost twenty-five years, and I think it’s a tremendously sad way for him to have ended his life.”

Lahey dived the Titanic in the Limiting Factor during the Five Deeps expedition, back in 2019. I remember him climbing out of the submersible and being upset at the fact that we were even there. “It’s a mess down there,” he recalled, this week. “It’s a tragic fucking place. And in some ways, you know, people paying all that money to go and fly around in a fucking graveyard . . .” He trailed off. But the loss of so much life, in 1912, set in motion new regulations and improvements for safety at sea. “And so I guess, on a positive note, you can look at that as having been a difficult and tragic lesson that probably has since saved hundreds of thousands of lives,” he said.

OceanGate declined to comment. But, in 2021, Stockton Rush told an interviewer that he would “like to be remembered as an innovator. I think it was General MacArthur who said, ‘You’re remembered for the rules you break.’ And I’ve broken some rules to make this.” He was sitting in the Titan’s hull, docked in the Port of St. John’s, the nearest port to the site where he eventually died. “The carbon fibre and titanium? There’s a rule you don’t do that. Well, I did.” ♦

— Ben Taub, A Staff Writer, is the recipient of the 2020 Pulitzer Prize for feature writing. His 2018 reporting on Iraq won a National Magazine Award and a George Polk Award.

[sbnkalny]

She's dying,

She is burned from the waist up,

On her arm,

Her ear is burned,

Her eyelashes are burned,

She can't hold things up,

And even with medical advances,

There's no end in sight,

For hamburger lady,

She's been taken aboard our ship, the albatross. From the waist and a green abdomen and neck. its th. When clients ask me to make an arm, I too am a spy. Uhh I dunno Man, I am talking directly into your Ear. Move it, make IT, The shit's stuck! out my Way son! door stuck! door stuck! please! i beg you spare her. No, she can't hold that thing off... Why did you wait two weeks ago And, thanks to medical advances, there is no more solace for you in. There is no end in sight;. Does doomybot is a punk ass bitch when he decided to mooch right after we fed him the Hamburger lady, and because of its stealth and speed

[demonsandmischief]

106 (Part 2)

Marvel - A Captain America Imagine

Steve Rogers x Female Reader

800 Words

Here's Part 1

-Part 2-

The future becomes more certain.

----

"I am in need of some calm," Steve said, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Space, time travel, losing people I loved, it was all a lot to handle at once."

You sympathized with his confession. "My mom died a few weeks before I blipped, but my dad supposedly got sick while I was gone."

"I'm sorry," he said genuinely. "I can't imagine how that feels."

"I can't imagine what you've seen, what you've gone through," you shook your head. The last few years seemed to be nothing but pain for the world. It was a heavy burden to carry.

"And yet, right now, makes it all seem worth it," he said with a soft whisper, the same slight smile brightening his solemn features.

You could feel your face heat at his sweet words. His deep drawl healing away all of today's problems.

"You said you had a place outside of the city?" Steve asked.

"Just a small apartment. Where do you live?"

He gave a deep sigh, a crooked smile on his face as he soaked you in, "I don't know that I have a place. I crash everywhere. I was on the run after the Sokovia accords, and then I was so busy after."

You knew what he was getting at and you smiled. "You could always stay with me, if you'd like?"

"I'd never want to put you out."

"You wouldn't be. I would enjoy having someone around."

He reached out to run his rough, calloused hand down your face. It was almost like he couldn't believe you were real.

----

It had been a few weeks. Steve stayed at your place with you. Even for what little work he did have, he didn't stray far.

You still couldn't find a job, and you were quickly eating through your savings and the money your parent's had left you.

The two of you were eating a quiet dinner when Steve spoke up, "If you could live anywhere, where would it be?"

You hummed, swirling your spoon around, "I'd like to have some land, have some animals and a garden or something."

"Sounds like a quiet life," he whispered, and you looked up, wondering where he was getting at. "I thought the guy who wanted all of that went in the ice, but then..."

"Where are you going with this, Steve?" you asked him.

"The government has offered me a pardon for what happened all those years ago, and they're also offering to pay for my retirement."

You reached for his hand across the table and he laced your fingers. "But you don't want to retire, do you?"

"Retirement wouldn't mean I stopped working. I could accept this money, and still do my own thing privately."

You stacked your dishes and carried them to the sink. "That would probably mean giving up the Captain America mantle though."

He shrugged, and you could tell what he was thinking. He had already parted ways with it.

"I want to be more than Captain America," he said it so softly that the clanging of dishes nearly covered it.

He held out his arms and you tucked yourself into his chest.

"You are more than that," you mumbled, rubbing his back. "Especially to me."

He kissed the crown of your head. "We would be set with this money though. It's a very generous amount. We could get that little farm you want."

You pulled away, finding his haunted blue eyes. "Steve..." you whispered.

"I want to buy a home with you."

You reached up to cup his face, "You're so sweet, you know that? But I don't want you accepting the offer because of me. We can figure something else out."

He leaned down to brush his lips with yours, "I don't want to figure anything else out. You're all I want, honey. I mean maybe, later on, I'd like a kid or two." He grinned cheekily.

"Or three," you smiled.

Steve kissed you fiercely, "Or four."

"I'm going to stop you there," you chuckled, kissing his cheek and nuzzling his neck.

Your thoughts started to run with dreams, dreams with Steve and dreams of family. The future had always been uncertain for you, but maybe things could look up.

He gave a wistful sigh, "Besides, I know the perfect man for taking up the mantle. I think I deserve this, the simple life, with you."

"You know I'll support you no matter what. Whatever you choose, it doesn't make you any less of a person."

He rested his head on top of yours, a soft I love you floating from his lips and swelling your heart.

The End

----

Tags: @bklynxbaby @sammyirwin24

[randomposterofstuff]

Soldiers by Choice - Chapter XXV

Author's Note: Here's Chapter 25! I hope that you guys like it!

Tumblr Chapters List can be found here.

This story is also available on Ao3! Click on the link below!

Chapter 25: Vouchers and Children

Summary: Mikasa encounters the widow of a fallen comrade. Later that night, she tells Levi about the encounter.

Year 849 (9th Month – Week 3)

---

The afternoon sun starts to descend, sending red-orange streams of light through the open windows of the fortress as Mikasa walks down the hallway with a small storage box in one hand. As she turns a corner, she suddenly hears a frustrated yell.

“Finally! Took you long enough!”

The female captain pauses when she sees an elderly man storm out of a doorway at the far end of the hall. The man angrily stuffs a sealed envelope into his old satchel bag as he walks and turns left down the corridor leading to the exit.

Mikasa then makes her way to the doorway the man came out from. Upon entering, she sees Lyenne, Gelgar, Thomas, and Nifa seated at four desks – the first two are set up near the right side of the room and the other two on the left side.

“Rough day?” Mikasa prompts, seeing the tired and worn looks on their faces.

"You can say that," Gelgar says, folding his arms over his desk and resting his head on them. "Many of the claimants for today's schedule blew up at us. And many of them also broke down while we were issuing the vouchers," he then sighs heavily, his frown deepening, "Seeing those families in so much pain is always hard."

"I could sense that a lot of today's beneficiaries had pent-up frustration," Thomas remarks, leaning back heavily against his chair, "They're probably still processing their grief. So, when they came here, it all spilled over – and some expressed it through being angry and some through crying."

“Well, that’s understandable,” Lyenne says, rubbing her face wearily, “This batch of beneficiaries are family members of soldiers who died just a few months ago, so the grief is still pretty raw.”

“And collecting death benefits is just a reminder of their loss,” Nifa says, arranging the papers on her desk with a solemn look, “Even though the money is meant to help them, it’s hardly fair compensation for what they lost.”

Mikasa sighs. “No, it definitely isn’t.”

Every three months, the Survey Corps regularly doles out monetary vouchers to family beneficiaries of soldiers who had died in past expeditions. The Royal Treasury allocates budgets for death benefits but does not hand the actual money to any military branches. The government policy is that the regiments give out vouchers representing the monetary value of the pensions and benefits, which the beneficiaries can cash in at the banks. The vouchers are placed in sealed envelopes, with the names of the recipients and the names of the soldiers who passed written on them.

The task is never pleasant and always grim; many beneficiaries often make grief-driven outbursts during the collection process. However, Survey Corps soldiers who are assigned to hand out the vouchers never lash out or make any retort – they just accept the verbal abuse stoically, understanding that the pain of the families left behind is intensely great.

“Are you here to collect today’s unclaimed vouchers, Captain Mikasa?” Nifa asks, opening a drawer.

It's not uncommon for many vouchers to go unclaimed on the day they are scheduled to be released. Some beneficiaries cannot claim them due to circumstances such as their work schedules, illness, and the like. The Survey Corps retains all unclaimed vouchers from a specific schedule for safekeeping until the beneficiaries claim them.

“I am,” Mikasa nods, “Erwin told me to hand them over to him after he, Hange, and Levi return from Mitras. I also need the acknowledgment of receipt sheets."

The four soldiers then compile the unclaimed vouchers and the acknowledgment sheets on their respective desks. Mikasa goes around the room to collect them, holding out the storage box so the others can place the sealed envelopes and clipped papers in it. Once done, Mikasa thanks her comrades before leaving.

---

Once inside her and Levi’s office, Mikasa sets the box on her desk before sitting in her chair. She then takes the envelopes and papers out. She stacks the acknowledgment sheets on one side of her desk before sorting out the envelopes alphabetically.

Just as she’s through the surnames starting with the letter ‘E’, she hears a knock on the door.

Knock. Knock. ���Hello?” comes a timid female voice.

“Come in.”

The door opens to reveal a middle-aged woman in a long dark-brown dress. The visitor has light brown hair tied into a messy ponytail and a small sling bag on her left shoulder. In her arms is a small boy, dozing soundly against her right shoulder. Mikasa guesses that the boy is around three years old based on his size.

“Good afternoon, Ma’am,” Mikasa greets the visitor, setting the envelopes down. “Can I help you with something?”

“Yes. Good afternoon, Captain Mikasa,” the woman greets with a small smile as she closes the office door. “My name is Martha Kelvey. I’m here to claim my benefits voucher," she explains. She adjusts her hold on her sleeping son before taking a few hesitant steps forward, "I … hope I can still claim it today. I know that it's already beyond the usual business hours…."

"Of course, you can," Mikasa assures with a firm nod. "Please, come in."

Mrs. Kelvey smiles at the invitation and walks toward the female captain’s desk. Mikasa immediately sifts through the envelopes, searching for the surname ‘Kelvey”. She eventually sees one with the following written inscription on the back:

Beneficiary:

Kelvey, Martha

314 Rivers Street, Trost District

Wife of:

Kelvey, Harvey

Team Leader

Team 2

Fourth Division

Survey Corps Regiment

Date of Death:

25th day, 7th Month, Year 849

“Ma’am, I would just like to confirm if your husband was Team Leader Harvey Kelvey,” Mikasa states, lifting her head to address the other woman.

A sad gleam enters Mrs. Kelvey’s eyes as she responds. “He was.”

“Then this voucher is for you,” Mikasa says quietly, holding out the envelope.

With her right arm supporting her sleeping child, Mrs. Kelvey uses her left hand to take the envelope. She then flips the flap of her sling bag with the same hand and places the envelope inside.

“I need you to sign this acknowledgment of receipt sheet for our records,” Mikasa states, sifting through the thin pile of papers. Once she finds the correct sheet, she takes it from the stack and places it in front of Mrs. Kelvey. “Just write your name and place your signature next to your husband’s name," Mikasa explains, putting a pen next to the paper.

Mrs. Kelvey leans over and examines the sheet of paper. There are two columns on it – the first contains the names of soldiers whose pensions and benefits were being claimed; the second is a series of blank spaces for the beneficiaries to write their names and sign their signatures. Mrs. Kelvey notices that most of the blanks have already been signed. She spots her husband’s name quickly since the adjoining blank next to it is still blank. Once she signs her name, she slides the pen and paper back to Mikasa.

“Thank you, Mrs. Kelvey,” Mikasa says. Once she places the sheet of paper back in the pile, she quietly stands from behind her desk, surprising her visitor.

“Before you leave, I would just like to take this opportunity to say that the Survey Corps is deeply grateful for your husband’s service,” Mikasa says quietly, clasping her hands respectfully as she meets the other’s woman’s gaze directly. “I did not know Team Leader Kelvey personally. But I know it takes great courage to fight for our Regiment. And for that alone, he already had mine and the Corps’ deepest respect. My fellow soldiers and I are truly sorry for your loss.”

Mrs. Kelvey’s eyes glisten at the sincerity in the female captain’s voice. “Thank you,” she says quietly, holding her son even closer to her.

Mikasa nods in response. Even after Mrs. Kelvey turns around to head for the door, she remains standing. The older woman is about halfway to the door when she suddenly stops.

Mikasa’s brows raise in confusion. “Mrs. Kelvey? Is something wrong?”

Mrs. Kelvey slowly turns around to face the captain again.

"I… uhm... I…" she trails off when she starts to sway in place. A second later, her eyes begin to flutter.

"Mrs. Kelvey!" Mikasa instantly moves from her desk and goes to the woman. The female captain places her hands on Mrs. Kelvey, steadying her before she can fall. The other woman regains her footing and shakes her head to become more alert before re-adjusting her hold on her son, who is still sleeping.

“You almost fainted. You should sit down,” Mikasa states, noting that her visitor looks slightly pale. With one arm around Mrs. Kelvey, the female captain guides her to the divan on the other side of the room.

“I’m so sorry about that, Captain,” Mrs. Kelvey says as they reach the divan, “I’d been working all day at my tailor shop. And I’ve been so busy that I forgot to eat lunch.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Mikasa replies, helping the woman to sit, “But you really should eat something.”

Once her visitors are settled, Mikasa makes her way to the stove on the other side of the room. She opens the overhead cupboard and takes a teacup, a tea tin, and a biscuit tin. She then places a tea bag into the cup and pours water from the kettle on the stove. The water is no longer hot; it has been two hours since it was prepared, but it is still mildly warm. Once the teacup is full, Mikasa grabs it and the biscuit tin and returns to the divan.

“Please have some tea,” Mikasa says, placing the cup on the table fronting the divan, “And some biscuits,” she adds, opening the tin to reveal an array of biscuits.

Mrs. Kelvey looks bashful at the offer. “Oh, my. Thank you so much, Captain Mikasa. I’m very sorry to trouble you like this.”

“Again, you have nothing to apologize for,” Mikasa states, sitting next to her. “Please eat and drink.”

At the prompting, Mrs. Kelvey grabs a biscuit with her left hand, taking care to secure her son with her right arm. Once she swallows, she takes a drink of the tea before grabbing another biscuit. As she continues to eat and drink, Mikasa notices that she is starting to look less pale, with more color now circulating in her cheeks.

“I feel so much better now,” Mrs. Kelvey states after her eighth biscuit. She drinks from the cup one last time, draining it of all the tea. “Thank you again, Captain,” she says, turning to Mikasa with a grateful smile. “Not just for the food and drink, but also for steadying me earlier. If you didn’t, then I would’ve crashed down and hurt Mark,” she adds, shifting her gaze to her son and wrapping both arms around him.

“Of course. I’m glad to have been of help,” Mikasa nods. “Now, I believe that there was something that you wanted to tell me earlier,” she says, referring to how Mrs. Kelvey was about to say something before she had a near-fainting spell.

Mrs. Kelvey’s smile fades as an uncertain look crosses her face. “Oh, yes… I---,” she trails off again, looking away from the captain as she ruminates on her words.

Mikasa simply sits quietly, waiting for the other woman to continue speaking.

"I--- was wondering if…." Mrs. Kelvey faces the captain again, "… if… if…” as she struggles to get her words out, tears start to form in her eyes. She raises her left hand to wipe them away.

“’If’ what, Mrs. Kelvey?” Mikasa asks in a quiet and patient voice.

Mrs. Kelvey takes a shuddering breath to compose herself. She closes her eyes as she inhales and exhales until she feels calmer.

“I… was wondering… if my husband contributed anything at all,” Mrs. Kelvey eventually states, opening her watery and slightly red eyes.

Mikasa is about to respond, but she stops herself when the older woman turns to look at the floor.

“You see, Harvey used to be a Garrison soldier before he transferred to the Survey Corps,” Mrs. Kelvey explains, sniffling as she wipes another errant tear away. “He was on duty at Shiganshina when Wall Maria was breached. He was injured, but he survived. And while he was recovering, he spoke about feeling guilty.

“Harvey was a wonderful husband to me. He was also a good father to Mark. But he wasn’t… the most responsible soldier at the time,” Mrs. Kelvey states, “Like most of his fellow Garrison officers, he didn’t take his duties seriously. He didn’t drink heavily on duty like the others, but he never turned down an opportunity to play cards or to take naps. He was actually called ‘the snorer’ because he slept most of the time,” a fond smile breaks through Mrs. Kelvey’s morose expression, and Mikasa sees a nostalgic gleam in her teary eyes.

"Speaking of which, Harvey told me that he was actually taking a nap when the breach happened," Mrs. Kelvey continues to narrate, her slight smile fading away. "He was sleeping at the guard tower of the Inner Wall when a strong rumbling shook him awake. When he finally came to, the first thing he saw was the large hole in the Outer Wall and Titans roaming the streets. His fellow Garrison soldiers were squabbling about what to do while civilians were running and screaming. He said he felt so confused and scared that he didn't know what to do. The next thing he knew, a large Titan smashed through the Inner Gate.”

Mikasa presses her lips tightly as her own memories of the breach flash through her mind. She recalls seeing the Armored Titan rampaging down the streets, unaffected by canon fire, before destroying the Inner Gate. Thankfully, the last loaded ships had already left the docks before any more civilians could be injured.

Mrs. Kelvey takes a deep breath before continuing. “He was hit by some debris, but there wasn’t any permanent damage. But it was clear that he felt awful for not being able to do more during the breach. I remember him saying that if only he and the rest of the Garrison were actually prepared, then maybe the damage wouldn’t have been so bad.”

The captain exhales silently at that. Indeed, the Garrison's complacency and lack of vigilance at the time significantly contributed to the damages that were sustained. If there had been proper action and planning, more civilians could have been saved.

“Harvey became more serious and diligent after that. But when the government’s plan to retake Wall Maria failed, he decided that he could do more if he became a Survey Corps soldier…."

Mrs. Kelvey trails off again as fresh tears form in her eyes.

"I told him that he could already do much with the Garrison. I tried to convince him not to transfer by pointing out that the Garrison was improving… But he said that we need to take back the lands they stole from us and that the Titans need to be stopped as soon as possible. He argued that no one knows if another breach will happen, so the smart thing to do would be to act as soon and as fast as possible.”

As Mrs. Kelvey continues to speak, the tears start to trail down her cheeks.

“But I told him that our son needs his father… Mark was born to us in the summer of Year 846,” she sobs. She takes a moment to gaze at her son and wrap her arms more tightly around him. Even with tears swimming in her eyes, Mikasa can see the older woman's love for her child. The captain then looks at the boy; little Mark Kelvey is still dozing soundly against his mother’s shoulder, unaware of what’s happening.

“But Harvey countered by saying that Mark was his biggest inspiration for joining the Survey Corps…." Mrs. Kelvey cries softly, "He said he wanted to help make the world a better place for Mark to live in. He wanted to ensure that Mark could grow up without being afraid that Titans might take away his home someday."

Mrs. Kelvey presses a kiss on the top of her son’s head. She pauses to lightly stroke the boy’s hair.

"I still tried to talk him out of it. I told him that the Survey Corps' current top priority is reclaiming Wall Maria, which would take years to accomplish. I told him it'll be long before the Corps can even think about eradicating Titans altogether. But Harvey was adamant. He said that it was only right for the Corps to first focus on getting our lands back. ‘Martha, the Titans already took over the rest of the world beyond the Walls. Letting them keep Wall Maria would be letting them win!’ Those were his words to me. He said it would be a long and hard battle, but he was willing to fight it. Both for humanity… and our family.”

At this point, more tears leak through the corners of Mrs. Kelvey’s eyes, and she does not try to wipe them away. Instead, she just lets them fall.

“Harvey was so sure. He had that determined look in his eyes that said that he wasn't going to change his mind. So, I did the only thing I could: let him join the Survey Corps and hope that he comes back to us every time after every expedition.”

Mrs. Kelvey then takes another shuddering breath as she lifts her gaze from her son’s head. Mikasa sits a bit straighter when the grieving widow sets her hurt and tear-stricken eyes on her.

“Captain Mikasa, I will be honest. I cannot even begin to imagine how dangerous it must be for the Survey Corps to fight Titans regularly,” Mrs. Kelvey says softly, understanding shining through her cloud of grief.

“But even so… I sometimes can’t help but think that… Harvey d-died for n-n-nothing…” her voice cracks, no longer able to maintain any composure. “I—I  don’t mean to disrespect the Corps or… to *sobs* insult my husband’s memory… but H-Harvey died before the Survey Corps could even accomplish its main goals. *sniffles* The Titans are s-still roaming around… and W-Wall Maria is still un-reclaimed.”

Mrs. Kelvey blinks away the tears swimming in her eyes, too emotionally drained to reach up and wipe them with her hand.

“So… I wonder… what were all of his efforts for? Does his death mean anything? Did my son lose his father for nothing?”

The pain, disappointment, and frustration are evident in her voice. The grieving widow then opens her eyes again, and Mikasa’s heart wrenches. Through the layers of pain in Mrs. Kelvey’s eyes, Mikasa also sees a pleading look in them. The captain has seen that look before – it’s the hopeless look of a person seeking to make sense of painful loss.

“Mrs. Kelvey…” Mikasa addresses the older woman, speaking softly. “I understand what you're feeling. I would also feel hurt, disappointed, and frustrated if I were in your place. Your frustrations and sentiments are valid, and they are not disrespectful to the Survey Corps at all. Nor are they an insult to Team Leader Harvey’s memory.”

The older woman’s pained expression shifts at this, and she turns in her seat to face the captain more fully.

“I would also like to say that I appreciate you trying to understand us despite your grief,” Mikasa says, tone calm and soothing. “It is true that reclaiming Wall Maria is the first priority right now. Team Leader Harvey correctly said that taking back our lost lands first is crucial. Losing Wall Maria and its lands was a huge blow for humanity – morally, logistically, and economically. Even though nearly 4 years have passed since the breach, there are still prevalent economic problems within the kingdom. So, as it stands, we must fight for our lands so that humanity can thrive.”

Mikasa is aware that other people might think that she is being defensive. However, she believes that explaining the significance of the reclamation operation might alleviate some of Mrs. Kelvey's pain.

Before the breach 4 years ago, there was a steady flow of trade and business between and among the three Walls. As such, the loss of Wall Maria and its vast lands resulted in significant economic losses. With the Titan infestation, districts and towns located within Wall Maria had to be evacuated, with the evacuees sent to live inside the other two Walls. Consequently, businesses, trades, and natural resources were abandoned – all of which led to supply shortages, mass unemployment, and inflated prices within Wall Rose and Wall Sheena.

The economic situation has improved considerably in the past few years. However, many people are still unemployed, impoverished, and hungry.

“Once that is accomplished, then the Survey Corps will focus its energy on eradicating the Titans for good and expanding humanity’s territory to reach beyond the three Walls,” Mikasa continues to explain, “But taking Wall Maria back is easier said than done. To say that reclaiming it is difficult is a gross understatement. The thousands of acres of land beyond Wall Rose are infested with countless Titans. The Titans easily outnumber the Survey Corps by hundreds, if not thousands. Even so, we try our best to make do with our limited manpower and resources.”

The captain’s own words cause her to recall past expeditions, and she lapses into a pause. For a quick moment, scenes of Titans breaking through formations and comrades being eaten while still on horseback play in her mind. But she forces herself to momentarily set aside the unpleasant recollections so that she can focus on the current conversation.

“I admit that our progress rate is not the most impressive,” Mikasa states plainly, her expression serious. “But we manage to get further with every mission and expedition, even if it's only by a handful of miles. The victories we get may seem small to most people, but we do not take them for granted. Because every step forward is proof that there’s still hope for a better future.

“That being said, every victory is only possible because of the work of everyone involved. Not even the most powerful soldier can take back Wall Maria on their own. Our strength comes in numbers. The Survey Corps is absolutely nothing without the collective efforts of every man and woman who is brave enough to step forward and face the dangers head-on. The credit for any and all progress goes to all our members, especially those who gave their lives for the cause.”

The air around them is quiet but not tense. Mikasa speaks solemnly, with no traces of false modesty, sarcasm, or anything derisive in her tone. There’s also a sober earnestness in the captain's gaze, and Mrs. Kelvey finds that she cannot look away.

“Nothing that we can say or do will take away your pain or bring your husband back,” Mikasa admits, expression empathic. “But we promise you that the Survey Corps won't let his death be in vain. We will take back Wall Maria. And we will eradicate the Titans one day.”

Mikasa slowly raises her right hand, clenching it into a fist and placing it over her chest.

“On my word as a captain of the Survey Corps, we won’t stop until we succeed.”

A myriad of emotions dance on Mrs. Kelvey’s face, and fresh tears start to form in her eyes.

“I --- I ---I…." Mrs. Kelvey stammers, momentarily overwhelmed by her feelings, “I had no idea how badly I needed to hear that.”

The tears then fall down her cheeks, and the widow cries softly, holding her son close. Only this time, the tears are caused by something else other than grief.

“Ever since I received the notification that Harvey died, I kept wondering if his death meant anything. Losing him still hurts… but…."

Mrs. Kelvey raises her eyes to the captain again. “… I’m glad that his efforts weren’t for nothing. And that his sacrifices will be honored... I feel a bit better now...” she sniffles as a watery smile breaks across her face, “Thank you, Captain.”

Mikasa nods, smiling tentatively. “Of course,” she says, placing her fist down.

A few seconds later, little Mark Kelvey stirs in his mother’s arms. The two women watch as the small boy lifts his head from his mother’s shoulder.

“It looks like someone’s finally awake,” Mrs. Kelvey chuckles, fondly rubbing the back of her son's head. “Our Mark has always been a heavy sleeper.”

The solemn atmosphere considerably lightens when Mrs. Kelvey’s watery eyes brighten with obvious affection as she watches her still sleepy-faced son rouse from his nap.

Little Mark blinks his eyes, still not fully alert. “Mommy?”

“I’m here, sweetie.”

When Mark blinks the last remnants of sleep away, he finally notices the tears on his mother’s face.

“Why are you crying, Mommy?” he asks, reaching up to wipe a tear away from her cheek. “Did something bad happen?”

Mrs. Kelvey smiles as she shakes her head. “No, sweetie. Nothing bad happened. I was just talking about your daddy with Captain Mikasa over here,” she explains, quickly shifting her gaze to the younger woman, “and I just suddenly missed him extra after we finished talking.”

Mark follows the direction of his mother’s gaze and turns around in her arms. His eyes widen upon seeing the captain, not having noticed her until now.

“Oh, hi!” Mark exclaims, surprised. “Sorry! I didn’t see you!”

Mikasa smiles. “It’s okay.”

“My name is Mark,” the little boy says, smiling as he holds out a tiny hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you, pretty lady.”

Mikasa laughs lightly. “Nice to meet you, too, Mark. I’m Captain Mikasa,” she says, using her thumb and index finger to shake the proffered hand.

“It looks like he likes you, Captain,” Mrs. Kelvey remarks, voice teasing.

Mark’s face instantly turns red. “Mommy! It’s not like that!” he insists, huffing as he turns back to his mother.

Mrs. Kelvey laughs. “There’s no harm in having a crush, sweetie.”

“Mommy!” Mark exclaims, face turning even redder.

The young boy then crosses his arms and looks down at the floor, clearly embarrassed. Mrs. Kelvey just smiles and starts poking his cheeks, playfully asking him to give her a big smile. Mark tries to resist at first, but he eventually gives in, turning to his mother with a large grin.

Mikasa feels a warmth bloom inside her at the sight of the two Kelveys. A gentle smile forms on her face at the display of familial love and happiness.

And as she continues watching the mother and son pair interact, she starts to wonder what it would be like to raise a family with Levi.

---

- A FEW HOURS LATER -

The page rustles as Levi uses his thumb to turn it so that he can read the next paragraph in his book. As his eyes scan the paper, Mikasa idly taps a finger against his left arm, which is loosely wrapped around her waist. She’s curled up against his side, resting her head on his shoulder and absentmindedly gazing at the ceiling. Meanwhile, Levi uses his other arm to hold up the book.

Earlier in the morning, Levi left with Erwin and Hange to go to Mitras for the third quarterly audit meeting with Premier Zackly. After spending most of the day in a conference room, the three officers returned to their headquarters a couple of hours ago, just as the sky had turned dark.

After winding up last-minute office work, Levi and Mikasa are now in Levi's room, dressed for bed and lying against the headboard of his bed. Ever since they first slept together, the pair had started to spend every night together – whether it be to make love or simply lie in bed together. Sometimes, they spend the night in Mikasa's room, and sometimes they spend it in Levi's room.

Levi is halfway through the page when Mikasa calls out to him.

“Levi?” she says his name softly, turning her head to him.

“Yeah?” he asks, eyes still on his book.

“I have something I want to ask you.”

Levi hears the serious tone in her voice, and he folds one corner of the page before closing the book shut and placing it on his nightstand.

“What is it?” he turns to her, giving her his full attention.

Mikasa takes a moment before speaking again.

“Have you ever thought about having children?”

Levi blinks once. “Children?” he repeats, briefly going over the question in his mind.

After a second, a realization comes to him, and his eyes widen considerably.

“Did I get you pregnant?” Levi blurts out, placing his free hand on her stomach and shifting his gaze to it.

The pair have made love countless times ever since their first night together. However, Mikasa always makes sure that she takes the contraceptive tonic after every tryst. Now, his mind tries to think of plausible reasons that would explain how a woman can get pregnant despite drinking the tonic.

They had never talked about children before, although, in the back of Levi's mind, he knew that it was a discussion that they would eventually have someday. But it looks like they will have this talk much sooner than he expected.

Mikasa’s own eyes widen, realizing that her question gave the wrong impression.

“No!” she exclaims, covering his hand on her stomach with hers.

“I’m not pregnant,” she assures, pressing his hand further into her abdomen to emphasize that nothing is growing inside her. “The contraceptive tonic is as effective as it has ever been.”

“Oh,” Levi breathes out deeply. The surge of anxious anticipation from earlier fades at her assurance, and he suddenly feels stupid for jumping to conclusions.

“I’m sorry,” Mikasa says, brushing the top of his hand, “I didn’t mean to give you that impression.”

Levi shakes his head, “No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have jumped the gun like that.”

A silence then fills the air, and the awkwardness and surprise of the moment dissipate when the couple takes a moment to gather their thoughts.

“So, why the question about kids?” Levi eventually asks, clasping Mikasa’s hand. “Since we’ve already talked about marriage, I knew we'd probably talk about kids at some point. But why ask about it now?”

Mikasa smiles slightly. It’s a fair question. With their positions in the Survey Corps and the regiment’s current need for as much manpower as possible, Mikasa has not thought much about having children, not even after Levi proposed to her.

But after meeting the Kelleys that afternoon, she found herself contemplating the idea.

“I started thinking about children after I met a widow who came to me to claim the voucher for her husband’s pension and benefits,” Mikasa answers honestly, recalling her conversation with Martha Kelvey.

Levi raises a brow. “I didn’t know that Erwin assigned you to voucher-releasing duty today.”

“He didn't,” Mikasa responds, “but he did ask me to hold all unclaimed vouchers for safekeeping until they’re turned over to him. After I collected the vouchers, Mrs. Kelvey – the widow I was talking about, came to our office with her son, Mark. Mark was asleep on her shoulder when she arrived,” she explains, shifting her gaze to the bedsheets around their waists as she tells the story. “Anyway, she asked if she could claim her voucher even though it was already past business hours. I told her that she could.”

Levi listens as Mikasa recounts her conversation with Mrs. Kelvey. His girlfriend describes how the widow nearly fainted from hunger due to working all day and forgetting to eat. She then narrates how Mrs. Kelvey shared the story of her late husband. Levi listens to the details of how Harvey Kelvey was once an undisciplined Garrison soldier who became a dedicated member of the Survey Corps after seeing first-hand the havoc brought upon by the Titans during the breach 4 years ago. He listens attentively when Mikasa explains that their fallen comrade was especially inspired to join the Survey Corps after his son was born.

And when Mikasa delves into the details of Mrs. Kelvey’s grief – how the widow felt disappointed and frustrated while trying to make sense of her husband’s death, Levi feels a surge of sympathy for the family their comrade left behind. Even though he never met the grieving woman, Levi can already sense her pain from Mikasa’s second-hand account.

In the back of his mind, Levi thinks that he has always considered slaying Titans easier than facing their fallen comrades' grieving families.

Levi then hears how Mikasa was able to alleviate some of the widow's grief by promising her that the Corps would honor their comrade's death by not allowing his sacrifice to be in vain. Levi nods in concurrence, silently re-affirming his resolve to keep fighting.

And then, the story shifts to how young Mark Kelvey woke up just as Mikasa and Mrs. Kelvey were wrapping up the conversation. At that moment, Levi notices a soft, pensive look enter Mikasa’s eyes.

“Little Mark had been sleeping in mother’s arms for most of our conversation, and he woke up just when we were wrapping up,” Mikasa explains, tone becoming softer. “He noticed that his mother had been crying and asked what was wrong. Mrs. Kelvey said that nothing was wrong and that she had just been talking with me.”

A smile then breaks out on her face. “Mark didn’t notice that I was there, so he was surprised when he saw me. He then gave me a sweet smile and called me a 'pretty lady' when he introduced himself. Mrs. Kelvey teased him by saying that he probably had a crush on me, and Mark blushed while denying it.

“His mother kept teasing him, and Mark's face became redder, and he turned away from her with a huff," Mikasa laughs lightly, "Mrs. Kelvey just laughed and poked his cheeks while asking him to give her a big smile. Mark resisted initially, but he caved in and turned to her with a large grin.”

Mikasa then takes a breath, a fond smile on her face. “I found the sight of them heartwarming," she admits. “Seeing Mrs. Kelvey being so happy and loving with her son like that… it made me think that it must be wonderful to have a family of your own.

“It’s odd,” Mikasa says suddenly, a hint of realization and a bit of humor in her tone, “I was happy while growing up with my own parents. But it took seeing another family being happy to make me think this.”

She then turns her gaze back to Levi, who has been listening quietly.

“I… hope that I’m making sense,” she says a bit sheepishly.

Levi nods. “You are,” he assures, wrapping his arm around her more firmly and bringing her closer.

“I can understand the appeal of having children,” Levi states. “But it’s a big decision to make. Having kids isn’t just about giving birth to them. It’s also about raising them. And that’s a serious responsibility. It’s not a choice that should be made lightly.

“And to be honest…” he trails off, voice becoming quiet, “… having kids is not a priority for me right now,” he admits. “With both of us being Survey Corps soldiers, I don't think it'd be fair to any kids we might have."

Mikasa sighs, nodding her head. Considering the always-present risk of death that follows them, it truly wouldn’t be fair to their children.

“I understand your point,” she tells him, voice likewise quiet, “I never even considered children before today. After all, it wouldn’t be wise for me to fight if I’m carrying a child inside me,” she jests with a slight smile, and even Levi makes an amused sound.

"But in all seriousness, I wouldn't want to bring a child into this world unless I'm sure that they can live happily and safely," Mikasa says, becoming more solemn, "I also wouldn't want to give birth to children only to leave them behind as orphans if both of us die.”

Mikasa then shifts her gaze downwards again. She bites her lip, mulling over the next question she wants to ask him.

“But assuming, if, during our lifetimes, we manage to eradicate all of the Titans…." Mikasa starts to say, tone tentative. She knows that the hypothetical situation of a Titan-free world is likely to stay hypothetical for a long time.

But still, she wants to know.

“… would you consider having children with me?” Mikasa asks, raising her eyes to meet Levi’s.

“You’re right that having children is not a choice to make lightly. It would still be a huge decision even if things become peaceful enough for us to raise a family,” she adds, “But I’m open to the idea, and I want to know if you’re open to it as well.”

A peaceful world without Titans has always been their goal, but they know they still have a long and difficult way to go before they can achieve it.

Even so, Mikasa’s question prompts Levi to imagine what it’d be like to live in such a world with her. He can see them growing old together 50 years from now – living out the rest of their years as ordinary citizens doing mundane things instead of soldiers always anticipating danger.

At the same time, he can also picture Mikasa around 10 – 15 years from now, holding a dark-haired baby to her chest. He can see the baby fussing and Mikasa calming them down by singing a soft lullaby. Levi can also hear the same child a few years later, this time as a tiny toddler who's urging him to run faster as he gives them a ride on his shoulders. And just as he picks up the pace, he hears another child crying. When he turns around, he sees Mikasa carrying their second child. The younger one complains to his mother that it's their turn to get a ride on their father's shoulders. In response, Mikasa just smiles patiently and tells them to wait until their older sibling’s turn is done.

“It would be a big decision,” Levi says quietly after a moment of contemplation.

“We can never know what might happen in the future. But assuming that we get rid of all the Titans,” he says, pulling her closer to him, “and assuming that we’re still young enough to conceive when that happens,” he says a bit wryly this time, prompting a light giggle from Mikasa.

“… I would definitely consider it,” Levi tells her, not once breaking away from her gaze.

Mikasa’s dark eyes glimmer at his words, and her lips curve into a bright smile.

“I’m very happy to hear that, Levi.”

Levi smiles at the genuine joy on his lover’s face. As they hold each other’s gaze, more images of dark-haired children playing around appear in his mind.

“Just so you know,” he says, raising a hand to hold one side of her face, “if we do have brats, then we’d have to make sure that they don’t get into fights.”

Mikasa huffs a laugh as she leans into his touch. “What makes you think that our children will become troublemakers?”

“I’m not worried about our brats starting fights,” he explains, caressing her cheek. “But I am worried that they might break the bones of anyone who wants to pick on them.”

Laughing lightly, Mikasa leans into him and wraps her arms around his torso. “In that case, we'd have to teach them how to control their strength. Also, don’t call our children ‘brats’.”

---

End Note:

So, they had the talk about kids. Hahaha. Will they have Ackerbabies in the future? Let's see. Hahaha.

So, apart from Ackerbaby talk, I also wanted to use this chapter to show how grieving families of fallen Survey Corps soldiers cope or deal with their losses. In the canon story, most of the attention is on how surviving Survey Corps members cope with losing comrades by making sure that the sacrifices of the fallen won't be in vain. And this makes sense since the story mostly centers on them. But I wanted to show the other side of that - meaning, the side of the families that the fallen soldiers left behind.

I know that Mrs. Kelvey's case is only one out of many possible reactions. But even so, I hope that I was able to this idea justice, and that I was able to execute this idea well. But if I didn't, then please let me know how it could've better or what aspects could've been improved!

As always, comments, reviews, and critiques would be most welcome and appreciated. Please let me know what you think!

[edenmemes]

horizon zero dawn starters

❝  you can sense it. you already know you’re going to lose.  ❞ ❝  did you want to be alone?  ❞ ❝  you wouldn’t be so eager to speak with me if you knew me.  ❞ ❝  that will draw attention. we won’t have this place to ourselves for long now.  ❞ ❝  it’s a world worth fighting for. not just here. everywhere.  ❞ ❝  trying to live up to glorious pasts has a way of getting people killed.  ❞ ❝  never celebrate a victory before it’s earned.  ❞ ❝  i crave vengeance. do you?  ❞ ❝  my comrades weren’t so lucky. i might shed a tear, if they weren’t all cutthroats and cheaters.  ❞ ❝  i’ll always have a minute for you. maybe even two.  ❞ ❝  you walk on the edge of life and death. i can tell.  ❞ ❝  what is a gift but an award you did not earn?  ❞ ❝  so many voices to listen to, it must make your head hurt. i promise my voice will be soft and soothing.  ❞ ❝  i wish i could borrow some of your courage now.  ❞ ❝  i’ve always wondered. are all your kind hunters and fighters, or just a few?  ❞ ❝  no one doubts your determination. but you need to rest.  ❞ ❝  a bold claim. i wonder if you’ll live up to it.  ❞ ❝  why would someone name a knife?  ❞ ❝  so you’re alive ! we should celebrate! drinks on me!  ❞ ❝  try not to forget me, while you’re out there saving the world.  ❞ ❝  when we spoke earlier, you winced, then looked like you were in pain - or frightened.  ❞ ❝  i’m really not one for crowds.  ❞ ❝  so - how are we gonna do that? oh, wait, i forgot. we won’t. i do all the dangerous stuff.  ❞ ❝  i knew there was something about you. hammered from the stuff they make leaders out of.  ❞ ❝  no matter what happens, i will not intervene. do you understand? you are on your own.  ❞ ❝  it’s always a pain in the neck when you show up, girl, one way or another.  ❞ ❝  you’re bleeding, let me have a look. here, hold still.  ❞ ❝  just don’t think this means i enjoy it.  ❞ ❝  i don’t want to jinx it, but we might be in the clear.  ❞ ❝  when i start a fuss, i like to finish it.  ❞ ❝  i promise to look solemn at your funeral before i hit the bar.  ❞ ❝  what could go wrong? turns out, a lot.  ❞ ❝  let me come with you! i won’t be a bother. i know how to stay out of sight.  ❞ ❝  now i’m supposed to fill ____’s shoes. and instead, here i am, stumbling around in them.  ❞ ❝  we need to talk - alone. and you need to pull it together.  ❞ ❝  i guess growing up means putting what you should do in front of what you want to do, right?  ❞ ❝  oh, are you going to shut your mouth now? because that would be a surprise.  ❞ ❝  i will come to you in secret. no one will see me, so i won’t get in trouble.  ❞ ❝  it looks like something chewed you up and spat you out.  ❞ ❝  these are the true wilds, with threats unlike any you have ever faced.  ❞ ❝  that moment the door opened and you were standing there, and the way you smiled... i had to look away or you were going to see. on my face. what had just... blossomed inside me, you know?  ❞ ❝  i’m not afraid of you - i’m not afraid of anything.  ❞ ❝  stop being evasive? you might as well tell me to stop being charming. it’s impossible.  ❞ ❝  what a waste. at least he died better than he lived.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been looking up at the stars a lot, and the only story i see written across them is that we are small and insignificant and will soon disappear with hardly a trace left behind. it’s a hard story, and i don’t like it much..  ❞ ❝  if i’m going to stand for something, it’ll have to be something i believe in.  ❞ ❝  the strength to stand alone, is the strength to make a stand.  ❞ ❝  soon it’ll all seem familiar. like home.  ❞ ❝  now i see that i was just lucky to get a minute of your time.  ❞ ❝  i know my duty to them - and to you. i’m here. and wherever you go...i will follow.  ❞ ❝  you're really good at making it impossible to like you.  ❞ ❝  i’ve missed our little talks.  ❞ ❝  will change happen at all, while men live in palaces?  ❞ ❝  confidence is quiet. you’re not.  ❞ ❝  you’re not a very convincing liar.  ❞ ❝  i already have all the friends i need. i don’t need the bother.  ❞ ❝  all right, cool your fire. i got nothing to hide.  ❞ ❝  i see you don’t recognize me. well, it was a long time ago.  ❞ ❝  you will turn back - or bleed. your choice.  ❞ ❝  when we met, i thought i was a big shot talking to a pretty girl hidden away in the middle of nowhere.  ❞ ❝  you would speak ill of the dead? truly you have no shame.  ❞ ❝  truth is, i get lonely once in awhile. there. i admitted it. don’t think less of me.  ❞ ❝  do you have any idea how dangerous it is out there?  ❞ ❝  but i don’t know anyone here.  ❞ ❝  come on, stop. you’re going to make me tear up.  ❞ ❝  i feel like i should drop to my knees and worship you.  ❞ ❝  think i’m done? think again. i’ve gotten out of worse scrapes.  ❞ ❝  it’s hard to imagine where we’d be without you - and i don’t want to try.  ❞ ❝  if we’re to fight together on the brink of life and death, i’d prefer to do so with your forgiveness.  ❞ ❝  trust is for fools. it shifts and crumbles like sand.  ❞ ❝  what will you do while i risk my life?  ❞ ❝  you can smile, can’t you? ...no, that’s a grimace.  ❞ ❝  you killed that demon...pulled its guts from the carcass!  ❞ ❝  the sooner you’re gone from here, the better.  ❞ ❝  for now, all you need to know is that i’m a whisper of reason in this howling pit of insanity.  ❞ ❝  i heard the rumors, but i didn’t know for sure until saw you just now. i’m glad to see you’re okay.  ❞ ❝  no barrier can now stay you from your sacred task.  ❞ ❝  i won’t deny i risked your life. but it was the only way.  ❞ ❝  they can’t shoot if they’re dead. keep them busy, i’ll find an angle.  ❞ ❝  comforts are weakness.  ❞ ❝  as for honor, sacrifice-- true sacrifice, the kind rulers know nothing of -- it’s all a fat joke.  ❞ ❝  i’ve been sharpening my blade, anticipating the scent of the fight.  ❞ ❝  you’re not just a traveler. that armor was fitted for you. and the way you hold your bow...  ❞ ❝  i’d expect to see some tomatoes fly, maybe rocks. hopefully not spears. in any case, be ready to duck.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here for the price on your head.  ❞ ❝  for a moment, i was a child again, rapt from stories told by hunters at the campfire.  ❞ ❝  this...attachment to me will only hold you back.  ❞ ❝  whatever you do, don’t let their shabby looks fool you! they’ll kill you as soon as look at you.  ❞ ❝  i’m doing what i love. and what could be wrong with that?  ❞ ❝  when the arrowhead passes between armor and skin - that’s the place i belong.  ❞ ❝  right. why would i expect an answer? it’s so much more exciting to keep it all a mystery...  ❞ ❝  oh, it’s a story all right, but it takes a while to tell. maybe another time, over a drink or three?  ❞ ❝  why are you talking like we’ll never see each other again?  ❞ ❝  i’ll wager you don’t scare easy - it’s a good quality.  ❞ ❝  there will be people celebrating, and feasting. more than you've ever see in one place.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t bring you here to answer questions. i brought you here to deal with that.  ❞ ❝  ...you’ve...put a lot of thought into this.  ❞ ❝  i do not want to hear this talk from you again. doubt is heavier than a week’s snow.  ❞ ❝  bandits are drawn to here like infection to a wound.  ❞ ❝  i guess you’re doing the right thing for the wrong reason.  ❞ ❝  i thought you and i were agreed: only enjoy the killing as much as the challenge.  ❞ ❝  rumors spread like blood.  ❞ ❝  they would steal from us, chase us through the night, laughing.  ❞ ❝  leave it too long, your fingers itch for the bowstring.  ❞ ❝  you’re strong, shrewd, capable... i could use someone like you on my side.  ❞ ❝  you defeated it? alone?  ❞ ❝  grasp your grief. and kill it.  ❞ ❝  at least i’ll have a fire to keep me company.  ❞ ❝  only survivors scar. after everything you’ve been through, you keep going.  ❞ ❝  just stop being evasive and tell me who you really are.  ❞ ❝  i don’t mind putting my worthless ass on the line. but not yours.  ❞ ❝  i’m not here to intrigue you.  ❞ ❝  how about you? who do you think i am? what will you remember of me? ❞ ❝  everything freezing. the ground, the air... me.  ❞ ❝  you lost someone you care about. that leaves a wound. the sort of wound a lot of people don’t recover from.  ❞ ❝  the only thing i know i’m still fighting for is...you.  ❞ ❝  i didn’t earn this mercy, but i will die to make myself worthy of it.  ❞ ❝  to say you have my gratitude feels woefully insufficient. you saved my life.  ❞ ❝  makes you wish you could kill them more than once, doesn’t it?  ❞ ❝  why did you act so strange when we spoke earlier?  ❞ ❝  being smart won’t count for nothing if you don’t make the world a better place.  ❞ ❝  to serve a purpose greater than yourself...that is the lesson you must learn.  ❞ ❝   if a big, meaningful talk is what you’re after, move along.  ❞ ❝  that carcass! what sort of beast was that?  ❞ ❝  what are you doing out here all alone? where are your men?  ❞ ❝  you’ve obviously heard of me. you know what i’m capable of. why do you think this will turn out well for you?  ❞ ❝  there’s so much to discover before the world ends.  ❞ ❝  i couldn’t wait to see you again. it’s like...i’m dead and only come alive when i’m here with you.  ❞ ❝  some even say you have a conscience. how extraordinary!  ❞ ❝  do you always accuse people you’ve just met of lying?  ❞ ❝  if you ever visit, look me up. i’ll show you around, make introductions. it’d be a whole new life, if you want it.  ❞ ❝  it had a name once, not that it matters now. i was born there.  ❞ ❝  i always knew you were different... i think you’re a blessing.  ❞ ❝  no one hears your prayers anyway.  ❞ ❝  this place is difficult even for the prepared.  ❞ ❝  i underestimated you. i won’t make that same mistake again.  ❞ ❝  oh. is that supposed to sound scary or something?  ❞ ❝  look, maybe i shouldn’t say this, but it’s obvious that you don’t belong in this... backwater.  ❞ ❝  were you kept hidden away? did you have overprotective parents or something?  ❞ ❝  hmph. don’t go soft on me.  ❞ ❝  i prefer the company of spirits. or my own.  ❞ ❝  blood spilled calls for blood spilled! if the ground is cursed, then let our vengeance sanctify it.  ❞ ❝  so many people here, all talking at once. how does anyone think?  ❞ ❝  why is it that every time something bad happens to you, someone else tells you something bad that happened to them, as if that makes it any better?  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen armor like yours.  ❞ ❝  the wrongness here jags at me like an arrowhead.  ❞ ❝  when you found me, i was trying to eke out a glorious death. but now a glorious life seems more preferable.  ❞ ❝  tomorrow, may the sun rise on the world.  ❞ ❝  you saved my epitaph from being ‘a fine soldier but a fool of a man’.  ❞ ❝  i don’t think i know you at all. but i’d like to.  ❞ ❝  i don’t like this. it feels...wrong.  ❞ ❝  oh, i’m grateful for this wound. it’s a lesson i won’t forget.  ❞ ❝  you’re a clever one. but not so clever as to heed my warning, i see.  ❞ ❝  not everyone follows the law like you do.  ❞ ❝  how many times have i pulled you from danger by your neck? made excuses for your behavior?  ❞ ❝  for what it’s worth, i’m glad you’re coming with me.  ❞ ❝  what have i ever given you but struggle?  ❞ ❝  it’s starting to feel real, you know? that we might actually get out of this place.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never been part of anything. i serve my own interests. always.  ❞ ❝  i apologize for my...behavior. i thought i was dead.  ❞ ❝  look, i don’t even know your story. must be a good one. if you ever feel like telling it, look me up.  ❞ ❝  when my anger has thawed, i will feel nothing.  ❞ ❝  i can’t remember when i had this much fun! i should be thanking you!  ❞ ❝  you gave him a quicker death than he deserved.  ❞ ❝  that...could be the last creepy thing you’ve said to me.  ❞ ❝  something’s really bothering you. if you think i’m gonna abandon you, you’re wrong.  ❞ ❝  surprised you saw me, the way you keep looking every other direction to make sure no one’s watching. careful there, or you’ll sprain your neck.  ❞ ❝  remember how the blood pounded in your ears? they’ll ring later, in the calm. it’s a call to arms, from your inner desires.  ❞ ❝  ___’s dead. i was ready to go through anything to make that happen. and i did.  ❞ ❝  is there a reason why you’re acting so cranky today?  ❞ ❝  you hold your grief close, like a tailsman.  ❞ ❝  i hope you can find peace.  ❞ ❝  you don’t know who i am, do you?  ❞ ❝  you know there’s always been dirt on my hands. now there’s blood too.  ❞ ❝  i want to be strong like you. but...  ❞ ❝  i hadn’t given up on hope, but i’ve forgotten the taste of it.  ❞ ❝  just...don’t start singing again.  ❞ ❝  you’re sparing me? after all i’ve done?  ❞ ❝  i don’t intend to die today.  ❞ ❝  it will take many good deeds to make up for the crimes you’ve committed.  ❞ ❝  but why should you have justice, and not me?  ❞ ❝  such a voice... a cold, awful jangle that scrapes your bones and hollows your guts.  ❞ ❝  one more word, and i’ll throw you in jail myself.  ❞ ❝  only in the struggle against death do we find, even for a moment, the spark of life.  ❞ ❝  the war changed you. changed us both. we’re not kids anymore.  ❞ ❝  i can’t sleep, i can’t breathe knowing you could be out there...hurting...  ❞ ❝  now i’m left to wear my sins. for me, at least, they hang heavy.  ❞       ❝  but what does a girl like you know of loss?  ❞ ❝  it’s a good thing you’ve got brains. because your personality could use some work.  ❞ ❝  i was going to ask you to leave with me...to go somewhere out in the sun where no shadow could reach us.  ❞ ❝  they didn’t need to disgrace my name. i did it myself, serving a rotten throne. ❞ ❝  you don’t approve? well, i have a secret for you. neither do i.  ❞ ❝  perhaps you are not an evil man. just a weak one.  ❞ ❝  losses can feel... overwhelming. but they remind us of our connections to others.  ❞ ❝  i don’t exactly see anyone beating down the door to spend time with you.  ❞ ❝  if i had known, i would never have spoken to you.  ❞ ❝  forge a new life. one of better make.  ❞ ❝  impossible odds, fine company, killing without consequence --- how could i resist?  ❞ ❝  look at me. i can’t imagine how you’re feeling, but you don’t have to go through it alone.  ❞ ❝  i wish i had known, all this time, what you were going through.  ❞ ❝  i’m with you. until the end.  ❞ ❝  i thought you just wanted to have tea and conversation! is there a battle coming? i wasn’t informed!  ❞ ❝  we’ve only met a few times, and yet you know me so well.  ❞ ❝  are you going to drive me off, too? it’s okay. i’ve dealt with worse.  ❞ ❝  now i know the kind of person i want to be, watching you.  ❞ ❝  it’s so...bittersweet. like a smile through bloodied teeth.  ❞ ❝  i swear i saw my ancestors... they said: ‘we’re not surprised to see you here’.  ❞ ❝  more mercenaries? what kind of person sells their loyalty?  ❞ ❝  keep moving or you’ll die!  ❞ ❝  this is the kind of place you’d take someone if you want to lose them forever.  ❞ ❝  if that’s destiny, i wouldn’t wish it on anyone.  ❞ ❝  i’ve thought about what you said. every time, the wound you gave me caught on my ribs.  ❞ ❝  i’ve never seen such disregard for personal safety.  ❞ ❝  the most important thing is what you’re not like - your father.  ❞ ❝  i’m never lonely where there’s killing to be done.  ❞ ❝  my past - and my secrets - are my own. you’ll do well to remember that.  ❞ ❝  only to you do i extend the courtesy of a warning.  ❞ ❝  if the war’s not over, i’m not done.  ❞ ❝  a long kiss, the best kind... i can still remember the feel of your hand on the back of my neck.  ❞ ❝  it would be a worse fate to bow our heads to the challenge and say, ‘too much’.  ❞ ❝  let’s not say farewell. i’ve had enough of that to last me a dozen winters.  ❞ ❝  have your wounds even had time to heal?  ❞ ❝  you can stop worrying. the secret’s safe with me.  ❞ ❝  just to be clear, i have no plans to murder you, alright?  ❞ ❝  you’re an idiot. a dangerous idiot, but an idiot.  ❞ ❝  i’m kicking myself for not seeing your potential from the beginning.  ❞ ❝  for your sake, you must go where you will never find me. this is goodbye.   ❞ ❝  so that’s what this is? a tantrum? a cry for attention?  ❞ ❝  change won’t come in a single sunrise.  ❞ ❝  this place may not seem like much, but we’ll make the best of it.  ❞ ❝  no murderers here, if that’s what you’re asking.  ❞

[shurelyasreverie]

Ghsgfhf sorry idk valorant, but if you like could you do smth for yone? Maybe when he's all azakana-ified and goes to see reader? Thx :-D

No problem! Sorry for the unexpected semi-hiatus, if you wanna know why I just disappeared I can only best explain it here. Thank you so much for your patience!!

Yone x Reader: Spirit Fighter

The invasion of Noxus created the perfect breeding grounds for the azakana to prey on Ionia's fallen warriors. In your darkest time, who will save you from your own demons?

Word Count: 1373

Warning: Violence and mentions of death

In your time as a blade wielder from one of Ionia's most reputable sword schools, you had fought many demons. You learnt that they took all sorts of shapes and sizes. You fought the lowly criminals that preyed on the weak, you fought demons in the most literal sense of the word that dared step foot out of the spirit realm. You fought the demons that came as Noxians that tore your beautiful village and comrades to shreds.

But you never thought that you would fight demons of your own.

Your back slammed into a wall, the back of your head also hitting it, the pain making you both numb and delirious. Collapsing to the floor, you heard the faint clatter of your blade as it fell from your grip. Trying to haul yourself up, you were pushed down by the crushing weight of a demon, it's talons digging into your shoulders and slowly piercing your clothes and skin. You didn't have the energy to scream. You freed your head, angling up so you could see the distorted silhouette of your azakana through your blurred vision.

You feebly struggled as you lost feeling in your body. Your energy was being drained out of you, the azakana eating the very essence of your soul. You willed your body to keep moving, yet you couldn't sense if it was. You fought against the whispers of the demons as it recited your regrets and insecurities, it had your soul in your clutches, it saw everything you saw for the past weeks. It saw the bloodshed as you clashed against invading Noxians, the bloodied body of your fallen elder, the glazed eyes of your fallen comrades. But it also knew what you felt. It felt your regret of being unable to do more, the regret of being unable to protect your lover from his own demise, the yearning to see your lover again. You couldn't protect any of them and the demon amplified the pain.

You only had enough energy for one last sign of life. As you struggled to even breathe, you choked out a sob as you closed your eyes, succumbing to the darkness, only hearing the cackle of the demon.

Silence. Nothingness. Oblivion. Was this what awaited a soul that wasted away to an azakana?

A piercing screech stirred you awake, followed by a desperate cry to your name. Every muscle holding a heaviness that made you unable to even open your eyes, you could only listen and feel. Feel the warmth of your own blood staining your clothes, listen to the cries of pain from the demon. You could hear the faint slashes of a blade as it cut through the air before cutting through flesh. With every demonic scream, strength was returning to you. First, you could open your eyes, with the second you could breathe as comfortably as your injured self could. Third, you were hauling your tired body back onto your knees.

You could take a look at your saviour, a lean figure that cut down your azakana. He adorned a blood red mask that obscured his face but with his dual-wielding blades, you knew only one who could fight like that. You've sparred against it for years, a style that made your weak heart soar.

“Yone,” you croaked, the constricting feeling around your heart finally lifting. In response, the masked man snapped his head to you, nonchalantly driving his blades behind him into the demon.

The azakana collapsed to the ground. Yone hurried to your side, picking up your fallen blade and pressing it's handle into your palm. Your fingers instinctively wrapped around it.

“Only you can slay your own inner demon,” he stated, breathing quick and words hurried. You looked over his shoulder to see the azakana, it's torso noticeably rising and falling as it breathed. A bandaged arm wrapped around your back to usher you to the demon and to also support you as you staggered. Step by step, he guided you to the amalgamation of your suffering, a dark, writhing mess on the ground. His hand was over yours, holding your blade with you, offering you his strength. Despite how cold his presence felt, it was comforting as you drove your blade into the heart of the monster.

When the demon stilled, Yone guided the blade back to be sheathed by your hip before gently turning you to face him. His hands were now on your shoulders, gentle enough to not provoke your injuries but tight enough to be sure that it was indeed Yone before you.

He spoke your name quietly, bringing a hand up to wipe tears you hadn't realised had fallen. A wave of exhaustion overwhelmed you and you fell forward, collapsing onto his chest which he readily accepted, arms comfortingly around you.

“We thought you had died,” you whimpered. You felt his lips pressed against your cheek, then more kisses up to the crown of your head, his mask nudging against your temple. He felt changed, colder, holding a quiet strength a normal mortal wouldn't. But he also felt so familiar, how nurturing his hold felt, how you felt so protected despite being inches away from death a mere moment ago.

“I did,” he replied, you were surprised he even heard you. “But my duty to protect this land is not over. It will take more than death to take me away from the material world. Away from you.”

You pulled your arm up, tentatively reaching for his mask. You wanted to see his full face again, in all his glory. But his eyes widened, tilting his head down in shame when he realised what you were trying to do.

“It won't come off,” he said bitterly. “It is the work of the azakana. This realm is becoming rife with them.”

You felt his hands trace over your injured back and he grimaced. “An azakana's strength relies on pain and sadness... the invasion of Noxians makes it ideal for the demons. These days have been cruel to you.”

“Ever since you left,” you admitted. “The village is in shambles. It was so hard...”

Adrenaline was leaving your body, leaving you aching and your wounds stinging. You couldn't help but lean into him more, reassured by his heartbeat in your ear, the rough material of his bandages against your skin. His arms were tightening around you, almost lifting you up.

“We must get your wounds treated,” he stated. “Then you should return to the sword school and rest.”

“Where will you go?”

“I must slay the demons,” Yone muttered. “Every last one of them before they harm anymore innocent souls.”

A hand tilted your head up to face him as he searched your features. Through the mask you could see how solemn his expression was, almost distant. He pressed you closer to him, feeling his muscles tense. “Victims of the azakana suffer a fate worse than death. If I was any later to find you I would've-”

“But you weren't,” you reassured. “You saved me.”

“And I'll do it as many times as I must,” Yone replied. “For you and Ionia.”

“You don't honestly expect to do that all yourself. Take down all the azakana? Let me help you,” you volunteered.

“With those wounds?” Yone sounded almost angry.

“These wounds are temporary. When they're healed, I want to be by your side.”

Yone was silent, the only sounds being your footsteps. As much as it was your duty to protect Ionia, the way his lips were slightly curved down displayed his reluctance for you to take your duty so seriously.

The wind picked up and Yone straightened, his head taut like a hound detecting a threat. You wondered if your lover, changed by the demon mask, was able to sense the azakana, if he was connected to them. His gaze was distant for a moment, until you took his hand and squeezed. He dropped his head to look back at you, his face softening. “Two humans against an entire race of demons. The odds are stacked against us, but I'll willing to take them if it's with you.”

[burnedbyshoto]

quirk mastery

— In which Mirio gets his quirk back and he’s desperate to show you just how well he’s remastered permeation.

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: togata mirio x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, pwp-ish, semi-public sex, clothed sex, anal, size difference, finger sucking, fingering

word count: 4,021

a/n: day three of kinktober and here we be!!! this was based on the concept of mirio being the perfect candidate for have clothed penetrative sex LMAOOO. make sure to comment (even if its a simple emoji) on any fics you like, authors super appreciate it.

main kink: anal

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To be quite honest, you never thought Mirio was going to get his quirk back.

You remember when it happened in high school.

The cold fall morning as you had woken up earlier than usual for a school day, deciding that maybe you should get a cup of tea given that it had been cold and something just felt off.

Nearly three years ago, when you had arrived through the doors of UA as a hero student, you had taken your seat in class 1-B, and almost immediately, your class became your family. Everyone was so talented, lively, and brimming with their own excitement of being here, but one person always just seemed to be brighter than the rest.

His smile captivated the first moment he looked at you, his blue eyes so precise and accurate you knew immediately he was someone to trust. 

His name was Togata Mirio, and true to his sunshine hair, his own sunshine personality allowed the entire class to address him by his first name within hours of meeting him. It was no surprise that you felt your heart skip a beat when he placed a strong arm around your shoulder later in the year because you had fallen for your classmate.

As a third-year, you still harbored deep feelings for your classmate and now best friend. But you knew better than to enact on them at the moment. You were busy with your hero work, and his latest work-study with the former All Might’s sidekick kept him busy nearly every day.

He would still be there once you graduated, you always liked to remind yourself. But as energetic as Mirio was, he definitely was not an early riser. So it shocked you that as you reached the dorm's kitchen area, he was standing there quiet and fully dressed in his school uniform. His eyes were concentrated on his phone, and his face was serious, for a moment, the off feeling you had seemed to make sense as you stared at his solemn face.

“Mirio?” you had called out, suddenly feeling a bit underdressed in your pajamas, and you held onto your elbow as you stared at your flirt of a classmate. “You okay? We still have an hour and a half before classes start.”

It seemed that he had not even heard you enter the room based on how he startled just the bit before turning his gaze towards you. 

Blue eyes murky with regret and guilt. You hated that they weren't clear, and you always hoped they would be cleared soon.

“I’ve got my work-study today,” Mirio answers with a soft smile that doesn’t clear his eyes. “Something came up, so I'll be gone for the morning. We’ll probably be back before classes end today.”

You nod your head, already knowing who belonged within that we.

“Are you doing okay? You’ve been looking a bit… uh, worse for wear, and I don’t want you getting hurt because you’re distracted by other things,” you admit, venturing further into the kitchen so that you leaned against the opposite side of the counter of where Mirio stood. 

The smile on his face grows just a bit, a small spark dazzling in his clear blue eyes before he shakes his head good-naturally.

“You admitting you care about me?”

“Have I ever denied it?”

Mirio laughs softly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck before a heavy sigh passes his lips, “I guess not.”

You keep the frown off your face at those words, his inability to flirt back slightly concerning, but you stop before you can frown. By the front door of the dorms is none other than Tamaki and Nejire from class 1-A, two other close friends of yours, and equally involved in this case of theirs that they all refuse to tell you about. Guess that’s what happens when you join Edgeshot’s agency.

Mirio follows your gaze and motions to your friends that he’ll be joining them in just a moment before he turns back to you.

“Well, looks like it’s time,” Mirio speaks with finality, his shoulders as stiff as his smile, and your heart aches just the slightest bit.

“Be careful, Mirio,” you say firmly, your eyes locked on his that have become emotionless. That pit in your stomach is unignorable as you speak up on your concerns. “I know you’re strong, but please be careful.”

Mirio stills for a moment before he nods, and he walks around the counter. His arms stretching out, pulling you into a tight hug that you more than willingly return. It seems like the two of you stand there hugging each other for centuries before Mirio makes a soft noise in an unwilling attempt to tell you to let go.

“I know, I know,” you sigh, pulling away, your eyes meeting his for the millionth time. “You’ve To-gata go now.”

And for the first time in weeks, his blue eyes clear up, and a proper genuine laugh breaks through his lips as he shakes his head, already walking away. 

“You’re pretty amazing, y/n-chan!” he shouts as he opens the front door, and you can hear Nejire calling her hellos to you. “I’ll be back before you can even blink!”

“You better!” you call out, waving at your three friends who bunch up and walk off.

As you watch their retreating backs, the pit in your stomach remains as you whisper softly: please.

It’s within twenty-four hours that you find out the case they were working, and you feel sick when Mirio doesn’t return, confirming to you that he was the one to have lost his quirk that day. When Mirio returns two days later, it’s not with good news as he admits to you that he’ll be leaving UA now that his quirk is gone.

His eyes are clear again, not at all like he was two days ago as the two of you seem to only be talking to one another within the crowd of both class 3-A and 3-B. It’s later once everyone is gone that he admits that a young girl who was responsible for his quirks erasure could potentially bring it back, but it’s unknown at the moment.

You remember holding his cheeks and promised him that even if it doesn’t come back, he would always be a hero who, in the end, did what he set out to do, saving a million people. It was almost shocking to you as you watched for the first time since his teacher died in front of him, Mirio crying yet again, his face buried into the crook of your neck.

But that was five years ago.

Five long years of being a Pro Hero in a society that no longer looked the same.

Three years of finally being able to call Mirio your boyfriend.

One year of organizing the current hero gala, the two of you are attending right now.

One month of Mirio finally regaining his quirk.

In a heavily watched attempt, Eri-chan, who had been able to figure out a way to train her quirk. It was all due to the help of a young yet brilliant support engineer, Hatsumi Mei, without having to interact with real soul-having things. It took almost ten hours, but the young girl was both resilient and determined as you watched as she sat with her fingers pressed to Mirio’s cheeks and a warm yellow glow surrounded her. 

The shriek that ripped through you when Mirio suddenly fell through the floor, your initial fear of Eri completely rewinding him from existence flaring in your chest, and undoubtedly hers as she gasped in horror. You watched his clothes dropping from where he once sat, and then you could hear the familiar, distant sound of Mirio being rejected by matter, and you bolted at Eri. It was a frantic team effort response to make sure Eri would not see him in his naked glory when he resurfaced, and that memory still sent you in a round of uproarious laughter.

But a Heroes Gala was something that was occurring recently, and it wasn’t quite what it had once been before. Pro Heroes were not recognized within these events; instead, the common man was, and more importantly, helping those deemed as outcasts within society. With the reign of AFO gone, and the destruction of what the heroism did to society, it had been a weird shift in energy, but a needed one.

Pro Heroes Deku and Ground Zero being the trailblazers on that front, pushing to look at the reasons the world deemed villains as so, and doing their best to fix it at the source. 

It definitely wasn’t perfect, far from it actually, but these galas helped to keep energies high on many different fronts.

Speaking of high energy, if your face was able to emit heat energy similar to that of a sun, right now, you would be a supernova.

Located in some hallway in the back of the event, you sat on a marble table. Your legs somehow wrapped around Mirio’s waist, arms thrown around his neck, pressing his gliding lips even closer to you as he enthusiastically, carefully, and completely dominated your lips. To the rest of the world, it just seemed like the two of you were simply indulging into your horny twenty-three-year-old needs. There was nothing conspicuous about what you both were doing, not if your clothed states had anything to say about it.

But that was just the thing.

Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, the large, voluminous skirt of your evening gown easily covered Mirio’s powerful, thrusting hips, blanketing his ulterior motives with fabric from the rare eye that managed to come and look at the both of you.

Maybe if they had x-ray vision, they would know the truth; they could see it too.

For not even five minutes ago, you had teasingly whispered just how hot Mirio looked in his get-up. Your teeth nibbling on his earlobe about how excited you were that when you two would inevitably get home, his clothes would be gone in a matter of seconds. It seemed that your boyfriend wanted to jump the gun and just show you what both of you had been missing these past three years.

You could barely keep up with his quick, long strides. Your heels caught onto the length of your gown multiple times until he had brought you into this hallway and picked you up without so much of a grunt and planted your bottom on the exceptionally sturdy table. It still hadn’t hit you just what he had intended to do when his lips crashed against yours, and the world exploded into white static as he kissed you, consuming your mouth with every fiber of his being.

A gentle moan left your mouth when his tongue entered your mouth, but the prominent, hard bulge pressing between you and the many, many layers of fabric made you yelp. You pulled away from his lips, your eyes, wide, impossibly frantic.

“Togata Mirio!” you hissed in shock, your hand slapping across your mouth as you simply stared at your lover who was smiling at you brightly.

The smile and the clear blue of his eyes let nothing indicate just how fucking hard he was and how much he craved your cunt around his cock just as you had teased him about earlier. 

“What is it, sunflower?” Mirio asks, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face. Your spine stiffens up as he leans in close, his mouth pressing against yours for a small, seemingly chaste kiss before he presses the corner of his mouth to your ear. “I think I’m having some issues with my quirk control, and I think this is the perfect way to practice the uh… fine-tuning of my quirk. Right?”

“Mirio…” you warn as he softly begins to grind against you, his large hand shifting from your shoulder blades down to your lower back. The pressure of his hand provided such numbing heat to blaze through your core, and it only added to the feeling of his cock against your slowly seeping cunt.

“Dontcha want to help me practice?” Mirio asks, his teeth biting onto your earlobe, and a wanton moan reverberates from your chest at the feeling. “Help me master my quirk again?”

You’re not sure what makes you cave, what makes you say fuck it under your breathe. It could have been the heat of his breath on your ear, the way he kissed down your jaw, the clear blue of his eyes glazing over darkly with lust, and maybe it was the way you could manage to feel his cock through the miles of fabric between the two of you. It didn’t matter now anyway, it couldn’t because you turned towards his face, your lips desperately seeking his, and thankfully Mirio met you there immediately.

Hot desperate mouths clashing together, tongues meeting in the middle, and you could feel his hands shoving you towards him until there was no space between your meeting hips if you ignored the dress and his pants. 

Your hazed over mind chanted to be ready for anything, to be prepared for the feeling of his cock against your already soaked cunt, and to not be surprised. Nevertheless, when you felt the hot, heavy, and stupidly thick head of Mirio’s cock pressing between your desperately needy folds, going against all of your brain's logic of how this shouldn’t be possible with your panties still on. 

“M-Mirio!” you cried, head knocked back at the feeling of his cock pressing through your tight, clenching hole. His cock thick, veiny, and hot, even in your inner walls as he kisses you. You couldn’t focus on him, your mouth agape and lax, his lips pressing against your teeth, tongue curling on the roof of your tongue, and you wantonly moaned as he shifted outwards and slammed right back into you.

For the past three minutes, the two of you had begun this desperate, needy, over your clothes public fuck. Your hands feeling so small, pressed onto his back. Your mouth biting into his neck as he slammed into you over and over again. 

The heat in your stomach was throbbing, the soft thrumming of your orgasm about to tip as Mirio claimed you like this.

“So cute like this, baby,” he laughed as if his cock wasn’t stretching you out despite all your clothes still being on. You felt his cock head press up against your cervix, and a loud pathetic whine stumbled out of your lips. “Did you like that? Finally, got to that little spot you like despite this angle?”

He hit it again, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head, all noises that so desperately wanted to be heard getting cut off. 

“Look at you! You’re so cute like this, sunflower! You can’t even look at me, and you’re babbling! I think I’m doing great… job… at this, fuck, quirk control…”

Your eyes flutter shut, a gasping, needy breath expelling into his mouth as he kisses you greedily, and the heat grows exponentially when his hand permeates through your dress to pinch and pull at your clit. You’re so close, so deliriously near that, you begin to seize up, your walls fluttering with the actions that you know mean that you’re about to nosedive off a cliff into orgasmic bliss.

But there were always issues with having sex in public with a man who could not shut up.

“Togata-senpai, Y/l/n-senpai!” A voice yells at the two of you. Even with the thrumming warmth of your pre-orgasm, the voice washes coldly over you. Rippling the start of orgasmic bliss right from beneath your feet as you snap your head away from Mirio.

A loud, choked gasp escapes you when for a split second, his cock disappears from your clenching, denied cunt in an experience you could not begin to explain.

“Iida-kun!” Mirio exclaimed jovially as if the two of you weren’t at all fucking moments before, but as he did so, he seemed to deactivate his quirk on his cock.

“What are the two of you doing here! It is quite preposterous for the two of you to be… canoodling within the gala when we are all awaiting your presence!” Iida exclaims, his hands cutting and chopping at the air as he seems to frown at the both of you.

But you were busy with other thoughts.

With his cock completely solid back inside of you, tears were leaking from your eyes as white, hot pain erupted in your stomach and curled all the way down into your toes.

Mirio returned his cock into your ass, and the lack of any warning due to his quirk nearly had you throwing up in this new sensation. Your fingers curled roughly into Mirio’s shoulders, your ragged breathing “I’m-in-so-much-pain” breathes alerting both of the men before you who turned their attention to you.

“Are you okay, sunflower?” Mirio asked, his voice filled with genuine concern as he brushed a tear that managed to streak down your cheek. “What’s going on?”

“Yes, what is going on? What can I get for you, Y/l/n-senpai?”

“It h-hurts!” you cry, eyes locking onto Mirio’s, who seemed to gather just what was going on as his eyes grow with worry and also knowing actions. 

He shifted slightly, and his cock that was already so big moved within your ass, and you balked. You leaned forward onto Mirio’s chest, feeling absolutely dwarfed by your boyfriend as you held onto him with trembling arms and soft groans of pain and growing, intense pleasure.

“Ah, Iida-kun, would you mind if you could possibly give us some room? I promise we’ll join the gala in less than ten minutes?”

You can’t even see Iida’s reaction given that your eyes are leaking with your tears and the fact that you can’t even raise your head to look at your old younger-classmen. 

“Of course, I’ll leave y/l/n-senpai to you, but if anything happens, please come and get me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you!”

Your sniffling doesn’t seem to stop as Iida’s loud footsteps confirms his exit, but Mirio’s mouth is by your ear again, his hips taking a tentative, shallow thrust that sends you whining like a bitch in heat. Anal was something that Mirio loved to do. He always confessed to you each and every time as his cock would line up to your muscled rim that there was just something indescribably hot about you taking his cock that way.

Mirio was a big dude with a bigger cock, and you usually could, in fact, handle — thoroughly enjoy —  anal with the proper steps to lead into it, but this was a cock appearing in your ass without warning or knowing of it happening. You could feel your tears streaming down your neck, but bubbling moans of pleasure had already started again. The pain of the surprise was already wearing off by the time Iida had disappeared, and Mirio was once again shifting his hips for your best pleasure.

“God, I can’t believe you took my cock in your ass that calmly,” Mirio whispers in pure admiration, his hips taking longer, deeper strokes into you. “That was so fucking hot, I’m sorry I lost control like that.”

“S-Shut up…” you gasped, hands fisting into his coat as you tried to ride out the waves of pain instead. “Fuck m-me already.”

The laugh that seems to grow right from Mirio’s stomach makes your skin crawl as he nods his head, his hands grabbing your chin to stir you into a kiss as he begins to thrust into your asshole with much more daring conviction.

“I always forget how much you like this!” he sighs against your lips. “Always so ready for my cock no matter where it is.”

You whimper loudly, teeth burying into your lower lip, the slick from your cunt slowly gliding down to his cock, allowing for partial lubing. 

In and out, he moves, his hips moving faster than a manageable speed. Even without him being a hero, Mirio had kept himself in pique condition, and moments like this proved it. His fast rutting and delirious power into every slam of his cock into your ass was commanding and revolutionary. Your eyes welled with tears at the constipated feeling in your asshole, your mouth pressing back into his neck, sobbing his name. His fingers dive down and permeate through your dress and panties, and you swear you’re drooling when his calloused, hot fingers tweak and pull at your clit, savagely teasing it. 

Mirio laughs softly at the way you’re trying to hide your cries of pleasure. How you’re burying your head into his shoulder, teeth biting into his clothed skin. His thrusting movements became quicker, harder, and more consistent until a familiar sensation of his balls slapping your skin burned your mind. 

He was—

Holy shit—

He was making sure you could feel his once concealed balls against your skin and the warbled, shameless scream that he interrupted by shoving his fingers in your mouth.

“More,” you beg around his fingers, staring straight up at him. Your saliva coating his fingers, lips sucking around his fingers in hopes that he’ll heed your command. “Fuck my asshole harder.”

Mirio merely groans the pinch on your clit, making your hips buck awkwardly and pathetically against his cock and balls because of the table. And he began to barbarically slam into you so that the soft thudding of the counter hitting the wall shudders down your spine. 

Your body shifts with his every movement, the counter rocking with the force, your slick pouring from your cunt, and he let go of your tongue. In your crazed state, you sob at the loss of contact, but his hand that had been playing and teasing your clit shifts so that his thumb resides on your clit, and three of his fingers curl into your throbbing, orgasm denied cunt. The force alone nearly sends your eyes flying open, your vision still blurred with tears when his fingers drag against your puffy walls that you knew would let you squirt if he manipulated it just enough.

His fingers work at double the speed of which his hips slam into you. His fingers pushing the limits of your heat radiating walls, dragging them deliciously against your clenching heat. Then there was his cock, and at times the thin walls that separated his fingers and his cock brushed together, sending you into a new frenzy while you sobbed his name.

Begging for more, pleading to make you come.

“You needa come, sunflower?” Mirio huffs, his sweaty forehead pressing against yours, and you moaned loudly, knowing that he was also close. “Then come for me. Come against my cock and my fingers!”

“I-It feels so fucking good, so good baby,” you garble. Your jaw is unable to move for its slack against his shoulder. Your cooes only adding to the electrifying pleasure singing through your nerves, and with a loud squelch from your pussy, you come hard against his fingers, your ass instinctively tightening up at well.

You could feel the more foreign sensation of wet heat fill your ass as Mirio collapses against you, his heart hammering in his chest as the two of you just sit there. Your hands shifting to thread into his soft, fluffy hair as his limp cock disappears from within you, and you groan at the loss of feeling.

“Gross…” you mumble as Mirio stands straight up again after some time.

“Wha—”

“You came in my ass,” you sigh, although not at all displeased with it.

“Oh, sorry! I got a bit overexcited!”

It takes an additional three minutes for you to be willing to move to return to the event, but as you do, Mirio has an arm around your waist, readying to keep you upright all night if needed.

“Ne, Mirio?” you call as the both of you return to the main stage.

“Hm?”

“I think you’ve pretty much mastered your quirk again!”

[amysteryspot]

Just Tonight - Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

Requested: No

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Female Reader

Summary: The Shelby boys had returned from France in time for Christmas, but as (Y/N) expected, things weren't that easy to deal with for none of them.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW/+18), swearing, mentions of drinking and death.

Word Count: 3027

A/N: Oooooooooooooookay this turned out a lot more angstier and smuttier than I first predicted for something that is supposed to be a holiday fic. This is loosely based on the storyline used on "Better with you" and "Out of time". It's better if you've read those first, but it's not required. I really, really hope that you enjoy it. As always, your feedback is highly appreciated.

Song recomended: Sober by Loreen

(Y/N) = Your Name | (Y/N/N) = Your Nickname | (Y/E/C) = Your Eye Color

English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread by a beta.

If you want to be tagged in my stories, just send me a message.

(gif by @nofckingfighting​)

It was Christmas again. (Y/N) couldn’t ignore the irony of it all. When the Shelby’s and her father had left Small Heat with the rest of the man to go to France, the promise was that they would be back before Christmas. Well, they did return before Christmas, just four years later than they believed they would.

She had lost the spark to celebrate the holiday after they left. In 1914, she and her mother had joined Polly, Ada, Martha, and the kids on Christmas Eve. The next year it was just her and the rest of the Shelby clan. Somewhere along the way, (Y/N) had lost hope that the boys would ever return.

Her fears had been proved wrong two weeks ago when Arthur, Tommy, and John stepped out of the train in Small Heat. And even as relief washed through her, it took (Y/N) a second to recognize that the men who came back weren’t the same who had left.

The past few days had been strange, hard to deal with. It wasn’t easy for the men to be back and it wasn’t easy for the women to get used to having them back around. Everyone was learning how to deal with all the changes and as (Y/N) had learned from a young age, the process wasn’t always smooth.

“Let’s say our prayers,” Polly announced as she sat down.

Tommy scoffed and (Y/N) nudged him with her knee, making him roll his eyes, taking her hand in his as all of them closed their eyes as Polly prayed.

It was strange, all of them sitting there, around the same table, eating, drinking, and celebrating when so many of them didn’t have the opportunity to return. Tommy had never been a man of God, especially after his mother died, and his father left, and after Greta. Certainly not since he signed his name to go to war. (Y/N) knew that better than anyone.

“It’s good to have you all back,” Ada announced, after a long moment of silence, eyeing her brothers from behind the rim of her glass.

“It’s good to be back,” John mumbled when his brothers failed to do so.

“This is a little bit different than what we got used to,” Polly commented, smiling.

In the past years, they had lost (Y/N)’s mother and Martha, the first two years weren’t all that good, so hunger was something they had to get used to. Now, with the betting shop going steady and the boys back, there was more reason to celebrate than normal.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine how hard it has been,” Tommy sneered, laughing sarcastically.

(Y/N) looked up at Polly who just shook her head.

“It wasn’t easy staying behind, Tom,” Ada reasoned, looking at her older brother.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine how hard it was. Staying here, in the comfort of the house, while we were…”

(Y/N) interjected before he could continue and make a bigger mess out of something that was already difficult, “It’s not a competition, Tommy. We know it wasn’t easy for you all out there, but staying here wasn’t easy too. One thing doesn’t erase the other.”

He looked at her then, nothing but ice on his glare, knuckles white from gripping the fork too tight, but said nothing in return, huffing his disagreement.

Silence fell on the table again, the only noises that could be heard were the ones from the cutlery scraping against the plates. This certainly wasn’t the celebration all of them had in mind.

Saying that the rest of the meal was tense would be an understatement. The children ended up easing up the mood, and (Y/N) thanked God if He was listening, for that little blessing.

After they finished, (Y/N) was collecting the dishes to go wash then when Polly stopped her.

“You did most of the cooking, let me and Ada finish the cleaning. Go sit by the fire with a drink and rest a little bit.

(Y/N) didn’t fell for Polly’s act even a little bit. She knew very well what the Shelby’s matriarch wanted—for her and Tommy to make amends over a drink by the fire.

John had gone home with the children, Finn was already with Arthur on the parlour, the oldest Shelby was probably already half-way drunk, considering the amount of alcohol consumed during the meal. She was a little bit tipsy herself, all of them were, in some way, except for the children.

Sighing, (Y/N) picked up her glass from the table, ignoring Ada’s complaints on the background, and headed to the place she wanted to avoid.

As she had guessed, Arthur was almost passed out in one of the couches, a bottle of whiskey by his side. Finn was curled up beside him, one of Arthur’s hand protectively on the boy’s shoulders, as the child dozed off.

She couldn’t contain the smile that appeared on her lips and faltered a little bit when she looked at the other side of the room, finding Tommy sitting there in silence, contemplating the fire.

(Y/N) ignored his eyes on her as she went to pour herself a glass of gin and chose to sit down on the armchair, instead of the couch. What she couldn’t ignore was the frown on his face as she settled down.

None of them said anything for a while, long enough for Arthur’s snores to take over the place.

“I should put Finn to bed,” (Y/N) said, putting her glass down on the center table, meaning to get up.

“Let them stay there,” Tommy’s voice startled her and she turned her head in his direction to see him getting up from the couch and placing his glass on the table, besides hers. “Common, let’s go upstairs,” he invited, extending his hand to her.

(Y/N) sighed, knowing that whatever ruffle started between them never lasted long, and silently accepted his invitation, letting him guide her up the stairs. They were both slightly drunk, but that wasn’t enough to prevent her from hesitating at his door—the room brought her too many memories. The last time they were there alone had been on the night before he left to war—the night she had given herself to him.

Tommy must have noticed her hesitation, leading her inside with a gentle pull, and closing the door behind them.

“Polly said that you wouldn’t enter the room for weeks after we left.”

(Y/N) hummed in answer, watching him sit down on the bed and pat the spot beside him for her to follow. She obliged, studying the peeling wallpaper for a moment.

“And then I wouldn’t leave it, ‘cause it smelled like you,” she admitted, choosing to ignore the little smirk that appeared on his lips, “Until it didn’t anymore and I stayed anyway because it was the closest thing I had of you.”

She looked at him then, to find his gaze already on her, a solemn expression on his face as he assured “You have me now.”

“Do I?” (Y/N) asked, blinking slowly as she felt his hand take hers in between both of his.

She wasn’t certain about anything anymore. They had known each other for all of her life, gone through terrible things that only brought them together even more. But since the day they said their farewells at the train station, (Y/N) wasn’t sure about their feelings for one another anymore.

“You always had,” he assured, not a hint of doubt on his face, “since the moment your mother put that tiny bundle of covers in my arms and you stared back at me with these bright (Y/E/C) eyes of yours.”

He smiled at her, one of those barely-there smiles that were Tommy’s Shelby signature, turning his body toward her, so they were face to face. “You’ll always have me, wanting it or not.”

“As if I ever won’t,” (Y/N) murmured, shyly, more to herself than to him.

Tommy smirked, bringing her closer, cradling her face in between his hands. “Good,” he praised, low and deep, placing a kiss on her forehead, and then a second time, louder and clearer, “Good. ‘Cause I have some plans and I’ll need you by my side.”

“God help us! Thomas Shelby has plans,” she jested as a way to lighten the mood. It only worked for a brief moment, as he smiled and shook his head, but his hands never left her skin as he came closer to her, their noses brushing against each other.

Looking up at him through heavy eyelids, (Y/N) said his name as a warning, one Tommy chooses to ignore, leaning in to extinguish the final bit of space separating them and bringing their mouths together.

(Y/N) doesn’t fight him. Don’t believe she has it in her to refuse him, not when she, herself, had been craving his touch since the moment they said their goodbyes before he left for France years ago. Since he had touched her, made love to her the night before he left. Since the moment he kissed her for the first time when she was fifteen.

She kisses him back, holding his wrists between her fingers, as hungry as he is to get a taste.

“Tommy,” she protests again, weakly, the feeling of his lips trailing down her neck to her collarbone fogging her mind. “Tommy, we shouldn’t.”

He growls in disapproval, lips never leaving her skin, as his hands trail down her body, catching her by the waist and hoisting her up to his lap.

She gasps, not yet used with this new source of strength that the war provided him with. Memories that she tried so hard to bury come flooding her mind.

“I need you,” he breaths against her skin, “Just tonight.”

Taking his face in between her hands, (Y/N) forces him to look at her. He looks lost, like a boat that was left adrift, desperately looking for something that can bring him back to the shore. The look in his eyes is more vulnerable than seductive as he just stays there, unmoving, gazing back at her, waiting for an answer, just as she did years ago.

(Y/N) gives in, nodding. His lips are on hers in a heartbeat, hands grabbing at her hips and bringing her flush against his body. They both moan at the slight friction as her legs tighten around his hips.

Desperately, they start to unbutton each other’s clothes in a hurry to get the skin on skin contact. When she is down to her undergarments, having taken pity on him and freed herself from the slip, his eyes travel down her body, taking in every inch of exposed skin.

She remembers their first time together, how he did the same thing, looking down at her as if trying to engrave the image on his mind and (Y/N) suddenly feels vulnerable.

Tommy doesn’t give her much time to think, spinning them around and laying her down onto the mattress. His mouth explores her skin like it was a map he has to memorize. He places open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone and chest, unfastening the brassiere to kiss, lick and nibble at her breasts, chuckling against her skin as she takes a fist of his hair in between her fingers, tugging it not so gently at the feeling of one of her nipples being dragged against his teeth.

He tortures her with his ministrations until he is satisfied with the writhing mess she’d become. Then his kisses move down, and down until they reach the waistband of her bloomers.

Looking up at her, hunger in his eyes, Tommy hooks his fingers on the fabric, bringing it down her legs, along with her stockings, leaving her bare before him.

Again, he takes a moment to look down at her through heavy eyelids. She is not sure about what she sees in his cold eyes, but whatever it is, it brings a shiver down her spine.

Partying her legs, Tommy lays down on his stomach, bringing her calves to rest on his shoulders. (Y/N) lets her head fall back, closing her eyes at the feeling of his fingers parting her lips and his tongue licking up a stripe from her entrance to her clit.

She moans against her palm, trying to muffle the sound, her other hand fisting the sheets as he chuckles.

“Patience, love,” he purred, “I’ve been waiting for that for too long, let me enjoy you.”

Her mind can’t register the words, not when his mouth was on her again, kissing, and licking, and nibling, making her go crazy. (Y/N) didn’t remember the last time that a man had willingly done that, much less if any had made her feel this way with just his mouth.

(Y/N) has to bite down her lower lip to prevent any sounds from coming out of her mouth as she feels one of his fingers slipping into her.

Tommy doesn’t seem pleased by it, “Common now, (Y/N/N), don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”

“Your siblings are on the house,” she warns.

“From what I remember you weren’t worried about that the last time,” he retorts back, mirth dripping from his voice. “Besides, they’ve heard worse. John went back home with the kids, I’m pretty sure that Finn and Ada left with Polly, Arthur is too drunk to bother. You have nothing to worry about.”

She doesn’t get a chance to fight back when he adds a second finger to the first and licks at her clit at the same time. (Y/N) almost doesn’t recognize the sound that leaves her lips.

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, fingers curling inside of her and making her curse under her breath. “Don’t hold back, come for me. I want to feel you coming all around my fingers. Want to know how it tastes.”

It’s all too much for her to handle. Having him back home, safe and sound, the feeling of one of his hands holding her down as his fingers play with her, the sound of his voice praising her… Her eyes close, toes curling as pleasure washes over her body.

She comes to her senses again with the feeling of his lips on hers. (Y/N)’s hands find the back of his neck to bring him closer, savouring the heady taste of her on his tongue.

He breaks the kiss, getting rid of the rest of his clothes in a hurry as she watches, getting acquainted with this new version of him. She had patched him up enough times to distinguish his old scars from the new ones. He was stronger, had more muscle on his bones, looked sharper when he had been softer before.

There was no denying that the man who came back from the war wasn’t the same that left for it.

Joining her again, he positions himself between her legs, holding himself up on his elbows, as he kisses her again. Both of them take a sharp intake of breath when their bodies meet. He rocks against her, the friction making her hiss against his lips.

“Don’t tease,” she half warns, half begs.

Tommy smiles, parting her folds with one hand and rubbing his cock against her cunt, swearing against her ear.

“So wet,” he coos, rolling them around again, so she is straddling him.

He pulls her close, resting her forehead against his as she positions herself over him. Tommy’s strong hands guide her down his cock slowly. The feeling is better than what (Y/N) remembered and she has to fight the urge to just close her eyes and get lost in the sensation.

Maybe it would’ve been better if she had because the look of pure awe in his eyes is something that (Y/N) doesn’t know if she will be able to forget.

She lets him guide her at first. He is surprisingly gentle, waiting for her to get used to the stretch, setting a slow pace as he helps her move, dropping praises at her ear, of how good she feels, how wet she is, how well she is taking him.

It doesn’t take long for her to feel the familiar sensation of pleasure pooling down at the low of her belly, encouraging her to pick up a rhythm of her own. Hands grabbing at his shoulders for leverage, (Y/N) rolls her hips more firmly against his, taking him all the way down, before increasing her speed.

“Fuck,” he pants against her ear, lips searching for hers as his fingers dig deeper onto her waist.

It feels too good, him filling her up, hitting so deep that it’s almost too easy to get lost in it. She grabs at his hair, tastes the sweat on his skin, traces the inked lines on his chest and arm while moaning his name.

“Just tonight?” the reminder comes out as a question, one that he answers against her lips, eyes locked on hers.

“Just tonight.”

Her chest tightens with his words but she doesn’t have time to delve into it, not when Tommy starts to thrust up into her and all she can feel is him, moving inside of her, lips on her skin as he groans her name.

She feels his cock throbbing and his release follows right after. He doesn’t relent though, sneaking a hand in between them to massage her clit while he moves her up and down his still hard cock. It doesn’t take long for her orgasm to hit her with full force, she is too far gone, becoming putty in his hands.

As the coil inside her belly snaps, (Y/N) gasps his name, searching for his lips in desperation. The pleasure is overwhelming, she doesn’t want it to end, doesn’t want to face him tomorrow morning and pretend that this meant nothing to her. A single tear escapes her eye, she feels his fingers brushing it off and opens her eyes to see the little frown on his face.

Kissing him again, she relinquishes the feeling of him still inside of her, trying to burn it into her memory, because she doesn’t know if he will still be there in the morning.

.

Taglist: @stressedandbandobessed7771​ @captivatedbycillianmurphy​ @internalmess3​ @giowritess​ @theshelbyclan​ @peakyxtommy​

[inevitableconfusion]

Thank you all so much for your response to part one - it’s been incredible!! This turned into an actual beast (I’m talking like 10 pages in microsoft word for just this part) so I have to split it up again. The final chapter will be up by the end of the week! We’re gonna end this thing on a happy note, you guys!!

All Left AU - fanfiction | part one | part two (here) | part three Creator of the au: @sabertoothwalrus​ (Here’s the post that started it all - cw: blood, gore)

Read on ao3

He wakes up on a Tuesday.

It starts out slowly, like waking up from a deep sleep that keeps trying to pull him back in. There are voices, quiet and calm, from somewhere near his feet. There’s a rhythmic beeping off to his left. Something tickles his nose, and it takes him a second to realize there’s a tube on his face. Beyond the tube, he smells antiseptic and soap, and recognition slowly sets in.

A hospital. He’s in a hospital. He takes a big breath, and lets out a groan.

A chair scrapes against the floor and footsteps hurry across the room. There’s a gentle hand on his cheek. “Adrien?”

His eyelids are heavy, but he manages to blink his eyes open, squinting against the fluorescent light. His sight is fuzzy at first, but there’s a familiar blue gaze above him, and everything starts coming back to him all at once. The fight. Hawkmoth. The wish.

“Ma-” he breaks into a coughing fit, voice scratchy and dry from disuse. Sabine appears with a glass of water and they help him sit up, tipping the rim gently against his lips. The water is cold and soothing, and he takes several long, grateful gulps until the glass is empty.

Before he can try to speak again, Tom comes back into the room with the doctor. “Mister Agreste, glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he croaks and clears his throat. “How long was I out?”

“About a week.” He jolts. A week? “Miss Dupain-Cheng, could you please step into the hallway? I need to ask him a few questions while he’s awake.”

Marinette seems to hesitate, but the doctor reassures her that it will only be a few minutes, and she eventually nods before turning back to him. “I’ll be right outside, okay? As soon as he’s done, I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” he whispers. Her eyebrows scrunch up a bit and she hesitates again, grabbing his hand and giving it a squeeze. He squeezes back, and she turns and follows her parents out of the room. Everything feels a little colder as soon as she’s gone.

The doctor pulls over a laptop stand and slips some reading glasses over his nose. “Are you feeling any pain, Mr. Agreste?”

“No.” He doesn’t feel anything, actually. He looks down at his lap, where his left hand is fiddling with the hospital blanket, an IV taped against his wrist and an oxygen monitor clamped on his finger. He can see thick white bandages in the corner of his eye, peeking out from under the sleeve hanging off his right shoulder. “Just… a little sore.”

“That’s okay,” the doctor says, “soreness is to be expected. But if you start feeling lots of pain, tell me or the nurses and we can give you a stronger medication.” He pauses, taking his glasses off and looking Adrien in the eye for the first time since he entered the room. His expression is solemn and his voice is quiet, almost apologetic. “We tried our best to save your arm, but the damage was too extensive. The bone had been crushed in a couple of different areas and some of the nerves and blood vessels were pretty badly frayed –”

The words fade into the background as his mind flashes back to that day with excruciating clarity. The musty smell of the lair. His mother in a glass coffin. Hawkmoth charging at him with terrifying speed. Pain and more blood than he’s ever seen before, screaming, a flash of light as he de-transformed, his arm –

The doctor’s hand on his shin snaps him back to reality. The beeping of the heart monitor has picked up noticeably, so he closes his eyes and takes deep, shaky breaths until it slows down to a more acceptable pace.  “Mr. Agreste, are you alright?”

He winces at the name. “Please, call me Adrien.” There’s a stinging behind his eyes and he can’t bring himself to look at the doctor, instead choosing to stare off to the side.

After a pause, the doctor slowly straightens back up. “I… I apologize, Adrien. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He doesn’t say anything in response; the sound of typing fills the room. A few inconsequential questions later, and the doctor leaves as quickly as he came in.

Marinette walks in as soon as the doctor is gone, just as she promised, nervously fiddling with something in her hands. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed, bites her lip for a second, and then holds out her hand to him. He takes a sharp breath. The silver ring shines beautifully even in the cold light of the hospital room. He can feel it calling out to his soul, an invisible siren song pulling him forward.

“I wanted to make sure you got this back. If… if you want it.”

He reaches out tentatively. The metal is surprisingly warm, cradled safely in the palm of her hand. He blinks back tears, curling his fingers around the miraculous. “Thank you, Marinette.”

She lets out the breath she was holding. “Here, I’ll…” she trails off, gently grabbing his hand so she can slip the ring on his finger. Her hands are shaking. Even after the ring is in place, her touch lingers, clearly lost in thought. It must be a painful memory for her, too.

He threads his fingers between hers and squeezes their palms together. Thank you. She offers a small, sad smile and squeezes back before letting go. Everything feels a little more right in the world.

She reaches up and touches her earring. “Plagg and Tikki… all of the kwamis have been dormant since… for the past two weeks. I don’t think they’re gone forever, but I don’t know when…”

She trails off and he frowns, his thumb tracing the underside of the silver band. Plagg is gone. Maybe not forever, but probably for a while, at least. He didn’t even get to say goodbye.

He curls his hand into a fist. “And… and fa – Hawkmoth?”

She takes a moment to speak, as if trying to figure out how to answer him. “He… he’s in a coma. Here in the hospital.” Another beat of silence. “Do you want to see hi-”

“No,” he cuts her off. He doesn’t want to see that man. He doesn’t want to see him ever again.

Marinette doesn’t say anything in response, but he knows she understands. Of all people, she would understand. She gently touches his hand, uncurling his fist into something looser, and he relaxes. He’s always found comfort in her touch – from both sides of her. Marinette. Ladybug. Two of the most important people in his life, now one.

“How many people know about our identities now?”

She frowns, and he notices for the first time just how exhausted she looks. Like she hasn’t slept the entire week since the fight. “Everyone.”

“What?” His stomach drops. Everyone?

“The… when the ambulance came, so did the police.” Her voice is thick and she grips his hand tighter. “I guess your father confessed when he called, because they knew, somehow. They just – they saw me, and then they saw you, and I didn’t – I couldn’t –” A tear slips down her cheek, but she blinks quickly and wipes it away. “And then the media caught wind, and it was just… chaos.” She closes her eyes, her voice a broken whisper. “There were so many people.”

Everyone. They all know who he is. Who they are. They all know what happened. He doesn’t know what to do, what to say. He feels so lost. But then, he feels the weight of the ring on his finger – solid, smooth, and real. She gave it back to him. And she still has her earrings.

That… that has to mean something, right?

He looks at her carefully. “So, what do we do?”

She sniffles and opens her eyes. Her expression is firm. Steady. Determined. And even through the tears, it’s just so Ladybug. “We face it, together.”

Adrien’s heart stutters. Together. He lifts his hand to cup her face, his thumb brushing over the soft skin under her eye. He swallows the lump in his throat. “For the record, I’m really glad it’s you.”

Her brows scrunch up and she takes a shaky breath. She lifts a hand to cover his, pressing it against her cheek. “I’m glad it’s you, too.”

He gives her a watery smile, feeling his own tears well up. “It’s you and me against the world, m’lady.”

“Always,” she whispers.

He feels his face crumble as everything comes crashing down. She throws her arms around him, pulling him closer, hugging him tighter, until there’s no space between them. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, finally letting out all of the emotions he’s been holding back.

He’s alive. She’s alive. They made it.

.

.

His father dies on a Thursday.

It doesn’t really come as a shock; he’s been waiting for the news since he first woke up two days ago. The doctors have been doing everything they can to keep him alive, but Adrien knew that nothing would help in the end. The wish saved his life, so it would take his father’s. The universe has to balance out, and nothing can change that.

What does come as a shock is information that he’s given directly after.

His head shoots up, eyes wide. “Nathalie is missing?” He hadn’t even thought to ask about Nathalie, given everything that’s been going on.

Officer Raincomprix pauses, then slowly closes his notepad. “We… have reason to believe that Miss Sancouer was working with Hawkmoth, under the name ‘Mayura’.”

“What?!” Marinette shrieks, leaping to her feet so quickly that her chair knocks over. “Why are we just being told this now?”

The officer holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m sorry, but since you can’t turn into Ladybug and Chat Noir right now, we could not risk having you try to go after her. It seems Ms. Sancoeur has fled the country, but we are doing everything we can to track her down and bring her back. Justice will prevail in the end!”

“She has a miraculous! We don’t know when they’re going to become active again, so the fact that she’s still out there means she’s still dangerous! And now that she knows our identities, don’t you think she’s going to come after us first?”

“Not to worry. By then, we’ll either have her locked up, or you’ll be Ladybug again. Either way, it wouldn’t be smart for her to try anything.”

“I am still Ladybug. And you have a duty to-”

“Wait!” Adrien shouts, interrupting them both. There’s a strange mix of cold emptiness and white-hot rage boiling up inside him. He feels his body shaking. “Wait. Did Gorilla know about this, too?”

Officer Raincomprix’s eyebrows furrow. “Who?”

“The Gorilla! My bodyguard!”

“Oh. No, he has been cleared of all involvement and released.”

Adrien rubs his eyes and then pinches the bridge of his nose, doing his best to hold off the sudden, unwelcome tears building up. “Okay. So, two out of the three people living in my house were secretly trying to hurt me for years. Got it. Cool.”

“Ad-”

“I need a moment,” he snaps, and then sighs and softens his tone. “Please.”

They are quiet for a few seconds, and the policeman offers his thanks for their time before leaving, closing the door with a soft click. Adrien still has his eyes closed, but he can feel Marinette’s concerned gaze on him.

“Are you okay?”

His shoulders sag, feeling heavier and heavier as the day goes on. He leans back against the pillows on his bed and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t feel like crying anymore, he just feels tired. “It’s… a lot to take in.” He rolls his head to the side and gives her an apologetic look.

Sometimes he’s thankful that she can read him so well. She offers a gentle smile and grabs his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “I’m gonna head home a little early today. See if you can get some rest before your therapy session, alright? I’m only a text away.”

She starts to pull away, but before she can get too far, he tugs her hand closer and kisses her knuckles. Thank you.

She stares for a bit too long, and he realizes belatedly that that was a very Chat Noir thing to do. Warmth crawls up his neck and over his cheeks, but there’s a fondness on her face that he’s not used to seeing. “See you tomorrow, kitty.”

Silence fills the room after she leaves, and it would be enough to drive him crazy if he had the energy to think. Instead, he lies back and closes his eyes.

  Father is dead.

He wakes up in a cold sweat. Just as quickly as the thought comes, the memory of whatever nightmare he was having fades into nothing. He’s not sure how long he managed to sleep. A few minutes? A few hours?

A gentle knock on the door tells him it was the latter. It’s time for his therapy session. He’s not ready. He’s never ready.

The physical therapy they’ve been having him do every day has been tough. His muscles are sore from a week of being unconscious, and his right shoulder hurts with even the barest movement. He has to re-learn how to do everything with only one arm – going to the bathroom, carrying large items, writing with his non-dominant hand. Even the once-simple act of tying his shoes or buttoning a shirt has left him in frustrated tears a few times.

Yet, the emotional therapy is so much harder. It’s difficult to turn his jumble of thoughts into words, much less coherent ideas that he can then dissect and analyze. And every time the counselor tries to bring up his father, he completely shuts down. Progress is slow and mentally taxing, and tonight is no different.

He finishes his dinner in a daze and Louise – one of his nurses – comes in. She sets his empty plate to the side and starts unwrapping the bandages on his arm to check on the stitches. She tries to make small-talk, but Adrien only answers half-heartedly, and eventually the conversation peters out. He feels a little bad; she’s a very kind lady, but he just doesn’t have the energy to talk. All he wants to do now is sleep.

After re-wrapping the bandages, Louise pulls an envelope out of the pocket of her scrubs and wordlessly hands it to him. He takes it, tossing her a questioning glance. “It’s a get-well-soon letter.” She picks up the dinner tray and gives him a small smile. “We thought it might make you feel better.”

She walks out of the room and he stares down at the letter, debating with himself. The exhaustion wins out in the end and he sighs, setting the unopened letter on the bedside table. He’ll get to it tomorrow.

.

.

The funeral is on a Friday.

His Aunt Amelie has insisted on have at least a bare-bones ceremony, because even though no one wants to honor the man who’d terrorized Paris for the past three years, she still wants the people close to him to have the opportunity to say their proper goodbyes. And by people, she means him.

Adrien doesn’t want to go, but his counselor thinks it could be cathartic, an opportunity to get everything off his chest. The hospital releases him an hour before the funeral starts, and even in death, he realizes he’s still stuck under his father’s thumb.

When he walks into the lobby, Gorilla is sitting by the door, and he feels a flood of relief. The man stands as soon as he spots Adrien, and his stoic face melts into something softer before engulfing him in a hug.

Gorilla isn’t officially his bodyguard anymore. He isn’t being paid; he has no obligation to be here. He has the right to uproot his life and start fresh somewhere new. Adrien wouldn’t blame him if he did. And yet, here he is.

It… it means a lot.

They step out of the doors together and are immediately swarmed by the paparazzi, the sound of inaudibly shouted questions and incessant camera shutters filling the air. Thankfully, Gorilla manages to mostly block his body from view, and they’re in the car just a few steps later.

The funeral itself is nothing to marvel at. A small church that he’s never set foot in, a simple urn, a wreath of flowers next to a picture of his father. It’s the only photo he’s ever seen with his father smiling; a family portrait from when he was a child. A happy, loving family that’s long since disappeared. The pews are almost empty, since very few people were allowed to attend. Not that many wanted to attend, anyway. He sits alone at the back, eyes scanning over the rest of the guests as the organ music drones on and on. The priest is kneeling off to the side, dutifully entranced in prayer. His aunt and cousin are in the second row; Andre and Audrey Bourgeois in the middle section; Roger Raincomprix and Gorilla standing guard at the doors. And that’s it. The only people in the world who cared about his father, all gathered in one room. Not a teardrop in sight.

He slouches in his seat, very aware of how much he does not want to be here. But someone sits down next to him, and he jumps. There, wearing a simple black dress, blonde hair in a sleek updo, looking like she’s halfway to tears, is Chloe Bourgeois.

“Chloe?” he whispers, unable to hide his shock at her presence. He hasn’t seen Chloe in… months. At least three or four months, probably. Not since he’d confronted her about her increasingly cruel behavior, and she’d subsequently cut him out of her life.

But here she is, eyes locked on the dangling sleeve of his suit jacket. Without a word, she reaches out and touches the sleeve, slowly closing her hand around it, as if afraid to see if it was truly empty. It is empty, of course. The realization seems to hit her hard, and she clasps her other hand to her mouth to muffle a gasp. She looks up at him, mascara already starting to run down her cheeks. “Adrien, I’m so sorry.”

It’s a little weird. Chloe’s become almost a caricature of herself over the years, really leaning into her mean-girl attitude, especially after cutting Adrien out. So, it’s strange to see her be so… vulnerable now. The way she’s looking at him, it reminds him of the girl he used to know growing up; the girl who shared her teddy bear when he cried, who played with him when he was lonely, who always stood up for him whenever his father was angry. Something like hope sparks in his chest, seeing her now. Maybe, just maybe, his friend isn’t totally gone after all. Maybe she just needs a friend, too. Someone to pull the old her out of this new shell.

He feels the corner of his mouth lift a little. “I lost an arm, Chloe. I didn’t die.” She wipes away her tears, taking a moment to compose herself. “I thought you hated my father?”

“I didn’t come here for him,” she scoffs. “I came here to support you, Adrikins.”

That’s… actually touching. A small, fond smile tugs at his lips. “Thanks, Chlo. It means a lot that you’re here.”

She faces the front and rests her head on his shoulder – a brief, silent show of solidarity. He rests his head against hers in response, and when the organ music cuts out, they both sit up straight. The priest walks to the front and begins the service with a solemn “Thank you all for coming,” and Adrien has to fight not to scowl. He wouldn’t have come if he’d had the choice.

Marinette plops down at his other side, slightly out of breath. “Sorry I’m late, the police almost didn’t let me in.”

He ducks his head closer to her, feeling significantly more at-ease. “That’s okay. I’m glad you made it.”

She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze. But she stiffens when her eyes lock onto something over his shoulder, and he realizes with some apprehension that she’s caught sight of Chloe. The two girls are staring each other down, and the air that hangs between them is so thick that he’s almost choking on it. But the tension breaks when Chloe gives her a curt nod, and Marinette nods back in some sort of weird understanding, and they face the front again.

The sermon is as short and to-the-point as it can be, but it still feels like it drags on. Marinette holds his hand the entire time, and it’s the only thing that keeps him from disassociating. When the priest asks if anyone would like to come up and say a few words, Adrien stays silent.

Afterward, as people are leaving, the priest offers the urn to him. He tries to refuse, but Aunt Amelie suggests that he take the urn to the mansion and spread his father’s ashes in the garden, next to the statue of his mother. And well… it’s as good an idea as any.

The ride to the mansion is silent. It’s just him and Gorilla now, and his bodyguard was never much of a talker. Not that he feels like talking, anyway. Adrien looks down at the urn resting in his lap, and frowns. He can’t remember the last time he was this close to his father, aside from that day. He can’t even remember the last time his father had hugged him. And here he is, cradling his ashes gingerly, as if he – as if he cares.

Gorilla stays in the car while he steps out, choosing to walk around the exterior to get to the garden. He doesn’t dare step foot inside the mansion. The last time he was here… well, it wasn’t a good memory. He didn’t have a lot of good memories here, actually. At least not after his mother died.

And his mother wasn’t really gone, it turns out. She had been in the basement for years, frozen in some sort of awful cryo-sleep. She was always there, waiting in limbo; while father was torturing him, and his friends, and all of Paris; while his house – the place where he was supposed to feel safest – became a prison; while his only remaining parent cut his arm off… all in the name of bringing her back.

Adrien sets the urn on the grass and takes off the lid. It really is a beautiful urn. It’s a shame it holds such an evil man.

He picks up the urn with only a little difficulty and starts spreading the ashes as best as he can, taking care to keep them close to his mother’s statue so it won’t harm the other plants. Now – now he can be with his wife for eternity. It’s what he wanted, isn’t it? Never mind his son, never mind that he still had family – all that mattered was bringing his wife back from the dead.

All of the love Adrien had for his father, all this time… it was all one-sided. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. The empty urn drops onto the grass with a dull thud.

He’d done everything his father had asked. For years, he’d done everything – things he didn’t want to do – piano, fencing, Chinese lessons, homeschooling, modeling, all of it. He was left to grieve his mother alone, he was isolated in his home, he was kept from having friends and seeing other family; all while working sun up to sun down, until he was exhausted to the bone, and even then being pushed to do more. And despite it all, he tried his best to be the perfect well-behaved son that his father expected him to be. He – he’d tried so hard just to get a little praise, a little attention, a little love, but he never did.

His father had been so blinded by his goal of resurrecting his wife, that he failed to realize that he still had a son. He had his son, right there, hurting and in need of a father when it mattered most. And he hurt him further. Adrien wanted love, and all he ever got was pain, pain, pain.

No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, it was never enough. He was never enough.

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the tears drip onto his hand. He wipes roughly at his cheeks, but they just keep coming. He’s crying – why is he crying over this? Over this person, this person who caused him so much anguish? This person who was supposed to love him?

He feels stupid for crying. He feels angry.

Why?

The question he wanted to ask his father as he slipped out of consciousness. The question he will never truly know the answer to.

Why?

A wave of grief crashes over him, knocking him to his knees. He curls in on himself, ribs pressing into his legs so hard that he can barely breathe.

Why?

Because despite it all, despite everything, he couldn’t hate his father. He wanted to, god, he wanted to. He wanted to be able to move on, to carve out all memory of him and live the rest of his life in peace, to say he hated the man who had cut off his arm and ruined his life. Yet, he can’t. He can’t erase the memories of playing in the garden with his mother and father, laughing in the sunshine, his father smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world. He can’t shake off the ghost of his father’s arms, circling him in a hug when he got home from his first day at school. He can’t unsee the panic, the regret, the tears dripping from his father’s face after he de-transformed. His father was the only family he had left. Adrien had loved him so much, so unconditionally, for so long, that he – he didn’t know how to hate him.

Why didn’t you love me back?

Strong arms pull him off the ground and into a hug, and it just makes him cry harder. It’s like everything he’s been holding back, everything he’s been refusing to let himself feel, is all crashing out of him at once. The flood gates are open and there’s no turning back.

He’s angry, and he’s confused, and lonely, and sad, and relieved, and it’s just – it’s all too much.

“I was there, that day, before the ambulance came.”

It’s the first time Adrien has ever heard Gorilla speak, and it’s enough to startle him out of his thoughts. His voice is deep, but quiet.

“It took me a while to break into the room, but by the time I did, you were already unconscious. So was Gabriel, and Marinette was kneeling by your body. She looked so scared.”

Adrien pulls back and looks at Gorilla, sniffling and wiping at his eyes.

“She told me who she was,” he says, “and who you were, and who Gabriel was. She said that there was a wish – that, if you make a wish using two of the miraculous, it could save you. Your father knew this, and wouldn’t let Marinette make the wish herself. He was the only one who knew the incantation, and he refused to tell her unless she gave him the miraculous.”

What?

“She had no choice, so she gave them over. He made the wish, and then he collapsed.” Gorilla moves his giant hands to rest on Adrien’s shoulders. “Your father loved you. He was proud of you. I heard the way he talked about you when you weren’t around. He tried to do what was best for you, he just went about it the wrong way.” Gorilla pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “He wasn’t… a good man. But he did love you.”

Adrien’s gaze falls, a few fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. “I… I can’t forgive him.”

“You don’t have to. No one has to. What he did – especially what he did to you – was unforgiveable. But,” he tips up Adrien’s chin so he can look him in the eyes, “You can’t hold onto this anger forever. Your father couldn’t get over his grief, and that was what lead him down the wrong path. Negative emotions like this, they’re important to feel – they’re what make us human. But if we hold onto them for too long, they can turn us into monsters.”

A shiver runs up his spine. He doesn’t want to turn out like his father. He doesn’t want to be another monster that his father created. But he can’t… he doesn’t know how to move past this. Not when looking at his reflection, seeing his missing arm, is a daily reminder of what his father did to him. “How? How do I let it go?”

Gorilla pulls him into a gentle hug. “You do better. Be better than he was. Turn your anger around into something good. It’s okay if you don’t know how yet. You are the strongest person I know, Adrien. And you have all of us – your friends, and your family, and all of Paris – behind you, to help you. We’ll always be here, so don’t worry about facing this alone, because you are not alone.”

The words are a weight lifted off his chest, a warm fire melting the ice that has surrounded his heart since his mother died. You are not alone.

He closes his eyes and buries himself into Gorilla’s chest.

 That night, he’s the one to bring up the topic of his father in therapy. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

[lovesanmotion]

Precious - Song Mingi

💌 This is: Requested

Summary: in which PeterPan!Mingi finally confesses his true feelings for Tinkerbell!Reader

"I can't believe you would ever hurt Wendy like that!......When did you become so violent, y/n?" Mingi spoke with so much venom in his voice but the venom melted into a tone of sadness at the last question.

Partly you blamed yourself for being carried away by your emotions. You only ever wanted to save Mingi from being eaten by the sharks with chains and shackles on his wrists and ankles, but a wretched Wendy attempts to do the same but got herself thrown over the water. You only ever wanted to save Mingi and leave Wendy behind. Besides, it was her own fault for doing something so reckless and stupid without thinking.

"Don't you know you could have killed her?" Mingi's question made you imagine how the crocodiles or the giant red octopus would swallow Wendy whole, inside feeling sorry for her, a sinister smile painted your lips and a tinking sound echoes as you nodded your head.

"Y/N! I hereby banish you forever." Mingi declares, the rest of the lost boys gasp at the sudden declaration. It would always be Mingi and you going to numerous adventures along with the boys, but to vanish you. You stomped your foot and flied away to your own little room inside the willow tree that Mingi made for you some years ago. On your way, you were sure to catch Wendy say something to Mingi.

"Forever? Do you really have the heart to banish y/n forever?" She asked in a solemn tone.

"Well...maybe you're right. Maybe a week then!"

Too angry to even think and listen more at what they could be talking about, you shut your leaf curtain behind you.

And Mingi did keep his word. You were banished for a week, nothing what and where could they be doing without you. And all you could do is sit down miserably on the edge of the leaf, waiting for them to come back. But while waiting, a rustling sound was made from behind you, and suddenly, a purple bag enveloped you, a thread of tinking sounds resonated as you tried to rip the bag apart and dragging you away from Peter's home.

"I beg your pardon, ms y/n. But Captain Hook would love to have a chat with you." You noticed that grumbly old man's voice. It was Mr. Smee who had captured you and eventually take you to Hook's ship.

Once you were set free, you looked around the room, but there was only a wooden table with a fruit bowl and wine on top and a wooden piano that was being played by none other than Captain Hook himself. You sat on top of the untouched wine cork with your back turned against them. Would Mingi ever come for you?

"Ms. Y/N, you would be so delighted to hear that I will admit my defeat" you crossed your arms over your chest and huffed, a tinking noise was made.

"And that's why I took you here, Ms Y/N. To tell you that I have no ill feelings with Mingi." You slowly turned around and watched as Hook's fingers smoothly glides from key to key.

"But what about you and Mingi who brough that Wendy girl?" A devilish grin crosses his face as he leans closer to you. A tinking noises coming from you as you stomped both of your feet on the wine bottle and turned your back away from them again. You could feel the sinister look on Hook's face as he echoed the G key.

"Word around the island is that she came between you and Mingi." Hook's fingers continued to dance around the white and black keys of the piano. Aimlessly creating random melodies that seemed like a harmony.

You frowned and hung your head low, sniffing.

"What's this? Tears?! Then it is true!" Hook leaned his face closer to you, watching you bring your small hand over your eyes to wipe your tears. A tinking sound echoes as you nodded your head.

"How dare Mingi act like a man to a maid? Casting her aside just like that? Like an old glove!" Your lower lip trembled and you couldn't help but bury your face in your hands, sobbing.

"Now now, Ms Y/N. Just as promised. I will be leaving the island with no ill feelings with Mingi." Hook took your little form in his hand and brought you outside of his ship. You leant close to his face before departing.

"Not harm Mingi?" Hook repeated what you last said. "Madame, I will keep your word. Not to lay a finger on Mingi." You arched your pointing finger at him.

"Or a hook on Mingi." Hook repeated. And Hook brought his hand down with you, setting you free.

As you flied towards to Mingi's home, you passed by a mirror and stared at your reflection. The golden glow around you looked like it was fading, you huffed out a breath and trudgingly made your way back to your room.

And day by day, Mingi, the lost boys nor even that wretched Wendy came back to the house. You felt like a thousand needles were piercing through you and they hurted terribly. You could no longer fly nor walk properly, only crawl. The golden glow around you was no longer golden as they start to fade out. Finally, you gave in and your golden glow died out, with a last breath, you closed your eyes.

"Mingi...why is Y/N not moving anymore?" One of the lost boys asked as they took a peak at the little hole in the willow tree.

"Y/N looks...kinda bad" One said as they observed you. Unbeknownst to them that you have "lost your touch" while they are away.

"Kinda bad? kinda bad?" One lost boy repeated as tears started to brim in his eyes until the tears flowed out of his eyes. "This is hopeless. Poor little y/n!" He sobbed.

Mingi felt terrible as he watched your unmoving and lightless figure on your little bed.

"Can you guys go to wherever Wendy is? Make sure she's alright. I'll just talk to y/n alone." Mingi said as he turns to face the six lost boys before him, scrambling out of the room together. When they were all gone, Mingi turns back to face you, sighing.

"Y/N...I'm..I-I," Mingi sighed once more, huffing a breath. "I'm sorry for being so harsh on you, Y/N....I admit that it was my fault, and I didn't really intend to banish you forever. You know its always been me and you since the beginning right? Us two until the end." Mingi extended his hand out and took your little figure in the palm of his hand. But you still laid unmoving and your light still down.

"Remember when we once defeated Hook in Blindman's Tree and had the giant red octopus chase him? I still remember that day very vividly. Oh, and do you also remember when we first met the tribe and had a feast and danced around with them? I know you got jealous when their princess was being too close to me. I know I never said anything, but you looked really cute when you were jealous." Mingi chuckles as if he was talking to you like you were alive. And the next thing, Mingi sniffled as a tear falled out of his eye.

"I miss you, Y/N. We...the boys, we made Hook and his men leave the island." He choked, gulping his own saliva before releasing a breath. "But everytime I was battling Hook, I keep looking for a little golden figure around the ship. It...it-it....it isn't the same without you, y/n." He sobbed.

"Do you remember how we met in Fairy Town? That was the happiest memory I have in my head." He continued to sob over your unmoving and lightless figure. "I'm sorry and I love you, y/n."

Suddenly, a ray of golden light gleamed around you that made Mingi stop from crying, he watched as you slowly blink your eyes and regain your wings back. A smile replaced his frown and almost immediately, Mingi took your little figure and hugged you tightly.

[dixonsmonroe]

Near To You

Summary: Daryl and Rick had everything, until they didn’t. But when Daryl meets Jesus, he learns that there are always second chances when it comes to love.

Pairing: Daryl x Rick, Daryl x Jesus

Word count: 4k

Author’s notes: i actually found this in my google docs other day and apparently i wrote this 2 years ago so enjoy!

Warning: mentions of smut (18+), fluff, pining, canon level violence, i will never stop loving desus

Daryl hadn’t taken kindly to Rick right away. He didn’t like him when they were still at the camp and Rick had a gun to Daryl’s head, and told him in his best ‘good-cop’ voice, “We don’t kill the living.” It was like that for a while; anytime Rick started off on his pep talks, Daryl wanted to knock him in the teeth. The longer Merle was gone, though, the pep talks became less annoying and even kind of comforting.

After they left the CDC and ended up at the farm, Daryl still kept his distance, but did whatever Rick needed him to. He actually enjoyed being around him, and working in a group as a team. He felt useful around the farm; it was work he knew how to do. He also noticed the only time he was ever annoyed at Rick anymore was when Shane was around. Shane would make some dumbass remark, Daryl would antagonize him, and Rick would keep them from fighting. Shane would leave and Rick would just look apologetically at Daryl, who would shrug it off and assure everything was fine.

Nothing had ever happened until the prison. They had been there for a while, and after Lori died, Rick had started to come back to them bit by bit. He was currently in a peaceful farming phase, which was plentiful for the group, but still a little out of character.

Rick met Daryl in the guard tower for first watch shifts after everyone went to bed.

“The place is lookin’ good,” Rick looked out over the whole prison, over the crops they had grown and the reinforcements around the walls. “We really made this place home.”

“Took a lotta work, but it was worth it.” Daryl replied, smoking his cigarette, “You got us all here.”

“Couldn’t have done it without my right hand,” he smiled. Daryl stifled a grin and looked away, trying not to let Rick see him blush.

They had been together like this a thousand times, just the two of them, hanging out. They were best friends, they were family. But sometimes Rick would laugh a certain way or he’d get all focused and solemn or he would push his hair out of his face and Daryl would freeze up. Rick was a strong leader, and a good friend. He had Daryl’s full loyalty.

“How’ve you been doing?” he asked.

“Much better. Rick nodded. “I know I lost it a little bit, but I’ve been doing a lot of thinking and I’m figuring things out.”

“You need anything, lemme know.”

Rick stared out the window in silence for a few moments. “There might be something.”

Daryl glanced at Rick, who was now looking at him, albeit a bit nervously.

“What’s that?”

Rick looked hesitant now, like he was mentally backing out of whatever he was going to say. He leaned closer to Daryl still, until their hands were touching. Daryl glanced at Rick out of the corner of his eye. He could feel Rick’s body heat so incredibly close, and it made him shiver. Rick finally took his hand and held it as they looked out across the yard. Daryl fought back a grin and gave Rick’s hand a squeeze, leaning against him.

Nothing more had happened until about two weeks later. In those two weeks there had still been plenty of secret hand holding, stolen smiles and glances, the like. But one day after an especially tolling run, Daryl had made his decision. It had been rough out there; it was him, Rick, and Maggie, the car had stalled and they almost got taken out by a hoard. Daryl watched Rick almost get bit and he felt like he was about to lose everything he cared about. He had thrown the walker off of him after stabbing it and helped Rick up. He patted Daryl’s shoulder and nodded towards the car.

The moment they knew they were completely alone back at the prison, Daryl kissed Rick. The best part was Rick kissed him back, as if this was normal, as if it was how it had always been. Rick’s hand went to Daryl’s cheek and they leaned their foreheads together.

“I—“ Daryl started but Rick cut him off with another kiss.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I wanted to do it first, but I couldn’t find the right time.”

“Me too.�� Daryl replied. “Figured you almost dyin’ was as good a reason as any.”

Rick chuckled, leaning back a bit, thumb running over Daryl’s cheekbone.

That was how it was after that. They didn’t tell anyone, not Glenn, not Carol, not anybody. There were nights where they would sneak off to an abandoned cell or hallway and just take their time, take in every bit of each other.

One night was different. Rick still had Daryl pushed up against the wall, still inside of him as they came down, slowing their breathing.

“I love you,” Rick breathed out so quietly, Daryl wasn’t sure he’d heard it right. He just turned his head around his shoulder and kissed Rick sweet and soft. Rick’s eyes were a little wide, pride and ego slowly melting away.

“I love you,” Daryl said finally. Of course he did. He always had.

It was like that for a while; sneaking off to fuck after everyone went to sleep, spending guard shifts paying attention to their job, but also pausing to make out like teenagers or just talking about everything. It was bliss Daryl had never experienced in his life, and it was with his absolute best friend.

The day the prison got broken into, Daryl left with Beth and there was no sign of Rick anywhere.

He and Beth had been through some shit, Daryl had gotten drunk and acted like a total asshole, and Beth was nothing but understanding, even though he may not have deserved it. That night, they sat on the porch of the house they had found, having a heart to heart. Beth, even with her naive nature that made Daryl have hope but also made him a little bitter. He’d never had the option to be optimistic in his life, always on high alert.

“You wanna know what I was before all this?” Daryl asked softly. “I was no one. Nothin’.”

Beth looked sad for a moment, but nodded for him to keep going.

“Until I found Rick and the group.” He continued. He had never told anyone about him and Rick, never ever. But Beth was understanding, and as much as she talked or sang or whatever, he knew he could trust her. She and Maggie felt like the younger sisters he never had.

“Rick and I—“ he took a breath before he spilled all the things he had never told anyone. “We were together. We’ve always been close, always been his right hand. But at some point it was more than that.”

Beth grinned dreamily. “Do you love him?”

He nodded, a small smile on his face thinking about it. Everything was shit right now, but despite everything he’d said when he yelled at her earlier, he knew they had to find Rick and their family.

“We’ll find them again,” Beth reassured. “We’re going to.”

He had lost Beth. He was alone, until he found the Claimers. He missed Beth, he missed having someone he trusted and who kept him sane. These guys were brutal, they were guys he knew not to cross.

The night they had found the guy Joe was looking for, Daryl heard a voice and immediately knew who he was.

Daryl heard Joe threatening Rick, so he stepped out of the shadows.

“Joe!” he said, causing him to turn towards Daryl. “You gotta let these guys go. They’re good people.”

He made quick eye contact with Rick, careful not to give anything away but screaming on the inside because Rick looked both terrified and relieved to see him. Michonne looked angry, but also so fucking scared at the same time.

He argued with Joe, he really tried.

“Hey, you want blood. I get it.” Daryl put his crossbow down and held his arms out. “Take it from me, man.”

The blows started almost immediately. The other Claimers just started wailing on him as hard as they could. He was praying he didn’t crack a rib or get kicked in the face or fucking die.

Joe’s voice was barely audible to him, Daryl’s heart pounding in his ears. “First, we’re gonna beat Daryl to death, then we’re gonna have the girl. Then the boy. Then I’m gonna kill you.”

Daryl knew he had to get up, he had to fight back, he had to save them. He had seen a man drag Carl out of the car and throw him on the ground, holding him down and unbuckling his belt. Oh, fuck no.

He listened to Rick plead with Joe, pleaded with him to let his son go, just let him go.

A gunshot rang through the air. The men stopped beating Daryl, and he got up to fight. It was rough, and he saw Rick stagger against the noise, and when Rick seemed almost incapable of fighting any longer, he looked Joe in the eye.

“What are you gonna do now?” Joe taunted, before Rick bit down on his neck and tore out his jugular.

Daryl couldn’t believe what he just saw, Rick unhinged and willing to do anything to protect his own.

They killed the other men, left them in the road and rested until morning.

Rick was sitting on the ground, back against the car, still covered in blood. Daryl poured a little water on a rag and handed it to him.

“We should save that to drink.” Rick said.

“You can’t see yourself, he can.” Daryl nodded toward Carl in the car. Daryl sat down next to him while he cleaned his face. “I didn’t know what they were.” he said sadly.

“How’d you end up with them?”

Daryl looked down at his lap. “I was with Beth. We got out together. I was with her for a while.”

There was a pause of silence until Rick asked if she was dead. Daryl shook his head and said she was just gone. He told him how he ended up with the Claimers, how they were looking for some guy, how he’d almost left them, but didn’t.

“That’s when I saw it was you three, right when you saw me.” His voice was sad and low. “I didn’t know what they could do.”

“It’s not on you, Daryl.” Rick took his hand. “You bein’ back here with us now, that’s everything.”

This was the first bit of physical contact they’d had since the prison. Daryl finally felt warm, even with how much he hurt after being beaten half to death, Rick’s hand on his was everything he needed right now.

“I love you,” Rick said quietly. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

Daryl nodded, and gave his hand a squeeze. Rick said it, but Daryl could tell he was still shaken up.

“Hey, what you did last night; Anybody would’ve done that.” he said reassuringly.

“No, not that.” Rick replied. Now he looked like he was trying to hold himself together. Rick had gotten violent before, but it was always to protect someone. His family was in danger and he saved them. “It ain’t all of it, but that’s me.”

Daryl knew how sad he looked, but he couldn’t help it. “You’re a good man. You protect your own,” Daryl lowered his voice a bit. “You’re the person I fell in love with, no matter what you do.”

Rick leaned into him until his head was resting on Daryl’s shoulder. Daryl kissed the top of his head and squeezed his hand.

They made it through Terminus. They made it through Grady hospital. They had most of the group back.

They lost Beth.

Daryl barely spoke the entire time they walked towards Washington. His family was there for him, and gave him enough space at the same time. Now that they had more people, Rick was busy leading all of them. Daryl knew it wasn’t his fault, but they began to drift apart. Things were rough, until they found Alexandria. Rick became constable, and had been making friends --and enemies-- all over. Most people respected him, but Daryl felt so out of place.

Rick had spent two nights at Daryl’s house, making sure to not draw attention to themselves. They had sex that night, but it was different. Rick was there with him, of course, but it almost felt sad. Like it was the last time they would be like this. They fit together so well before, but after all this time apart and everything they went through, they were different people.

The next night, they didn’t even fuck. They physically slept together, but that was it. Daryl had been wanting to have this conversation for a while, but he obviously didn’t want to do it after sex.

“Are you good?” Daryl asked as they lay next to each other.

Rick had his elbow on the pillow and rested his face in his hand as he turned towards Daryl. “I’m good. Are you?”

Daryl shrugged. “Feels like things are different. With us.”

Rick nodded solemnly. “I’ve had a lot goin’ on. I’m sorry I haven’t made time for us.”

Daryl shook his head. “Don’t feel bad. You’re doing so much good for everyone.” Daryl sat up then, wrapping his arms around his knees. “I know you’ve been eyeing Jessie. I noticed it almost the moment we got here.”

Rick sat up and put his hand on his shoulder. “I would never, ever do anything to hurt you. Nothing has ever happened with her.”

“I know,” Daryl said sadly. “But I get it. I ain’t the last person on earth.”

“Daryl, I know there’s still people out there, but I made the choice to be with you, you’re not just some guy.” Rick said firmly, but Daryl heard his voice falter. “You’re not just some option.”

“I love you,” Daryl said quietly. “I’ve always loved you and I always will. But I don’t want to hold you back. I’ll always be here for you when you need me, I’ll always do anything for you.”

Rick’s voice cracked. “But?”

Daryl finally looked at him and took in the heartbreak on his face. “But I need to let you go. I want you to be happy, and I’m not what makes you happy anymore.”

Rick looked like the wind had been knocked out of him, but after a moment Daryl could tell he was done denying the truth.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I never wanted to make you feel like you weren’t important. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” Daryl took Rick into his arms and kissed the top of his head. “At least stay tonight?”

“Of course,” Rick said. “Anything for you.”

It took a few weeks before Daryl’s heart stopped feeling like it was going to fall into his stomach every time he saw Rick. He knew Rick had kissed Jessie, and he knew that it never turned into anything more. He stayed on the edges of Rick’s life, trying to keep a little bit of distance so he didn’t die from pining after his lost love.

When they did end up going on a run together, it felt like old times. Not like nothing romantic had ever happened, but that comfort he felt whenever he was with Rick. He missed his best friend, and he was starting to be okay with that being all they were.

That’s when they met Jesus. Daryl was annoyed with him immediately, but he fought back this nagging feeling of attraction. He didn’t trust the guy, and he certainly didn’t want him around his home. But little by little, Jesus started to grow on him. Before Daryl knew it, they were working together a lot more, and they worked together well. He hadn’t felt this way ever; his feelings for Rick were completely different. Jesus was not only charismatic and caring, but he was out and proud. Daryl had had one sexual relationship with a man who was openly gay, before everything went to shit, but it was still before Daryl had come out. He pushed his feelings to the back of his mind, not wanting to think about what another heartbreak would do to him at this point.

The Hilltop was bustling with activity. Everyone was doing some sort of work; laundry or farming or building something. Daryl was making new arrows on the Barrington House porch, and Rick was beside him lacing his boots and waiting for Maggie to come by. She and Rick had some sort of business to discuss between the two communities.

“First nice day we’ve had in a while,” Rick said, pushing his curls out of his face. “You goin’ hunting before the party tonight?”

“Yeah, gonna try and bring back something big.” Daryl nodded. “I don’t know what you mean, though. ‘S fuckin’ hot.”

Rick laughed. “Maybe if you didn’t wear a leather vest everywhere.”

Daryl rolled his eyes and went back to his arrows. He eventually felt Rick nudge him, and when he looked up he saw Jesus and Maggie down the street walking towards them.

“Y’know, I think he likes you.” Rick said.

Daryl looked at him and scoffed. Rick was trying to wingman for him now, great.

Daryl looked back in Jesus’ direction. He did actually have a little bit of a crush on the guy; he was a good goddamn fighter, but still a gentle, caring person. He certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes, either.

“Hey,” Jesus greeted them as they walked onto the sidewalk.

“Rick, you ready?” Maggie asked.

Rick stood up and patted Daryl on the shoulder. “Ready. Hey, Jesus, you busy today?”

Jesus shrugged. “No, not really. Do you need something?”

“Yeah,” Rick said, the smile undeniable in his voice. Daryl knew exactly what was about to happen, fuck. “Daryl’s goin’ huntin’ today. Trying to have enough food for the party tonight and then some, couldn’t hurt to have an extra pair of hands.”

Jesus smiled. “Yeah, absolutely.”

Rick nodded and walked off the porch and off with Maggie.

“Bye, Daryl!” Maggie threw Daryl a smirk over her shoulder. This was a goddamn conspiracy, Daryl knew it.

“So, when were you planning on heading out?” Jesus asked.

Daryl cleared his throat and pushed his hair out of his face. “Probably twenty minutes? Gotta finish these arrows and then I’m ready.”

“Cool, I’ll grab my stuff and meet you back here?”

Daryl nodded. “Yeah, that works.”

Jesus walked toward his trailer and Daryl watched after him the whole way. Jesus definitely liked him as a friend at least, they had started staying closer to each other during missions, often opting to work together. They made a good team, and Rick definitely noticed, putting them together on jobs a lot more recently.

It had been a good hunt, Daryl and Jesus hauled back a deer and a few squirrels. When they were done there was about an hour before the party started. They started walking toward Barrington House so Daryl could get changed and Jesus and Maggie could catch up on the day.

“Y’know, I’m kind of excited for tonight.” Jesus said optimistically. “I never used to be the party type, but this feels more...I don’t know, comfortable, I guess.”

Daryl nodded. “Parties are different when they’re with family.”

“I don’t know, you seem like a total party animal.” Jesus nudged him and Daryl smirked back at him.

They walked into the house and said hi to Rick in the foyer.

Jesus started heading up the stairs and turned to Daryl. “I’ll find you at the party later.”

“See you then.” Daryl said back, and watched Jesus disappear into Maggie’s office.

“Hey, you’re gonna get drool on the floor if you don’t stop now,” Rick teased. Daryl snapped out of it and turned toward him.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” Daryl huffed.

“Yeah, you do.” Rick smiled. “I know that look on you, Daryl. Remember?”

He shook his head and laughed under his breath. “Shut up, Grimes.”

The party was really, really nice. Everyone was gathered around a bonfire and there were tables of food setup all around. It was homey, and full of community. Daryl leaned against a tree and looked out over the crowd.

“Hey,” Jesus walked up to him then. He looked nice with his hair down as opposed to the bun he put it in when they were hunting. Even with the bun he looked good, which annoyed Daryl to no end. You couldn’t look that good all the time, it wasn’t fair.

“Hi,” Daryl replied. “How’s it goin’?”

“Pretty good, it was nice to shower after today. It really is too hot for that trenchcoat.” Jesus shook his head.

Daryl shrugged. “Could just get a vest.”

Jesus smiled. “Maybe. Yours does look pretty nice.”

“I bet it’d look nice on you,” Daryl smirked. “Too bad we’ll never know.”

“Harsh,” Jesus nudged him.

They joined the party once more, until the kids started to go to bed. The adults stuck around for a while, and everyone was still drinking and eating and having fun. After drinking a good amount of whiskey, Daryl and Jesus had a slight buzz going on. They were laughing together, maybe even flirting a bit, which Daryl didn’t normally know how to do, but with Jesus it was just easy.

Jesus turned to him at one point, and it was like everyone else fell away. He saw Jesus look at his lips, then look away quickly.

“Wanna go drink some more at my place?” he asked. Daryl would’ve been nervous, but the liquid courage helped with that. He was pretty sure he knew what this meant, why Jesus wanted to be alone with him.

“Yeah, I do.”

Back at the trailer, Jesus got two cups and poured some more whiskey for them. He handed Daryl a glass and took a sip of his own. They sat on the couch, Jesus sitting against the arm so he could face Daryl.

“That was pretty fun,” Jesus said. “Felt...normal.”

“Whatever that means,” Daryl sipped his drink. “But yeah, it was nice.”

“I’m glad you’re around more,” Jesus said after a few moments. “It’s really nice getting to see you.”

Daryl blushed and drank a good amount of his whiskey and put it on the table.

“I like bein’ around.” Daryl’s voice was low and gravelly, the alcohol relaxing him. “I like bein’ around you.”

Jesus was the one to blush now, but he seemed a little more confident. They were sitting closer together now, one of them could easily lean in to close the space. Jesus did, after a second of contemplating, and his lips were as soft as Daryl had imagined. Daryl pushed back a bit more, deepening the kiss, and one of his hands instinctively went to Jesus’ hip. Jesus put his hand on the back of Daryl’s neck, holding him there. Jesus pulled away first, putting his forehead against Daryl’s as they breathed each other in.

“Thank god,” Jesus laughed under his breath. “I wasn’t sure if that was going to go well.”

Daryl raised an eyebrow and narrowed his eyes at Jesus. What was that supposed to mean? Did he expect the kiss to be bad?

“No! I mean—“ he put his hand on Daryl’s cheek and looked sincerely into his eyes. “I wasn’t sure if you liked me back. I didn’t know if you’d want me to kiss you or if it was going to freak you out.”

Daryl couldn’t fight the small grin on his face. “I’m glad you did. I didn’t know if you wanted it.”

“Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page now.” Jesus smiled, and for the first time in a long time, Daryl felt like something was going right.