#my proper sketchbooks are still packed up so i have to do it on my lined notebooks BLEH ..

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

FROM FAR DISTANT WATERS

PAIRING: Merman!John Price x F!Artist!Reader

SYNOPSIS: There’s something in the water - you're going to figure out what it is, and why it chose to save you.

WORDCOUNT: 16.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, murder, death/near death, assault, injury, gore, mystery, mentions of suicide, angst, protective!John, pining, sickness, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The little boat rocks as it slips through the expansive water, a thin hanging of mist in the air. The curtain-like film it leaves makes it nearly impossible to see the dark rocks of the shore a far distance away, and the dip and push of the oars through the chilled waves leaves splashing droplets connecting to your cheeks. You touch the flesh delicately, brushing away the spray as your eyes slide over dark, lapping water—deeper than anything. 

In your lap, sitting below the high waist of your skirt, was your sketchbook; the tweed material was all the rage these days, though you never focused much on that. The thick item kept out the chill of the, very, early morning, and that was all you cared about, though, it seemed you lacked the foresight to pack a proper coat. A large woolen shawl sat over your shoulders, hiding the plain white blouse but not its cuffs; not the slight poof of the bottom part of the sleeves. 

Your numb fingers fiddle with the pencil in your hands, your open sketchbook filled with page after page of images ranging from the common sea-bird to great ships and shorelines. 

“I still have to ask why you feel the need to tag along,” is the voice that breaks the silence, and you blink away from the cloud of condensation from your exhalation. Your ear twitches, but only a small flick of a smile pulls your lips at the older man’s garbled words. “So cold my damn hands are going to fall off. Why am I always the one bloody working the oars?”

Otto Whitworth was a man far into his later years—one who entertained your fascination with the raging waters and the need to immortalize them on paper; that draw to the sights and sounds. Graying, covered now in a large coat and his boots, with the long fishing rod knocking around by your feet, he grumbles more than he speaks sentences, content with only the pipe in his breast pocket and the promise of fresh fish for breakfast. 

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” you chuckle, glancing over at his wrinkled face—the glare of dark eyes set into a deep browline that’s more for show of annoyance than genuine emotion. “Gets the blood pumping harder, Mr. Whitworth.” Your vision slides to the shadows of the black rocks, and your pencil finds your palm before the sound of it meeting parchment echoes over the nothingness. “Isn’t it lovely? Listen to the Gannets.”

“Don’t need my blood pumpin’ harder,” the old man grinds out, scoffing. “Gonna make my fuckin’ heart stop, Girl…” Otto sighs, shaking his head as you chuckle. He growls under his breath. “And, no, I’m not listening to the birds—they’ll be trying to steal my fish soon enough. Greedy bastards.”

Your eyes roll in their sockets, pencil shading in the rough shapes of misty rocks, your face cold but still eager for something. There was a type of magic to this place—to Southern England and the small coast town you had settled in nearly a year ago: Redthorpe. 

It seemed your talent for the arts was appreciated here, you had a shop to your name and friendly compliments from the locals every time the door was pulled open. People here liked the attention to detail in a place where they had most likely lived for a good ninety percent of their lives.

You tilt your head at the paper as Otto lets the oars drop back into the water, grasping for his fishing rod that you kindly move closer with your foot. 

The man takes up the item and sets the line, whipping back the pole and snapping it forward with a wizz and a grunt—a cracking of old bones. 

“Now hush,” Otto sighs, settling back. 

You send a silent look upward, and at the same time as he does, you say out loud in a soft voice.

“You’ll scare away the fish with all that blabber.”

A heavy glare is leveled at you, but you raise a hand innocently and laugh under your breath. 

“I’m as silent as the fish, Mr. Whitworth.”

“Cheeky Bird,” Otto sighs loudly, shifting in his seat until he faces the water, eyes glinting. “You’re too wild for this place, then, eh?”

“For most places,” you breathe, smiling as you study the rocks again before going back to your work. It’s only after there were the wiggling bodies of three fish set into a fisher’s basket that the oars are taken back up and the silent water is again forced back by ripples. 

Pencil finding the middle of the spine, you close your sketchbook, the routine is as simple as it always is. Otto will complain about having you at his dock, he’ll begrudgingly invite you in and cook three fish: one for him, the second for his cat, Harriet—older than England itself and missing most teeth; as blind as a bat—and then, finally, you. After that you’re back in your shop finishing up your piece of the misty shoreline, working until the candle burns through both ends and the oil paints are swirling colors as your eyes bug. Bed, and finally, repeat. 

A splash of water makes you blink quickly, your head jerking over at the slide of movement from the corner of your vision. Eyes wide, you swear a fin had cut the surface of the water like a knife through butter. 

Your body moves closer to the side of the boat immediately, leaning over eagerly. 

“Hey!” Otto barks, steadying himself as the vessel shakes back and forth. Your eyes shimmer, a smile overtaking your lips. “Watch yourself—you’ll send me overboard!”

“Did you see that?” Your eyes dart over the water. “I think I saw a fin.” 

“You got excited over a fish?” The older man’s voice is unimpressed, hissing in the crackling of age. “Hell, I got three in the basket if you’re that bloody impressed.”

“Shh,” you wave one of your hands, unblinking. “It was bigger than a fish, Otto!” 

Your ears twitch to his scoff, his hands grasping the oars harder before he shoves the boat forward. Body looming, the intense pull of adventure dims the longer nothing happens, and after a minute or two of dead mist and water, you hum under your breath like a fool and sit back.

“Lost it,” your numb lips murmur, breath puffing out softly. “Damn.” You shake your head as the wooden dock gets closer, more boats tied and shifting with the waves. “It was strange,” you admit. “Like a deep navy color—with specs of silver along the spine.”

Otto pauses, his hands tight over the oars. He blinks over at you, face for the first time showing an emotion other than annoyance. You barely notice before the sheen of crafted blankness is back. 

You smile down the length of the boat, curiosity plain to see. “Do you know of any animal like that around here?”

“No,” Otto grunts out quickly, and your excitement dims sharply, blinking through shock. 

Your brows furrow after the silence falls stiffly—the boat had never been uncomfortable to you, the atmosphere quiet, of course, but always easy to charter. Now the air was…muddy. Something had changed as fast as a fish being yanked out of water. 

Fingers twitching, you sit back slowly onto the plank, pulling your sketchbook the tiniest bit closer to your abdomen. Face open, Otto continues to row and the entire ride is silent until the boat is docked and tied to the pole by calloused hands. Your digits grasp your shawl and wrap the fabric harder, shifting down to hide your chin into the wool as you shiver. 

“...Need help?” You ask, eyes still shifting back to the water like always. 

There’s something now that makes your attention drift like the waves themselves—and it wasn’t only the shadows of the rise and fall, it was Otto’s strange behavior. The man wasn’t one to just say one word and nothing more. He could bounce off you like it was a game; you often thought he enjoyed your company just so he could insult someone. Jokingly, of course. It was the companionship he craved, it was why he always let you on his boat in the mornings. 

Otto lived alone. You never asked about it. 

“Don’t need any help,” he grumbles out, tying off the last knot to the pole and stepping back with a smirk of satisfaction. “M’not in the grave yet, Girl. Been working the boats since I was out my mum’s womb.”

“Feel sorry for her.” Your mutter meets the air as light streaks through the mist. Breathing hot air into your free hand, you rub it over your arm repeatedly and sigh, fingers of the other limb tightening over your book. Absentmindedly, your head turns back to the open water one last time, for one last glimpse of anything you want to commit to memory while you paint—

The fin is back. 

“Otto!” Feet swiftly dart to the end of the dock, you stop only an inch away as your skirt whips over. “It’s back! Look!” 

A hand grasps your wrist and yanks you away. 

Gasping sharply, you stumble until the harsh bark of, “Get back!” echoes across the dock just as it does through your ears. 

“Whoa!” You’re quickly let go of, a shadow shielding you from the view of the water as you scramble to make sure your sketchbook won’t slip from your hold. Head jerking to stare in shock at the middle of Otto’s curved spine, your heart stutters in confusion and a bit of hesitation befitting one who was just manhandled. Standing up straight again, your tight face pulls in, the pound of your heart telling you something is wrong. 

Glancing past a still frozen Otto, the water is utterly devoid of life again—only ripples to show there had ever really been something there at all. 

“You go back to the ocean,” Otto yells, spittle flying from his mouth, fishing boots stomping against the wood as he moves forward a step, pointing. “Go back to the bloody hole you swam out of! There’s nothing for you here! Nothing!” 

You watch, struck dumb. 

“...Mr. Whitworth?” Your lips mutter out, eyebrows shifting from the waves to the man—utterly confused down to your chilled bones. Who was he talking to?

Perhaps time had caught up to him—was he mistakenly taking the rocks for people? The waves for whispers? All you had seen was a fish’s fin, nothing more, nothing less.

“Otto,” you call again, concerned. You should get the man inside; get him warm and let him cook his breakfast. “Let’s just go.” Your eyes blink lightly, fingers twitching over your book. “Alright…? My eyes must have been playing tricks on me, it’s nothing important.”

His form waddles past you, more in tune to his sea legs than the ones on land, and under his breath, you hear him snarl out a low, “You’ll not take her like you did Eleanor. Mark my words, I’ll be stringing you up by the tail first.” 

Withered hand connecting with your shawl’s edge, you’re dragged back with more force than you’d anticipate Otto still having, but you go with him nonetheless. 

Looking at the water, there’s nothing to see beyond the stretch of nothingness.

—

You dare to ask when you’re pushing the fish bones over to the side of your plate, slipping some mashed-up scraps to Harriet who lays in your lap purring. The rough scrape of a tongue licks your fingers, and deep gray fur caresses your palm.

“Who were you talking to back there?” Your voice carries over the small hut that Otto calls his own, the sounds of the water meeting the rocks plainly heard seeing as his property was as close to the cliffs as you could get without going over them. “I never took you for someone to believe in spirits.” The joke was a small jab, but even your own amusement was dim in the situation. Your hand puts down the fork and moves to rest along Harriet’s back, lightly petting the old cat as her half-missing tail flicks in satisfaction.

The man’s back over at the sink tightens. 

“You watch yourself near the waters, Girl,” Otto grunts, dark eyes glancing over his shoulder. “By God, you watch yourself. There’s things out there—terrible things.” 

“What kinds of ‘terrible things,’ Otto?” Your head tilts, sketchbook resting still on the table, your gaze flickering to it. Terrible had a nice ring to it. But something else was swirling in your gut now, a hesitation of a special sort that only comes out with the unknown paths of life. 

What could make a man born and bred on the waters so reserved when speaking about them? Your interest had been piqued—your curiosity unsated until you were given a clear answer. You’d only been here a year, that wasn’t enough time to know the secrets of Redthorpe; to be let into those deeper circles. 

Otto licks his cracked lips, the wrinkles of his face leaving behind something akin to a scrunched dog’s visage—worn by time and improper care from the damage of the sun. He’d been at work on his boat for decades, and while you took his advice with a grain of salt usually,  this time he carried himself differently: you wanted to know why. 

He glares with no venom, taking out the scrubbed pan from the soapy water and barking, “What’s it with the younger generation and their bloody pushing? Listen to what I’m telling you and take it as it is, Girl. You don’t go on the water,” he blinks, face grim, “unless I’m the one ferryin’ you through it, eh? That’s the end of it. I’ll say no more.” 

Frowning heavily, you sigh under your breath and shake your head. Letting your eyes slip down to Harriet, you scratch under her chin and stare into her milky eyes as she lets out a little chirp.

“So much for answers,” your lips mutter. 

But a fire had been lit in your breast now—a low simmering pull like a rope had been tied to your wrist, drawing you closer and closer to the rocky shore, to a boat tied on the dock which you knew was steadily rocking to the deep, dark waves of this isolated place. 

To a navy-colored fin in the water, and a shape far larger than any you’d seen before. 

Blinking to look out the window of Otto’s home, your eyes find the ocean, and the longing that you’d always had for it grows ten times larger as your sketchbook begs to be filled.

—

It was only fate, you guessed, that you had come to Redthorpe—a tiny, unimportant dot on the map—when the way of life you’d chosen had led you astray. This place was a way to start over. Fix yourself. You’d picked the least-known town in all of Europe, and that was exactly what you wanted.

One trait, though, that could never be squashed from your psyche was the lust for the unknown. It was an obsessive lover; a toxic hand on the back of your neck that dragged you back over and over, until there was only yourself to blame for the repetition of disappointment. 

It was the reason you found yourself on the shore two days after you sighted the dark fin that cut the water. 

Your lace-up boots were atop a large boulder, shifting as your body turned from left to right, eyes patiently dragging the expanse of nothing. Waves lap only inches below, spraying up to get absorbed into your skirt, shawl whipping with the wind. The breeze is stuck with the sounds of birds, the very beings darting above your head, playing their games with varying cries that sound like throaty groaning. 

Bending, your arms wrap your waist, lips flickering. You were cold, limb-numbingly so, but even if you saw nothing today, or tomorrow, the push and pull of the ocean was enough—the call of the birds, the hypnotic sway of water. Calling to you, even if it had no lips to do so. 

Taking down a lung-shaking inhale, you chuckle, sketchbook sitting in the small purse around your shoulder. 

“What am I doing?” You ask yourself, shaking your head. “It was just a big fish—that old man was just being paranoid, anyways.” Eyes caressing the line where water meets the sky, your smile pulls your chilled cheeks. “There’s nothing out here worth my time. I need to finish my work.” 

Leaning back, you rub your hands up and down your biceps, nonetheless enjoying your time despite the burning of something in the back of your head. A knowledge that the fin was nothing documented before? A hope of discovery? A need for adventure? Oh, who can really say—what can be known are only three things: 

One, the weather was getting worse, two, the water was getting wilder, and, three, you had forgotten the way the rock you were standing on had shifted when you stepped up to it. Shuffling, your boots connect to the right corner, and your hands extend to keep your balance as you hiss a low breath, purse beginning to slip. 

There’s a gruff call from the water.

“Careful, then.”

Your head snaps up to the sound of a man’s voice, and you startle sharply, gasping as your foot slips. A quick cry is all you get out before you’re suddenly plummeting downwards headfirst into the frigid water. 

The feeling of liquid is all-consuming as it seeps into your nostrils and ears, all sound muffled entirely beyond the roar of it leaving you so stupendously—a flare, and then nothing. Eyes bugging, limbs slashing through the waves, the chill hits you in the chest with the force of a stone, smashing through your ribs to weigh you down with concrete stuck in your lungs. It was entirely a bodily reaction to gasp. 

Through the blue and the bubbles, you start to drown. 

Fingers twitching, you claw at nothing as the darkness settles its hands over your panicked eyes, not for a moment thinking about who had called to you in the first place—or who was poking a head out of the water before you’d gone over. Obviously, it was a trick of your senses; no one could survive being out in water like this.

You certainly weren’t going to. 

Legs slashing, something is darting in the corner of your eye before your vision fails, but the rapid fear in your heart masks the hand gripping at your shirt’s collar. It hides even the feeling of strong arms until the point where you’re yanked upwards with little effort as one curls your waist. It doesn't hide, however, the way you vomit up water as you’re heaved to the rocky shore moments later.

Choking, you hack up salt that burns your esophagus until your lunch quickly follows—all spilled with little care for your hands caught in the crossfire. Spine arching as if a cat, air can’t come sweeter as it is drawn in rapidly; nearly hyperventilating on the ocean-smooth stones as your clothes are utterly ruined. 

Panting, gasping, shivering violently, your head pulls itself weakly upward. It doesn’t take long for your mind to scream at you, and your head snaps behind you in a panic.

But there’s nothing but the raging water and the splash of a large navy-colored tail as big as your entire body disappearing back into the depths. 

Your fear can only stay for so long before the threat of a frigid death becomes more and more probable. In your race back up the cliff face to your shop, your purse is completely forgotten, trapped on the top of that shaky rock where it had fallen from your shoulder before the great plunge. 

Your shawl is seen floating out to the open water before it’s grasped from below and suddenly plucked—vanishing without a single trace.

—

The fire rages with the inferno of a million suns, and it’s not nearly hot enough. Wrapped in every blanket, sheet, and warm item available, you still can’t stop shivering hours later. A teacup was stuck in your hands, the liquid sloshing over the edges to slip over your quivering fingers and absorb into the cocoon of heat. 

Breathing through your shaky lungs, you keep the rim of the cup to your lips, eyes wide and horrified. In the still moments after you’d stripped and tried to stop the onset of sickness that you could already feel coming, there was a flash of realization from your strange and fantastical ordeal. 

There had been a man. 

The sensation of hands around your waist—the gruff voice that had spooked you so violently. A man. In the water. Every time you blink, you see a shadowed image, a tiny glimpse as you’d turned to the sound of human speech above the shriek of birds. 

Short brown hair and narrowed blue eyes set into sockets of pale skin. A bearded face, mustache…square jaw…

“What in God’s name?” You stutter in question over your tea, shaking your head. “That isn’t possible.” 

Outside your shop, the wind screams, pushing against your exterior shutters as night sets in. A storm was coming; there’d be no other adventures for you. Sipping your drink, you shiver again, curling in tighter to yourself as wood crackles. The light dances over your easels and side tables, piled high with jars of brushes and pallets—bottles of linseed oil and liquin, labeled with little pieces of hanging paper at the necks. 

There are paintings in the tens—in the twenties—hanging on the walls and set to the corners, all blue and gray; misty and clear. The water is a staple in all of them, and the cliffs as well. Perfect imitations of this place, as if you could reach a hand through the canvas and enter a mirrored world. Great ships are in some of them, or little fishing boats, with the birds overhead. Sometimes, it’s only the water itself, and to you, those were perhaps the best of your work. 

There was a beauty in the nothingness. A mystery. Who knows what’s under that thin surface? Well…apparently, it wasn’t human. 

You swallow down saliva and your lips thin. 

The thing in the water wasn’t… unattractive, you had to admit. Beyond the waterlogged hair and dripping beard, a large nose sat—full cheeks with an odd mole over them. The more you thought about the brief flash of a visage, the more you grew to hang onto it, strangely. And that navy tail? It had been incredibly unique. 

Spiney, nearly—four thin bones going down on both sides, branching out from the tail starting with the shortest that was perhaps only as long as your hand until the final was as lengthy as your entire arm. There was webbing between each spine to help the thing through the water quickly, it spread to the end of the barb until it sunk back in a ‘U’ movement, before once more arching out again to connect with the next spine. Small gasps in the caudal fin calling to either battles or a natural state of being—for show in it…his?...species. 

Could you even assign it a human gender? 

You close your eyes tightly in your shop, trying to will the image away from yourself. “What in the hell is going on?” Your voice is scratchy and low. 

Yet, the undeniable truth was that the fish-man had saved you. It couldn’t be overlooked. Not by you, who now can sit in front of this very fire because of it. Like a moth to the flame, the surge of cautious confusion is burning your wings. 

Deep blue eyes like the ocean. A navy tail. A gruff, hard voice.

You open your eyes and glare into the fireplace. 

“What has this place been hiding in the water? And why did it bloody save my life right after it nearly ended it?” 

More importantly…you had to think of a way to get your sketchbook back without getting on its bad side.

With a heavy chest, and more than a little fear in your heart, it was resolved to do something about all of this tomorrow. There was no use leaving the shop now. Glancing at the shaking window, you could hear the ocean rampaging over the cliffs; hear the slam of the rain hitting the roof like pounding feet. 

But that voice played in your ears like a gramophone's bleated chorus. 

You shiver again, not from the cold.

Careful, then. 

—

There was no question if you’d gotten sick because of your impromptu bath in the ocean—the evidence was in your salt-covered shirt and the stockings that were still drying on the hearth. 

Pressing a handkerchief to your mouth as you cough haggardly. You’re bundled in a nice fur dress coat, walking along the street with a skipping heart, a simple cloche hat over your head to protect you from the elements; dark blue in color.

The irony was not lost this morning when the hue had a striking familiarity to a fish-like tail, but it hadn’t stayed in your hand. A small drizzle slapped the fabric, and you were thankful you had brought the hat and coat along with you on the move from the big city. 

You weakly smile and nod to the locals you consider friends—at the very least acquaintances. But before long, you’re at the place you feel you need to be to gain answers, too nervous to go back to the shore immediately.

The library.

Something Otto had said came back to you last night, in the throws of insomnia. The two sentences he’d called out on the docks that day—You’ll not take her like you did Eleanor. Mark my words, I’ll be stringing you up by the tail first.

Eleanor? Who was that and how did it correlate to the beast in the water that wears a man's face? Maybe, the local records would tell you the answer—there had to be something about this person, ‘Eleanor,’ in them, right?

If not, there was only one option left, and that was going down to the shore and getting the results first hand…you’d rather exhaust all of your resources on solid land first. 

Slipping into the library with a deep breath and a cough in your throat, you sigh and nod slightly. Time to get to work.

“Oh,” the librarian looks up from her desk, standing as you shuffle over. “Hello, Dear,” she breathes through a chuckle, eyebrows pulling in softly. “My, you look a bit under the weather, don’t you? Would you like me to get some tea going…?”

“No, thank you,” you wave an easy hand. “I’m here on a bit of an errand, actually, and I was wondering if you could help me with something? I need to ask about your records.”

“Records?” The woman’s face shifts to confusion, her body slipping out to stand next to yours, you bring back up your handkerchief and sneeze into it, groaning. “What kind were you thinking, then?”

After you can push away the sheen of sickness to your eyes you take a breath and clear your throat of the stuffiness. “Births and work records? Addresses?” You make a small noise in the back of your mouth. “I guess I don’t know…anything that might help me?”

The librarian chuckles a bit, amused. “How about you tell me what it is you’re looking into, and I’ll try and grab any public knowledge that I can find. We’ll work together, then.” 

Weight is loosened from your shoulders and you nod appreciatively. “Deal.”

“Go on then,” she walks over to a shelf on the far side of the room, standing as her fingers run the spines. “Occupation I can start with, Dear?”

“Well…” you pause, shuffling after as your head looks from one sizable book to another. “No, unfortunately. Only a first name.”

“You’re lucky Redthorpe is small,” the woman laughs. “Otherwise I would have told you you’re lacking your senses with only something like that to go off of.” 

“Eleanor,” you comment, licking your lips and staring at a spine labeled ‘1890-1900 financial records - Redthorpe’. “E-L-E-A-N-O-R, or at least that’s the common spelling, I believe.” 

The librarian’s body is stone-still. Comparable to the immovable rocks of the shore as the waves bash against them; the raging of the wind. When you glance over, confused at the silence that infects the building, you’re reduced to a meek hesitation at the blank eyes that dig into your face. 

“...Or…maybe it’s N-O-R-E?” 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t help you,” is the hurried answer, and then the woman moves past with fast feet, heels clicking over the hardwood rapidly. “There hasn’t been an Eleanor in Redthrope. You’re mistaken.” 

“Wait,” you follow, stuttering. “I don’t understand, there has to have been—Otto was talking about her not days ago!”

“You’re mistaken,” is the repeated, firm answer, the librarian’s body swirling to face you again, pointing a finger at you. “Go back to your shop. Mr. Whitworth is old, he sees things that aren’t there. Don’t take what he says to heart—”

“I saw it!” You bark, fed up. Your mind was sick of these games being played, left out of the loop like you hadn’t formed a relationship with the people of this town. 

The woman’s mouth locked shut with a clack of teeth, something darting over her expression…fear?

She backs up slowly. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dear.”

Your lips twist, a threatening sneeze in the back of your nose. “I’m done with the word games! It dragged me out of the water like a sack of flour and tossed me to shore! It saved me!” Her hands are held in front of her as you stalk closer, trying to brush what you’re telling her aside as she struggles to string words. 

“It…it wouldn’t do that—that’s not how it acts. You’re just imagining things; you’re under the weather!”

“Who’s Eleanor?” You huff, stubborn as you cross your arms in front of you. “And what in the hell is a man with the tail of a fish doing living just below these cliffs?”

Wide eyes meet glaring ones, and the librarian’s lips move up and down in a panic. 

“I…” she begins, feet tapping the floor nervously as the rafters creak above the both of you. “I can’t talk about it. It’s not something to be said out loud—especially so close to the water.” 

You bark incredulously, “There’s a bloody monster that lives down in—!”

A hand is snapped over your mouth and you startle, blinking through the twitch of your body. 

“Shh!” The librarian panics, shaking her head, with flaring eyes. “Stop it or you’ll end up being dragged down to the ocean floor like Eleanor was!” You tense behind the hold, shoulders pulled in. It’s a quick spit of whispered words like a fast breeze. “Do you want your body showing up on the rocks?! Stay away from it!”

Your heart pounds in your chest, vision darting back and forth before she finally lets you go in a quick jerk of her body. The woman backs up, quivering as her eyes go to the window, nearly panting from fear. 

She looks back at you, blinks, and mutters out a quiet, “If you’ve already seen it, it wants you. Don’t go back to the water,” before she rushes into the back room and slams the door shut with the slipping of the lock. 

Left standing in the open library, the shelves sit stationary as if sentinels to your raw distress—this had only left you with more questions and a handful of jumbled answers. 

“Careful, then.”

You shake your head harshly and pivot to leave the library in a stupor, shoving your chin back down into your coat’s collar as the wind slaps your face once more. The call of the ocean is like a knife to the back of your neck.

—

Call you whatever name in the book, but you wanted your sketchbook back.

No one in town was giving you anything that was of use, and Otto was tighter-lipped than a lockbox. There was only so much you could do—could speculate—before the need for your belongings was too strong to ignore. It took two more days of pacing your shop before it was decided. 

Taking up the heavy cast-iron pan above your fireplace, you slip the thing into your coat, shove on your hat with a defiant grunt, and force the front door open. It’s a ten-minute walk to the shore, and all the way there, dread fills you up like soup until you’re bloated with it by the time your boots hit black rocks. Yet, there’s a point where a woman’s courage outweighs the sense of caution, and today was currently that day. 

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you grab your skirt and hike it up, placing your boot carefully on the first of the larger stones leading out to where you’d been previously. 

“Don’t look at the water,” you mutter quietly as you move, not shuffling forward until you know the rock isn’t going to topple this way or that. “Don’t even think about it.”

But that tail…that face…

With a growl under your breath, you grind your teeth and continue on. 

The weather today was much more agreeable, but cold. It was always chilled in Redthorpe—dreary as if the clouds never left far above. You didn’t mind, and in your coat pocket, the reassuring weight of your pan left you much warmer than you’d like to admit. 

The heat of protection, so to speak.

“Even a fish-man can die, I’d wager,” you utter, grunting as you ascend a larger rock, palm slapping the wet stone before you heavy upwards, slamming your boot to the top much like a schoolboy as your skirt bunches. “If I hit him hard enough in the skull. I wonder though,” you sneeze, shuddering, “if he even bleeds? If I crack his head open…will blood seep out, or salt water?” 

You shiver, and it’s not from the cold. “Fucking hell, you do like making it harder on yourself, don’t you.”

Lightly panting, you brush down your coat on the top of the rock and turn to look at the boulder where you’d fallen previously, blinking. Pausing, your eyes find not only your sketchbook sitting there…but also your shawl. 

Struggling for a moment to try and justify your actions, you swiftly look over the surface of the water, seeing the gentle push and pull of waves. No fin. No tail. 

You aren’t sure if the feeling in your chest is joy or disappointment.

Licking your lips, you take a large breath before your face turns grim.

“Grab it and run,” your voice echoes in your own head, heart pounding with adrenaline the more steps you take to the boulder, water sloshing at the sides. You had thought perhaps that the rain—the storm—would render all of your lost belongings null, but as you bent and snatched your items to you, shawl hanging from your arm, you were pleasantly surprised. It was all dry; impossibly so. 

Amid your shock, your slack jaw, and the weight of your pan in your coat, your shaky fingers open your book with bated breath. 

Everything was in pristine condition, if not only slightly curled at the corners due to…your eyebrows pull in, expression struggling to take on the emotion of anything other than pure awe.

“Fingerprints?” 

Eyes slipping from one page to the next, flipping them only to see the press and pull of a long gone thumb, shiting the paper to gaze at the back, where a forefinger would have been. A hand laced in water had been turning the pages, just as you do now—and, yet, there wasn’t an inch that was damaged; nothing smeared. 

Shoulders loosening from their tensed position, your wide stare is utterly transfixed as your digits rub the material softly, feet shifting. 

Lowering your sketchbook, your small huff of amazed laughter, mind running. 

He’d been going through your drawings—he’d somehow protected these items from the rain and salt. How? Why? But another question wrapped its hands in your skull.

Did he like them?

Shuffling the book into the crook of your arm, you carefully wrap your shawl over the material to further keep it safe, not able to find your purse, though the only thing it ever held was your sketchbook in the first place; it wasn’t too important. 

Rising your head again, you gaze openly outward, lips opening and closing in a small stutter. Was he out there, this strange creature with a strong face and those deep eyes? That navy tail, looking like a beautiful imitation of kelp…was it just under where you now study the waves?

So many questions, so few answers. 

You clear your throat, holding your items tighter. There’s magnetism in your blood, and it sits on your tongue like salt.

“Thank you!” Your voice calls high, joining the chorus of birds far above on the cliffs. Eyes skating the rocks, the shore, the ocean, everything. Call you prideful, but perhaps the best way to gain your favor is to know that someone, whatever bit strange and fantastical, had enjoyed your work to the smallest degree. 

The way your eyes spark is still embarrassing, though, but it comes naturally after the heat that simmers over your face. 

“Truly,” you shout to the wind. “You have no idea how much this means! If you’re listening, I’d like to extend my gratitude…” Your face is beaming, and you can convince yourself that all of your fear over this is gone, even if that would just plainly be untrue. “My artwork is everything to me, I do hope you enjoyed it!” 

A creature so easily curious about your skills wouldn’t drag you to the bottom of the ocean…right? 

Hell, he’d already had a chance to do that—a perfect one—and yet, here you are. What the Librarian had said had to be false, it made no sense otherwise.

Seeing nothing, and knowing that you were needed back at your shop, you chuckle under your breath and back up swiftly, walking the distance back to the surrounding rocks and slipping off softly. Grunting under your breath, your boots hit the stone, and you carefully begin back-tracking. 

“You’re good at it,” you halt in a fraction of a second. “The images. Where’d you learn to do that?”

It’s a long moment before you turn with a cautious tilt to your head, and find the very same visage as you had a glimpse of days ago. You fight a fast inhale, but your straightening spine tells all the story it needs to. Like a fool, you lose the words in your mouth, as if trying to catch a bird of prey with a butterfly net.

A strong face is poking out of the water only a mere five feet away.

Your eyes slip to the soaked beard, the peak of bare shoulders—broad, of course—and the prying orbs that you feel will never leave; he wades there, arms under the dark water only a flash of pale skin before they’re gone again. 

“I…” you lick your lips, blinking through the moment of animalistic panic. You were on land, there was nothing to fear. The sight was still something to be remembered, though. “I was self-taught, Sir.” 

Blue eyes blink, serious face only made more so by the twitching of his large nose, which water drips from periodically. Droplets stay stuck to his dark lashes, and you’re near bursting with questions. 

But silence persists long after your sentence filters out to nothing.

“You pulled me from the water,” you state slowly. “And I don’t even know your name.”

The man looks you up and down, not arrogant, no, but in a way that is comparable to how you did the same to him. Studying you as if your body was strange to him. The realization almost made you laugh—perhaps it was strange to him.

You want to see that tail of his again. Your fingers itch to sketch its likeness and commit it to muscle memory. 

“I scared you,” he grumbles, sighing. “It wasn’t my intention to send you over.” Eyes still stay stuck. “My own fault.”

“I won’t deny you there,” you huff, gaze shifting away for a moment before filtering back. A slash of amusement curls in the thing’s eyes, and he hums. “Forgive me,” your breath wafts out over the air, face going what you can assume to be sheepish. It astounds you, though, that the conversation comes easily. “But I haven’t the faintest bloody clue as to what to call you.”

“John,” is the reply. Accent like gravel. He doesn’t waste his breath, seems. 

“John?” You lick your lips, legs shuffling over the stone. The name leaves you holding back a loud laugh. “Well, I suppose I could have guessed that, then. I’ve met more than enough ‘Johns’ so far.”

“Funny, are you?” The response, however dry, is tinged with something you can’t name. 

“I try,” you nod jokingly, motioning with a hand. “Just didn’t expect a man with a fishtail to act so….human. Certainly not be named like one, either.”

“Hm,” John grunts, blinking slowly. A hand slips above the water, and you watch it flex and drag to itch at the back of his neck, hair over the arm slick to the flesh. Your face heats, and your eyes dip to see the small shadow under the water almost graze the surface, rippling the waves intimately, as if tail and liquid were of the same sound mind. 

It wasn’t out of the question to say you longed for a glimpse. 

What would it feel like to touch it?

“You live here?” Your voice is hoarse before you clear it quickly. “Right below the cliffs?” 

“You’re the woman that goes out in the boat,” John firmly interjects, and you blink, taken aback. 

“Yes, that’s me.” You explain, pulling at the lip of your hat to force it down further over your head. “Otto goes fishing in the mornings—I like to sketch the shore. He isn’t the worst company, of course. He’s kind enough to let me along with him.”

But you won’t be kept down. There’s magical curiosity in your chest now.

“Your tail,” you take a step forward, boots being licked by icy water. John’s eyes widen a smidge, not expecting you to actively move closer. His head tilts as if a bird, confusion brimming though he hides it expertly. You imagined he considered you a bit mad. “Forgive me, Sir, but I must know,” your uttered rambles make his hidden lip twitch, a little twist to your expression that shows wonder. “Is it attached to you, or do you slip out of it like a pair of pants? O-or even like wearing a stage costume? Oh, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

John can’t find the words for a moment, only able to watch and assess as he always did in times like these. You were…different, he supposed. But he knew that the moment you had shifted your body over the side of that old man’s boat—looking for a glimpse of something unknown. He could see it in your eyes. 

The water calls to you. It lives in your veins already, waiting. More salt and seaweed than earth and grass. Sand, rock, gulls, they all cry in the back of your mind, and your fingers itch to catalog them into immortality in a way that John was fascinated over—the skill of parchment and memorization. Mastery over detail.

He doesn't know why he’s speaking to you, truly. He’d done his penance; saved your life. But he knows he doesn’t dislike it, and that in and of itself needed to be understood. John couldn’t leave his analytical brain lacking an answer to a question as big as that—a woman of all things? A human one? 

Blue eyes can’t seem to slip from yours, as you await a gruff reply.

“No.” You blink, pulling back a smidge when John’s voice is low and graited. “Go back to your home. It’s late.”

“Hey, wait—!”

But he’s already gone under the waves, and you’re left with a waterlogged boot, a cast iron pan, and the two items that had survived because of a grizzly creature's compassion. Your lungs heave, and the cloud of condensation rises into a gray sky.

You stay there far longer than you’d like to admit.

—

You struggled, slipped, and climbed your way back to that point on the rocks every other day, and yet, there was nothing more to be seen of the man with the tail. You knew he was out there, felt it in your bones, and still…you were left here staring out at far-off boats and half-hopes. Wondering. Waiting. 

In the days that passed, you would explore the shore further, going in nooks and deep bends that extended into the cliffs during low tide, cringing away from the slippery fingers of kelp stuck to the walls. Dead fish, mucus-lined snails—you had made the important decision of leaving your sketchbook at home, the pages already filled with the perfect reflection of a man’s face peeking above the water. 

Taking off your hat, you huff on a similar day to those others, this time slipping inside a cave with a direct connection to the ocean. There wasn’t any wind in here—and you sigh in relief as your breeze-bitten cheeks can finally get a rest. You didn’t know what you expected to find doing all this fruitless searching, but it didn’t erase the fact that you enjoyed it; looking for a glimpse of something out of the ordinary. 

Brushing your hat of sand and other such items, your head swivels softly, a delicate smile on your face as water drips from the rock ceiling, stalactites like broken fingers reaching for the ground. A pool of sorts takes up most of this place, the thing extending to the ocean through a medium-sized opening in the stone.

You turn in a half-circle. 

“Beautiful,” your lips murmur, voice echoing. 

Walking forward, every so often your body stoops to carefully grasp shells and smoothed shards of colored glass, beaten down by waves and reduced to harmless trinkets. Continuing, you care little about your boots or your coat, only for the pull in your chest that tells you to keep going until your legs are weak and weary—shaking from a day long spent in selfish adventure.

When you find the pile of rings, sitting in soft kelp, you nearly walk right past them until the glint of metal takes you by surprise. Pausing, your pulse warms as your eyes slash to the side, getting sucked in as easily as cookies to a child. 

Only hesitating a second, you slowly walk until you’re inches away, seeing different styles and gems like starlight sitting as if unaware of their raw beauty. 

“What are you doing in here…?” You ask yourself, your own voice responding from the walls as it bounces. 

Picking up one of pure gold, you shift the band to stare openly at an emerald nearly the size of your knuckle set into it. Lips parting, it’s as if your breath is stolen by a quiet thief. But the sudden arrival of splashing snaps you out of your stupor quite quickly.

Dropping the ring immediately back into the pile, your hand jerks to your chest as an increasingly common face shows itself once more from the water. 

You clear your throat, face burning as John raises a slow brow, glancing at the stash of rings silently. 

“One day you’re going to make me keel over,” your voice berates, pointedly avoiding his blues. So the items were his. 

“A thief as well as an artist?” John asks after a moment, tilting his skull as his body drifts closer to the rocky side of the pool. The next sentence is no question, only a statement. “You’ve been looking for me.”

You take a long breath, sighing, before you shove your hat into your coat’s pocket, glaring lightly. “You left so abruptly, I never got to ask my questions. Quite rude of you to keep a lady waiting, John.”

As you say his name, he glances over, but not before his sizable hands slap to the side of the rock and he hoists himself up with a single push of his forearms. The man grunts, lips pulling, before you’re left breathless. 

Eyes stuck on the upper half of his body, the water dripping down the hair-layered bulge of visible muscle, your wide vision skates from one point to another, flesh on fire the more you stay mute. But the tail—that was something you could never describe. 

The beginning was all you could see; scales of dark navy and a spread of muddled silver-like dots, nearly impossible to make out except at this distance. They began at the top of where hips should be, the scales, smaller and blending into the skin easily, only becoming larger the more the tail extended down; the appendage was far larger than legs would be, that you can tell easily. You can’t see all of it, as perhaps a little less than half still sits swaying in the water…but even this was enough for now.

This moment would be stuck in your sketchbook for all of eternity. 

It’s only after your jaw is slackened that you realize John has been watching you the entire time.

Forcing it shut with a tiny clack of teeth, you try to regain any composure you can. The being’s beard curls in a smirk, cheek pushing to show the lines near his eyes. 

“If someone’s avoiding you, Sunshine,” he grunts out, voice low. From the corner of his eye, he watches as his hand rises to itch at his beard. “They usually don’t want to have a conversation.”

“I think it’s fair,” you huff. “You can’t just disappear when I have so many unanswered questions.”

John blinks, attention not moving for even a second. Your own is less than firm, fighting to not dart down to openly study every dip and bend of his bones. He was so…stoic. Gruff. But there were moments of amusement—even annoyed interest. 

“I don’t have time to fuckin’ entertain others,” he thins his lips. 

Your arms crossed, face dripping into seriousness. “And what else is so much more important, then?” You raise a brow. “Scaring other women into the water?”

He huffs under his breath. “It was an accident—wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so jumpy, eh?” 

“It’s not like I expect to see fishmen pop out of the water,” you defend. 

“Mer-man, Love,” he licks his lips, sighing, as his eyes shift to glance at the opening of the cave. Your face bleeds into a slight expression of satisfaction, arms over your chest tightening as your feet rock back on their heels.

“Well,” you chuckle. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” 

An emotionless glare is all you receive. 

It was no surprise that you ended up blurting out inquiry after inquiry—what does having a tail feel like? How do you breathe underwater, or do you only hold your breath like a human? Do you have gills somewhere, or lungs? What other creatures are out there like you?

You have no idea what time it ends up being, and you have no intention of stopping soon. It’s a pleasant surprise, then, that John answers all of your quick words with full answers; giving slow, but not condescending explanations. 

A few times there had been tiny chuckles, and the little conversations amounted to you sitting on a rock right near the water, only feet away from where the tail drifts in the waves; John’s hands keeping his upper half straight as his palms meet slippery stone. 

“And the rings?” You breathlessly wonder, attention darting to the pile. “Do you find them out there? Keep them?”

John tilts his head in an affirmation. “Shipwrecks. There’ll be hundreds of them—I’m not one to keep many belongings, but the bloody things were nicely made.” He sighs. “Seemed a waste to leave them down there.”

You huff a sound of amusement. “I see. Fascinating.”

In the small pause, your eyes once more study the cave, seeing little breaks in the walls where cubby-like indents are. In them, your focus drifts from one glimmering object to another, all previously missed by you when you’d first entered. 

You blink. “You live here?”

“Affirmative,” John stares. His body shifts, tail flickering as your focus snaps back to it, almost lost in the way the ends so nimbly slice the water. Like wispy fabric. Your eyes soften like molten metal. You look back at him and find his eyes already locked to yours. 

Breath caught in your throat, you chuckle meekly to dispel your embarrassment. John’s face minutely relaxes, stern brow loosening.

“And…” you lick your lips, knowing it was time to leave. The sun no longer shines through the crack in the rock. “If I were to come back, would I be able to find you here?” 

There’s a flash of that same indecipherable emotion as before over his bushy face. 

The man was anything but small—everything to the swell of his tail; body hair for, what you assume, is to keep out the constant chill of the water. You’d never imagined that you’d find it all so attractive down to the navy scales that shimmered above the push of his side. That healthy layer of meat was eliciting far more of a physical reaction than you’d care to admit to anyone, let alone a priest of any religion during a confession.

Perhaps that fall into the water really had killed you.

“I’ll be here,” John responds lowly, gravel in his throat.

Swallowing down saliva, you push back the ravenous smile that threatens you.

“...Okay.”

—

And this affair became such a constant, that most of the people in town had begun asking about you as you snuck to the waters. Otto was largely concerned, but would not say anything more for some unseen fear—nor the Librarian, who avoided your eyes any chance she got. 

Dragged to the ocean floor. Body on the rocks. 

The sheen of discovery could be a powerful vice, and for those first two months, you never asked John about the woman named Eleanor or who she might be—what correlation she had to beasts of the water. Then again, you didn’t have to ask. He managed to get around to it himself. 

Your eyes blankly stare at the page of your sketchbook, the merman’s rough shape chicken-scratched with small lines into the parchment, and your pencil stays still to it, immobile. From across the cave, John’s face tightens as his eyelids narrow. You’d been quiet today, he had noticed. Usually so bright with your words, the walls had barely echoed with the symphony of your speech, and, more importantly, John’s ears hadn’t twitched to it. 

He had become fond of your company, he admitted to himself. A strange human woman with her fur coat and hat, the little sketchbook that held such wonderful imitations of life. John was anything but dull—he knew you drew him, and he entertained the activity. In fact, the thought at one point or another may have made the brute of a man blush a bit. So, when you were as still as the stone you sat on, he had concerns. 

He liked it when you spoke, even if it was only a tease. And the tightness of his chest when you don’t look his way is enough to leave his tail twitching in confusion as it sits in the water.

“You’re quiet today,” he starts, frowning. 

Your fingers jerk, sending a line over your paper as you blink, looking up as your heart skips a beat. Glancing at John’s face, the thoughts inside of your head slip until you can understand what he said. 

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, and the man’s face pulls. “You can speak if you want. I'm just a little distracted.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Love, yeah?” John grunts, hands shifting over the stone. He looks you up and down, tail sitting still below him. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” your lips mumble, and you shake your head. “It’s one of my questions again.” You pause, closing your book. “A difficult one.”

John’s lips flicker. “Well, we’ve been at this for ages. Can’t see how this one is more difficult than the others.” He nods softly, voice a low and somewhat smooth mutter. “Go on.”

“I don’t know if I can,” you huff, standing and placing your sketchbook in the driest part of the cave before walking closer. Bending right in front of John, your face is tight. The man likes it like this—having you closer. He can feel the heat roll off you, and his eyes flutter even when nothing on his face gives away the pull he senses in his chest. 

John hums and swallows stiffly.

“Why not?” His head tilts, and he clears his throat to get rid of the raspy scrape of his vocals. “Something going on up there?”

Up there. 

The Merman had asked about Redthorpe, as well as the rest of the people who lived there. The atmosphere, the way of life. Your meetings were more of an exchange of information and stolen glances than anything else, the other none the wiser to this magnetic attraction. It was a delicate thing, knowing that there was something more and yet unable to fully express the way it makes you feel. Neither of you knows what to call it.

“More so in here,” you smile tinily, pointing at your head as your cheeks grow hot. 

“Then speak to me,” John frowns, trying a low smirk. “Think we both know I’m a good listener then, Love. There’s time,” he glances at the entrance. “Won’t be near dark for a few more hours—don’t want you climbing at night.”

“Awe,” you breathe, beaming suddenly with that glint back in your eyes. John hides the sagging of his shoulders, only offering a hum under his breath as he looks over at you. His kelp-like fins twitch, and he wonders what it would feel like to have you touch them. It was obvious you wanted to.

Not yet. 

“Hurry up, Sunshine,” John grinds out, that accent all the more sandy. 

There’s a small grunt and a shuffle, and, soon, a warm body is plotting itself next to his own, arm touching his, and a pair of bare feet slipping into the pool. Blue eyes widen in surprise, head darting to where your form rests so simply—so near the crook of his shoulder that he could reach over and draw you to him if he so wanted. 

Your feet shift as the hem of your skirt gets soggy with water, and John barks out a firm, “You’re going to get cold.” 

“It’s not as cold here as it is out there,” you shrug to him, smiling with a side-eye. “Besides, I’m right next to you—you’ll keep me warm, won’t you, John?”

“Fucking hell,” he puffs out, shaking his head as he rips it forward once more, clenching his jaw. Your scent seeps into his nose, and when your leg slips along the side of his scales under the water, he all but goes a blank-faced scarlet. 

You hide a chuckle, shivering at the chill but more so at the unimaginably smooth sensation of John’s tail over your flesh. Your legs move through the water to cross at the ankles, your right hand resting to directly touch John’s left. With every pump of your blood, his own mirrors.

Yet, your mood sobers, and the joy leaks. 

“There’s a woman that no one speaks about in Redthrope,” you begin, and John settles to listen, brows furrowing in concentration as your skin sits so well next to his own. “Eleanor.” 

The man pauses abruptly, and you keep talking.

“And for some reason,” you sigh out a low breath, turning to look at John and his still face; emotionless. “Everyone seems to blame you for whatever happened to her. I don’t know if she’s missing, or…”

Your words trail off, insinuation clear.

Not noticing any chance on John’s face, you lightly bump him with your elbow, expression going concerned. “Hey, are you alright?” Your opposite hand raises, moving out between the two of you. “I didn’t mean to insinuate anything, I would just really appreciate anything you might know about it.” Eyes imploring, your heart pours itself. “I don’t think you’d do something like that.”

John blinks slowly, finally opening his mouth. “What makes you say that?”

“If you were some murderous creature,” you shrug, “I don’t think you would have tried to pull me out of the ocean in the first place.” Lashes caressing your cheeks, you smile. “Am I wrong?”

“No,” the man huffs, quirking a brow. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“Knew it,” you whisper, eyes crinkling as you side-eye him.

John chuckles, half rolling his eyes as he leans to your ear as he grumbles. “Gettin’ cheeky, are you?” 

If you were a bird, you’d be preening your feathers, eyelids narrowed. “Perhaps, John.” 

It is a wonder, then, that the two of you don’t lock lips that very instant—long fins curling around legs and shoulders stuck together, pinkies unconsciously sitting atop the others as if pieces of parchment. Blue eyes shift smoothly to your lips, but before you can register that they have, John’s head is already moving back and his spine is straight. 

The man flattens his lips, tilting his skull. 

“I knew of a woman named Eleanor—she would come down with her husband, Noah, and they would walk along the shore. Got close to this place a few times.” Dark brows tighten. “Found her body in the water after a storm about two years ago; brought it back to the rocks so someone could retrieve it.” Your face loosens as the information settles in. John makes a noise in his chest. “Interesting that I’d be roped into it, but it’s understandable. Always someone to blame, eh?” 

“I don’t blame you,” you whisper. “That must have been horrible.”

Blue slips over to you silently, and it’s a long moment before John only hums under his breath, blinking away softly. 

“Scared me when you fell in.” Listening, your heart clenches in your ribs. To think about what must have been going through his head at that instant was sad to you, and even worse so when you know he would have blamed himself if you might have ended up seriously hurt.

“Well,” you lean into him, face on fire, “it was a good thing you were there to drag me out, then. A little water never hurt anyone, so long as a handsome merman is there to take them back to shore.” 

John huffs out a laugh. “Handsome?”

“Oh, very,” you joke. “The tail is a bonus.” Your expression lightens, eyes glinting. “Since when did you know that navy is my favorite color?”

The feeling of the cold water is only a back-drop to the way John’s fins twitch against your bare legs intimately, and you chuckle as the beard can only hide so much red skin. 

“Bugger off,” he grunts. 

You’ve never heard a smile so clearly before in your life.

—

Your paintings were selling far better than they ever had, and you had to thank the new muse of them for that fact. 

John’s appearance in your work had started small—a glimpse of a fin, the presence of a shadow in the water—and had steadily grown. Now, hidden like a present, there was the image of some fishtailed man somewhere in all of them, a steady injection of magic into the veins of cerulean blue and ivory black. It showed you that fewer people knew about John than you had previously thought. 

Initially, you had imagined that everyone knew and the reason you didn’t was because you were relatively new here, but no. Most had been enamored by your work when they found the ‘strange fish-man’ in one, pointing and chucking to themselves, talking about how adorable it was. No one was shocked, no one sent looks. 

By the end of the week, you had been convinced that it had been narrowed down to Otto and the Librarian—

The bell of your shop dings.

Looking up from your easel, you smile and stand automatically, thinking about closing soon so you can go and see John. Nowadays, even the thought of him makes your blood pump heavy. 

“How can I help you today, Sir?” Your brushes find the side table you had set up, locking eyes with a tall, thin man in his late thirties. He wears a suit, and in his breast pocket, there’s the gleam of a gold chain attached to a pocket watch. 

“I’m here to ask about a detail in your paintings, Miss.” He’s well-spoken as well, and you’re shocked to know you haven't met him yet if he lived in Redthorpe—he doesn’t seem familiar at all.

“Of course,” you nod, perplexed. “I’m sorry, I think I missed your name.”

“Noah Moore,” is the even response. Noah is already walking around, bending to look into some of your work which hangs on the wall. “My neighbor brought home one of your pieces; I found I liked it very much. Had even considered commissioning.”

Noah? You blink slowly, watching. Wasn’t that Eleanor’s husband?

“Thank you,” your lips move, thinning. “That’s very high praise, Mr. Moore.” 

“This creature,” Noah stands, and dark eyes set on you. For some reason, the hair along your arms stands on end. “The man with a fish tail. Have you seen him?”

Your instant reaction is to lie, and that in and of itself is a telltale sign that something is wrong. Noah makes the alarm in the back of your head go off for no reason other than the way he’s trying to pry with that unblinking gaze of his. The rich apparel; the attitude. He isn’t right.

“Seen him?” Chuckles echo off the walls. “Who? The beast? No, Sir, that…thing…is just something I made up.” You wave a hand, but back up a step, trying to create distance. Your hip lightly bumps the side table, and your materials jerk. Gasping under your breath, your head snaps down, catching your brush before it can fall. “Oh my, clumsy me.” you laugh stiffly. “Apologies, Sir, but that’s the truth. I wanted to create something that all of Redthrope might enjoy; a local legend of sorts, see.”

Your eyes had siphoned back with a dread in your heart. The man mutely stares, a deep frown pulling his lips. As if the conversation had never happened, after a long stretch of tension, Noah smiles widely. 

“Ah,” he huffs, “of course. It was silly of me to ask.” Dark eyes are emotionless, and the pull of his eyelids is not there. Spine so tight it could snap in half, and your fingers curl around the brush before you place it down stiffly. “Though,” Mr. Moore clicks his tongue, taking one step closer. 

Your eyes widen, but you say nothing. Your mind flashes to John, and there’s a longing for the ocean so strong, it seems a good idea to you, to rush out the door right now and sprint for it; hurl yourself to the waves, if need be. He’d find you—you know he would.

“Though,” Noah continues, tilting his head. “There is a striking resemblance to a creature I recall seeing from the cliffs, the day my wife’s body was found at the rocks.” 

Backing up another step, your muscles ache with how you hold them like a shield to your organs. 

“As far as I know, only two others were searching at my side that day. And in it I am certain,” he hums, “you weren’t even here.”

Otto and the librarian, you think quickly, mind a mess of information and fear. It’s why they’re so spooked. They think John actually killed Eleanor and left her—they saw him bring her body to shore.

It’s a lack of foresight on your part, that the next bark is more of a reaction to the panic than proper knowledge, cracking under pressure. 

“John would never kill an innocent woman!” 

It’s as if a switch goes off, and, suddenly, there’s a ruthless hand grabbing at your throat. Yelping, you stagger back and snap your fingers to Noah’s wrist, clawing until there’s blood under your nails; air is sucked in with a wheeze. In the back of your head, there’s wild screaming, and you can’t tell if it’s the pounding of your blood or the internal sensation of primal fear. 

Raging eyes shove themselves right in front of yours, faces so close you can feel Noah’s hot breath moving over your burning face. You try to cough but find you can’t as one of your hands struggles to slap to the side table—searching fruitlessly. 

“John?” Noah sneers, holding tighter. “The thing has a name?”

Your easel clatters to the ground, back being shoved right into it. Mouth opening and closing, the cut of oxygen reduces your mind to acting purely off instinct—breaking down like glass to fracture to only one thing: survival.

“It was perfect,” Mr. Moore growls, eyes ablaze. “I had it all planned out, only to be ruined by a freak of nature at the last moment!” 

Your nails gouge the wood, dragging, searching, slapping. Anything—anything at all to help as your boots scrape from under you. You can’t even comprehend the words being said; all of it is a blur as blackness peels the side of your vision. 

Tears splatter down your cheeks.

“Two years, and then you had to come along and fucking speak to it! What did it tell you? Eh? What did it see that night?”

Your hand curls the glass bottle where you store your brushes and without another thought, you slam the side of it to Noah’s head. 

Shouting, the man releases you in an instant, glass leaving long lines of blood splattering out to sprinkle your face as it shatters, collapsing into itself. Connecting to the ground, your hacking can only take place for under two seconds before your boots scramble for purchase, stumbling and flailing at least once; lungs gasping. 

Shoulder connecting with the side of the door frame as you bang it open, an enraged scream follows you into the rainy afternoon, the rumble of deadly thunder far overhead. 

Running, you don’t know how to stop, and it’s even harder to catch your breath by the time you’re down to the rocks, looking over your shoulder as if Noah would be right behind you. He wasn’t—but the fear was enough to keep you going until you were bathed in sweat and barely strong enough to fall into the entrance of John’s cave, fingers cut up and raw from grappling over stone.

There’s a quick call of your name from across the enclosed space, but your ears are ringing too loud to hear—whipping around to stare at the entrance as you struggle back on your hands, legs shaking. 

“Love!”

Your eyes slash to the side, and through the quivering of your lashes, through the blur of tears, you lock onto the desperate slash of grayish-blue that’s a near-perfect reflection of the ocean itself. Painting, the realization comes a moment too late, as pale fingers touch your cheek and you flinch back with a deep pain in your neck. 

Pulsing veins echo along your entire body, but there, at the point of where hands had wrapped your flesh, it burned with a horrible fire that made thin noise escape your lips.

“Hey,” John breathes, having dragged himself at a moment’s notice across the floor of the cave. “Hey,” he repeats slower, eyes slashing you up and down for any sign of injury. 

His hand is outstretched, but he doesn’t try to touch you again seeing how you’d jerked away. The man’s heart had stopped at that—his concern shooting up similar to how he felt when you’d raced through the entrance as if a fire was on your heels. A near panic at the fear on your face, leaving his body on high alert; eyes skating the surrounding quickly.

But the splatters of blood on your face were something to reduce him to an enraged beast.

“What is going on,” he tries to keep the rough anger from his tone, attempting to leave it soft and smooth. There’s only so much he can do, though, as you shake and pant. 

Your body gradually slows itself, attention seeping back to allow you to take control of your limbs. The first thing you see clearly is John’s outstretched hand, and, then, the clench of his jaw—the eyes that follow every teardrop down the flesh of your cheek.

Openly gazing, when John sees you’re back, his blues slip to a softened caress. 

“Love,” he mutters, face tight. 

You shove yourself into his arms and let off a sob that echoes louder than any laughter could. Curling into his chest, water seeps into your shirt, but the all-expansive hand that keeps you close is worth every clothesline you would have to hang. 

“Shh,” John breathes, knowing that he’d get an explanation when he calmed you down, even if his mind was breaking itself to try and understand. “I’m right here, Sunshine. Breathe, then…I’m right here, yeah?” 

His nose pushes itself into your scalp as your head hides away, quivering body curled like a cat around a fish—no air between the two of you, chests running across the others. So little space, and yet this breathlessness was one you could welcome time and time again.

John watches, eyes always open as he glares into your hair, grip tightening the longer you cry; a feeling so potent brimming in his chest, he would be a fool to ignore it.

You were more precious to him than any ring, than any trinket he could stash away and forget about. The way his heart bent to yours was stronger than any storm. 

Breathing down your scent, John sighed, kissed the top of your head, and lightly rocked you back and forth. 

He’d wait as long as it took.

—

When it became apparent you couldn’t speak beyond broken little coughs and wheezes, John was quick to bring you to the water of the pool.  

Now, perhaps hours later, you sit with the burn and fatigue of crying eyes, sniffling as you shove away the stain of red on your cheeks. 

“Careful,” John lightly comments, grasping your hand and pulling it away. His own replaces it, wet from the water he now wades in to help. “Let me get it, eh?”

Your eyes stay stuck to his nose as fingers push away the crimson of blood easily, firm but still utterly delicate. 

“I’m not glass,” you croak, one hand near your throat. 

Blue eyes blink at you. “Never said you were,” he grunts, frowning, and you see his Adam’s Apple bob. “Don’t like seeing you with blood on your face, Love.”

Like it had never happened, the fingers return, and a moment later, he grumbles out, “And stop talking—you’ll make it worse.” 

You hadn’t explained, not yet, but by the utter rage you see John trying to hide from you, you know he understands how you might have gotten the swelling now present on your neck. His heart had been visibly pumping the entire time you’d been here; you could hear it when he was holding you, a relentless, thump-thump-bump, thump-thump-bump in your ear.

The brunette had been clenching his jaw more as well, grunting as if a boar after every sentence, a nervous habit, perhaps. He was trying to mask it for you, but you weren’t blind. 

John pauses his cleaning, glancing at your throat. 

He studies your face after he hums under his breath, having to dart his gaze away for a moment. 

“...Can I?” You pause, swallowing as the burn persists. 

Nodding after a minute of slow contemplation, cold hands shift to press carefully—not tightening, not holding you there—resting to give relief. You only tense a little, but as the seconds draw, John watches you sag forward with a large sigh through your nose. 

He lets a small sliver of calm enter him.

“Easy,” John whispers, blinking. He keeps the chill of his hands at your neck, fins shifting the water to keep him still. “When you’re ready, explain it to me, eh?” His head tilts, voice a low tease. “Glass or not.” 

Your lips twitch, and the way your eyes melt could only be compared to safety. You open your lips, and John mutters lowly as your fingers brush over his own, “Quietly, now. Can hear just fine—don’t push yourself.” 

Blue flickers to your touch, fingertips trailing his knuckles as the man grunts, attention fluttering back. 

All you say is one name. 

“Noah.” 

There’s a moment of confusion on John’s face, skin wrinkling, before the understanding settles swiftly—he wasn’t a fool. From there, his expression changes ten times over; that rage, then fear for you, confusion, and stubbornness. It’s of little surprise to you that a man so loyal was reduced to a dog. 

A dog with scales, that is.

Your body is still running hot—your heart still pumping, though the adrenaline has left with all of its stimulation. You’re tired, yes, that much is obvious. But you want John to hold you again. 

When you shift your body, the man’s eyes widen, and he blinks quickly in shock as your legs then slip into the waves inch by inch.

A noise exits the back of his throat, and John’s mouth moves in serious question. “What are you doing? Fucking hell, would you just stay still and let me have a look at you—”

Arms grapple around his waist, and a warm head burrows into his neck. 

You rest against him, body suspended in the water of the deep pool, a merman’s tail swishing to shove you the tiniest bit closer unconsciously. John’s chest bounces with every emotion, but all he does is stop you from sinking by holding you. Your eyes close at the dig of his hands, and, letting the water move the both of you, the smooth scales along your legs feel as if the finest silk. A thumb caressing up and down your spine; breath at the top of your head.

You both say nothing, and it’s a long while before either of you takes any action to leave.

—

When your words could be strung together and not broken every other sentence, you explained all of it, and the hunch you’d strung together in the meantime.

You fiddle with one of John’s rings—the emerald one—as you glance up and speak softly, voice still delicate. The pain still blossomed, but some things needed to be explained.

“I think he killed his wife.” 

By the way John stops massaging the flesh of your neck, letting you rest your head in the crook of where his tail begins and skin ends, you knew he already pieced that together a while ago. Your clothes were still heavy with water, and a puddle had formed around the both of you on the rocks.

“Hm,” is all John says, fixing the position of his lips as he looks away.

He shakes his head, growling out, “You’re not going back up there. Not while he’s still walking the streets.”

You frown, but John glares without any venom. “It wasn’t a question, Love.”

“What will you do,” you whisper, voice hoarse. A brow quirks. “Run after me, John?”

The man stares, not taking it as lightly as you. “If I have to.”

Your breath hitches, hands resting numbly over the ring as John’s fingers once again continue their touching—as if he can rub away the swelling; the damage of the veins. 

“You don’t have legs,” you utter, having to pause in the middle of the sentence to breathe deeply. 

“I’ll crawl,” he grunts.

“The rocks are sharp.”

His face is immobile. “Then I’ll bleed.”

Your mind memorized the stubbornness of his expression—the pull of the crow’s feet beside his eyes. There wasn’t an ounce of a joke in John’s eyes; no lie. Watching him, your face is loose with wonder, and water drips from your temple to connect with those dark navy scales, glinting with the light from the outside sun growing low. 

The ring in your hands is frozen, stopping its turning as your pulse soars.

John licks the corner of his mouth, glancing at the item of gold and green. 

“Keep it,” he mutters, tilting his head to the ring. “More of a use to you.” 

Larger fingers capture yours, and in one deft motion, the elegant item is slipped onto your digit, sitting comfortably as if made just for you. 

John shrugs. “The rest of ‘em, too, if you want the damn things.” His blues card over the view of your hand, and imagines fingers filled with every bit of gold and silver obtainable to him, brought up from the ocean just to sit pretty atop your flesh. Necklaces, bracelets, belts, and accessories; the things he’d seen from far distant waters. 

Oh, but they’d pale in comparison to how you would wear them. 

A muse to a song. A painter to a portrait. 

A women to the water.

He’d seen your latest sketches—you’d brought them down to him here—and when you were exploring this cave, he had taken a peak. Unlike him, yes, but there was a pull to it, that parchment bound by leather. He’d not seen anything like it, and as he had watched you work on occasion, he was entranced as he’d listened to you explain it. You’d told him that you could even manipulate color, and that had left his eyes widening in awe.

You were incredible, and when he saw his own likeness littering page after page, John had been unable to take his eyes off of you. A silent appreciation—a voiceless devotion. He’d never been…captured like this, so to speak. A mirror image. Details he didn’t even know himself, and yet there they were. 

Beauty marks across his cheeks and nose, the scars that littered his flesh that he’d all but forgotten about, the list was endless. 

But he looks at you now, and he can understand why there’s a draw to immortalize the mortal. 

His fingers stay at yours, and they brush skin as they dip along your hand, falling to your wrist. You stare up into his eyes, he stares down into yours. There’s little air to be taken in between the two of you. 

“John,” you utter, blue gaze stuck to your lips. 

He hums, tilting his head, his body looming over yours like a shadow. By the time his face is so near to yours, you don’t want to fight it, you don’t want to think about the strangeness of this predicament you’ve found yourself in—a creature living in the cliffs, handsome and half-inhuman.

When smooth lips brush over yours, and your eyelashes begin to flutter, the shouts from outside break whatever spell had just started weaving itself. 

Head snapping up, John’s body tenses as you push upward quickly. Attention slashing to the cave entrance, it’s not long before you realize what’s going on with a sharp breath and a leap to your pulse. 

The smash of something connecting to rocks echoes like a feral killing song. Yells. Yowls. 

“John,” you say hurriedly, flinching from the pain in your throat. Your eyes dart to his tension-ridden form, his arms wrapping above your body. “You need to run,” you choke out. “Go! Quickly!”

You only get a glance, and the clench of his jaw is as stubborn as it always is. Your brain already knows it’s fruitless. He won’t leave you here alone.

“They’ll kill you!” Your hands push at his chest, finger grasping at the bristle of hair to try and shove at an iron will. 

“Stay under me,” John mutters, voice low and nothing more than a chilled order. Yet, even he knows there’s little that he’d be able to do. His eyes flashed to every trinket and bauble he had collected, the new ones he’d yet to show to you, but there was few in the way of weapons. A dagger or two from a trench, a sword from under a ship—a spearhead. All too far away and rusted for it to even matter. 

There was a sharp feeling in John’s chest. A need. An oath that he gave to himself the moment he’d seen the way your little stick could breathe his image onto a sheet made of fibers. 

He was to watch over you whenever you were in his sights, and that had extended itself to gliding through the water as he watched you climb and grunt your way to his cave; a careful eye that he had no need to tell you about. That was just how he was. 

“John!” You try to bark again, growing desperate. 

Yet, it was already too late, and the merman hadn’t shifted even an inch before Noah, Otto, and the Librarian burst through the entrance like bats from hell.  They hold all manner of weapons, though the more you blink in a panic, the less afraid of them you seem, at the very least, the older man and the woman.

Otto held a cut-up and dented club, nothing more than something you’d keep for a home invasion beside the bed—the Librarian, a heavy book that seemed to contain every bit of information available to the world, so large it strained in her hands. Noah, though, was a different story. 

He had a sharp, long knife and eyes that could cut flesh by themselves. 

Half of Mr. Moore’s face was sliced up, cuts leaking blood to the ground—skin hanging and an eye completely poked with glass; shards in its gentle makeup. 

You swallow saliva and stutter through a shaking breath, and John’s glare could burn cities as he feels it reverberating against him. 

“There!” Noah shouts, balking closer. “See! I knew it was here—seducing the next woman to take to the ocean!” 

Your wide eyes try to take it all in, hands slapping the ground sending droplets of collected water flying. John’s face hones in, digging in like how the glass from your brush container had into Noah’s visage, and, somehow, you think that dead stare can cause more damage. Grasping the merman’s waist, you attempt and silently urge him to go. 

“Girl!” Otto calls quickly, eyes darting from you to John and back. Even if you could yell, you’re not sure you would. You wouldn’t even know what to say. “Get away from it!”

“I’d put that down,” John grunts to Noah, disregarding the old man and the librarian entirely. He clenches his jaw. “‘Fore you end up hurting yourself. Leave.”

“Otto,” you start, glancing at the woman beside your friend who looked like she was about to pass out when John had started to speak. The man in question’s face pulls, wrinkles thinning. “You have to listen to me, please, it’s not how Mr. Moore told you—”

“It speaks!” Noah barks, pointing his knife harder at John. “Freak of nature, it already has its hold on her.”

“Oh my,” the Librarian gasps. “Noah, it’s horrible—look at the tail.”

Your eyes flare with rage as John doesn’t react.

“Hey!” You shout, but instantly slap your free hand to your throat, coughing raggedly until your spine hunches. The merman brings you closer, but you’re already pushing until you’re on your feet, stumbling for a moment as John gives you a sharp look.

“You watch your bloody mouth,” you grid out, glaring, whipping your hands to get rid of the water droplets. Noah licks his lips as John grabs onto the back of your knee, fingers resting firmly. Sending a look down to him, your shoulders loosen at the expression he levels. You can almost hear the words.

 Steady. Keep your head on.

Though, a slash of silent pride made your heart stutter a small bit.

Your eyes glint. “Drop your weapons,” your sentence is crackling but nonetheless sharp. “Leave. John is innocent—he told me all of it.” You turn to Otto. “Mr. Moore attacked me in my shop, I smashed a glass container into his head so he would release me.” Otto tenses, club getting strangled by his fingers. 

“Noah killed Eleanor,” you breathe, John’s grip pulling a bit tighter as if sensing something you have yet to see. Noah shifts quickly, boots squeaking along the rock as he growls. 

“Absurd—!”

“He pushed her over the rocks and blamed John when he saw him bringing back her body,” you interrupt as fast as you can, pain bouncing off your throat. “You all saw it on the shore, the lie was simple enough for a man like him. Saying she drowned to a creature.”

It didn’t surprise you that John was quiet, that he was studying more the stance of men instead of talking or trying to defend himself. While he could be hard-headed and stiff, he was never dull—he never missed ques. So when Noah launched himself at you, Otto and the Librarian more confused and concerned than anything, there was only a heavy push on the back of your knee that left you buckling with a gasp, and then the explosion of water as John sent you both quickly to the water.

Hands whipping to snare around the merman’s shoulders, you’re only able to get a quick breath in before you’re completely enveloped in water, with John’s hand setting itself over your mouth just in case. The sudden rush is comparable to a heavy wind, yet far more cold and nearly like a slap to the back of your spine. 

You both disappear into the deep with a spray, Noah’s muffled yells of terror seen far above near the surface, arms captured by the Librarian and Otto—held at his sides. There’s a flash of those dark eyes, horrible things, and then John’s fins hide the rest as they slash through the water. 

When you both resurface, retreating far back near the watery entrance of the cave, John keeps you firmly behind him, your arms around his waist as you gasp for air. He keeps his head slightly turned to the side—always having you in the corner of his vision. Above the spread of his shoulders, you peek softly, legs suspended below. 

“Lier!” Noah screams, face contorted. “She’s lying!”

You look at Otto and see the grim way he’s already looking back, struggling to keep the younger individual from breaking free. He was sensical, but stubborn in his ways. Otto had a choice just as the librarian did—believe a woman who’d been here a year or someone they’d known nearly their entire lives.

“Noah,” Otto grunts, gritting his teeth. “Breathe, boy! Stop spitting, let her speak—”

The knife in Noah’s hands slashes the air, and suddenly there’s a yell from the librarian and a spray of blood. 

“Otto!” You scream, fingers flinching. 

The old man stumbles, hoarsely crying out as he grasps at his neck. Your eyes widen, mouth ajar as John pushes his hand into your head, shoving it into the back of his hair as he watches blankly, eyes glinting with a deadly hate. 

“Don’t move,” he utters quickly, sternly, to you as your breath breaks, mouth slack to stare at nothing. Scales skate your legs, great kelp-like fins curling your ankle. “Keep still. Focus on my words, Love.” Under his breath is a tight, “Fuck!”

John speaks above the gargling—the spillage of blood to stone. He mutters through the screams of the Librarian as Noah slips trying to run to the entrance, scrambling with bulging eyes. 

“Don’t look,” John says to you lowly, shifting his body as he keeps your face hidden away and let him hold you like a corpse to the earth. The sounds…oh, the sounds were horrible. 

But the man holding you tries very hard to hide them.

Your body quivers violently as the slam of a body hits the ground, the frantic calling of the woman still here with the both of you; the loud calls from the fleeing murder outside the walls.

“That’s it,” John’s fast lips are on the top of your head, muttering and trying to make his voice as even as possible. “That’s it, then. Doing good, don’t move until I say so, alright?”

When you don’t answer, only shoving your visage deeper into his neck, his spine-breaking-hold squeezes once, and his pounding heart bounces opposite yours. You don’t have to say you know him to understand that he’s only holding onto a thread of good manners, and that was certainly only for our own sake.

Otto was dead.

John leads you out, the gold and emerald of your ring glinting in the moonlight as he holds your body to his, the powerful make of his tail doing the work as it shines in the water. He leaves you outside, where the still running form of Noah is visible, yet the only person noticing is John himself. Your hands are so shaky that it would be impossible to hold your sketchbook, let alone a pencil. 

John takes one of them as Mr. Moore gets too close to the shoreline, slipping and getting his foot caught in between two stones. He panics, yelling loudly, as water is lapping up to his knee.

“Hey, hey, you hear me?” John asks, uncaring to the man, as he sets you down softly on a flat rock shelf. Fingers move to sit at your chin, and, through tight sniffles, you make delicate eye contact. He blinks, trying a tight smile—a flash nothing more. “There she is. Good...I need you to listen one last time, yeah? Just like before; don’t look until I say so.” Your face creases lightly, blinking through a haze of senses and horror. Otto was dead. 

The man that brought you out on his boat—the man that cooked you fish and acted as if a guardian to you. His cat, who would take care of her? It seemed a silly thought given the circumstances, but you can’t stop your mind from running. The house, the boat, the cat. The blood. 

“There’s nothing out here that can hurt you,” John grunts, grasping your hands and holding them, letting calluses and scars speak. “So long as I’m here, I won’t let it.” 

He nearly growls out the words. In one movement, he puts your hand to his heart, and your brain latches onto the rhythm as your own rampages in your ears. 

Noah is still screaming, but now it’s for help.

John’s voice lowers as he utters, “Hey,” the man licks his lips, eyes dancing to the side every once and a while. You stare, swallowing down bile. He says as fluidly as possible, keeping constant locked gazes. 

“Stay here. I won’t be long.”

Fingers glide down your neck again, feeling that swelling, and just as you register the kiss that’s leveled to your hand, to that gifted ring, John’s already away; his tail slipping over your flesh, fins gripping, writhing with their film. 

Yet, you have no trouble following his advice. 

The rising screams from Mr. Moore are numb to you, and the following wave of water that swallows him is only accented by the hand that grapples for his neck. 

John always seemed the one for revenge.

—

With the Librarian's newfound cooperation, the story became simple. 

Mr. Moore, distraught over the death of his wife, had finally lost it all when down on the beach with Otto, yourself, and the local Librarian—attacking and killing the old man in response to being so near to where he and his wife always traveled to. Afterward, he’d walked into the sea and had taken his own life. 

The authorities weren’t going to dispute it. 

You sold Otto's house a week after his death, seeing as he’d named you the sole inheritor of his estate and belongings. There was no need for two properties, and sitting in that small place was akin to torture. After all, he’d been doing what he thought was right, and dying for a lie is nothing short of cruel to those left behind who knew the truth. 

Harriet stays in the shop with you, where she’ll probably live out the rest of her nine lives peacefully. She’s quite fond of the fireplace. 

Most days, people find you near the water, and it’s something that wasn’t going to change even after Noah’s body was found in the rocks—freakishly close to where Eleanor’s had been. Some were calling it poetic and you’d have to agree…but for different reasons.

“You shouldn’t be giving me all of these,” you huff months later, sitting on the rock looking out over the water. A large collection of John’s trinkets is piled high in a wrapping of seaweed, shining bright as you mess with your pencil, leaning to stare at him.

John’s lips flicker into a smirk. He hums, content to watch you, from where he rests not an inch away. You lean into him, sighing, as the innumerable glinting rings on your fingers shimmer. 

“Want to,” he grumbles. 

Rolling your eyes, you look back down to your book, three of four replicas of the man’s scale pattern sitting, shaded and duplicated—lifelike. His tail sways with the water, half of it lost below. 

Your hands reach for them now, the scales closest to you, and you lightly poke and prod as John grunts above you, silent but willing in a way that speaks volumes. He’d let no one else touch him like this for the rest of his life—the softness of your fingers and the care on your face more precious than gold. You revered that tail of his; as if it gave over magic like a wishing well. 

Shivering, John’s breath hitches as your exploring moves, pushing lightly at where the top of his hips would be.

Your talent was fascinating to him, just as you were. If you wanted to ‘paint’ him, he’d allow you to do all the studies needed. Not only to give you a distraction….but because he can’t bear to be away from you anymore. It makes him nervous, and that in itself is an incredible feat.

“Where do you come from, John,” your question moves the air, and the man moves to pull your jacket higher up your body to stave off the chill. You glance at him, smiling, before your attention returns to your drawings. Sketching more, John resets his lips and tries not to stare at your face. It was getting harder to deny that pull. 

That near kiss.

“No answer, Love.” You stare as he quirks a lip, voice lowering. “I won’t be going back to distant waters anytime soon.”

John glances down at your sketchbook, seeing every scratch and bend of care. The both of you were strange creatures, perhaps. Unique—made for one another despite the obvious. 

He nods his head to it softly. The water laps at your boots from below, but you care little before John shifts your feet carefully further up with a push from his tail. You chuckle at him breathily, face heating.

“Getting water on you, Love,” he breathes. “New painting soon?” John asks when the silence settles once more, with you shifting your legs to sit under you. He still isn’t sure what painting entails, but you had told him that you would show him soon, so he knows to be patient. But yearning for anything regarding you is ingrained into his mind now—instinct.

“Mhm,” you smile softly, sending a look at your paper and the images. A huff escapes your mouth. “I think I’ll make this one a portrait.”

John blinks, tilting his head slightly. “Portrait? Why’s that?” 

Your lips find his, moving back up in an instant. 

For a second, the man’s surprised eyes pull back; only lowering as he hums moments later, fingers curling up under your chin as he sags. Lids flutter closed, and his tail twitches lightly.

“I have a subject that’s caught my eye.” You mutter into his flesh when you pull back, face burning as deep blues sear your mind, turning it into mush. Your skin tingles as chilled digits trail your chin, dripping water down your healed throat.

John watches, lips parted, as you continue on. 

“And I’d be a fool if I let him swim off.”

The both of you were going to be perfectly fine.

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@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

#cod #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty #x female reader #call of duty x you #cod mw22 #mw2 #mw2 2022 #john price cod #john price #captain john price #captain price #cod mw2 #cod john price #john price call of duty #john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price x you #x fem!reader #cod price #price x reader #john price x female reader #captain price x you #captain price x reader #cod x female reader

[phyriaxi]

Sketchbook Post! [ 1 ]

Welcome to my first sketchbook doodle dump!

I ended up having a bunch more drawings to share than I initially assumed, so I wanted to include some of my thoughts as well! This post will be quite a bit longer than usual :] thanks for stopping by!

CONTENTS:

NEW UNIVERSE (personal project work)

Sketches from life

Fanart (there's a lot of Arknights)

A couple of mini-comic sketches

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

NEW UNIVERSE // character explorations and other doodles from my personal project!

I haven't really talked about it here, but for the past couple of years I've been working on an original story in my free time! The image above is a quick lineup of the main cast that I doodled while waiting at the station. Progress is slow, but the placeholder name is "NEW UNIVERSE", and I'm currently working on developing the stories for my characters and their origins!

(yes, i draw a lot of Arknights fanart ... but I do have some original work too LOL)

A couple characters you may have already seen are Lyda Khatra (the white-haired girl with bows in her hair) and Maria Serval (the lady who has horns and is usually smirking). They appear many times in my sketchbook, alongside many other characters that I'll try to introduce~

[ Clockwise from the top-left: Sara, Lyda Khatra, Kiron Schiavona, Red-Eye, Iris Serramount (2) ]

I recently found an old pack of red pencil leads prior to this page, so its purpose is mostly to test the material and less about the characters. But a bunch of them are on here, so I suppose it's a good chance to talk about them a bit :)

>> Sara, the top-left character drawn in light red pencil, is a young Verlin adult (note: Verlin are basically the in-universe demon people, and they're the counterpart to the angel-like Zaurites... it doesn't really give them powers or anything, I just wanted characters with horns and halos lol). She's pretty aloof and was originally a scout for the Blackbird Syndicate, one of the three power-holding entities currently in control of the (tentatively-named) city of Midria. However, she was quite terrible at her job, and they eventually realized that Sara enjoyed making/maintaining records of Midria's various fauna and cryptids. She is often followed around by a trio of little eyeball creatures :D

>> Lyda Khatra is the next character here, whom I've drawn a couple times before and posted here. In short, she's an agent for a security company known as WALTZ, which is in turn a subsidiary/cover of a group called The Styx. On missions, she partners with a boy named Sasha, but due to his unique condition (which I'm still expanding on, so I won't explain it here), she is often outcast by other WALTZ members and nicknamed "Miss Mortician". Truthfully, Lyda is just a child who ran from home, who believes that she won't ever have to acknowledge her fears if she can delude herself enough.

>> Following Lyda is Kiron Schiavona. He's a prodigy marksman who was discovered by one of the Administration's commanders, Elena Sparrow. He takes pride in his abilities, but for whatever reason, Elena has rarely assigned him to any proper missions.

>> Red-Eye is up next, in her usual twin-tailed hairstyle. She is from the Blackbird Syndicate's courier department, which is pretty much the city's only remaining postal/courier system. As a highly capable messenger, she and fellow courier Orion take on many high-priority delivery, retrieval, and escort missions. (additional note: I used to draw her with only one red eye, but somehow the heterochromia felt boring after a while, so both her eyes are usually red now. But either is fine)

>> Last on this page is Iris Serramount. Her story continues to be revised and rewritten, so there's not much I can say about her yet (except that she's 19, which is a fact that has stuck throughout most of her iterations).

Some other characters that I don't draw as often include Myra ("Malady"), Seremi and William Khatra (Lyda's older siblings who work for the Administration), and to a lesser extent, Maria Serval. Red-Eye's coworker/partner Orion doesn't get much time in the spotlight either :P

The following group of images includes a bunch of their sketches. Seremi is the one with the chin-length messy hair + a cape. She and Maria have a lot of history, and the two of them still work in the same division to this day. Myra/Malady is the one with the choppy hair, holding a chain-scythe in the third (?) image. Her original concept had her as a cowardly clairvoyant trying to take back her life for herself, but the clairvoyance isn't really relevant to the story anymore. Orion is in the last image.

(Yes, I did draw Arknights' Lappland with my Maria Serval in the first one. I'm a big fan of their 'shit-eating grin' energy lol)

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

Sketches from/inspired by life // quick studies of people and places, often at the park

I'm lucky to live near many wonderful parks and greenspaces, which gives me a lot of opportunities to people-watch and draw from life. Admittedly, I only started taking advantage of this recently, but I'm glad to have started late rather than never :]

Also, I have access to this really awesome roof, which I take inspiration from in a couple of these drawings. It's in a pretty industrial but under-maintained area, but luckily that means there are lots of rusty pipes, worn bricks, and random metal gadgets that really scratch my aesthetic itch!! I hope to incorporate more of that visual feeling into my artwork going forward.

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

FANART DOODLES // unsurprisingly, it's mostly Arknights

This is probably the content you're the most familiar with, albeit in a different style than usual. At this point, Lappland is my warm-up and passtime go-to, so she shows up a lot. I also drew Asuka from Evangelion the other day, and I really like how that sketch turned out!

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

MINI-COMICS // doodles of scenes that popped into my head

I'm terrible at writing, especially when it comes to stories, so these are probably mediocre at best. But I hope to publish NEW UNIVERSE as a comic/manga-styled story eventually, so you could say these are just my first steps, hehe :]

1: Red-Eye and Courier receive an unconventional request

2: Commander Sparrow introduces Kiron to his new squad members, the Raptors (featuring Maria Serval being very snarky)

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

That'll conclude this sketchbook post! If you've read this far: I know this was a REALLY long post, but I hope it was enjoyable! I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback!

There are a couple more drawings that I'm quite fond of, but unfortunately I've now hit the image limit for a tumblr post. Maybe I'll save them for next time :] I hope to make more posts like this in the future when I have the time. Usually the stuff in my sketchbook stays in there forever and I never share it with anyone (nor do I often take the time to look back and think about it), so this was a lot of fun for me!

>> Oh, and lastly, thank you very much for nearly 500 followers!! <3

#phyriaxi #original #my art #sketchbook #traditional art #oc #arknights #doodle dump #oc rambling #sketches #long reads #WOOHOO hoping i didn't mess up the formatting ... still getting used to text posts on here! :]

[bonesandthebees]

OH G9D IM ALREAYD AT THIS CHAPTER?@,$$(#;$?= IM ABOUT TO GO YO WORK I CANT REAF THIS NOW WELPDJFGKF

OH GODDD DBRTMLSJFTKFM

At least im prepared for it this time o7

30 mins... is that enough time for me to emotionally kill myself and then come back again

God can u imagine seeing these sketches irl?? Like if hats became a film and we got to see the sketchbook?? Rahhhs

Ooohhh i can imagine the cover of the book being one of tommys sketches omg...

IM GONNA CRYY THEYRE ALL SO SWEET SOBS

I really reallyyy wanna read the phil scene but that scene would be sm better reading in bed and the whole point of me rereading the whole fic was so i could get the proper emotional experience FJFKFK

I will be patient o7

Okay im finally home

Much later than i was expecting bc i ended up going out for drinks with my friend (first time I ever had a margarita... holyshit it was so good wtf) but im still committed to finishing hats tonight

IM IN THE MOOD FOR ANGSTT

I put on my angst playlist without even realizing it bc it's really good background musicdjfkfkd im really picky w what music i play while reading (i find it hard to focus) but i have this one playlist that works Really Well... it also is just jam packed with a bunch of highly emotional songs that make the entire scene sn more painful...

Perfect :D

OH GOD IM NOT READY OH GOD OH FUCK

LMFAOFJFJF awww

Smol tommy:(( eueueu

IM GONNA SCREAM AAAAA ADBFNFJEJFK

OOOHHH FUVJKJSJFKFIDJFJF

FAVOURITES ALBUM .

IM SO ILL IM SOOO ILL I AM NOT OKAY I AM NOTTYISUEOFODHSIDH EXPLODES

CRIES

WAILS

OOUHHH MYG FOSODHSKGJDBD OHMGYDOHOGMHUDPHMYGODU LGHD

Hand over mouth i am so not okay tears in my eyes heart is cracking into tiny little pieces

AAAAAAAAAAAAA IM GOING TO CRYYYYYYY AAAAAAA IM CRYING ACTUALLY FCJGKHKGKG FUCKKK THIS HURTS SO BAD BUT ITS SO GOOD I LVOE THIS FIC SO MUCH OHNKUHDO:((( I CANT DO THIS

I'd love to see these sketches irl they're so specific in my head rahhh I just can't draw for shit 😭

margaritas are very good I especially love strawberry margaritas

this chapter was so intense to write. I knew how I wanted that confrontation scene to go down but I still got so swept up in the emotions of it all and was trying to balance the dialogue and narration so carefully. the 'he hated-' bit especially was really hard to get just right but I'm so so proud of how it turned out

I'm also rereading this chapter a bit so I can get context for your messages and damn that last line. forgot I wrote that I'm proud of myself lol

#ask #icyfox17 #honey and tangerines

[dontweaken]

this is probably the best dynamic pose i’ve ever done ... i am president of the tiffany wright fanclub

#i am not good at art but like who cares! #my proper sketchbooks are still packed up so i have to do it on my lined notebooks BLEH .. #i'm trying to doodle each of the 6 girlgang members #might make midnight pasta idk i'm all over the place

[iovchlde]

childe x a reader who works with kids? maybe like a teacher?

you really have a way with kids.

teucer doesn’t really like most of the teachers at the school, to which childe feels apologetic because he often has to stick back after school. he likes one teacher though— you— and after seeing the teacher for himself, he thinks he likes them too.

in which childe thinks his brother’s teacher is cute.

pairing.

childe x gn!reader

genre.

fluff

author’s note.

so like— someone make an in depth series of this please. the problem with not being able to write slow burn but absolutely loving to read it 😔✋

it’s becoming late, something you note to yourself when you look out the window, as the sky is now an ombre of blues and reds and oranges. you’d been so absorbed in grading papers that you’d failed to check the time— the clock now indicating that it was almost four post meridiem. a sigh escapes past your lips as you straighten your back, relishing in the feel after sitting in a crouched position for so long. it’s hard to maintain proper posture when you’re bored out of your mind. “two more papers to go,” you mutter to yourself. “and then i can finally leave.”

the room is dead silent so when you hear a creak from the door across the room, you look up in curiosity to see teucer peeking his head in. he hasn’t noticed you, as you’re hidden behind the clutter that covers your desk, and he’s looking around in hopes of spotting his peers. noticing that there was no one else, his lips tug into a small frown. you blink in surprise, looking back at the clock to make sure that you weren’t mistaken. but alas, it really was that late. halting your pace of work, you drop the pen in your hand and you stand up from your chair.

“hi teucer.” you call out to him, and he jumps from being startled, not quite expecting someone else to be in the room. teucer turns his head to look at you from his awkward position at the door frame, slightly struggling to keep the huge door open, and you motion for him to come in. silently, he shuffles through the door with his hands wrapped tightly around the straps of his backpack, and he flashes a smile towards your way. “what are you doing here so late?”

at the question, the smile on his lips immediately fall. teucer looks down and twirls his foot on the floor, his voice quiet as he speaks. “my brother is really busy with his job, and he hasn’t come to pick me up yet. i came to see if my friends were still here, but there’s no one else left.” your heart twinges at the tone he uses— dejected and downcast. mentally, you scold yourself for asking such an obvious question, but you can’t really take your words back.

you hum, walking towards the boy and crouching in front of him. “then, let’s do something fun to pass the time, shall we? how about drawing— do you like drawing?” his head immediately perks up the suggestion, and he nods vigorously as if to say yes.

“i have the perfect thing for drawing,” teucer exclaims. he pulls the backpack off of his shoulders, opening a big pocket and rummaging through it. it takes a second for him to find what he’s looking for, but he lets out a proud, “aha!”, as he finds it. excitedly, he fishes out a big pack of crayons, showing them off to you. a satisfied feeling blooms within you, glad that he’s no longer as gloomy as before.

you gasp. “is that a pack of sixty-four crayons?” he grins, nodding again. “well, i have the perfect thing for that too.” from your crouching position, you get up and walk towards your cabinet— the one filled with new and unused materials. yanking out one of the drawers, you take out a fresh sketchpad, and you place it on a desk closest to you. all the chairs were placed on the desks, a thing the school would ask of students to do as they pack up from their last class of the day. taking a hint, teucer rushes over and brings down two chairs.

“i wanna draw my big brother, and give it to him when he comes to pick me up.” teucer holds a determined look on his face as he says those words, and you can’t help but chuckle at his admirable love for his brother. ripping off a piece of paper from the sketchbook, you hand it to him, which he accepts gratefully. he wastes no time in unpacking his crayons, picking out some peachy color, and leaving the box on the table. “what will you be drawing, ms. y/n?”

you hadn’t actually thought of drawing, simply coming up with the distraction on the spot to cheer him up. subconsciously, you look to the side as you think of an answer. “i’ll draw flowers,” you say, and he smiles, going back to his piece of paper.

if you were to give an estimate on how much time has passed, you’d say that about fifteen minutes had gone by since you’d first started drawing. you finished early on, drawing two simple lilies onto the paper, and simply sitting comfortably on the chair. or at least, as comfortable as it can get for an adult sitting on elementary-student-sized chairs. it’s not for another five minutes that teucer finally speaks up from his concentration.

“finished!” the boy beside you exclaims, holding up his drawing proudly. on the paper is a stick figure, the hair that covers its head is ginger-colored, and it has a loopy smile drawn as its face. it’s charming, and it has a message written beside it.“you’re the best big brother!”, the little note reads out. (he used the wrong “you’re”, but you decide not to comment on it given that it’s after school hours.)

little did you know, teucer’s older brother is observing you two from the door. his arms are crossed over his chest, and a soft expression is evident on his face as watches the interaction between the two of you. teucer had always beamed about you to him— talking about how amazing of teacher you were, and how kind you were. “you really look up to your brother, don’t you?” you comment, while analyzing his picture more.

“of course i do,” teucer avows, answering to you almost immediately, no hint of hesitation within his voice. his little hands are always curled up into little fists as he praises his brother, his voice going up a few octaves than it normally is. “he’s really busy, but whenever he’s not, he makes sure to make it up to me. on my birthdays, he gives me really big presents, and he takes me out to parks as well. he’s the best, isn’t he?”

“i think your brother seems like an admirable man.” you comment. “but, you’re also a good brother too, you know? you care for him a lot, and i think that matters just as much.”

“really?”

childe’s gaze is soft as he watches the two of you talk, impressed by how cheery his brother was around you. it’s not often that teucer stays back and actually enjoys it. he hated to ruin the moment, but you’re interrupted as there’s a cough heard from the doorway, and you see a ginger-haired man leaning on the door frame. his looks are uncanny to those of teucer’s— boyish and smiley. must be his older brother.

quite cute too, but you brush off the thought.

the two of you make eye contact for the briefest of moments, but from those few seconds, you can see there’s a hint of penitence swirling in his eyes. the forgiving smile you return is barely noticeable, but he catches onto it with keen eyes. “sorry to keep you waiting, buddy.” he apologizes to teucer, before redirecting his gaze towards you. “i’m sorry you had to stay back and take care of him— though from what i can see, you really have a way with kids, ms. y/n. teucer here wasn’t wrong when he said you’re a really cool person.”

he gets off the door frame, now walking into the room and closer to teucer. the latter runs over to him immediately, sticking to his side. “mhm! ms. y/n is the best teacher.”

“see? teucer says so himself. you truly live up to the stories he’s told about you.”

you snort, shaking your head. picking up teucer’s items for him, you start walking towards the two. “being good with kids is part of the job description, you know? i’d be a bad teacher if i didn’t know how to handle them.” you say as you hand the bag and drawing to him. for a second, the tips of his hand grazes yours, before he promptly picks the items from your hand. “and he tells stories about me?”

“all the time,” he exaggerates, and teucer playfully pushes his arms. “teucer seems miserable around every other teacher, so they must be considered bad teachers by your definition.” he teases, and you flush at his words.

“oh,” you say as your eyes widen, “i don’t mean in that—” just as you’re about to protest against his words, he cuts in.

“joking, joking. anyways, we should really get going. i’ve already wasted enough of your time, as is— will i be seeing you around more often, ms. y/n?” he asks, and there’s a cheeky look to his eyes as he says those words, staring right at you. “y’know, for when i pick teucer up from school.”

you smile back, more obvious this time. “of course.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #genshin childe #childe fluff

[peachywrite]

Unpleasant Pleasantries

Rohan Kishibe x JosukeSister!Reader

Trigger Warning: inappropriate stand use, mild suggestive themes

Rohan thought this to be the perfect opportunity to get back at that imbecile with the hair of a 60’s delinquent, but instead found something more fulfilling than revenge.

It was your first time meeting the famous mangaka, but Koichi insisted that you introduce yourself to the newly found stand user as a formality.

~

“It’s better to make friends than enemies, y/n! So please do this for me.” He begged, clasping his hands tightly together as he bowed.

“Koichi-chan, he ripped out pages from your face and tried to do the same to Okuyasu and Josuke. I don’t know if I trust this guy.” You sighed, nervous and even a little scared.

“It’ll be fine, when you tell him you’re related to Josuke, he won’t even think about trying anything!” Koichi’s eyes glistened, still silently begging you to go.

“Fine, but if I don’t show up back home in an hour, call Josuke please.” Koichi nodded enthusiastically, shouting thank yous while he ran off to find your brother.

~

Thanks to the written address Koichi had given you, it was easy to find the large Victorian mansion that belonged to the isolated artist.

“Come on, y/n. You can do this. Just a quick hello and you’re done.” You tried to psych yourself up, taking one last deep breath before approaching the walkway that led up to the door.

Knock Knock

You waited, your heart rate a bit too quick for your liking.

You could hear the steps on the other side slowly approaching and suddenly stopping, only to find the door creak by.

“Now who would be disrupting the Great Rohan Kishibe?” The man spoke in a sinister tone, swinging the door open.

Rohan Kishibe looked nothing like how you expected him to. He was built slim but still toned, his green hair neatly styled and face slim and sharp with a cute dolphin bandage placed on the bridge of his nose. His green eyes stared at you intently, as if he was trying to analyze your face as well.

“I-I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble. My friend Koichi wanted me to introduce myself. I’m Y/N Higashikata. I’m a stand user and I go to school with the rest of the boys.” You stammer out, guilt hitting you for interrupting the presumably busy manga artist.

The man eyed you with a devilish smirk, clapping his hands together like he had discovered something amusing.

“You’re Josuke’s little sister! Oh how fun! You know, you’re too cute to be related to that boy. Now please come in, I’ll make you some tea and we can talk.”

“I’m actually the same age as him, and I’d love to join you but I got... study plans with K-Koichi!” You tried to avoid his stare but as he made eye contact, you knew you had lost.

“Nonsense! I’ll give him a call and let him know you’ll be studying with me, now please come in already.” His smile grew while he pulled you into his abode by your wrists.

The house was lightly decorated with manga related memorabilia on the wood carved shelves and many original panels from famous mangas hung framed on the soft toned walls, but the home still held a grand Victorian feeling to it.

Your original unease disappeared as you took in the grandeur of the mansion and the interesting items that adorned it so carefully. Rohan smirked at the curiosity in your eyes and the quick movements they made while you focused on specific areas of his home.

“Would you like a personal tour of the property before we study? I will warn you though, not all the rooms have been styled by yours truly yet. It’s a work in progress at the moment.” The smile he bared had you suspicious again, but you didn’t want to be rude to the owner of such a magnificent estate.

“As much as I would love to, your home is absolutely stunning, I sadly only have an hour to study. My mom would kill me if I got home late again.” A hefty sigh escaped your lips and you gave him your best upset expression you could muster.

You hoped he wouldn’t key in on your lying, remembering the warning Koichi had given you about his ability to discern genuine emotions from fake ones.

The mangaka squinted his eyes for a moment, causing your heartbeat to speed up substantially, but his face returned to its usual smile that you swore held a bit of deviousness underneath.

“Oh! it’s alright, dear. I understand. I’ll save it for your next visit. Let’s get to your work now, follow me to the kitchen. I’ll prepare us something and you can take a seat by the window.” He gently took your hand, guiding you to the kitchen and carefully pulling out a seat for you at his dining room table.

A beautiful bouquet set in a hand sculpted vase caught your interest on the table as Rohan busied himself with brewing a fresh pot of tea. The flowers were bright in color compared to the muted ones of the vase, but the contrast made both appear unique and appealing to the eye.

“I see you even appreciate the smaller details of a home. Though I am a mangaka, I do dabble in other forms of artistic expression. Take pottery for example, I glazed this vase in a muted color pallet so it could stand out on its own when beautifully bright flowers were placed in it. The two compliment each other nicely, don’t they?” He set down two tea cups and began to pour.

“Yes! And I especially love the bright purples in the lillies you picked here.” You gently touched a petal, Rohan now lightly tapping his cheek, pulling out a chair for himself to sit right beside you.

His closeness and unwavering gaze brought a heaviness to your chest, making you stumble over your words.

“Um-m thank you for treating me so well and letting me study in your home, Rohan-sensei.” You began to unpack your notes and textbook, Rohan scooting closer to analyze what you had written.

“No need to thank me, my dear. Now let’s get to your studies. What is it you need to work on today?” The smile he shares with you is comforting, but you can’t help but feel like he was plotting something.

You set your pencil bag down and prepare your notebook, trying to make yourself busy by setting up.

“Biology. I’ve only just recently started going to school in person, but I tested well enough to be placed in the highest class. Today we’re supposed to label all the organs in this frog drawing.” Your tone comes off as annoyed and Rohan picks up on it, tilting his head to the side while he reads your frog diagram.

“You aren’t a fan of biology? I’ve got a few anatomy sketches of animals you could use instead of this photocopied worksheet. Maybe that will help peak your interest?” He stands and saunters out to find his sketches, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

When Rohan returns, the two of you work on your Biology homework for about an hour, finishing the entire pot of tea in the process. You found out that Rohan was quite skilled at anatomy, having an entire sketchbook dedicated to the anatomy of many living things, including the likes of frogs and flowers. He was extremely helpful and fun to talk with.

As you packed up your bag, Rohan remained seated in his chair, playing with one of the lilies from the bouquet. You weren’t sure if you should head towards the door and leave Rohan or wait for him to stand and lead you out. You were about to speak when the mangaka interrupted with a swish of his pen in your direction.

“Heaven’s Door.”

You felt a sharp shove of air to your midsection, sending you onto the floor. Every movement you attempted was futile as the grinning artist looked down at you. A deep chuckle haunted you while he leaned in closer to your face. His hands gently caressed your cheek, opening it up like a book.

“I’m sorry, y/n. You’re interesting and I’d love to learn more about you, but I’m impatient. It’ll be far easier for me to just read you. Don’t fret, my dear. I’ll make sure you don’t remember this.” He flipped through your pages, ignoring the tears that ran down onto the very paper he was trying to read.

“Now let’s just read the juicy bits today. You were hospitalized along with your brother when you were only four, a strange parasite made up of Dio’s cells attacked your immune system at age twelve and had you bedridden until fairly recently.” The curiosity he held for your story excited him, the pen he held in one hand quickly wrote onto the notepad he placed on the floor beside your head.

You felt like sinking into yourself, ignoring his quips and teases as the embarrassment of the mangaka reading your thoughts and feelings enveloped you. It wasn’t fair. Why did he have to be this way? He was so kind before and just like a flick of a switch, he changed.

“Oh, now how did you escape that? Here we are, thanks to Mr.Joestar’s Hamon lessons, you not only came back from your illness, but gained a proper stand and the ability to wield Hamon just like your father and great grandfather! Wait, what’s this new paragraph about?” He squinted closely, reading your page out loud again.

“I have to visit Rohan Kishibe today because Koichi told me to. He practically begged. Even though I’m scared, Koichi gave me his word that nothing bad would happen. Rohan Kishibe looks very different from what I imagined a mangaka to look. Well, what did you expect me to look like?” His smirk grows as he continues on.

“Ah, another new bit is here! Rohan Kishibe is very good at anatomy, he’s been kind and helpful, I’d like to get to know him better. I think Josuke was just overreacting when he called Rohan Kishibe pure evil. I could see us being friends.”

His smile disappears skimming the next sentence, his usual tone of voice changed as he starts to read. He sounded upset, hurt even.

You were the one being wronged here! Why would he get upset? He doesn’t have the right.

“Josuke was right. Rohan Kishibe is not nice, he is terribly mean. He’s using me for his entertainment. He doesn’t care. Rohan Kishibe is not kind, he is not helpful, he is cruel, I don’t want to get to know him. I want to forget him.”

“I hate Rohan Kishibe. I hope to never see him again.”

Rohan paused, looking away from your pages, trying to focus on anything else for the moment.

“W-well, I’ll just fix this last paragraph and erase it from your mind. You’re being dramatic, I’m not as terrible as you describe me.” Chuckling to himself, he tries to laugh off his obvious pain and attempts to regain his composure.

“No! I won’t let you erase my emotions!” You shouted, a wave of Hamon spreading through his arm as his pen touched your page, his attempt to rewrite your memory foiled.

The mangaka was sent flying back, his right arm dropping the pen and your face finally shutting closed, returning your ability to move. Although you were upset at the betrayal of trust you gave the man, you felt a twinge of guilt in your heart when you spotted his still form draped across the wood floor, cradling the arm you had burned with your Hamon.

Running to his side, all thoughts of malice left your body while you attempted to get a better look at his injury. His arm was still intact thankfully, but it was badly burned and needed to be set correctly and quickly if he ever wanted it to heal properly. You took a deep breath and turned Rohan over to see if he was still conscious.

“Oh god, Rohan I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Your eyes fill with tears again as you see the artist weakly rest himself against the wall, still holding his arm close to his chest.

“No, no it’s alright. I brought this on myself. I accept that.” He grimaced, trying to take a peek at his injuries but too frightened to actually check.

“You read my thoughts and history, it wasn’t right but you didn’t physically hurt me. I don’t know how that happened, but I promise you I’ll fix it.” You swore to the manga writer, now searching through your backpack.

When you found your pair of scissors, you went into full first aid mode, removing the sleeve from his right arm by carefully cutting the loose cloth off. After tossing the short sleeve to the side, you cut the bottom of the skirt you were wearing off into a long bandage-like shape of clothing and ran it under the cold tap water from the kitchen sink, returning to the injured Rohan.

“I’m going to wrap your arm with this, it won’t be painful if you let me use my stand, but I’m going to ask you first before I use her on you.” The man nodded, accepting your offer to erase the pain.

“Under Pressure. She’s a stand that has the ability to manipulate emotions. She can change them within a radius or focus on only one individual. When she focuses on a single person, she is only able to change their emotion to the opposite of what is being felt.” You began to wrap his arm, nervous about what he might feel when you placed the wet fabric loosely around it.

All Rohan could do was bite back his lip to avoid making any embarrassing sounds. Instead of the immeasurable pain he imagined to come with dressing a freshly burned wound, he felt a wave of euphoria. He now understood what you meant by the “opposite” emotion would be felt.

The artist never knew wrapping his burned arm would feel so good, every touch caused his breath to hitch in his throat and his eyes to water. It confused him, even though he understood that the opposite of pain was pleasure, it still startled him every time you did one more pass of the homemade bandage.

He tried his hardest not to be flustered, but when you finished off his arm by tieing the last bit with a knot, he let a small whimper escape his lips. His hand shot up to cover his face, it’s hue now a bright crimson.

Your cheeks turned bright pink as well. You turned away swiftly, to avoid eye contact.

“U-Um just stay put. I’m gonna borrow your phone for a second and let you catch your breath.” Scratching the side of your cheek, you stand up and make a b-line for the phone, dialing your home and hoping that Josuke would pick up. You glanced at the clock set on the wall, it read 8:15.

I’m late.

As soon as the phone line rang once, you spotted the front door to Rohan’s manor fly across the main hall. Peeking your head out from the kitchen, you see a furious Josuke with Koichi in pursuit.

“ROHAN-SENSEI! WHERE IS MY SISTER YOU CREEP?! SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HOME 15 MINUTES AGO!” He yells out, his voice echoing throughout the home.

“Josuke! I’m here! I was just about to call you. Listen, I messed up bad and hurt Rohan. He’s in the kitchen bandaged up but I need you to heal him all the way.” You run to Josuke, giving him a tight hug while trying not to cry from the stress of the situation.

Josuke squeezes you once and let’s you go, looking you over from head to toe so he could make sure you weren’t injured as well. When he spots your torn skirt, his aura radiates a dark malice you’d never seen him show before.

“Wait Josuke! I did this to myself, we didn’t have bandages so I cut some cloth.”

He looks you over again and sighs heavily, the purple hue that was full of rage, leaving him.

“Ok, fine. Where’s that jerk? I’ll fix him up real quick so we can go home.” He grumbled, following you into the kitchen.

Even though Rohan wanted to refuse any treatment from Josuke, he finally accepted the help when you threatened to cry on the spot. His arm had returned to its previous state, unburned and fully functional, thanks to Josuke and Shining Diamond.

Josuke picked up your backpack and held the now fixed front door open for you, while Rohan stood and waved goodbye. You awkwardly returned the wave and made your way back home, your thoughts chaotic and confused.

On the one hand you felt guilty for putting Rohan through such an immense amount of pain, but you were also upset at the humiliation he put you through by reading your life with Heaven’s Door. These thoughts plagued your mind as you laid your head to rest for the night.

~

It was roughly two in the afternoon when Rohan Kishibe knocked on your front door. A short but older woman answered, complaining about the loudness of the knocks when she looked over the artist.

“Oh, my apologies. You’re that Rohan Kishibe my kids talk about. How may I help you, Mr. Kishibe?” She asked with a warm tone to her voice, leaning against her door frame and smiling up at him.

“Is y/n in? I’d like to deliver this to her personally.” He spoke softly, shaking the box he held in his hands.

Your mother couldn’t help but chuckle to herself. He appeared to be anxious and uncomfortable, most likely it was his first time gifting something like this.

“She’s not home yet, but give her five minutes. Why don’t you come in? You can wait for her up in her room, just don’t go raiding her drawers or anything.” She joked, Rohan’s cheeks turning vivid scarlet.

“I’m only pulling your leg, sweety. I know you’re better than that. Now come on! Have a seat at her desk and I’ll bring you up some lemonade.” Rohan followed her inside.

When they reached your room, Mrs.Higashikata opened the door and waved her hand to your desk seat.

“Pull up that chair there and I’ll be back with some refreshments.” Her smile gleamed at him. She walked off to the kitchen, leaving the artist alone in your room.

Rohan browsed around your room, taking in the personality that was apparent by the many bits of decor that gave your little private space a peculiar style. Your walls held photos printed on Polaroid film, sketches presumably drawn by you, and posters of your favorite video games and shows.

When he glanced around your room, he was immediately caught off guard when he spotted two volumes of his very own manga, propped up and on display in your bookcase. To say he was flattered was an understatement, he was completely floored. You were a fan of his?

His heart was heavy all of a sudden, he felt a dreadful pain in his chest while he held the book in his hands. He turned his head toward the doorway when he heard your voice greet your mother. To regain himself, he quickly skimmed through the pages of the manga he was holding, hearing your distant conversation come to an end.

You entered the room. Dropping your bag at the corner of the closet, your eyes never leaving Rohan while you take a seat on your bed. The mangaka gently placed your copy of Pink Dark Boy back in its original position, turning around now to face you.

“I’d like to humbly apologize for my abhorrent behavior and actions yesterday. I was terrible. I know it might be asking too much of you, but I brought you this as a peace offering. I want us to start over. I’d like to get to know you the right way.” He passes you the box he was carrying with him, nudging you to open it.

Casually unknotting the bow and removing the lid from the bottom, you slowly lift what appears to be a white sundress out of the box. It was beautifully made and looked to be just your size.

“I know it’s not the skirt you tore, but I felt like you deserved something a little more unique.” He averts your gaze quickly when you attempt to gauge his reaction.

The mangaka appears to be flustered, apparently not very used to apologizing. His eyes held a fear of rejection but also a glimmer of hope. A breath you never knew you were holding was released with a quiet hum.

“It’s beautiful, thank you, but do know that buying me things isn’t going to repair my trust in you. We can at the very least start over though.”

Rohan smiled to himself, thankful for your empathetic nature, and nodded a quick yes.

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, how about we take that dress and enjoy some tea at the cafe? My treat.”

#rohan kishibe x reader #kishibe rohan x reader #rohan kishibe #kishibe rohan #jjba reader insert #jjba part 4 #jjba x reader #jjba

[biqherosix]

hiiiiiiiiii do u write for the drgaon prince ??????????????????????? it’s totally not el spamming you again bc you deserve your ezran/callum x sister reader even if i’ll give it to you too

the secret life of katolis royalty - headcanons

prompt(s): the royal family uphold a proper, good reputation. but with you and your siblings, there are always bound to be a few secrets whether they're silly or not

pairing(s): familial! callum x fem! reader x ezran

fandom(s): the dragon prince

genre(s): fluff

warning(s): none (if there are, please feel free to point them out!)

other notes: hi el 🙄 anyway yes i write for dragon prince now because there is a lack of content in this fandom, especially for the royal siblings ! i want platonic goodness, and i'm getting it even if i have to make it myself. enjoy :) also reader may possibly be bi?? can be interpreted as whatever you'd like though !

- so you're three years older than callum, making you at least seven when ezran is born

- you're so protective, no doubt about it

- and callum doesn't mind because you're not overbearing (if anything callum is more protective of you and ezran than you are of your brothers)

- which is why callum never finds out about your little things with both soren and claudia (more like a kiss with claudia, dating soren, and then breaking up with soren to try shit out with claudia; spoiler alert you kinda miss soren as much as you love your magical perky girl)

- another reason is that cal has such a major crush on claudia before meeting rayla and you don't want him to feel bad upon finding out

- but let's be honest ezran finds out because he walked in on you making out with soren after exiting a secret tunnel

- ezran gossips with you more than you both like to admit because of this huge secret only the two of you now know

- but it brought you two closer and he's really happy about that because now he gets to cuddle into your side while he asks questions and spills the beans while you play with his hair lmao

- yk sometimes you even shit talk callum and his sword fighting and that definitely stays between the two of you (he always wonders why you two are giggling under the tree whenever he plays around with soren)

- but you love your brothers and they love you so !! freaking !! much !!

- y'all are attached to the hip, you can't be seen without one or the other

- most of the time it's your brothers doing your thing and brushing up your knowledge on royal etiquette because a part of you is anxious whenever your father talks about his royal wrongdoings

- he doesn't mean to worry you, he just wants you to be prepared (you were in fact, worried and unprepared when he died and you now had three mf children and a dragon egg to take care of)

- don't worry though because callum and ezran are here to save the day and will tell you how amazing you are for hours, it honestly passes the time very well

- okay but i gotta get this outta the way before i forget but callum is the epitome of the "you're doing amazing sweetie!" meme okay?? he is

- where he succeeds (magic, art, being awkward) you on the other hand lack and vice versa (you are badass okay? you can fight and spar properly thanks to your mother's extensive knowledge and even without a weapon you can pack a punch)

- rayla doesn't really understand how callum can be so happy and perky even when you suck at what you're doing

- but he's your baby brother and he loves hyping you up

- callum is your biggest hypeman and always has been it's a second nature to him, trust me if someone were to mention your name he'd never shut up !!

- like this one time you drew rayla and callum on a spare piece of paper callum gave you and it didn't really turn out the best but he still fake cried and attacked you in a hug

- he keeps it in his sketchbook and he's never letting that go, so rayla jokingly judges him for it and your boy ezran backs you up with callum

- "i don't see why you keep it, i mean it doesn't even look like us! we're like lil' stick figures" "art is contemporary, rayla. it can be anything you want it to be! isn't that right zym?" "ez is right, plus it doesn't look that bad! it's cute. look, she even drew me doing magic! her markings are so accurate" "callum, i don't even know what spell you're doing" "it's clearly aspiro! look at the wind" "they're lines!" "that's what art is all about!"

- baby gets so nervous when he and rayla kiss bc he obviously has to tell you and your opinion matters most to him; he's just scared bc rayla always teases you and you may not approve

- so he kept it a secret for a fat minute after telling ezran, ez is so annoyed bc he has to keep your soren secret and callum's??? at least bait and zym are there to listen (man relationships are hard)

- you just laugh because you saw it coming and the moment is just so wholesome !! you tackle rayla into a hug, welcoming her into the family with "bad drawings and all" bc she never lets you live it down fr fr

- but later that night callum can't sleep and he lets out everything because he never really told you about his crush in the first place like he feels really guilty because you're always so open with him and sometimes he has some walls up, like how he was with king harrow even if you're his biological sibling

- also you bet on your life that you would do anything to make sure callum was content with his life and so after his lil rant and your assurance he asks if you've ever felt that way before

- and you had to do it to em, so you tell him about soren and claudia

- "why didn't you tell me anything before?" "you liked claudia! i didn't want to be the reason for your heartache" "but you're my sister, you deserve to be happy. maybe you and soren can work out" "eh, we'll see. not gonna lie i was ready to go back for him after he almost killed that dragon. he looked pretty hurt but you looked way worse honestly" "hey! you're making my heart hurt here y/n." "that doesn't count because it was playful!"

- you end up going to sleep that night leaning on each other because that's what you've been doing all your life — leaning on each other and you don't want him to forget that !!!

- you also wake up the next morning with ezran in between you sleeping soundly, and rayla comes back to the three of you making funny faces and laughing like there was no tomorrow

- she didn't get it but the three of you did, it was a simple moment that you would all cherish even after ezran becomes king — perhaps it even makes you better as royals

- and from then on, there were no secrets, just a family trying to piece themselves together again after so much tragedy

#dragon prince #dragon prince imagine #tdp x reader #tdp imagine #the dragon prince #dragon prince x reader #prince callum #prince ezran #human rayla #tpd rayla #tdp callum #tdp ezran #tdp soren #tdp claudia #tdp harrow #soren x reader #callum x reader #daniza's fave characters are paying rent

[ddarker-dreams]

Puppet Strings. Yan Ghost Josuke x Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Josuke’s temper flaring, typical yandere elements, brief alcohol mention. Word count: 3.1k

i.

You didn’t think much of it when you saw your window wide open. 

No, it wasn’t that particular moment that sent alarm bells ringing. It’s remarkable what the human mind is capable of scrounging up to justify an otherwise horrifying situation. Moving from one place to another is an exhausting effort -- you reasoned to yourself -- maybe you reopened it and forgot. That sounds perfectly plausible. Sleep came easily to you that night and all was forgotten the next morning. There were some other minor occurrences, cabinets being open, the television flickering. Nothing incriminating, nothing to worry about. 

For a time, this logic worked in your best interest. The last straw was when your personal belongings started going missing. Lip glosses, shirts, and even some sketchbooks. Contacting the police served to be no help. When they asked who could hold a vendetta against you, you had no solid leads. You’d only been in Morioh a little over a month. Earning an adversary in that short a time felt unlikely, if not impossible. Classmates were interviewed, their alibis clearing them of possible suspects, the investigation stagnant. Your neighbors hadn’t seen questionable figures lurking around your home. Days went by, and a few patrols later, the police claimed there wasn’t much else they could do. There were no signs of breaking and entering, no fingerprints, no leads. 

No peace of mind.

You’ve explored every logical avenue. Not knowing what to do next is the worst part, it’s what serves to frustrate you the most. Sighing, you dry your hands off, mulling over what to do next. Now that you’ve finished washing the dishes, there are no other chores to procrastinate with. Guess I better get started on that project, you think. God, but it’s so hard to focus anymore. 

Without noticing it, you felt drawn to the living room. Anyone would understand, that from the stress you’ve suffered, it’s fine to take a break. A distraction from reality sounds great right about now. Your PlayStation 2, which has been collecting dust, can finally get used. The multiplayer games are bugged -- a Player 2 shows up even when you play it with yourself -- so you haven’t used it in some time. Scanning over the various game choices, you never get a chance to pick one out. 

“Huh, so they released a sequel to that?” An unknown voice, masculine and lighthearted, chimes in behind you. Your immediate reaction is to whip your head back, searching for the source. Heart pounding, you realize this is exactly what you feared. That whoever was stalking you would eventually come to settle things for seeking help from law enforcement. You don’t see him, even though the voice had been close enough to assume he’s behind you. There’s no way you imagined it. Where is he? 

That’s when you see him. 

Whether or not it was intentional, he stands blocking your path to the kitchen, where your phone is. A young man of imposing size, easily dwarfing you. His style throws you off, it’s like he was ripped from another time. That hair… a pompadour? Narrowing your eyes, you stand from your kneeling position, preparing to hold your ground. He might be blocking your ability to call the police, but there’s still the option of running out the front door to alert your neighbors. It’ll be fine, you tell yourself, not entirely convinced. Just don’t panic. 

“Who are you?” Is the first question that slips past your lips. There’s unfiltered hostility in the words, despite your hesitation to aggravate him. Your eyebrows furrow when he puts his hands up in defense. It gives an impression of mockery in an otherwise grave scenario.

“Woah, calm down there,” he lets out a nervous chuckle that further irks you. “You can call me Higashikata Josuke.”

This person -- Josuke -- is acting too casual about this. There’s no doubt in your mind that he’s the source of your torment these past few weeks. How else could he be standing in your home, acting in such a deplorable manner? For your own best interest, you bite your tongue, that’s dying to hurl numerous insults his way. In contrast to his polite speech, he’s dressed like a stereotypical delinquent. Who knows what Josuke would do should you provoke him. You’ve heard rumors of rambunctious youths in the area and don’t want to test the validity of those claims. 

“Alright, Higashikata-san, I’m going to ask you to leave. This is my house. If you just… leave me alone, I won’t contact the police. Alright?” You feel like your proposal is a considerate one, even if you don’t intend to follow through. Once you get to safety, like hell you’re going to let this punk get away with it, he just doesn’t need to know that yet. Josuke shifts weight from one leg to another, contemplating your words.

“I can’t do that. Besides, the same way you feel this is your house, I equally feel like it’s mine.” Josuke replies, scratching his cheek. His tone almost sounds… apologetic. As if it isn’t completely within his control to leave. You gulp when you realize your approach might not work. Maybe he’s not mentally sound? That’s the most plausible solution. Taking a deep breath, you shift to a less combative posture, still hoping to talk him down.

“Is there someone I could call? A guardian, a friend? Let’s figure this out.” You will yourself to keep each word steady to lure him in. The innocent inquiry doesn’t have the intended effect, Josuke frowning as soon as the word guardian left your lips. Shit. Was that a sensitive topic? The scowl is gone in a split second like it never existed. He takes a step closer to you and you take a step back.

“There’s not much to figure out. I’ll be honest then since I’m sure you’re freaking out right now. Which makes sense. I’d be freaking out too…” he trails off, going deep into thought. Finally, Josuke manages to choose the proper words. “How do I go about this? Alright, I’ll just come out and say it.” 

“Well, to put it in simple terms, I’m dead.” 

You blink. Tilting your head, you conclude that this Higashikata Josuke is not mentally well. Getting in contact with a professional is your new top priority. Josuke picks up on your hesitant body language and rushes to give credence to his claim.

“I know, crazy, isn’t it? I’m sorry about your stuff, by the way. Felt like the best way to understand my new housemate without sending you running right away. I’ll return it now,” Josuke’s demeanor doesn’t give you the impression of a liar. Still, a spirit? You don’t know what to think anymore. He sighs at the sour expression on your face. “How to prove this to you… ah, I know. Hey, check this out.” 

Josuke points to the controller sitting on your couch. Not a second later, it starts levitating in the air, your jaw-dropping at the unfeasible spectacle. Josuke lets out an airy chuckle at your bewilderment. “Sorry, that was pretty lame. I didn’t know what else to do.” 

“There’s… really a spirit, in my house.” You struggle to say it aloud. The people living in Morioh could be superstitious, a view you attributed to living out in the country. This paranoia, or sometimes reverence, never fell in line with your beliefs. There was no solid proof that the supernatural existed. It made for riveting local stories, for youths to gossip and movies to adapt, but the line was drawn there. A timeline plays in your head of the past few weeks. It would explain how no one in this active community spotted an intruder, or how the police never found physical evidence. 

“Our house, actually.” He corrects with a beaming smile.

ii. 

Maybe it’s not so bad. 

Josuke, with whom you have an unusual relationship, makes for decent company in your otherwise uneventful life. You still can’t help but feel on guard around him for his earlier behavior. As he explained it, borrowing your belongings was just a way to get to know you. He apologized wholeheartedly for the stress he put on your life. It felt genuine, but an apology doesn’t make everything go away at once. Little by little, Josuke’s grown on you, worming his way into your heart. Memories and feelings fade, your first few weeks after the move are no different. 

“Have you seen my red scarf anywhere?” You call out, peeking underneath your pillow. Josuke appears from thin air -- an element that took some getting used to -- helping to look around your room. One of your conditions for remaining here was that he’d show up in your room only when invited, a condition Josuke was more than happy to agree to. You guess everyone is lonely in their own way.

“It’s not over here,” Josuke yells from beneath your desk. “What do you need it for, anyway? Can’t you just turn the heater on?” 

“Well, I could, but that wouldn’t do me much good. Some friends invited me to karaoke tonight, and the weather report said it’ll drop to four degrees celsius.” Feeling defeated, you plop onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. Josuke leans over, popping into your line of sight. He’s lacking the trademark smile you’ve grown used to seeing. For such a minor change, it packs a punch. Josuke sulks like a kicked puppy.

“Karaoke, huh?” He mutters, more to himself than you. “My old classmates used to do stuff like that. Sounds fun.” 

You sit up and cross your legs. Josuke’s tone is a longing one, wishing to fulfill a dream that can never be, visage painfully bleak. Guilt bubbles up in your stomach for the insensitive comment, not realizing he has a lot on his mind too. Josuke’s bubbly personality stood on a thin sheet of ice, ready to plunge into the depths at any moment. You wrack your mind to try and appease him. 

“It really isn’t anything that exciting. I was going to say no, but they insisted. Just imagine it as a bunch of tone-deaf people drunkards belting, that’s all it is.” You console. Josuke doesn’t light up at your joke, his eyes hollow. From what you know about spirits, if they linger in this realm instead of moving onto the next, that means an obligation is holding them here. You’ve never asked Josuke why he hasn’t passed on. That leaves room for speculation, numerous hours spent ruminating over theories. Maybe he’ll tell you one day, or maybe he won’t. Either way, it’s still tragic he never got to live his life.

“Mm… guess so, yeah.” He isn’t paying attention to your words. Guilt as sharp as knives slices through you at Josuke’s gloomy mood. For a split second, you consider canceling with your friends, to stay home and cheer him up. He always loves playing games with you or just speaking over trivial matters for hours. You push the idea away. Fraternizing with a spirit on the daily isn’t enough to supply your social needs, only friends of flesh and blood can fill that role. 

“Hey, I’m sorry for mentioning it. If you want to talk about--” 

“No,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “Go ahead. Go live life.” 

You don’t offer a rebuttal. Josuke probably needs time to think, you decide. We can talk about it later.

iii. 

“What’s up?” 

You lean against the wall, payphone pressed against one ear and your hand covering the other. Music blares in the background, terrible acoustics of the crowded bar making it difficult to hear the other line. One of the workers grabbed you, saying you had a call, your guesses of who it could be next to nonexistent. You scrunch your nose up when you hear Josuke’s distinct voice on the other side.

“It’s late,” you hear him say. His voice is muffled, but the exasperated tone is hard to miss. “Shouldn’t you be back by now?” 

Sighing, you struggle to rationalize why Josuke’s pestering you like this. You never gave a time when you’d be home, not thinking it was necessary. “I was going to leave soon. I don’t have class in the next few days, so it’s fine.” 

“It’s dangerous to be out on your own--” 

“Josuke,” you deadpan, rubbing your temples. “I appreciate the concern, really, I do. But I used to live in Tokyo, remember? If I could survive the city at night, I can survive here.” 

“That’s not the point here,” Josuke counters, voice dropping dangerously low. Your patience is wearing thin at his attempts to police your autonomy. It’s not his place to enforce a curfew on you. “You don’t know what kinds of danger lurks in Morioh.” 

Josuke’s statement is full of bone-chilling conviction. Almost like he was speaking from firsthand experience. You take a deep breath, remembering that you’re speaking to someone who likely died in a traumatizing manner here. Maybe extending a little grace wouldn’t hurt. It’s a shame to cut the night short, but it’s not that big a deal.  

“Okay, I get it. It’s about a fifteen-minute walk back home. I’ll see you soon, alright?” 

Softening your voice seems to have the effect you intended. Josuke takes a second to consider, the two of you waiting in tense silence. This is the first time you’ve gone out with friends, maybe he just wasn’t sure what to make of it. You hold no intention of bending to his every whim, but this one time, you’ll offer him peace of mind. There’ll be major boundaries set up in the future. 

He sighs begrudgingly. “... Right.” 

iv. 

This is getting ridiculous. 

Josuke’s behaving no better than an entitled child, your paper-thin patience starting to give way. The circumstances you’ve been placed into were unusual enough, to begin with, but they never felt malicious, not until Josuke’s personality seemed to switch in the blink of an eye. What you can only describe as sabotage has become a regular occurrence. It perfectly parallels the problems you had upon first moving into this house, only now you know the one responsible. He’ll act none the wiser, claiming innocence in what has to be his doing.

Cut phone lines, missing shoes, personal journals disappearing into thin air, nothing has been spared. Maybe you were foolish for trusting a spirit. You’d like to have thought you were on solid terms with Josuke, your mortal mind doing its best to wrap around the otherworldly events. You’re at your wit’s end, now fully prepared to confront him on this unacceptable display. It’s a shame it came to this, you think. Confrontation is the worst.

“Josuke.” 

“[First].” 

The two of you sit in the living room, on opposite sides of the couch. Ever since the karaoke disaster a few weeks ago, Josuke’s attitude has taken an undesirable turn, as evidenced by how he’s acting now. Never did you imagine he could be so petty. You straighten out your posture, squaring your shoulders, and placing your hands on your lap. He stares at you with faint interest, cerulean eyes shining at your attention. 

“I’ve tried my best to be understanding,” you wince at how dramatic your words are. It almost sounds like you’re breaking up with a partner. “If I did something that upset you, please just be honest about it.” 

Josuke gives a nonchalant wave. “Nah, it’s not that important anymore. I recently made up my mind, so I don’t feel too concerned about it.” 

There weren’t many expectations in place for this talk, but Josuke dismissing you this fast wasn’t an outcome you envisioned. It feels like a slap to the face after you spent days dreading this talk. What did “recently making up his mind” even mean? Irritation rises in your throat like bile, words snapping out before you can stop them.

“You don’t just get to be that dismissive,” you point out with a scowl. “I know what you’ve been doing. Taking my stuff again, right, Higashikata? I’m fed up with this shit. Maybe I should just move out--” 

Your sentence gets cut off by the coffee table’s glass shattering. The high pitched noise makes you jump, shards flying in multiple directions on the floor. Glancing from the mess back to Josuke, you find the sight of him as a stronger cause for worry. He looks thoroughly unimpressed with your emotional outburst. Thick eyebrows knit together, his face contorting from friendly to enraged. You gulp when a sudden chill in the air sending shivers down your spine. With how friendly your relationship with him had been up to this point, you forgot to watch your tongue, the initial reverence wearing off long ago. 

Josuke stands up, flaunting his towering build. Looking down at you through lidded eyes, he reaches down, and you catch a glimpse of light blue and pink. Huh? What was that? A trick of the lights, maybe? As fast as it was destroyed, you watch in awe as the pieces return to their original place. Broken glass, chips of wood, screws and all, become whole as if it was a movie playing in reverse. Is this something else a spirit can do? 

“Y’know, [First],” Josuke begins with a humorless laugh. “This is great. I wasn’t sure how to do this part. Now I don’t have to worry about that, so let me cut right to the chase.” 

You feel the blood draining from your face, goosebumps dotting your skin. This is wrong. Whatever he’s doing now, you can’t stand another second of it. “Josuke, you’re scaring me.” 

“That’s fine by me.” He smiles. There’s a palpable thickness in the air, tension elevating as each second crawls by. Your mind trips over itself in search of a solution to this, but deep down inside, you’re filled with dread. A dread that this damage is beyond repair and that you’ve made a fatal mistake. Would screaming even help you? Could you outrun a ghost? Your heart pounders against your ribcage and you pray it isn’t Josuke who’s trying to rip it out. 

“You saw that table,” Josuke points to the once destroyed furniture, now neatly put back together. He frowns at your lack of confirmation, pressing further, voice increasing in volume. “Right?” 

You somehow manage to nod. Your throat and tongue are too dry to use and the room feels like it’s spinning. 

“That makes this simple then,” Josuke sits back down to his spot from before and stretches his arms. “There’s a lot I’m capable of. Way more than I’ve shown you. Breaking things apart and fixing them is my specialty, but… that last part can easily be omitted.” 

Josuke turns to face you, eyes peering into the depths of your soul.

“Threaten to leave me again and I won’t even bother to put you back together.” 

#Josuke Higashikata #Josuke Higashitaka #josuke headcanons #josuke imagine #yandere josuke #yandere josuke higashitaka #yandere josuke x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jojo's bizarre adventures #jjba x reader #yandere jjba x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere ghost x reader #my stuff #commissions

[katyobsesses]

Hevans + shampoo

Hevans + laundry

Kadam + boots

Kadam + toilet paper 🥰💛

Send Me A Ship And A Word and I'll tell you a headcanon!

Hevans + shampoo

first of all, I have a plan for a fic for my Glee This Or That fic series which may or may not include Kurt (or Finn or Kurt & Finn) messing with Sam's shampoo to fill a prank prompt (I'm thinking a little bit of semi-permanent dye in, like, pink or green) that ends up turning into a whole ND prank war

but also

Sam would definately wash Kurt's hair when they share showers, it's, like, so fucking intimate and sweet and he'd take care to learn about all of Kurt's routine (which is extensive, and changes depending on what day he's washing his hair, or where he'd been recently, or what season it is)

Also Kurt teaches him how to tone his hair properly and buys him purple shampoos to cancel out the yellow and brassy tones in his hair (if he's still dying it)

Hevans + laundry

Okay, lets say they're living together in NY

They live in this tiny little studio, maybe a one bedroom, in, like, The East Village and there isn't Laundry in unit, or even in building. But the apartment is cheap and they are both, like, just out of college and struggling artists (Sam an illustrator or graphic designer or sculpter or... something artistic, Kurt a struggling actor working at the Spotlight Diner maybe still interning at Vogue - but it's maybe a bit less glamorous than canon)

so they have to go to a laundromat at least once a week, (though Kurt also has to dry clean a lot of his stuff, they sometimes get into fights about the cost of that, but alway make up afterwards)

Kurt hates the laundromat. he hates when he has to lug their washing a couple of blocks. hates that he has to take his dirty clothes out of the apartment. He always forgets a book to read as he waits, and he isn't a 'talk to strangers' type so he usually just sits and waits dejectedly.

But Sam's done it before, when he lived in the motel, so he's fine with it. Actually he really likes it (not the lugging the laundry a few blocks, he could do with out that) What he likes is the people watching. If he's going alone he brings a sketchbook and asks people if he can draw them (he has a tumblr and an insta dedicated to the drawings, naturally, in fact the Ko-Fi payments he gets basically pays for their laundry and dry cleaning costs lol)

But they both like going together. two sets of arms to lug the laundry. someone there to entertain the other (*cough* Kurt *cough*).

Kadam + boots

Adam owns a pair of god awful stereotypical british wellington boots (wellies). Not even nice interesting ones, but these boring green ones

and Kurt both hates them and loves them.

He loves them because he's an anglophile and they're iconic, but they really are hideous, not crocs hideous, but hideous none-the-less.

And Adam wears them whenever it fucking rains paired with a god awful raincoat, the type that you can fold up easily and shove in a bag.

Adam buys him a pair of wellies for christmas. Not the fun cute kind, but, again, these boring green ones

and when he visits England with Adam, Adam insists he packs them (idk why but I am imagining Adam living in the countryside so wellies are a must when it rains and boy does it rain) and they take up like half of the fucking suitcase.

he hates them

but he can't say they're not practical when your walking in the rain in the british countryside.

(side note, I do not own wellies... i just wear a pair of old combat boots if it's muddy and gross, but like, wellies are easier and i should probably buy a pair one day lol)

Kadam + toilet paper

They get into arguements about the proper way to hang the loo roll. under or over?

Kurt (correctly) says over

where as Adam, who grew up with a cat, says under - so said cat doesn't unravel it as they bat at it.

"but you don't own a cat in New York, Adam!" - Kurt

Send Me A Ship And A Word and I'll tell you a headcanon! (feel free even if you see this in like... 5 days...)

#kadam #kadam headcanon #hevans #hevans headcanon #kurt hummel #kurt hummel headcanon #sam evans #sam evans headcanon #adam crawford #adam crawford headcanon #glee #glee headcanon #katy headcanons #headcanon #ask game #neversatisfiedwithlife #meg 💛

[thrillridesz]

no other ▫ sunwoo

➳ pairing: sunwoo x older!reader ➳ genre: fluff ➳ word count: 2.7k ➳ requested?: yes

“Does this look good on me?” 

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Sunwoo narrowed his eyes at Eric, who was sitting on the bed and clearly too preoccupied with his video game to pay much attention to whatever he was asking him. So much for having a second opinion from Eric. 

“Wow, your opinions are so useful,” he bit out each word in a sarcastic tone, feeling more irritated by the second as Eric waved a hand nonchalantly without even tearing his eyes away from the screen for even a millisecond.

“Don’t mention it.”

Before Eric even had the time to react, a pillow was hurtled towards his head at a speed that would make even professional football stars kowtow. Alarmed, Eric dropped his phone onto the floor with a loud clatter as he glared at Sunwoo.

“What was that for?”

“The least you could was give me your honest opinion. Seriously, I don’t think I’m asking for much here.” The latter replied dryly, his expression void of any form of remorse. “I didn’t ask you over to play games on your phone while I model in front of you like an idiot.”

Rubbing his face, Eric groaned, “All of this just for a date?”

Sunwoo glowered at his words and a steady, growing heat crept up to his cheeks.

“You know how much I’ve been looking forward to this date with y/n.”

“Yeah but still.” Eric shot back, picking up his phone and inspecting it for cracks. When he found none, he heaved a deep sigh of relief. “Man, if there were any cracks, I would have had your neck.”

“Oh please, I could you take out in a minute.”

Sunwoo had to resist the urge to shake him as he kept his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Sometimes, hanging out with Eric felt like he was voluntarily giving up years of his life while trying not to lose his temper. Taking a deep breath, he turned back to the mirror and focused on his outfit. He can’t afford to get anymore creases on his forehead because of Eric of all people.

Red flannel, denim jeans and black converse sneakers. Scrunching up his nose in distaste, he asked, “Do you think I’d look better if I...” - he reached over to his cupboard and grabbed a black beanie, placing it over his head - “Wear it with the beanie or without?”

Eric regarded him for a second, pursing his lips as if deep in thought.

“Without. For sure, without the beanie.”

“Thank you,” Sunwoo rolled his eyes. “For being actually helpful for once.” Tossing the beanie to the side, he mussed up his hair and frowned as he scrutinised himself in the mirror. Seemingly unsatisfied, he flattened his hair again and noticed Eric’s incredulous expression from the reflection.

“This is honestly the first time I’ve seen you care so much about something.”

“Well obviously, you don’t know me enough if you’re saying that. I care about a lot of things.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “Just not me, huh.”

“Yeah, nah. You’re not worth my time.”

Eric clutched onto his heart and wailed in a fake cry, “Ouch. I’m hurt.”

That was the thing about Eric. He was always able to make him smile no matter what. Smiling, Sunwoo quipped, “Stop being dramatic.”

“Why are you so hung up over this anyways?” Eric questioned as he laid back on the bed. “It’s just a date.”

Sunwoo stiffened. He couldn't possibly tell Eric that this was his first date ever. He would never hear the end of it. 

“Yeah, sure. It's just a date but it’s with y/n.” As he said that, his expression softened as his thoughts drifted to you. 

The two of you had met on his first day at school as a new transfer student. He wasn’t what you would call a model student and he certainly didn’t look the part. With a scruffy demeanor and unkempt hair, nobody had really dared to approach him. It didn’t help that there were rumours flying around that he had only transfer to your school because he had gotten in serious trouble in his previous one. 

Students avoided talking to him and teachers would regard him with caution and suspicion in their eyes. It wasn’t like Sunwoo cared all that much about what people thought about him but deep down, it did hurt a little although he would never admit it. As he packed up his stuff at the end of the day, his ears picked up on the sound of whisperings not too far from him.

“I heard he beat up a guy in his old school...”

“Really? That’s terrible....”

When he turned, the group of students jumped and immediately dispersed as if a single glance from him was enough to scare them off. Although there was an expression of indifference on his face, he gripped tightly onto the straps of his backpack as he made his way past them. It was almost comical how they inched out of the way while he walked by. The day had gone by quietly as humanely possible and not one single moment, did Sunwoo ever open his mouth to make conversation with someone else. 

“Whatever. Their loss,” He thought to himself, a bitter taste in his mouth. Rounding a corner, he walked smack into someone and various art supplies spilled out from the box the student was carrying. 

“I’m so sorry! I should have been looking!” You apologised, a flustered look on your face as you held your hands out to help him.

“You should really watch where you’re going.” He replied, frowning as he dusted flecks of dried paint from his sleeves. Bending down to help you pick up the fallen supplies, he got his first good look at you and nearly lost his balance.

Woah.

He always did have many admirers and have been on the receiving end of quite a few confessions, all of which he appreciated but did not reciprocate. None of them have ever managed to get him to feel how you made him feel within seconds. As you smiled at him and reached out to take the sketchbook from his hands, Sunwoo felt a jolt of electricity run through him when your finger briefly touched his. That beautiful, kind smile of yours did things to his heart and for a moment, he thought himself to be crazy. 

What is this feeling?

“Thank you! I’m really sorry about that by the way, I guess I wasn’t looking. I’ll see you!” You said with a sheepish smile, wrapping your arms around the large box piled high with brushes, palettes and drawing materials. The box was clearly too big for your frame and you struggled to get a proper, firm grip around it. The contents inside the box were dangerously close to spilling out as you balanced it precariously in your arms. He stood stock still as he watched you walk away before he shook himself back to his senses. 

“W-Wait!”

Since you couldn’t turn back without risking everything from falling out again, you could only crane your head back. 

“Yeah?”

Sunwoo willed himself to approach you although his legs were starting to feel like jelly and his heart was pounding so furiously against his chest. This was the first time he felt so nervous around someone else, yet there was also a strangely warm feeling he couldn’t help but crave already. 

When you looked him in the eye, he actually felt his heart stutter and there was short pause as he struggled to find words to say. 

“Can I help you?”

“I... No, I was just wondering if you needed help with those?” He asked, holding out his hands. You beamed at his offer but shook your head.

“It’s alright! I’ve got this. Thank you so much for offering though,” you replied, heaving the box up a little higher when a paintbrush slid dangerously close to the edge.

“I insist.” He smiled shakily.

Sunwoo later found out that you were a part of school’s art club and even though he didn’t have an ounce of artistic talent or drawing skills in him, he put his name down on the sign up sheet anyways. Seeing you at every art meet would be the highlight of his day and after that first run in, you had recognised him and struck up a conversation with him before he could talk to you. Internally, he was glad that you did because it meant that he wouldn’t need to worry about messing up in front of you yet on the other hand, his heart was almost bursting with anxiety. 

The two of you grew close as the days passed and because of your friendship with Sunwoo, people started being less intimidated by him. People were starting to talk to him or even invite him out on outings. If it wasn’t already impossible, he felt himself liking you more and more as the days went by. Before long, he found himself working up the courage to ask you out. 

This was a tricky thing for him since firstly, he had never been on a date and secondly, you were older than he was. When he had told Eric, the one person he trusted second to you that he harboured a crush on you, the man had burst out laughing. There was a certain sort of stigma in school around liking a senior if you were a guy yet Sunwoo didn’t care. Why should age be a factor in liking someone?

When he had finally worked up the courage to ask you out, he almost chickened out at the last minute. What if you rejected him? What if he somehow messed this up? Sunwoo wasn’t a guy who easily got shaken or afraid but when it came to this, he would honestly have much rather leap off a cliff than go through the jitters of it all. 

One can only imagine the sheer joy and relief he felt when you uttered the answer he so desperately wanted to hear from you.

“Yes. Of course, I would love to go on a date with you!”

Call him a drama king but it was like fireworks erupting around him when you said yes. You know that feeling when you ace a test when you thought you had messed it up once and for all? That was exactly how he felt. That joy was short-lived however, as he realised with a start that he had to now impress on the date.

“I just really want this date to go well.” Sunwoo declared firmly, straightening and giving his reflection a final once over. 

“Alright, dude. Good luck!”

Grabbing his keys and fixing his shirt, he asked absent-mindedly, “What’s the time anyways?”

Eric squinted at the time displayed on the digital clock at the bedside table. “It’s 1:16pm.”

Wait... What?

Immediately, the colour disappeared from Sunwoo’s face as he turned to look at the time. The red digits on the clock stare back at him and he felt his stomach churn. He was supposed to meet you at 1:30pm at the cafe!

“Oh. Oh, hell no. I’m late!” He shrieked frantically as he made a mad dash for the door, almost tripping over his own foot.

“Classic. I’ll just carry on with my game,” Eric yawned, picking up his phone as the door closed behind him.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Crouching over with his hands on his knees, Sunwoo could hear his heart beating in his ear as he gasped for air.

He might have busted a lung but he didn’t really care. As he panted, he whipped out his phone to check the time.

1:45pm. Fuck. He’s 15 minutes late to the date.

Quickly, Sunwoo pushed open the door to the café and his eyes immediately brightened at the sight of you sitting at a corner near the window. Mentally, he willed himself to calm down as he tried to steady his breathing. His hair was sticking in all directions, his entire body was sweaty and his face was red and blotchy from exertion but he didn’t have a choice. He had to make do.

“Y/n!” He called out, voice slightly trembling from his nerves.

You turned around at his voice and smiled, causing his heart to clench. Why do you always have to look so beautiful? It’s not fair. You always look so effortlessly amazing and he’s just a sweaty, nervous wreck whenever you were around.

Grinning brightly, Sunwoo started towards you. He should really have seen the guy incoming on his left but he realised that a little too late when he felt the boiling hot chocolate drink spill out onto the front of his shirt.

It took him a split second to react and with a yelp, he probably made himself look like a total clown as he scrambled back, wringing his sore hands of the sweet, hot liquid.

Gasps could be heard and as Sunwoo clutched onto his reddened hand and grazed his fingers over his burned waist, he couldn’t help but feel extremely embarrassed. His hand and waist may feel like it’s burning but it was nothing compared to the heat in his cheeks. So much for a perfect first date and with you no less. He was sure he’d made a fool of himself right there and then.

He barely even registered it when you rushed forward, a look of concern on your face as you held his hand.

“Oh my god, are you ok? We need to get you some ointment immediately!” You said as you held onto his hand.

Sunwoo nodded quietly with face was downcast as though he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye.

The two of you sat underneath a giant oak tree at the park as he lifted up his shirt to expose his raw, now angrily red torso.

Your eyes widened as you realised just how toned and chiseled he was but quickly masked it over as you squeeze out a dollop of burn cream onto your fingers. Dabbing gingerly at his wound, you hesitated as he flinched, his teeth gritted in pain as you made contact.

“Does it hurt a lot?” You asked softly.

“Um... Yeah, a little,” he replied in a small voice, his eyes avoiding yours. There was a pause before he added, “Look, I’m really sorry for how this date turned out.”

You stopped what you were doing and gazed up at him in total shock. What was he saying?

Sunwoo’s face was turned away as he continued on.

“It’s all my fault this date is ruined and I know you probably don’t expect much from me but this must have been even lower than your lowest expectations. I may be younger but I swear I can be as good as the seniors, it’s just that today just wasn’t the day I guess. I showed up late, clowned myself-”

You quickly placed a finger over his plump lips, shushing him immediately as he gazed at you in surprise.

“Don’t say another word! This isn’t your fault, Sunwoo. Please don’t blame yourself.” You said in a tone of disbelief. To think he would beat himself up over this was completely beyond you.

His eyes softened and he murmured against your finger.

“Weely?”

The feeling of his moving lips on your skin felt searing hot as you withdrew your finger, your body tingling at the sensation and blood rushing to your cheeks.

“Yes. There is no other like you. I wouldn’t have traded this date in for the world.” You smiled as you watched his lips tug into a huge, genuine beam.

“That... That meant a lot to me... Thank you.” He whispered, suddenly shy.

You can only chuckle at how cute he was before you stood up, holding out a hand.

“Let’s just enjoy our day together, okay? We could start by shopping for a new shirt.” You laughed, gesturing vaguely at the large darkened stain on his shirt.

Sunwoo looked up at you. The sunlight was shining on the side of your face and it brought out the liveliness in your eyes, your hair framing your face in the most elegant way possible. If you didn't already look beautiful in his eyes, you certainly were now. 

He felt his heart flutter wildly and he grinned as he clasped his hand with yours.

“Okay.”

#deobiwritersnet #tbznetwork #request #the boyz sunwoo #tbz sunwoo #the boyz scenarios #tbz scenarios #tbz oneshots #the boyz oneshots #the boyz fics #tbz fics #the boyz imagines #tbz imagines #kim sunwoo #tbz #the boyz #sunwoo fluff #the boyz fluff #tbz fluff #sunwoo fics #sunwoo imagines #sunwoo scenarios #sunwoo oneshots #sunwoo x reader #older reader #sunwoo x older!reader

[chaoticspacefam]

Elven Rambles About Character Builds

So! As we know, SWTOR’s body types (especially for the women) are sorely lacking in proper variety in-game. It’s something that’s always bothered me, and I have specific images in my head for how I imagine each of my main girls to look in terms of their figure. But the problem is, for all of them, none of the in-game body presets that are available come close to their actual builds, I’ve just had to settle for “eh, I guess this is as close as I’m gonna get, whatever”

I’m putting the rest under a cut because it gets quite long, I do talk a little bit about the slavery plot point of the Inquisitor storyline so that’s something to be aware of before proceeding, but it’s mostly just a lot of me rambling about my dumb space children so be prepared for a lot of reading, I guess (there’s pictures too tho!) haha

Aria is certainly the “worst” for this, because while she has a “baby” face, her torso is a lot chunkier, and most importantly, she’s short, ya girl’s 5 ft 1 for God’s sakes! I don’t know if it’s just my eyes, but to me, BT2 looks the “shortest”, so even though BT4 is probably the “closest” I can get in game to her overall structure, it’s too tall for her. So, I’ve ended up having to “settle” for BT2 even though it makes her look way too slender, really. (honest to God, can we have someone on character design that doesn’t insist on every woman having a perfect hourglass figure because “they have to be that way or they’re not attractive”, PLEASE Bioware! Bigger, round or square, or pear-shaped or whatever, ladies, can still be beautiful too!)

And let’s not mention that there’s such a vast difference in all the different male body type options (look at male BT2 and male BT3 for instance) And yet for the ladies, the differences are so subtle that I honestly have to squint to see them (and yes, I have kinda crappy eyesight but it should be more easily noticeable, if you can do it for the men you can do it for the women, you fucking cowards) because that’s a whole other rant. ANYWAY

SO, Ela shared the link to this site in our wonderful SWTOR content creator discord that I’m resident in and of course my brain went “wait a minute, I can use this”

So I did. It’s certainly not perfect but it’s good enough to give a much closer representation of how I imagine their builds/shapes to look. As mentioned I have a general idea of how I want them to be shaped in my head, but it helps to have a visual reminder when I’m trying to draw them, so now I have been making these silhouettes to add to their (new) ref sheets when I get round to em

This is more along the lines of how I imagine Ari to look. She’s smol, and very square-shaped, with a fair bit of fat on her lower half especially (it all goes to her hips, I feel ya girl XD) So, I reiterate again, BT4 would be “correct” enough in terms of the pudge and the general shape, but it’s way too tall-looking in all the cutscenes I tried it in. So, BT2 was what I “settled” with, but this is the sort of build she should have.

and then in-game, Vano, Ni’kasi & Saarai are all BT3, because it’s the only “tall” option, but there’s a big problem with this because as the only option, it means your character has to be “tall and perfectly hourglass” which is....not the case really for any of them. There’s literally no options to have a “tall/big” lady but also have a different build or muscle structure and it frustrates me to no end, because even though they’re very close in height, their body types couldn’t be more different.

Exhibit A, the twins, put side-by-side to really show the difference between them:

Saarai is a 6 ft 3 wall of pure muscle, she’s a literal tank & even though she’s fit, she’s very “broad” in stance & stature, she does have a sort of hourglass dip on her hips but it’s very subtle because she’s just that muscly (thanks dad, she’s definitely your kid pfpfpfpf) Ni’kasi, on the other hand? She’s only 6ft, she took more after mom than dad height-wise, and there’s no way for me to show it easily on this silhouette (I’m working on other stuff & don’t have time to make an edit in Sketchbook just for this post), but she actually did get Kissai’s broad shoulders...the problem is, that unlike Saarai, Ni’kasi hasn’t had a steady, healthy diet after she got turfed down the social ladder into the slave pits. Poor diet (and a shortage of enough food, too, they had to keep her in line & stop her escaping somehow, obvious solution: “make sure she’s too weak to even think about it”) means she’s a lot skinnier and more “twiggy” than her twin. She’s not grossly underweight anymore, obviously the Overseers and Zash had to make sure she was fed up properly to gain enough strength to be able to train & then run around the galaxy killing things at Zash’s bidding, BUT because of the malnourishment she suffered at that point in her life, she’s never going to get as much muscle as Saarai did and even though she’s a healthier weight now, she’s still slender. She has more of an hourglass than her twin, but her hips are much narrower than her shoulders, so it’s not as prominent (and even this silhouette has too much of an hourglass for her as is, but as I mentioned earlier, don’t have time to make the edit myself rn, will do it later XD)

And finally, Exhibit B, Vano:

Now, I would argue Vano would be the closest of the three to being pretty much BT3. But note “the closest”, not “exact”. Why? Vano’s 6 ft 2, so she’s only an inch shorter than Rai, but their builds are very different. Saarai’s a beefcake, but Vano’s a Mirialan, so she’s got muscle, but she’s lean and tall. Vano here is about 80% or so legs and 20% the rest of her body, she’s got legs for daaayss and that’s what gives her the height, but apart from a six pack, you won’t actually see most of her muscle, whereas Saarai could flex with her guns out and you’d totally notice.

This got very long, so if you made it all the way to the end of this post of me blabbing about how I wish the body types had more variety & why I want that for my girls, I appreciate you very much, have a cookie! 🍪 🍪 🍪 🍪 🍪  < take one and pass it on as they say ;) hahaha

#swtor #long post #elven's swtor headcanons #elven's character references #< a new tag for later that'll have all their refs in once i've made them. plus i want to be able to find this later when i need it lol #i don't think this warrants a ''critical'' tag necessarily bc it's mostly just me babbling about the girl's builds/muscle structures etc. #there's a *teeny* bit of criticising but anyone who's played the game by now should've noticed & i don't think it's unfair to point it out #tw: slavery mention #(canon-typical inquisitor storyline but ya know) #i'm on the fence abt whether to add these silhouettes to the bio page in the pinned post #it'd mean i have to make them for the others on there which i don't have time to do rn #i've only done the four mains so i could talk about it with the visuals in this post #but maybe when i have time i will :D #swtor oc: vano shenly #swtor oc: aria saal #swtor oc: saarai ahaszaai #swtor oc: ni'kasi ahaszaai #the ahaszaai twins

[honeyhan-123]

The Artist ~ III

Summary: When Steve meets the reader at an art class he immediately becomes enticed and maybe, just maybe, she can help heal his wounded heart.

Warnings: none (smut in later chapters)

Word Count: 2.6k

AN: I am so sorry it took my a while to come out with the next part of the series but I hope y’all like it. Also Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to everyone! 

As always a massive thank you to the beautiful @imanuglywombat​ who designed the amazing moodboard. 

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Part One ~ Part Two

Steve had woken up the next morning in a funk. It had started the night before when he had awkwardly walked back to the tower with Bucky. He wanted so badly to say something, to say anything to the other man but everytime he tried, he was just reminded of that night and his heart shuddered in his chest. He had thought they were finally in a good place again but it still hurt. He knew he was being selfish but he couldn’t help it. He had waited so long to finally get Bucky back and to have him so close but not in the way he wanted was torture for Steve.

It was as though the entire tower could feel Steve’s sour mood as hardly anyone bothered him throughout the day. He had spent most of it in the gym, either destroying yet another punching bag or sparing with his teammates as they drifted in and out of the room. The hours that he didn’t spend in the gym were occupied by a small amount of paperwork and mission planning. 

They had recently caught wind of some illegal arm dealing off the coast of Portugal and while it would have normally been left to the authorities, they had reason to suspect they were dealing with alien tech so the team had been brought in. There wasn’t much information circling about it so Steve knew he still had a couple weeks to plan but it still made him slightly ansty being so unprepared.

The hours passed slowly but finally it was six o’clock and Steve felt no guilt as he packed up for the day. There was a slight spring in his step as he left Avengers tower with his sketchbook tucked under his arm and his sour mood from earlier was almost completely forgotten. His legs jiggled as he took the J train out to Brooklyn, equal parts nerves and excitement ransacked their way through his veins. 

To help pass the time as the train rushed through underground tunnels Steve watched those around him. Not like he would on a mission trying to figure out whether or not they were actually civilians but as he imagined an artist would watch them. He tried to figure out how he would draw each and every and every passersby. He tried to memorise the way the old lady’s smile lines deepened as she spoke to who Steve assumed to be her grandson, or the way the little boy looked up to her with complete adoration in his eyes. 

He felt so much more at ease than he had all day as he stepped off the train and began the short walk towards the studio, his mind never once drifting to his brunet best friend. Despite the darkening sky the streets were packed as people bustled around and Steve had to squeeze his way through the throng of people. He smiled as he passed a group of carolers despite it only being late November. The familiar tune of ‘Good King Wenceslas’ floated through his ears and he stooped to donate a hefty sum in their collection tin, earning him a round of ‘thank yous’.  

The studio was only a block away so when he finally dashed up the steps, he could still hear the melodic voices of the group. As he pulled the door open, a warm gush of air washed over him and he couldn’t wait to get inside but he heard someone call out to him that made him pause. 

‘Hey! Hold the door please!’ He turned as you came bustling up the stairs, your face barely visible behind the large canvass you carried. Steve stood back and ushered you in ahead of him and you gave him a small ‘thanks!’ 

Already starting to feel a little too warm in your multiple layers, you set down the canvass just inside the entryway and shrugged out of your heavy winter jacket. ‘It’s bloody cold out there isn’t it? I reckon we’ll get some snow for sure this year.’ Steve nodded his head somewhat absentmindedly, trying to tear his eyes away from you. 

‘I - uh - yeah, I hope so. It used to snow heaps in the city when I was growing up but it’s been a while since we’ve had a proper winter.’ 

‘Oooh that must have been so nice! I’ve always wanted a white Christmas like in all those Hallmark movies but I grew up in Australia so that was never going to happen.’ 

‘You’re from Australia?’ The slight twang of your accent had been one of the first things Steve had noticed about you, but he thought maybe the average person wouldn’t have been able to tell. It definitely sounded like you had been in New York for a while. 

‘Yeah, Melbourne actually. I moved here after university. I have no idea why though. Probably some preconceived notion that to be an artist, you have to struggle in New York for a bit first.’ You laughed as you mocked yourself and Steve smiled, knowing exactly what you meant. ‘What about you? Are you originally from the Big Apple or are you a newbie like me?’ Your eyes locked with his as you asked and Steve felt his smile deepen. 

‘I was born and raised here in Brooklyn actually.’

‘Right of course, you literally said you grew up in the city earlier. Sorry about that.’ Steve shrugged away your apology telling you not to worry about it. The door was pulled open and you tried to move out of the way as a gust of cold air drifted inside following another class member who you smiled in greeting at.

‘We should probably head in, it’s nearly seven.’ Steve said as he checked his watch. ‘Do you need a hand with that?’ He gestured towards the large canvas leaning against the wall.

‘Oh yeah. If you wouldn’t mind? It’s just a bit awkward to carry by myself.’

‘Not at all.’ He easily lifted it into his arms and followed as you led the way down the hallway and into the studio. He had no choice but to follow as you headed towards one of the easels towards the front of the room, where you had sat last week. Even though he didn’t want to be noticed by the rest of the class, Steve couldn’t resist the temptation of sitting down in the empty stool next to yours. 

He watched as you pulled out your oil paint and started setting them on a very used palette and Steve was reminded of last night. He wasn’t sure if he should bring it up, as you hadn’t mentioned yet, but he thought maybe you just hadn’t seen him. After all he and Bucky had been towards the back. 

‘I uh, I saw you last night. At Ronan’s bar for the wine and art night.’ He clarified, determined not to seem creepy. ‘I was going to say hi but you seemed a little busy.’

‘Oh, really? I’m so sorry I didn’t even notice you were there! But how good is it!? $25 for unlimited wine plus some art fun. It’s just a shame they only run it during winter.’ You looked slightly remorseful and Steve couldn’t help but agree.

‘I didn’t realise that. I just found the flier over the weekend and decided to give it a try.’ 

‘Well I’m glad you did. If you don’t mind me asking, why the sudden interest in art?’

‘Oh, well I don’t know really. One of my friends, Nat, found my sketchbook that’s basically been abandoned the last few years and wouldn’t stop nagging me to get back into it. She and Tony are always pushing me to have a life beyond work.’

‘Tony as in Tony Stark?’

It only crossed Steve’s mind as he nodded that perhaps not all of Tony’s employees were on a first name basis with him. He needed to be more careful with the words that came out of his mouth. Eager to shift the conversation away from Tony he quickly divulged even more personal information. ‘I uh, I think it might have something to do with my friend, the one I told you about last time.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, growing up he was practically always my muse and we’ve only recently found each other again - he had to go away for a while. Maybe it’s because he’s back again that I’ve found the inspiration…’ He drifted off, unsure of what he was saying. ‘That probably didn’t make any sense.’

‘No, no, it did. I totally get what you mean. I used to have this dog, his name was Bear and growing up I used to draw him all the time. But when he passed away, I just didn’t feel that spark anymore, you know? It took me a while to find it again but when I did everything just made sense again.’ 

Steve was refrained from replying by the entrance of Madame Maxine to the studio as she quickly called the class to order. 

‘Today we have the wonderful Jerry modelling again. Since it is his second week, he will be modelling nude for us today.’ Her attention drifted back to Jerry who was wearing a dark red silken robe. ‘If you could please derobe Jerry and get settled into position B that would be brilliant.’ Jerry nodded and followed her instructions, setting himself down on the stool in front of the class. Steve had to admire his confidence. He knew that even if it was purely for art he could never model nude for anyone, he struggled enough doing promotional shots when he was fully clothed. 

Steve was too aware of you sitting next to him for the next hour. Everytime you shifted on your stool or bent to mix some more paints he noticed and his eyes followed your movements. As a result his own sketch was barely half complete by the time the hour was up and the small bell rang. He would definitely be voting to keep the position. 

Your painting on the other hand was beautiful. Despite the limited time you had not only managed to capture Jerry as he was, but also his essence. Steve was enraptured and stammered his way through a maze of compliments which you humbly shrugged away. 

‘I just have experience with Jerry, he modelled last winter and he works here part time too.’ 

‘He works here?’

‘Yeah Maxine rents out the studios to aspiring artists if they need a large space. I had this massive project over the summer on three canvases that were each four by five meters and my apartment is a shoebox so it never would have worked if it weren’t for Maxine.’

‘Wow, that sounds impressive.’ Steve could hardly imagine working on as big a canvass as you were currently using, never mind one nearly three times the size. ‘How long did it take you to finish?’

You glanced down, slightly avoiding his eyes. ‘It’s not… well it's not technically finished yet. I’m so close to being done with it but I just…’ You trailed off, unsure how to put it into words. 

‘There’s something missing?’ Steve filled in for you and you nodded eagerly.

‘It’s almost right but everytime I think it’s done I realise just how much I hate it and I have to leave the room to stop myself from painting over it again.’ Although Steve had never done something quite on the same wavelength he could relate to the need for perfection. He had lost count of how many pages he had ripped out of his sketchbook and thrown in the trash only to start all over again. 

‘What’s it of?’

‘It’s a collection, mainly of my favourite places in New York and it’s all about the human footprint… or at least, it’s meant to be.’ 

‘If it’s anything like your painting of Jerry I’m sure it’ll be incredible.’ 

Steve didn’t have to be able to see it to know that your cheeks would be flushing with heat at his compliment. He didn’t understand why you doubted yourself so much, it was clear that you were incredibly talented. ‘Thank you, you’re far too sweet.’ 

Maxine clapped her hands once again calling the attention of everyone. ‘It is now that time where we decide if we would like Jerry to stay as he is or if we would like him in a new position. Raise your hands for the same pose.’ Steve eagerly raised his hand along with you and most of the class.

After a quick headcount Maxine nodded firmly. ‘Well that settles it, Jerry, if you would be so kind as to return to position B.’ Once again the silk robe fell to the floor as Jerry repositioned himself on the stool and Steve promised that he wouldn’t let himself get as distracted by you this time around. 

+

By the end of the second hour Steve had a half decent looking sketch that paled in comparison to yours but he had long since resigned himself to its fate. 

‘Your painting is amazing.’ He told you truthfully and you smiled up at him abashed. 

‘Thank you Steve. That really means a lot.’

‘Well, it’s definitely true.’ Once again, Steve’s heart constricted in his chest as you flashed a sweet, bashful smile his way. He really felt a little ridiculous, being so completely enticed by someone he had only just met but being with you, it just all felt different. 

He watched as you packed up your paints and helped you carry the drying canvas over to the corner of the room where Maxine said you could leave it for the night. 

By the time you were by the coat rack you and Steve were the only students left in the studio, everyone else had filed out fairly quickly. Steve shoved his coat on and quickly plucked your own from the hook, holding it out for you. 

He wondered briefly if he was perhaps overstepped but the smile of gratitude you flashed him put him at ease as you daintily slid your arms into the open holes. ‘Thank you.’

‘Anytime.’ He walked with you out of the building and down into the street. 

‘Well, I’m heading this way.’ You pointed in the opposite direction of the train station and Steve felt a brief flash of chagrin. He wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye just yet and he got the feeling that you felt the same. 

‘I’m the other way. But uhh…’ The invitation to coffee at a cafe just down the street was on the tip of his tongue as his phone rang. ACDC’s Back in Black rang through the cool night air, breaking any tension that had been building up. 

You flashed what looked like a remorseful smile and raised a hand in farewell. ‘I’ll let you get that, but will you be at Ronan’s next week?’

‘Yeah, yes. I will.’ Steve hadn’t really thought about returning to the little bar but if that’s where you were going to be, that’s where he would be too. 

‘Great! I’ll uh, see you there.’ You flashed him that sweet and bashful smile once more before turning on your heel and getting lost in the crowds of New York. 

Steve watched you go for longer than he really should have and by the time he finally fished his phone out of his pocket Tony had nearly been sent to voicemail. 

‘Tony, what’s going on?’

+

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Salt & Snow - Chapter 2

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader

Summary: House Caspian’s only daughter returns to Winterfell, with her family in tow. She’s delighted to see her friends again, but with the end of the visit comes very startling news.

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Only two weeks passed before Y/N got her first letter from Lyanna. It was a long one, full of enthusiasm and clumsy penmanship, asking after Y/N, her family and full of questions about Ramsgate and their keep, Whitetide. Why are your lands called Ramsgate? Are there lots of goats when you move away from the sea? How big is Whitetide? Is it really right on top of the beach?

Y/N eagerly wrote back, and her mother gave her the idea to include some seashells, a starfish and a sand dollar, all little treasures that Y/N collected on her many walks on the beach. She couldn’t wait for Lyanna’s response, asking the guard who watched for deliveries every day if there was something for her. Lady Talia finally had to ask her to leave the poor man alone.

But the next correspondence was by raven, of all things, a little message with a cute drawing of a direwolf and a big thank you from Lyanna and Benjen. The maester handed it to her parents with great confusion, and they in turn blinked at it before giving it to Y/N. She gladly kept it safe in her sketchbook.

The next letter detailed the great scolding Lyanna received for using one of Winterfell’s ravens. She worried her mother wouldn’t let her send any letters at all, but instead she was forced to stay inside for two weeks helping Nan knit and practicing her penmanship with the maester. Y/N giggled at the thought, and made a point to compliment Lyanna’s handwriting. She could already imagine the girl’s grimace and cramped hand.

The letters became a staple in the next year. It was towards the end of the ninth moon when Lyanna sent an especially long one. Y/N read it halfway before she was jumping on top of her bed in excitement.

She ran down the steps, nearly crashing into a washerwoman and narrowly avoiding a guard. Lady Talia frowned at her daughter arriving in the great hall in such a breathless flurry. “Y/N, you’ll trip over your skirts and break open your head if you carry on like that —”

“Mother! Are we going back to Winterfell?”

Lady Talia almost dropped baby Rickard. She recovered herself and sighed. “Oh, it was supposed to be a surprise! Did your father tell you?”

“No, Lyanna did!” Y/N waved the letter at her mother, too fast for the woman to actually look at it’s contents. “When are we going? Is it soon? Is it tomorrow?”

“Yes, soon, sweetling. Think about what things you want to pack. It will be a long stay, so bring all your dresses and some books.”

Y/N almost didn’t hear her. She was buzzing. How long was a long stay? How soon was soon? She would’ve asked a dozen more questions if her mother hadn’t shooed her out.

Two maids helped her pack. Y/N expected to use the small wooden trunk she and Willam shared last time. It was colorfully painted and had manta rays carved into the sides, so she especially liked it. Instead, the maids brought in two large trunks, the ones grown-up ladies used to transport their fine gowns and furs. She gaped at all the space on the inside, and how finely it was lined. A whole person could fit in there, or at least both her and Willam!

She already pulled dresses from the armoire — it was easy, she only had so many — but the maid was taking everything out of her closet, even her long winter socks that probably didn’t fit anymore. The other maid was neatly stacking all of her books.

“Oh, um, I was only taking four,” Y/N said to her.

The maid smiled. “You’ll want all of them, milady.”

No, I only wanted four, Y/N thought, but the maids listened to her lady mother, not her. It would be useless to argue with them. If the men who packed up the carts complained about the weight of her trunks, she’d know what to tell them.

At dinner, her father asked, “All excited for the trip, little ray?” and he was delighted with his daughter’s enthusiastic response. She hadn’t noticed her mother looking less excited, but Lady Talia still gave Y/N a smile when she looked her way.

“I’m going too!” Willam declared, as if he worried he was going to be left behind. Lord Gareth tousled his hair and promised he could ride along with the knights and guards.

Seeing Winterfell for the second time was just like the first;  breathtaking and no less a marvel. It was still hard to believe that a castle that big existed, and it was so close to Ramsgate, and she had a friend waiting inside. She was buzzing to get out of the carriage and just run up to the gates herself, but her mother was far less permissive than her uncle. She fretted over Y/N’s hair and tried to smooth her dress as they rode through the gate, and Y/N used every fiber of self-control not to squirm away. Her mother’s eyes said she was not in the mood to be disobeyed.

Finally, finally, the carriage door opened. Before the Winterfell guard could even greet her, she was flying down the steps.

Y/N heard her mother calling, but she pretended not to hear. The cold, saltless air blew through her hair, and she took a deep breath. It smelled like the dirt of the yard, the savory smoke from the kitchens and the distant pine of the forests. She only had a few moments to take it all in before the wind was thrown right out of her lungs.

Y/N choked as arms were thrown around her. She very nearly teetered over, the only thing stopped her was Lyanna yanking her back. The girl had a frightening grip. “Y/N! You’re here! It’s been forever!”

“I-I am!” Y/N coughed. “My mother is here this time, and Willam is back, and I have some things for you, and —”

“Lyanna, unhand the poor girl.” Lady Stark’s voice was familiar, but her appearance was a surprise again. Y/N realized she’d somewhat forgotten what the Lady looked like, but she remembered the pretty, long hair and grey eyes. “Y/N, it’s good to see you again, sweetling.”

Y/N was able to do a proper curtsy once she was unhanded, but she still felt a little dizzy. “Thank you for having me again, Lady Stark.”

“Where’s your lady mother, and lord father? Goodness, did you run ahead of them?” Lady Stark shook her head, but she didn’t seem truly upset. Had she always been so pale, though? Y/N couldn’t recall, and her friend easily took her attention away.

“Y/N, we have some new horses! You haven’t seen them yet, they’re so pretty. I’ve gotten to ride them already.” Lyanna just realized something. “Mother, can I show her?”

Y/N was expecting Lady Stark to put up a fuss, as her mother might have, but the woman looked too tired. She simply nodded and waved the two girls away. Y/N wondered if it was truly okay, even as Lyanna pulled on her hand. Y/N went along, figuring she’d see her parents and the Lord and Lady Stark at dinner tonight, anyhow. She could do her proper courtesies then.

To Lyanna’s disappointment, the new horses she was so proud of had been taken out on a hunt, so the next stop was the library of Winterfell, which surprised Y/N. She hadn’t taken Lyanna for the type to read these huge, dusty things, but it wasn’t a huge or dusty book that Lyanna pulled out. There was an old chest at the bottom of one of the bookshelves, and when she opened it, a collection of rolled-up parchment was inside. 

Y/N’s nose wrinkled at the smell. “Are we allowed to look at these?”

“They’re here for the Starks.” Lyanna replied. Y/N felt like her friend could have unrolled the old parchment a little neater.

Lyanna set two heavy inkpots in either side of the parchment to keep it from rolling back. The beautiful drawings unfurled before her, and Y/N realized it was a stylistic, detailed map of Westeros. She gasped in delight. “Oh, it’s so pretty!”

The linework was so fine and detailed, each little mountain, tree and even tiny ships on waves were drawn out. She immediately looked for Ramsgate, and it saddened her that the Caspian ray was not there. It was still the merman of Manderly. This must have been a very old map, then.

“Your manta ray isn’t here!” Lyanna realized it as well, perhaps for the first time. “Hmph. They should update these dusty old things.”

“I don’t think that’s possible ... It’s still beautiful.” Y/N said. She sat in the chair with Lyanna; it was so wide, both of them could sit in it with just a little discomfort. Lyanna was skinny for her age, but she was already taller than Y/N. Y/N could swear they were the same height last year. “I love how they painted Winterfell. There’s even direwolves around it, and look here, each castle has its Godswood drawn, too. You can even see some of the Godswoods in the Southern castles, but they’re not as good as the one in Winterfell.”

Lyanna was proud of that. She pointed out some of her favorite parts of the map: The kraken encircling the Iron Islands, the collection of trouts running down Riverrun, the beautiful flowers and crops that covered most of the Reach. She and Y/N shivered as they saw the detailed flayed man of the Boltons, and they admired the horses of the Ryswells.

Lyanna pointed toward the Vale, where the Eyrie was drawn in splendid detail, its white, blue and dark grey ink only slightly faded. A beautiful sky-blue falcon perched on top of it. She tapped it with her finger and sighed. “Ned’s here.”

Y/N didn’t quite understand. She floated her own finger above the parchment, tracing from Winterfell all the way to the Eyrie. “But why? It’s so far away,” She said. “It takes days to get from Whitetide to Winterfell, and only if the weather is good. That’s what my father said.”

“I don’t know.” Lyanna crossed her arms. “I didn’t want him to go. He didn’t, either! But mother and father said it was important for young lords to learn … whatever they said. Hmph. Why couldn’t our maester just teach him?”

“And Brandon is the oldest. Shouldn’t he learn all the important things?”

“He should! He’s thick as an aurochs, though. That doesn’t mean I want him to go away to a big, stupid mountain, too. Even if he deserves it.” Lyanna huffed. “Ned writes sometimes, but letters take too long to go up and down the Eyrie, he said so. He said you have to take a donkey to go up, or ride in a basket of turnips!”

“A basket…?”

“They use a rope to pull you up, like getting water from the well.”

That didn’t seem right, but Y/N didn’t know anything about the Eyrie. Lyanna continued with a huff. “The last letter he sent was all about some lord he’s friends with, a boy named Robert. He’s a Baratheon from Storm’s End. He’s the first son of that house, so why did Ned have to go?”

Y/N knew where Storm’s End was. She was familiar with most coastal cities and keeps, like Oldtown and Lannisport, and Storm’s End was no different. It’s two great walls that looked like big drums, her Uncle said, and she was delighted to see it painted just as he described. There was a rearing black stag sitting atop it, and it was just as far from the Eyrie as the direwolf was.

“It must be very sad to be so far from home,” Y/N said. She couldn’t imagine.

Lyanna frowned. “Ned should come home so I don’t have to hear about stupid Robert anymore.”

“Who’s Robert?”

The sudden voice made Y/N yelp and jump almost a foot in the air, and that reaction made Lyanna fall right out of the chair and onto the floor. She scrambled back to her feet. “Benjen! Don’t sneak up on people!”

“It’s not my fault you don’t pay attention. Who’s Robert?”

“The boy from Ned’s letter, remember? We read it together!”

“Are you allowed to take these maps out?” Benjen asked.

“Ugh, we’re done with it, anyway. You really do sneak around like a shadowcat.” Lyanna removed the inkpots and Y/N took charge of carefully rolling the map. Maybe I can look at it later? The pictures are so pretty … Even if it doesn’t have a manta ray.

“I’m bored.” Benjen said. He clearly expected his sister and Y/N to do something about it.

“We can play a game?” Y/N offered. She watched with some concern as Lyanna closed the trunk and tried to shove it back on the shelves. She couldn’t remember if that’s how it looked when they found it.

After much discussion and debate, hide and seek was declared the game of choice… with some rules. Lyanna made it very clear that they were only hiding inside the living area of the keep, and only in rooms they were allowed inside, and only in rooms with no adults. She looked directly to Benjen as she said all of this. Lyanna was declared “it”, and Benjen wasted little time in grabbing Y/N’s sleeve when she began counting.

“Where should I hide?” Y/N asked. “I don’t know the castle. I could get lost.”

“Just keep going down that hall until you see a big window, and choose any of those rooms,” Benjen pointed. “There’s lots of tables to hide under. Oh, if you find a blue yarn ball anywhere, that’s Nan’s. Tell her I didn’t take it.”

Before Y/N could question that, Benjen shoved her in the direction of the long hallway and went scurrying off. Y/N could only faintly hear Lyanna counting in the library, so she hurried, trying to decide which room to dart into. Lyanna would expect her to hide in one of these rooms. After all, Benjen went somewhere else, somewhere that was actually difficult to find.

She noticed one of the rooms was being occupied. The door was closed, but there was light and warmth coming from under it. Y/N suddenly felt she was intruding, so she walked carefully past it. The voices from inside were feminine, and very familiar. She stopped suddenly when she heard her mother’s familiar laugh.

Her mother’s voice drifted behind the wooden door. Y/N leaned against the door, assuming she’d hear her brother or father, but instead there was another lady’s voice. Lady Stark. They were probably doing needlework by the hearth. She was ready to move on, but she heard her name.

“Y/N is a very dear girl, I think she’ll be happy …”

I’ll be what? Y/N pressed her ear against the wood. She remembered the keyhole, and while it was too small to peek, she could put her ear to it.

“You cannot consider the offer,” That was Lady Stark’s voice that sounded so stern, like when she scolded her children. “You musn’t, Talia.”

“I told Gareth about it, but he said …”

“ … Men are foolish about these things, you shall not …”

It was hard to catch the conversation, and Y/N worried about leaning on the door too hard - it might creak - but her curiosity was burning a hole in her. She couldn’t help but pick up several morsels as  she listened in.

“If they think … my only daughter …”

“… We could always … She’s young, but a good child …”

“… It was supposed to be in a few years, Lyarra …”

A pair of hands grasped Y/N’s shoulders, and she screamed as Lyanna tackled her. “YOU’RE IT!”

There was exclamations and the sound of something breaking inside. Lady Stark swung the door open and was greeted to two girls sprawled on the floor. They were promptly dragged inside and forced to sit and participate in the needlework that the two women were doing. Y/N glanced at both Lady Stark and her mother, both peeved, both not picking up whatever conversation they were having earlier … because it was about her.

Y/N tried to focus on threading the needle. I heard my name, there’s no mistaking it. Am I in trouble?

Thirty minutes into the forced needlework, Lyanna gasped and realized they were supposed to find Benjen. Lady Stark sharply told her to sit. Benjen walked past the open doorway a few minutes later anyway, tying some blue yarn into complicated knots. He stuck his tongue out at Lyanna while his mother’s head was down, and Y/N pulled back Lyanna’s arm to keep her from tossing her embroidery hoop.

Y/N enjoyed an entire week at Winterfell, and she didn’t have a moment without the Stark children. Lyanna was an almost constant presence, of course. They had lessons in the day and ate together in the evening, and at night they even shared a room. They’d whisper and chatter under the furs until one of them finally fell asleep, usually Y/N. Benjen often joined in their more lively activities, and even Brandon would come along now and again, although it was usually just to annoy them. He fancied himself an important “man” of fourteen, and didn’t think much of silly girls.

Lyanna didn’t want Y/N to leave, so she tried not to think about how short a week really was. She hated having to waste time doing embroidery and staying inside, even if Y/N made such beautiful drawings on her canvas, and even if she was a surprisingly elegant dancer at her young age.

It was the seventh day, and Lyanna and Y/N groggily went through their morning routine. The septa helped them lace their clothes and braid their hair. Y/N looked over at her chest, still open and … empty?

“Septa Alys, where are my things?” She asked with some concern.

The septa was not terribly old. She had a sweet disposition and was more prone to wringing her hands instead of scolding whenever Lyanna acted up. “They were put away yesterday, dear. Did you not notice?”

“But why? I’m leaving today.”

Septa Alys was more occupied with Lyanna’s hair. “You’ll have to ask your lady mother and lord father, dear.”

“Maybe the servants were mistaken? I’ll help you put it back.” Lyanna offered, but she didn’t sound happy about it. Now that she was properly awake, she was sullen. She spent most of the previous night sulking.

Septa Alys helped Y/N secure the pearl and silver string in her hair, complimenting how lovely it looked with her pretty hair. Y/N didn’t completely hear her. She walked down the hall with Lyanna, who let out another sigh.

“We can still write,” Y/N said. She wasn’t happy, either, but she didn’t want their last day to be so gloomy. “I’ll send you things again, too.”

Thankfully, Lyanna was willing to be cheered. “I want to send you things too, but we don’t have seashells or anything like that here… I’ll think of something. I’ll send you blue rose petals! You wanted to paint them, right?”

“Oh, yes, I’d love that. Weirwood leaves, too. The ones at your Godswood are so big!”

The girls fell into an easy chatter as they entered the great hall for breakfast. The four parents were there, as Y/N expected, but there was no food on the table - they weren’t even sitting yet. Brandon, Benjen and Willam were nowhere to be seen, nor was Ser Roderick or the maester or any of the other staff that were slowly becoming familiar. Lyanna sensed the strangeness, too.

“Mother, what’s going on?” She asked.

“Girls, we have something important to tell you.” Lady Stark beckoned them. She didn’t look as tired this morning, in fact, she seemed like she was trying to keep from smiling too much. Y/N instantly looked to her mother, who was beaming, and her father, who had a smile with tension behind it. Lord Stark looked thoroughly amused.

“Y/N, do you like it here?” Her mother asked.

Y/N thought it was a silly question, and not what it seemed, but she didn’t know how to answer. “Yes, I like Winterfell very much.”

It was Lord Stark’s voice that boomed, and Y/N didn’t expect it. She startled a little. “Would you like to stay here for a longer time, little Y/N?”

She looked to Lyanna, who was just as confused, then to the parents again. “For how much longer, my lord?”

“Well,” Her mother tried to sound excited, but she was using the same voice she reserved for carefully explaining something to Willam, especially after he was about to cry about something. “Until you’re a woman grown, Y/N. In Winterfell you’ll learn to be a proper lady and wife, doing the same lessons as Lyanna. You’ll be like sisters.”

“Sisters?” Lyanna gaped.

“She’ll live with us for a few years, not as a guest, but as family.” Lady Stark said to her daughter. She didn’t speak to them like they were Willam. “You have heard that Ned is fostering in the Eyrie? It is like that, my dear.”

“Oh.”

She couldn’t believe it. Y/N was struck with absolute disbelief, like she was still walking around in a dream and she’d wake to Lyanna’s arm hitting her in the face again. Happiness hit her, excitement, but also nervousness, and then —

“But - Willam is not staying? Mother and father aren’t …?”

“Just you, little ray,” Her father finally spoke. He bent down to her level, still in light armor in spite of the early hour. “With Lady Stark and the septa, you can get a proper education here. You’re our only daughter, and we want you to be taken care of.”

He sounded sad, and his eyes didn’t meet her’s completely, but he took her hand. Y/N felt like she shouldn’t be excited anymore. Could her family not take care of her? Was baby Rickard really so fussy, was Willam really so much more important?

No, Willam might foster in a few years, too, but not here. He’ll be a page or a squire. It’s an important thing for lords to do, especially first-born ... Mother and Father must expect a lot from me ... 

Even if they had another daughter, Y/N was the oldest by far. She was always responsible for Willam, and she’d already helped plenty with baby Rickard. Her septa and maester were also often pleased with how she progressed in her lessons. A sense of duty and pride filled Y/N, combined with all the other swirling emotions. She’d miss her family very much, but her mother had told her many times about the duties of a grown lady. Wasn’t this part of that?

She felt Lyanna take her hand and squeeze it. Y/N could have been sent anywhere else in the North, or like Ned, far away to some mountain keep — to a place where she had no friends, and no familiar faces.

It must have been very hard for him, Y/N thought suddenly, but she shook those thoughts free when she realized everyone wanted a reaction from her. She nodded, looking toward her father first, because addressing everyone felt frightening. She might start crying.

“I’m very happy,” She said, hoping she sounded as such. She wasn’t sure how she felt; too many emotions were buzzing about and not staying still. “I’ll miss you, and mother, and my brothers … will you still visit? Can I visit?”

“Of course! Especially during the harvest season and the melees.” Lord Stark said.

Her mother added, “You’ll write me weekly, I want to read about all the things you’re doing. Time will pass before you know it.”

“It will be so nice to have lessons with you!” Lyanna blurted. Y/N was surprised how still and quiet she was being up until now. “It’s fine enough with Benjen, but he doesn’t do the lady things I have to. Oh! Mother, will we still share a room?”

“Yes, especially when winter comes, it will be too cold —”

The situation had fully sunk into Lyanna’s mind, and now she couldn’t stop. “You could have a horse of your own! Can you ride? No, you told me, so you’ll learn! I’ll teach you! We can watch the fighters spar, and we can walk in the Godswood, and sometimes when father goes to Winter Town —”

“Lyanna.”

She was hardly discouraged by her mother’s sharp tone. Y/N noticed her father looked much happier, and he kissed her brow before standing back up.

“Let’s break our fast, then!” Lord Stark went to his old friend and slapped his back. “I’ll call the rest in, the Others know where Brandon ran off to, though. Lyarra, where’s that son of your’s?”

“Your son is in the yard, swinging that new sword about. Sit beside us on the dais, sweetling.” Lady Stark patted Y/N on the head as she walked past her. Y/N’s mother smiled approvingly, and pulled her soft braid forward. The pearl glinted in the morning light.

“I’ll send you many more things, so you don’t feel so homesick, little ray.” She said. Then she turned to Lyanna. “It will be nice to have a sister for once, won’t it?”

“Yes, thank the gods.” Lyanna said bluntly, and the adults laughed to themselves, even Lady Stark, who was failing to look embarrassed. While the servants poured in to serve the food, and men at arms entered, and finally Benjen, Brandon and Willam, Y/N was quiet. She filled her plate, but much of it was untouched. Her stomach and her chest were fluttering at the same time, and if maybe one of them would settle, she could eat something more.

Lyanna was excited, too excited, enough to make Y/N feel uneasy. Her parents and Lyanna’s parents were pleased, her friend was delighted, the various members of Winterfell expressed their well-wishes.

Winterfell is big and beautiful, and Lyanna is my very best friend, and her brothers are nice, too. Lady Stark, Lord Stark, the maester, Septa Alys… No one has been unkind to me.

Y/N wanted to excuse herself. The hall was noisy, so she could have slipped away, if only they weren’t on the dais. Benjen was beside her, and he leaned in so their shoulders touched. “What’s the matter?”

She glanced up at his big, wondering eyes, and quickly said, “Nothing.”

Very little escaped Benjen, she knew. He was a year younger, but sometimes Y/N felt like he was older - only sometimes, when he wasn’t teasing them or playing a stupid prank. “It’s okay to be unhappy.”

Y/N wasn’t sure what to make of that statement. “I’m not. I like it here. … I’ll just miss home sometimes, I think.”

“It’d be strange to not miss home, right?” Benjen said. “You said you can’t smell the sea here.”

Y/N deflated. Now she truly wanted to cry, but she held it in, and touched her pearl. There were no pearls in Winterfell, no seashells, no sunsets making the water glitter, no giant ships with their billowing sails. There was no smell of salt or sound of waves.

“I’m sorry,” Benjen said quickly. He touched her hand where she left it, under the table, and squeezed her fingers. It was much gentler than the way Lyanna grasped it. “We should go to Whitetide one day.”

“You’d want to go?”

“I’ve never seen the ocean or a manta ray. Not even a ship.” Benjen looked on the other side of Y/N, where Lyanna was sitting. “Lyanna! Let’s go to Ramsgate.”

“What? When?” She stared at Y/N, as if that was who gave the suggestion.

“Um, some day,” Y/N said. “Maybe some day soon. Our castle isn’t big as Winterfell, or Lord Manderly’s keep, but I’ll show you the  beach and the ships.”

She smiled as she thought of that. She could already see Lyanna building sand castles and getting completely dirty, and Benjen would sneak behind her and dump sand down her tunic. Brandon could come, too. He’d watch the ships with her uncle, or even board one, because he was a lordling and a man now. Maybe, somehow, Ned could come, too. She wondered what he’d like to do on the beach. Perhaps he’d just watch the waves hit the rocks, but that was fine in and of itself - because at night, you could see the stars the sailors navigated with. Y/N knew almost all of them.

This is what she said to Lyanna and Benjen, who listened with rapt attention. As she thought, Lyanna loved the idea of sandcastles, but she wanted to feel the waves crash against her legs, too. Benjen wanted to see a ‘tide pool’, and the little crabs that sat inside them - Y/N couldn’t imagine why he wanted to catch one of the mean things. Even Brandon overheard them, and chimed in. He couldn’t hide his own curiosity as he asked questions about House Caspian’s flagship.

When she returned to Lyanna’s room, her trunk had been stowed away somewhere, and her clothes were in Lyanna’s armoire. Her books were on a small shelf, and her other few belongings were with them. I need to ask mother and father to send my paints. She cared more about that than her cloak and riding boots.

It wasn’t long after that her parents and Willam had to leave for Whitetide. As Y/N expected, Willam cried. She hugged him and promised he could visit, or maybe she’d visit, and she’d write letters, although that meant nothing to him. Sometimes he was more like baby Rickard than Benjen. Still, she was glad her little brother had so much affection for her, and she ended up crying herself as she hugged her mother and father. It pained her that she couldn’t give a proper goodbye to Uncle Cole.

All of the Starks and Y/N watched as the carriage, horses and few men-at-arms disappeared. Eventually Lord and Lady Stark returned to the castle, but the children stayed by her side. Lyanna was holding her hand, Benjen slightly leaned on her other side, and behind her was Brandon’s strong presence. He was already so much taller than any of them.

Y/N thought her tears would have dried eventually, but they kept silently falling. She got tired of rubbing at her face with her sleeves, and she was glad no one was bringing attention to it, even if it was making Lyanna sniff at rub at her own eyes.

Y/N felt Brandon’s hand on her head, and while the gesture would normally annoy her, he wasn’t trying to tease her this time. As she looked up at him, Brandon almost looked sad.

“Manta rays shouldn’t be away from the sea for so long,” He said. “So you’ll have to be a wolf for now.”

“She’s too nice and pretty to be a she-wolf,” Benjen said.

Lyanna quickly asked, “What does that make me?”

“It won’t be for long.” Brandon said. Y/N couldn’t help but notice that for once, he seemed unsure with his words. He was usually so self-assured. The lordling gently touched her hair, where the pearl was tied in. “You’ll always have that to remember.”

Y/N looked down at the iridescent pearl, and while the silver glinted prettily in the sunlight, the pearl’s beauty was something else. It was a little bigger than  her thumb. It wouldn’t be her only pearl, but it was her first, and her father did away with several before finding this one for her. It was almost a perfect sphere, almost.

Brandon seemed done with sentiment for the day. He didn’t wait for an answer as he turned away. “I’m going to practice. Lyanna, your face is going to stick like that if you keep making a stupid face.”

“Your face is already stuck with stupid, Bran!” Lyanna retorted hotly, then added, “And use your sword like a sword when you practice today, yesterday you flailed it like a reed!”

Y/N laughed as she rubbed the last of the tears from her eyes. Benjen said, “There’s some snow up on the walls, want to make snowballs?”

“Yes, and throw them!”

“At what?” Y/N asked. “Each other? Our dresses will get wet.”

“So we’ll throw them at someone not in a dress.” Lyanna looked at Brandon’s retreating figure pointedly. She pulled up her skirt to her calves, always the one who had to get a head start, even if it wasn’t a race. “Come on! I know the fastest way!”

#game of thrones x reader #ned stark x reader #game of thrones imagines #ned stark #salt & snow #libra fics

[loubuggins]

Girlfriend

A/N: This story was inspired by an idea given to me by @zuppizup. Thank you, friend! As always, please read and review! 

Summary: The misunderstanding that he was sure would have come around at some point in their relationship and here it was. The inevitable cultural clash. “Rayla, do you know what girlfriend means?”

The first time she heard the word, it had caught her off guard. She and Callum were sitting on the steps leading to the Dragon Queen’s chamber, going about their usual verbal sparring.

“There's no way me ears are that big.” She scolded him as she glared at the open pages of his journal. She looked pointedly at his latest creation, a sketch of her petting Zym in the very spot they were currently sitting in. He had been adding details to the drawing while they cuddled together, enjoying the rare moment of quiet.

“I didn’t make them big.” He defended himself. “Only pointed, because they are.”

The elf shook her head in disapproval. “Ya made them almost as long as me head!”

For added emphasis, she waved a hand beside her face, gesturing to her actual ears. The boy looked up from his drawing and studied her for a second. His green eyes darkened as he concentrated on the body part in question. His stare was a little unnerving to the girl, but he seemed to either ignore or simply not notice the way she began to squirm and awkwardly try to catch his gaze. After what felt like hours, the young artist looked back to his page. His eyes then flickered back and forth between his sketch and his muse. She could practically see the gears turning in his mind as he took her critique seriously and compared his work with the real thing.

His lips finally parted as he appeared to be preparing a retort, but whatever he was about to say was cut off by the sudden interruption of one of their friends.

“Hey, Callum!” The familiar voice of Soren, a Crown Guard, called out to them from across the foyer. In his large arms, he held baskets filled with bread and fruits. “Quit flirting with your girlfriend and come help me feed the troops!”

The younger boy blushed and sighed as he closed his book. “Duty calls.” He mumbled to her, a hint of an apology behind his words. He handed her the leather-bound pages and placed a quick kiss on her cheek before standing up to meet Soren outside. She returned his gesture with a small smile and watched him go.

It had only been a few days since the final battle against Viren and his mutated army. Many of those who had fought in the battle were still camping at the base of the Storm Spire. The Spire itself could only house so many people, not to mention how difficult it would be for Callum and Ibis to perform the special breathing spell on all those people. So they found it best to let the armies rest on the ground before they returned to their proper homes. Thanks to Callum’s new ability to sprout wings where his arms should be, it had made traveling from the top of the Spire down to the ground and back up again much quicker than taking the endless stairs. However, his skill also meant he had to be gone at different times throughout the day, which made alone time all the more difficult.

But their lack of bonding time was not what gripped her thoughts as she sat alone on the top step. Instead, there was a word that the older blonde had used that replayed in her mind on a loop.

Girlfriend?

The word made no sense. Sure it may be easier to say than “the girl who is your friend” or “your friend that happens to be a girl.” But it still sounded wrong. Besides, she was not just Callum’s friend. She had it on a pretty solid record that her relationship with the human mage was well beyond that of just being friends. Perhaps Soren was just unaware of the change in their status? It seemed hard to believe, even for someone as slow to the mark as Soren. They weren’t hiding their relationship and Callum always seemed so eager to tell people that they were now “a thing” as he referred to it.

“But why else would he call me Callum’s girlfriend?”

The question nagged at her as she left her spot and went to return her love’s sketchbook to his room for safekeeping.

~#~#~

She had honestly forgotten about the word after that. At some point in her thinking, she had finally decided that it was no more than just Soren’s playful teasing of the teenage prince and left it at that. She had meant to ask Callum about it later, but when he finally returned, the question had slipped her mind.

It was not until two days later that she remembered and this time, the strange word was used by Callum himself. It was deliberate too. The humans were preparing to leave the Spire and begin their journey back to the human kingdoms. It was her first time back on the ground since she first climbed the steep steps of the mountain with Callum, Ezran, and Zym. Callum had wanted to come to say his goodbyes and had invited her along. She did not know many humans, but she was familiar with a few by this point. She especially wanted to spend every second she still could with Callum’s brother, who had become like a little brother to her as well. So she had agreed to join him, even if leaving Zym was making her anxious.

When they had first arrived at the temporary camp, they helped with the packing. Though Ezran was a King now and Callum was still a Prince, they all still felt the need to lend a helping hand in the cleanup. As the three were working on wrapping up a tent, they were interrupted by a group of somewhat familiar-looking humans. Corvus she remembers, the burly brown man kept his confident stance beside a woman leading them toward the three kids. She could not name the woman, but her white robes and pointed look made her seem like someone of significance. On the woman’s other side was Callum’s Aunt Amaya, who Rayla probably knew best among the group. She respected the general and she was glad that the feeling seemed mutual now.

Ezran was the first to look up and acknowledge them. He greeted them with a polite smile and nod, stopping what he had been doing to meet up with them. Rayla stared at them for a moment, then shrugged and went back to helping Callum fold the fabric of the tent. She figured it was just “Kingly Business” that did not concern her. That was until the woman in white called out Callum’s name. They had just put away the remainder of the tent, so the prince moved to join the other humans. On instinct, Rayla moved to follow him, then quickly stopped herself. This was probably a human thing. Part of his royal duties. It was strange to think of him like royalty. Sure she would frequently mock his royal title, but to her, he was just Callum. An up and coming mage who loved to joke around, doodle in his book, and talk about his feelings. He was her best friend and the only person she has ever fallen in love with. He was a prince, yes, but she saw him as so much more.

She was surprised when he stopped just a few steps ahead of her and turned to give her an expectant smile. He even held out his hand to her, waiting for her to come along. She was not sure if she was actually welcomed to participate in whatever conversation the humans were having, but Callum made it clear that he would not be joining them without her. With a grin on her face, she ran up beside him and eagerly took his hand into hers.

They approached the group of adults together, stopping to stand at Ezran’s side. Rayla studied their faces to try and gauge their reactions to seeing her. Corvus looked perplexed as he stared at her and Callum’s intertwined hands, but he did not seem to disapprove. Amaya gave the young couple a knowing look instead, along with a small smile. The only person Rayla has yet to meet was the blonde woman who had called them over here, but if she was surprised to see an elf and a human holding hands, she did not show it.

“Prince Callum,” the older woman greeted respectfully, adding a short bow that made Rayla feel slightly awkward. “I am saddened to hear you will not be returning to Katolis with us.”

The boy gave her a polite nod in return. “I wish I could come back and help Ezran, but we’ve talked about it and we agree I am more needed here.”

The woman nodded in understanding. “Yes, with your new elf companion.” Her eyes fell on the elf in question. “Well, I hope you know she is welcome to return with you. Do not feel that you must stay behind to be with her.”

Rayla’s hand tightened around Callum’s and her friendly demeanor began to crack. Heat rose in the boy’s cheeks and he quickly exchanged a look with his elven counterpart.

“Oh erm uh, thank you Opeli, I’m glad to hear that. But the main reason we are staying is to take care of Zym. Rayla and I will be putting together a new Dragon Guard. I’m also going to try learning some more magic while I’m here too.”

Opeli regarded the couple thoughtfully, their discomfort clearly unknown to the advisor. “Of course. Might I add, Prince Callum, that your friend and I have not been formally introduced.”

“Oh, right!” The boy looked apologetic as he gestured his free hand over to the girl at his side. “Rayla, this is Opeli. She’s a royal advisor to the King and a member of Ezran’s council.” He then waved his hand over to the blonde. “Opeli, this is Rayla, my...girlfriend.”

He said the word slowly as if he were tasting the word on his lips and enjoying hearing the sound of it. His chest swelled and his posture straightened as he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. The silly mage was practically beaming and for what Rayla did not understand. For she was incredibly pissed.

~#~#~

“Girlfriend, eh? Is that really all you see me as?”

She had been giving him the cold shoulder since their conversation with Ezran’s royal council and Callum had been trying to fix whatever he had said or done wrong to upset her so much ever since. But the poor prince was struggling to get it out of her all day. At least until they reached her empty room in the Storm Spire, where she finally felt comfortable enough to voice her frustrations. Though Callum still wore a look of utter confusion as she glared at him with her arms crossed over her chest, awaiting his response.

But all he could sputter out was a befuddled “What?”

Rayla let out an indignant sigh. “I know us being together is weird to people.” She began as she started pacing the room. “ I know not everyone is going to approve. It will be plenty hard for me to tell Ethari and the rest of Silvergrove about us, but I wasn’t going to lie to them, Callum. I was going to tell them the truth about us, even if I'd be the first elf in history to be ghosted twice!” She came to a halt just inches in front of him and held up two fingers for added emphasis.

“Wait, Rayla, what are you talking about?” He blinked at her as his mind raced to keep up.

“I’m talking about how I love you enough that I’m not afraid of others knowing about it. And up until now, I thought that you weren’t either, but clearly, I was wrong.” She bit back as she folded her arms again. This time her angry stare came with a few tears pulling in the corners of her eyes, threatening to roll down her flushed cheeks.

Callum hated seeing her like this. He did not understand what was causing her so much anguish, but he could not stand being a part of it. He felt his own anger begin to bubble up in his chest, but it was more so at himself than at her.

“Rayla, what do you mean? Of course, I’m not afraid of that! I was the one who asked you if we should tell the Dragon Queen just a week ago! And I told Ez, and my Aunt Amaya, and Ibis, and...and...Rayla I’ve told everyone about us!” He flailed his hands in the air as he looked on to her with exasperation.

His dramatic flair did nothing to dampen her hardened glare. “Yes, but only as your girlfriend.” She stressed out the friend part of the word with the venom of a Soulfang.

Callum blinked at her, his baffled look not leaving his face. “Yes, my girlfriend. What else would I call you? Is there some Moonshadow elf word for girlfriend I should know about?”

The elf gave him an indignant scuff. “We simply call it ‘a friend.’” She bit back in retort.

The mage just stared at her and his voice dropped low. “But Rayla, you’re so much more to me than just a friend.”

Rayla’s hard stare faltered silently at the shift of his tone. She shuffled her weight and crossed her arms over her chest. With her eyes downcast, she spoke up again, softly this time, “If I am, then why do ya keep callin’ me your friend?”

Callum straightened and his mouth fell a gap. He stood there silently searching for the right words in response to her admission. Friend. How could she possibly think that she was just a friend to him? Of course, they were friends, best friends in fact! But they were also something so much more.

“Girlfriend, Rayla. You’re my girl...wait.” And then it dawned on him. The real reason this argument had come about. The misunderstanding that he was sure would have come around at some point in their relationship and here it was. The inevitable cultural clash. “Rayla, do you know what girlfriend means?”

“Of course I know what it means. I’m not daft!” She objected before quickly adding, “It means a girl who is your friend.”

Callum’s face instantly morphed with understanding, a relieved grin spreading across his lips. “No, it means the exact opposite.”

It was Rayla’s turn to look dumbfounded. “What?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but stopped short. He thought about it for a moment, trying to decide the best way for him to explain. “Girlfriend is what someone calls the girl they love.” He started, looking back up at her with an affectionate glint in his eyes. “The girl they have a ‘thing’ with.” He pointed between the both of them. “Don’t elves have a word like that?”

The elf stood astonished for a moment, simply staring wide-eyed at the human boy. Then his words finally soaked in. Her cheeks felt hot as a crimson blush crept it’s way up her neck. She quickly averted her gaze and rubbed the length of her forearms.

“Well, now I feel stupid.” She admitted in a small voice.

Callum’s grin fell as he caught on to her embarrassment. Closing the space between them, he gently ran his hands over her wrists and pulled her crossed arms apart. He slid his fingers over the back of her palms and intertwined their fingers together.

“I’ve never heard someone be referred to as a girlfriend before, but I know Ethari used to call Runaan ‘my heart’ and my parents used to call each other ‘my love.’” Rayla explained, visibly relaxing under his touch. The boy simply smiled reassuringly as he listened to her. “Calling someone yours is the most endearing you get. At least to a Moonshadow Elf.”

“I’m sorry, Rayla.”

Her head snapped up at that. “Sorry? For what?”

“I should have asked you if it was okay, to call you my girlfriend that is. I was just so excited by the idea of actually having a girlfriend and one as beautiful and amazing as you are! And everyone else was calling you my girlfriend so I guess I just started using it too.”

She nodded in understanding. “I should have asked about it earlier. But I had honestly forgotten about it until today. I don’t mind being your girlfriend, Callum.”

The boy perked up at that.

“Now that I know what it means.” She quickly added.

His smile returned and he gave her hands a loving squeeze. “Well, maybe I should call you something from your culture, my heart.” He flashed her a toothy grin.

She shuddered and shook her head. “Bleh no, that’s way too sappy.”

Her disgusted expression earned her a laugh from her prince. “Well, now I’ve got to call you that.” He teased as he pulled her closer and gave her a flirtatious waggle of his eyebrows.

She scoffed at him, yanking her hands back and taking a step back. She tried to shoot him the deadliest glare she could muster in that moment, which was only slightly scary. “Don’t.”

Her command only made him laugh even harder. The sound of his laughter filled the room and made her heart feel lighter.

“Okay, fine, but I will find something that you’ll like.” He declared with an unusual amount of confidence.

“Good luck with that.” She deadpanned as she turned to walked away, but she was stopped by the rise in his voice.

“Wait!” He called out and she paused to look back at him over her shoulder.

“What are you going to call me?” He asked as he caught up to her.

“I call you lots of things.” She offered before smirking at him. “But maybe I’ll try boyfriend.”

He blushed. “Ha, more like manfriend.” He joked while lifting his arm to show off his lean muscles that he had been building since the start of their journey.

His girlfriend rolled her eyes and nudged his side, but laughter still escaped her lips.

“Stupid Prince.”

#the dragon prince #rayllum #tdp rayla #tdp callum #tdp #rayla #callum #tdp rayllum #fanfics #my fanfics #one-shot #humor

[athingthatwantsvirginia]

Not Joyce or Monet

PART THIRTY-NINE OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: major discussions of parent death/death in general, smoking, drinking, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 6.3K

Summary: Jess publishes his second book and Ella receives a troubling call from Stars Hollow.

Flopping face-first down onto the bed, Ella breathed a sigh of relief. It would have felt strange not to have a little champagne at Jess’s book launch party. But, she was a lightweight. She was floating somewhere between tipsy, buzzed, and drunk. At least she was still capable of slipping off her shoes before making her way to the bedroom. She’d even managed to change into pajamas, brush her teeth, and wash her face. A far cry from the screwdriver incident at Liz’s baby shower. A heavy winter snow fell outside the windows and a touch of cold air seeped into the draughty apartment. Goosebumps rose lightly on her skin. In her state, they felt nice instead of uncomfortable. She was already dozing when Jess came in, having taken a quick shower. His hair was still damp as he climbed into bed next to her, the movement shaking her from her haze.

“Did you like your party?” she murmured, watching as he shut off the lamp and rolled over to face her.

His face was aglow with the bluish light of the snowy Saturday evening. “Mhm.”

She snickered a bit at his nonchalance. “I know you hate parties, but Chris insisted it was the best way to drum up business. And you do like surprises, Mr. Spontaneity. Matthew and I made it as lowkey as we could.”

“It wasn’t so bad, Eleanor. Really,” he said, shrugging. “You’re remembering that you whispered lines from Catch-22 in my ear all night, right?”

“I figured you’d need some Joseph Heller to make it through,” she explained, slightly sheepish.

Jess smiled. “Of course. And watching Chris and Leo get so drunk they do their acapella version of ‘Under Pressure’ could never be bad.”

“Leo does do a damn good Freddie Mercury,” Ella agreed, chuckling. “I didn’t realize the publishing agents would all go blackout level, too.”

“Oh, yeah. You should’ve seen what Chris did for the Subsect launch. It was like that scene where E.T. gets drunk. But if there were fifty aliens in the movie instead of just one,” Jess said flatly, begrudgingly.

“You must be a little drunk if you’re letting a cheesy eighties movie slip. Or have I finally converted you?” she teased, snuggling deeper into the pillow.

Jess smirked. “Not yet. Chris made me try his Manhattans to see if they ‘tasted too much like gasoline.’”

“I have a sneaking suspicion that they did,” Ella said.

“Someone give the lady a prize,” Jess shot back tiredly. “Good thing we walked there.”

“Yeah. And good thing I got to watch you catch a snowflake with your tongue on the way back.”

“Shut up.”

“Hey, don’t be embarrassed, cutie,” she said, forcing her laughter down. “I’ll be eating my words when you watch me fall on my ass while we’re ice-skating with April.”

She knew if he’d been entirely sober, he wouldn’t have gotten so caught up in his wonderment at the storm. But Ella had also seen him sticking out his tongue awaiting a snowflake in an old, yellowing photo album Liz had shown off during her baby shower. In it, Jess had been no more than three. Dressed in a raggedy winter jacket on some grimy corner of New York City. He and Liz were sticking their tongues out together. Seeing the photo had given Ella’s mouth a bittersweet taste. It was hard to imagine Jess ever feeling so relaxed around his mother. She saw the same rare awe from him on the walk home. Most of the time, he was so weighed down by the world he could barely come up for air. She thought she had never seen him look so young at heart before.

“Can’t wait,” Jess hummed, mocking. It was nearly time for April’s winter break, and Anna had somehow agreed to let her spend it with Luke, Lorelai, and Rory. Ella and Jess had opted to return to Stars Hollow for Christmas, after the bumps in the road on Thanksgiving. Two more days, and they’d be braving the icy roads on their way up to Connecticut. April had already called them to schedule a time for ice-skating. The proper, analytical way the little girl spoke never failed to amuse Ella.

“Me neither,” Ella quipped as her eyelids began to droop again. She could smell the minty scent of Jess’s shampoo.

As he watched her begin to drift off, he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead. From what Matthew had said, Ella had essentially been put in charge of the party when Chris’s trademark irresponsibility made an appearance. Matthew had jury duty and couldn’t assume his usual role of organizer in the wake of Chris’s chaotic decision-making. What she’d managed to throw together, though, was one of the better parties Jess had ever been to. The publishers they knew usually sent younger employees to the underground press launches, and Chris had ended up making friends with most of the usual suspects at the launch for Jess’s first book. Ella had made sure the guest list only included familiar faces. If they just had to throw him a surprise party, which Chris demanded (normally, she wouldn’t have listened, but if it was a matter of getting his book better exposure, she was willing to risk it), she’d try to make it as comfortable for him as possible. Or, at the very least, bearable.

And she’d just gotten done with finals two days earlier. He could see how tired she was. Her nerves over the possibility of seeing her father during the winter holidays hadn’t helped her sleeping recently either. Though Jess wasn’t sure how it would actually pan out, she claimed she wanted an attempt at apologizing for what she’d said at Adam’s graduation. She was sick of family nonsense, she said. Maybe if she levelled the playing field, they could begin to understand each other again. Ella herself wasn’t sure exactly what had sparked her desire to try again with her family, but suspected it might have been Thanksgiving. Jess, simply put, was someone she admired. Seeing him trying to mend his relationships (even though he didn’t have to, even though it was difficult), made her feel just a little more confident. Maybe not everything turned out bad, after all.

Shutting his own eyes, Jess slipped his hand beneath Ella’s shirt, his fingertips ghosting over her back. She smiled softly at his touch, feather-light. A pleasant shiver rolled through her.

“Thank you for the party,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“Well, thanks for writing my new favorite book,” she answered instantly, sleepy and sincere. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

.   .   .

There were still a couple hours left until lunchtime when Ella slipped through the door at Truncheon, but it wasn’t entirely uncommon for her to show up and work a little. Especially when she was on break from school and got antsy. Jess had debated giving her the easel he’d bought her for Christmas early, so she would have something new to focus on while he tied up the odds and ends at the book press. But, ultimately, he wanted to wait until the morning after they returned to Philadelphia. It would be far more surprising to wake up and find a Christmas present wrapped up in the living room on the morning of New Year’s Day than on the actual gift-giving holiday.

When he’d left for his last day of work prior to their trip to Connecticut, she’d still been half asleep. Her sketchbook was open on her bedside table, a pencil drawing of a child with hollow eyes having yet to be shaded. She’d been up late working on it the night before, on a roll. He hadn’t even shut the door to the apartment before she was out cold again. He’d been anxious to get back home, to pack and prepare for the trip. In his opinion, there was no use in only opening for a Monday and then closing for the holidays the rest of the week, but Matthew’s stickler spirit won out. Jess wasn’t going to be skipping around the store in merriment as the rest of the world took a vacation, but he also wasn’t moping around like Chris. He was in the midst of diffusing an argument between his two coworkers when Ella arrived.

He wanted to smile when he saw her, and almost did. But then he got a good look at her hazel eyes, and immediately he could tell something was wrong. It wasn’t that she was sleepy, though she looked a bit haggard in with her peacoat tied around her haphazardly and her hair wild, dotted with the snowflakes falling steadily outside. Instead, she looked almost unreachable. His Eleanor who was always so present and vivid and alive, even in the midst of drudgery. And she wasn’t daydreaming, either. She wasn’t off in her own thoughts, thinking of Emily Dickinson or James Joyce or Claude Monet. No; she was simply not there. Not really.

“Hey, honey. You’re early,” he began as she approached him, where he stood in between Matthew and Chris. The two of them didn’t even notice she’d come in until Jess addressed her, still too caught up in their argument over where to place the new books of free-form poetry.

Swallowing harshly, Ella gave a weak smile and raked her fingers through her hair. She walked up to them, wringing her hands together. Jess didn’t need to see her hands to know she had already bitten her nails down to the quick. At the interruption, Chris gave a frustrated huff and turned to Ella.

“Ella, please tell Matthew it makes zero sense to put the free-form poetry anywhere near the sonnets! They should be on opposite ends of the store, as far as I’m concerned,” he exclaimed in exasperation.

Matthew rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest as his jaw clenched. “I’m glad you’re here, Ella. Please tell Chris that we don’t only sell poetry, and free-form or not, it has no business anywhere near science fiction!”

Furrowing her brows, distracted, Ella shook her head. “Um...I don’t know...but I….”

“What?” Jess asked as she gestured slightly with her hands. Her face was pale, and she almost seemed confused, at a loss for words. It didn’t happen to her often, to say the least.

Blowing out a breath, she tried again, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder. “Back at the apartment...I just got a call from my brother. My dad’s dead.”

Jess’s heart dropped into his stomach. “What?”

“Yeah,” Ella said, nodding. As she continued, she took a hair elastic from her wrist and began pulling her locks into a ponytail. “Adam said he was in a car accident this morning. Driving home from some bar in Maryland. If I had to guess, he was still a little drunk from last night. No one else got hurt, which is good. He hit a patch of black ice, and he was going too fast, and I guess he just went right off the road. Into a tree. And he wasn’t wearing his seatbelt.”

Her speech became more urgent with every word, as they heard it sink in for her in real time. But she was never frantic, only determined and stern. The spacey fog was fading from her demeanor, though it remained in her eyes. Only in her eyes. She didn’t give them time to respond, just kept thinking out loud.

“Noah’s already on a plane from Oregon, but I don’t think he’s gonna be any help. And Adam said Fiona’s freaking out, so I’m almost definitely going to have to make the arrangements. I know you guys have work and stuff, but we need to pack up and get there before the rest of the family does, or everything will probably just explode on principle. Fuck! This is just like him. To die a week before Christmas!”

“Whoa, hey, Eleanor, just slow down for a second, okay?” Jess began, taking a hesitant step towards her and grabbing her hand. He squeezed once, hard, hoping to calm her down at least a little.

“Jesus, Ella-” Chris began.

“I’m so sorry,” Matthew said.

Ella shook her head, her face stoic. “Don’t, okay? Don’t be sorry. No one needs to be sorry. He was a fucking drunk, and it finally caught up with him. I just need to get back to Stars Hollow to take care of this, and then maybe Christmas won’t be completely ruined. Sound good?”

“Elle, just hold on. You should sit down and-” Jess said, but she cut him off.

“No, Jess. Seriously, I’m fine. Let’s just go and get it over with, and then it’ll be done,” she said, her hand never leaving his though she didn’t squeeze back. Her tone was tight, clipped, but she didn’t sound angry. He recognized it from the night on the bridge when she’d told him about the days following her mother’s death. The way she held it all together, and blocked it all out. Numb and headstrong.

“Do you want us to come with?” Matthew asked, watching with uncertainty as Ella began to tug Jess towards the door, grabbing his bag for him and handing him his coat.

“What? Of course not,” Ella said, insistent, as though it were obvious. “All I need to do is steal Jess for a few days. You need to do whatever it is you’re gonna do with Mabel. And Chris needs to do whatever it is he’s gonna do with Leo, and you need to tell me about it when we get back. I can pretty much guarantee your stories will be more fun than mine.”

“Are you sure?” Chris chimed in, brow heavy with worry. Her iciness surprised him. He had never heard someone react to a parent’s death quite so flippantly before.

“Yes. Jesus, Chris, keep up,” she replied, in a way which would have spurred a playful argument on a normal day. Again, her nonchalance unnerved all three of them.

Jess interlocked their fingers again instantly once he had his bag and his coat, almost heading out the door already. She was moving too fast for him to process much of anything, only reacting. He hadn’t seen her in such a frenzy in a very long time. “Eleanor, wait. Stop.”

“I can’t stop, Jess. I told you, we’ve gotta get there before my uncle has time to hit on Fiona and before Noah has time to piss off Adam. It’s fine. I promise. I’m fine.”

He opened his mouth to respond, but she pulled him out the front door instead. As they went, she shouted over her shoulder to Matthew and Chris: “Happy holidays! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

And then, she and Jess were gone. Chris and Matthew exchanged concerned, flabbergasted glances.

.   .   .

Flashback was the word that came to the forefront of her mind, as she stared up at the ceiling in the Gilmore living room. Luke and Lorelai were trying, and she appreciated it. They could both tell she didn’t want to talk about it, only wanted a bit of normalcy after the long day. And they’d obliged. After all, they’d had practice. Lorelai knew exactly what to do. She’d had Luke bring dinner home from the diner: turkey sandwiches and sodas. She’d suggested they watch a movie after dinner, something campy horror. Finally, they had settled on The Lost Boys. Ella knew how much Jess hated the movie, especially Kiefer Sutherland’s mullet, but he never complained once. A large part of her wished he would. She wanted it to be the way it was supposed to be. She wanted to have Christmas in Stars Hollow with the people who felt more like her family than her father did. Adam celebrating with one of his school friends in Boston, Fiona with her sister, Noah with his finacée in Oregon. But, of course, things never went as planned. Not in Ella’s experience at least.

At some point during the movie, she’d fallen asleep on the couch. No matter how much she wanted to stay awake until the end, she couldn’t keep her eyes open. Dealing with Fiona’s blubbering and Adam’s silence and Noah’s anger had pretty well exhausted her. Not to mention the business setting up the funeral at the church. She’d spent nearly two hours with the pastor, but the service was only halfway planned. She wished Aunt Julie could arrive sooner, but the girls were in school until Tuesday. Erin had some big recital she was pitching a fit about missing. Ella couldn’t blame her. She wouldn’t want to be there if she didn’t have to be. No, they would arrive on Wednesday morning. Two hours before the funeral, set for noon. At some point before then, Ella would have to sort out the flower arrangements and the music and the programs. At least Luke was providing the food. She assumed he would before he even offered. And she would have to write the eulogy. But she wasn’t even thinking about it yet. Every time the idea of writing it entered her mind, she would start humming a Stevie Nicks song and pointedly ignore it.

It was all too familiar. The planning, the writing, the consoling. Since they’d arrived in Stars Hollow that afternoon, it had been a non stop barrage of tasks and tears. None of it was surprising. And it almost made her want to laugh. The minute she heard that her mother was dead, she had burst out laughing, a nervous reaction she couldn’t control. Granted, the laughter came from deep inside her, and probably resembled a pained shriek more than an actual giggle. But it was laughter nonetheless, and her father had recognized it as such. He’d yelled at her until his voice became hoarse. She knew it wouldn’t happen again. He was the dead one now, after all. But still, she didn’t let the anxious laughter escape. She didn’t let anything escape. After the punishment she’d received for letting go last time, she knew not to do it again. No one was there to smack her, to scream, but she just couldn’t bring herself to forget how it had felt. Like she couldn’t even grieve right. And the best way to grieve became to not grieve at all.

She laid with one hand on her stomach and the other behind her head, analyzing the popcorn ceiling. She’d awoken with the room dim and the TV shut off. A quilt which she hadn’t fallen asleep under was draped over her, and there were hushed whispers in the direction of the kitchen. She hadn’t planned to wake up until morning, but she hadn’t planned to fall asleep there either. They were supposed to be sleeping in the apartment above the diner for the vacation, while Rory and April took the spare beds in the Gilmore house. But neither girl had yet to arrive, and Lorelai insisted Ella and Jess stay over after dinner. It was no use driving over in the snow, even if Luke’s was only about a minute away. Ella couldn’t believe how similar it all was to before. Sleeping alone on the Gilmore couch as others worried over her a few feet away.

She listened, in spite of herself. It was too tempting not to eavesdrop when she’d already heard her name so many times. Luke was concerned about her forgetting to eat. Lorelai was concerned about her shutting everyone out and being overwhelmed by the funeral preparations. And both of them were concerned about her coming to blows with Fiona at some point in the next few days.

Sighing, Ella ran her tongue over her teeth and remembered she hadn’t brushed them. She debated not doing so, but decided to just bite the bullet. With everything else on her mind, she thought it best to eliminate all the outward elements which might impede her from getting back to sleep. She rolled over on her side, preparing to sit up, when she saw Jess. She thought he’d be in the kitchen, talking with Luke and Lorelai. Instead, he sat on the floor with his back against the sofa. His head was near hers, leaned back. His eyes were closed, but he wasn’t snoring. She doubted he was fully asleep, but nonetheless attempted to get past him and rummage through the bag on the armchair to find her toothbrush. Her stealth proved lacking, however, when he began to stir as soon as she reached the bag.

“Hey,” he said quietly, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands and doing his best to seem lively. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied, fishing her toothbrush out from the sea of clothes she’d thrown into the duffel before they sped away from the apartment in Philadelphia. “I just forgot to brush my teeth.”

“Oh,” he said, nodding and hoisting himself up. His neck was already sore from the position he’d dozed off in, unwilling to follow Luke and Lorelai into the kitchen with Ella asleep on the couch. “Me too. I’ll come with.”

She nodded back, grabbing his toothbrush as well. The whispers didn’t cease until they made their way into the kitchen, Luke and Lorelai looking up at their entrance. Ella debated using the upstairs bathroom, not disturbing the two of them. But she didn’t have the energy to climb the stairs, and it would be the first time she could get a good look at the new half-bathroom they added next to Rory’s room. The smell of the diner food lingered, and it made Ella’s chest feel just a touch less tight. Lorelai broke out into a small smile at the sight of the two of them.

“You need anything, sweetie?” she asked, speaking only to Ella.

Though she felt a bit uncomfortable under everyone’s gaze, Ella smiled back. There was a warmth in her stomach at Lorelai’s voice. She focused on that feeling, and only that feeling. “No, we’re fine. Just brushing our teeth. The dentist would be pissed at me if I broke the pattern after over twenty years.”

“That’s true. Always best to avoid the Sweeney Todd dentistry possibility,” Lorelai agreed, nodding. Then, she yawned theatrically and looked at Luke, who only rolled his eyes at the dramatics. “I think we’re gonna head upstairs. It’s past our bedtime.”

“Still got those four o’clock deliveries, huh?” Jess asked sullenly, eyeing Luke. Many a morning when he was a teenager, he’d been awoken at half past three by the sound of Luke’s alarm.

Luke sighed. “For the business that housed and fed you for two years? Yeah, I do.”

Ella snorted a laugh, and nudged Jess playfully in the ribs. “Like you’re not always up before the sun, even on Saturday.”

“Where do you think that started?” Jess shot back, pointing an accusatory finger at Luke. “He screwed with my internal clock for life!”

“I think that’s enough fuel for future therapy sessions for tonight,” Lorelai announced, rising from the table, Luke following.

“Agreed,” Luke grumbled.

As they exchanged goodnights, Lorelai gave Ella a kiss on the cheek. Immediately after, she scrunched up her nose and smudged the lipstick from Ella’s freckled skin with her thumb. To Ella’s shock, Lorelai also gave Jess a short hug before making for the stairs. Luke hugged Jess,  too. The two of them still had trouble showing physical affection for each other, as they probably always would. Ella had to stifle a laugh at the awkwardness between them.

When Luke hugged Ella, though, she felt tears prick at her eyes for the first time all day. She recognized his familiar smell, the soft feeling of his flannel, his strong arms around her. Somewhere in her mind, it occurred to her that the way it felt for Luke to hug her was what she had always wanted it to feel like when her own father hugged her. And she knew for sure she would never get it from him. She could finally be certain there was nothing left to do to repair her relationship with him. There was no time left for Jake to make her feel as safe as Luke made her feel. As he never had, even in her childhood. But by the time she and Luke broke apart, she had gathered herself enough. She cleared her throat and blinked away the glassy sheen in her eyes.

Luke ruffled her hair as he stepped back from her. If he saw that she was upset, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll get everything figured out tomorrow.”

“I know, boss,” she replied.

.   .   .

The cigarette smoke made her a bit nauseous, but it was also comforting in a way she was slightly ashamed of. The winter air was crisp and biting, and her cheeks were frosted roses. Embers glowed orange in the darkness as she took a long drag, burning her lungs. She was already regretting it, but she simply felt too tired to think out the actual consequences of what she was doing. She had tried. She really had. But falling asleep, with Jess snoring softly beneath her as they lay on the couch, was absolutely impossible. Fatigue was weighing down her bones, and there was a perpetual ache throbbing behind her eyes. But each time she got close to sleep, the thought of her father would flash across her mind, and she would be wide awake once more.

Once she gave up, she had managed to sneak outside unnoticed. The wind whispered past her, hollow and haunting. But maybe everything was feeling spookier because death was at the forefront of her mind. Then again, when wasn’t it? Though the shock had certainly hit her with full force when she heard the news, she couldn’t bring herself to be surprised. The other shoe had dropped. She knew it would, just when she let her guard down. The moment she forgot to worry, the universe had knocked her down again. She flicked her cigarette and watched the excess ash melt a small spot in the snow below the steps.

At the sound of the front door creaking open, she startled only a little. For a wild moment, she wanted to put her cigarette out and hide it behind her back, pretending to be innocent. Especially if it was Luke. But she had to remember she was a grown up. And the feeling disappeared entirely when she saw only a disheveled Jess wrapping himself up in his jacket as he came out onto the porch and sat down next to her.

“You’re gonna catch a cold out here,” he remarked, holding her peacoat out to her.

She took it with a trembling hand.

“Thank you,” she said solemnly, breathing out a long stream of smoke as she spoke. The coat was old and cheap, and did little to help a Connecticut winter, but she shrugged it on anyway.

He nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. “Don’t mention it.”

They sat in silence, an owl hooting somewhere in the trees beyond the house. Ella didn’t put the cigarette out until it got so small it began to burn her fingers. After she’d discarded it, her breath still puffed out, along with Jess’s, in frigid white clouds. Flurries of snow fell in scattered sprays, but the night was mostly quiet and overcast. Jess crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

She spoke, as he knew she eventually would, after a few more minutes. Gesturing down to the crushed cigarette, her tired eyes met his. “Do you want one?”

“No, thanks,” he said, shaking his head. “Where’d you get those in the middle of the night in Stars Hollow, anyway?”

A thin smirk ghosted over her lips. “Snatched ‘em off Bootsy’s newsstand.”

“Really?” he asked, laughing slightly, with eyebrows raised.

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Don’t act so surprised, Mariano. I was sneaking out of my bedroom window long before you got here.”

“Touché.” His eyes lingered on her, hair glistening golden in the soft light and eyes still far off somewhere miles away. He hesitated before he continued. “Did you walk all the way to Bootsy’s without a coat?”

She shrugged, glancing down at the Doc Martens on her feet. “I’m fine. I had my good shoes on. Besides, it’s only like a minute away.”

“Alright.”

“Seriously, Jess. I’m fine,” she snapped after a moment.

“Okay. I get it,” he said instantly. “You’re fine. You’re not cold.”

Ella ran her hands through her hair. Her body shook as she yawned.

“You wanna go back to bed?” he asked.

“No,” she said with a heavy sigh.

“Are you sure?”

“Jesus, Jess! Stop trying to take care of me! Stop asking me questions! Just let me fucking sit here!” Ella exclaimed, huffing in frustration.

Jess recoiled slightly, and he nodded at her again. He ran a hand over his mouth and swallowed down the million other questions which were rising in his throat. The ones she’d refused to ask on the drive up, and the ones she apparently still wanted to avoid. “Sorry.”

She rolled her eyes, mostly at herself. “No, I’m...I’m sorry. I’m just tired. I couldn’t fall asleep.”

“We don’t have to sleep if you don’t want to. We could watch one of Lorelai’s cassettes in there,” Jess suggested, fighting hard to keep his tone light, bracing for whatever reaction she was going to have.

“I love that she still has cassettes,” Ella said wistfully, though not smiling. Her voice was low and raspy as she stared out ahead of her into the darkness and the lightly falling snow.

He nodded a little. “I know you do.”

Ella’s hands were itching to hold another cigarette, but she fought the urge. The pack which sat on the porch steps next to her would almost certainly be crumpled up and thrown in the trash the moment she reentered the house. Along with the lighter. But it was nice to have them there. If she wanted. They sat wordlessly, listening to the rustle of the wind in the evergreen trees. Jess didn’t make a sound. He was just far away enough not to touch her, almost in silent askance of whether she wanted space. She did. And she didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to talk almost as much as she didn’t want to write the eulogy. She wanted to be able to push down the sorrow and the rage until they just dissolved and she was as happy as she had been just a day earlier. Yesterday, she may have even been hopeful. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt hopeful about her family. But, now, she had to stop herself from reaching for a cigarette yet again. And she felt herself wanting a drink. A drink stronger than champagne at a book launch. And then the words started flowing before she could overthink them, before she could lock them away in her heart forever.

She swallowed thickly, looking down into her lap at her nail-bitten hands. “This is just like it was the last time.”

“Oh yeah?” he whispered, shifting a bit closer to her.

“Yeah,” she echoed, so quiet he almost couldn’t hear. She sniffed. “I mean, last time my dad was the devastated one instead of Fiona. But Adam still got pissed at Noah, and Noah only got more pissed because Adam was mad at him.”

Noah had only made it to town an hour before Ella left to go back to the Gilmore residence for the night, but he and Adam were at each other’s throats pretty much as soon as they saw each other. Upset that his Christmas vacation was being disrupted, Noah had insisted on staying at a motel instead of at the little blue house in which they had grown up. Adam wasn’t happy about it, accusing Noah of acting as though he was too good for them. In turn, Noah asked Adam why he wasn’t mad at Ella for staying with Lorelai. Adam had shot back immediately, saying Noah had abandoned the entire family the minute he could, while Ella stayed behind. At that point, Ella knew there was no way to diffuse the situation. She’d only offered to walk back with Noah to the motel, leaving Adam to sleep in his old room. Luckily, Fiona’s sister was already in town for the holiday. So, it didn’t wholly fall to any of the three of them to console her.

Jess and Luke had both offered to go over to the house with her after helping with the arrangements, but she’d insisted on meeting her brothers there alone. The surreality of the moment didn’t dawn on her until she saw Adam’s teary eyes and Noah’s flushed face. It was like she had stepped into the past. She’d come back to the Gilmore house to find Jess sitting in the living room, halfway through the Russian novel he’d brought with. In the face of his questions, she’d only given him the liner notes and then fallen mostly silent for the rest of the evening.

“And Lorelai and Luke won’t let me brush my teeth without asking me if I need anything,” Ella continued, with a scoff in her words. “And, I love them. I do. And I’m so fucking grateful that it hurts. But, I’m fine. I’m totally fucking fine.”

“So I’ve heard,” he quipped.

“You’re hilarious.”

“I’ve heard that, too,” he said.

She laughed breathily, lifting her head to look up at the sky. “Shut up.”

“Will do.”

Then, after a moment: “I just wish...I wish it wasn’t like this. I mean, he was a shitty dad. But he was still my dad.”

He watched as she chose her words, carefully. Her voice had more emotion than he’d heard all day. Bringing his arm around her shoulders, he hoped to lessen the trembling of her hands just a little. She leaned into him, letting herself feel his warmth but fighting the wateriness in her voice. Of all the things she didn’t want to do, crying was at the top of the list.

“And now...I don’t have parents. I don’t even have a dad who hates me and never calls,” she continued.

“He didn’t hate you,” Jess interjected.

She shook her head. “Yeah, he did, Jess. He fucking hated me. Because I looked like my mom and I didn’t like Fiona and I wouldn’t quit talking back at the dinner table. But it doesn’t bother me. I hated him most of the time, too.”

He hummed in response, listening.

Her face crumpled for only a moment. But, again, she regained her composure. A couple silent tears threatened to slip over. “But at least I had someone to hate, y’know? Now, it’s just...no one.”

She took in a shaky breath, and Jess began to rub circles over her back. He recognized that her shivering was no longer due to the cold but from the sobs she wouldn’t let loose. Ella’s stomach did a flip, as she clenched her hands into fists. But she just couldn’t hold it in any longer. She let a single wimper pass her lips. And then, the levee broke. She put her head in her hands and finally began to weep, cries from deep within her escaping at last.

“I just...I don’t have p-parents anymore,” she spoke through sobs, trying to get her voice under control but failing miserably. “I’m not anyone’s daughter anymore. I don’t belong to anyone anymore.”

Jess shut his eyes for a moment, feeling a crack in his heart as he heard her anguish. But a part of him was relieved she was finally letting it out. He knew not all of her tears were for her father, but for her mother as well. He’d never seen her cry so hard before, so hard she couldn’t catch her breath and she was beginning to feel sick to her stomach. She stopped being able to talk after a while, only crying, folding in on herself.

“I...I don’t...belong to anyone anymore,” she repeated.

Gnawing on his bottom lip again, Jess smoothed an affectionate hand over her hair. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. Though he couldn’t see her face, Ella felt her cheeks heat up at his seeing her sob so openly. Jess spoke in a clear, strong tone.

“Listen, Eleanor, I know it feels like you’re alone without them, but that’s not true, okay?” he said.

She let out a tearful scoff.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m serious,” Jess continued, placing a hand on her damp cheek and turning her face gently so she would look at him.

She wanted to avoid his eyes, embarrassed, but simply couldn’t bring herself to look anywhere else. The sight of him almost made her physically relax.

An earnest crease stood out between his eyebrows when he spoke again. “You belong to me, and I belong to you. That’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it?”

She stared at him for a moment, stunned at his words, as tears kept rolling steadily down her cheeks. But then, her lip began to quiver and she closed her eyes. Jess was worried she was about to get angry again. But instead, she slumped weakly against him. He could feel her tears begin to wet the neckline of his t-shirt as she rested her head on his chest. Breathing out long and slow, Jess wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t know whether his words had helped, but he was doubtful. No amount of talking was going to make her feel any better. He couldn’t crack a joke or start a playful argument or do a magic trick. He could only be there. He simply sat and held her against the wind.

#gilmore girls #gilmore girls au #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls oc #jess mariano #jess mariano x oc #jess mariano oc fanfiction #jess mariano au #jess mariano x original character #oc fanfiction #luke danes #lorelai gilmore

[saiilorstars]

Metamorphosis

Ch. 3: Reborn

Current Masterlist // Previous Story  // Masterlist of all OCs

Fandom: Doctor Who // Pairing: 11th Doctor x Female OC

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother @anotherunreadblog @maaaaarveeeeel​ @stareyedplanet @perfectlystiles

[If you would like to be added to this specific OC’s taglist, let me know!]

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Chapter summary: Renata and the Doctor finally return to pick up their companion, Gabby Gonzalez. While Renata gathers her things from Zhe's gallery, the Doctor makes one trip to the past to say goodbye to...Renata?

Gabriella Gonzalez was deep in her sketching book. She had come to sit in the garden of their good friend Zhe. Being an eccentric alien garden, Gabby was often inspired to make doodles and drawings of what was in it. Huge statues lined the cobblestone pathway. Not even the beautiful sparkly blue grass would make anyone take their eyes off the statues. Gabby's own statue—her first statue ever since she learned how to wield the Block Transfer—of Renata as the Vortex Butterfly proudly stood at the front. It was that statue that kept pulling Gabby's attention off her sketchbook every now and then.

She was doodling Renata and the Doctor, her mind not letting her think of anything else. Renata had regenerated then left one day ago to find their Doctor. There was trouble - as the other Doctor had told her and Renata - on Earth and so of course Renata would go find him. Gabby hadn't been too thrilled staying behind but she didn't have much of a choice. The new Renata was just as authoritative as the last. Something about a 'Master' and 'there's no way I'm letting you near him!'. Gabby still didn't understand but then Renata and the Doctor came back...only for Gabby to learn that the Doctor was going to regenerate. He had come to say goodbye to her. Tears still came to Gabby's eyes when she remembered his face. He was going to die and he was saying goodbye to everyone, including her. That had been one day ago and now Gabby was going crazy waiting for some type of contact from the two Time Lords. She didn't know if Renata and the Doctor were safe nor where they were.

The owner of the gallery where Gabby resided, and once Renata, had done her own digging with her contacts. They confirmed that the Earth was just fine, still rotating normally and still in its right orbit. Zhe was more than just the owner of the gallery, she had become a close friend of Renata and Gabby and so Gabby had no reason not to trust Zhe's words. Gabby just wasn't sure where Renata and the Doctor were now.

But then she heard it.

She froze when she heard the first light noise of wheezing.

Please be real. Please be real.

Gabby put her pencil down as she heard the second louder wheezing. She looked up and nearly cried out of joy when she saw the TARDIS materializing in the garden. She dumped her sketchbook on the bench and raced towards the garden. She ran as fast as her legs could carry her. Her vision was blurred from tears but she kept laughing like a little girl who'd just seen something magnificent. Because she had.

Renata had barely open the door and stepped out when Gabby collided with her in a big hug. "Woah!" Renata barely kept on her feet from such a hug. "Gabriella, what's the mean—"

"Shut up, just shut up! I thought something happened to you!" Gabby hugged her so tight that she might actually crack some bones.

"I'm sorry. We were in a rush and—"

"It doesn't matter," Gabby squeezed Renata one more time before finally letting go. "You're here, you're alive and—" she suddenly stopped and peered inside the TARDIS from where she stood, "Where's the Doctor!? Is he okay!?"

"Uuh...so there's been a change…" Renata was just beginning to explain when the Doctor walked out of the TARDIS.

"That's an understatement!"

Gabby loudly gasped and stumbled back a few steps. Her eyes were as wide as could be. "Doctor!?"

"Am I that bad looking this time?" the Doctor brought his hands to his face. He'd finally had a proper look at himself and he thought he was pretty good looking. It would do.

Gabby's eyes blinked fast while they looked the Doctor over. "It's you!"

"Why are you acting so surprised? I understand this isn't the first time you've seen me," the Doctor fixed his tweed jacket.

"Yeah but...that was the future you! That's what you said!"

"Hello, future!" the Doctor waved a hand. Gabby deadpanned him. "Oh alright," he dropped his hand to his side. "I'm sorry."

"Oh Doctor, I'm so sorry," Gabby's face slowly softened. "You died…"

"We all have to go sometime but in a matter of speaking I did die. But I'm here—"

Gabby didn't let him finish. She walked over and hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry I wasn't there."

The Doctor hugged her back. "I had Renata with me. She took good care of me."

"Still, wish I could've been there when it actually happened."

"No, you really wouldn't have," Renata's words broke them apart. "Because being the Doctor, he of course had to send us directly into trouble."

"Again, I'm so sorry I couldn't die the right way!" the Doctor rolled his eyes at her.

"What happened?" Gabby asked them, fairly amused as they started to bicker over some aliens and a crack and...something about a Prisoner Zero? They sure seemed to be acting normally for them.

"It's a long story, Gabriella. How about we talk it over while we...pick our stuff up?" Renata's eyes flickered to the gallery.

Gabby soon beamed when she understood what it meant. They were finally going back to the TARDIS after such a long time. Renata's illness had finally faded with the regeneration! "Oh yes! So we're all...we're all going back!?"

"Well, we are like a family right?" the Doctor asked and Gabby didn't miss the way his arm curled around Renata's waist.

"Uuuh…" Gabby's eyebrow went up without her trying. She was definitely taken aback when Renata shared a smile with him and leaned on him. "I think...we have a lot to discuss." A lot indeed.

"Why don't you two go ahead and start packing?" the Doctor suggested. "I need to take a quick little trip on my own."

"What? But you just got back!" Gabby was terrified that they would leave again without her. She understood why Renata did it the first time but she wasn't interested in letting it happen again.

"It'll be quick for you. I have to do it," the Doctor shared a meaningful look with Renata.

Renata gave him a nod. She knew where he was going. "Go ahead. And thanks."

"Thank you," the Doctor countered. He dove down to her lips for a quick kiss.

Gabby gaped. Renata, meanwhile, smiled at him with an actual blush! Gabby almost rubbed her eyes to make sure she was truly seeing this.

"Be back!" The Doctor exclaimed and hopped Gabby's head. "Start packing, Gabby-Gabbs—oh," he paused for a second, "I like that! Gabby-Gabbs! Gabbs!" He snapped his fingers a bit too close to her face that she flinched back, not that he would notice. He spun away and rushed into the TARDIS.

"Yeah, he seems to like using his hands more this time around," Renata commented while the TARDIS de-materialized. "We'll see how that goes. C'mon then! We got some packing to do and some goodbyes to say!"

"Wait a minute!" Gabby exclaimed as Renata took the lead towards the gallery. "Are we not going to talk about that!?"

Renata smiled knowingly ahead of her. "About what?"

"Ooh no!" Gabby almost laughed at Renata's attempt to deflect the topic. "You're not getting out of this so easily Renata! I'm serious!" She trailed after the Time Lady into the gallery.

~0~

Zhe's Gallery, 1 day ago.

Gabby ran out of Renata's bedroom, shouting for the Doctor. She heard the TARDIS materializing from inside the room. It was him! He had finally come back and with any luck, he had a cure for Renata. She hated to think that Renata's time was coming to an end.

"Doctor! Doctor!" Gabby yelled all the way down the hall, and to the TARDIS but she nearly crashed into the door when somebody opened it inches from her face. Gabby fervently shook her head and blinked fast to get her sight back. When she did, she saw who had come. "...Doctor?" It was the Doctor alright, but not the version Gabby knew. "Who...who are you?"

The eleventh Doctor smiled kindly at Gabby, though it was very strained. "Hello Gabby. It's the Doctor, don't worry."

But Gabby still didn't look convinced. "No...he's taller. And he wears suits. Plus, you look nothing like him!"

"I regenerated, Gabby. I'm from the future. I got your call but I'm a little late."

Gabby blinked at him, deciding if it was really true what he was saying. She looked back towards Renata's room. "...she's dying. Renata...she's dying…"

The Doctor gave a small nod of his head. "I know," he said grimly. "That's why I'm here."

"Did you find a cure?" Gabby asked him with hopeful eyes. The Doctor remained grim. With his intense gaze, Gabby knew that he hadn't. Tears formed in her eyes as she looked back at the room again. "She's going to die!"

"She will but she'll regenerate," the Doctor gently touched her arm. "And I'm going to be there with her. Thank you for taking care of her."

"Will she be okay?"

"Afterwards, yes. I'll make sure of it."

Gabby sighed. "What's going to happen?"

"I'm going make her last minutes as comfortable as possible," the Doctor gave her a quick hug and a kiss on top of her head.

He left her in search of Renata. He made it down the hallway and walked into the room where his Renata would be, her previous incarnation. His hearts nearly stopped at the sight of her writhing body on her bed.

Zhe was holding her hand tightly, trying to calm the Time Lady down.

"Renata," the Doctor hurried to the other side of the bed, ignoring Zhe's suspicious stare. He brushed Renata's blonde hair our of her face, feeling the sweat from her skin in the process.

Renata was swaying her head, coming in and out of consciousness. "I want...I want the...I want...the Doctor. Where is he?"

The Doctor grabbed her hand tightly, once again feeling the beads of her sweat on her skin. She was close, alright. "I'm here, love. I'm here."

Renata stopped moving to look at him.

Zhe's eyes had widened on him too. "You're…?"

The Doctor gave her a nod just to ease her suspicions on him. He then smiled softly for Renata. She was squinting her eyes as if she couldn't see him when in reality she was trying to process his words.

"I'm here," he told her and kissed the back of her hand.

"You're late," she said, sounding as if she wanted to huff. It made him laugh. Even when regeneration loomed over her, she would always have enough energy to scold.

"Yeah I am. And you have no idea how sorry I am. I should've been here - the other me - he should be here, but he's not coming. I'm so sorry."

Renata struggled to smile without making it seem too strained. She felt her entire body close to bursting. "No...it's my fault. I waited too long to change my mind. I wanted to die alone. But now that I'm here…" fresh tears filled her eyes, "I don't want to die by myself. I want you with me. How selfish am I? To think that you'll always come to me like you're at my beck and call."

"But I am, and I have no problem with that. Anytime you call, I'll run to you. Always."

Renata sniffled. He was always much too kind to people who didn't deserve it. She definitely didn't deserve it.

"C'mon," the Doctor slid his arms under her body to pick her up.

"Doctor, she can't go anywhere," Zhe rose from her seat. "She won't make it to—"

"We're just going to take one last trip to the garden." He told her while he settled Renata's body in his arms. "My Renée deserves at least that. She shouldn't die surrounded in a bland old room. No offence."

Zhe rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile. It was definitely him alright.

"She's going to see the flowers one more time." He kissed Renata's forehead and headed out of the room.

He took Renata to the garden in the back, the same garden she would take walks in each day she stayed in the gallery. It was her favorite pastime. Hopefully it could bring her some peace in these last minutes. He wanted to help her as much as she had helped him during his regeneration.

Despite her worsening condition, Renata felt the change of air around them when the Doctor brought them outside. He walked over the blue grass and stopped by a beautiful flower bed he had no doubt Renata planted.

"Here we are," the Doctor lowered himself to the ground, keeping Renata close to him but in more of a sitting position so she could see her flowers.

"Thank you," she whispered, for it was as high as her voice would allow.

"Of course. I wish there was more I could've done for you. If there had been a cure I would've gotten it for you, no matter the price."

"I wouldn't deserve that, Doctor." She tilted her head up at him, allowing him to see the usual guilt that often plagued her. It sat in her eyes like it belonged there. "You have dedicated too much time to me when the truth is I never deserved it. Look at you, I dread to think that you regenerated because of me."

"Hey, that's not true," he lightly scolded her. "You want to know the truth? The truth is we have spent far too many centuries trying to erase what happened between us. We tried pushing it away and in doing so, we built a mountain of lies. But none of that means that I would ever stop loving you."

"Even when I wasn't been honest with you?"

"I don't care, Gala. I love you and no matter what you do, that will never change."

Renata couldn't help but cry in that moment. "I wanted to die," she blurted, immediately reminding the Doctor what the present Renata had said. She'd wanted to die in her last body, truly die without regeneration.

He looked at her with a pained expression. "Why? Why would you want to do that?"

"Because I never learned how to live, especially in this body. I was just so tired of everything going wrong. I thought that it was best if I just...stopped. Forever. But you...but you still love me even after I hurt you so much and I thought...maybe if I survived, we could actually happen. The right way this time. I wanted to live in the end but it was too late."

"It's never late," the Doctor told her. "Because if you put all of your efforts into this regeneration, I'll be waiting on the other side."

Renata brought a hand up to his cheek, gently stroking his skin. "You would want to be with me again?"

"Very much," the Doctor gave her a nod. He lowered his head to capture her lips in a kiss, proving his words true.

Renata welcomed him despite her doubts. No matter where she was, who she was, who he was, it would always be the same old story. She would love him until the end of her life.

They pulled away to share soft smiles with each other but a few seconds later, Renata's hands started glowing with regeneration energy. She groaned and nearly fell out of the Doctor's arms if he hadn't held onto her.

"It's time…" she took in a shaky breath. "Let's see if this is what wipes the slate clean."

"Good luck, love," the Doctor pressed a kiss to her forehead and then helped her stand up. She wobbled for the first few seconds but she ultimately got her balance.

"I'll...try…" she flashed him a tired smile. The months of expelling Vortex and toxic energy had finally taken its toll on her.

She swallowed hard and raised her hands to see them glowing brightly. There was a second energy, one that she recognized as the same energy she used on the Daleks and their Reality Bomb. It wrapped around her like a present. She could feel the ripple of pain strike her once again before the energy took her over. She screamed as the regeneration finally began.

The Doctor shielded his eyes from the brightness, hoping it would be a quick process. He couldn't stand hearing her agonizing screams. He tried peeking through the light and saw the silhouette of the energy forming butterfly wings behind Renata. The Vortex Butterfly was finally finding the balance it needed to rest within Renata.

Slowly, the light faded and the energy dissipated from Renata to leave a brand new woman in its spot. It was the same Renata that the Doctor left in the future. His Renata with long dark hair and matching eyes. She blinked pretty fast as she gathered herself from such a process.

"I...I'm alive…" she spoke hoarsely and touched her neck, her throat specifically. "And I sound younger. Am I younger?"

The Doctor chuckled and rushed to hug her, leaving a bunch of kisses on her new dark hair. "You're beautiful."

Renata smiled and hugged him tight. "Thank you for coming back. I don't deserve you."

"You have got to stop saying that, Renee," the Doctor said with a heavy sigh. "No more of this stuff. I can't bear to hear it."

"But it's true!"

"So I'm completely innocent in all this? I have nothing I should feel bad for?" The Doctor waited for her to try and lie with the answer. She couldn't because she knew that he had some faults in their past.

"I'm sorry," she said in a whisper. "I'm am so sorry."

"I know, dear," he raised her chin up to him. "But this is a new life you have, one free of illnesses. Don't you think you deserve a new chance to live freely?"

Renata bit her bottom lip. "That...that would be nice."

"If you really want to make things better, then just do that. Live the way you want to live. That's all I want from you."

"Wouldn't that be nice?" Renata smiled for a moment. "This is my eleventh regeneration, my twelfth incarnation, and I'm only now going to try and live the way I want to. Isn't that funny? Nearly at the end of my first cycle of life and it's only now where I can try to do something I haven't been since my very first incarnation. I can be happy. It's in my name, actually. Renata. It means 'to be reborn' and I promise that this time I'm going to try and be someone good, be someone better than what I've been in the past. This new me is going to do big things."

The Doctor smiled with her words. He cupped her face gently. "I promise, if you give me a chance, I will do everything I can to add to that happiness."

"But first I have to find you," Renata reminded him. As much as he was the Doctor, he wasn't hers yet. "Where's my Doctor?"

The Doctor was reluctant to answer but he knew that she had to find him in order to get to where they were now. "I swear that he would've came but...he had a mishap..."

Renata pulled away from him, concern etching across her new face. "Is he alright?"

The Doctor wasn't sure how to answer that. His other self was probably on his way to Earth right now to stop the Master from returning. "There are some things I need to tell you before you meet with him. C'mon," he took her hand to lead her back to the TARDIS, only for him to remember something. "Oh wait!" He let go of her and rushed to the flower bed. He looked through them for a couple seconds while Renata watched him in confusion. "This one!" He had picked a beautiful red tulip from the flower bed and returned to Renata. He gently set it behind her ear and admired the sight of her. "Beautiful."

Renata touched the flower and blushed. "Thank you, though I could use a total change of clothes." She looked down at her clothes and realized that they no longer fit with her.

"I've got just the dress for you!" the Doctor promised. He had his current Renata's flower dress neatly folded on the Captain's chair. "C'mon!" He pulled Renata by the hand towards the gallery.

~0~

Present Day, Zhe's Gallery.

Renata picked up her golden pendant from her old bed stand and brushed her fingers over it. Her late husband had given it to her so long ago. She never took it off from the first day he gave it to her but now wearing it didn't seem quite right.

"Renata?" Gabby cautiously called her name. They were having a conversation when Renata spotted the golden pendant and suddenly the room went eerie quiet. Gabby wasn't all that surprised. She knew how important that pendant was to Renata, she just wondered how things would change now that she and the Doctor were apparently starting a relationship. That must be what Renata was thinking about.

Renata turned around to the girl. "Sorry, where was I?"

Gabby's smirk reminded her perfectly. "You just finished telling me about this Prisoner Zero fiasco and this Amy Pond girl and were saying how you and the Doctor finally talked."

"Right," Renata said, her eyes drifting to the side as a deep blush room her face over. They talked alright, followed by a good amount of kissing...on top of the console.

Gabby had come to know Renata really well, so she could see the red face from where she stood. "Hey Ren, something you wanna tell me about?"

"Hm? No!" Renata fervently shook her head and exhaled a shaky breath. "Why-why would you think that?"

Gabby set a hand on her hip and stared at the Time Lady for a good long minute. "Mhm. Is this how it's going to be, then?"

"Be like what?"

"Be like that whenever you and the Doctor make out." Gabby laughed when Renata went into a choking fit. "Oh my God! I knew it! I didn't think you were capable of making out with someone!"

"Stop saying that!" Renata exclaimed.

"What? That you made out—"

"Stop it!" Renata hissed, but the fact that she still had a red face made it impossible for Gabby to stop.

"I'm sorry, I'm American. I should say you 'snogged' instead, huh? Right term for you guys."

"Please, for the love of God, stop saying that!"

"Why? It's what happened, isn't?"

"Well, yeah, but...it just sounds weird," Renata crinkled her nose. It sounded childish and what she wanted with the Doctor would not be childish. "I don't 'snog' and I don't 'make out' with anyone."

Gabby giggled. "But you kind of did."

Renata deadpanned her. "Gabriella!"

"What? Look Ren, there is nothing wrong with having a little fun. And being serious, I am so happy for you and the Doctor." Gabby smiled at the Time Lady. "It was about time. I just wish Donna was still around to see it."

Renata could agree there. They both lamented the loss of their friend, especially since they had become like a little family and Donna was always trying to help the Doctor speak up about his feelings for Renata. If she could only see them now.

"So you guys really want me around?" Gabby inquired after a moment. "You don't want some, uh, alone time in the TARDIS?"

Renata chuckled. "God no! He'll drive me crazy! Plus, I might drive him crazy too. I don't know how these new bodies—" she gestured to herself, "—will interact with each other. Brand new us after all."

"Well, you're already making out—" Gabby giggled when Renata glared, "—so I think you'll be just fine."

"Yeah," Renata whispered as she looked back to her pendant in her hand. She turned away again and walked towards the bed. She didn't have a lot in the gallery to begin with, but the little clothes she had were now packed into a suitcase. "Did you finish packing yet?"

Gabby nodded her head. "Mhm. Just waiting for the Doctor now. Where exactly are we going?"

"I think we'll be going back for Amy Pond," Renata answered distractedly. Her fingers were still brushing over her pendant. "There's something not right about that girl."

"You mean because of the crack in her bedroom? Not really her fault though, is it?"

"No, not at all. But we want to be cautious and make sure her life wasn't affected by a crack that shouldn't have been in her bedroom."

"Good thinking," Gabby nodded again.

There was a light knock on the door a few seconds later. The Doctor poked his head into the room. "Hey! Are we done?"

"Yes!" Gabby beamed. She was more than ready to finally start travelling again. "But where did you go right now?"

The Doctor walked into the room with what Gabby could only describe as a grim smile. He'd been so happy before leaving, what could have changed his mood so quick?

The Doctor went directly to Renata who seemed to know what he would do, for when he hugged she already had her arms open for him. He hugged her tight and swayed her body. Gabby wasn't sure what he was saying but it sounded like he was apologizing for something. Renata had mumbled an 'I'm okay'. She wasn't sure if she should slip out of the room to give them privacy but before she could make up her mind, the two Time Lords pulled away.

Renata held onto the Doctor's hand afterwards. "Thank you," she whispered to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

The Doctor smiled at her until he noticed the pendant in her other hand. He didn't mean to react at it, but it was impossible given who it was from.

Renata followed his gaze to the pendant and sighed. "Gabriella, can you take my suitcase out please?"

Gabby came for the suitcase on the bed and pulled it onto the ground. "I'll be outside then."

"Thank you," Renata nodded for her to go. When Gabby closed the door, Renata apologized to the Doctor. "I'm just a little unsure of what to do with it." She gazed at the pendant, turning it over and over in her palm.

"It's alright. I know how much that means to you. And actually, I do have something else to give you. It's only right you have it back." The Doctor reached into his jacket's inside pocket to take out a familiar necklace with a diamond hanging from it.

Renata gasped and instinctively took it from his hand. "My Whitepoint Star necklace." Tears came to her eyes as she remembered the horrid day her sister yanked it off her neck to give to Rassilon and establish the link between them and the Master. "I thought I'd never see this again." She turned the diamond around to see the old Gallifreyan names on it; her name, her late husband's name and their unborn child's name.

"I went back to Naismith's mansion when we left. The Assessor stole it from you and I thought I could do a little good. I know how much that necklace meant to you." It didn't matter to the Doctor that the necklace had come from Renata's husband, Elek. He'd been a good man to Renata, loved her, and had almost given her a child. "I hope you can find some peace now."

Renata broke into tears with the Whitepoint star in one hand and the pendant in the other. The Doctor wrapped his arms around her for a hug and kissed the top of her head.

"I don't know what to do with them now," Renata admitted through her tears. "I used to wear them all the time but...it doesn't feel right anymore."

"Don't think that I'd be upset if you wore them again," the Doctor said just to make sure she wasn't making a decision based on what he would think. "I know how much Elek meant to you."

"Yes but it's not right," Renata raised her head to meet his gaze. "I know it's not. It doesn't feel right. I used to wear the pendant because I was a devoted widow...because I swore to myself that I would never move on. But here I am...wanting to be with you. I can't wear them anymore. I...I don't want to."

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"I would like it if you did…"

"I have a room specifically meant for my previous companions, people I have cared for who are no longer with me. You could add these two necklaces to that room, give them a final resting place."

"I like the sound of that," Renata admitted. Elek was long gone and deserved to rest in peace just as she deserved to move on with her life too.

"Yeah? We can do that as soon as we get back to the TARDIS," the Doctor took her hands and closed them over the necklaces. "Shall we go?"

Renata nodded. "Yes."

They left the room without looking back.

~ 0 ~

"Please visit me soon," Zhe stood just outside the TARDIS with the trio of travelers. The humanoid blue woman was happy that everything turned out fine in the end, only lamenting that both Renata and the Doctor had to regenerate for it to happen.

"We will, I promise," Renata said, taking two of the woman's four hands into her own.

"I still have to continue my training anyways," Gabby chimed in, referring to her Block Transfer abilities.

"Of course," Zhe nodded. "I'll be waiting for you."

"Thank you for everything, Zhe," the Doctor said to her, truly grateful for all the support the woman had given them while Renata was ill. "I will never forget that."

"Me too," Renata agreed. "I don't have a lot of friends—actually, I only have three friends. Gabriella, Martha and you."

"Oi," the Doctor huffed in offence.

Renata gave him a light whack against his chest. "You're more." That certainly made his face brighten up.

Zhe smiled knowingly at the pair, just like Gabby was. "I'm glad it worked out for you two."

"Would you like to come with us for a trip?" asked the Doctor. "Could be fun."

Zhe chuckled. "Oh no. I'm good, thank you."

"Well then, I guess this is it," Renata gave Zhe a tight hug, thanking the woman over and over for everything she had done in the past.

Zhe was then hugged by Gabby and the Doctor. She wished them good luck on whatever adventure they had planned, because she knew they had something planned. She watched them go into the TARDIS and waved as the box de-materialized into thin air.

~ 0 ~

"NO WAY!" Gabby laughed almost deliriously when she saw the new interior of the TARDIS. It was nothing like the previous one. She spun around to catch all the bright orangey details of the walls. "This is too cool!"

"Yeah?" the Doctor chuckled as he watched her stumble after spinning so much. "You approve then?"

"Uh, yeah!" Gabby tapped on the glass floor to see if it was strong. "And we get a new glass floor!? It's so elegant!"

"I thought so too," the Doctor hummed in agreement. He then clapped his hands and turned to the console. Gabby scurried beside him, watching him work the new controls. "So, I know Renata told you about the little girl we met?"

"Yup! Amelia Pond, right? Er, Amy? Yeah, that's really weird what happened with her room. You think she's still in danger?"

"Don't know, but I'd like to keep her around to find out."

"So...is she, like, going to stay with us?"

"Would you mind?" the Doctor asked her, fixating a serious gaze that warranted an honest answer from her. Gabby wasn't just any ordinary passenger, nor companion, she was family and he wanted her to know that he truly valued her opinion, especially after Donna's departure. Nobody new had come aboard since then.

Gabby swayed her head as she thought about the idea of having someone new in the TARDIS. "Well...it could be fun not being the newbie this time. I could take some notes and be what Donna was for me. How old is she? This Amy?"

"Uh, she was 19 I believe."

"Oh! She's one year younger than me! I think it could be fun," Gabby gave a firm nod of her head. "Bring her in, Doctor. Let's see what Amy Pond brings to the TARDIS."

The Doctor laughed with her and that's how Renata found them. She had left her pendant and Whitepoint Star in the room the Doctor told her about. She felt a strange wave of peace when she closed the door, like she was finally moving on from that moment in her life. And seeing the Doctor and Gabby so happy and laughing made her feel even more sure that she was right where she wanted to be.

~ 0 ~

Amy Pond had memorized the TARDIS wheezing on the first night it left her for 'five minutes'. Now when she heard it for the third time, she jumped out of her bed without a second thought. No more pretending with costumes! She bolted down the staircase and into the backyard, almost laughing when she realized it was once again night time and she was in her pajamas! Well, a nightie but it was otherwise the same.

By the time she reached the TARDIS, the Doctor and Renata were already standing outside the box...waiting for her.

"Did we wake you up?" Renata wrinkled her nose as she gazed up into the night, starry sky. They'd been gone for more than a few hours again, she was sure.

"It's you, you came back!" Amy basically confirmed the suspicions. She was staring at them in awe, like she couldn't believe it...again.

"Sorry about the running off, got a bit lost in the moment," the Doctor sent a quick smirk to Renata who rolled her eyes in response. "Plus, we had to pick someone up. But don't worry, brand new TARDIS is ready for the big stuff now!"

Amy looked him over and made a face that didn't quite fit with the usual response someone would get seeing the TARDIS. "You kept the clothes."

Renata laughed to the side while the Doctor deadpanned the ginger. "Well, we just saved the world, the whole planet, for about the millionth time, no charge! Yeah, shoot me! I kept the clothes."

"I did not," Renata gestured to her very gray dress.

"And you left the bow tie too…" Amy once again made a face.

"Yeah, I wasn't sure how to feel about that as well…" Gabby emerged from the TARDIS, startling Amy. "Hi," Gabby waved a hand. "Gabby Gonzalez. And yes I agree with you: the bow tie is ridiculous."

"Hey!" the Doctor cried. "Bow ties are cool!"

"Yeah, the jury's still out on that one!"

The Doctor mocked them with a sway of his head. "Gabby, you can go back inside now!"

Gabby laughed and wiggled her fingers at Amy. "See you in a moment."

Amy slowly wiggled her fingers at her even though she still didn't quite understand how Gabby was even there. "Is she...are you...are you all from another planet?"

"We are," Renata gestured to herself and the Doctor. "But Gabriella's from New York. She's quite human...ish." After the birth of the Vortex Butterfly and the Cosmic Butterfly, both she and Renata still needed to run extensive exams.

"So what do you think?" the Doctor asked Amy. Her eyes flickered to him after studying the outside of the TARDIS. It was still as blue as she remembered it.

"Of what?"

"Other planets. Want to check some out?"

"What does that mean?"

Renata smiled at the woman. "It means we'd like for you to come with us."

"W-Where?"

"Anywhere you'd like. First trip is always your choice!"

Amy's eyebrows seemed to knit together for some reason. "All that stuff, the hospital, the spaceships, Prisoner Zero…"

"Oh, don't worry. That's just the beginning. There's loads more!" the Doctor promised but also meant to warn Amy of what was to come.

"Yeah, but those things, amazing things, all that stuff…" Amy's face suddenly darkened with anger and annoyance. "That was two years ago!" She promptly smacked each Time Lord's arm, getting a sense of satisfaction hearing them yelp.

"Oh not again!" Renata let her head hang. "Doctor, you're seriously messing up my track record!"

"Sure, it's my fault—"

"You piloted us! On both occasions!"

The Doctor's mouth opened to argue but shut it at the last moment. Alright, so maybe it could've been been his fault.

"So...um…" Renata awkwardly met Amy's upset stare, the ginger woman having folded her arms over her chest. "What's it been, then?"

"14 years!" Amy spat and just a second after she said it, Renata did the same with a weary sigh.

"Really sorry about that."

"Fourteen years since fish custard. Amy Pond, the girl who waited, you've waited long enough," the Doctor said exactly what Renata had been thinking.

Amy's upset expression faded as curiosity took over, as well a bit of doubt. "When I was a kid, you said there was a swimming pool and a library, and the swimming pool was in the library."

"Yeah. Not sure where it's got to now," the Doctor murmured as he had still yet to locate each room that'd gone missing. "I'm sure it'll turn up."

"It better if you know what's good for you," Renata remarked without a hint of playfulness. The Doctor winced and silently begged the TARDIS to help him out there.

"So... coming?" he asked Amy again since she hadn't said anything.

"No!" she exclaimed, or perhaps meant to shout at them like she knew exactly what she was doing.

"No?" Renata wasn't sure to laugh there and then. Amy was obviously trying to put up a front that she was no longer interested in the TARDIS. "You wanted to come 14 years ago."

"I grew up!"

"Don't worry. We'll soon fix that," the Doctor promised her with a smirk, only for Renata to say he would leave her right alone.

"Just be you, Amy Pond," she told the woman just as the Doctor snapped his fingers to open the doors behind them.

Amy was immediately bathed in the orange glow of the TARDIS interior and before she knew it, her feet were taking her into it. Hearing her coming in, Gabby poked her head from the console to see Amy's reaction. It was a whole other thing being on the other side now. Gabby wondered if this is what Donna felt when she first walked in and Donna watched her take it all in. Gabby smiled warmly at the memory of that day, though bittersweetly too. How times changed.

Amy's eyes had widened like dinner plates as she took in the whole room. She always wondered what it would look like on the inside, but it didn't compare to what she saw now. There were no words to describe how she felt, even if she tried she was sure nothing would come to mind.

"Well...? Anything you want to say?" the Doctor walked past her, missing the way Renata rolled her eyes behind him. He had no concept of being modest in anybody. "Any passing remarks? I've heard them all."

"I'm in my nightie," Amy said for some reason then quickly checked herself to make sure it was true. Yes, it was.

"Oh, I've been there," Renata laughed. "But don't worry. Plenty of clothes in the wardrobe."

"You'll love it!" Gabby exclaimed. "I got lost in there the first time I went in. Played dress up!"

Amy's smile seemed permanent at the moment. She gazed at the console with fascination. She could hear a faint hum within it and wondered if that was part of the engines.

"So, Amy," the Doctor called on the other side of the console. "All of time and space, everything that ever happened or ever will...where do you want to start?"

"You are so sure that I'm coming," Amy once again tried playing casual and failed miserably.

"Yeah, I am."

"Why?"

"Because if not he'll just kidnap you," Renata said with a wide smirk on her face that threatened to turned into a laugh as soon as the Doctor huffed.

"We're still doing that!?"

"You kidnapped me," Renata reminded him then looked at a stunned Amy. "Yeah, he kidnapped me. Threw me right over his shoulder and dragged me in here."

The Doctor's mouth was wide open in offence. So that was true...but it didn't mean she had to go telling that to everybody they met. "Oi! You're still here!"

"Because I've been kidnapped!"

There may have been a vein protruding across the Doctor's forehead when Renata turned to him. "That was a year ago! When are you going to get over it!?"

"How does somebody get over being kidnapped?" she arched an eyebrow at him, still smirking knowing that she was getting under his skin.

Gabby shook her head at the two—clearly, that hadn't changed at either—and moved around the console to Amy. "So Amy," she pulled the girl's attention away from the bickering couple, "What do you think? It's fun out there...up—" her eyes briefly flickered to the ceiling to refer to space, "—there. I've gone to see the Star of Orion and I've lived in a space gallery. Oh, and I got to go into some interdimensional weird information link thing belonging to a Block Transfer Matrix." Amy blinked wide at such a complicated list. "Where would you like to go first?"

Amy bit her lower lip and glanced at the couple still going back and forth about the kidnapping fiasco - whatever that was. "Can you get me back for tomorrow morning?"

"Of course, it's a time machine," Gabby answered, wondering why Amy would be so specific about that. Maybe she had an appointment? "I won't say 5 minutes like those two over there but you have to know that they do try. Is there something important tomorrow?"

Amy's mouth opened but she didn't know how to put 'I'm getting married tomorrow' into a casual conversation. "Uh...just stuff."

"Alright then," Gabby motioned her to get close to the console. "Wanna see something funny?" Amy nodded. Gabby winked at her then took over the controls. The Doctor had long ago taught her how to pilot the TARDIS in case of emergencies. She had the laugh of her life, as well as Amy, when the TARDIS lurched and sent both Renata and the Doctor to the ground.

Serves them right for still bickering when they had a new passenger aboard.

Author's Note:

Didn't I say we'd get to see the previous Renata's final moments? We finally get closure and a hopeful promise for Ren's new life! Will she get it, though? Hmmm...

Okay, so the next chapter is super important for Gabby and Amy and I just now realized that the chapter is 18k? Do you guys want me to separate it into 2 chapters instead? Or give you the whole content in one? xD.

#ocappreciation #doctor who #11th doctor #fd: doctor who #dw imagines #11th doctor imagines #11th doctor fics #doctor who fics #dw fics #oc: Renata Cartwright #gabby gonzalez #amy pond #fic: metamorphosis