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halcyone-of-the-sea · 3 months

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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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chaotic-minds-think-alike · 7 months

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Guess what time it is…….

CENTIPEDE TIME !!! she’s finally real,,,,,,,, based off Scolopendra hardwickei or the Indian tiger centipede

Before I go about the process I just want to say you guys have been soooo incredible and I love reading your reblogs and I love the idea knowing I’ve inspired a lot of people,,, the project, although it was a lot of work and I’m feeling not so great as of posting this, still motivates me to want to make another.

(Art process below)

This was entirely freehanded! I have a lot of experience working in 3D art settings that this part came easy to me but I started with a flat base shaped in the pose I’d like the creature in. I used one whole piece cut from a shipping box and filled in the gaps with tape; you don’t need a single piece for the base but for structural integrity it helps a lot. As you can see here I also cut the legs separate and glued them on using hot glue. The vertical cross sections are to give an early support for the structure of the creature, think about the frames of aircraft or boats. During this part I used a pen to mark the width and height of the previous section to get a gradual flow of shapes.

This next part I wish I got more documentation on but after the vertical cross sections I used soda boxes for the thinner and flexible cardboard to add contour lines along the length of the creature, gluing them on the cross sections. I did about 2 strips of this on either side to fill in the space and then I continued to use soda boxes to fold and shape the top of the creature, gluing onto the strips rather than the cross sections (this part was a mistake but I quickly adapted, no issues happened but it did make it slightly less secure). I also gave the legs vertical cross sections as well to shape them for the masking tape.

The worst part, taping everything. I used tape to further shape it how I wanted but that meant going over parts several times. I used 2 different widths of tape for this for efficiency but it doesn’t matter. The legs were very loosely taped and if squeezed then they’d lose their shape; I didn’t bother filling them in because I don’t have materials for that and I let the paper mache help support them instead. Tape was also used to fill any holes and gaps left by the cardboard skeleton.

The next phase is paper mache of which I haven’t done since 5th grade… I was not confident in this step. I used mod podge and a brush to smooth down the paper. Because I lacked materials I used fast food napkins instead of newspaper which worked totally fine, it just tended to tear a bit easier. Some areas required me to get hands on and I don’t really like the texture during this stage so that was fun (lie). I didn’t do too many layers, one for the body and 3 for the back and legs but some projects might demand more. I used half of a 16oz bottle of mod podge btw so please get more than you think you need.

Finally, texture hell!!! I did a base coat of white spray paint and painted everything else with acrylic. Start with your lighter colors first before doing darker ones! I originally mixed some yellow and orange for the body and realized it was too bright and so covered it with orange instead. It also wasn’t until later I realized I could’ve been smarter with my paint so I skipped over the segments that were going to be fully black, saving the orange for the rest of the body. I wanted my centipede to stand out and not look 2D color-wise so I also used the red for the head and tail to give gradients and edges to the orange segments and legs, later going back with burgundy to further darken them but not too much. For the black segments I also used a very watered down layer of sky blue to give a fake shine and show the intended structure of the segments. Do not be afraid to use your hands! I used mine to smudge my detail paints like the black fade on the legs and the back shading. To top it all off I sprayed a clear coat and punched two holes in the underside to hang it up, using thumbtacks angled upwards.

#myart #bug #insect #bugs #insects #centipede #centipedes #sculpture

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idiopath-fic-smile · 6 months

Text

more Singin' in the Rain ot3, now on the honeymoon boat

part one

part two

The ship was a grand one. Cosmo, whose nautical knowledge began and ended with that Douglas Fairbanks picture about pirates, could tell that much. There was a majestic dining room and a wide, clean promenade and state-of-the-art engines that would get them to Europe in just a few days. The dining room even featured a four-piece band, who were a little stiff but not half bad.

His room, his island of privacy away from Don and Kathy and their combined magnetic pull, was bigger than he expected, well-appointed. It went a little overboard embracing an Egyptian theme, although the decorators had tastefully stopped short of including an actual mummy in a giant stone sarcophagus. He was grateful for that. The piano, as promised, sat in the place of where a desk might normally be, keys gleaming invitingly.

There was just one problem.

“How,” said Cosmo, dropping onto the bed, “did you manage to accidentally book us two adjoining rooms?”

“I’m sorry,” said Don, crossing his arms. “There must’ve been a mix-up at the offices.”

“Maybe the travel agent heard wrong on the telephone,” said Kathy. She rubbed Don’s back consolingly. Don shot her a grateful look. It was all very sweet, probably.

“How?” said Cosmo again. “Nothing sounds like ‘adjoining.’ It doesn’t even have a rhyme.”

“Are you certain?” said Kathy.

Cosmo nodded; he’d already run through the alphabet, twice. “The closest I can get to is ‘disappointing.’” Don was leaning into Kathy’s back rub like a cat, but his face was full of uncatlike guilt. “Don,” said Cosmo, “look, pal, I appreciate the free ticket, but please tell me you’ll fix this.”

“I already talked to the cruise director and there aren’t other rooms,” said Don. “We’re out in the ocean, what do you want me to do, alert the coast guard?”

“Alert the coast guard,” said Cosmo, “flag down a passing mermaid, strike a bargain with Poseidon himself!”

“Who?” said Don.

“The Greek god of the sea,” said Kathy, like that was the important part.

“I don’t speak any Greek,” Don replied, “do you?”

“I will swim to shore,�� Cosmo said, to nobody in particular.

“We can swap over to a different ship when we get to port if we need to,” said Don, shoulders slumping uncharacteristically. He must’ve felt worse about his screw-up than he let on. “In the meantime, the door locks from both sides, so—”

“I’m not—worried that you’ll barge in at all hours pestering me for a cup of sugar,” Cosmo broke in.

Don blinked. Kathy went very still beside him.

Out loud, it sounded more suggestive than he’d meant. Why had he picked sugar, the sauciest ingredient of the baking world?

“Or flour,” he amended.

“Then what’s the trouble?”

“I.” Cosmo sighed. “Why am I the only person in this room who seems to know what a honeymoon is for?”

“Why,” said Don, wide-eyed, “what’s it for?”

“D’you think, if I jumped in the sea and started paddling now—” said Cosmo.

“Don’t worry,” said Kathy. “Don and I can be very quiet.”

And the trouble was, this was worse. The prospect of hearing them from the other side of a single thin door was one thing, and honestly it was plenty bad—Cosmo had played a role during several key moments of their courtship but at least he could say he didn’t know what they sounded like in the throes of passion—but for reasons that Cosmo did not feel like examining, the thought of them stifling themselves in the act, the thought of them naked in bed together, touching each other, biting down on a giggle or a moan, and whispering, ‘Shh, don’t wake Cosmo,’ made him feel like his whole stomach was a sore tooth.

“Don’t put yourselves out on my account,” he told them. Belatedly, he realized that was maybe the worst thing he could’ve said. He blushed, and then he stood, face still flaming—Damn his Irish complexion—nodded to them both, and fled to the promenade.

The ocean stretched in all directions as far as Cosmo could see. It was dizzying, and also strangely calming. He stared out at the waves and reminded himself, hardly for the first time, that it wasn’t Don’s fault how Cosmo felt about him. It wasn’t Don’s fault, and it wasn’t Kathy’s fault that she was maybe the most charming woman he’d ever met. You could certainly blame Don for booking the rooms, for not double-checking over the telephone, but there was no malice to it. They were both, at the end of the day, wonderful people who had decided to open this trip up to him for whatever reason, and besides, his bed was piled with any number of pillows he could jam over his head if they did make noise at night.

He stood there holding onto the railing for a long time. Eventually, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Feeling better?” said Don quietly, almost lost under the roar of the water. Without really trying to, Cosmo turned to look at him. Under his coat, Don was wearing a nicer suit than before, and the color had returned to his face. He looked—well, he looked like a handsome movie star married to a gorgeous starlet. Don took a few steps and rested his hands next to Cosmo’s on the rail.

“It’s the salt air, I think,” said Cosmo, nodding. “Feels like I could do anything. Why, I might write another musical, wear my trousers baggy, become a pirate.”

“Your trousers are fine as is,” said Don.

Cosmo shrugged. “A little change can be good.”

“Sure, unless it isn’t.” Don sighed. It was an awfully sad sigh to be having about the fit of a guy’s pants, Cosmo thought, but then Don turned to him and added, “You know, we really have missed you.”

“Don,” said Cosmo patiently. “I was at your house this Thursday. I stayed for three hours. I drank all your gin.”

Don didn’t make a crack about the gin, which was probably a bad sign. “And before that?”

Before that, it had been a while. Cosmo winced inwardly. “I’ve been busy,” he said, “you’ve been busy, Kathy’s been busy—”

“We invited you over, four different times,” Don interjected. “If I’ve done something, if we’ve done something, I wish you would just tell us.”

In front of them, the sea rolled and rolled. Cosmo thought about deflection, about twisting the moment into a joke, a sword duel where cold steel met only an outstretched rubber chicken: squeak.

He let out a long breath. “Why the Hell did you bring me along on your honeymoon?”

“We brought you along because we wanted you along,” said Don. “Whenever you’re not there, we wish you were. It doesn’t need to be any harder than that.”

“So it isn’t…” Cosmo started.

“What?” “You and Kathy aren’t having problems? Hoping for a buffer, or a distraction?” It was a very new theory on Cosmo’s part, and once the words had left his mouth, he realized how badly they fit the facts at hand.

Don smiled a private little smile. “Me and Kathy are doing just marvelously.”

“That’s splendid,” said Cosmo, because he had to say something, apparently. Marvelous didn’t bode well for Cosmo’s sanity at night, but it beat his friends being sad. “Lovely.” He let his cadences drift into a so-so British accent. “Capital show, old sport. Tip-top. Simpy spiffing.” Not his best work.

Don lay a hand on Cosmo’s coat sleeve, at the elbow. “Do you want to come to dinner with us?” he said. “It’s meant to be a formal affair but you’ve still got time to change.”

Whenever you’re not here, we wish you were. Obviously, Don didn’t mean “whenever” in the strictest sense—Cosmo got the feeling he was not present in Don’s mind, say, when Don was in bed with his beautiful wife—but the thought now made him feel warmer than the gin had. It would be enough. It had to be.

“Sure,” said Cosmo, “why not,” and Don thumped him encouragingly on the back.

“Cosmo,” said Don as they headed back into the body of the boat, “piracy, really?” Cosmo grinned. “Don’t blame me, blame that salt air. Makes a man feel like anything’s possible.”

Kathy and Don looked enchanting at dinner, and Cosmo cleaned up alright too, if he didn’t say so himself.

The food was good—salmon with hollandaise sauce and French beans, braised duckling with apple sauce, some fancy beef thing, salad Dumas and ice cream for dessert—and the band had relaxed a smidge and was playing something from this century, which was nice.

Over dessert, Kathy told them about how, one night several months before meeting Don, she’d been at a speakeasy during what turned out to be a police raid.

“What were you doing in a speakeasy?” Cosmo asked before he could stop to think about it.

“Why, drinking milk and reading Austen, of course,” she replied, a picture of guilelessness. Don snickered, and she grinned.

“I walked full-speed into that one,” said Cosmo.

“Buddy, you ran,” said Don.

“I was drinking,” Kathy acknowledged, nodding, “but really that’s where the best dancing is. The best music, too.”

Cosmo, who lately only drank at parties or at home because it was easier and safer, nodded thoughtfully.

“Hot jazz?”

“The hottest, at least in Los Angeles. Once we’re back, we should all go!”

“I could always stand to take in more culture,” said Cosmo.

“Oh no,” said Don, “don’t let her pull you into her sordid past. Did you forget the end of the story is ‘and then the police came?’”

“That’s more the middle,” said Kathy. “Well, middle-end.”

“So how’d you escape the reaching arm of the law?” Cosmo asked.

Kathy swallowed her ice cream. “I saw the police were all rushing in through the front door, and I dashed to the back and through the performers’ dressing room. I’d done makeup for some of my school plays, so I fought my way up to the mirror, grabbed a grease pencil—a few lines here, a few lines there—borrowed an old coat of the back of a chair, ran maybe half a block, and pretended to be an old lady.”

“Really,” said Cosmo.

“It’s mostly in the walk and the posture,” she said. “And it helps that a few of the street lights were out.”

“And the cops were fooled?”

“One of them asked me if I’d seen any young people running that way,” said Kathy.

Cosmo clapped his hands together with glee. “Don, you married a criminal mastermind! Never make her angry.”

Don wrapped an arm around her shoulders and flashed her a besotted look. “I don’t intend to.”

Kathy nestled into the half-embrace. “Tell me more about—was it Coyoteville? With the ventriloquist.”

“Dead Man’s Fang,” said Cosmo. “And your wish is my command, but I don’t know what else there is to say. We came, we saw, we lost our sleeping arrangements to a puppet.”

“He tucked it in that night, remember?” said Don suddenly.

“He did!” said Cosmo, delighted.

Sometimes when Don started in on the official line about how they’d studied at the conservatory and the rest of that baloney, Cosmo worried that some part of Don believed it, that it was Cosmo’s job alone to remember how long they’d traveled that strange, bumpy, often farcical road together towards some measure of success and respectability in Hollywood. But Cosmo had completely forgotten that particular detail. He had burned it from his mind.

“After he fell asleep, one of you might have moved the dummy and claimed that bed,” Kathy pointed out.

“He left it with the head turned facing us, eyes open,” said Don. “Neither of us were touching that thing.”

“So instead, Cosmo had to put up with Don all night,” said Kathy solemnly.

“So instead, I had to put up with Don all night.”

He could still recall the potent mix of resignation, terror, and guilty excitement he’d felt, huddling up on that mattress together. Their act at the time had involved being in close quarters a lot—at one point, the choreography had Cosmo leap onto Don’s back and then immediately continue playing the fiddle—so it wasn’t like touching Don was a novelty, back then. But doing it offstage, out of costume, away from any onlookers except for Esther Quill the ventriloquist dummy, it had felt like an entirely different proposition.

Don had been a real champ about it, though. When Cosmo had started shaking with withheld hilarity that this was his life, the punchline of all punchlines and nobody to share it with, not just Don’s best friend but his literal bedwarmer, Don had clearly assumed it was a simple case of the shivers, and so he’d bundled Cosmo close, tucked Cosmo’s head under his chin, and wrapped his arms around him, muttering warm in his ear about how if Cosmo dropped dead, Don was out a dance partner “and that whole routine wouldn’t work as a solo number, it’d go over like a brick.”

“Just imagine what barnyard animal they’d have you opening for then,” Cosmo had whispered back, because Oatmeal, Nebraska had already happened to them. “A pig who juggles. A cow acrobat. A chicken magician. Just a little sleight of wing, folks, nothing up my feathers.”

And Don had laughed, and held Cosmo tighter, and the ventriloquist had shushed them, which had made them both crack up again. It had been a long night, and not one Cosmo would forget in a hurry.

“Who runs hot as a Holland furnace, let me tell you,” he added now, in case his tone had shifted a few shades too close to dreamy.

“Oh, I know,” said Kathy, smiling.

Don raised an accusing finger at him. “Well, you were shaking like a leaf! You’re lucky I was there, especially when we didn’t have so much as a sheet of our own!”

“Wait, why didn’t you have any blankets?” asked Kathy.

“The blankets,” said Don airily, “were for the puppet.”

And so dinner had been a joy, and after that, Don and Kathy invited him back to their room for a drink or two, because they’d had the common sense to bring alcohol, which was of course not offered by the cruise. The three of them sat on Don and Kathy’s bed (much bigger than Cosmo’s—not that he was jealous, he didn’t need the space, but the sheer expanse of mattress really did rival a small country, and Cosmo was determined not to picture in any detail how the two newlyweds might make use of that) and passed a flask around and had some more laughs and when Cosmo next got a glimpse of his watch, it was three in the morning.

“I should go,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” said Kathy. She’d shucked off her heels at some point and now her stocking feet were in Cosmo’s lap. Don sat on her other side, head on her shoulder. He’d loosened his tie early on, and his suitcoat was draped over one of the bedposts. While they were drinking, it had all felt very natural. Looking at them now, Cosmo had the sense he was intruding on something private, something intimate.

Granted, they weren’t exactly trying to kick him out, but Kathy was drunk, or tired, or else she was both drunk and tired, and it was up to Cosmo not to outstay his welcome. They had a whole two weeks together, after all, and their rooms were barely a wall apart.

“My regrets, Cinderella,” said Cosmo, “but I can feel myself turning back into a pumpkin.”

He made as if to stand, but her feet were in the way. Very gently, he picked up her ankles, lifted them off his legs, stood, turned her like they were doing some sort of a dance move, and deposited her feet in Don’s lap instead.

“There,” he said to no one.

A long pause followed. Don and Kathy blinked up at him. He sorely regretted moving her. It had seemed like the most elegant solution. Probably he should’ve found one that didn’t involve taking hold of her legs, skin warm through the thin layer of nylon–

Kathy’s brow furrowed. “What makes you the carriage?” she said at last.

“What?” said Cosmo, who really did need to make an exit.

“Cinderella,” said Don, apparently reading her mind, which was swell for them.

“Better that than the mouse footman,” Cosmo told her. “Or the lizard coachman. Or the horse.” Or—who else? There were a lot of characters in Cinderella, he realized.

“There’s a prince in that story, Cosmo,” said Kathy. “A human prince.”

“Yes,” said Cosmo, patiently, “and you’re married to him, your highness,” He sketched a little bow but Don and Kathy weren’t looking at him. They were having one of those silent couple conversations, with mostly their eyes and eyebrows. A career in movies before the advent of sound had probably given Don a real advantage in that department, Cosmo thought, although Kathy seemed to be holding her own.

“It’s a made-up fairytale,” Kathy said at last. “Why, it can go any way you want it to.”

“The lady’s got a point,” said Don.

Cosmo blinked. He knew how it sounded, knew that to the untrained ear, it certainly—there were overtones, or undertones, or just plain tones that vibrated with suggestion. Cosmo had grown up in Vaudeville and now he lived in Hollywood; these things happened every now and then. These things did not happen to Cosmo. He was good for a dance or a laugh, and nine times out of ten, that was enough for him, but he wasn’t exactly fending off amorous advances—not like Don, and probably not like Kathy, either.

Also, Don liked women. Don only liked women, as far as Cosmo knew, and they had lived out of each other’s pockets for years.

The fact that a late-night ménage à trois rendezvous was increasingly the only explanation that held water in his head—it said more about Cosmo’s fragile mental state than it did about Don and Kathy’s true motives, he decided.

Don and Kathy who were still sitting on the bed, waiting for some sort of response.

“I wouldn’t, uh,” Cosmo started, and then realized with a stab of panic that for once, he didn’t have a joke in the wings, waiting to go. “I wouldn’t know where to start,” he said.

“You said earlier today you might become a pirate,” Don offered. Kathy cuddled up close against his side, watching with bright, intent eyes. He wrapped an arm around her waist. “Enter pirate, stage left.”

“I said I was thinking about it,” said Cosmo, trying not to sound affected and missing by a mile. “A fella can think about all kinds of things he wouldn’t do.”

Case in point: Cosmo was not about to climb back into bed with them, no matter how cozy that bed was, no matter how warm and inviting and beautiful the two of them looked together.

His hands were starting to shake, he realized, and if Don saw that, and past experience was any judge, Cosmo might spend the night being cuddled for warmth again. What was Cosmo’s life? He didn’t go in for horoscopes, but maybe he should’ve, maybe that was the key to understanding the whole puzzle: Cosmo Brown, born under the one constellation that resembled clown shoes. He swallowed back a hysterical laugh and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Why not?” said Kathy quietly.

Because he didn’t want to ruin his oldest friendship and his most promising new one, all in a single go. Because he hated rejection, and the thought of two no’s that close together made his head spin unpleasantly. Because then there would be no more innocent touches and smiles and nightcaps in Don and Kathy’s room.

That wasn’t what she’d asked, though. Mentally, he shook himself.

“If everyone who thought about being a pirate became one, the whole US of A would fall apart,” Cosmo informed them. “Nobody would work, or pay taxes, or go to see films. Not to mention the national parrot shortage—just try to get ahold of birdseed anymore! There’d be a run on eyepatches and tri-corner hats, and the price of a simple pirate earring would shoot through the roof, in fact—”

“It’d cost a buccaneer,” Don filled in. He sounded almost sad, which was a mystery because that bit was evergreen.

“That’s right,” said Cosmo. He rocked back onto his heels, at a loss for a moment. He’d really been counting on that joke to clear the air.

“Cosmo,” said Kathy. “Do you want to go, or do you want to want to go?”

Cosmo struggled to make sense of that. He struggled to parse it in a way that worked outside his own feverish imagination. His entire mind came up short. That was where it got you, going on the road with only an eighth grade education, he thought. His was a cautionary tale.

Maybe ninth grade was where they taught you how not to twist a moment in your head to the point where it really did seem like maybe Cosmo could’ve kissed either of them, could’ve kissed both of them, and it would’ve been fine, or even more than fine. Maybe it was that, and Dickens, and Geography; Cosmo still could not locate Siam on a map. Or Paris. Come to think of it, ménage à trois and rendezvous were the only French he knew besides bonjour. This time, he did laugh. It was that or scream.

“I am both too drunk, and not drunk enough for this talk,” he said, turning for the door that led directly back to his room.

“If you’d rather stay—” said Don.

“Of course I’d rather stay, Don,” Cosmo snapped, sharper than he’d meant to. “But leave me enough dignity to fill half a shotglass, at least.” Don and Kathy said nothing. When he got to the door, he sighed. “Sorry, that was—I’m sorry. See you at breakfast.” “Goodnight,” said Kathy.

Alone in his room, Cosmo closed the door and ran his hands through his hair. Pirates in Cinderella, he thought. Offers to stay, with his room not 30 paces away, at three hours past midnight. Maybe it would all make sense in the morning.

#singin in the rain ot3

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 4 months

Note

AITA for asking someone not to make my art about a ship I hate?

This happened a couple months ago, but I’m still kinda unsure if I handled it correctly.

Basic rundown of events: I posted some art of a character on their own in the evening, and when I woke up the next morning, someone had reblogged with an addition about a ship that’s a big notp for me. I messaged them to ask they delete it as politely as possible, because people had been interacting with that version of the post specifically and it made me uncomfortable. They responded by saying I was being immature and needed to learn not to police what other people do on the internet. We exchanged a couple more messages, and I tried to explain my position my throughly. Neither of us was overtly hostile or anything, but I felt extremely talked down to by their tone of voice. After our conversation, we both blocked each other, and that was that. They never did delete their addition.

Why I think I might be TA: we weren’t exactly friends or anything. Neither of us followed each other. I’d seen them around in the fandom, and they’d reblogged some of my art in the past, but I think messaging someone I didn’t know instead of just blocking them might have been a bit of an overreach. Plus the ship in question is canon, and not particularly controversial or anything, so most people in the fandom probably wouldn’t have minded.

On the other hand, the ship being so unavoidable is a big part of the reason it upset me so much. It’s hard for me to exist in this fandom without having to see it constantly, and I don’t even ever mention the other character in it for fear of this exact thing happening. I’ve had people be assholes on my posts about the ship I prefer, or go out of their way to interpret my romantic posts about them platonically, or add tags to my art about how they only like my ship as backstory and not endgame. I don’t want to have to put a disclaimer every single time I post about this fandom. I just want to enjoy the things I like without being negative all the time. Which is why I figured messaging privately was more polite than making a stink where everyone could see. I specifically mentioned that I knew they wouldn’t have known and wasn’t mad.

No one actually ended up reblogging their addition, which is also a strike against me, but I got a lot of likes on specifically that version of the post, which made me scared they were going to. I hated the idea of having to turn off reblogs on a piece I’d worked pretty fucking hard on because a version I found so upsetting was in circulation. If it was just tags, I’d have blocked, but it being an addition is different. I don’t think asking people not to make my posts about it is “policing what other people do on the internet”. You’re in MY house, on MY post with MY art I spent hours on. Making additions to art posts already seems somewhat rude to me, that’s just not something you do, but I guess that’s a matter of the corner of tumblr culture you’re used it.

Also, their response felt very aggressive and condescending. They implied I was, like, a kid, and I do think I’m somewhat younger than them, but the only information about my age in my bio at the time was that I’m an adult, so it felt like a rude assumption. My age doesn’t have anything to do with it.

Again, though, I do absolutely see how my initial message could read as entitled. During the rest of our messaging, I did lose my temper a little bit at one point; I said something about how I’ve had to deal with shit in this fandom before, and I don’t remember the exact words since, again, we both blocked each other, but I know I swore at them. That might’ve come across as more aggressive than I wanted, and probably didn’t exactly help deescalate. (Can’t say for sure, I don’t have their side of the story)

Like I said, this situation was a bit ago now, but it upset me pretty bad at the time, and I’m still not entirely sure who’s in the wrong. So, AITA?

(Also to get ahead of this: please don’t make this about shipcourse in the comments. It’s not about that. They and I have similar opinions on that discourse from what I’ve gathered anyway. Thanks.)

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #ship discourse

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shadamyheadcanons · 2 months

Note

For me, Shadow and Amy's dynamic is basically two different types of touch starved in a person

((If any of the gifs on this post aren’t loading for you on mobile--like they aren’t for me--you can download them or check the sources listed. As for desktop, they play just fine, but they won’t line up next to each other like they do on mobile. Tumblr is a comedy of errors.))

Yes! Absolutely. I’ve seen tons of fans say Shadow is prickly and would respond badly to hugs, but canon says otherwise. This is a bad reaction:

[Sonic 06]

Whenever I feel like being sad, I wonder if Bad-Future-06 Silver has ever been hugged.

This is a bad reaction:

[Sonic Unleashed, gif source.]

And I shouldn’t have to say this, but...yeah. These are very bad reactions:

[Sonic X]

[Sonic Generations]

Yikes. I feel bad for both of them.

But this?

[Sonic Adventure 2, gif source.]

This is Shadow’s only canonical hug in the games, and aside from jumping slightly from being snuck up on, he seems to like it just fine.

Just look at that smile! He’s happy. He finds it endearing.

It was a hug from a complete stranger meant for someone else, but he still drank it in--and, given that he’d effectively just lost Maria, he really did need it. It’s the combination of Amy’s gentleness AND her speech that changed his mind. After all, if someone as sweet as her sees something in the humans, maybe they’re not so bad.

My buddy who runs @shadowxamyweek recently reblogged a post about this hug, and their tags sum it up perfectly:

[ID: A screenshot of tags on a post. The tags read:

#official art #4kids #shadow the hedgehog #amy rose #YEAH 😭 #listen I read nothing that has happened with them in SA2 as shippy - and i ship them #THIS HUG? THR SPEECH ON THE ARK? #those are two lonely kids #those are two left behind kids #those are two kids so desperate for affection #for two vastly different reasons #Amy loves with her whole chest and will never stop doing so- no matter what happens #and Shadow does too- that is key to remember- Shadow loves... so fucking much... that it hurts #you are RIGHT op when you say this is probably the first time someone has been gentle with him in a long long time #he doesn't even run away #in the game- when Amy flees- he takes a step after her- a moment's hesitation- a 'wait' #this kid NEEDED a hug #and i firmly believe part of the reason Shadow listens to Amy in the end is BECAUSE she is the only person who showed him gentleness #softness and kindness and affection #if only for a moment #fjdodhdofjgor THIS is what i mean when i say 'be gentle- be kind' #it MATTERS #it FUCKING MATTERS

End ID]

Shadow doesn’t hate hugs inherently; it’s just that no one hugs him in the first place...

...aside from one person.

Amy’s easily the most affectionate character in the cast. It’s cute at first glance, but there’s a common thread to every instance that puts a damper on it.

She’s always, ALWAYS the initiator.

She puts more into each hug than anyone else does.

She’s always the last to pull away.

The most reciprocated Amy hug I know of in canon is this one:

[IDW Sonic issue #22]

Which is absolutely adorable...but Amy still initiated. Because it’s always her job. Even the characters who like affection don’t need it the way she does...with one exception.

And this tiny detail just killed me. The little, “wait, come back 😟”

It’s the only time I know of when someone has actually stepped after her like this. In a game where everyone left Amy behind, he wanted to follow her. Mister so-called-prickly didn’t want the hug to end.

Because he’s the only one who needs it as much as she does.

He wants to be held as much as she wants to hold someone else, and no one else is warm and sincere enough for it. Compare these instances:

[IDW issue #6]

Sonic thinks Shadow is wrong about something, so he grabs Shadow’s arm to stop him, and Shadow aggressively wrenches it away and leaves.

[Archie Sonic Universe #23]

But when Amy thinks Shadow is wrong about something and grabs his arm to stop him, he gently removes her hand and thinks about what she has to say.

Even when he doesn’t want to be touched, he makes the distinction between “don’t touch me” and “not right now, please.” These are from two different continuities, of course, but I think the point stands. Amy’s special. He’s gentler with her than he is with other people, and that’s consistent across all canons.

Side note: how often does Amy get to feel special like that? I actually really like that Sonic doesn’t place others in a hierarchy of importance, and I wouldn’t change that about him even if I could...

[IDW issue #2]

...but Amy does play favorites. I want her to feel like she’s someone else’s favorite, too. I want her to have someone who puts her first and likes her best. I think Shadow’s more than capable of that. I believe he craves clinginess like hers deep down, even if he hasn’t consciously figured that out yet.

I have an entire tag for these two being affectionate. My favorite is probably this one.

Of course, there may be those who say I’m reading too much into one (1) hug. And you know what? Maybe they’re right! We need a bigger sample size. Sega, make more characters hug Shadow, please. Let Rouge comfort him after he confides in her about something. Have Omega give him an awkward metal embrace because he read on the internet that organic beings like that kind of thing. Make Shadow himself pull Silver into a hug when he’s breaking down crying from the stress of always having to be a hero. Show Tails accidentally grab onto him out of fear when they’re trapped in a lightning storm, and when he gets embarrassed and pulls away, have Shadow hold him for the rest of the storm and admit he’s not fond of bright lights, either.

[Sonic Boom]

That scene where Shadow and Amy rescue Cream and Cheese from Cryptic Castle? That easily could’ve turned into a cute group hug.

[Shadow the Hedgehog (2005)]

And I have seen some absolutely adorable fanart where he holds Cream’s hand while he and Amy lead her through Cryptic Castle to make sure she doesn’t get lost 🥺

Have Knuckles give him an empathetic bro-pat on the shoulder when he finds out Shadow’s the last one of his race, too.

[Archie Sonic Universe #89]

Have Sonic try to hug him, and then when Shadow inevitably pushes him away and says he doesn’t do hugs, have Amy arrive and latch onto Shadow instead while he tries to stutter out an excuse as to why she’s allowed to and Sonic isn’t.

The most affection Shadow has in recent history is stuff like this...

youtube

[Sonic Prime season 2 episode 1]

...where Sonic tries to hug him and Shadow immediately pushes him away, knocks him over, and tries to punch him in the face. Kind of says it all. Amy stands out as the only one with a good track record here.

[IDW issue #36]

Especially when you have him look at her like this when someone else is on the receiving end of that affection.

So in the absence of further evidence, I have no choice but to interpret this in the most Shadamy way possible. Your move, Sega.

#shadamy #amy rose #shadow the hedgehog #not a headcanon #ask #anonymous #what is it with touch starved hedgehogs?#not the first time i've used the previous tag. says a lot about these characters

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talenlee · 11 months

Text

Hanamusa, Explained

There is a nonzero chance if you follow me on tumblr, you’ve seen the term ‘Hanamusa’ attached to something I shared. It’s probably also some super cute art of Delia Ketchum and Jessie Teamrocket, and you may wonder what is going on and also, why is there so much good art of this.

Hanamusa as a term derives from the Japanese names of the characters – Hanako and Musashi. If you’re into shipping name structures, Hana-Musa implies that Hanako is the seme and Musashi the uke, but I don’t think that holds for all use cases of the type of terminology. It’s a ship. It’s an AU ship, as in an ‘alternate universe’ ship, where the two characters are presented in a context outside of the normal context of the anime presentation of them.

The Hanamusa ship as I understand it is set at some point after Jessie and James stop chasing Ash around, and Jessie settles down into a relationship with Delia. There’s tension about her history with Ash and the confusion about finding Your Personal Villain dating your mom, but mostly it’s about showing a sweet domestic life between two characters you know very well in a format I kind of see as like, Comedy-Sabot Romantic 4koma. Like, Hanamusa content is funny (and it is VERY funny) but it doesn’t need to be funny, because the main thing it’s about is showing these two characters and their relationship as they do cute things together.

It’s why people watch shows like K-On basically.

As for where this idea comes from, (EDIT: Slightly wonky wording here, I should have phrased 'this current fandom push' - I don't have any reason to believe Mai INVENTED the ship, just that when you go looking you'll wind up at her work) it seems to have its genesis with the work of one Kiana Mai, who developed this ship some time ago. Kiana Mai is also an extremely skilled artist, and one of those skills seems to be focus, creating these extremely clean-line excellently structured scene vignettes with no unnecessary content in them but also no need to rocket along. It’s amazing, engaging work that uses every part of the small format amazingly well. Which makes sense because one of the things Kiana Mai does is storyboarding work for Disney animated TV shows, a task at which I am sure she no doubt excels.

What I think is the most interesting aspect of Hanamusa, to me specifically, is that it manages to combine three things I don’t actually care about, in a way that doesn’t interfere with something I have unexpectedly strong opinions on. I do not watch Pokemon, and I have not shed a tear for Team Rocket and Ash Ketchum wandering into the sunset. That is a show that is not for or about my interests and that is okay. Indeed, imagining that it should be about what interests me is baffling. I think if I stopped watching a show twenty years ago, I have lost all right to act like I’m entitled to expect it remain the way it was all the way back then.

But I do have opinions on Jessie and James’ character voice. Not their voice acting – I mean, I know for a fact they’ve had to change over time and no voice actor should be obligated to kick it in the same role for what could be their entire career. I mean the way they talk about things and the words they use and kind of emphasis they put on words when they talk. About the way they voice their ideas, or the way they express who they are in the way they talk to one another, that stuff. It’s about affordances and persona, about the kind of people you project being by what words you choose to use and the affect when using them.

It’s why when, if a picture of a character is underneath it, you can read some dril posts as being ‘appropriately’ voiced by a character, even if it’s describing a candle situation that Francis Crozier did not have opinions on.

Jessie has a voice.

Jessie, in my head, is someone capable of moments of tenderness and friendship that is normally overwhelmed by an incredible confidence in ability she does not have and mere reality will never be given permission to infringe on it. Jessie is unassailably unstoppably sure of herself, thoughtlessly stupid in a way that doesn’t mean she is stupid, but which exists in a context of someone who has relentlessly pursued excellence in her job which is also the equivalent of being a late night 7/11 manager. She is the Girlboss that is Gaslighting herself into thinking she has something to Gatekeep.

Delia Ketchum by comparison is a very nice piece of wallpaper. Every appearance of her in my mind is someone Very Nice who is Very Patient and Very Supportive and has managed to keep literally all emotionally challenging conversations from happening around Ash, which can be perhaps easier when you remember that he, too, is an idiot. I don’t know how Delia Ketchum talks, but I do know that there are ways that Delia Ketchum does not talk.

This is interesting! It’s interesting because it presents a character where I am very sure I know what she does do when she does it, and a character about whom I can only be sure wouldn’t do some things. It creates a character space, and it creates expectations of affect and performance within that space. Ash and other characters show up as well, but because they get to interact with this already-defined space, you get treated to this really lovely kind of resonance. Would Ash call Jessie ‘dad’? Maybe, to bug her. He was good at being a twerp. Wasn’t he? I mean I remember it that way, he seems to work out that way, but… how would I know?

I know more of this AU where Jessie is studying to be a Pokemon Doctor and Ash wears glasses than I do of the source material any more. And if you’re wondering ‘hey, do Jessie and Delia ever meet in the source material?’ Like, yeah, for a few seconds. What, the point is creating something new.

If you want to check out Hanamusa stuff and read the comics, I recommend going and clicking on the hashtag on tumblr.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Anime #Media

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iaminsideyourwalls · 10 months

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i don't even ship mediscout but ur art is so funny and cute that every time i see them i'm like :) (also "das fucking magazine bunny is ruining my life!" has been living rent-free in my head. it makes me laugh a lot.)

Thank you! I don’t ship it much either (Red Oktoberfest baybee) but it’s fun to play around with.

(I know Mediscout is kind of divisive—some people very strongly dislike it, which is 100% fine, I have ships i really don’t like, and some people love it—and I think that often comes down to how the dynamic is written. It’s not 2012. We’ve progressed past the need for portrayals of power imbalance with dubious consent or yandere behavior. I’m sick of it. We can go outside talk to our friends for a while and start to portray healthy, happy couples. Y’know, Scout’s nearing 30, Medic’s a sweet person to his loved ones, they’re perfectly capable of a fun relationship with emotional depth.)

Sorry for rambling!

#i just wanted to be clear with everyone who views my mediscout stuff that i don't support the creepy power imbalance portrayals of them #thanks for coming to my ted talk :]#tf2 medic #tf2 scout #medicscout #mediscout #blunt trauma #quick fix

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24-7-testing · 5 months

Text

The end of the year can be tough for a lot of people. My goal? To make it a little bit brighter. That's why I'm pleased to once again announce the return of...

The Portal Holiday Spirit Initiative!

To help bring a smile to people's faces this year, I will be sending FREE Portal-Themed Holiday Cards to anyone who asks for one! There are a few changes to the cards this year because life has gotten very busy for me and I have less free time than in years past.

This year there will only be one card design, featuring artwork from one of the Portal Fandom's awesome artists! The cards will still be customizable to any Winter Holiday of your choosing, but you'll have to wait for your card to arrive in order to see how (the method takes cues from the Portal game's sense of humor, so it will very much be on-brand).

This year is also special because it is PHSI's 5th Anniversary! I can’t express the amount of thanks everyone who has participated over the years, whether you've reblogged and shared, requested cards, helped with artwork, or helped in other ways. You all deserve my recognition and thanks for volunteering your time, talents, and support! Thanks for helping to make PHSI a special fandom tradition!

If you would like to receive a Portal-Themed Holiday Card:

Visit bit.ly/PHSI-2023 ...

Answer the questions in the forms...

Wait for your card to be sent!

It's that easy! Card Requests are now open, and close on December 20th in order to give me enough time to make and send all the cards before the end of the year. Please submit sooner rather than later so I have time to finish them all!

Also, please don’t be afraid to request a physical card if you don’t live in the US! The card service I've chosen says they ship worldwide and, while it might take a bit longer for you to receive your card depending on what country you live in, the cards will get mailed to whatever address you provide, domestic or foreign. Last year I mailed/emailed a total of 164 cards to Italy, Canada, Germany, England, Poland, The US, The United Kingdom, Brazil, India, and Slovenia!

I’m happy to be a part of the Portal Fandom and hope to bring a smile to others in the Fandom this year! Making and emailing Holiday Cards takes time and effort, and sending physical cards is expensive. While it isn't a requirement to receive a card, I would greatly appreciate if you'd like to give $4 to cover the cost of your card or someone else's. Please visit ko-fi.com/247testing and click the Donate button if you want to help out.

Also, feel free to DM me with any questions or comments. Thanks!

Answers for common questions and concerns under the cut:

Worried about providing a mailing address, for whatever reason?

PHSI has an eCard option! All you need to provide is a name for me to call you by and an email address to receive your card!

Worried about requesting a card because you don’t live in the US?

PHSI mails to any address provided, whether domestic or foreign! However, please wait patiently for your card, due to the current global rate of shipping.

Worried that you can’t give $4 to cover the cost of your card or someone else’s?

Requesting a card from PHSI has been and will always be FREE! However, giving $4 to the initiative helps me pay for the printing service and postage to mail physical cards (visit ko-fi.com/247testing if you’d like to contribute). I gratefully appreciate any contributions received, even if it’s just a comment saying thanks!

Worried because you don’t know how to support the artist of the card you received?

The artist’s social media is listed on the back of every card featuring their artwork. Look them up, commission them, reblog their art, and support them however you can!

Worried because you haven’t received your card yet?

Double check your email inbox and junk folders. I send everyone an email that either confirms your Holiday Card has shipped or includes your eCard! Physical cards take 1-2 weeks to arrive. If your physical card fails to show up after the first week of January, please reach out to me and I’ll send you a replacement eCard!

Worried because you received your card and don’t know what to do now?

Make a post about it! Include pictures, videos, or anything you’d like, and tag me in the post (@24-7-testing) so I can reblog it! If you don’t want to show your card off, that’s ok too!

#PHSI 2023 #portal holiday spirit initiative 2023 #5th year of PHSI!#5th anniversary #psa #please boost #portal fandom #still alive #aperture science #aperture laboratories #portal #portal 2 #fandom tradition

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waltzingwithspirit · 7 months

Text

PICK A CARD: WHAT MAKES YOU BEAUTIFUL?

Top Left: Pile 1; Top Right: Pile 2; Bottom: Pile 3

Disclaimer:

🪈 Take what resonates and leave the rest

🪈 Disclaimer in highlight applies here

🪈 Thank you for letting me read for you, it has been a pleasure

🪈Personal readings are paid only.

🪈No one is allowed to copy my work under any circumstances.

This is written from the perspective of the divine feminine.

🤍111🤍

Love. The way you love people, how you pour love into everything you do, very soft energy, something not many people have. You were kissed by the sunrise, bringing light, the sun summoner if I may say so, yet your light is not harsh, it I snot the scorching sun one needs to shade away from, you are the shade when necessary, you provide warmth and coolness, I see how you love yourself and others is purifying, like how you see a child smile and you smile with them. Your presence ? Healing. Keep this essence within you, this is Radha Maa helping others through you. It is not easy to bring love and light when you have received thorns and shadows, it is not. You understand how it feels, and the heart is always ready to take another into your arms, an admiring quality, this is what makes you beautiful. You are the essence of beauty itself. Never change, never forgot to love yourself too, be kind to yourself as you are to other, as forgiving and ever ready to love someone from a fresh eye every time. Your sacral and solar plexus is important. Navel is emphasised, do massage your stomach with oil while affirming from time to time. You are the anchor to the ship that is swaying away in the ocean, there is always home within you. You are every ready to sieze the moment, you might be the one’s to say

‘Life is to short for this, so I am gonna go ahead and do it anyway’

‘Better regret the action you have taken than the one you have not’

Comment ‘111’ to claim.

🌙 DM TO BOOK A TAROT READING 🌙

🥀222🥀

Your passion and hunger make you beautiful. The way you charge at your target makes you beautiful. You have enough zeal to power motors to run, and yet there would be enough left for you. If you have seen Bahubali, there is scene in the 1st movie where watching Bahubali fight, others get inspired. This is the reaction people have to you. You inspire them to do better, even if you don’t get to see it, know that by simply being the way you are, you are healing humanity. You belong here. You deserve to be here. Take up space for that space if yours to take, there is no lack only abundance coming your way. Once you take a project, you finish it. You like variety and may have said the “spice is the flavour of life’. It again confirming, you also act as a guide for people, the way you talk, your ideas can shift people’s worldview. You might be the perfect person to endorse a movie or product because of the way you speak about it would have people wanting more. A good salesman (use this ability for the good). You are the bell that people hear when they have lost track of how life is supposed to be lived. If you open a social media, and talk about this stuff, lead by example, you would be successful in that too. You could also act like a consultant to sorts where you are helping people choose something, decide something, doesn’t have to be a profession.

Comment ‘222’ to claim.

🌙 DM TO BOOK A TAROT READING 🌙

☾333☾

Unconventional in the conventional. You might have an ordinary job or do ordinary things is different non-ordinary, creative way. This makes you happy. That is what makes you beautiful. Bringing colour and fun to the most mundane things, you find beauty in everything. Could be super into DIY’s or a least into it. You might be the type to have creative hobbies like painting just for the sake of it, simply because you like to do it. Abundant in nature, could be scrapbooking or journaling especially art journalling. This is what makes you beautiful. You are traditional with a twist. I sense some art majors here, like painting people live like the olden days but the painting itself is modern? Take it as it resonates. A muse to many. You find yourself in poetry, dances almost like they were made for you, it’s because they were, and many more will come regardless of whether you know about the art pieces or not. You will be alive long after you are gone, in the art you made, in the pieces that were made because of you. A lot would not exist if you didn’t. You are absolutely, undeniably beautiful. I love you. What makes you the most beautiful is the faith you have, in yourself, Paramatma, the universe. You do everything with so much faith that it shocks people. People might stare at you when you are not looking, you are the best art you will ever create. Read: Strongest of the Strange by Charles Bukoweski. Some of you could be sculptures or painters of Bhakti and Religious Art.

Comment ‘333’ to claim.

🌙 DM TO BOOK A TAROT READING 🌙

EL TAROT

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pearwaldorf · 2 months

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I have been trying to write this on and off for a while. I figure the second anniversary of the show is as fine an occasion as any to shove it out into the world. It is not everything I want to say about it, but I think the important bits are there.

It is a human impulse to be seen. To be told, through art, you are not alone. It is universal, but of special importance to people who are not well-represented in media (i.e. everybody who isn’t cis, white, able-bodied, skinny, and conventionally attractive).

This show speaks to me as a queer person who figured things out later than most of my peers. (Not quite as late as Ed and Stede but not terribly far off either.) It’s not super common to see queer media address this, and I didn’t realize how much I needed that reassurance until I got it. That it’s okay to find these things any time in your life. To be told “A queer is never late, they’re always fashionably on-time.”

They’re not my first canon queer ship. But they are the first ones where I knew it was true from the get-go. Multiple people assured me this was the case. And yet, I still didn’t believe it until I saw it with my own two eyes. This experience is not unusual for fans around my age.

After I finished up season one, I laid in bed and cried. It’s not something I thought would affect me so much, but it feels like a weight I’d carried so long I didn’t realize it wasn’t supposed to be part of me is gone.

One of the reasons people unfamiliar with the fandom seem to think it’s absolutely crazy (which some of it is, to be fair, but every fandom has that) is the way fans of the show get extremely super intense about it. It took me a few weeks to realize this is a trauma response. I’m not even sure “trauma” is the right word. It doesn’t interfere with my day to day function, but it lasted for years. Decades. So it was definitely something that fucked me up. And in the way you can only start to see something as you’re moving past it, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to get my head around this. (I don’t know if I have anything to say about it yet. Maybe I need more time to sit with it.)

I know this sounds contrary, but I’m really glad David Jenkins does not come from fandom. Sometimes it’s good to know where a line is, and others it’s better to not know there’s a line at all. And this is, sad to say, remarkable to somebody who has had to deal with this for so long. With so many writers and showrunners aware of the line, and getting right up next to it, but never crossing it.

Imagine doing a show with a queer romance and not understanding why this was received with such emotion and fervor, because it’s just two people in love right? What blissful ignorance that this needed to be explained to him! And then he listened to people’s experiences with queerbaiting, and went “Oh my god you thought I was going to do WHAT?” And then you go “Huh. That is really fucked up.”

The problem with being told something enough, even though you know it’s wrong, is you start to believe it regardless. All the excuses and hedging. It’s so very difficult to do they tell us, when we hear from queer creators how they had fight tooth and nail to make it as gay as it already was.

And then comes Jenks, just yeeting it out there: majority queer and (not and/or. and) POC cast, an openly non-binary person playing an openly non-binary character. The ability to not have to make one queer (and/or) POC character speak for everybody, so you can inject a tiny bit of nuance into the conversation. The way you can tell more kinds of stories, like the one where the smol angry internalized homophobe comes into his own with the support of a queer community, even though he was a giant fucking asshole to them before.

So many people were like “You can just DO that? It’s really that easy?” And wasn’t that a fucking Situation, to have that curtain pulled aside. What next? Majority POC casts with stories about POC written by POC? Absolute madness. (Please please watch The Brothers Sun on Netflix. It’s so fucking good.)

And people will scoff and say “Of course a cishet(?) white man would be able to get this pushed through.” But do they usually? The thing I don’t think people understand about allies is they use their privilege to wedge the door open. You still have to do the work to get through, but at least you have a place to start. And it really fucking matters.

The press keeps trying to tell me The Completely Made-Up Adventures of Dick Turpin is the OFMD substitute we need while we float in the gravy basket. I’m sure it’s a perfectly fine show, but I don’t know who has watched OFMD and decided the itch we needed scratched was anachronistic historical comedy.

I want stories written by people that reflect their lived experiences, with actors and crew committed to bringing that to life. And I would like streamers and studios to commit to giving them a chance, and marketing them properly so people know they exist.

You can keep people satisficed with scraps for only so long. At some point, somebody is going to give them a whole seven course dinner and people will wonder why they’ve been putting up with starving this entire time.

#our flag means death #ofmd #our flag turns 2 #pear watches ofmd #pear text

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floralcyanide · 1 month

Text

ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ!ᴊᴏʜɴ “ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ” ᴇɢᴀɴ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

Today is your first day pursuing your Master of Arts in History, and the first day you meet your advisor, Dr. Egan, Professor of History.

pairing: professor!john "bucky" egan / fem!reader

warnings: none

author’s note: peep the somewhat grey hair edit of bucky I made lol, this is such s elf indulgent au because I am a history major looking to go into my master's and also I want to be a history professor so yeah ((: I will either write this as an actual fic but idk yet!! enjoy (:

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

✦ It’s your first day on your path toward your Master of Arts in History. You’re meeting with your advisor today, who will help you on that very path and hopefully guide you to its end with success.

✦ Apparently, your advisor is prevalent around campus despite you never having a class of his. Your university is quite large, so even though your focus is American History, and so is his, it’s not unheard of to never have met him.

✦ He wasn’t too into social events held by the history department, which is understandable. You loved attending them in your later years of being an underclassmen. But they can be overwhelming at times.

✦ You wrap your knuckles against the wooden door before you, and before you can finish knocking, a tall, salt-and-pepper man swings the door open with a dazzling smile.

✦ “Welcome, I’m Dr. Egan. I’ll be your advisor for the rest of your time here on campus.” He offers a hand for you to shake, which you happily take. His grip is firm, but so is yours. You were taught to look someone right in the eye while shaking their hand firmly- but not too firmly. Dr. Egan picks up on this.

✦ You’re one of three female history majors in the entire department going toward a Master’s and one of about twenty altogether in the major. So, of course, you’re going to need a firm handshake and steady eye contact to get ahead in your field.

✦ “Quite a handshake you have there,” Dr. Egan says, taking a seat behind his desk. He waves a hand for you to sit in one of the chairs in front of it. “Thank you,” you say, “My grandfather taught me always to have a perfect grip.” “Your grandfather was right,” Dr. Egan nods, “because in this major, being an equal with the males will take you far.”

✦ Your grandfather and father were history buffs and even lived through major historical moments, like the World Wars. So your goal in life is to teach others about what they loved so dearly and went through so harshly.

✦ Your mother had you just a few years before your father was shipped off to England, so you spent the beginning of your school years without him. Your grandfather filled in the gaps you missed from your father, thankfully. Sadly, your grandfather passed just last year, but you aim to carry his legacy and intelligence.

✦ “I’m aware, unfortunately,” you grimace at the thought of the male-dominating discipline, “But I’ve made it this far, and I’m not backing down.” “Great, I’m glad to hear that. Especially since you’re the first student I’ve ever advised for a Masters.” “Really?” you ask, a little surprised, “Then we’ll do this together.”

✦ Dr. Egan winks at that and dives into what research will be required for your first paper. The topic is based on the thesis statement of your final project, a little warm-up, as Dr. Egan called it- to the real deal at the end of your two years of studying. You go on to tell him that you want your thesis to be about the pilots of World War II, but you don’t elaborate on why.

✦ Dr. Egan tilts his head at you when you don’t explain why you chose that exact topic but let it go. He’s had to learn that everyone has skeletons in their closet, as well as personal things, and not just him.

✦ You can’t help but take in his appearance. His outfit consists of a brown tweed blazer and a white button-up with black slacks. His hair is curly and graying on the sides, and he has a faint stubble with a notable mustache on his upper lip. Dr. Egan held himself carefully but confidently, like he’d been hurt by something but still had an ego of sorts. It reminds you of your father and grandfather. You weren’t sure why. But you’re going to figure it out.

✦ Dr. Egan is in his 40s now and picked up college again after leaving the military due to PTSD. He eventually got his Ph.D. in History and is now a professor, and has been for a few years now. He enjoys his job. Dr. Egan (or Bucky, as we know him) loves that he can focus on American History without living through it, so he teaches it. Bucky tries to avoid WWII as a topic because he doesn’t want students and staff to know he served. He thinks it will hinder their outlook on him.

✦ Bucky has only known you through letters and now an hour of talking, but he already expects a lot from you. He knows you are skilled and passionate about history. When you look at him, though, he feels you can see right through him. Bucky doesn’t know how to gauge that quite yet.

✦ You bid farewell to Dr. Egan after about two hours of getting to know each other's basic info as well as what’s expected of your MA in History. You leave, letting out a deep breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you walked out of the office. You’re still nervous, but not about your Master’s anymore- it’s about how you’re going to manage the next two years with a man like Dr. Egan.

#john bucky egan x reader #john egan x reader #john bucky egan #john egan #mota #masters of the air #callum turner x reader #callum turner #headcanon #John Bucky Egan headcanons #mota headcanons #floralcyanide writes

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wispscribbles · 1 month

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hi i just discovered your beautiful art so i obviously needed to scroll down your whole blog to catch up on everything you posted haha

i just wanted to say that i got way too emotional after reading that post of yours regarding mw3 and your mental health… on one hand i’m so sorry that you felt that way, but on the other i feel it with my whole heart

ghoap content especially for me helped me these past few months with my mental health in ways i would never have expected, it was my solace and inspiration, i started working out too and got back into drawing, got a lot better at it as well!

but unfortunately i get way too fixated on fictional stuff and there comes a time that my brain switches up and connects the things i liked and comforted me with things that make me extremely uncomfortable and stressed out, especially if i fall down a fandom rabbit hole that i would never have searched up, beacuse i know myself, i know my limits and triggers but i feel like i’m not a part of the fandom if i don’t like and interact with every single headcanon, art and ship

these past days i was really down because of that, and the things i read (why did i do that???) and now when i think of ghoap i think of that stuff and im scared that i alienated myself from the one thing that made me happy

but discovering your art and with that your post reminded me that im not alone in these feelings, even if it’s not the same exactly, and i wanted to thank you, for sharing your thoughts that time i guess haha <33

((sorry for rambling))

Long reply under 'keep reading' !! CW: talk of triggers and MCD

Always feel free to ramble my way!!! How nice you could find some comfort in my art and ghoap stuff. Especially in my mw3 post. I've been considering deleting it a few times, but hearing it maybe helped to read in some way makes me happy I left it up.

I get where you're coming from - I very much use these fictional characters as a safe space, but ppl view them very differently. There's room for it all, "don't like, don't interact" is very much a policy I agree with. It's important to mute words and be aware of your own triggers as you browse stuff in this fandom, because there's such a wide variety of stuff out there. You do NOT have to interact and agree with every thought people have on this ship, that's impossible and super stressful. There's plenty of stuff and headcanons I don't vibe with. There are no 'requirements' that you have to meet in order to enjoy fiction.

It's part of why I enjoy ghoap - that their dynamic resonates and has sparked so much creativity and outlets for so many - but it also means there's gonna be a lot of stuff u don't necessarily agree with or feel comfortable with. For example, a lot of folks use the MCD in mw3 as a way to explore grief, which I think is really cool, but on a bad day that could potentially get my brain in a bad headspace, so I only check out that art and those fics when I feel okay. There's also a bunch of stuff I'd never want to interact with, and that’s fine !!

I'm personally quite vanilla and a sucker for exploring the softer, more domestic aspects of these characters. It's what brings me joy. I know there are parts of this fandom who don’t vibe with what I make at all, and would call it untrue to the characters. Some creators enjoy exploring the more violent or toxic sides to the source material. That's just how it is, we all need different things from fiction. As long as we're capable of chilling in our respective sandboxes, then all's good.

But if you're like me, and enjoy the softer things, then definitely be aware and careful while exploring this ship and fandom. I've seen takes on these characters that are so far removed from how I view them, that they're basically the complete opposite, and it can leave a very bad taste, especially if you're the type to hinge your safe space on fiction.

Just... be mindful of yourself and your potential triggers, be respectful and don't interact with things that make you uncomfortable to the point of feeling unsafe. Shape your own online experience to your best ability.

Hope you're doing okay and still find joy in ghoap <3

#ask #anon ask #long post #mcd #mcd mention #major character death #mw3 spoilers #ish #few extra thoughts in tags:#sry it took a while to respond. i wanted to give a proper answer #hope this makes sense or helps somehow #and if interacting with this fandom continues to have a negative impact on your mental health then take a break #i understand using fiction as an outlet or safe space (i do it) but if the bad starts outweighing the good then try to distance yourself #don't dive into those rabbit holes that u know will make u feel bad #i understand the urge but its so important to protect yourself online #I’m far from an expert on this stuff so this is just my two cents #stay safe!!

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awwyeah107 · 4 months

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2023 Fic Recs

Hello and welcome to my GIANT fic recs from 2023 post :)

I have been utterly obsessed with Tolkien’s works this entire year, and I’ve read more fanfiction in one year than I ever have before. My primary fandom this year was Tolkien, and I’m honestly rather astonished that it’s held my attention as long as it has, especially considering that this is a “recurring” hyperfixation (aka, this is not the first time I’ve had this hyperfixation).

So buckle up, ‘cause this is going to be a crazy long ride. The vast majority of these fics are Tolkien fics, but I’ve got a couple of non-Tolkien fics at the very end, and overall there's about 90-ish fics here in this bad boy XD

For each fic, I’ll give a one-sentence summary and then my thoughts on the fic!

I’m sorting them into oneshots, multi-chapter fics, series, in-progress stories, and misc & non-Tolkien fics. Within those sections, I'll loosely group them by various qualifiers like characters, time periods, and locations.

Intro: What to Expect & Fics Legend

Expect: Lots of fluff, lots of angst. Mostly genfic. Mostly Silmfics featuring or focused on kidnap fam, Fëanorians, Halenthir, Arafinwëons. Some Lord of the Rings and/or Hobbit characters are featured, so if you aren’t familiar with The Silmarillion, there are definitely fics that include characters a non-Silm reader would know. Most fics are rated T, with a few rated M.

Do not expect: Stories with a focus on romantic!Russingon (or any other first cousins x cousins ships—those really give me the ick), smut, or really gory or dark stories. No E-rated fics (with one *singular* exception where I did not know it was E-rated at first and only has a few E-rated scenes that can be skipped).

Fics Legend/Key These emojis are used to denote any stories that do have the following elements, and I’ll do my best to put appropriate warnings/mentions of certain potentially triggering topics as well, when needed.

🔒 Fic only available to AO3 users

⚠️ Features smut (skippable/not essential to the story or the focus of the story)

*️⃣ Features background/non-primary romantic!Russingon

🩸 Features somewhat graphic violence and/or heavy topics (including abuse and severe trauma or mental illness)

As I said, I’ll do my best to put appropriate warnings. However, a) there’s some stuff that just comes with the territory; Tolkien does not shy away from violence and trauma, and b) this is such a long list that I honestly may not remember if some of them apply to certain stories. Most if not all the stories do have content warnings given by the author as appropriate/necessary, so if I miss something, the author and/or the fic tags should tell you about it. My apologies if I do miss anything.

I will tag authors who are here on Tumblr; I've included multiple fics by the same authors, so I will only tag each author once.

Also, this may go without saying, but I feel like it does need saying: Your mileage may vary with these fics, especially those that are not particularly fluffy. For example, I don’t like romantic!Russingon, but I’m willing to read some stories with them in the background. I also don’t like smut, so I don’t read stories that prominently feature it, but if I’m already enjoying a story and I come across it, I will skip it. Same kind of thing with intense violence—I’ll skip or skim what I need to. So, read what you’re comfortable with, and don’t read or skip what you aren’t.

I want to give a massive thank-you to all of the fic authors, all of the people posting meta, and all of the artists out there. I was inspired to re-read The Silmarillion (for the third time) this year, and I highly doubt I would’ve been able to actually get myself to do that without all of the amazing stories and musings and art out there that drove me back to the canon we all love. So thank you ❤️

Oneshots

Haleth x Caranthir (Halenthir)

She is the Sunlight by @dreamingthroughthenoise (aka Alantie)🔒 - Caranthir and Haleth have a hike and a conversation. When I saw the title of this fic, I immediately thought of the Trading Yesterday song with the same name—and it turns out, the fic was named after the song, which fits Caranthir/Haleth as a ship so well! The fic itself is (bitter)sweet and beautiful, and I really enjoyed it.

easily sever what was never one by vauquelin - Haleth and Finrod have a discussion, and Haleth pays a visit to Caranthir. I loved reading this fic, and I’ve come back to reread it at least once. It was quite amusing at times, and I really enjoyed Haleth’s no-nonsense characteristics. The debates and discussions she has with Finrod and Caranthir are delightful to read—plus, I enjoyed Haleth and Caranthir’s dynamic and the waxing and waning tension between them. (Warnings: The fic outright says that Caranthir and Haleth have had and do have sex, in generally crude/slang terms, and there is one paragraph/section where things are described a little, but it can be easily skipped and I would not consider it explicit.)

Call It What It Is (Whatever It Might Be) by @sweetteaanddragons (aka Drag0nst0rm on AO3) (featuring art from @lidoshka) - Haleth is visited by several elves related to Caranthir, which raises her suspicions. A delightfully fun oneshot that had me grinning a lot! I love Caranthir/Haleth fics, especially when Caranthir’s denying he’s got a crush on her. Not a lot of Caranthir interacting with Haleth directly in this one, but it’s a great fic. The art was fantastic, I absolutely love Lidoshka’s art style!

Kidnap Fam

Enough by dreamingthroughthenoise (aka Alantie) 🔒 - Maglor and Maedhros argue over the twins, but later Maedhros comes to join Maglor and the twins on a picnic. This one’s a bit angsty, but it does have some sweet moments in it! I like the discussions the characters have; they feel thoughtful and well-characterized, especially in terms of how Maglor and Maedhros respond to each other. Both brothers have strong emotions, but they don’t go out of their way to be hurtful to each other.

Nightmares by @brievel - Snapshots of Maedhros experiencing nightmares and how Elrond and Elros respond. This is one of my favorite “Maedhros is having nightmares” fics where it features Elrond and Elros. It’s definitely angsty and tense, but I love seeing how the twins’ responses change over the course of the story. It really shows how their trust of Maedhros and Maglor develops.

Dawn (The Nightmares Remix) by sweetteaanddragons (aka Drag0nst0rm on AO3) - The aftermath of one of Maedhros’ nightmares from “Nightmares.” Good and angsty with relief by the end! I loved Maedhros’ reflections on the past (his memories of how he was trusted in Tirion with little ones are especially painful) and every aspect of Maglor’s interactions with his brother.

Chill in Your Heart, Life in Your Wings by @jaz-the-bard - After the Third Kinslaying, Elrond and Elros are kidnapped by a band of human raiders in Sirion, who decide to bring them to Maedhros and Maglor. I love JaztheBard’s kidnap fam fanfics, and this one is no exception. It’s a lovely oneshot with lots of feels! Features VERY cute Elrond and Elros. I just about died from cuteness during the fish book part, specifically.

Outrun the Storm by @secretlythranduil - Elrond and Elros are scared of the storm. I love a good kidnap fam thunderstorm fic, and I particularly love all the little details in this one: the guards joking about the claps of thunder being Morgoth’s footsteps, the twins thinking about what kind of state they would find Maedhros in, the reminder of how the Fëanorians found them in Sirion, and how Maedhros picks them up like Maglor had.

In Valinor pre-kinslaying #1

Unruly and ill-behaved, downright feral even by @swanhild - Fëanor and Nerdanel wrangle their rowdy, unruly bunch of elflings. This was quite amusing and adorable!!! I love the younger elflings’ antics and the older elflings’ “teen troubles” (so to speak), and Fëanor and Nerdanel parenting all of them.

Lack of All Trades by @darkfrozenabyss - Young Maitimo doubts that he has a trade or a craft. Cute father-son feels! I loveloveLOVE baby Maedhros and I loved getting to see Fëanor comforting him.

In Valinor post-kinslaying #1

The Spirit of the Law by @mynameisjessejk - Caranthir is re-embodied in Valinor. mynameisjessejk is one of my favorite authors who write the genre of “elves dealing with re-embodiment in Valinor.” This oneshot, along with the other re-embodiment fics they’ve written, is super super good. I really liked this take on Caranthir’s return, and I enjoyed the development of the Caranthir-Finrod friendship—one that isn’t usually seen in fic!

The Return of the House of Finwë by mynameisjessejk - The tales of the re-embodiment of five different members of the House of Finwë. Aaaaaa, this was such a heart-wrenching, feels-filled read! And so wonderful. I loved reading about each character coming back and seeing their reactions to those who came to meet them.

Pity Found by brievel and darkfrozenabyss - Fëanor and his sons are re-embodied in Valinor. Such an emotional fic! All the feels were amazing. I really enjoyed the fic, and I liked how the end left it open for the family to work things out further.

Beyond the Western World by thearrogantemu - Finrod and Curufin meet in Valinor. I really enjoyed this reckoning between the two of them! Finrod has such control in this conversation, yet he still has compassion for Curufin in a way. I liked how their conversation flowed and alternated between focusing on the present and the past. I think both of them needed to speak to each other, not only for closure but also to fully realize things about themselves. It was already a detailed story, but all the little reminders that they knew each other so well lent an even greater sense of depth to the story, which was beautiful. (Plus, I love the title.)

Though All Whom Ye Have Slain Should Entreat For You by thearrogantemu *️⃣ - Thingol has a conversation with Maedhros in Valinor. VERY interesting fic. I had never thought about Thingol and Maedhros interacting before, but hey, that’s what fanfiction is for, right? This was an incredible ride. I loved reading their back-and-forth debate and how calculating and emotional both were. Highly recommend if you’re in the mood for unusual character interactions and a very intellectual and emotionally charged discussion.

There Are Fires, There Is Laughter by ithilielthechosenone - Galadriel and Aredhel take a walk and catch up after Aredhel is re-embodied. I really enjoyed this. It is so beautiful and contemplative, and I love reading about the only two female descendants in the 3rd generation of the house of Finwë.

Finwëons in Beleriand/Middle-Earth

Regrets by dreamingthroughthenoise (aka Alantie on AO3) 🔒 - The Ambarussa have a discussion before the Fëanorians attack Sirion. I really like the characterization of Amrod and Amras in this fic! The way they decided to try to take responsibility for leading the attack in order to spare Maglor and Maedhros is heartbreaking but makes so much sense. I also had never considered how the situation with Eluréd and Elurín might have affected them, so it was interesting to read an interpretation of that!

Lands of the March by @cycas (aka bunn on AO3) - Maedhros discusses the lands and duties he has given to each of his brothers with Amrod and Amras. Quite an enjoyable oneshot! Maedhros is logical…but also quite caring, at the end of the day. I found myself smiling reading it!

Oh Makalaurë… by caeciliusestinforo - Maglor’s guilt over never going to find Maedhros in Thangorodrim causes him to neglect his health, which has consequences. I loved this fic. I’m a sucker for Maglor beating himself up over Maedhros’ torment and then coming to accept it, and Maglor’s desperation is depicted very well.

All the scars we can not see by waitingfover - Fingon has a flashback when he visits Himring. Awwww, poor Finno! Felt a lot of sympathy for him. It definitely felt like he didn’t really want to say what was going on, perhaps because it felt so obvious, but he did. Wish I could’ve given him a hug like Maedhros did.

i will not say the day is done by @southfarthing - Fingon and Maedhros avoid the conversation waiting to happen after Fingon rescues Maedhros from Thangorodrim. SO angsty, so intense, and so good!!! Maedhros and Fingon both have such different viewpoints on what happened and the context surrounding it—it pulls on my heartstrings to see them both struggling, but it makes it all the more poignantly beautiful when they can finally face each other.

Mithrim by @warrioreowynofrohan (aka WarriorEowyn on AO3) - Maedhros has three conversations with different people after his rescue from Thangorodrim. Oh my gosh, this fic is so freaking GOOD! Maedhros and Fingon’s first interaction was so intense and so good (“I’m sorry—” “You’re sorry?” was absolutely iconic. I practically shrieked and had to stop reading for a moment to compose myself). The fic also has a good dose of Maglor guilt, which I’m always happy to read!

Non-Finwëons in Beleriand/Middle-Earth

An evening off by earthbound_misfit - Rog enjoys spending an evening with his friend Egalmoth after work. This was such a good oneshot! So refreshing and peaceful. It felt like having a home-cooked meal :) Lovely!

Sharp Things in the Way by @dawnfelagund - A character study of Daeron, of sorts. This fic is a beautiful mosaic of moments in Daeron’s life—it’s all so bittersweet and deep and full of twisting emotions, and I honestly feel a bit of pity for Daeron after reading it. I haven’t read many fics focused on him, but I really like this one. I thought his and Maglor’s dancing around each other and the musical techniques they shared and took from each other were particularly fascinating parts of the story.

Reflections on Injustice by @hwestalas - Túrin sees Beleg heal a march-warden, and he himself later has the chance to help Beleg heal. Sweet, and a little painful! I enjoyed it. Beleg as a healer and a warrior is awesome, and I liked reading Túrin’s shifting emotions.

see it fall, child of war by swanmaiden 🩸 - Elwing says goodbye to her children. If I had to use one word to describe this fic, it would be “heartbreaking.” I expected it to be painful, and it really, truly was. I teared up reading Elwing telling Elrond and Elros she loved them, and I could feel the fear and anguish felt by the elves around Elwing. This fic really made me feel the terrible weight of the Fëanorians attacking Sirion, which was meant to be a refuge, and I think it was meant to do that. Very well-written!

Among the reeds by Adlanth - Elwing, Tuor, and those of Edain heritage spend time together in Sirion. I absolutely LOVED this!!! This is one of the first fics I’ve read that focus on the Edain and their heritage. I feel like they tend to be less appreciated in fandom, in favor of the house of Finwë (although I’ve definitely seen fics and meta about the Númenoreans). In any case, this was a delightful fic; I really liked seeing the small community of humans grow together and share their culture and history (mainly of the house of Bëor). Beautiful.

LOTR/Hobbit Characters

In A Yellow Wood by @lordgrimwing - Modern AU where Thranduil, wife, and young Legolas go on a hike. SUPER super cute oneshot!! Really enjoyed it. I love how Thranduil and his wife play with Legolas!

The Castaway by warrioreowynofrohan (aka WarriorEowyn on AO3) - Legolas and Gimli meet a stranger as they prepare to sail to Valinor. Quite enjoyable! I loved the difference in Legolas and Gimli’s opinions regarding what they should do, and how Gimli’s perspective and compassion helped Legolas to consider his prejudices. The dialogue between all of the characters was excellent!

A Warg in Sheep’s Clothing by @arofili (aka starlightwalking on AO3) - Fíli and Kíli find an injured warg pup in the woods. This was such a wonderfully fun fic to read! There were a few sad moments for sure, but I love reading stories with Fíli and Kíli because their characters have such a youthful joy and hopefulness to them. I loved “Buddy” and dwarflings’ bond with him was so adorable! (Also, I love the title XD)

General/Misc

Shinystarship Has Invited You To Join A Zoom Conference! by jaz-the-bard *️⃣ - Elrond’s father figures make a plan for how they will support Elrond when he sails to Aman (by using modern technology in Arda). THIS IS HILARIOUS. I love it. The Zoom names are perfect. I’ve reread this a couple times and I laugh every time!

Wealth Enough of Joy by StarSpray - Elrond and Celebrían enjoy time with their newborn twins and more family. This was such a sweet, lovely fic. It has the feeling of a summer evening—which is appropriate, since the description is “Elladan and Elrohir are born at twilight in summer.” I actually drew a picture in my little sketchbook of what I thought Elrond and Celebrían’s room would look like!

Mercy by @nothinghereisworking (aka cuarthol) - Snapshots of Celegorm and Finrod. I haven’t read many fics centered on Celegorm and Finrod, and I really like this! Features scenes in Valinor, Beleriand, and then Valinor again. I love how it comes full-circle and how the meaning of mercy changes over the course of the story.

An Unexpected Friendship by StarSpray (featuring art from lidoshka) - Belladonna Took makes a friend. I didn’t realize how much I needed to read about Maglor interacting with hobbits until this fic—and it made me interested in more fics of the same ilk. This particular one was SO much fun, and I loved how much hobbit culture StarSpray got into. I also really enjoyed Maglor’s and the hobbits’ characterization, too. The art of Maglor and Belladonna is adorable!

To Justify Your Existence by jaz-the-bard 🩸 - Maedhros meets his father and brothers in Mandos and braces himself for the worst. Delightfully angsty! Poor, poor Maedhros. The self-blame is off the charts in this one, whew. The emotional climax is so fulfilling!

AUs

stare death in the face (and never back down) by @oopsbirdficced (aka ingenious_spark on AO3) 🔒🩸 - Instead of returning to Gondolin when Sauron lets him go, Maeglin escapes…and runs into some relatives. This is such a cool AU/twist on what happened in canon! Lots of feeeeels—poor Maeglin. However, I love that he found [spoiler] and that they all essentially took one look at him and decided to adopt him XD

Retaliatory Kidnapping by darkfrozenabyss - Elwing decides that kidnapping the re-embodied Fëanorian twins (Amrod and Amras) might let her make a trade with Maglor and Maedhros for her own sons. This may have been the first fic I read by darkfrozenabyss! It’s so enjoyable and engaging. I loved Elwing taking matters into her own hands and being determined to rescue her sons, as well as the reluctant friendship that began to take root between her and the Ambarussa. Great ending, too! An all-around fantastic story.

Less scary than before by waitingfover - Maedhros is feeling homesick at college and receives a package (modern AU). I seriously enjoyed this oneshot! It filled me with so much warmth, and it reminded me of my family sending me things in college :) I love how each member of Maedhros’ family sent him something that showed how they loved him/thought of him, each in their own unique way.

Wayward Son by @thescrapwitch🩸 - After being re-embodied, Fëanor sets out on a mission to find his second son. This was sweet! I really enjoyed it. Fëanor’s dedication to loving and caring for Maglor is wonderful.

Where the Heart Is by mynameisjessejk *️⃣ - Amarië does not let Finrod go to Beleriand without her. A very cool AU where Amarië goes to Beleriand! We love to see it. I really like how it changes things and how the politics are different throughout Beleriand as a result.

Battle of Sudden Song by AeolianSands - Maglor encounters Sauron and recalls his cousin Finrod. I absolutely LOVE how this is written. I am SUCH a fan of Maglor using Song and living up to his name and reputation! This was so deliciously wonderful.

who could ask to be unbroken (or to be brave again) by @piyo13sdoodles - Tauriel meets a lone elf on the plains of Rhovanion and becomes friends with the mysterious singer. I really like reading “Maglor makes friends with people after being on his own” fics, and this one was so sweet! I enjoyed Tauriel’s curiosity and spirit, as well as how Maglor cares for her. Their relationship is wonderful, and I love how they grow into being each others’ family. It’s a beautiful story :)

Tumblr Oneshots

Wet Boots by @amethysttribble - Baby Maedhros is playing, and Uncle Nolofinwë comes to find him. So fluffy and adorable and silly and SWEET! I love baby Maedhros, and this is one of my go-to fluff fics. (There’s also a super cute fanart/comic of this floating around somewhere—I thought I had saved it but I can’t find it. If I ever do, I’ll add it here.)

Finrod and baby Galadriel in Valinor by @actual-bill-potts (aka oswinry on AO3) - Galadriel wakes up Finrod. SO FREAKING CUTE. I LOVED this little oneshot so much. Tiny Galadriel is super adorable and big brother Finrod is just as adorable. Fluff level 3000.

Multi-Chapter Fics

The following multi-chapter fics are all complete (or have not been updated since 2022), and they all have more than one chapter. If any are incomplete, I will note that.

Girl in Middle-Earth & Modern AUs

Pathology by @wild-houseplant (aka appalled.elf on FanFiction.net) ⚠️ 🩸 - A therapist ends up in Middle-Earth and builds a life in Rivendell. This was one of the first fics I read in 2023, and what a wonderful way to start the year!! I absolutely LOVED reading this fic. This was one of those fics that kept me up late and had me glued to my screen whenever I could spare time to read it. I love its central themes of friendship, grieving, and healing. The relationships that develop between Rhodri and the various Middle-Earth characters felt so real and healthy, and it was simply so wonderful to read! The author adds a lot of notes and information about the mental health care that Rhodri, the main character, provides, which is fantastic. Also, the character-lands-in-Middle-Earth plotline is handled quite well, in my opinion; questions that usually arise with that kind of plot were answered and explained in ways that made sense and added to the story.

(Warnings: There is plenty of language/swearing, a bit of violence [not super graphic, to my memory], and a few smut scenes; the author usually warns ahead of time if there will be any smut, and it’s fairly easy to tell when things are going that direction, so you can skip it if you don’t want to read it, like me. Also, the link I have included is to the fic on FanFiction.net, which is much more updated than the fic on AO3; there are 107 chapters on FanFiction.net as opposed to 29 on AO3. However, the version on AO3 is rated as E, while the one on FanFiction.net is rated as M, just so the reader is aware. I first found it on FanFiction.net, which is why I did not realize it was rated E before I read it, and if you skip the E-rated scenes like I did, I believe it would be considered rated M.)

This fic is incomplete—the last time it was updated was in November of 2022—but the reader is not left on a terrible cliffhanger.

Don’t Panic! by boz4PM - A more realistic "girl-falls-into-Middle-Earth" story. Quite entertaining and interesting! This is a spin on the typical “girl gets transported to Middle-Earth and everything is amazing” story, where things are a lot more realistic: there’s a language barrier, there aren’t high standards of cleanliness, there’s no indoor plumbing…the works! I read basically all of it in one night. I love how Penny and Halbarad’s relationship develops, and it’s fun seeing Penny learn to fit in with elves! There’s also a sequel, which is great too. (Warnings: General…gross-ness, I guess, lol! Also, there’s a LOT of swearing, especially in the first several chapters. This does calm down though.)

Ten Weeks of the Terribles by troiaspider - Maglor is forced to babysit his younger brothers while his parents and Maedhros are away for several weeks (modern AU). I really enjoyed this fic! Didn’t want to put it down. It was so fun, and I laughed several times. It also had many touching moments that I didn’t expect, and I found myself smiling at various moments.

In Valinor pre-kinslaying #1

Make You Pretty by @theladyvanya - Vanifinwë, the only daughter and youngest child of Fëanor, likes doing makeovers for her older brothers, which leads to some…interesting results. This fic is SO CUTE!!! I love how the brothers all give in and allow their baby sister to play with them, even if they know they look extremely bizarre by the end. And when [spoiler] is the only one who is actually truly upset by the game, it does get resolved by the end of the story. The fic is quite humorous and sweet!

Trial and Error by waitingfover - Each of the young Finwëons tries to bake something for their family, with varying results. Adorable set of oneshots! I like how the nature of each of the baking incidents matches the elfling or peredhel that is attempting to make something :)

In Valinor post-kinslaying #1

The Host of the West by mynameisjessejk - Finrod is re-embodied in Valinor. Oh my goodness, this was so good. I loved the exploration of Finrod’s emotions (and how being re-embodied affected him physically as well!) after coming back to life. The tension between him and his parents/those who did not know him in Beleriand felt very palpable, and my heart broke for him multiple times throughout the story. The resolution at the end was touching, and I felt reassured that things would look up for the characters as time went on beyond the ending of the story.

Memento Pugna (Remember, You Must Fight) by sweetteaanddragons (aka Drag0nst0rm on AO3) - Fëanor is re-embodied in Valinor, but from the very start, things are bound to go sideways. This was a great read! I loved the characterization and relationship development throughout the story, and I really enjoyed the chaos and shenanigans that happened. The story is quite hilarious at times and touching and angsty at others!

To save a life by waitingfover 🩸 - Fëanor is re-embodied in Valinor, and he has to deal with several hostile family members and other problems. Really great! It’s quite interesting, and I loved how Fëanor’s character developed over the course of the story, and how he comes to prioritize family over his own desires and pride. I also really liked how the plot changed and how various characters were introduced and included! (Warnings: There is a scene with mention of sexual abuse and a traumatized character expecting further abuse, and a brief scene of physical child abuse by a crowd of unnamed characters.)

More than the Stars Above by sweetteaanddragons (aka Drag0nst0rm on AO3) - Elrond visits his father, Eärendil, in Valinor. This is one of my favorite fics centered around Elrond and Eärendil. Their interactions here are so well-written and so spot-on! I like the alternating point of view, and I simply love how their relationship was portrayed.

The Ransom of the House of Fëanor by @eirianerisdar - Elrond petitions the Valar to return Maedhros and Maglor (and their brothers and father) from the Void. Oh my goodness. This fic broke my heart in the best way. SO. MUCH. ANGST. AND. FEELS. AAAAAGHH. I could see a lot of the different emotional situations coming, which made it even more angsty when they finally hit. I kept having to pause and stop reading because TOO MANY FEELS A;SLDKFJALF. Highly recommend if you want Elrond angst (and just angst in general).

The Last Ember by eirianerisdar - Nerdanel and Fëanor begin to reconcile in Valinor (compliant to The Ransom of the House of Fëanor but can be read separately). I absolutely love this Nerdanel-and-Fëanor-work-things-out-in-Valinor fic!!! Nerdanel’s vacillating emotions were so palpable and real, and both her and Fëanor’s characterization was wonderful. The pacing was done quite well, and I love how things ended :)

Rising as if Weightless by StarSpray - Elwing’s brothers return to life in Valinor. This was such a wonderful, feels-y fic! Elwing’s emotions throughout pulled on my heartstrings—and Eluréd and Elurín were so sweet. I loved meeting so many characters who were important to Elwing, and I really enjoyed the storyline. I couldn’t put this fic down!

In Beleriand & Middle-Earth

Family Reunions by Drapa *️⃣ - Finrod brings his human friend Bëor with him to a family reunion. I don’t think I have ever laughed more at a fic than I have at this one. I fondly remember sitting down to a bowl of soup and some bread for dinner and opening this fic because the premise looked promising…and then proceeding to nearly spit out my soup multiple times while reading. Finrod’s over-the-top behavior, the miscommunications and misunderstandings, the hijinks, and the ridiculousness of all of it was just way too funny. Highly recommend if you’re in the mood for some humor (or even if you aren’t).

Refuge by hwestalas - Maglor comes to Maedhros at Himring and does his best to hide that he is injured; this goes unsuccessfully. I absolutely love the interactions between Maglor and Maedhros in this fic. They are so filled with affection and teasing and the gentle kind of pushing between siblings, and it makes me so happy to read, even though they are dealing with war and deaths of their people. The love they have for each other and their siblings—and their people, too—is clear as day. It’s a lovely hurt/comfort fic, and one that I’ve reread a few times. Wonderful read!

This Taste of Shadow (SPECIFICALLY the Caranthir x Haleth chapters) by Mira_Jade - Caranthir and Haleth meet and slowly but surely fall for each other. I didn’t realize how much I needed a fic that took the question “what would it look like if Caranthir and Haleth really truly decided to get married, and not just in the elvish way [aka, through having sex], but to commit to each other until the end?” seriously and chose to explore it. I literally was obsessing over this fic for three to five days after I read it. SO. FREAKING. GOOD. This is one of the most well-written, satisfying, thorough Caranthir x Haleth fics I’ve ever read; the story is deeply emotionally engaging, and I loved it. Mira-Jade is phenomenal at exploring characters and really understanding them on a fundamental level, and how their relationships play out with other characters. And while it’s her interpretation, it feels very real and true-to-text. (Note: This is specifically a rec for the Caranthir x Haleth chapters; the entire work is a series of ficlets and oneshots that largely make up out-of-order story arcs. The link to each chapter can be found in the index/first "chapter" of the fic, which is linked above. I have not read the rest of the work, so I don’t know if there are any warnings I should give for other chapters. The tags do indicate that there is romantic!Russingon in the fic—there’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it reference in the Halenthir chapters, but otherwise none. Also, warning for a version of Celegorm who lives up to the epithet “Celegorm the Cruel.”)

Of Bright Stars and Dark Skies by @katinkacassio (aka CassioP on AO3) - The Fëanorians attack Sirion and take the twins, which leads to the twins living at Amon Ereb. This was one of my favorite kidnap fam fics I read this year! The characterization was well done, and I will always enjoy tropes like Elrond and Elros running off and Maedhros and Maglor having to search for them. Elrond and Elros are wonderful, and both parties opening up slowly to each other was heartrending and sweet.

Maglor Plays For His People After Doriath by Himring - Maglor contemplates Doriath and plays a lament for his people. Quite enjoyable—the contemplative nature of this fic is beautiful. I liked how Maglor considers what his people need and what he plays for them, and his memories of meeting Daeron at Mereth Aderthad were amusing and sweet. This fic really conveys deep a sense of wistful mourning.

Generally Interesting Lives by @glorf1ndel - A collection of oneshots for Tolkien Gen Week 2023. I love how unique these are and how each one of them stands out! I really liked the vibe of the stories—they were easy to read and the characters’ “voices” and personalities are strong. I particularly enjoyed the chapters about Maedhros and Lúthien, Huan and Oromë, and Galadriel and Bill the pony!

I need you more than ever right now by @senalishia - Elwing and Eärendil weather Elwing’s pregnancy with their twins. I love how this fic explored Elwing and Eärendil’s relationship, their personalities, and their perspectives on their responsibilities and having children! It’s compelling and well-paced. Also, I really liked the OC healer Curunada’s curious yet brusque nature! (Warnings: Childbirth, which is a little graphic)

General/Misc

Of starlight, s’mores and misadventures by waitingfover - A collection of oneshots about elflings and their adventures. These oneshots are SO CUTE and occasionally come with a serving of angst at the end with a flash-forward. A few of them are angsty in general, but the majority are just adorable, fluffy stories. If you ever need fluff, you will find it here! Also, this fic is how I finally got all of the Quenya names of the House of Finwë ingrained into my mind XD waitingfover uses them a lot in the story and provides lists of the names at the start of chapters, so that was super helpful! (Note: This fic is still being updated, but not on a regular basis, which is why I put it in the multi-chapter fics section instead of the in-progress section.)

As the Tides Flow by @starshipsilmaril 🩸 - The story of Maglor’s life, from start to finish. I loved it! Starshipsilmaril does a great job with Maglor's emotions, and Maglor’s love story and family were so sweet. Telumë is a wonderful character, and she and Maglor fit together quite well, I think. Definitely gets more angsty as the story goes on, which is expected. Great read! (Warnings: Silm-typical violence, not super graphic [to my memory] but it’s there. Also, The fic outright says that Maglor and Telumë have sex, and there are a couple paragraphs where things are described a little, but it can be easily skipped and I would not consider it explicit. It’s also pretty easy to see coming—it’s on the wedding night.)

Some Wild Thing by warrioreowynofrohan (aka WarriorEowyn on AO3)🩸 - Aredhel’s story, from Valinor to Beleriand. I love this exploration of Aredhel’s personality and character. The small snapshots and snatches of dialogue that relate the bigger picture are beautifully written, and Aredhel’s fiery personality shines through so well. I also really liked the depiction of her and Eöl (and Maeglin!)—it felt real and the way things subtly changed for the worse over time was chilling. Great read!

To Safety by jaz-the-bard - Young Elrond and Elros get transported to the Years of the Trees in Valinor and encounter their captors once again. I seriously love this story—I felt so bad for Elrond and Elros, and I felt sympathetic towards a bewildered Maedhros and Maglor (or should I say, Maitimo and Makalaurë). It’s fantastic! I’ve reread this at least 3 times XD

In a Field of Blood and Bone by @theheirofashandfire (aka ScribeofArda on AO3)🩸 - The Battle of the Five Armies, from the point of view of the elves. This was fantastic! It was awesome to read the events from a totally different perspective; the elves (and Bard!) come at the situation with different motivations, needs, and hopes for the future than the dwarves and Bilbo, and I think that ScribeofArda handled that very well. I loved the OCs Belhadron and Rhovaniel; they felt very whole and fleshed out, and it made me wish they were in the actual story so I could read more about them. Also, Legolas and Thranduil’s relationship was so sweet, and I love how much Thranduil loves Legolas even though he doesn’t outright show it much. (Warnings: Battle violence, as can be expected from a fic that’s about the Battle of the Five Armies.)

AUs

What once was mine by waitingfover - Maglor is given a second chance to go back and change things, starting at Losgar. What a great fic! I had the privilege to follow this fic from start to completion, and I loved getting updates. The changes—or lack thereof—were quite fascinating to read! This story features a strong dose of Maglor dealing with guilt and depression, which was heartbreaking but also understandable (and, as per usual, I ate it up with a spoon). This one of my favorite AUs!

The Rescue Party by AeolianSands - Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin decide to travel to Middle-Earth and save their children before the Doom of Mandos takes them. Really enjoyed this! Quite humorous, with some sweet touches of fluff and some angsty bits. There’s LOTS of chaos and things happening at the same time, and it reminded me of a contemporary fantasy story where all these plotlines are overlapping! There were lots of twists and turns I didn't expect, which was super fun.

Waiting for Dawn by theheirofashandfire (aka ScribeofArda on AO3) 🩸 - The Fellowship of the Ring finds Maedhros alive in the aftermath of the Battle of Pelennor Fields. I love “Maedhros-and-or-Maglor-are-alive-in-the-Third-Age” fics, and this one is quite well-written! I absolutely adore Pippin in this fic; his compassion and sprightliness are so in-character and it’s amazing to read. The rest of the hobbits are delightful as well. There’s also a serving of kidnap fam with a good amount of angst and feels :) Gotta love Maedhros being healed (against his will) and coming to accept that he wants to live! (Warnings: There’s somewhat graphic descriptions of the aftermath of the battle and torture, and there is a very disturbing injury in the first chapter that was done by torture. Additionally, Maedhros is suicidal for a while.)

Say NO To Shiny (And Other Valuable Life Lessons) by @fflewddur-feanorion *️⃣ - Maglor joins the Fellowship of the Ring! As soon as I saw the description of this fic, I immediately knew I had to read it. It is absolutely HILARIOUS. I laughed so much! I enjoyed the more casual, less serious characterization of the Fellowship and felt both amusement and sadness towards Maglor at different moments. The story also features Fëanorion brother shenanigans and some epic Song awesomeness!

Little Bird by darkfrozenabyss - Elwing is lost in the woods of Doriath instead of Eluréd and Elurín, and Amras Fëanorion finds her. Oh my goodness, this one pulls on my heartstrings. It’s beautiful and sad and amazing all at once. I loved Amras as a father, and I felt so much for Elwing, having to be so grown-up so young. I also didn’t expect Eluréd and Elurín’s characterization (though it does make sense) and it made me upset for Elwing. I loved reading about her learning about her birth culture and about her relationship with Eärendil. I also liked how the story ended!

Accidently on Purpose by waitingfover - Curufin accidentally turns Finrod into a younger version of himself. I read this almost all in one sitting and it was delightful. I’ve already reread it once or twice since finding it!! The characterizations and handling of the plot were amazing, and baby Finrod was SUUUUPER cute.

The Ghost of Erebor by @mistergandalf (aka ItalianHobbit on FanFiction.net and AO3) 🩸 - In an “everyone lives” AU, Fíli has intense trauma to work through from the Battle of the Five Armies—but nobody knows what happened to him. *slaps roof of fic* This bad boy can fit so much angst in it. Soooo much angst! Fíli is so traumatized and it’s heartbreaking to read. Kíli and Thorin’s attempts to help Fíli are also heartwrenching; they care about him so much, and their worry is so palpable. And of course, the pressing needs of running a kingdom and having an heir don’t make the situation any better. This kind of story is right in ItalianHobbit’s wheelhouse!

Series

Lengthening Shadows series by waitingfover 🩸 - What if Maglor went to bargain with Morgoth instead of Maedhros? This is a fantastic concept and I loveloveLOVE it! The way things go differently is so interesting, and it opens up a whole new dimension of feelings for the characters to experience (especially Maedhros and Maglor). I really like the inclusion of the other Finwëons in the story too. Go give this series some love, these stories are some of waitingfover’s earliest Tolkien works and they’re great!

Sons of the Star series by brievel (most fics in the series are open to all readers, but a few are locked 🔒) 🩸 - This is the “Sons of Fëanor as a biker gang” AU that you never knew you needed. I certainly didn’t know I needed it. But I LOVE it. Brievel is still writing the series and I’m enjoying it! I love the characterization of the Fëanorians as tough and scrappy criminals, but with generally good hearts (especially Max). I get excited every time a new installment comes out. I also highly recommend Óhchikaape, an in-progress story [at the time of this writing], which is set in (mostly) the same universe. (Warnings: There's a lot of violence, and many of the stories deal with heavy topics.)

Maglor is an Eldritch Horror series by thescrapwitch *️⃣ - Speaking of AUs you never knew you needed, the name says it all: Maglor is an eldritch horror. The vibe is “cozy horror,” which I love; I’m not really a horror fan, but the ‘monster’ is on the good guys’ side, and I think that’s what makes it the good kind of scary. Most of the stories in this series are oneshots of Maglor and various characters living in Rivendell, but other characters come in from time to time. This series is mostly complete, but every so often theScrap_Witch has another idea and I get an update to this series in my inbox (which always gets me flailing with excitement). (Warnings: If you’re particularly squeamish or super sensitive to horror/any scary things, you may want to proceed with caution. However, I will say that I’m fairly sensitive to that, and I could just skim past any things that squicked me out—but there have barely been any.)

Return to Aman series by cycas (aka bunn on AO3) - Maglor sails with Elrond, Bilbo, Frodo, and Gandalf to Valinor. Oh. my. gosh. These were stories. SO well-written!!! I devoured every bit of them, and I think I need to reread them because I inhaled them crazy fast the first time around! (I’ve already reread a few out of order, but they work so well together as an arc and I would love to reread it again fully.) There’s so much that gets explored, the characterization is great, and overall the stories are just absolutely DELIGHTFUL. There are 15 fics in the series, and most are oneshots.

Nossecilmë series by fingonsradharp 🔒🩸*️⃣ - Oneshots of the kidnap fam. These are pretty cute (with a bit of angst from time to time)! I particularly enjoyed Little Stars and Nightingale. (Warnings: 🩸 only applies to the oneshot "Little Stars" for kidnappers physically abusing Elrond & Elros.)

Of Half-elven Children and the Difficulties that Result series by waitingfover - Kidnap fam oneshots. This collection of kidnap fam oneshots is so wonderful! These range from full-on angst to pure fluff, and there’s a whole bunch.

Old Maggie Took series by @tanoraqui (aka NevillesGran on AO3) - “Maggie Took” (aka Maglor) has become a friend to those in the Shire. A delightfully fun and touching series! There’s two works and both are simply fantastic. The first is centered around fighting ‘Sharkey’ when he comes to the Shire; I found myself grinning, cheering for “Maggie,” and alternating between laughing and going “awww” at the hobbits and Gandalf. The second story is about a going-away party held for those sailing west, and it gave me the exact feeling I get from being at a good, fun party with friends: celebratory and joyful in the best way.

In-Progress Stories

These are ones that are unfinished that I've really enjoyed and I hope get updated in 2024!

(Also, for any of the authors who see that I’ve included their in-progress fic, please don’t feel pressured to update—me saying that I'm looking forward to more is simply meant to let you know that I like the story and would love to read more if/when you update.)

Daughters of Therindë by darkfrozenabyss - Nerdanel and her 2 daughter-in-laws go back in time to prevent the kinslayings, but they accidentally bring someone along with them that they weren’t expecting: Haleth. You guys. I am glued to this fic. I get ridiculously excited every time I see an update in my inbox; I love it so much and go back every so often to reread my favorite parts of the chapters (and sometimes just end up rereading most of or the entirety of the fic). The characterization is great, and the plot is super fascinating! The tension between Haleth and Caranthir is highly entertaining, and I eat up every bit of Caranthir’s brothers’ teasing with a spoon like it’s ice cream. You will also find me screeching and grinning like a fool at every emotional moment I come across. I seriously enjoy this fic so much!

Óhchikaape by brievel and The_Anonymous_Coauthor 🩸 - Set in the Sons of the Star universe (read about the Sons of the Star series in the Series section); Riser Way [aka Celegorm, for the uninitiated] wasn’t intending to be a dad…but it seems this scrawny, sassy Native American kid is in need of a parental figure, whether either of them like it or not. I am absolutely LOVING this story and get excited over every update. I’ve stayed up late multiple times to read the newest chapter that’s been posted, and I’m 100% sure that I will do it again, given the chance. I love how Riser and Nikki’s relationship develops over the course of the story. There’s a lot of humor and heartwrenching moments, and some serious and soft moments as well. If you aren’t familiar with Sons of the Star, I definitely suggest you read some or all of the series to get an idea of who the Way brothers are, because they (especially Riser and Ken) are primary characters in Óhchikaape. This story is now one chapter away from being done and I'm super excited for the next installment of the series! (Warnings: The story features violence, and it deals with heavy topics, including trafficking and child abuse.)

if somebody loved you, they'd tell you by now by @aurorapillar (aka auroracode on AO3) - Maeglin escapes Gondolin. I’ve been really enjoying this one! auroracode writes Maeglin so, so well—it breaks my heart to see him so traumatized, but it feels very real, and I feel proud of the progress he’s made so far! I also really love how [spoiler] interacts with him and helps him feel safe. I’m excited to see where this fic goes, and it’s been cool to read it from the beginning.

Identity Theft by waitingfover - Eluréd and Elurín come out of the halls of Mandos and are given to Nerdanel by a Maia who implies that the twins are Celegorm’s children; this most certainly does NOT cause any problems in the future ;) If this fic had an alternate title, I think it should be called something like “Olórin Makes a Habit of Kidnapping Elves” 😂 Because (slight spoiler) it’s something that happens multiple times throughout the story and always causes chaos! Anyway, this bad boy has 80-something chapters and is still going strong. The plot of the fic mutates throughout, but it is largely focused on Celegorm and his adventures, with lots of cameos from various Noldor and Sindar elves. I started reading it back in March, and I’ve really enjoyed seeing Celegorm’s character development as the story has progressed!

The Harrowing by @chthonion 🔒 ⚠️ *️⃣ 🩸- Sauron comes back to life from the Void and brings the Fëanorians with him. This fic has such a cool premise: Sauron being reembodied along with the sons of Fëanor and learning how to Be a Good Person™️ and Do Life™️ with all our favorite characters in Valinor. It does feature Silvergifting (Sauron x Celebrimbor), which I virtually never read because I’m not a fan of them together (in large part because the ship tends to remind me of unwanted stuff from my past); that being said, the fic isn’t just about Sauron and Celebrimbor. It’s mainly about Sauron and the house of Finwë (and Frodo!) learning to coexist with each other and heal from the past. Cthuluion’s writing is fantastic, and I love the interactions between the characters. (I particularly enjoyed Finrod and Sauron’s first conversation.) I’ve really enjoyed reading this fic! (Warning: There is a little smut, but only in chapter 16, I believe; I’ve skimmed and/or given a fairly wide berth to most Celebrimbor-Sauron one-on-one interactions to protect my mental health, so there may be more that I’m not aware of.)

Not About Owing by dreamingthroughthenoise (aka Alantie on AO3) 🔒 - Finrod and Amarië come to rescue Maglor on the beach. If there was an alternate title for this fic, I would vote “The One Where Maglor Gets Loved.” All of the characters are determined to make sure Maglor knows that they care about him and want him in their lives, and it’s so delightful. I also love the strong themes of redemption that are woven throughout, and there’s a deliciously dramatic scene with Eärendil that I practically screamed at. Each of the characters and their relationships feel so real and well-fleshed out, and it’s just lovely to read!

The Longest Night by mistergandalf (aka ItalianHobbit on FanFiction.net and AO3) 🩸 - A mysterious creature has attacked a village near Ered Luin, and Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews go to help. I’ve read all of ItalianHobbit’s Tolkien fics, and as I expected, this fic has got lots of whump, even for just 4 chapters so far! ;) It’s so very angsty and I’m eating it up with a spoon. I always enjoy reading Durin family fics—I just love their relationship and I really love how ItalianHobbit writes them. The link to the fic I put above is to the fic on FanFiction.net, but it is also posted on AO3.

When mercy stayed his blade by BarbieBlue - Maglor and Maedhros take Elrond and Elros with them after the Fëanorians attack Sirion. This is one of my favorite multi-chapter kidnap fam fics I’ve found! It’s got a lot of emotion and a fair amount of angst—it’s not super fluffy. I really like Maedhros and Maglor’s characterization in this one; they aren’t totally falling apart, but they’ve definitely got their issues, and BarbieBlue doesn’t shy away from that. I feel a lot for Elrond and Elros, who are certainly quite traumatized. Seeing the trust slowly developing between them and the Fëanorions is sweet, and I enjoy reading the dynamics between all of the characters.

we will make this place our home by @leucisticpuffin - Elrond and Elros get sent to live with their distant relatives Maglor and Maedhros Finuion. This fic is basically ‘The Secret Garden meets kidnap fam’! It is such a lovely story. I devoured most of it one time when I was up late (I had told myself that I really shouldn’t start a fic that had 40-something chapters at 2 am…but then found myself falling asleep at 4:30 am as I was reading. As soon as my eyes were open the next morning, I kept reading until I caught up!). I love the setting and all the little details that make the story work so well, and it’s really fun to read Silm characters in the mode of 1970s England. There’s a few OCs that help fill out the cast, and I enjoy their personalities and how they add to the story.

Less Wise and More Dangerous by DeepWatersWaiting 🩸 - Legolas is mysteriously transported to the First Age and runs into Fëanor and his sons. Great story, compelling and very well-written! I felt a lot of sympathy for Legolas, being plonked down in First Age Beleriand and facing people who he knew would kill his kin in the future. I like the development of the friendships he started forming (especially with Celebrimbor!), and I’ve been rooting for him as he’s been navigating the strange situation he is in. (Side note: anyone remember the AO3 shutdown back in July? This is what I was reading when that happened, lol.) (Warnings: There’s some graphic violence and injury/illness.)

Life After Death by actual-bill-potts (aka oswinry on AO3) 🔒 - Finarfin and his wife welcome Finrod after he returns from Mandos. So so so SO good. Oswinry writes SUCH good Arafinwëan fic. So carefully handled and well-written, and you can truly feel Finarfin’s desperate love and care for his son and his family. It fills a place in my heart I didn’t know was empty until I read the fic. (There have also been a few updates on Tumblr, too! Check out "my writing" and/or "silm fic" tags)

Yet Open Once Again Your Heart by @luteoflorien 🩸 - Maedhros has a breakdown, and Maglor realizes the twins are not as fragile as he thought. This one’s super heartwrenching, and I love it. The way Maglor treats Maedhros when he’s having his panic attack/breakdown/trauma-induced flashback is so well-done, and I really liked how the brothers had learned how to help each other on those bad days. The exchanges between Maglor and the twins (and between just Maglor and Elrond) are so raw and full of emotion, and Elrond himself is so wise and sweet.

What Was Sauron Thinking? by Chisscientist - Sauron is defeated…but it seems that in the process, he turned Gil-Galad into a child. The premise is so fascinating, and smol!Gil-Galad is adorable! I at turns find myself amused by him and want to give him a hug. The characterization is great, and I feel for Gil-Galad, having been unexpectedly turned into a child with memories of his adult self. I’m looking forward to seeing where this goes, and I’m glad Gil-Galad has friends/guardians around him who care for him!

Misc & Non-Tolkien Fics

Tolkien fics that don't fit into other categories:

The Silmarillion Rewrite by Jenavira - A rewrite/summary of The Silmarillion in modern language. Amazing. It was quite an enjoyable read, and it honestly helped me remember a lot of Silm characters! I think this was one of the main fics that inspired me to reread The Silmarillion again this year. I laughed several times, and I often loved the wording or phrasing of certain things that happened. (Warnings: There’s a lot of language/swearing, and there’s Silm-typical violence and trauma that happens.)

Never A Monster He Couldn’t Love by luteoflorien 🩸 - Harry Potter/Silmarillion crossover fic where Newt Scamander finds a new humanoid creature to befriend and care for, and Maglor finds a human who believes he is worthy of care and love. I absolutely adore the friendship that develops between Newt and Maglor. I’ve never read Fantastic Beasts fanfics before, despite being in the Harry Potter fandom, but luteoflorien’s Newt feels so incredibly in-character and it makes me want more. He is so kind and caring and curious, and he is exactly the type of person Maglor needs in his life to start healing from his past. luteoflorien’s writing, characterization, and handling of all the mental/emotional issues the characters go through is phenomenal, and the feels are off the charts. (Warnings: Maglor struggles with his severe trauma, and sometimes self-harms.)

Non-Tolkien fics:

hear you calling from some lost and distant shore by @sighonaraa - Loki meets Thor after the events of Avengers: Endgame (mostly compliant with the Loki TV series). Marvel fandom. This was EXACTLY what I needed after the ending of season 2 of Loki. So, so good. The banter between Thor and Loki, and also Valkyrie/Brunhilde’s character was great—the brothers care SO much about each other, and it's wonderful to read.

Lemon Cake by @afaroffsong 🔒 - Rosalind needs to make a cake for Jane’s birthday. Penderwicks fandom. I seriously enjoyed this fic! It's amazingly well-written—it felt to me like it could've come right out of the books! So lovely.

I mentioned this at the start, but I wanted to reiterate because I truly am very grateful: I want to give a massive thank-you to all of the fic authors, all of the people posting meta, all of the artists out there. I was inspired to re-read The Silmarillion (for the third time) this year, and I highly doubt I would’ve been able to actually get myself to do that without all of the amazing stories and musings and art out there that drove me back to the canon we all love. So thank you ❤️

And thank you to all who read this far XD Hope you enjoy some (or all!) of these fics!

#2023 fic recs #2023 fic review #tolkien fic #silm fic #tolkien fic recs #fic rec list #fanfiction #fanfiction recommendation #fanfiction rec list

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