#pocket sketchbook bones……

[forecast0ctopus]

bones he’s falling off el capitan he can’t hear you

#leonard mccoy #leonard bones mccoy #star trek #star trek tos #star trek tos fanart #star trek v #star trek v: the final frontier #pocket sketchbook bones……

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

FROM FAR DISTANT WATERS

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

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

WORDCOUNT: 16.8k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now hush,” Otto sighs, settling back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Otto lived alone. You never asked about it. 

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

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

The fin is back. 

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

A hand grasps your wrist and yanks you away. 

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

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

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

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

You watch, struck dumb. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

The man’s back over at the sink tightens. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So much for answers,” your lips mutter. 

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a gruff call from the water.

“Careful, then.”

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

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

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

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

You certainly weren’t going to. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

There had been a man. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow down saliva and your lips thin. 

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

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

Could you even assign it a human gender? 

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

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

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

You open your eyes and glare into the fireplace. 

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

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

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

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

You shiver again, not from the cold.

Careful, then. 

—

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

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

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

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

The library.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...Or…maybe it’s N-O-R-E?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Careful, then.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

But that tail…that face…

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

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

The heat of protection, so to speak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fingerprints?” 

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

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

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

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

Did he like them?

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

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

So many questions, so few answers. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What would it feel like to touch it?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, wait—!”

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

You turn in a half-circle. 

“Beautiful,” your lips murmur, voice echoing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An emotionless glare is all you receive. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “You live here?”

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps that fall into the water really had killed you.

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

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

“...Okay.”

—

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

Dragged to the ocean floor. Body on the rocks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John hums and swallows stiffly.

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

Up there. 

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

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

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

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

Not yet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet, your mood sobers, and the joy leaks. 

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

The man pauses abruptly, and you keep talking.

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

Your words trail off, insinuation clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man flattens his lips, tilting his skull. 

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

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

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

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

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

John huffs out a laugh. “Handsome?”

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

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

“Bugger off,” he grunts. 

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

—

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

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

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

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

The bell of your shop dings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“John would never kill an innocent woman!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tears splatter down your cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love,” he mutters, face tight. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d wait as long as it took.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John pauses his cleaning, glancing at your throat. 

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

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

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

He lets a small sliver of calm enter him.

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

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

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

All you say is one name. 

“Noah.” 

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

A dog with scales, that is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“I think he killed his wife.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll crawl,” he grunts.

“The rocks are sharp.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A women to the water.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Steady. Keep your head on.

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

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

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

“Absurd—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Otto!” You scream, fingers flinching. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Otto was dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay here. I won’t be long.”

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

Yet, you have no trouble following his advice. 

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

John always seemed the one for revenge.

—

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

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

The authorities weren’t going to dispute it. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Want to,” he grumbles. 

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

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

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

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

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

That near kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John watches, lips parted, as you continue on. 

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

The both of you were going to be perfectly fine.

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

[littlestpetgoth]

the big Tris post. here it is.

(originally i had it so that his parents were dead and he grew up alone, somehow surviving on his own and integrating himself into society, but that’s kind of ridiculous so i decided i'd scrap that narrative and make his experiences more human.)

for as long as tris has been alive it’s been noticed that his body has been capable of quickly recovering from any injury. as a child his scraped knees would smooth over by the next day, his paper cuts heal in instants, broken bones were better after a night’s rest. he was blessed with some kind of miracle that kept him safe from harm, it really helped his family save on medical bills, but as he grew older he started to see this blessing as more of a curse.

tris has always isolated himself, even at a young age. he purposely went to spots of the playground where no one else would play, ignored other children who would approached him, actively went out of his way to be alone. he doesn't like being around others and gets overwhelmed when forced into social situations. his overwhelming feelings sometimes grow into violence and he would lash out at his peers and hurt them when he got frustrated, throwing objects and tugging whatever he could grab onto, so most of the time he was left alone to avoid these outbursts. he grew up with few to no friends given how difficult it was to be around him.

tris takes out a lot of his frustrations and confusions not only on others but also on himself. even at a young age

his parents had him set up with a behavioral therapist to try to understand why he would lash out this way and why he wanted to be alone, and his answers have always been straight forward. he doesn't want to, and he doesn't like it. he doesn't like the way it feels to be in crowded classrooms, he doesn't like how noisy the other children are, and he doesn't like looking at the smiles his teachers give him to try to get him comfortable. His parents still had hope that he'd eventually open up and be like a normal child so they continued letting him go to public school. His teachers would avoid forcing him to closely participate with the other students for their safety. These efforts didn't mean things got better or anything.

tris at a young age developed a fascination for dead things. dead animals, dead plants, little tris would always somehow get his grubby little hands on something deceased. he has no respect for the dead by any means but instead his fascination is in the reactions that others have towards the dead. tris's favorite activity as a child was dangling a dead animal in the face of the kids around him. the kids around him were afraid of whatever awful thing he'd pull out of his pocket next, running away from him and scooting their seats to be as far as they possibly could. this reputation further isolated him, and even got him into some trouble with kids who didn't like his odd and awful behavior. there were many fights, scuffles, insults thrown his way. he was infamous for being problematic and no one wanted to try getting to know him, they all knew he was going to pull out some dead bug and throw it in their hair whenever he got the chance.

in tris's teen years he hasn't improved much, but has found a couple of ways of coping that keep the people around him safe. he's occupied himself with creating art, sculptures and drawings depicting his thoughts and fantasies, they're morbid and grotesque and one of the few things he finds joy in. he does his best to completely isolate himself and skips out on classes just to be alone with a sketchbook. around this time he also was coming to terms with his own identity, he doesn't like to identify as trans and just claims he's always been a boy and snaps at people who question that. he's overwhelmed with anxieties and frustrations when interacting with people in person, face to face, but he feels a lot more confident when socializing behind a screen via the internet.

it's easier to hide his face and figure, easier to get in touch with many people, and easier to lurk and observe without having to leave the safety and comfort of his room. he loves to start fights online, anonymously, and send horrific images and videos to unsuspecting people that make him feel sick. some of this content he's curated from various parts of the net but a lot of it he's made himself. diy snuff films feat yours truly, he enjoys brutalizing himself and sending it to his poor victims, relishing in their horrified reactions. of course he's ran into a few individuals who are fascinated with him, and want to learn more about him or get him to make personalized content, but he has no interest in interacting with these few and is irritated by their existence. alongside harassing and haunting the poor souls who catch his attention, tris posts his work on an art account where he eventually learns to take commissions from. he doesn't have much interest in games, movies and shows, or comics. every now and then he'll find something just to make the day go by faster.

tris has cycled through several therapists, has been prescribed various medication from a psychiatrist, has even been sent to camps to try and fix his odd and destructive behaviors but he is very uncooperative. he's made little progress in his journey of bettering himself and doesn't care to put any effort in it, even feeling resentful towards his parents for forcing him to even try. they've spent a lot of time and money into trying to find out what's wrong with him and trying to get him to be a normal child with friends and normal hobbies, but their every attempt has been for nothing. sometimes it seems tris lashes out in spite. he's also spoken with school counselors numerous times, they've tried to get a better understanding of him, he always shuts them out and doesn't reveal anything about his thoughts and feelings or why he does the things he does.

because he pays little attention in school and skips out frequently, he's been held back a year or two academically. tris has done some summer schooling to make up for this but he cares so little about his education that it hasn't caught him up. he still gets in trouble with other students and often is caught up in fights with peers who think he should be punished for his awful behavior (deserved really). he gets the shit beaten out of him pretty often, by bullies and what not, it makes him angry but he's not strong enough to fight back very well. he has resorted to keeping sharp objects on him that he can use to do real damage, and this has gotten him into so much trouble that he's been expelled from schools and forced to transfer elsewhere. he's in and out of hospitals and juvenile detention for all sorts of shenanigans.

there's no real specific events to make note of, a lot of his memories are a blur and people rarely capture his interest enough to remember them at all. he gets into photography at some point and starts taking photos of anything disgusting or depressing he can find. garbage, dead animals, puddles of blood after whatever he gets himself into, crying children, it's a miserable collection of things but it's what he likes to focus on. he'll photograph people at the park while people watching and imagine horrible things he thinks they deserve to go through just for existing.

ill wrap this up quickly because it's a long stupid post and i really don't need to keep going into depth on him, but one day while out taking photos he spots a young man. something about this boy captured tris's attention unlike anyone he's ever seen - maybe the way he smiled or the way he spoke so enthusiastically to others - and tris latched onto this feeling as hard as he could.

he found where he worked, where he lived, where he went to school where he liked to shop what he liked to do what his routine was. every thing tris could learn about this boy he managed to get his grimy hands on, that boy was cody. (ko's silly little emo boy oc)

tris had found a new hobby: stalking a guy he'd never spoken to, a guy who didn't even know he existed, and he hated him. he hated him with every cell in his body, seeing his stupid cheesy grin made his stomach churn and hearing his obnoxious voice made his jaw clench tighter. he wanted nothing more than to ruin the happiness that this young man experienced day to day. so what does any deranged teenager do when you hate someone? you cyber bully them online and send them cryptic awful messages until you see them break.

he'd dm him on throwaway accounts, sending images of his mutilation and paragraphs of graphic threats. cody never did anything to wrong tris, poor thing was probably scared out of his mind. what do you do when some crazy stranger is stalking you and sending you graphic content? probably block them over and over and over and just hope they leave you alone. but tris was determined. determined to make this guy who radiated light succumb to the darkness and also probably kill himself. he wanted to do everything he could to make cody miserable and to get rid of the swarming thoughts in his mind..

one day tris visited cody's place of work (i think its like a gas station, some sort of small store) and he is watching him quietly in a corner while pretending like he's shopping around. either cody got suspicious of him, or wanted to make sure he was ok, something happened that got cody to speak up and say hello to tris.. and tris froze up! he froze up, couldn't muster out a response and couldn't brush him off like he could other people. he could feel his heart pounding and his face get all hot.. darted out of the shop with several things stuffed into his pockets and got the hell out of there.. probably threw up afterwards. humiliating experience, unexplainable feelings. but those feelings weren't hatred and anger like before.. turns out he had a big gay crush on this white boy and didn't know what to do with himself. but he didn't know how to go about it .

idk. some more stuff between them, they warm up to each other and tris stops sending cody evil malicious messages. they're like totally in love... and tris is super possessive over him (craazy) while cody is doing his best to live with the horror that is tris yeah lol. its like. toxic evil yaoi to normal loving and sweet romance between two emo boys.

rushed at the end because otherwise i would never upload this, its been ssitting here for i think months now. tris means a lot to me.

#oc #gore #blood #tris #pookie :3 #sh scars #ref #death #dead animal #blarrh #cw

[azsazz]

To My Heart

Knox x Reader

Summary: Anon Request: Oh my gosh Knox is so adorable he has my heart and the head canon that he writes letters to his mate makes my heart melt

Warnings: None

Word Count: 759

Notes: You guys he’s just so cute 😭

_________________________________________

Knox sighs, head propped on curled fists as he watches the night sky. He’s leaned across the deep stone of his balcony, and as much as seeing the smattering of stars and the bright moon hanging high above him calms the male, he’s buzzing with nerves.

He’s tired, beyond so but he can’t sleep, and won’t until she writes him back.

His mate. The word still makes his heart rush in his chest, and he curls his fingers around the pen he’d been playing with to expel his nervous energy. His book sits open and abandoned on the lounger behind him, sketchbook tossed to the side in frustration because he couldn’t get the curve of her lips just right. Loose papers ruffle in the wind from where they’re pinned under the weight of his supplies, a gentle flutter that reflects the pounding of his heart.

Gods, he must be crazy, he thinks, pushing himself away from the overhang. Knox paces the short distance, stretching his wings as if that might stave off some of the nervous energy zipping through his body. She could be asleep, and for a fleeting moment he thinks he might just run and jump off the balcony to find out for himself. He doesn’t want to scare her away when she hardly knows the truth.

But he’d felt her amusement ringing down the bond as he read his letter. Or he assumed she was reading his letter. She could be doing several things instead; baking those treats she seems to like or maybe she’s also reading, lost in the adventures of her novel, not noticing the letter delivered on a bed of darkness.

His hands have a tremor to them, and he stuffs them into his pockets instead, rolling his eyes when his twin’s voice rings through his mind.

What are you doing? Go to sleep.

I can’t, he sends back, trying not to sound defeated. He doesn’t have an excuse, can’t think of one because he truly is bone tired after the day he’s had, training with his father and uncles this morning until noon before he’d been dragged out with Baz for drinks by the Sidra. That, had turned into his older brother stark naked in the cold waters, flirting with a wraith whose red, hot cheeks could’ve boiled the river dry.

Well, all that thinking is bothering me, she responds, and Knox knows his sister is scowling. It makes his lips twitch into a smile, her banter helping to distract him. And some of us need our beauty sleep.

He snorts. I didn’t know my twin was replaced with Zuz. Tell me sister, no midnight rendezvous? He knows she’s been sneaking out just as much as he has lately, and even though his shadows are shared with his sister and he can talk into her mind, even he doesn’t know where she slinks off to in the late hours of the night.

Not tonight, Malos yawns lazily and he cringes because he hates when she does that in his mind. Now fuck off and go to bed.

Love you too, Mal, Knox says, rolling his eyes once more as he feels the strong, steel shield of her mind slides back into place.

And then Knox is pacing again. Maybe he should go for a fly, the open air always makes him feel better. But if she does write him back then he might miss it and that’s the last thing he wants.

His attention is drawn to a whisper of darkness drifting across the night sky like its own cloud of black. It shrouds the moon as it passes and his heart jumps once, twice. Knox all but snatches the neatly folded paper from the grasp of night. He takes a deep breath and can smell her on it. It makes him shiver, like she’s right there with him, the scent of stardust and sugar invading his senses.

The flourish of her writing makes his heart ache. How delicate the curves of her letters are, how light, so the ink doesn’t seep through the paper, the thought she’d gone through to make it look so perfect for him. He traces the letters of his name idly, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he stares, heart calm in his chest as he fingers over the shape of the heart, hastily drawn and still wet, as if she drew it and sent it off before she could change her mind.

Knox takes a deep breath and opens the letter.

#azsazz #azsazz knox #knox x reader #azsazz next gen #acotar next gen

[ashiemochi]

(don't) go easy on me - iii ♰ 

✠ (don't) go easy on me ↳ not bad for our first time, huh?

➶ pairing: OC x Piers Nivans ➶ genre: mostly fluff, slight angst, gore (like a broken bone), first time! smut, cliche mean clique (like two girls) ➶ word count: 13.8k

♰ Content includes: dry humping, dirty talk, nipple play, foreplay (f receiving), oral play (f receiving), your typical sexy moment with coke can girth piers

prev -> next

Gently dabbing the softly scented vanilla oil on her hands, So Ah smeared it all over her hands, arms, and legs, and focused more on her neck and the spots under her ears. 

She stood by the tall mirror to add her final touches before straightening up once done. 

The berry-coloured dress hugged her waist to give her that curvy look before draping over her hips and stopping at her mid-thigh. The sleeves were puffy and loose over her upper arms. The tie around her waist gave the illusion of a plunging V-neck collar, vaguely making out her chest. 

The cotton fabric was cool on her skin, perfect for the summer heat of Washington DC. She won't lie that she didn't wear a lingerie set underneath the dress. The darkly desaturated rose-patterned maroon tights also reached her mid-thighs with a strap attached to her panties of the same colour and pattern. The bralette she wore was also of the same set.

Just a little precaution, she convinced herself, if something were to happen, I'd at least be prepared for it.

The doorbell echoed, jolting her out of her thoughts and she hastily ruffled her hair to her liking and applied her cherry chapstick before skipping out of her room to get the door.

She swung the door open, partially hiding behind it involuntarily and she couldn't hide the smile on her face at Piers standing there with a hand in his pocket and the other holding onto a big fancy paper bag of her paint.

"Hey!" She widened the door to let him in.

Piers walked in, mimicking her grin as she shut the door, "Someone's excited to see me."

She rolled her eyes and reached for the bag only to hold onto his wrist gently, standing on her tippy toes, "Says the one who invited himself to my house."

She pecked his pinking cheek and took the bag, letting out a small huff at the sudden hefty weight. You can always count on heavy supplies and tools when it came to being an artist.

"Oh crap, that's heavy!" So Ah set it down on the ground.

Piers pursed his lips to hold back any quips once he took off his shoes, taking it and easily picking it up, "Here, I'll take it. Where do you want it?"

"In my office." She answered bashfully, walking towards that room and she could sense his silent chuckles. 

The office was a sunroom but it was clear the apartment layout had it as a bedroom instead. So Ah, living alone, had it changed into a suitable place where she could easily work on her art projects. 

It was also Piers' favourite room because anyone could easily figure So Ah out with just one skim of the place. 

It was cluttered but in a way, you'd expect it from an artist. There were shelves upon shelves filled with art books, notebooks, and sketchbooks. a stroller tray was next to it, also filled with tubes of paint of different sizes and shapes, some more used than others. 

In the corner were the easel and the half-painted canvas, having a moving table next to it with all the brushes and a mug for dipping them. 

Across the room were a chaise lounge and a coffee table in front of it. There were scattered papers and pencils on top of it with charcoal pens nearby. Finally, a plain white desk and chair on the other corner where she usually sits to have any of her online conferences or get stuck on video calls with her family as she had told him. 

"You can put it here," She chirped, gesturing to her desk, and she noticed his gaze lingering all over the place, growing flustered, "Ah, sorry about the mess."

"Don't worry about it, this is where the magic happens." Piers put the bag onto the table and then looked at her, not thinking too much about her darkening blush, "So, what did you get this time?"

"Oh!" She skipped up to the table and opened the bag to take out the fancy box, "It's a sample of the new paint set that's coming out this spring!"

Nabbing the palette knife next to her, So Ah cut open the plastic wrap before popping open the box. Stars instantly appeared in her eyes at cherry blossom-themed tubes of paint. It came with extra sets of brushes.

Piers tilted his head at her silently, barely listening to her excited rambles about all the paintings she could do. She always had that glow in her eyes when it came to art – he wondered if he ever could earn that look too.

He trailed his eyes to the small canvases on the table, humming as he picked one up, "Aren't these too small to use?"

So Ah stopped her ranting, already hands deep into the box and she blinked at him, "Ah, I use them whenever I wanna paint something simple or try out a new style."

"Huh." Piers picked up another, turning to her with a subtle grin, "Why don't we give your new paint a try?"

She stilled, letting out an incredulous chuckle, "You want to paint?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"You just don't look like an art guy to me," She continued, picking out one of the next brushes to check the bristles, "I don't think I've ever seen you draw before actually."

"Well, lucky me, I’m dating a professional artist to teach me the ropes then," Piers shot back smugly, waving the two canvases slightly.

She giggled, nodding as she started taking some of the tubes into her hands, "Okay. If you mess up, you're paying for the paint."

"Fine, these are samples so they're free," He scoffed, helping her and moving to the sofa, "And the real thing can't be that expensive anyway."

"Just around $500."

"Excuse me?"

✠

Soft hums came from the girl who was on the sofa and painting on the small canvas, placing down each stroke precisely and exactly where she wanted it to be. So Ah reached over to dip the tip of her brush into the small puddle of paint that she mixed, looking over at Piers to see how he was doing.

A permanent scowl was on his face, etched in concentration as he was leaning over to the table to have the canvas on it to keep it still and using his other hand to draw. His grip on it was as if he was a kid trying to learn cursive, shaking and all to make one smooth line. 

His choice of colours on the other hand... Very questionable. 

She could peek at the colour white, peach and brownish red, then there was a random splash of saturated red, pale yellow, and black. It made her involuntarily cringe as he was focused on whatever he was using black for. 

It was adorable and quite hilarious but she wasn't going to say that. Instead–

"How are you doing over there, Picasso?" So Ah teased lightly, twirling her brush slowly and he shot her a quick glare.

"You make it look so easy but it's difficult as hell." Piers retorted, swearing under his breath, "Shit, I messed up."

She held back her giggles when he let out a grumble, roughly dipping the brush as if he was waterboarding it. 

"Okay, okay, you don't need to do it like that," So Ah quickly stopped him with a nervous laugh, more concerned with the state of her brush and he looked at her, "You do it like this,"

She gently dipped her brush into the water, swirling it around before bringing it back up, "See?"

"Ooh," Piers hummed, mimicking her action and he went back to the task at hand silently.

Straightening up and scooting next to him, she tried to indulge in her curiosity and peek at what he was drawing but he hid it from her, red creeping up his neck and he gave her a look.

"No peeking."

"Oh come on!" She whined playfully, "I won't laugh!"

"Like hell," Piers shot back, "You'll laugh and then the next day, everyone at the BSAA would know about... This." 

He gestured to the canvas vaguely and she pouted, "Awh, Chris told you, didn't he?"

Piers nodded, quipping as he leaned back against the sofa with the canvas up to his face and the brush, "For a quiet girl, you sure do like gossiping."

"No one laughed, though!"

"Chris did." 

"Well, it's Chris. He laughs at anything." She tried to point out but Piers scoffed, shaking his head.

"You must have a different captain then." He said, brows furrowing for a moment at a certain line.

Maybe she was growing perceptive lately but she could pick up the way his tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip subtly, hazel eyes as sharp as she'd see them during a shooting range. It was strangely attractive and her heart rattled behind her ribs.

Piers glanced at her without moving his head, noticing her lovestruck cinnamons on him. Assuming she really wanted to see his piece, he let out a defeated sigh, snapping her out of her gaze.

"Fine, I'll show you mine if you show me yours." He spoke nonchalantly and she blinked, laughing a little.

She picked up her canvas carefully, aware of the wet paint and she turned it to show him with a toothy grin. His eyes widened lightly.

It was a classic cherry blossom park. Though the colour placement was a little messy, it was good enough to make out the brick floors, the steel fences, the blue sky with several white clouds and the distant city. All that in a small 3-inch by 3-inch canvas.

"How did you manage to fit all that in this tiny thing?" Piers asked, visibly impressed with it all and her cheeks reddened.

"Ah, doing so little is enough." She answered, pointing at the city, "I didn't add any details to these buildings so it would look okay from afar."

"Okay?" He shot back with a raised brow, "So Ah, this is goddamn amazing."

Praises from him were absolutely god-tier.

She bit her inner bottom lip, growing flustered as she avoided his eyes shyly, looking down at her art piece. It really was only a quick sketch and it'd need more work to complete; especially the trees. 

She trailed her eyes up to him and then to his canvas, "Your turn."

Piers hesitated in showing her his piece, eyeing her suspiciously, "You promise you won't laugh?"

"I pinkie promise." She put out her finger with a grin and he chuckled, the corners of his lips twitching up.

"What are we, five?" He joked, earning a huff from her before he linked their fingers, "You do know if you laugh, I'm gonna have to cut your finger off, right?"

She giggled, rolling her eyes, "I won't laugh."

"You just did right there!" He gasped dramatically, "You suck at this."

"Because you're being an idiot!" She defended herself, "Stop messing around and show me what you did! I showed you mine!"

"Ugh, fine," He scoffed, trying to appear annoyed but he seemed nervous, handing it to her.

"It can't be that bad," So Ah reassured him with a smile then looked down at it.

She froze.

It was badly drawn like the eyes you'd draw all over your notebook during a boring math class. Yet her artistic-wired brain was able to make out some of the shapes. 

It was only a single brown eye with hints of smudged red which she recognized as the colour of cinnamon -- or an attempt of such colour. The skin was peachy with tons of blush and shading in the wrong places. The lashes were chaotic spider legs. 

"What..." She didn't know what to say, "Well, it's a good-looking... Eye."

Piers grunted, growing more embarrassed than irritated as he repeated what she said, "It can't be that bad, right?"

So Ah coughed to muffle her snort, plastering on a small smile, "It's fine but uh, what inspired you to draw this in particular?"

He perched his arm over the armrest and leaned his chin on his hand, speaking quietly as he wouldn't look at her, "You."

She stilled, shoulders tensing up as she couldn't hide her surprise, "Me?"

"Yeah," He shrugged slightly, "It's... It's your eye."

She was speechless, staring at him and then down at the canvas, "This is my eye?"

Piers grumbled as if he was a kid getting annoyed from having to blabber nothingness again. He leaned towards her to look at the painting and he pointed at the blob on the supposed waterline of the eye.

"Yeah, stupid," He said, "That's your mole right here and your... Well, I tried to draw the freckles but they're so fucking faint."

So that's why there was an extensive use of brown and red.

The more she stared at the painting, the less it made sense. 

One, it was horrendous but endearing.

Two, Piers had paid enough attention to have picked up the tiniest of details on her face. Hell, even she'd forget that there was a mole on her waterline. 

Piers was immediately amused by her silence, noticing how her cheeks were growing redder by the second and he could feel his own face flush. 

"You... Uhm," So Ah trailed away, trailing her eyes up at him, "Why would you paint my eye?"

He rubbed the back of his head, shrugging nonchalantly, "You told me to paint whatever's on my mind – I would've drawn the other eye but I don't want to spend five hundred bucks on paint."

He was so blunt about it and it only made her more so curious. Yet, shyness was catching up, coiling over her vocal cords when she'd try to speak.

"Wow, uh, sorry, I..."

Piers glanced down at the canvas and then at her, "I know, it's horrible."

She nodded quickly, "Yes, very but uhm," A soft smile reached her face, shoulders going up slightly to her ears, "I like it."

He blinked, cocking up a brow, "You gotta be kidding me, this junk?"

"Yeah," She giggled, pulling it closer to her but careful not to taint her dress, "It's very sweet. It shows you pay attention to details and that's a good trait for becoming an artist."

He huffed, feigning pride as he playfully waved her off, "No chance."

She laughed a little, covering her mouth and Piers picked up on a hair strand falling over to her face. Reaching over, he pushed it gently behind her ear, eyes growing softer by the second.

"I prefer observing art rather than creating it," He admitted tenderly, his thumb caressing the apple of her redred cheek as he hummed, "Like the fact you also have another mole on your nose."

A single peck landed on the tip of her nose, making her scrunch it up with a flustered giggle. He grinned and he brought up his other hand to cradle her cheek, keeping her still from shying away from him.

"And you've got one right here," Piers brushed the faintfaint mole on the bottom lip line with the pad of his thumb, making her lips part slightly, "It's my favourite one."

He glanced up at her eyes to find any sort of reluctance to this but all he could see were her dilated pupils. Hearts might as well bubble and pop over her head at this point.

Piers kissed her slowly to cherish every second of this. Her eyes instantly fluttered shut, lowering one hand to set it onto his knee and push herself closer to his plumplump lips. Parting his lips, he tugged on her bottom lip, his hand trailing to the back of her neck and the other reaching down for the canvas.

She pulled away with a pout when he took it from her hand and casually tossed it onto the table, opening her mouth to protest, "Hey! Be careful with that, the paint's still we – mmh!"

Piers didn't give her room to do so though, silencing her by pressing his lips on hers. That gnawing feeling in her gut returned and her lungs were finding it a bit hard to breathe.

She practically melted into his touch, setting her hands on his broad shoulders and he reciprocated it by wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Piers moved his lips against hers sensually, kissing her with utmost passion. 

Her cheeks went redred when the side of her knee barely brushed past his hips and she could've sworn something poked her for a split second. A subtle tug on her waist to his lap was more than enough to shoot her anxiety sky-high.

She hummed, patting his shoulder and she pulled away, breathing heavily, "Wait, wait…"

Piers stared at her like he had done something wrong, pupils were blown as his swollen lips were parted for his heavy panting. His hands went down to her waist, frowning when she sat down back on the couch. Internally, he was already scolding himself. 

She clearly wasn't comfortable going to the next stage just yet. Why won't he get that into his head?

"Was that too much?" Piers asked concerned, gingerly squeezing her waist as he licked his bottom lip.

Fuck, that cherry chapstick was going to be the death of him.

They did make out before, but the vibes of his certain one were teetering into a new area. He felt it. He knew she felt it, which was why she was the first one to pull away.

"No, no, it was... Good, uhm," So Ah stuttered, avoiding his eyes by looking over at the canvases and then she sighed, looking back at him, "Look, about what happened... You know..."

Piers was confused for a second before annoyance made its way to his eyes. His hands on her firmed up with that protective scowl on his face.

"What the hell did she do now?" He snapped, surprising her at the change of demeanour, "Did she say anything to you or hurt you again?"

She stared blankly at him, brows furrowing in a completely puzzled expression, "What? What are you talking about? Who's she?"

It was Piers' turn again to go silent before saying, "Cindy Lloyd, kinda hard to forget who broke your hand, So Ah."

"Why would I want to talk about her?" She pressed on, growing more so irritated rather than concerned, "Piers, what did you do?"

He released a heavy sigh, but it was clear he wasn't very remorseful, "I had a talk with her and told her I'd report her if she were to lay a finger on you again."

Her jaw fell slack, eyes widening and he seemed to tense up when she reeled back from him.

"You..." Her voice came out in a whisper, "You threatened her?"

His silence answered her question.

“Why the hell would you do that?!” She exclaimed in shock, “That itself can be reported!”

“Am I supposed to sit aside and watch you getting pushed left and right by her?” Piers shot back, growing frustrated, “By anyone who believes the same shit she does?!”

“Yes!” She snapped in a whine, silencing him and she exhaled heavily. She rubbed her face as he stared at her, baffled by her outburst when she muttered, “God damn it, both of you are so alike.”

He was taken aback as if actually offended, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“She made it her life mission to be part of the BSAA like you did. She trains every single day even on the days off, like you do. She looks up to Chris and hopes she'll make it into his team, she practices all the time, and she does everything in her power to climb the ranks to be one of BSAA's perfect soldiers, just like you.” She elaborated, gesturing to him for enunciation. 

“Me joining out of nowhere was...  It's unfair to her and everyone else involved. And it doesn't help that she obviously likes you and wants to impress you all the time.” She rubbed the back of her neck and looked away, voice heavy with guilt.

Piers frowned, his eyes darkening gradually, “You deserve to be at the BSAA as much as–”

“No I don't, Piers, and you know it!” She cut him off, groaning as she covered her face, “God... I don't train as much as any of you, and I'm always stuck at the infirmary for my condition. I joined for my family. Cindy joined for the world because it's her dream to make it a better place.”

"You think that little of yourself? All those people after the outbreak are alive because of you.” Piers glared at her, getting closer to get her to drop her hands, “You are part of Green Life Pharmaceuticals for God's sake, your whole thing is making the world a better place. Why would you let yourself be trampled by people like Cindy Lloyd?"

She frowned as she slid her hands down but one went to the back of her neck, gripping her nape with a subtle flinch and she looked down, whispering, "Because everyone at the facility died but me. You and Chris were the only ones who made it out alive, but the rest of your team..."

"Soldiers like us are willing to put our lives on the line no matter what. The mission's the priority."

"Yeah, but–"

"Hey, look," He gently grabbed her hand to encourage her to look at him, determination made his eyes glow, "None of those lives is on your shoulders. You were just another civilian caught in it like all the others. It doesn't mean you have to be punished for it.” 

He continued, “You're using the anti-virus for good, and because of that, millions of people were given another chance at life. Doesn't that at least overshadow the bad?"

So Ah was quiet, lips parting but nothing came out, completely speechless. She knew Piers was an opinionated guy, debating with him with pure dogshit with that stubborn brain of his but hearing those words come from his mouth; it soothed her. She fully thought he'd at least agree to half of her thoughts but no. 

Her eyes twitched, inhaling deeply and she held his hand, "I don't want you to fight my battles, Piers."

He dropped his head with a sigh, knowing she was talking about his confrontation with Cindy, "I know, I know. Why won't you report her, though?"

So Ah shrugged slightly, "Like I said, she reminds me of you. Pretty sure she learned some of your fighting techniques too."

"Copycat." he scoffed, lip quirking in the corner in annoyance, "At least I don't break bones or some shit."

She giggled a bit, earning a faint smile from him but then it fell when she trailed her eyes down, dreading something.

"What do we do now?"

Piers hummed, thumb caressing the back of her hand, "Well, I was thinking about watching a movie or–"

"I'm talking about Cindy."

He shot her a look, "I really didn't come over and planned on talking about her on our date."

She returned the look, "Well if you didn't go ahead and threaten her then maybe we wouldn't be in this situation."

He narrowed his eyes down at her and she mimicked it, standing her ground. Ah, he can't be too mad at her. She was also just as stubborn as him.

Shaking his head, he relented, "Fine, I'll apologize the next time I see her."

Cecile was right. Communication was fun and healthy.

A toothy smile came to her face and she patted his hand, "Thank you. Now we can watch a movie."

She went to stand up but he only tugged her down by her hand with a small 'hold on' when she gasped, tumbling back onto the couch. Her hand shot out to the cushion in surprise and she looked over at him.

"Wha–"

"If this was never about her, then what were you talking about?" Piers questioned curiously.

Nope, no. 

Communication is scary. I repeat communication is scary.

Her eyes widened, tensing up and she tried to play it off, chuckling nervously. He raised an eyebrow at her when she removed her hand from his hold as she spoke, avoiding his eyes.

"Ah, it's nothing. Forget about it."

"So Ah," He pressed on, furrowing his brows a little and he leaned his arm down on his knee to look at her and the other was pressed to the couch behind her, "Is it something I did?"

She blinked, darting her eyes to him in surprise, "What? Why would you think that?"

"Well..." He suddenly seemed nervous, ticking his head to the side, "Whenever things get more intimate between us, you tend to stop whenever I try to go further."

She stared silently at him, eyes unblinking.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable or if it's something about me that's not... You know, it for you."

Piers didn't think he was living up to her standards – which he was, and more. She absolutely hated having made him feel that way about himself. Seeing that subtle frown with the low eyes, she wanted nothing but to change them into something better.

Piers looked over at her, gazing into her cinnamons, "I don't want you to feel pressured into telling me or any–"

"It's me. I'm insecure." She blurted out before she could stop herself and her eyes widened even more, quickly slamming her mouth shut.

Piers blinked at her, taken back and his eyebrows relaxed, eyes softening, "What? Why?"

She sighed defeatedly, cheeks blazing as she grew shyer by the second when she admitted, "It's... I'm worried that I might make it too awkward. I haven't done this in a while and you know... I don’t want it to seem like I’m inexperienced."

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of, baby,” His voice dropped to a tender tone, “Even I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Ah, well,” That only managed to make her feel a little better and she cringed, “It’s different for you.”

He cocked up a brow, already knowing where this was going, “How is it any different for me?”

It was a constant topic.

“Because of... Uhm…” So Ah trailed away, shoulders going up to her ears, “You're young and–"

“If you bring up the age thing again, I'm going to flush all of this paint down the toilet,” Piers threatened and she really didn’t know if he was completely joking or not till he exhaled, “So Ah, c’mon, how many times did we talk about this? You’re not that old.” 

“You’re only what, 27? That's still young.” He reminded, genuinely.

She blew a raspberry with a frown, finding the situation embarrassing and she looked away, "You say that because you've never seen me naked."

He shrugged casually, "As much as I'd love that, I don't have to. I'm pretty sure you look just as gorgeous beneath that dress."

Her cheeks reddened as her timid self made her want to coil up into a ball and disappear. So Ah never knew how to respond to compliments or praises. Piers knew that and he was amused about it.

“Look,” The hand behind her goes to her hip and the other gently grasps her wrist, thumb caressing her skin. His voice was calm and soothing; genuine even. The way he looked at her eased her bubbling anxiety down. “We don't have to do anything if you're not ready, but you really gotta stop worrying about your age, So Ah.” 

“No, no! I want to! It's…” 

The corner of his lips twitched at the sudden enthusiasm and she whispered, tugging and twirling her hair that was cascaded over her shoulder, “I don't want you to think… bad about it.”

“I won't, I promise.” He reassured her before straightening up for a second only to move closer so their knees were brushing, “Why don't we start off slow and see how it goes from there?”

The atmosphere around her seemed to have shifted into a sensual one and she could already feel something hot spreading in her. Letting out a heavy inhale to calm her nerves, she nodded. 

Piers flashed her a grin, releasing her hand to cup the back of her neck with his thumb tracing her jawline. His eyes dropped to her lips, minty breath merging with cinnamon. Glancing up into her eyes for any indication that she was unsure, he sealed his lips on hers.

Piers was passionate like always, but now slower in case he’d accidentally make her uncomfortable. His hands stayed in their spots but his thumbs would caress her skin occasionally to offer some sense of comfort. 

So Ah felt her heart banging out of her chest, setting her hand on his knee to push herself closer to his lips – which he more than accepted. His tongue swiped her bottom lip and her lips parted shyly only for him to deepen the kiss. He instantly earned a soft moan from her, tilting his head to the side as he fought back the smile.

Eventually, Piers trailed his hand down to her waist, tugging her subtly to lead her to his lap. So Ah crawled up onto him as he leaned back against the couch, keeping his lips on hers which were growing needy by the second. Her legs were on either side of him but she didn’t sit, barely hovering over him as he bit her bottom lip.

Piers grasped her hips, fingers digging into her plush flesh with a faint hum and he pulled away from the kiss a little. His lips were red and swollen, subtly shimmering due to her cherry chapstick as his voice was breathy.

"Sit."

The neediness and demand in his tone were so unbelievably sexy; it did nothing but make her comply – though hesitantly.

Then she knew why; something was pressing up against her subtly. It seemed the surprise had shown on her face, making the corner of his lips quirk up faintly. Her hands were grasping his jacket on his shoulders, hips as still as a wooden board as if afraid one slight movement would be too much for her.

"What is it?" He got her attention by pecking her jaw chastely though his hands were nothing but enticing, "Wanna tap out?"

His hips stayed still, if not shuffling his feet a little to get comfortable and thus widening his legs just slightly. His hot breath brought goosebumps as he peppered her neck with small kisses. She managed to whimper out a small 'no', fighting the urge to rock her hips to indulge in the heat spreading in between her legs.

It was only when a hitched faint whine came from her did he pause at the spot that he brushed past. 

Her hand went to the back of his nape, fingers brushing the short hair at the back as he focused more on the spot right under her ear. He reached down to her thigh, squeezing her and the other hand went to the side of her ribs. His teeth grazed her skin and she found it hard to stay quiet, especially when his sneaky thumb pressed into the side of her breast.

So Ah muffled her moan, squeezing her eyes shut and his ears pricked up at the sound. He trailed his kisses up her neck and jawline, leaving the now obvious growing hickey behind. He cocked up a brow, noticing just how red she was. 

There was something incredibly hot with how responsive she was to just kissing. Was she just playing along or was she actually that sensitive?

"Is there something I should know?" Piers asked, half curiously.

So Ah avoided his eyes shyly by looking down at his military tag, nervously toying with it, "I'm... I can be a little loud."

His eyes gleamed at that, smirking smugly, "I don't mind." He brushed her strand away from her face, pushing it behind her ear, "I think it's pretty sexy."

"Do you ever shut up?" She grumbled, fully sure that she must've looked like a freshly grown tomato.

"And not cause these cute reactions of yours? Never."

He laughed, shaking his head and he leaned forward to give him enough space to take off his jacket and toss it aside. He relaxed against the couch, leaving him in a white fitted shirt. He wasn't naked and she still thought he was so goddamn hot.

He kissed her again, this time, swiping her bottom lip instantly with his tongue. Parting her lips, Piers easily explored what was once his, making the kiss a tad noisy as he hummed against her softsoft lips. She gripped the collar of his shirt, moaning quietly and he pulled away a little, eyes hooded as he licked his lips.

"You gotta keep wearing that chapstick." Piers murmured, locking his lips with hers as they grew hungrier, and his voice came out muffled, "Never stop using it."

That was good enough for So Ah's restraints to start breaking. 

As he tugged on her bottom lip, she shifted her knees slightly to push herself closer before grinding once. His breath hitched up and his hands shot down to her hips in an instant. Her clothed cunt pressed up against the growing tent, rubbing herself up on his bulge.

Piers panted when he broke apart from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting between their swollen lips. His nose scrunched up a little, guiding her hips with a groan.

"Shit... Yeah, that feels good." Piers trailed his eyes down. 

Her dress was long enough to cover what he really wanted to see, draping over his hips like a curtain. His fingers itched to rip it off or at least move it out of the way and he looked up at her. Her hips stuttered to a stop and she grew flustered at the intent glow in his hazel eyes.

"Should I stop?"

"No, don't stop," Piers started with a breathless chuckle and then ticked his chin down where they were touching, "Can I see if that's okay of course?"

So Ah swallowed thickly, nodding and she reached down, "Yeah, it's okay."

Pulling on the dress, she lifted it up enough to expose the lingerie she wore. His eyes practically shone in glee, the hands on her thighs shamelessly caressing her bare skin, thumbs sinking under the straps of her panties as if teasing her.

"Holy shit," He whispered, brows furrowing a tick when he felt himself get harder, "You got all ready for this?"

She shrugged timidly with a soft smile, her ego being stroked by the starstruck look on his face, "Better to be overprepared." 

"You're so goddamn cute, you know that, right?" Piers chuckled to himself when she darted her eyes down, the compliment instantly causing her to blush.

Not like she needed more with how flustered she already was.

Clenching his shoulder, she lowered herself down to grind on him whilst biting onto the hem of the dress to hold his other shoulder for balance. His hands stayed on her hips to guide her, his hawk eyes not once blinking at the slowly growing damp spot on her panties.

Her moans were coming out muffled, eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of her pussy rubbing on the rough fabric of his trousers. The belt he wore held her back though.

"Fuck, you're so wet already?" Piers breathed out, squeezing her hips as he got her closer so her clit bumped against the buckle of his belt, and her sound came out hitched. 

He wanted nothing but to discover every decibel she made. His hard cock was practically pushing against the jeans where the zipper was, needing more of her. With how responsive she was, he could only guess she was extremely sensitive. 

God, he was fighting everything in himself to not rip off her panties and his own pants, pin her down and fucking her like there was no tomorrow. It made his mouth salivate at the mere thought of having her gushing around him; screaming his name.

Though luckily, it was the weekend.

"Mmh mmb," She tried to speak but her dress hindered her and she only earned a confused look from him.

Dropping her head, she grabbed a handful of his shirt and shifted her weight to one side so she could free her other hand and take the dress out of her mouth.

"The belt," So Ah repeated breathlessly, "It's annoying."

"Take it off then," He snickered at the annoyed look she gave him, "I'm all yours."

That made her stare soften and she looked down at the belt. Sitting down on his lap, Piers watched her reach over to undo it, her hands fumbling with it due to her excitement and nervousness. Once the belt was left dangling, she returned to her previous position. 

Piers bit back his grunt at how closely she seemed now that the belt was out of the way and she moaned softly from behind her dress. He was rutting up against her, his lips parted for his breathing at the growing and heavy tension. The damp spot was beginning to imprint on his crotch and his abdominals tensed up at the sight.

He leaned close to plant his lips on her neck, teeth brushing over her smooth skin and a small keen came from her. The pressure intensified when he pulled her hips flush with his, his eagerness beginning to show.

"Mm–fuck," So Ah whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut. Her climax was right over the horizon but the ministrations weren't enough. Her knees were beginning to grow uncomfortable, easing a hitched sound from her.

Piers picked up on it and leaned back to look up at her, seeing the neediness in her eyes. The dress in her mouth had gone wet with her drool at her attempt to keep the dress up. He wasn't any better, cheeks flushed with his chest heaving and his eyes completely blown black at the dilation, intensely staring at her.

"What's wrong?" He asked, trying to stabilise his tone but it was wavering a little, his cock throbbing for more stimulation and he knew it was the same case for her, "Not enough?"

She shook her head rapidly with a whine. He nodded, patting her hips, "Okay, hold on."

She stopped, thighs shaking at having her orgasm held back but she only grew excited once he hastily unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. He pushed them down low enough to expose his clothed dick and her eyes widened.

The bulge was massive.

It was visibly straining the thin cotton of his boxer briefs; visibly thick. 

Biting harder onto the fabric of her dress, she caught Piers setting his hands back on her hips, inching closer to her ass but never going there. He threw her a look, seeing if she didn't think this was too much.

"Is this okay?" He asked, clearly on the edge of his climax but he held himself back for her sake, "We can try something else."

So Ah shook her head, a silent ‘it's okay’ as she readied herself. Piers' eyes lingered on hers when he tilted his head low before he looked down. With the thick and rough texture out of the way, the grinding was heavenly, scratching that itch that they both had longed for.

Instantly, her dress muffled her moan of relief, rubbing herself all over his bulge. Piers groaned, his hips rutting up to meet hers, pressing her onto him harder for more friction. Her eyes widened with a squeak when the curvature of his cock bumped her clit, her dress toppling down over what he considered was one of the seven wonders. 

"Crap," She whispered, breaths laboured as she slowed down and reached to hold her dress, "Just gimme–"

"I got it." Piers bundled up her dress into two handfuls and gripped her hips, resuming their humping. 

Her whine would've echoed off if it weren't for the cluttered mess of her art room. With the dress out of the way, Piers could catch a glimpse of his own boxers growing wet. Her pussy was practically slobbering all over him. He could feel the heat emitting from her core.

"Oh, f–fuck," He moaned, throwing his head back with his eyes fluttered shut, letting himself go in the feeling of her wetwet cunt riding him – not entirely – just right.

If this felt way too good to be true, how was it going to be if he was inside of her?

The thought itself made his hips grow desperate, cock thirsty for a release.

Her sounds started going choppy and stuttery,  "Pier–s' oh god, I’m–nnh~" she whimpered, curling over him to have her face snuggled into the crook of his neck at the slowly tightening knot.

One hand gripped his bicep, feeling it tense up beneath her touch with every hump, and the other shot to the couch behind his head, digging her nails into it as a means to keep her bearings.

"M–me too, shit," Piers grunted into her neck, biting the spot between her shoulder and neck that had her mind reeling, guiding her hips to speed up steadily just enough to tick her off.

Her lips parted for a silent gasp when her orgasm hit her first, making her tighten her hold on his bicep and couch. It sent her thighs shaking as Piers groaned lowly at her coming undone, her cum soaking through her and his underwear that left his cock trembling in ecstasy.

"F–fuck!" Her voice ended up hitched when Piers practically pinned her hips down to his and thrusted upwards, directly against her clit to bring her down from her high and trigger his.

He gritted through his teeth, muffling his loud whine when his hips stuttered, cumming within his boxer briefs. He squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers bruising her flesh when he dug them through her dress. Her hips slowed, gently grinding on his softening cock to ease them down from their cloud. 

Piers released a heavy sigh, half-lidded eyes staring up at the ceiling as he rubbed her thigh gingerly. Her face was still in the crook of his neck, panting heavily. 

Orgasming together for the first time despite no actual intercourse happening was ineffable. The BSAA soldier was basically relishing in the lingering buzz of his climax, in love with the faint breaths wafting on the skin of his neck that brought goosebumps down his back. 

So Ah melted over him with a final soft exhale, his big hands reaching up to caress her waist as he peppered chaste kisses on her collarbone and the crook of her neck, trailing them up to her ear.

"You good, baby?" He whispered and she pulled away to look at him.

She gave him a shy smile, her lips red from all the attempts to keep herself quiet, "I'm good, you? Was it..."

Piers chuckled with a tilted smile, nodding as he cradled her cheek, "It was amazing. I don't think I've ever felt it this good before."

She giggled as she slid her hands down to his chest where she proceeded to lean back to dart her eyes down – only to feel like her face was on fire. His boxers were ruined, damp with both their cum. The traces of his white climax was peeking through, the cotton subtly framing the girth of his cock.

It was a filthy mess – and it rekindled that heat in her again.

"Not bad for our first time, huh?" Piers joked, looking down with a smug grin, "If you could call it that."

"You wanna..." She trailed away quietly, catching his sharp eyes on her and her voice was thrown out of the window, "You know..."

His eyes lit up as he tilted his head, feigning a confused look with a pout, "What? I can't hear you, can you speak up?"

An annoyed grumble came from her as she rolled her eyes, knowing what he was doing. He adored seeing her flustered, so of course he'd want to hear her say it.

"Don't be an asshole now," So Ah scowled light-heartedly, "You with your dirty mind know exactly what I mean."

"Accusations." He shrugged nonchalantly, setting both of his hands back on her waist before trailing them down to go under her dress. His big hands settled on her thighs where his fingers grazed the side of her ass.

He snickered at how red she seemed with that bottom lip jutting out, murmuring, "We can go again. I just need a couple of minutes to get ready."

Stars appeared in her eyes as her chest fluttered in giddy and anticipation, "O–okay! Uhm," She glanced down then up at him as he raised an amused brow at her excitement showing, "What– should we move to the bedroom?"

That was when it settled in Piers. She wanted to go again – not the same grinding. He could do the latter or nothing, and he'd still enjoy her presence. Hearing those angelic moans of hers and how sensitive and responsive she was to every kiss and touch, was hyper-aware of everything that was happening – Piers was more than intrigued to know that side of her completely.

No man whose right in the head would say no to that proposal.

He gave her a smile, pecking her lips, "Yeah. I'm okay with that."

She grinned toothily at this, feeling bashful as she attempted to move off of him. Her thighs still felt like jello, causing her to instinctively grab onto his shoulders so she wouldn't fall off. He cocked up a brow, now cocky.

"Finished so hard you can't move, doll?"

"Eat one," She muttered quietly, earning a chuckle and his hands slid down to the back of her thighs, bringing her closer.

"I prefer eating something else." He joked sultry, enjoying the way her cheeks blazed up and he winked, "Hold on."

In one swift movement, Piers stood up with her in his arms. So Ah gasped, wrapping her legs around his waist to lock her place, utterly surprised by this gesture. Piers stared up at her with a shit-eating grin, his hands squeezing the back of her thighs as he made his way out of her art room.

Embarrassed by the turn of events, So Ah hid her face under his jawline and she could feel his amused laughter rumble within his chest. That was until she gently cupped the side of his neck and pressed a sweet kiss right under his ear.

His feet instantly stumbled but he quickly regained his composure, his voice coming out a bit strained, "Careful or we'll both fall."

"Then don't." She shot back softly with a giggle as she continued her not-so-innocent ministration to mark a small hickey, not realising they were in her bedroom.

A hitched sound emitted from her when she was dropped onto the bed with a subtle bounce, and Piers hovered above her with a titled smirk. Her heart pounded at the sight. 

His eyes were blown in desire, the hazel colour barely peeking behind his pupils. His lips were red and swollen, and his hair haphazard but in an undeniably sexy way. The military tags dangled in front of her face as he had her basically pinned down.

Her eyes caught a spot on his neck growing redder, making her smile a bit as she swiped it with the pad of her thumb. He irked a brow at the gesture.

"What?"

"I gave you a hickey." So Ah said shyly, and his eyes softened with a snort.

"Yeah, well, wait till you see what I've done to you," Piers grabbed a hold of her chin and tipped her head up only for the smug look to drop at the clear skin, "What the hell?"

She swallowed thickly with a giggle, eyes coy, "What? Can't find them?"

Piers rubbed the side of her neck gently, brows knitted in the middle, "I swear there was one right here."

She squirmed a little under his intense but confused gaze before she spoke, "Did you forget?"

He darted his eyes up to hers, now noting the nervousness in them.

"I can't get injured – in any way."

It clicked.

"Ah, that's really inconvenient." Piers exhaled, visibly annoyed, tapping the side of her neck with his index finger lightly, "So how long does it take for it to heal, then?"

She blinked up at him, humming as she darted her eyes to the side to think, "Uh, I don't know. I've never really tested it."

She did get tested on other stuff that was actually painful but that's beside the point.

That was more than enough to make him grin, tilting his head down so his nose bumped along the side of her jawline, his breath on her skin making her shiver and her hands shot to his shirt by his waist. 

"Let's test it." He spoke, butterfly kisses trailing down her neck before his lips found their place near that certain spot.

So Ah stifled her sounds as he started his erotic experiment. His lips were soft and wet on her, teeth would barely graze and bite the skin just to keep her on the edge of her seat. His hands had other intentions, one roaming up to her chest. His hesitance showed just a little but hearing a moan from her when he gave her bosom a gentle squeeze took that way from him.

As Piers kneaded her breast through her dress, he focused on that sweet spot under her ear, earning a louder whine and a slight arch of her back to his hand. It was then he knew – she had sensitive bosoms. 

"Mmh," So Ah breathed out, growing dizzy from all the stimulations that just was not enough – but it was enough to make her cunt squeeze around nothing. She could substantially feel her arousal beginning to soak her once damp panties again.

Piers was more than amused about his, purring against her neck as he licked the sore spot. His other hand was pressed onto the bed by her side to keep himself up with one knee mere inches away from her core.

"Who knew that the shy woman from the BSAA," Piers murmured coyly, gazing down at the bruising spot before directing his attention to her jawline, "Would be this responsive?"

The hand on her bosom reached down to untie the ribbon around her waist and the dress loosened on her form. It exposed her heaving chest and the bra caught his eyes. He leaned up a bit and lifted up the edge of her dress to take a peek at her underwear.

It was a matching set.

"Jesus Christ, baby," Piers exhaled heavily, a groan seeping its way through at the sight of her in lingerie. 

His stare itself would’ve made her blush for days – and it just might. Her brain was racking for something to break the stare and to, feebly, distract her from his enticing touches on the skin of her thighs that were inching higher and higher by the second. 

“W–wait,” The quiver in her voice stopped him, the tips of his fingers mere inches away from her panties and he looked up at her, “Can we, uhm, put some music on?”

Piers blinked, tilting his head to the side a little with that confused puppy look, “You wanna… Play music while we’re doing this?”

“Yeah, I mean,” She cleared her throat, cheeks dusted red, “Everyone has a playlist for… Instances like this.”

Piers snorted at her wording, trailing his hands up to caress her knees gingerly, “You have a sex playlist?”

So Ah sputtered before shutting her legs with a huff, denying him from herself, “Can’t believe you’re still bullying me despite what we’re doing.”

“No, no, no, okay, okay.” Piers laughed at her action of hiding herself which he found very endearing, shaking his head as he cooed, “I’m sorry, baby – we can play something. Here, I’ll use my playlist.”

He leaned back onto his knees and brought out his phone from his pocket as she shot him a look, “Of course, you’d have a playlist.”

He chuckled as he was seemingly searching for it though his eyes were focused on something else she couldn't quite put a finger on – she shrugged it off that he was just skimming to pick the first song.

"You said it yourself," Piers looked up at her as he towered over her whilst maintaining eye contact and set the phone down by the nightstand with a cheeky grin, "Everyone has a sex playlist."

With that, he kissed her deeply as her ears pricked up to the smooth song playing from his phone. Obviously, it was about – you guessed it – sex. 

Very classic. 

Piers pulled away a bit, nose bumping hers in the process, a faint smile coming to his lips when her legs had widened to give him more space. He bundled up her dress once he scooted closer, giving her a look that only said; Do you want to?

So Ah only managed a nod, “Mhm.”

Piers pulled her by the arm to sit up before taking off her dress. His eyes shone, enthralled by the sight of her softly toned body. The lingerie she wore complimented her skin to the T and he could swear he had never seen something so beautiful before. His eyes land on the tattoo of a potted plant under her right bosom on the side along with a cute mole next to it.

“Woah,” He caressed the skin, voicing his surprise, “I didn’t know you had a tattoo.”

“Ah, I got one after dealing with the outbreak in California,” So Ah said, growing shy under his stare, “Even though the one I currently own is not the same one, the original Minty kept me company when I was living in LA.”

“M… Minty kept you company?” Piers furrowed his brows, remembering a similar potted plant at the table by the balcony, “Were you living alone?”

“Yeah, my siblings visited at some point but other than that, I was alone.” She then shrugged, “Not that I minded it, to be honest… Though I think I… Wished I knew someone around.”

Living in LA was absolutely new to her. She didn’t know anyone other than the self-proclaimed neighbourhood lady. Her neighbour next door barely spoke to her, keeping his distance. Again, she didn’t mind as she was introverted – but having a friend back then wouldn’t have been such a bad idea.

“I had Minty to talk to at least,” She sighed, trailing his eyes down to his hand and then blinked at his silence, snapping her eyes back up at him, “Oh no, did I ruin the mood? Shit, I didn’t–”

“No, you didn’t ruin anything,” He shook his head, cradling her cheeks and gazing intently into her eyes as he teasingly asked, “Did you seriously talk to a plant?”

She pushed him away with a whine, scoffing, “You try living in a foreign city on your own.”

Piers snickered as he kept his hold on her, “It’s very adorable,” His thumb swiped the apple of her cheeks, eyes growing gentle, “Insane, but adorable.”

He pressed his lips against hers to get her to lean back to the bed. His lips plush against hers, soft but assertive. His hands roamed lower to the sides of her torso, the pads of his fingers caressing her skin along the way as his lips moved passionately with hers. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck, moaning softly against his lips and her back arched a bit off the bed when she felt his hands trying to ease under her back. Piers smiled at her responsive nature, humming lowly into the kiss as his hands snuck to the bra’s clasp, unclipping them with little to no struggle.

The kiss teetered into a breathless and airy territory, Piers pulling away for a moment only to kiss her again, his brows furrowing at the intensity. He slowly, but eagerly, slipped down the straps of her bra before pulling it all away.

Piers broke the kiss with a moist pop, panting as his eyes darted down to her chest. So Ah gulped heavily, staring up at him as he mindlessly tossed the bra aside. It toppled off the edge of the bed but really, none of them cared.

Her bosoms were definitely the perfect size for him, her buds were rosy pink and hardened, revealing to him just how sensitive they were. There were a small mole under her right breast with her hips being faintly decorated with stretch marks. Her cheeks were redder than even under his desire-blown gaze.

“You’re staring…” So Ah mumbled, growing shy as she covered her chest.

Piers blinked as if whatever trance he was in was broken only to chuckle, tenderly grasping her wrists to ease them away, “Sorry, you’re just too damn pretty.”

His smile only widened into a cheeky one when he noticed how heavily she was blushing, leaning down to peck her lips once before trailing his lips lower. A shaky sigh emitted from her, her chin tilting up at the butterfly feeling of his kisses going lower and lower till–

“Nnh!” So Ah couldn’t conceal the sudden squeak when Piers dragged his tongue over her nipple, his eyes fluttered shut to relish in her heavenly sounds and the feeling of her soft skin beneath his tongue.

His lips pursed down, sucking on her bud as his free hand kneaded the neglected bosom. Her chest was heaving as she held onto his arm and the other gripping the pillow beneath her head. Her sounds were constant, sometimes ending on a higher pitch whenever he’d teasingly and lightly bite the sensitive nipple.

Her head fell back onto the pillow, her back arching once again as Piers noisily sucked and licked her bosom, leaving behind a trail of wet kisses and obvious hickies – that would be gone within a minute.

Piers peeled his eyes open, trailing his sharp gaze up to her flushed face as he grinned at the loud moan she made when he nipped at the hardened bud. It was practically a devious grin, snickering to himself and he shifted his kneading on her other breast to have her nipple placed between his index and his middle finger – and he pinched, earning a hitched sound from her.

Curiosity got the best of him, trailing his other hand down even lower to her panties when he pressed the pads of his two fingers against her sore and needy clit through the thin fabric of her underwear. She was soaked, in addition to her first orgasm, Piers knew she was drenched.

“S–shit,” So Ah let out a whimper, legs trembling a little when she felt him rubbing her slowly and her hand shot to the back of his head, her heart starting to pound at being stimulated just right.

Piers was such a tease, and for what?

He applied an experimental pressure, picking up the pace and he audibly chuckled at the erotic sound he pulled from her lips. In a moist pop, Piers pulled away from her nipple only to start kissing up her neck, nearing her ear to give her a little break from all the pleasure. 

She was sure if he kept this up, she’d cum again – and he was well aware of that.

“Did anyone ever eat you out?” Piers shamelessly asked lowly, his lips brushing against the skin right under her jaw.

So Ah’s throat was running dry, swallowing thickly to regain some of her composure, “Uhm, my ex… But rarely.”

“And how was it?”

So Ah blinked at the ceiling, her attention diverted from his sinful kisses, “Why do you wanna know?”

Piers exhaled, scooting his knees closer to have her legs on either side of his hips and he leaned up to look at her, shrugging nonchalantly. 

“Just curious.” He replied, his hazels plainly scanning her face and body to see just how flustered he’s got her.

She eyed him suspiciously before bringing up her shoulders, avoiding his eyes, “I wouldn’t know. I never… Finished.”

He visibly froze and he looked up at her, shocked, “What?”

“I faked it just to, you know, get to the last part of this.” So Ah continued as if it was a normal occurrence in her previous relationship – which it was.

For a second, Piers stood there dumbfounded before he cackled, but not at her, “What a loser – wanna know how it feels to cum like that?”

She gave him an unimpressed look, hiding her anticipation, “What, are you like… The greatest guy alive to eat a girl out?”

Piers only grinned cockily, “Is that a yes?”

Again, she swallowed down her heart that bounced up to her throat at how confident he looked and she nodded, face flushed.

“Better hold tight then, I’m about to give you the best head ever.” He whispered, leaning down to peck her cheek, “And don’t worry about being a mess. I like it messy.”

Piers scooted down, dragging his fingers down her sides to tease the hem of her panties. His eyes darted up to her for a quick glance, “You can tap out whenever, okay?”

“Okay…” She nodded, fighting the urge to cover her face and close her legs when he slowly slid her panties off. 

“Just relax…” He mumbled, feeling how tense her legs were, pining her thigh to the bed with one hand and he gently squeezed the plush flesh. The other arm goes around her thigh, and he flattened his hand on her abdomen to try and keep her still.

His eyes were half-lidded, practically glued to her soaking cunt, glistening right beneath his gaze. One last reassurance, he shot her a quick glance.

“You can tap out whenever, okay?”

She nodded shyly, "Okay…"

Piers was different from what she expected. He was always full of surprises in every possible aspect she could think of. She didn’t even know that he’d make her–

“Oh~!”

So audible.

Piers focused on the task at hand – or tongue in this case. His tongue was greedy and eager to explore all of her, from her core to her clit, he was ruthless. A giver. Messy. It didn’t help that he was precise with his ministrations, instantly finding that pattern to repeat over and over again. 

His hand tightened on her thigh when it twitched up, forcing it back down onto the bed as he pinned her hips by her abdomen down as well. His tongue trailed up and down before lapping at her pearl, pursing his plum lips around it to give it a suck. 

That pushed a loud hitched mewl from her lips, her eyes almost squinting shut and her hand shot down, fingers tangling on his messy spiked-up hair. He peeled his eyes open, staring intently up at her through his lashes, his mouth and tongue still at work. 

His ears would prick up at the heavenly sound of her attempting to call out his name but it falls to a whimper, her chest heaving with her face flushed red. The sight was sending his mind and body into overdrive, his hips grounding into her bed uncontrollably to receive some friction.

“Fuck, you taste so good…” Piers groaned into her pussy, his lips and chin shimmering under the warm light coming from her table lamp, and his fingers dug into her flesh, nearly tugging her closer to him, “Can’t get enough.”

“Nnh! Piers!” So Ah managed to cry out when she felt his persistent tongue trace infinite circles right into that spot, making her see stars – and she didn’t even cum. 

Yet.

Piers knew she was close, humming in acknowledgement which sent vibrations right through her sensitive bundle of nerves. He kept his movements intense but steady, knowing better than to let the sensations rise and fall too fast on their own – that way when she crashes, she crashes hard.

Her hips writhed, pushing him to ease her thigh over his shoulder and he grabbed onto her forearm instead. That caused her to release his hair and latch onto his arm, her nails digging into his skin. 

The slurping and smacking noises only became more audible and constant, mixing sinfully with her moans and pitched hitches of breaths. The tension in her lower abdomen was tightening to the point she felt it deep within her heart, and she could’ve sworn the pounding of her heart was reaching her ears. Her breaths grew laboured, unable to inhale completely without breaking it with a whine. 

Piers grunted as his hips rutted into the sheets, his cock aching behind his boxers for actual friction. The bed wasn’t doing it any justice. Her cries got louder that he was so sure they would get a noise complaint, but let’s be honest, while So Ah cared what others thought of her, Piers couldn’t give less of a fuck.

All he cared about was making her scream, and that meant both with an ‘s’ and without.

Her grip on his arm showed that she needed something to make her feel grounded, and so he released her arm only to grab her hand which she instinctively interlocked fingers with his. He pulled himself closer to her sweet cunt, dragging his crotch on the bed which pushed a groan out of him, muffled by her folds. 

That sent her over the edge, her whole body convulsing as her back arched off the bed with a cry. The fiery pleasure shot through her chest and straight all over her body, gushing over his tongue as she went cross-eyed for a split second before she squeezed her eyes shut. 

The high sent her back down to the mattress, pushing a heavy shuddered breath out of her lungs as if she got the air knocked out of her. Her legs were trembling as small moans escaped from her lips.

Piers let her ride it out, his tongue keeping up that insistent circles as he gulped down her juices, feeling ever so egotistical and cocky at her orgasm. Soon enough, he released her visibly pumping clit and rested his head on her thigh with a lazy and satisfied – very smug – grin on his glistening lips. His hand caressed and squeezed her thigh, easing her tremors down, observing the way her pearl was twitching from the intensity of her climax. 

So Ah breathed heavily, having her arm over her flushed face as her body felt all melted and droopy. 

“So?” Piers had the audacity to ask, his voice gravely, “How was that?”

“Wow… Just wow…” She panted, dropping her arm to the pillow next to her and lifted up her head a bit to look down at him only to notice the mess he had made. 

His saliva was coating her cunt, and that was mixed with her cum. He wasn’t lying about making a mess. He caught her bashful but surprised stare and kissed her inner thigh before releasing her thigh and hand.

“You good to go another around?” He asked, raising himself up to his knees with an exhale as he took off his shirt, exposing those abs for her eyes to feast on and her mind to instantly study for an art piece in the future.

“Did you have to be that… Messy?” She answered with a question, looking back up at him and his grin just widened.

He chuckled, swiping his thumb against her clit to make her breath hitch, “I’m just getting you all ready for me, dollface.”

So Ah found herself finally able to catch her breath properly as he got off of the bed, sliding down his pants and boxers completely and her eyes widened comically at the girth of his cock. 

Describing it won’t do justice – not one bit.

He climbed back onto the bed, crawling to be in between her legs and she shook her head profusely, her cinnamons frozen at the stiffened erection of his.

“Fuck no.”

Piers blinked, freezing up and he looked at her, “What?”

Did I do too much?

Should I have stopped before?

Did I do something wrong?

Did she not feel goo–

“That thing is not gonna fit, are you insane?!” So Ah exclaimed, pulling her legs close to her body where she shut them.

Piers stayed still, now unsure with a breathy laugh, “I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not.”

So Ah went silent for a bit, looking down at his crotch and then up at him, swallowing thickly as she reminded, “Piers, I haven’t done this in a while…”

Those hazels of his softened and he leaned over her, cradling her cheeks as he gave her a look of reassurance, “Hey, we can stop now and I can take care of it on my own – I’d just need some time in the bathroom and–”

“No, I… I still want to do this,” She interrupted, releasing a sigh as she relaxed her legs slightly, “Can you be gentle?”

Piers smiled and pressed a soft kiss on her lips, “Yeah, of course. I’ll take it slow.”

He sat back, his hands rubbing on her thighs as he lined himself up but then he stopped, seemingly a bit panicked as he turned to look at his jeans, “Shit, I didn’t bring a condom.”

“There’s no need.” She whispered with a shy smile on her face, “I’m on birth control.”

His eyes visibly lit up at this, relaxing as he joked, “Christmas came early this year, huh?”

She snorted at this and tilted her head down so she can watch him scoot closer. His hand was jerking himself off to ease some of the tension, his brows furrowing deeply with muffled moans.

Reminder that describing it won’t do any justice.

His bigbig cock was visibly throbbing, with angry and bulging veins trailing up to a red tip. It was almost the girth of a Coke can, and probably around five and a half inches – if not a bit bigger. It was already oozing with pre-cum, and he was well shaved with faint hair crowning his dick and trailing up to the bottom of his belly button.

A happy trail.

He rubbed her clit with the blunt tip, grinding his hips back and forth to drag the underside of his cock over her wetwet pussy. A muffled moan emitted faintly from her, grabbing onto his arm as she caught on that he was using her arousal and previous orgasm as lubrication.

Piers traced circles on her clit with the tip with an airy chuckle as he held her leg apart, “Fuck, d’you hear that?”

He tapped his cock against her clit numerous times, making her yelp and her hips twitch. The moist smacking noise emitted audibly in between her legs, showing exactly just how drenched she was.

“All nice and wet just for me, hm?” He murmured, wincing at yet another ache of his boner, “Jesus Christ, just seeing this might make me cum.”

Her lips moved before she could even have a second thought, “Why don’t we have a bet then?”

Piers raised a brow at her sudden suggestion, “A bet?”

It was clear it was her anxiety trying to impulsively prolong the moment before he’d actually slide into her. She didn’t seem to be aware of it, nodding with a faint and nervous smile.

“Yeah.”

He humoured her, humming, “Okay, what do you wanna bet on?”

“Uhm… Whoever finishes first gets to, uh…” She trailed away for a second, “Cook breakfast tomorrow.”

Piers snorted before laughing light-heartedly, shaking his head. It surprised him enough that it sent him into a giggling fit, giving her a teasing but challenging look.

One of them hated waking up super early in the morning.

“You sure you wanna do that?”

And it wasn’t him.

“Mhm, I like my eggs runny.” She squirmed beneath him, smiling coyly, “Besides, I just came like a minute ago, unlike you.”

Piers followed her glance to his cock, seeing that he was clearly not lasting a minute in her. That fueled his competitive side, throwing him back to that game night. His smile turned into a devilish one as he aligned himself up, the tip teasing her core.

“Feels deja vu, doesn’t it?” He tilted his head to the side, “Think you’re going to win?”

So Ah shrugged as if nonchalant but he could see the devious sparkle in those fiery cinnamons of hers, “Think you can last?”

“Oh, babe,” Piers gave her a pout that was nothing of pity, “You’re in trouble.”

Huh–

Her voice died up in her throat when he pushed himself in – but not all the way, keeping in mind to be gentle just for her.

He didn’t go all the way in, but the stretch was–

“Oh, shit,” Piers cursed under his breath, stopping halfway and his brows knitted deeply, eyes narrowed, “You gotta be fucking kidding me…”

Never mind the stretch right now, the way her walls were squeezing the ever-living hell out of him was tensing up his grip on her thigh. He was already breathless, if not unsure to keep moving without cumming first. He was soso close from all the grounding against the bed, but he was so caught up with the taste of her to realise.

He inhaled through his nose before exhaling a faint okay, shifting his grip to her hip and the other hand shot to the sheets next to her body.

So Ah held onto his arm and the other around his wrist, pressing her lips into a thin line to muffle her whimper when he slowly moved his hips back. It was obvious by the shakiness of his breaths and by how hard he’d dig his fingers into her flesh before loosening up a little, careful not to hurt her.

Her lips parted, trailing her eyes up to him only to see him staring down at her body as if one look at her face would make him crumble. Pushing a soft moan out of her when he slid into her again, Piers muffled his grunt, squeezing his eyes shut at the intensity of this all – and he stopped.

“F–fuck, wait…” He shuddered, “I… Give me a sec…”

It was so difficult to hold back the massive urge to spill – but what faltered his patience was the way she looked so ravished. She had the audacity to be an angel laying beneath him all bare, her cinnamons shimmering under the warm light of her lamp, her skin redder in some areas, indicating that all those lovebites were almost healed, and god forbid, her sounds.

God, why would he agree to that useless bet when he could’ve just fucked her stupid instead?

“W–what?” So Ah panted, gulping heavily as the corner of her lips went up into a cunning smile, “You look like… You’re gonna c–”

“I said give me a fucking second.” Piers snapped harshly and avoided looking into her eyes, and on any other day, So Ah would actually shut up but seeing how hard he was trying to keep his composure, this all made her feel hotter on the inside.

“M–mh… Fine,” She hummed, her leg twitching when she could practically feel his cock pulsing inside of her – or halfway inside. 

“It’d be a shame… If you came first.”

Someone should’ve taught her not to poke a bear with a stick.

That hit Piers’ huge ego hard, and his patience shattered. His glare would’ve bore holes into her skull, releasing the sheets and for a second, she thought he had had enough. 

Maybe she poked fun a little too much. He thought he wasn’t all that for her just half an hour ago, she should be kinder. Gentler. Swee–

His fingers travelled between her legs, the pads of his middle and ring making contact with her sore and swollen clit, still sensitive from her previous orgasm, and he rubbed it expertly and fast.

A shriek left through her lips, her voice hitching up in her throat as her body convulsed and her sound echoed loudly in the room. The adrenaline shot through her veins, her pussy on fire from his assault on her puffy clit with his cock still inside of her.

“Pier–!” She squeaked, tears of pleasure brimming in the corner of her eyes, “Not f–fair!”

“We’re not playing fair. You never did.” Piers pressed the palm of his free hand against her abdomen, pinning her to the bed and stilling her writhing and squirming. 

He was rough with it, bringing her closer and closer to another explosive orgasm. He barely moved his dick, if not a little deeper just so she’d be well aware of how he’s got her.

All slutty and needy.

“What’s the matter, doll?” Piers mocked whilst flicking her clit in a chaotic pattern, leaning over her slightly to meet her eyes that were now refusing to connect with his. 

His hand reached up for her jaw, gripping it and forcing her to look at him, a smug smirk growing on his face at how much of a mess he’s got her, “Are you cumming already?”

“F–fuck! Yea– god!” She cried out and held onto his wrist with both hands, a tear escaping down her temple before the knot snapped, her teary eyes rolling to the back of her head as she gushed all over his cock.

Piers failed to hide his wince but she didn’t notice it anyways, too lost in the haziness of it all before he finally released her clit and grabbed her trembling thighs to wrap them around his hips and–

Stars. 

Piers didn’t stop, fucking into her so ruthlessly with his whole girth and length. His hips were slamming against her as if actively attempting to bruise her and her body bounced uncontrollably with each powerful thrust. Her cinnamons were seeping tears, mixed with her mascara and eyeliner, her lipstick smudged and she was just fucked out of her mind. 

She could do nothing but moan and whine helplessly and loudly. Not like she could do anything else.

Piers growled, pinning both of her arms down beside her and pushing his knees closer to keep her legs hooked over his waist. That consequently sent his cock even deeper, a smidge away from her cervix. The stretch was godly. 

While her ex was on the longer side, Piers was on the thicker and heavier side. Her silken walls were tighttight all around, breaking the rest of his restraints and merely forgetting ever needing to be gentle with her. He would’ve remembered if it weren’t for her moans and cries of his name along with all the sensations and the way her squelching pussy was squeezing his cock.

It was messy and filthy, her cum on her inner thighs and the bedsheet, coating his thick cock. It went in sort of dry once and now it was just glistening with her slick juices. His hawk eyes followed the motion of her body, seeing how her bosoms were bouncing, her buds hard and rosy. Her face was redred, unable to hide it with how her arms were pinned.

And then he caught a glimpse of a bump in her lower abdomen, realizing he could see his heavy girth fucking into her. It shot fiery pleasure through him at the sight.

“Pier–ier–ier–s’ oh, god!” Her voice was whiney and pitched, shaking with each thrust, “Plea–he–he–heas! S–s–slow dow– I’m gonna c–hum!”

“Cum for me, baby,” Piers grunted, the skin-slapping skin sounding off along with the moistness of it all, “C’mon, you can do it, can’t you?”

“Y–yes!”

“Good girl,” He let go of her arms to grab her squirming hips, pinning her to the mattress once again as his thrusts went erratic, “Now, don’t move one little bit.”

That praise.

That godforsaken praise.

Her back arched, her hands grasping onto his arms so hard that her nails marked his skin and a vulgar moan left through her lips. Her world darkened for a moment, her head tilting back into her pillow with a cry as the pleasure sent burning tremors all over her bones.

Piers failed to muffle his moan, tugging her hips closer to have his cock as deep as he could go and he wrapped his other arm around her arched back, pulling her chest to chest where his face pressed up against the crook of her neck.

His cum spurted out thickly, the orgasm so intense it left his thighs shaking and toes curling over the sheets. His moan was boyish, almost a whimper when her walls clamped even tighter around his pulsating cock, practically milking him dry. The hotness and warmth of it all was felt, filling her up so that some of it seeped out of her in between them.

Her voice fell to a broken whimper and her arms went around his torso where her nails clung onto his toned back, the virus within her spreading in an instant to patch up any bruises or marks Piers had involuntarily caused.

The aftermath left both of them panting heavily and utterly spent. It was quiet, minus their breathing and the playlist which was on a loop because the first song was playing once again. So Ah didn’t dare to move, chest feeling heavy from blooming and her dazed eyes barely open, staring at the ceiling.

Lazy kisses were pressed onto her sweaty skin, trailing up to her jaw and the corner of her lips before stopping. Piers gazed into her eyes, letting go of her hip to cradle her cheek gingerly. His thumb wiped away a stray tear, his fingers threading with her sprawled hair under her head. 

There was nothing but love in that look – and it nearly spilt from his tongue.

“Not bad for our first time?” He murmured, his mint breath wafting over her face as she could feel his lips brushing against hers with every word.

So Ah couldn’t help but smile faintly, knowing those three special words were on the tip of her tongue as well. Her hands caressed the angry red marks on his back. Although she’d heal overnight, Piers was going to be having scratches for a few days.

And he’d wear them with pride.

She whispered, her voice hoarse, “Y–yeah… Not bad at all…”

Piers chuckled breathlessly at that, grinning when a giggle came from her, and he closed the distance between them for a searing but gentle kiss. His lips moulded with hers like they were made for one another.

Maybe they were.

#piers nivans x oc #piers nivans fanfic #piers nivans headcanon #resident evil #piers nivans x reader smut #resident evil fandom #piers nivans imagine #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy imagines #resident evil memes #canon x oc #oc x canon #piers nivans x reader #piers nivans smut #piers nivans #resident evil 6 #piers nivans x you #Spotify

[sh4tt3rg1rl]

FRANTIC FANFICS

TITLE: For the funny (is this even for all ages??) FEATURING THE CHARACTERS: sun, gnagle WRITERS: elsie, xeya, tailsbot RATED ALL AGES

One day, Gnaggagngle and Sun decide to go to therapy. Unfortunately for them, the only available therapist is Ragatha, who immediately has a mental breakdown because girlie needs help.

This now turns to Gangle, Sun, and Ragatha all crying together, doing pure crack as they did so. Wh.. do I even want to know?

Anyway, Sun then flared and died, falling facedown onto the table in front of them.

So now a high Gangle and a high Ragatha are next to a dead body.

"wow, that sure did happen, im still depresed" says Gnangel "Lets go kill Jax, for the funny!" ragatha exclaimed "For the funny!" gangle replied

so then the two went and found jax, who was chilling in a t pose as one does "Jax we here to kill you" said gagnle "No u" says Jax 'oh ok" replies ragatha, as both her and gnglea do the family guy death pose and die.

"wow! they had crack on them!" says Jax "im gonna do the crack, and then ill blow up Mars!" Jax proceeded to do the crack, and blew up mars

Jax then proceeded to become the new tumblr secymand

TITLE: Gangle's Secret love FEATURING THE CHARACTERS: gangle, james/mask WRITERS: gummy, tailsbot, xeya RATED ALL AGES Gangle and Mask were at a cafe, waiting on their order. Gangle had been showing off her sketchbook to Mask, flipping through pages, when suddenly Gangle remembered a particular sketch that was in there… Gangle was too late to snatch the sketchbook back, when Mask flipped the page. "What the hell is this?" He said incredulously. "NO NO NO NO NO!" Gangle screeched.

Unfortunately, all had been revealed…

as her life crumbled before her, she sat, watching the terror in masks face, as they witnessed the page. Her biggest secrets, shown to the world, now everyone would know that

Gangle drew herself, KISSING ZOOBLE!

Mask stared down at the BEAUTIFUL AND TERRIFYINGLY DETAILED DRAWING and slowly turned to look at Gangle. "Are you…" they began, their voice trembling… "…a homosexual?" Gangle profusely denied, but the truth was out. Gangle was gay for Zooble. "Gangle.. why didn't you tell anyone?!" "It was… sniffle… it was too much!!! I COULDN'T!!! ZOOBLE WOULD FIND OUT IM GAY FOR THEM!!!" Mask committed a hit and run on Gangle by smacking her upside the head with her sketchbook and ran over to Zooble. "GANGLE IS GAY FOR Y-" Mask was pulled backwards into the shadows by a mysterious ribboned force and was never seen again… Emerging from the shadows was Gangle! "Hello! Everything you just heard is WRONG." Gangle faded away.

"…What the f-"

TITLE: TOP TEN ANIME BATTLES: #1: SANS VS FREDDY FEATURING THE CHARACTERS: sans, five nigt fredy WRITERS: xeya, gummy, elsie RATED ALL AGES Sans was gearing up for battle against Freddy Fazbear. He shined his Gaster Blaster and FUCKING obliterated a dummy. (mad dummy)

Freddy Fazbear showed up in a full blown mechasuit.

What the fuck.

Sans chuckled as he brandished his weapon. "I know your sins, Freddy. This won't end well for you." Freddy chuckled. "you may be strong, but you're still just a skeleton. One hit and you're done. I know you have a limit. How fast can we reach it?" Sans's eyes narrowed, and he pulled a hand from his pocket, his fingertips glowing blue. The bell rang, and the battle began, Sans dodged Freddy's attacks left and right, shooting arrays of bones in every direction. Freddy was hit several times, but this old bear was strong, and resisted the damage enough to keep going. "You're bear-ly taking a hit, arentcha?" Sans, joked, winking. Freddy Fazbear ignored this, and kept swinging.

Sans kept dodging attacks, but wondered how long he could keep this up…

And then he realized Freddy’s weakness… He’s electronic. And Sans has a bucket of water from an old door prank…

SPLASH

It was done.

@zooooble @thecomicallytragicgangle we wrote shipfic about you by the way

#frantic fanfic #WHAT THE FUCK WAS THIS

[burberrycanary]

Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions)∘ a Stucky Post-TFATWS Fix-it

Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions) by @burberrycanary​

Stucky, Endgame Fix-it, Road Trip, Established Relationship

Thanks to my amazing betas @booksandabeer​​, @zenaidamacrouras1 and @village-skeptic 💖 —

The worst of times, like the best, are always passing away. How’s that for some consolation on the road?  Sequel to Not Language but a Map (The Grammar of Sensation).

A post-The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Stucky fix-it as part of the all-American road trip, detours included.

—

Bucky is asleep on the couch with his face tipped away from the sheer curtains that let in a warm glow. 

Settling in the opposite chair, Steve studies Bucky on this morning, in this light. 

Opening the narrow pocket sketchbook he’s hardly used, he tries to capture the flat arch of Bucky’s brow bone and the line of his nose with a few simple shapes before falling into the hundreds of details of his closed eye: creases, hollows, lashes, shadows, and the thin, tender skin he’s seen withstand blows that would crater in steel.

—

Read it on AO3

#stucky #stucky fic #steve x bucky #steve x bucky fic #endgame fix-it #post-TFATWS fic #steve/bucky #steve/bucky fic #tfatws #tfatws fic #stucky fix-it #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sam wilson #sarah wilson #the existential loneliness of steven g. rogers #bucky barnes needs a hug #sam wilson is not your therapist #there is so much of the past #how astonishing it is that language can almost mean #and frightening that it does not quite #love we say #and the words get it wrong #the stucky endgame road trip fix-it that keeps on going

[goldeneyedgirl]

Do you have any more of deaf alice you’d be willing to share? That fic lives rent free in my mind

Deaf Mary-Alice is currently just a collection of Jasper's thoughts as he simps for her and wonders if she truly understands how much he loves her since they made up all the signs when he was emotionally stunted and Too Battle Hardened by Life to Care, and can't find the right words to explain.

The Cullens aren’t at all prepared for Mary-Alice, and it’s kind of fun to watch.  There are still three weeks until graduation, and he’s already negotiated a deal with Carlisle in exchange for completing high school once again (“Five years, Carlisle, of no high school.”) But it means that he has to leave her behind every morning, moping on the couch.  Except, every day they get home, Esme looks vaguely confused and flustered, and Mary-Alice is up to… something. One day, she’s climbing the railings of the first and second-floor landings, like some kind of bizarre parkouring gymnast - and not the kind of behaviour that Jasper’s sure Esme or any of the Cullens have witnessed or partaken in. But it's no different than her playing in the few trees around Monterrey or swinging from the beams in the roof of the barn. Bouncing off the roof of the mansion, laughing. (She lands on his back, kissing his cheek, telling him he was gone for far too long, her cheek nuzzling against him as she speaks.) Another day, she’s swiped some paint from Esme’s studio and spent the day painting the glass wall in his study with flowers (some of them have bleeding eyes in the centre, and others have tiny bones making up their stems, a casual reminder that she is not as soft and girlish as she might appear). The light through the window throws coloured light around his study. Esme is horrified but trying to cover it up, and Jasper mentally tells Edward that he’ll take care of it, just not to mention it. It’s easy enough to get her a canvas and a pile of sketchbooks that light her face with happiness.  (One sketchbook is hidden under the cushions of his couch; quick sketches of visions intermingled with drawings of him and her - some of them are positively indecent, so the sketchbook stays hidden.)  There's the deer she manages to herd into the Cullens' garden, even manages to get a flower crown on the poor beast. Deciding to precariously perch herself on the very top of the library bookshelves, a pile of books next to her swinging leg as she pages through any coffee table book with coloured pictures, other book piles scattered around the room much to Carlisle's consternation. There's the fact she's caught touching the piano, sitting on the very top and bending over to press the keys to try and 'hear' it better. (He owed Edward for not pitching a fit of enormous magnitude over that; his brother had had the foresight to simply walk out and let someone else deal with Mary-Alice's investigation. And it had been easy to explain that the piano was Edward's, was special to him. By the time night falls, the piano is freshly polished and set to rights, with a wild daisy left on the seat as an apology.) There’s the day that Esme somehow manages to teach her the basics of sewing, and he comes home to Mary-Alice cutting up some of the clothing she’s been given to Frankenstein new items together. By then, Esme looks rather exhausted and frustrated - communication is still terribly stilted, and the mess of hacked-apart dresses probably looks like more work for her.  Instead, Mary-Alice sits there, laser-focused as she puts all her clothing back together, somehow more her than they were when she started.  (If she surreptitiously stitches a black gingham star to the pocket of his jeans at some point, it makes him smile.)

#my fic: deaf mary-alice #my fic: stl-adjacent #stl: wholesome-edition #jasper: oh god she's undergone trauma and despair i can never heal nor make up to her #mary-alice: my biggest trauma was being without the major for decades and also that one time peter tore my dress #esme's seriously wondering if she should renegotiate jasper's terms and that he doesn't have to go to high school #he just has to baby-sit his mary-alice #mary-alice isn't stupid; she just knows she can do what she wants as long as nothing gets broken #and everyone is too polite to say no to her #except jasper #he's there with a camera going “you're doing great babe” as mary-alice uses carlisle's books as a staircase to things she can't reach

[canvaswolfdoll]

i miss the days when webcomics weren't even indie, they were isolated.

graffiti on the digital walls, created and shared with no motive aside from a deep yearning to create and share.

an art limited only by your ability to produce a digital image and build a website (which, admittedly in the real old internet days was a high bar, but one thing at a time)

people made gag strips about video games and other hobbies

journal comics about the artist's day

sprite comics because it's easier to copy paste vintage art assets in ms paint than it was to learn to draw and figure out a scanner and for-profit image program

people created and shared and, yes, a lucky few could make a profit off ads and merch, but that's money that went to the creators pocket.

nowadays, webcomics either are sequestered to various social medias (reddit, instagram, twitter, the contemptable webtoon) where they fall under the curse of being content(tm) to mostly line the pockets of various corporate masters who smile and assure artists that they, too, can be influencers.

or, if the comic exists on the creators' own website, it exists primarily as a themed portfolio and, if it's successful, gets the artist a job and ends the webcomic because either the artist is busy as a story board artist or they no longer own the rights to the story.

now i'm trapped hoping for a deranged balancing act where a webcomic is popular enough to keep it going, but not so popular as to become ip.

it's a weird conveyor belt. when webcomic arose, print comics no longer felt like a place you could find the next bone or maus, but maybe such works might appear online.

now webcomics have also reached that point of market force, but i see no new source for hobbyist comics, sort of accosting youths on the street and mugging them of their sketchbooks to see their raw, unique artistic vision.

#webcomic #webcomics #comic #internet culture #i miss lackadaisy #it was a good comic #i also miss 8bit theater #and today nothing happened #and all the small delights that came and went #i think only girl genius #and el goonish shive #still carry the early 2000s webcomic flame #but there should be more

[frostcorpsclub]

Aaaaa I apologize if this isn't a good prompt since I'm not great at making prompts in general lol. But I definitely wanna at least try.

You've insinuated before Suzy can remove her skin. Does she do this often/when does she do it? (Mainly inspired by the concept of "degloving", if you know you know)

Chapter 1, Forest For The Trees

Story under the cut, chapter two containing the meat of your request in progress.

All Leah wanted was to take in the natural beauty of the forest.

Unable to sleep late into the night she donned a coat and made her way into the beckoning woods, a sketchbook under her arm and a pencil tucked into an inner pocket. She had done this many sleepless nights before and could normally find a flat rock to sit on.

The moonlight hitting just between the barren tree branches lit her work.

Leah spent her whole life in the cold, she felt prepared. She didn't intend on exploring so far it would be impossible to find her way home and the crunch of the snow beneath her boots was a familiar, joyful feeling. Gently whispered memories were stronger than the winds blistering howls.

The way the wind blew her long blonde hair felt more like her mother's loving fingers than a warning.

So she pushed forward.

Finding her favored spot o nce again she groaned, the dirt freshly moist from the fallen snow. This didn't deter her much. It was always much more cozy in her bed after these outings. She would drift away like her bed was being rocked by a gentle sea.

Tonight her dreams were the closest thing to inspiration she could find.

She sucked her teeth as she looked around, finding no humor in making it all this way only to find herself more tired than she knew. Leah reached into her jacket to grab her pencil anyway, the wool reminiscent of her big fluffy comforter.

Perhaps, she pondered, if she rested her eyes, even just for a moment, she could replenish some of her energy and the ideas would start flowing.

These woods were a friend, open armed and willing to share their secrets.

A rock in front of a tree wasn't an ideal resting spot, but it proved dangerously comfortable this time. The silence was enveloping and warm, and within minutes, she had drifted off to sleep. As hours passed, Leah's rosy red cheeks became a more irritating crimson. If she sat there much longer she would be a popsicle by morning.

Leah was finally awoken by the snapping of a tree branch. Her symptoms hit her within seconds of regaining consciousness.

"Oh what did I do to myself…"

She mused out loud, rubbing her face with her hands like she might start a fire. It felt like someone was squeezing her head. Short naps always tended to give her headaches but it was clear this was from the cold.

Leah was even more exhausted than she was before she fell asleep. Working off her few hours of sleep she stumbled up straight and began to wander aimlessly.

Even in this state, she was confident her feet would take her the right way home. Even as the concentration of trees became more dense. Even when the terrain was the exact same in every direction.

In her mind's eye the trees grew upwards into an all encompassing cage.

A crisp, grassy scent was replaced with stale dampness. Mold and mud that crunched with each step, crumbling animal bones under foot. It wafted upwards and replaced her breath with the stench of death.

Another twig snapped, and then three more.

Her heart rate slowly climbed and nausea began to bubble up in her stomach, not only was she utterly lost, but she clearly wasn’t alone.

As quickly as this thought entered her mind there was a tug on her jacket.

Leah let out a loud groan. Her head hit the rocky soil just soft enough to leave her alive. Only for her face to be targeted next.

One, two, three, four.

The pain was thin and searing.

Her head was swimming from her trip to the ground, everything was a slur of brown and black with a foggy blue veneer. The first thing she saw clearly was blood-red, drawn to touch her wound.

Hidden behind her hand stood a being she couldn’t quite describe. Too close to her face to be tall, wide and soft like hills of snow.

Ginger curls wriggling like maggots hid skin so pale it was nearly translucent. It looked as though its hands were consumed by a deep purple infection. Leah was left to lay there, paralyzed, observing the rusted box-cutter it held.

“Who are you?” Leah croaked.

It had just been standing there. Watching her like it had all the time in the world.

Her warm body had been there so long the snow bit and seethed every moment it touched bare flesh.

Being mere inches away it was clear that this thing had been there much longer.

With bones chilled to the marrow the cold was drawn to it, radiating back towards anyone helpless enough to have warm blood.

It took a step forward causing Leah to struggle up onto her elbows.

Peaking in a shriek it swung forward once more. It left her sweater torn from the neck to her chest, barely nicking the skin underneath. Quarters were so tight it had to have been missing on purpose.

The puny weapon it held was no match for the filthy claws at the ends of its frost-bitten fingers.

This was a sick, frustrating game. There was nothing behind those eyes, no concern if Leah died slow. In fact, it was what it wanted.

It tangled Leah’s hair in her fingers and pulled back, her long neck fully exposed, pressure causing the bones of her spine to push against her skin.

“I’m Suzy Snowflake.”

It- she finally spoke.

A voice as thin and sharp as the blade held to Leah’s neck, the words bouncing from the monstress’ stretched lips like a song. Leah looked straight up to see her flesh inches away from the ugliest smile there ever was. Two big gapped teeth flanked by a gaping cave of stalactites.

Leah’s body spasmed against all of its survival instinct.

Suzy’s breath was peeling skin from her face, the hot tears that welled up burning before vaporizing in the cold. Her sinuses felt like fly paper. She’d give anything to grab that blade from Suzy and scrape out the stench of rotten strawberry jam. Roadkill so sweet it’d put you off chocolate.

Leah’s fingers dug into her sides in a bid for heat. The freeze numbed her skin yet she felt for a moment that she was going to die warm, only to realize that blood trickling down your neck could be balmy and light.

Time slowed and so did the already tortuous movement of her murderess’ hand.

“Look at me!”

Suzy’s shrill voice echoed through the forest.

Girlish frustration made her arm shake, stuttering her sharp line. It wasn’t going to kill Leah, the positioning was just right, but it did dig under the flesh. Through teeth gritted to sand Leah squeezed her body tighter, feeling another poke on her right hand.

In her final moments she had forgotten.

As her hand enclosed around her pencil Leah’s head swam with visions of how close the end of the forest truly was, even if she would die of hypothermia before she made it there. She had to try.

Determination buzzed red hot in her ears, shocking her system awake.

Electric tingles transformed her arm into a machine. A machine with the strength to push the pencil past each layer of her attacker’s skin, fight or flight mode making Leah oblivious to the flesh’s spongy resistance.

The rest of Suzy’s body was covered with a peanut brown sweater dress and a white fur coat. The only place she could target were those thick purple cankles.

Suzy’s top layer of skin cracked and flaked when it was broken open. The hole the pencil filled bulged and bubbled, whatever this thing was full of was trying to push it out.

Leah knew it wasn’t going to put her down forever but Suzy was distracted for a moment, leaning down to try and jimmy it out of her. The way the pencil dug in just right to practically write on her bones was an irritating feeling that tickled her stomach every time she moved. It was annoying and this thing clearly wasn’t very bright.

Leah flipped onto her stomach and crawled forward a few paces. The moment of clarity she was blessed with was quickly smothered as her body succumbed to the conditions.

Each inch felt like a mile. The cold dulled her senses in a way that ultimately worked against her. Leah’s burden was to carry around this bag of heavy loose bones.

Her assailant had seemingly given up on removing the pencil, the last thing Leah stayed to watch were her hands coated in thick dark blood, little oblong clumps spurting onto the ground.

Leah didn’t risk looking back but she sensed two cold eyes burning holes in the back of her head.

Suzy stood there and watched as Leah pulled herself onto a patch of ground littered with rocks. Both women knew she wasn’t going to get far, this forest was wide and vast.

Leah was finally making some distance despite each pebble digging into her skin.

Any second now that thing was going to pounce and tear her limb from limb. That thing was breathing as hard as she was. And then-

By G-d Suzy was laughing at her.

Leah was normally very shy, if a bit irritated by human interaction. Even so, something about Suzy was able to bring out a primal rage within her.

A cackle here, a snortle there. It made her think of a bully not a slasher, gaining on her like the tortoise and the hare.

“I don’t mind, get all your energy out now.”

Maybe it was petty, maybe it was justified, but in her thinning mind Leah began to hate her in a schoolyard way. The ground was rubbing dirt into each open wound that the gravel opened up but that nails on a chalkboard sound only made her grip harder.

“I do not intend on serving my children dirty meat. The more you struggle the more I have to clean and I am a very devoted mother.”

As Leah heard Suzy’s voice directly behind her she froze and folded. The way she rolled her arms under her torso reminded Suzy of roadkill.She popped her boxcutter in her mouth and sat hovering above Leah’s legs.

If she wanted to play dead like a possum then Suzy would treat her like one.

And she’d need her hands.

In her eyes, Leah needed to pay for keeping her from her babies for longer than necessary. Not to mention the new calf piercing.

She dug her claws into Leah’s shoulder with a little pinch and flipped her onto her back. All she got to see were the two big cheeks that came from Leah keeping sounds of pain trapped behind her lips.

That’s when she brought down the biggest rock she could get her hands on right into the center of Suzy’s porcelain dome. Suzy had taken a punch before but this left a decent sized dent in her skull, like the crater a meteor leaves when it hits the moon.

Leah had no reason to believe it would work. She missed her family and just wanted to make Suzy hurt again.

That’s why she stayed on the ground and watched her mini ginger goliath topple to the side and then just out of her sight. All at once Leah was left alone. The crunch of Suzy’s body falling onto the rocks and leaves faded long ago even though each second felt like an hour.

Leah slowly rose to her feet and saw that the ground to her left between the trees dipped down decently far. Suzy was face down in the dirt.

She was still running on adrenaline, which slowly filled her with a sense of paranoia. Suzy wasn’t a person, clearly, but Leah did not have a name for what she was. Nevertheless, the woman creature’s humanoid qualities made her think she might get in trouble.

Completely forgetting that her body was slowly shutting down from the cold anyway. They would both be corpses neither was going to get arrested.

She began using her numb hands as a shovel to push any loose dirt she could find on top of Suzy’s body.

She wasn’t going to be able to bury her but she got a decent pile going before busting off in the other direction as fast as her body would take her.

Leah had to rely on her body's internal navigation system once more and this time it actually worked.

The oppressive trees lessened in number and soon she could clearly see the sky, a deep blue with indigo and pink lapping at the horizon.

Leah hoped that the warm rising sun would take care of her if she couldn't make it.

Realistically, even if she wouldn't live to make the choice, she never wanted to go out into the woods again. She wanted to move out of this g-dforsaken state.

She was only a few feet away from the back door of her home before she collapsed.

As it all faded to black she could only think.

"Fuck, I left my work sketchbook in there. What am I gonna tell my professor?"

#Forest For The Trees #suzysnowflake #suzy frost #suzy snowflake #suzette frost #suzetteschneeflocke #suzette schneeflocke #request #writing prompt #writing requests #stabbing #body horror

[forecast0ctopus]

bones n spocks

#bones n spokcs on the airplane. #in me pocket sketchbook #star trek #star trek tos #leonard mccoy #leonard bones mccoy #spock #mr spock #doctor mccoy #dr mccoy #i just love the funny space suits i think theyre so great

[tertiaryapocalypse]

[id: character sheets of lukah, victor, jaime, cameron, and mel. each sheet contains a front and back view, a bag with detailed contents, a hand view, basic information on name, age, pronouns, and identities, and a color palette. extended description under the read more.]

moving these to my main !

[extended id:

the first sheet shows lukah hofwegen, a short, thin mixed chinese white american boy. he is 15. he is autistic, bisexual, and trans, using he/him pronouns. he stands with his hands in his pockets and his tongue sticking out. he has tan skin, brown eyes and round glasses. he has dark brown hair that is dyed blue, and a scar on his knee. lukah wears a trucker jacket with patches for nasa and aliens on the sleeves and a first robotics comp patch on the back. his shirt is black with the homestuck logo on it and he wears black basketball shorts with blue, white, and orange sports shoes. he has painted black nails, small nicks on his right hand and wears a variety of bracelets on his left wrist. lukah's backpack is black with pins and patches. contents are a red ds, spiderman wallet, walkie-talkie, comic book, adjustable wrench, a few text books, and a flash light. his phone case has a ufo on it.

the second is of victor holt, a tall, thin, white american boy. he is 16. he is gay & uses the vincian flag. he uses he/him. he has chin length blonde hair in a pony tail and blue eyes. he has acne and wears thick purple rimmed glasses. he wears a black hoodie with 'anti social social club' on the back of it, a heathers shirt, light blue skinny jeans and purple converse high tops. he has a scar on his chin. he has a black jansport backpack with bones embroidered around the logo. in victor's bag is a blue tomadachi, mini sewing kit, play script, purple pencil case, first aid kit and a variety of textbooks. he has a bandaid on his hand. his phone case is lavender with a skateboarding skeleton on it.

the third is of jaime perrault, a thin freckled white person. he is 15, gay, and genderqueer. she uses he/she. she has short wavy brown hair and green eyes. he wears a reddish beanie, a yellow flannel hoodie, a black shirt, light blue jeans and black doc martens. her backpack is dark grey with sunflowers on it. her phonecase is checker patterned with a yellow flower charm. in his bag is a spell jar for happiness, flower seeds, a pocket knife, a leather wallet, a black hydroflask with daisies painted on it and various textbooks, including one about flora of the west coast. she has three bracelets: one with the genderqueer flag, one with beaded flowers, and one that is red with white hearts. jaime stands with his hands in her pockets.

the fourth sheet is of cameron seong, a 16 year old chubby filipino kid. they use they/she and are aromantic and nonbinary. they have medium toned skin, braces, and short dark hair. they wear a green shirt over a black skeleton hoodie and dark grey patchwork jeans. she has brown leather boots. their shirt reads 'i eat children' and has a balloon image on it. their bag is a black hiking backpack, and contains comic books, textbooks, a sketchbook, stim toy, foldable knife, walkie talkie, protection spell jar and water bottle. they have a worm on a string designed to look like a bee and their phone case is black with a green lightning pattern card holder. their hands are scraped and scarred and they have a skull bead bracelet.

the fifth is of florence seong, a tall, thin japanese person with freckles. he is achillean and uses he/it pronouns. it has long dark hair in a low pony tail that's bleached blond at the tips. he wears a white collared shirt under a red knit sweater with white hearts on it, blue jeans, and black doc martens. it has clear glittery nail polish. his bag is a light brown messenger bag. it contains cat treats, a compass, crystals, a big sketchbook and a novel. his phone case is clear with a flattened fern in it. he wears a charm bracelet, a yellow friendship bracelet. it has heart shaped dangly earrings.

the last sheet is of mel franz, a thin mixed thai german jewish boy. he uses he/they and is aroace. they have a curly dark mullet and medium toned skin with beauty marks. he wears a black green day shirt, dark jeans, and sky blue converse. they have pink and blue hair clips, earrings, a necklace with the star of david on it, and a pink and blue friendship bracelet. their bag is a black jansport backpack. they have a clear phonecase. their bag has a walkie talkie, a pack of gum, a rubik's cube, an old camera, a scrapbook with hello kitty stickers on it, uno, textbooks, and a pencil case in it. he has pink nail polish. his full name is written as melvin franz with the 'vin' crossed out.

end id.]

#original character #long gone legends (oc)

[nrrrdgrrrl2002]

Casey And The Ink Machine

Chapter 1: Can’t Be Erased

“Raph took a deep breath as his hand was holding the knob.

This isn’t gonna end well.

He opened the door and entered.

“Hey brotha. How ya doin?” Raph asked softly as he peeked in.

Leo was sitting at his desk, his eyes red and puffy as his face leaned onto his fists, hiding his mouth.

Leo’s glance wasn’t at Raph, but at a picture on his desk. Upon noticing Raph, Leo moved the picture face down and regained his composure.

“Oh I’m just… thinking” Leo said as he fixed his collar. He sat up in a professional position as Raph crossed his arms and leaned on the wall.

This is a bad time…

“Why are you here?” Leo asked, trying to keep a poker face. Raph looked at Leo and then looked down as he sighed.

“I need to talk to you bout somethin. You cool with that?” Raph responded. Leo gave a confused look.

Raphs not the type to ask if he can say something.

“Yeah? What is it?” Leo asked. Raph bit his lip.

“I’m leavin the studio” Raph finally said. Leo’s eyes went wide.

“What… why would you…” Leo whispered. Raph looked away.

“I know… I know it’s a bad time” Raph started before being interrupted.

“Bad time?” Leo scoffed as he sat up. “You’re tryin to abandon us? Especially now?”

Raph glared at Leo as he uncrossed his arms. “What do you mean by that?” He asked with contempt.

“We started this place as a family. We made it successful as a family. Now one of our family members is gone and you wanna abandon us?!” Leo spat.

“If family’s so damn important to ya, maybe ya shouldn’t have worked me to the bone to make my own damn toons that YOU profit off of!” Raph yelled.

“Oh please! Everyone, including me, tried to get you to take a break but you’d never listen! Now it’s MY fault it wore ya down?!” Leo yelled back.

“Yeah cause extending my hours without my permission and without extra pay and then gettin mad when I call you out on it is encouraging! I barely see my wife anymore! AND SHE WORKS HERE!” Raph shouted

Leo glared at him. “You’re willing to run away from your own damn family over some hours?!” Leo yelled.

“With family like yous, yeah! I am!” Raph responded as he turned to walk away.

Leo clenched his fists as he thought. “Raphael! If you walk out that door, then your creations are mine, ya hear!” Leo tried to threaten him with.

Raph grabbed some papers out of his pocket and threw em at Leo.

“Take em! I don’t care about those damn toons! I just wanna be with my wife and away from you!” Raph yelled.

He turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him. Leo looked down at the papers Raph threw at him.

It was of Raphs creations.

Donnie The Mechanic.

April The Angel.

Casey

The Demon….

Leo raised back up the picture he was looking at earlier. It was of him, Mikey, Raph and…..

Leo punched the picture without thinking. He dropped the photo and winced as he felt glass cutting into his skin.

That was goddamn stupid.

Leo looked for a mes kit as he held his fist. A drop of blood fell onto one of the drawings.

Leo used a towel on his desk to wrap up the wound as he saw the stain.

It fell directly on Casey the demon, covering the drawings pie cut eye.

“Shit”

He said under his breath as he grabbed the picture. He tried to wipe off the drop, only for it to smudge.

“Dammit”

He said. He ruined Raphs drawing.

But….

It wasn’t Raphs.

Not anymore.

They were his.

His creations.

His masterpiece…..

-

Raph took a deep breath as his hand was on the knob. He held up the note in his hand as he sighed.

“Alright Leo” Raph started as he opened the door.

“Let’s see if we can find what you wanted me to see” he finished as he walked in.

The place looked…. Strange.

For starters, everything was black and white.

Well….

Moreso black and yellow.

But it wasn’t just that. Everything looked… sketchy….

It felt like he walked into an old decayed sketchbook.

The place was dead quiet. All he could hear was the distant sounds of wood creaking and… something… dripping?

He had seen enough.

He turned around, preparing to leave. Only for the door behind him to be gone.

His eyes widened as he took a step back.

Did… did he remember where he went through wrong?

But.. but that can’t be he just went through there-

He took a deep breath.

Just… stay calm. And find another way out.

He told himself.

His heart raced. He felt hot in the face but cold in his limbs. He felt both too light and too heavy as his anxiety went up.

In through your nose. Out through your mouth.

He repeated in his mind as he walked forward.

He was about to yell out for Leo before deciding against it as he saw a room with a projector playing.

Raph crossed his arms as he watched the cartoon playing. His stress eased as he let out a small smile at the cartoon.

It was of Casey on a stage tap dancing to a little tune. It was simple, but cute.

Raph was impressed. The animators Leo got since he’s been gone have a real knack for movement.

But…

Something shifted for a split second. Raph didn’t quite catch it, but for a second he swore the lil dancin demon had….

Strangely realistically drawn eyes…

And a sinister grin.

Raph decided to turn around and leave, not seeing the toon on the walls eyes follow him.

Raph went down a hallway. He saw black goo dripping from pipes around the area. Raph avoided the ooze as much as he could, unsure of what it was.

He stopped as he saw something from the corner of his eye in the room next to him. He turned to see “The Creator Lied To Us” written on the wall with black goo.

He decided to not look into it and continue on his way. He saw a sign pointing to several rooms, but one caught his attention.

“The Ink Machine”

What is that?

Raph decided to follow the sign to this…. Ink Machine.

He turned a corner and gasped as he thought he saw someone. Only to realize it’s a simple cardboard cutout of Casey The Demon.

Raph groaned as he pinched his nose.

Seriously?

He knocked over the cutout as he continued on his way. He turned another corner as he saw the entrance to “the ink machine”

He went inside, not noticing until it was too late that black sludge was pooling on the floor, stepping in it.

Goddamit

He looked up and saw that he was on a ledge. Below was nothing but black goo that was so high it was spreading onto the floor he was currently on.

He turned to his right and saw a lever. Without thinking, he pulled it.

Raph quickly covered his ears as the room became deafeningly loud with the sounds of gear’s turning and chains clanking.

Out of the black ocean, several chains raised up a giant machine. The sludge slid off the hunk of metal as Raph saw a giant tube attached to it pouring out more black sludge.

There’s gotta be a way to turn this… ink machine off.

Raph thought as he looked around. He then saw to his left a wheel on a giant pipe. Next to it was a sign saying “ink pump”.

Raph went to turn the wheel, but the wheel was stuck. Try as he might, it wouldn’t budge.

“DOW!” He yelped as his hands slipped. He winced as his hands burned from the friction.

He looked down and saw a toolbox. He kneeled down and opened it, hoping to find a wrench for the job.

Unfortunately, the slot that seemed to be for a wrench was empty.

The hell did it go?

Raph got up and walked out of the room. He looked around the area, hoping to find the missing wrench.

He stopped for a second as he SWORE he saw a shadow behind his own from the corner of his eye.

He fixed his collar as he tried to calm down.

Dammit this place is too quiet

He thought as he continued. He turned another corner as he noticed something in a room near him.

He went in to see what it was, only to freeze in horror as he realized what it was.

In the middle of the room, was a corpse on an examination table.

Except it wasn’t a human corpse.

As raph stared, he recognized the tall body as…

Donnie The Mechanic?

But…

His- it’s body was torn and stitched up and leaking black ink.

Leo what the fuck were you doing?

He then saw the writing on the right wall.

“The heart of the damned in now ours, Angel of Above and Demon so Below”

Raph looked at the body again. He noticed it’s chest was ripped open, a wrench sticking out of the cavity.

Raph but his lip as he tried to relax, his eyes wide.

It’s a prop it’s a prop it has to be a prop

His body felt like jello as he slowly walked to the corpse.

I’m gonna kill Leo for this.

Raph looked at the things Xed out eyes as he grabbed the wrench. His stomach dropped as pulled.

His body was tense as he felt he couldn’t put all his strength into yanking the thing out.

He put a foot on the exam table as he pulled as hard as he could, falling on his back as the wrench gave.

“Oww” he groaned as he got up. He looked at the body and then at the ink covered wrench.

Just focus on getting out.

He turned to walk out. As he was at the room’s entrance, he couldn’t help but turn to look at the “prop” one more time.

Only for the exam table to be empty.

Raphs heartbeat was felt in his entire body as he quickly walked out.

He stopped for a minute once he felt far away enough. He leaned on a wal as his body felt shaky.

It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine

Just focus on getting out

In through your nose, out through your mouth

It’ll be fine

Just. Get. Out.

Raph took one big deep breath as he stood upright. He slowly regained his composure as he continued on his way.

He finally got back to the ink machine room when he saw that the entrance was boarded up.

When did….

Just focus on getting out

Despite his body yelling at him not to, he went up to the boarded up entrance.

He looked at the wrench he was holding. Maybe if he used enough force, he could break the planks of wood with i-

Raph barely processed the eye popping up through the holes between the planks as he heard wood shatter and felt something yank him up and inti a wall behind him.

He dropped the wrench as his hands grasped around the arm choking him. He tried to gasp for air as he could feel his neck bruise and crack from the pressure.

He looked down to see, through blurry vision, the thing choking him. He wasn’t sure what he was looking at.

But it wasn’t human.

It was a black and yellow beast. Somehow having sketch marks, half of its face was dripping with black ink, it’s raggedy hair and sharp horns blending into the black.

The other half of its face seemed yo have a skull painted on it, with a demented black eye with a red slit staring at him and an unnatural fanged grin enjoying his pain.

The arm choking raph was skeletal but with long, sharp claws. The other was inhumanly gigantic with two holes through the hand.

Raph could hear a low growl from the thing as it moved slightly and… strangely.

It’s movements were quick but rickety. Small but noticeable. As if every movement was a single frame put together to create something uncanny.

Raphs consciousness was starting to slip as he couldn’t breathe.

“Heh heh” the thing let out a small chuckle.

“You’ve been away for far too long” it said in what sounded like two voice’s speaking at once.

One sounded like a normal person with a Brooklyn accent, the other was the growling, distorted, deep voice of a beast.

Raph desperately tried to think of a way out as the things grip tightened. He kicked the thing in the face as hard as he could.

Only to scream as the monsters fingers slipped down to grab his jacket and he felt two rows of something sharp burrow into his foot.

He looked and saw the creatures head had split open vertically, revealing two rows of fangs on each side that were digging into Raphs ankle.

Raph quickly took the opportunity to unbutton his jacket and slip out of the monsters grasp.

As quickly as he could, he grabbed the wrench he dropped and slammed it across the things face before it could grab him again.

He ran off as the tall beast was distracted, adrenaline allowing him to ignore his wrecked ankle.

He turned for a sec as he ran and saw the thing was on all fours, chasing him with incredible speed.

Raph turned a corner and caught himself before hitting the wall and continued running.

The creature ended up sliding too far and slammed into the wall, slowing itself down and giving raph time to find a door.

He quickly went through the door, slammed it closed and lower the metal bar attached to it to lock it.

He could hear and feel the monster slam into the door with a gooey thud, unable to break through the metal.

He slumped down as he heard it bang on the door and growl. He took a sharp, shaky, deep breath as his ankle was in horrible pain.

He looked down at the wound. On both sides of his shoe he saw deep rows of gash marks that he thinks may have hit bone. The wounds were leaking blood and…

Ink?

He wiggled off his shoe as he saw the area was swollen real bad. He wiped away tears as he looked around for a med kit.

He saw one on the table in the middle of the room. He held the wall next to him as he got up, careful not to stand on his wounded foot.

He heard the floor creak as he hopped to the desk. He managed to get to it and lean on the desk, about to grab the med kit when-

“AHHH!” He yelled as the floor gave way, causing him to fall into the abyss below.

Raph could barely process the fall before slamming into the floor below. His body was writhed with pain as he struggled to breathe.

His vision was blurry as he tried to get up, only being able to get to his knees. He couldn’t tell where he was as he covered his mouth to let out a harsh cough.

He looked down at his hand as he was wheezing from pain. His hand was soaked with blood.

He looked down and saw a broken plank of wood sticking out of the side of his chest as he smelled and tasted nothing but blood.

He looked up as his vision blurred and his consciousness slipped away. Only able to let out one word before falling over.

“Fuck”

He fell on the floor, unable to do anything but lie down and bleed out.

He saw someone or….. something stand over him. His vision was far too blurry to make it out.

He felt his shoulders being grabbed and his body being dragged away.

He passed out before he could find out who possible savior, or possible killer, could be….”

#tmnt 2012 #tmnt 2012 casey jones #tmnt 2012 raph #batim #catim au #catim

[az-cain]

5 things tag game

seen on @massivecolorspygiant’s blog

5 things you’ll find in my bag: tons of pencils/pens/utensils, bandaids, a small leather wallet, a pocket knife, blank paper or a small sketchbook

5 things you’ll find in my bedroom: bones, books, rocks, stuffed animals, and art things

5 things I’m currently into: moon knight, eddie munson🫡, playing trumpet, drawing, oscar isaac and pedro pascal (they count as one)

5 things on my to-do list: practice my instrument, clean my bedroom, cook shawarma, meet up w some friends at a nearby river

no pressure tags: @amchapel, @scarabgrant, @eerievixen, @wwinterwitch, @later-gators12, @psychadelic-blasphemy, @smut-angel, @arsonhotchner, @beskarprincessjenny, and anyone else who wants to!!

[welcometomybraincomics]

Make me draw my neglected blorbos

A while ago, I went through all my sketchbooks and wrote out the names of all my characters who had names and designs so I could draw them more often. Unfortunately, my brain latches onto new things like a rabid dog and won't let me think of my old guys, so I'm making the list public instead!

Name a character you think sounds interesting, pick a prompt (ex. Ratio T-posing, Sprite in a Pepsi factory, or Quad looking four times as cool), and shoot me an ask! 💖

[Oof, just finished and the whole list has 192 characters, haha]

Key: Character name [Universe/story]

book 1

Winter [pokemon]

Tempest [Supernaturals]

Sparrow [Supernaturals]

Leroy [supernaturals]

Jerikai [supernaturals]

Marina [supernaturals]

NIco [supernaturals]

Ratio [Supernaturals]

Yoshi [Supernaturals]

Shesho [supernaturals]

Popo [Supernaturals]

Supersonic and unnamed friends [Supersonic]

Maddlin [supernautrals]

Agony (mortal) [Supernaturals]

Destruction (mortal) [Supernaturals]

Death (mortal) [Supernaturals]

Sapphire [Mechanical Overload]

Rosline [Mechanical Overload]

Pico [Supernaturals]

Razor Blade [Shattered]

Phi [Shattered]

Monokeros [Shattered]

Stardust [Starlight Guilt]

Nora [Dragon]

Book 2 [brown]

Dark Star [Starlight Guilt]

Gravity [Undead Dolls]

Velocity [Undead Dolls]

Supersonic's brother (named, but stricken from the record out of sheer embarrassment, lmao) [Supersonic]

Nemesis [Shattered]

Katie [Supersonic]

Brice [Supersonic]

Heru [THEM]

Red [THEM]

Nani [Shattered]

Rira [Neighbors]

Android [Supernaturals]

Draco Hunter [1]

Roary [Cat Blobs]

Blue Lilly [Cat Blobs]

Peek-a-boo [Cat Blobs]

Coco [Cat Blobs]

Eclipse [Cat Blobs]

Shadow [Cat Blobs]

Patchy [Cat Blobs]

Diablo [Null Void]

A0221 [Null Void]

Chesh [Dream]

The keyhole children ( 4 and unnamed within their story)

Book 3 [Flip]

Ashwin [Karlegeg]

Aris [1]

Page [THEM]

Markus [THEM]

Masky [THEM]

Emanuel [THEM]

GHOST [THEM]

Sarah and Gale [THEM]

Scratch and Bite [THEM]

Chex [Advanced Displacment]

Character 2 [Advanced Displacment]

Lao [Subterrainer]

Cult Leader [Subterrainer]

Mr. Wiggles [Neighbors]

The Doll Maid

Goo [A Little Insanity]

Jaq [Location: Unknown]

Polar [Location: Unknown]

Katerax [Neighbors]

Nami [Neighbors]

Marsis [Neighbors]

Rae [Neighbors]

Anson [Bounty Hunters]

Zoa [Bounty Hunters]

Izaia [Location: Unknown]

Jerikai (adult) [Shattered]

Kiko [Gremlins]

Zai [Gremlins]

Miti [Shattered]

Daniel [Shattered]

Alfred [Neighbors]

Happy Mask [Segmented secrets]

Red Moon [Segmented secrets]

Black Cirkus [Segmented secrets]

Tripod [Segmented Secrets]

Soki [Segmented Secrets]

Mall Ghost [Segmented secrets]

Shadow Creature [Segmented secrets]

Jet Stream/Angel (involves a secret identity) [Comp]

Jack [Comp]

The Book of Lies

Isis/Wyatt [Alien]

Ash [Alien]

Leo [Alien]

Dirt [Neighbors]

Mirror fox [Mirror]

Karlegeg book

Pon pon [Supernaturals]

Moleskin

Blue Rose [Villain]

Dewdrop [2]

Balthazar [Villain]

Zero [Villain]

Sacrin [Bone and fire]

Sun [Bone and Fire]

Jewel [ Segmented Secrets]

Aqua [Segmented Secrets]

Larz [Segmented Secrets]

Dirt [Segmented Secrets]

Ici [Segmented Secrets]

Dario Devil [Segmented Secrets]

Caution [Segmented Secrets]

Goldie [Segmented Secrets]

Captcha [Segmented Secrets]

Wizard [Segmented Secrets]

Glitch [Segmented Secrets]

Tri [Segmented Secrets]

Quad [Segmented Secrets]

Guava [Segmented Secrets]

Pocket [Segmented Secrets]

Trevor [Segmented Secrets]

Gref [Segmented Secrets]

Mountain [Segmented Secrets]

Array [Segmented Secrets]

Atris [Comp]

Dandy the Dandylion

Cat-fly

Melody

Big Brown

Denny [Mechancical overload]

May [The Empire]

Jack [The Empire]

Kate [The Empire]

Mary [The Empire]

Fabian [The Empire]

Anson [The Empire]

Irene [The Empire]

Vira [Supernaturals]

Malice [Crow's Call]

Maribell [Crow's Call]

Tree boy [DND?]

Xylon [Null Void]

Wish granter

Flex black

Echo [Copy Cat]

Death (god) [Death, My Prisoner]

Pandora [Death, My Prisoner]

Agony (god) [Death, My Prisoner]

Destruction (god) [Death, My Prisoner]

Madness [Death, My Prisoner]

Raily [Meet]

Deric [Meet]

Clorox [DND?]

ACT Friday [Subterrainer]

Dante [A Little Insanity]

Eva [A Little Insanity]

Green book

Blue Moon [Segmented Secrets]

Marcus [Neigbhors]

Alex [Neigbhors]

Alain [Neigbhors]

Monique [You lived to see another day/ DND?]

Ithzani

Argon [Dictate]

Elsy [Dictate]

Sprite

Felix

Stunt Double [Neibhgo

Angel [Starlight Guilt]

Magic Man

Dead Beat

Kashy [Fire and Bone]

Jax [Unknown]

Willow [Deathless]

Maddy [Deathless]

Gil [Deathless]

Jazz [DND?]

Ginger [Reverse]

Lupe [Reverse]

Naga [Reverse]

Obsolete/done

Jerry [THEM]

Docura [THEM]

Yellow Book

Lucifer [Supernaturals]

Satan [Supernaturals]

Pablo [Neigbhors]

Cartel [Neigbhors]

Macaroni [Neigbhors]

Ink [Subterrainers]

Quill [Subterrainers]

Oldmanster [Subterrainers]

Gaea [Supernaturals]

Small purple

Dick [Null Void]

Spirit & Ghoul

Samuel [3]

Mathew [3]

Connor [Restart]

Benji [Restart]

Hallner & Igna

Vivian [Supernaturals]

Mescaline [Mira]

#Me naming half my characters: X would be such a beautiful name for a girl! #Me later after looking the word up or remembering its meaning: *contemplative and slightly embarrassed silence* #that was the process for Ratio anyway lol #hahah this isn't even all my characters #I have a ton more #they just aren't in any of my official sketchbooks #they're in agendas and stray notebook paper and all that jazz #Hahha you don't think about how much you've done until you lay it all out #ask game #if you can call this a game #lol #ocs #so many goddam ocs #original characters #all my horses in the plinko

[electricarmchair]

Bone Study - PAGE 17 - Practise For Project

#electricarmchair #original art #art #artists on tumblr #drawing #illustration #doodle #ink #line art #bone #march 11 #2019 #March #pocket sketchbook #sketchbook #traditional art #page 17