I’m probably forgetting some stuff, so this might get updated.
My name is Cas! I use he/they pronouns and I’m transmasc + nonbinary! I've also got adhd + autism. Unfortunately, I am American, so US politics will show up sometimes. Shit fucking sucks. I am a fic writer, but I’m sorta inconsistent on my posting. Find me here: X
#cas has thoughts is my original posts, #cas does things is my polls and asks and shit, and #cas writes things is my writing tag.
Current hyperfixations: the Pitt, the Last of Us, the Amazing Digital Circus, Project Hail Mary, the Life Series/Hermitcraft, and ofc SPIDERMAN!!
Long term interests: the Last of Us, the MCU, Supernatural, Doctor Who
I have many other fandoms and ships that will appear and disappear at will, but there are so many it isn't worth listing. You're always in for a surprise!
Once again posting this late to tumblr but here we go! I didn't do the entire twissy Week, even tho I wanted to, because burnout hit really hard and I've been getting into a different fandom recently that's been taking over a lot of my fic energy. I'm not leaving doctor who behind, I could never, I just have more ideas for that other fandom right now. anyways twissy week from @ghostsfanficevents, and here's the ao3 link to the series!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Hello! I have more words to share! This is a short story I wrote over the past two weeks, and I'm very proud of it. I worked with another group of writers, from a class on creative writing, and at the end of the class we produce an anthology of our work. I had only six pages (which were formatted weirdly) to fit an entire story. And feedback and/or criticism is greatly appreciated! I have another 3 ish days to make final edits. [Edit: the anthology has been sent out, so I can no longer make any edits] (I'm also gonna post it on ao3, so if that's an easier format the link is at the end)
Warnings: this is a story about a reaper, so it naturally contains mentions of death. The ending is a bit brutal, but doesn't cross the line into gore or anything too extreme. There's also mentions/subtext of alcoholism, off-screen animal death, and abuse. If you want a more detailed warning list or a list of parts to skip, feel free to dm me.
Signs of Life
The first time Reaper-12CR2 met the girl, she was stumbling away from the wreck of a car, hair matted with blood and dirt, clothes torn from warped metal, and a scream bubbling from her throat. Of course, Reaper-12CR2 didn’t see any of that, only her tumultuous, fractured soul.
A bend of metal one way instead of the other, a broken tire somehow staying on its rim, and a windshield that should’ve shattered but didn’t. That was all it took to save her life. It felt too simple to Reaper-12CR2, who was new to this control over human life, that a split second choice could save a life that was never meant to be saved.
Someone else had extracted themself from the wreckage of the car. “Morgan!” They called. So that was her name, Morgan. A beautiful name for a beautiful soul. A living, breathing soul, who was alive because of Reaper-12CR2.
—
The next time Reaper-12CR2 saw Morgan, she’d grown. She was taller, her hair was longer, but somehow her soul still looked the same. Still dark, still fractured. But the reaper had saved her, spared her from the metal and fire and death, so why was she so afraid?
Morgan was running now, feet pounding against the forest floor as she sprinted through the trees, hair catching on stray branches. There were shouts coming from the house, accompanied by the sounds of broken glass and ended dreams. The stench of alcohol permeated the air, and the shouts of Morgan’s father reached after her, deep into the woods.
The reaper couldn’t help but think this was dangerous. There were things in these woods, things that for all of Morgan’s fight, even she could not beat. The reaper knew, from the trail of bloody animal carcasses and dried drops of human blood smeared on the leaves, that Morgan would not last the night in these woods, and that she would not last the night in that house.
So the reaper did what the reaper was best at, and what they swore to never do again. If the reaper bent the rules, tweaked the statistics just one more time, surely no one would know? No one would notice that her father passed out just a little too early, no one would notice if one little human felt a bit too tired for the alcohol and rage coursing through his veins, and no one would notice the absence of a soul that had been destined for the afterlife since long before this day.
No one would notice if a casual bystander happened to take a wrong turn, if Morgan happened to run into the kind woman just in time. No one would notice Morgan’s narrow escape.
This was one human life, one of hundreds and hundreds they’d ushered into the afterlife, but to extinguish a flame such as Morgan’s went against every instinct in the reaper’s body. Why they cared about Morgan was a question for another day, the reaper decided, because she was safe, and that was all that mattered. Even as she walked right past them, unable to see the reaper with her human eyes, the reaper could find no regret.
—
Over the years, the coincidences began to add up, such as the thin white scar on Morgan’s leg from when her clumsiness would’ve cost her dearly, had the reaper not dulled the blade of a kitchen knife. Or the last time she tried to climb a tree, which gave her the long, jagged scar on her back; thank god for dead, brittle branches. And, of course, the most infamous of her scars: the small one hiding beneath her hair, just past her hairline, from the very first day the reaper met her. Her scars were a mosaic of the risks she had taken, and a testament to how far the reaper was willing to go.
Threats to her life were so common that watching over her felt like a full time job, but the reaper didn’t mind. She should’ve been dead a dozen times over, and yet here she was, stumbling home in high heels she should’ve ditched hours ago, hair a mess and alcohol on her breath.
The streets she roamed now were not safe, the reaper knew from the dozens of souls they’d been forced to collect from this very alley, not too far from Morgan’s house. She was slurring her words now, mindless sentences to no one in particular, interspersed with high-pitched giggles of drunken happiness.
The reaper searched for something, anything, they could use to help her. This wasn’t safe; the reaper could smell the stench of death and fear hiding in the walls of this alley, but Morgan was blissfully unaware of the danger she faced.
There. Behind the bins. A stray cat, fur nasty and matted, was watching Reaper-12CR2 with wide, curious eyes. Such interesting creatures, cats. There was something in their eyes that gave them the ability to see what others could not. This cat had spunk, crawling out from behind the bins to approach the reaper. Morgan caught sight of the cat, leaning down to coax it over. When that didn’t work, for the cat was far too interested in the reaper, she started to walk closer.
It was then that the reaper had an idea. Not their best, but it would have to do. The reaper slowly backed away, luring the cat to follow them out of the alley. Just as the reaper had hoped, Morgan stumbled after it. Morgan’s house wasn’t too far, so it took only a few minutes to guide her home. The cat, fed-up with the bitter cold of the streets, slipped into her house the moment Morgan opened the door with clumsy hands.
Morgan stumbled in after it, shutting the door behind her. The reaper let out a sigh of relief as she crashed into her bed, falling asleep in an instant. The reaper would stay the night, dutifully watching over her until the morning sun rose on last night’s mistakes.
—
The next few years passed with relative calm compared to the last few. There was only one major incident, an earthquake which had threatened to destroy Morgan’s apartment, but she had made it out with only a broken wrist and mild concussion, from which she had recovered quickly.
Maybe it was this false sense of security that led to the following events. Maybe the reaper had grown complacent and unafraid. Or maybe the universe was finally making good of the debt it was owed. No matter which it was, it wouldn’t matter by the time the sun rose on the remains of Morgan Beverly.
There was nothing different about this day. There was no sense of foreboding, no hint of death the way they had come to expect, nothing. There was nothing to warn Reaper-12CR2.
There was some part of the reaper’s mind that was always dedicated to watching over Morgan, ever since the first day they saved her. A little piece of them travelled with her every day, from the mundanities of daily life to the catastrophes of the days she should’ve died. That little piece just wasn’t fast enough.
That day, that completely normal day, was coming to a close. The sun was setting, the blue fading into the bright orange of the sunset hours, when the reaper felt it. There was something wrong with Morgan.
It was like alarm bells in their head, clashing together to give them what could be described as a human headache. It was pounding into their thoughts, fear and pain and a million other human emotions they didn’t have time to decipher. The reaper abandoned their watch over a dangerous encounter across the city, appearing in Morgan’s home within minutes.
They were too late.
The shot was still ringing in the air, the thunderous boom of a bullet contained within the walls of Morgan’s bedroom. She was stumbling away from the intruder, blood pouring from in between her fingers, where they were clutching at her stomach in a vain attempt to stop the inevitable. The reaper stood still, eyes wide with the horror of reality: they had failed. They could hear Morgan’s heartbeat slowing, hear her breathe in raspy gasps, and they could smell the unmistakable stench of death.
Reaper-12CR2 could sense the adrenaline in the intruder; he was aiming to shoot again. They went to stop him, do anything to stop the fear radiating from Morgan’s petrified form, but there was no need. Simon, the cat from that night in the alleyway, was lunging at him. He dug his claws into the intruder’s face, scratching at any skin he could reach until the outside matched the disgusting soul inside.
Rage enveloped the reaper, taking control of any remains of logical thought as they bent the rules once more. Those scratches, deep and red, would be infected within the week. Within two, this vile use of flesh and bones will have contracted sepsis, and the reaper would take great joy in forcing his soul to the other side.
A whimper came from the other side of the room; Morgan, calling on the last vestiges of her failing energy. She was too far gone for even the reaper to save, and it brought them down from the high of righteous fury.
This felt different. To save a life that was made to end felt sacred, it felt kind. To end a life that was meant to live felt wrong in more than one way, but it was the right choice. His fate was sealed, much the same as Morgan’s.
The reaper felt the moment she died. A life like hers should’ve ended with a bang, a world-ending catastrophe to match the whirlwind of a soul she possessed, but instead it ended with a gasp that never had the chance to leave her lungs. She was gone, her body limp and motionless in the unnatural way the reaper was all too familiar with. Her soul was manifesting now, appearing in the purgatory the reaper resided in.
The big ball of energy, swirling around the bloodstained room in a million different colors, was solidifying down to the shape of their beloved human. After a moment, the manifestation of her soul looked almost as she had in life; it was blurry around the edges, as spirits were, and there was a shine to her that put her out of place with her surroundings.
Her eyes were scanning the room, eyebrows furrowing with confusion, before landing on the reaper. For the first time in over a dozen years, Morgan’s eyes registered the being that stood before her. This, being seen and heard, was what happiness felt like for Reaper-12CR2, who was smiling at the woman before them, despite the gruesome scene.
“Hello?” Morgan called, voice uncertain and afraid.
“Hello.”
Well, you made it! I hope you enjoyed. There are some more notes I have as an author that never made it into the story.
In case you didn't realize, throughout the course of the story Reaper-12CR2 learns a sense of individuality, gaining pronouns (they/them) and a more casual 'the reaper' from the lengthy Reaper-12CR2, which is their official classification that details the time and place they are meant to reap souls. They learn how to be a person through caring about Morgan, through caring for someone else.
I also knew, from the very beginning, that I wanted the last line to be "Hello." because I think the idea that the ending is the very first time the two characters meet was just too good to pass up.
It isn't stated, but Morgan's age is as follows: beginning (car accident), 12; middle (woods) 16; middle (drunk), 21; ending (death) 25.
Reaper-12CR2 is also a bit funky. They have a weird sense of gender, by both human and reaper stereotypes. Reapers don't have gender, it's not a concept they can even imagine; except, of course, Reaper-12CR2. They do have a sense of gender and pronouns, but don't particularly prescribe to female or male terms, hence the they/them.
Also I hope y'all like Simon. I imagine him to be a tabby cat, who's just a little too round because Morgan had a tendency to let him eat too much when he was recovering from the streets. For a dash of angst, I can tell you that caring for Simon helped Morgan get sober, so :)
hello all! this is part of a sort-of fic exchange I'm doing with my closest moots. basically we found this nightmare-hurt/comfort prompt list and all chose one or two as well as some characters. This is my piece!
The characters are obviously Bill and 12, and the prompts were: “No need to apologize. I’m glad you woke me up. I want to be there for you.” and: “Why would I think you’re weak? Everyone gets nightmares.” the link to the post is in the end notes.
Anyways shout out to @codex-arcene, @breadbut3d, and @pigeonentity, aka the others I'm doing this with. You guys are awesome and this was SO much fun
(ao3 link at the end for those who prefer it)
Rating: Teen and up, no archive warnings
tags: Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, a hint of insecurity, Bill is NOT dealing well w the monks, Panic Attacks, Insomnia, TARDIS Rooms, a sprinkle of separation anxiety, Near Death Experiences, POV Bill Potts (until the very end)
Summary:
Bill is very much dealing with the aftermath of their encounter with the Monks. Definitely.
aka Bill has a nightmare and goes to the Doctor for comfort
in my dreams (you're not there)
The Doctor, limp on the ground, not moving, not breathing.
The Monks, surrounding, inching closer, with dead eyes of malice.
And Bill, so very, very afraid.
The Doctor was dead, the Monks were killing the human race, and it was all her fault.
-
Bill jolted awake with an aborted scream in her throat. Her hands were shaking as she tore the blankets from their tangled mess around her legs. The dim lights in her room came on, courtesy of the Tardis, which had procured this room for her a few hours ago when she decided to crash with the Doctor after a long day.
Bill knew, logically, she knew that the Doctor was one room over. She knew this for a fact, because she’d watched him walk in it not more than three hours ago. And yet, some little part of her, some sliver of doubt and fear, was still convinced that if she crossed the short distance to his room she’d find him just as still and dead as the nightmare version of him engrained in her mind. She needed to know, she needed to see him alive and breathing.
She swung her legs over the side of her bed, feet brushing against the soft carpet beneath her as she stood on wobbling legs. Guided by the soft lights from the Tardis, Bill made her way slowly to the door of her room before opening it and stepping out into the hallway. The Tardis was set to night mode, so there was only a dim glow of the overhead lights to show Bill the way to the Doctor’s room. She closed her door softly, leaning against it for a moment as she tried to control the heaving gasps of panic tearing through her from her lungs.
She took a single deep, slow breath before beginning the walk to the Doctor’s room, which was not far down the hall. Bill trailed her hand along the wall, feeling the smooth, cold metal underneath her fingertips as she walked. When she got to the Doctor’s door, she rested her curled fist against it, waiting to knock. If she opened this door, there was no going back. She would have to explain to him what had happened, she’d have to show him how weak she was-
“Bill?” The Doctor’s voice echoed through the door, before it opened to show his concerned face. Bill dropped her hand from where it hovered, hastily wiping away the tear stained tracks on her cheeks.
“Doctor! I was just- I mean-” She stumbled over her words, failing to come up with a believable reason for why she was standing outside his door in the dead of night. She was afraid. She was afraid of the monsters in her dreams, but she was more scared of disappointing the Doctor, and she was sure that was exactly what she was doing.
“Bill.” He leveled her with a soft and knowing gaze. “You don’t have to hide from me.”
A sob escaped her lips, body trembling as she gave up her poorly constructed facade. He was quick to grab her hands, pulling her into his room and guiding her to sit down on his bed. Bill crumpled in on herself, shoulders hunched and hiccuping sobs tearing through her. The Doctor sat on the floor in front of her, holding her small hands in his larger ones. He was quiet, but not an angry sort of quiet. He was gentle, rubbing his thumbs across the backs of her hands in a circular, repetitive motion until her breathing was under control.
The Doctor said nothing, passed no judgment, and gave no indication of disappointment. He didn’t speak until she did, after she finally regained control of her voice. “Can I just have a hug?” She asked quietly. He obliged, pulling Bill forward to lean against him as he wrapped his arms around her. He was warm and solid, pushing the image of him from her nightmare to the edges of her mind. She buried her face against his shoulder, holding onto him like a lifeline against the receding waves of panic leftover from her dreams. In contrast, the Doctor held her delicately, the way you hold fragile glass that could shatter with the slightest pressure.
Without even loosening her grip, Bill said, “I’m sorry for waking you.”
It was the Doctor who pulled back first, a furrow in his brow. “Don’t apologize, I’m glad you woke me up. I want to be there for you,” he emphasized.
Bill looked away from his intense gaze, eyes cast aside. “I was afraid you’d think I was weak, or something.”
“Why would I think you’re weak? Everyone gets nightmares.” He was genuinely confused, looking at her like the words she spoke were a puzzle.
“Do you?” She couldn’t imagine someone like him, someone so fearless and brilliant and powerful, could ever get nightmares. They seemed childish, something to hide and cover up. Surely the Doctor was above all of that?
“Of course I do. ‘Everyone’ includes me too,” he said simply. He stood from the floor, settling onto the bed beside her and pulling her to lean against him. Bill was perfectly okay with that, seeing as his presence was the only thing keeping her from spiraling. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, holding her close.
“Really? You too?” She asked.
“Yes. Me too.”
Maybe she wasn’t disappointing him with this. Maybe everything would be okay. She was still scared—by god, she was scared— but it was draining out of her as the minutes passed, leaving her exhausted and tired. It was a familiar fatigue, ever since she’d begun travelling in the Tardis. These nightmares often decorated her nights between the hours she saw the Doctor, and the sight of him was often a welcome relief.
That wasn’t to say she regretted any of the wonderful days she’d spent with the Doctor; she didn’t think she ever would, not after the wonders she’d seen by his side, travelling across the stars in a not-so-little blue box. That color meant home, now. It didn’t erase the fear she felt, but some days it made it a little more bearable. Bill would rather be here, leaning against the Doctor and basking in the fact that they were both alive , than hiding her cries into a pillow back at Moira’s flat.
The Doctor started to stand, reaching a hand back to Bill. “C’mon. I want to show you something,” he said quietly. She took his hand, and he led her out of his room back into the dimly lit hallway. She didn’t let go of his hand as they walked; she feared she might fall apart without it, that he might disappear and leave her alone with the images in her head.
He led her around a few corners and down an unfamiliar hallway before turning to an open door on their left. He guided her inside before letting go of her hand and pointing to a couch against the far wall. It was covered in various blankets and pillows, and looked undeniably comfortable.
“You can sit, if you like,” he said. The room was relatively small, with soft lights and a cozy feel. Against the other wall was a desk littered with various trinkets and projects, half of which looked abandoned. The Doctor sat on the stool in front of that desk, immediately picking up one of the smaller contraptions atop it.
Bill settled into the couch carefully, trying not to disturb the frankly impressive pile of blankets on the far end. She pulled her legs up onto the cushion, resting her head on her knees. She was tired, so very tired, but the raucous thoughts circling through her brain would not allow her to rest.
After a moment of silently observing her, the Doctor said, “If you wanted to talk about it, you can. It’s your choice, though.”
Bill contemplated for a moment. This was another challenge of vulnerability. It was one thing to tell the Doctor she’d had a nightmare; it was an entirely nothing thing to tell him what it was about. She’d done her best to hide her lasting feelings about their encounter with the Monks. The Doctor had been willing to risk his life to fix a problem she had caused; she had no place to feel upset about it. Everything worked out in the end, and the Doctor was the one who almost died, not her, so why couldn’t she move on ?
Maybe she should tell him. Maybe it would alleviate the crushing pressure on her chest that hadn’t left since she’d last laid eyes on one of the Monks. The Doctor had proven himself nothing but kind in this late night they were sharing, and he’d certainly reacted better than Moira ever would. Not that Bill could, or even would, divulge such things to her.
Maybe she was just sleepy, or maybe she was tired of hiding the images that haunted her nights, but Bill said, “There was this moment, just after you’d tried to overpower the Monk, where I thought you were dead. It would’ve been my fault, too. That’s what I dreamt about. It’s what I always dream about.” By the end, her words were nothing more than mumbles, but somehow she was sure the Doctor heard anyway.
The Doctor was kind but not pitiful when he said, “Even if that had happened, none of that was your fault. Don’t ever think that.”
And somehow, that was the perfect thing to say. A palpable sense of relief flooded her mind, quieting the pesky thoughts that hadn’t left. A few minutes passed in comfortable silence, but there was still one question on her mind.
“Doctor, how did you know I was standing outside your door?” She asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the delicate calm of the room. It was bugging her, nagging at the back of her mind. How had he known? It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him—sometimes she did so much it scared her—but rather that questions left unanswered had a tendency to bother her.
The Doctor let out a heavy sigh, briefly stopping whatever he was doing with the trinket in his hands. He chose his next words carefully, like he was unsure exactly what to say. “I’ve been . . . worried about you. What happened with the Monks—well, the less said about that, the better. I had the Tardis alert me if you had any issues tonight. I wanted to make sure you were alright.”
Were she a little more awake, Bill might’ve taken an issue with the Doctor using the Tardis to essentially spy on her. But she wasn’t, so she didn’t. That would’ve taken a lot of effort, and as the last dregs of energy drained from her body, Bill found she had none left to give. It was sweet, if she was honest. At least the Doctor cared enough to be worried.
She let out a noncommittal hum in response, just enough to let him know she’d heard him. She settled further into the couch, shifting to lay on her side.
“You can stay in here tonight, if that would be better. Do you want me to stay with you?” The Doctor offered.
“I think I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind. You can do whatever you like, I don’t care,” she mumbled. Secretly, she hoped he would stay. She didn’t want to be alone, and the thought scared her more than she wanted to admit.
“Alright. I’ll stay,” he replied.
Her eyes slowly blinked shut as the comforting silence returned to the room, the warm feeling of safe taking over her senses. The warm light of the room faded in through her eyelids, and soft music graced her ears as the Tardis lulled her into the most peaceful sleep she’d had in weeks.
-
Tonight had not been the easiest. The Doctor was worried about Bill a great deal, and the past hour had only solidified those fears. He had never meant to put her in any danger, and he really should’ve known better than to bring her aboard the Tardis. Not because he was mad about everything that happened with the Monks, but because Bill never should’ve had to risk her life like that. It was his job to protect her, and he’d almost failed. It was an experience he’d like to never repeat, if possible.
The Doctor was still tinkering at his desk, toying with delicate mechanisms and sharp gears. He wasn’t entirely sure what this would become, or what function it would provide, but that was half the fun. When he turned back towards the couch to ask Bill what she thought, he found her fast asleep. He smiled softly, before setting down his contraption. He crossed the small room in no more than three steps, and gently grabbed the top-most blanket from the pile. He unfolded it, draping it over Bill with a smile. She looked peaceful now, the furrow in her brow gone and the tension in her eyes nonexistent.
“Sleep well, Bill. I’ll be here to chase away the nightmares.”
whelp, I hope you enjoyed!! also I wasn't planning on this being a sort of exploration of Bill's character and psyche, but it happened nonetheless and I'm not mad about it.
Okay first and foremost I Am Stupid and forgot to put this here. Whoops. I did all 7 days of @ghostsfanficevents WLW week and never linked it to my tumblr. Sorry lol
https://archiveofourown.org/series/4920541
I didn't repeat a single ship so there's probably something for anyone who's interested. Days 2, 4, and 5 are my personal favorites.
Y'all think your slowburn game is strong but it's been over 7k and my characters just met for the first time. Jocelyn won't even find out Anita's name for at least another 10k, maybe more (that's part of the mystery). They get the '3rd act break-up' before they even kiss, and that's the end of the book. 19 pages, almost 8k words, and only 4.5 chapters in. My slowburn game cannot be understated.
So, here's me, tired af (it's 11:40 pm rn) and I'm so tired I no longer feel nervous sharing my writing, so here goes nothing. This is from an exercise in my creative writing class; it's microfiction, so it needed to be under 300 words. This is the unedited version, and is a bit (a lot) over 300 words (almost 600, actually). I also challenged myself to do first person and present tense, because I usually do 3rd and past, so this is a bit new for me.
Tales of Mermaids and Rings
I run through the forest, sprinting past my usual spots. I run past the big tree, the one with our initials carved into it; I run past the little stream that trickles through this part of the woods; I run until I break out through the trees into the small clearing by the lake. I’ve never been quite as excited to see her as I am today. I can feel the mess my curls have tangled into, and try to fix it with hasty hands. Today has to be perfect, I have to be perfect.
A splash of water, a ripple in the calm waves of the lake, then, “Jia!” I hear her joyous shout. My eyes scan the water, looking for the shine of her smooth scales beneath the surface. I see the shimmer over the edge of the dock just in time, just before her arms reach up to pull me under.
“Zerisabelena! Do not! My outfit is too nice to get all soaked,” I say, but I’m much more worried about the object in my pocket than the light blue tank top I’m wearing, and even less about the drab cargo shorts.
She giggles, just a little too high and a little too sharp to be human, but it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. “My full name? Honey, that’s not as intimidating as it used to be.” She smiles, and her sharp teeth glint in the early morning light.
“I’m serious!” I laugh, trying to hide the nerves that permeate my mind. “But, Zeri, your English was perfect!”
“Of course it was. We’re not kids anymore, darling. I’ve gotten much better since that day you found me.”
She’s right, she has. I remember the day we first met with a certain fondness; she’d wandered too far from the rest of her family, and I’d helped her find her way back. She couldn’t speak a lick of English. That was the day I learned there were more things than I could ever comprehend, even in my own backyard; the creatures I'd thought possible only in fairy tales were very, very real.
“What a day that was. Best of my life,” I manage to say, preparing myself for the words to come as Zeri hoists her more human-half onto the dock, hanging on with her muscled arms. With more fear than I’ve ever thought possible, I kneel before her and pull the small box from my pocket. “Zerisabelena. Zeri. You’ve known me longer than anyone, and you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I love you. Will you marry me?”
For a moment, she says nothing, and I worry I’ve gone too far. The ring glints still in the sunlight, Zeri’s wide eyes staring at it, then me. Her fingers come up to grab it, sliding it gently onto her finger. Then she smiles at me, the most brilliant and mischievous smile, and pulls me off the dock and into the water. She supports my fall, her scaled and distinctly aquarian tail wraps around my legs, but I still sputter and spit out a mouthful of water when I surface.
“Yes. A million times yes.” She wraps her arms around me, pulling me in and kissing me. My hands come to settle on the patch of skin at her waist where the scales of her tail melt into the warm skin of her upper body, and as I feel her lips against mine I know this is where I belong.
Well, I hope you enjoyed. Jia is the main character, and she's human. She found Zeri when they were both children, and they grew up together. Jia has helped to hide Zeri and the other merpeople for years and years, and they've been together for 7 years. Zeri is obviously a nickname, because I thought it would be fun if merpeople had really long names; also shout-out to @priincessboy who I know irl for giving me the idea, which I couldn't find a way to fit in here, that Jia shortened Zeri's name before they started dating without realizing that in Zeri's culture shortening a name to it's first section is something reserved for romantic partners. Safe to say, Zeri never corrected her.
If y'all want more with Jia & Zeri, I'd be down to supply that for you. I really want to draw them, but I am not an artist. Maybe one day . . .
Thor pulled a leather chord over his neck. It was thick and dark, and intricately braided. Loosely entwined was a lighter, thinner leather, swooping down to create a Mjolnir, braided just as intricately as the chord.
He held the Mjolnir up in front of Alice. “This decision is yours alone to make. I don't think it's the best one, but you are more than welcome to feel differently. And only you can tell who's right or wrong. However,” he reached out and placed his fingertips under her chin, “if you change your mind, you only need to call me with this. I will send one of my men out, no questions asked.”
