Another Twilight fanfic

AN: author irl update... ALIVE!

ADVANCED CHAPTER IN PATREON AND KOFI UPDATE.. 40+

were at Canon timeline there now. 3 chaps min a week.

Haaah... I wanna be isekaid. But with my traah luck, I fear that truck-kun will send me to the Warhammer universe. Tsk.

ANYWHO... Heres chap 99

~~

1973 Walker Art Gallery – Liverpool

Robin's POV

I wasn't supposed to be here. Well, technically, I wasn't supposed to be anywhere alone. But after years of being micromanaged by my overly loving, somewhat overbearing family, I'd decided enough was enough.

So, I left.

Okay, fine. I escaped.

Sure, I left a note, but that didn't stop them from blowing up my phone—or what passed for a phone in the '70s—every time they got wind of my whereabouts. Did I feel a little bad? Yes. Did it stop me? Absolutely not.

They meant well, I knew that. They were all supportive when Rosalie and I mutually decided to take a break to heal and grow as individuals. In fact, they'd seen it coming before we even did. I thought their understanding in that matter would translate to my solo travels, but nooooo. Apparently, I'm not "allowed" to go off on my own because, and I quote, "Robin is a trouble magnet."

Rude.

But not wrong.

Even Alice, who usually had my back, betrayed me this time, claiming she'd seen "something" in her visions that justified everyone tagging along. Yeah, right. She just wanted to turn my soul-searching journey into a family vacation.

Eventually, I gave up trying to convince them and simply slipped out unnoticed. It wasn't easy—escaping a house full of vampires is basically a Mission: Impossible sequel waiting to happen—but who was I if not persistent?

Fast forward a few years, and here I was, in Liverpool, living my best life as Robin Lune, the mysterious artist behind this year's most talked-about exhibition.

That's right. Your girl went full artiste. I wore a mask to maintain anonymity (and to avoid my family finding me via some newspaper article), dyed my hair a fiery red for dramatic effect, and leaned heavily into the whole "quirky creative" persona.

Why art, you ask? Because it was one of the many things my past self wanted to explore but never did. And now that I had all the time in the world, I figured, why not?

These hands aren't only for giving 'Happiness' inthat regard now... FYI, I have been behaving, no philandering whatsoever ok.... Even though for some reason, Rosalie gave me a green light to do so(but she did mademe promise to not make half supernaturals with anybody else yet, the 'yet' part was said in a volume and way that I doubted if I actually heard her say it....) I'd gotten pretty good at it, too. So good, in fact, that my pieces were now being displayed in the Walker Art Gallery. Sure, it wasn't the Louvre, but hey, baby steps.

As I wandered around the gallery, mingling with guests and pretending not to notice the occasional odd look I got (thanks, monotone voice and masked face), a couple caught my eye. They looked... familiar. And so did the way everyone else in the room kept sneaking glances at them.

The man was tall, with wire-rimmed glasses and a slightly disheveled look, while the woman had long, sleek hair and an air of quiet confidence.

Curious—and because I was supposed to be "the face of the exhibition"—I made my way over.

"Hey there," I greeted them, my voice a little flat but still friendly enough.

The man blinked at me like I'd just dropped out of the sky, while the woman subtly pinched his arm, snapping him out of whatever daze he was in.

"Robin Lune," I introduced myself, extending a gloved hand. "I'm the artist behind the exhibition."

The man recovered first, shaking my hand with a warm smile. "Ah, yes, lovely to meet you. I'm John Lennon, and this is my wife, Yoko Ono."

I froze.

John Lennon. Yoko Ono.

Oh.

Ohhhhhh.

So that's why they looked familiar.

I looked between them, trying not to let my shock show. Of course, I knew who they were—I wasn't living under a rock—but I hadn't expected to meet them here, of all places.

Yoko raised an eyebrow at me, clearly waiting for a response.

"It's an honor," I said finally, because what else do you say when you accidentally charm one of the most iconic couples in music history?

They seemed genuinely interested in my work, asking thoughtful questions about the pieces on display.

"'Buddy,'" John read aloud, gesturing to a painting of a bird I'd once befriended during my travels. "Is this a metaphor or...?"

"Not a metaphor," I said, trying not to laugh at his confusion. "It's just a bird I knew. He left one day and never came back."

Yoko tilted her head, studying the piece. "It's beautiful. Melancholic, but with a sense of hope."

"Thanks," I said, feeling a rare flicker of pride.

We chatted for a while longer, and I found myself enjoying their company more than I'd expected. They were surprisingly down-to-earth, considering their fame, and genuinely passionate about art and creativity.

Just as I was starting to relax, the inevitable happened.

"Excuse me," a gallery-goer interrupted, holding up a camera. "Can I get a photo with you three?"

Before I could object, the man added, "You know, the three most intriguing people in the room!"

John and Yoko exchanged amused glances, while I barely resisted the urge to facepalm.

"Sure," John said, always the charmer.

I nodded reluctantly, standing awkwardly between them as the camera flashed.

"Thanks!" the man said, beaming as he walked away.

"Popular, aren't you?" John teased, adjusting his glasses.

"Something like that," I muttered, silently cursing my luck.

After they left, I spent the rest of the evening avoiding photographers and making small talk with guests. By the time the gallery started to empty out, I was exhausted—not physically, but mentally.

As I packed up my things, I thought about my family. They'd probably lose their minds if they knew I'd spent the evening chatting with John Lennon and Yoko Ono.

Rosalie would roll her eyes and say something like, "Of course you'd run into them," while Isaac would demand details about every word they said.

For a moment, I considered calling them, just to hear their voices. But then I shook my head. I wasn't ready to go back yet—not until I figured out who I was without them constantly hovering over me.

Later, as I walked back to my apartment, I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

John Lennon. Yoko Ono. A random guy who thought I was intriguing.

Trouble magnet? Maybe. But at least my life was never boring.

And if my family found me tomorrow and dragged me back home?

Well, at least I'd have a hell of a story to tell.

~~

1973 - Liverpool, A Cozy Restaurant

The restaurant wasn't fancy—just one of those warm, inviting little places where the food smelled heavenly and the tables were scattered with candles. I'd wandered in by chance, drawn by the sound of soft jazz spilling out onto the street.

Traveling alone wasn't always glamorous, but moments like this made it worth it.

I sat at a corner table, pretending to pore over the menu but really just soaking in the atmosphere. The staff had already given me a few curious glances, probably wondering why someone in a mask and with flaming red hair was dining solo. But hey, better a little mystery than too much attention.

The jazz music softened into a mellow piano tune as a burst of laughter erupted from a group seated across the room.

And that's when I heard it.

"Yoko, isn't that...?"

No.

I looked up cautiously, already recognizing the voice before I saw the familiar glasses and shaggy hair.

John Lennon.

And there was Yoko Ono, her calm, discerning gaze scanning the room until it landed on me.

They approached my table with the confidence of people who were used to making an impression.

"Robin Lune," John said, grinning as he gestured to an empty chair. "Fancy running into you here. Mind if we join?"

"Not at all," I replied, gesturing for them to sit while internally screaming. Seriously? Of all the restaurants in Liverpool?

Yoko slid gracefully into the chair opposite me, her sharp eyes studying my face—or what little of it was visible behind the mask. "We almost didn't recognize you," she said. "But your... demeanor gave you away."

I tilted my head. "Demeanor?"

"You have a certain presence," Yoko said thoughtfully. "Unique. Memorable."

John laughed. "She means you've got that mysterious, enigmatic thing going on. Hard to miss."

I let out a small chuckle, though my brain was already spiraling. What were the odds? Had Alice seen this and not warned me?

The conversation flowed surprisingly easily after that.

They asked about my art, and I asked about their music, pretending I didn't already know their careers better than most people alive. They shared stories about their travels, their creative process, and their experiences navigating fame.

John, in particular, was fascinating to listen to. He had this way of weaving humor and depth into his stories that made you hang onto every word. Yoko, on the other hand, had a quiet intensity that balanced his energy perfectly.

As the evening went on, I almost forgot about the whole reincarnated-hybrid thing. Almost.

And then it hit me.

I didn't know exactly when it happened, but I knew. John Lennon wasn't going to have the long, peaceful life he deserved. The details were fuzzy—I hadn't memorized the history books—but the weight of that knowledge sat heavy in my chest as I watched him laugh over a joke Yoko made about the "artsy types" in the gallery earlier.

I felt... conflicted.

Should I say something? Could I even change anything if I tried? And if I could, was it even right to interfere?

"Robin," John said suddenly, pulling me out of my thoughts. "You've gone quiet. Something on your mind?"

Crap.

I hesitated, trying to piece together something vague but meaningful. Something that wouldn't make me sound like a lunatic but might plant a seed of caution.

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head. "I was just thinking... the world can be unpredictable, you know? Things happen when we least expect them."

John raised an eyebrow. "Is this the part where you tell me to live every day like it's my last?"

"Sort of," I admitted. "But more like... don't take anything for granted. Be careful. Especially with... people."

Yoko's brow furrowed slightly, her perceptive gaze locking onto mine. "That's... oddly specific," she said.

I forced a smile, trying to keep the mood light. "Just a feeling. Ignore me—I'm an artist. We're all a little dramatic."

John laughed, though there was a curious glint in his eye. "Noted. I'll keep my eyes open for any shady characters."

We moved on to lighter topics after that, but the weight in my chest didn't lift.

As the evening wound down, I couldn't help but wonder if I'd done the right thing. Would my cryptic warning make a difference? Or was the future set in stone, no matter what I said?

When we finally parted ways, John gave me a warm handshake and a genuine smile.

"It was great seeing you again, Robin. Next time we'll drag you to one of our shows."

"I'll hold you to that," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

As I watched them leave, their laughter fading into the night, I couldn't shake the feeling that I might never see him again.

But maybe—just maybe—I'd done enough.

I stayed at the restaurant for a while longer, replaying the evening in my mind.

If nothing else, I was glad I'd gotten the chance to know them, even briefly.

And as I walked back to my apartment, I made a silent promise to remember this night. To remember the joy and warmth they brought into the world.

Because some things—no matter how fleeting—deserve to be cherished.

~~

AN : chap done. Wew...

I haven't opened WN for a week, and got flooded woth notifs. 🤭 i was so happy and nervous when i saw em, fortunately it was all good vibes. I really am blessed with good readers. Thank you so much for the stones and comments.. Thank you for the support in PATREON and KoFi... 😭

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