#like the father sneeze but for laughter

[knifeforkspooncup]

Crowley absolutely guffawed at Shakespearean comedies the way your dad probably guffaws at old Bill Murray or Will Farell movies. Knee slapping and all.

[gothamite-rambler]

Jason meets baby Damian

Headcanon: Jason Todd knew about Damian Wayne's existence way before Bruce did and didn't tell the man because of everything they went through. He switched his murderous plan of vengeance, for long-term vengeance.

Talia entered the room holding a baby, the baby is sleeping as he's holds on to his mother's hip.

Jason (wide-eyed): Is that a baby?

Talia (nodding) : Yes.

Jason (worried): Is that… your baby?

Talia (firmly): Yes.

Jason (panicking): Oh God, oh God! Is it MY baby?!

Talia (frustrated): In your mind, he might be! But here in reality, we never had sex! I have stated that over a hundred times! You trying to woo me was met with rejection! I've never had sex with you. You were my surrogate son for Ra's sake! I damn sure wasn’t about to do that while you were underage and insane. What kind of person do you take me for?

Jason (blunt): You swear allegiance to your father at every turn.

Talia (cutting him off): I did NOT sleep with you though!

Suddenly, the baby sneezed, startling Talia.

Jason (jokingly): Then whose baby is it? Bruce's?

Jason chuckled, but Talia stared at him, unamused.

Talia (sighing): Yes, he is the father.

Jason (surprised, then doubtful): …No, he’s not.

Talia (insistent): He is.

Jason (musing, chuckling): …No, he’s not.

Talia (through gritted teeth): Yes. He. Is.

Jason (shaking his head) : He can’t be. No way.

Talia held up her index finger and pulled out her phone, dialing her father.

Talia (when he answers) : Father, the DNA test revealed Bruce is the father of my precious tifl, correct?

Ra's Al Ghul (sobbing): Stop reminding me of that! I only want to focus on him being an assassin, not related to that man!

Talia ended the call and looks at Jason smugly.

Talia: There you go.

Jason (stunned): You and him… had him? And… oh my God. The supposed tough man who can never fold, folded for a booty call!

Jason started chuckling, which quickly evolved into fits of laughter. He sat down, still laughing, while Talia tapped her foot impatiently.

Talia (offended): It was NOT a booty call! Our night of passion was unforgettable… especially since the condom did, in fact, break. Damn gas station contraceptives!

Jason (between laughs): You used the ones from the gas station? Oh God! Wait, wait, who had it?

Talia: He... did. They were in his wallet.

Jason (enjoying this): You’re both idiots when it comes to sex!

Talia held the baby, who had been quiet throughout their banter, close to her face.

Talia: Big Brother Jacy doesn’t understand that you are the love child of a perfect pair.

Jason laughed harder, covering his eyes.

Talia (seriously): Do not tell Bruce. He’s not ready to meet him yet.

Jason (grinning): Oh, I won’t! I’m not telling him a thing.

Talia (deadpan): You better not. If you do, I have men who can make your death look like a suicide or render you a vegetable.

Jason wiped a tear away from all the laughter.

Jason (sincerely) : Chill, Talia. I'm serious. The secret is safe with me until you're ready to tell him. It's the perfect revenge. But when that happens, send me pictures of his reaction.

Talia (rolling her eyes while cradling the baby): You’re ridiculous.

Jason (smirking): Thank you! What’s his name, by the way?

Talia (pondering): I’ve been debating different names. Ra wants me to name him… Ra Jr.? Yeah, no. I decided on Damian. Damian for my cute wittle baby.

She rubbed the baby's cheeks, making him giggle, but she stopped when she heard Jason chuckle again, but ignored his judgmental smirk.

Talia (defensively): No judgment! I’ve always wanted a baby by Bruce. Never tell my father I showed that affection.

Jason (teasing): I might.

Talia (warning): If you do—

Jason (interrupting) : Yes, yes, you’ll toss me into the river or whatever.

Talia: Yes, now since you travel here would you like to spend time with him?

Jason looked at the baby that rested his head on his mother's chest.

Jason: Sure, especially since I can rub that in Bruce's face too.

Talia: Not the healthiest mindset, but okay.

Jason: You sure are right to judge me, woman who had sex with a guy who is not with her at all and then had a baby because of a broken gas station condom—priceless!

Jason walked off, leaving Talia alone with her son. She groans, raising her left eyebrow in annoyance, but when she hears her baby yawn, she looks at him and nuzzled her nose against his cheek.

Talia (softly): My tifl.

---> Bruce finds out about Damian

---> Dick confronts Jason about keeping this secret

---> Bruce meeting his son part 2

[skyloftian-nutcase]

For the prompts:

Eepy time for eepy Time? Time getting pillow piled? Heck, Time getting cuddle piled? Big brother Everyone? Baby brother Time?

Adventuring was such a strange mix of emotions.

When Time had been little, the thought of adventure had consumed him. He'd wanted to go explore the Lost Woods, he'd wanted to fight monsters and find his fairy companion. After his journey and fight against Ganondorf, adventuring was all he had left.

But once he'd settled with Malon... adventuring still had its pull on him, and he enjoyed it. Truly, he did. And it was an honor to fight for others and protect everyone.

But by heaven did he miss just being home.

It usually took about three days for it to really hit him. He was still a victim of the excitement of setting out for somewhere new, after all, and so the first day or so he would be fine with his new journey. But by the third or fourth day, he'd miss the warmth of his bed, the embrace of his wife, the sound of her singing, the laughter from his father-in-law, the purring of the barn cat, the sound of hooves and mooing and neighing. He missed all of it.

He missed the company. He missed his family.

This journey was a little different, he supposed. He'd never had so many traveling companions, and one of them was family. But he was in charge here, and he had to keep them all safe. It didn't quite hold the same comfort to it.

Yawning, Time stretched and tried not to think about it too much. They'd just left Lon Lon Ranch a few days ago, so he knew the ache was hitting him, but he had to focus.

It was hard to focus when he was so tired, though.

Time huffed somewhat irritably. He was certain he wouldn't have felt this drained when he was younger. Then he huffed again. It wasn't like he was that old. Not physically, at least. He just felt old sometimes.

Time yawned again and scowled at himself for the gesture. Stop that.

"Old man, I think you need a nap."

The words were good natured coming from Wild, but Hyrule snickered, elbowing Legend and commenting that Time truly was old. The eldest Link huffed a little, amused and mildly annoyed, but he just waved a dismissive hand. "Probably so. Let's set up camp, though."

He let Warriors delegate tasks to the group, assisting Wind with gathering firewood. When the little sailor tried to carry more wood than his infinitely larger and stronger predecessor, it didn't go unnoticed.

Honestly. Being older didn't make him decrepit, for Farore's sake. The gesture was sweet and endearing, but slightly exasperating. When Hyrule joined them and Wind very helpfully pointed out that their leader was tired and they should carry most of the wood, Time finally just picked up both heroes, wood piles and all, by the back of their tunics, letting them squirm and wiggle as they protested their predicament.

Twilight laughed as the three reentered the camp. The gauntlets Time wore made the boys' weight essentially nothing, but he still felt even more drained nonetheless.

This was definitely just him being homesick. That and the fact that the hadn't slept well the last few nights.

Well. Probably that more than anything. But he did miss home.

Time glanced at Twilight, smiling at him as the rancher corralled the now grumpy Wind and still cackling Hyrule towards the fire pit Four had made. He could hear Malon's laughter in the man's own, and it warmed his heart.

And then he yawned again.

All right, this is just ridiculous.

Giving up, Time waved off Wild's question about dinner, heading for a corner to unpack his sleeping gear and take off his armor. He noticed Sky had already nodded off, having been in the process of unpacking his own things and just slumped over them instead. How that boy was ever comfortable in any of the places he passed out was beyond Time.

Oh, to be young, he supposed. He could curl up anywhere in his youth and wake up fine. Nowadays if he sneezed wrong he'd pop something.

Well. Youth was fleeting, and time was cruel. There was no point lingering on the matter.

Time plopped down next to Sky, unfolding his bed roll. The boy didn't stir, snoring lightly into his own bedroll that was halfway pulled out of his adventure pouch. The elder Link felt a twinge of sympathy for the exhausted teenager, opting to help get the boy's blankets unpacked so he could rest in a more comfortable position. That would imply he had to wake him up, though.

Well, maybe he should just leave him be. Sky's sleeping habits were all over the place, but the boy made do well enough.

Time yawned for what felt like the hundredth time that day, and he carefully removed his armor. Rubbing his face, he pinched the bridge of his nose, just standing there a moment and trying to muster up the energy to unpack everything. Honestly, he was fine just sleeping on the ground at this point.

He heard movement, and he glanced over to see Sky awake, groggily unpacking Time's sleeping items instead of his own.

"Sky," Time called softly, trying not to laugh at the addled teenager. "Wrong bag."

Sky paused, confused a moment, and then laughed, shaking his head. "No, no, I meant to. You look tired. I just... wanted to help a little. I promise I didn't go through your stuff, your mat is beside you bag."

Time stared at him a moment, and Sky halfheartedly backed away a little, misreading the man's naturally stern gaze. The elder hero was about to reply when Warriors walked up behind them, chuckling.

"Sky, you're such a mother hen," the captain commented. "I'm pretty sure the old man can do it himself. But I brought you both some water since you didn't refill your supply."

It was amazing how little escaped the captain's notice. Time gratefully took the water skin provided to him, settling on the ground beside Sky, who relaxed a little at the proximity.

Twilight joined them soon after. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Time answered. Honestly, while Warriors kept tabs of everyone in a more tactical manner, Twilight was far fussier. It reminded him of Malon again, and he felt his heart both ache and soften. "Just a little tired."

Wind skipped over, plopping his own supplies down beside Time. "You're not sick, are you? I feel like you're not usually this sleepy."

Time sighed. All this attention was getting to be too much, but it was endearing nonetheless.

Legend wandered over silently, settling close by and pulling out some mending project he'd been working on. It looked like Four's undershirt - it probably was, as the boy had torn it in the skirmish they'd had yesterday.

"I wonder if we'll see Wolfie," Hyrule noted as he made his way over to the group, still armed. "I kind of miss him. He was good at alerting about danger."

"I still wish I could hug him," Wind grumbled. "He's so soft, but he's so grumpy!"

"He's not grumpy," Twilight huffed, and Time laughed. "He just doesn't like being coddled. He's a wolf, not a puppy."

It was probably the sleepiness, but Time found himself overly sentimental. "There's always a little bit of pup left."

Twilight watched him a moment, annoyance gone, eyes a little wide with gentle surprise. He softened slowly, making his way over to Time and sitting down beside him. Time was distracted, watching his descendant, and he missed that Warriors and Sky finished setting up his sleeping arrangements until the captain started walking back towards the fire. Time turned to thank Sky, at least, and found the young knight already passed out over his partly unpacked roll once more.

How...? Time shook his head, outright laughing quietly at the kid's antics, and elbowed Twilight. "Help that poor boy, will you?"

Twilight laughed too, nudging Sky gently. Wild came next, a bowl of warm stew in hand, quietly but earnestly waiting for Time's approval as he ate it. When Time gave him a warm smile and nodded his head, the cook brightened immensely, heading back to get another bowl.

Dinner was usually spent around the campfire, but this time all the boys meandered to Time's corner. The conversations were quiet, and it took a solid hour to convince Hyrule to finally put his sword down, but eventually Time found himself unable to keep his eyes open. Sky leaned against him, steadily falling asleep, and it was somehow the last little push his body needed to shut down.

Time awoke in the middle of the night, neck aching a little from leaning against the tree as he was, his head plopped over Sky's. He couldn't escape his predicament, though, as he found himself completely surrounded. Wind was using his legs as a pillow alongside Four, Twilight was in wolf form curled up on his left side with Wild snuggled in his fur, Hyrule had settled a step away from the others, curled around his sheathed blade, Legend was at his back, eye mask on and snoring, hand ghosting against Time's tunic.

Warriors sat across from him, eyes alert and sparkling in the firelight. When they locked eyes, the captain gave a little smile and a nod.

Time sighed, smiling in return, heart warm. Perhaps he wasn't quite so homesick anymore.

[dancingdonatello]

Hiya can I get a one-shot of 2018 f!turtles separately finding out they have a daughter with their crush? Like how would they react? Like the girl comes to the present time and they look like their respective dads and also have a hidden similarity to their "mother figure". (I hope I'm using the right gn term for it, if not I apologize I'm unfamiliar with the terms.)

Thank you

rottmnt x gn reader

When Casey introduced the new turtle to Raph and his brothers, Raph didn’t really have an opinion. That was up until Casey revealed that it was his daughter. When he asked who was their other parent or did he raise them with anyone, Casey just smiled awkwardly.

Maybe Raph didn’t know them yet.

His daughter swayed back and forth nervously, asking Casey if she really wasn’t allowed to say who in fear of breaking time rules or whatever. And that’s when it clicked for Raph.

His crush, who he may or may not have been keeping away from his family so that he could spend the most time with them, did that too. Whenever they were nervous, they swayed.

It had been a week and Leo had finally decided to believe that this young turtle was his daughter in the future. She shared a lot of traits with him, not just the red stripes along his eyes. She had a good sense of humor (it had his brothers groaning), she liked comics, she liked basketball, she cracked her knuckles like he did, and she even knew some spanish.

There was one thing different though. She had a totally different laugh them him. But it sounded so familiar to him that it always caught him off guard. He listened to his family’s laughter, wondering if she picked it up from one of them. But no, it didn’t sound similar enough.

It wasn’t until he was horribly flirting with you and that you ended up laughing at one of his fails when he realized that his daughter’s laugh matched yours. Perfectly matched. He didn’t know what relieved him more, that he kept you laughing in the future or that you were able to put up with him long enough to raise a kid with him.

Donnie didn’t really think he ever wanted to be a father. But when a turtle younger with a soft shell and matching goggles (which he was later told was actually his that she took in the future), he inferred that for some reason he had changed his mind. But he couldn’t figure out what could’ve been enough to convince him.

Mikey demanded a family photo upon seeing the cute turtle. He gathered up everyone, including you and Casey and Draxum.

When Donnie looked at the photo, he noticed both you and his daughter were shyly covering their smiles with a hand in the photo.

That ended up being the first bullet point in his new journal as he began to observe both your traits and his daughter traits. When he reached about 50 shared mannerisms, he finally allowed himself to believe that he had a chance with you. Or at least, future him did.

“You guys didn’t tell me you had a sister!” you complained, rocking on the balls of your feet as you observed this new turtle. She was even shorter than you and Mikey.

She nervously stepped back and mirrored you, rocking on her feet as well.

Mikey blinked and looked back and forth between you two, the cogs and wheels in his brain slowly turning.

And then you both sneezed the same way. And then you both smiled the same way. And then—

Mikey could barely contain himself. He launched over to you and grabbed you, hugging you so tightly you wheezed for air.

[valentine-cafe]

. ˚◞♡ dilf professor x gn reader ꒰ dilf au ꒱◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ dilf!talisen 781 / gn reader ꒱ you go out with your new boyfriend to a cafe - along with his toddler son. what chaos ensues? 

𖹭. content warnings◞  none! . 1.3k

𖹭. receipts◞  we need more dilf au up in here ( this au talisen is based off of talisen 781! )

. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒌𝒔 ꒱ m.list . guidelines . characters . lorebook ⊹ ۪ ࣪ 

“milkshake!” The toddler huffs out in demand, looking up at his father with big eyes and a pout of his lips.

and the father that stands next to you can all but laugh a little at the antics of his son. before he looks at you. eyes glinting with a joy that is refreshing to see after a very long week.

“see, he has always had this thing that wherever we go. he must get strawberry milkshake.” the explanation has you chuckling a bit to yourself, looking down at the young boy who shifts to look up at you. throwing his hands in the air to be picked up.

with a swift motion, you swing him into your arms and twirl around. the joyous laughter of the boy making other café visitors smile.

oh carlos, a small sun running around happily wherever his feet carry him. you sit him on your arms while looking up at his father.

talisen glances down at you with a smile and presses a kiss to the crown of his son’s head. waving a hand towards himself, to signal for your to follow.

the three of you make your way to the counter, greeting the worker who will take your order.

“why do the two of you not go find a place to sit?” talisen hums softly after looking around, turning his eyes to you after the three of you decided upon drinks and cakes.

carlos happily wriggles in your hold at the genius words his father speaks, gasping and waving his arms around. squirming to get down on the floor and run to his favourite table.

you yelp and follow along, throwing a quick glance over your shoulder to see the man ordering your drinks and make sure all is going well.

“Mama/papa!/( x ),” the toddler calls for you, voice silly and unhinged as always when he gets excited.

“yes, yes i’m coming carlo!” laughter erupts from you, legs quick to rush you over to the spot the boy decided you all will sit for the next hour or so.

“slow!” oh the audacity of this child! always bullying you for your delayed running.

“always looking at baba.” he snickers, kicking his feet happily. “youuuuuu love baba. like papa did.”

with a shake of your head, and your index flying to your lips. you hush the boy, furrowing your brows a bit but still smiling so that he does not misunderstand your expressions.

“don’t sat that carlo!” you chuckle and sit next to him. taking out a napkin to wipe his nose. he was always a bit of a sick boy, sneezing a lot in the autumn months. it mattered not what month or season it was. the poor one couldn’t catch breaks from coughs and colds.

“blow your nose hon,”

a small noise of disapproval escapes his mouth, but as the feeling of a sneeze creeps up on him, he immediately starts to blow his nose into the napkin. and once he is done, you move away the napkin.

but not without making sure the area around the nose weren’t completely dry and clean. you hate when he starts getting teary from the painful itch the leftover snot can cause.

with a few kicks of his feet, carlos starts reaching out for the small toy bunny that you carry around for him, teeth biting down on his knuckles in his focus to get the stuffie.

you can’t help but laugh. taking it out of the pocket and handing it over to him. his hand gripping at it and snatching the bunny over to him. the big jacket he’s wearing ruffling as he hugs it close.

“NINNuS!” he declares, lifting the toy into the air as if to show the entire world of his most precious item.

“aww, did you get your bunny, carlo?” the poet chuckles, arriving at the table with drinks and dessert.

“YES!”

“shh shh, quiet rabbit burrow.” talisen hushes his son. and in response the boy makes a small hush sound, hands shooting up to the top of his head. pretending to have rabbit ears that flop around.

yet all attention on his father, you, and his beloved ninnus immediately moves itself to the giant strawberry milkshake before him.

“that’s a. . . tall glass,” you murmur to the father, giving him a small look of uncertainty.

a quick shake of the head is what you receive in response at first. sigh leaving parted, soft, red lips. . . no, get your mind away from that!

“i am not certain as to why they gave such big a glass, i informed them it was for a kid. but alas.” he hums.

the ball of sunshine pays no attention to your conversation, the glass looked comically large next to him. a small boy and a big glass full of milkshake

“this so good.” he whispers out with a balled up fist shaking slightly, eyes glaring at it after a few sips. and then he’s at it.

chuckles between his father and you are exchanged, and for a while. you simply sit and talk.

enjoying the aromas and the atmosphere of the autumn themed café that bustles with people. the good energy matching the same of the sun that shines through red and yellow leaves gently drifting through the streets of elritea.

“quite the weather it is today. the breeze is cold and wild, and the temperature is just perfect for afternoon walks down to the lake.” you hum out in soft response to the words, they tickle every corner of your head. such soothing and comforting words.

“it truly is beautiful,” you answer.

“I wonder if—” any sentence you were about to speak is interrupted by the scrape of a glass and the clinking against the table. fortunately no indication of it breaking. but a scream followed by cries of distress follows very quickly after.

carlos had spilt all of his milkshake on himself, and ninnus.

oh the horrors. . . you immediately rise from your seat to pull napkins out of your back, cleaning off carlos before even mind the glass or the table. this poor baby is already cold! you are not about to risk him getting any sicker than he had been last week.

“carlo— shhh shh it’s okay— it—”

“MY MILKSHAKIE” the boy cries and takes in a big gulp of air, looking at you with tears streaming down his face.

all the while as you help carlos get cleaned up. talisen gets up to remove the glass and clean the table, gently taking away ninnus so that he can wash the stuffie in one of the sinks of the toilet stalls. he presses a gentle kiss to his son’s cheek and frowns at the sight of him.

he hates when carlos cries. it breaks his heart every time.

“it will be alright carlos, baba buy you a new one?”

“NINNUS!”

“Ninnus will be okay, I shall give him a little wash and dry him, it is okay.” The father assures his son, taking him into a small hug. so what if the coat got messed with some of the milkshake his son was covered in, he needed the comfort.

he looks up at you and sighs softly.

“dear you stay here please? i shall buy a new one for carlos, and wash the bunny.”

you are about to protest, it is clear. but the poet smiles at you and shakes his head, gently brushing his son’s curly hair.

“please stay here and make sure he is clean and comforted. it is alright, you owe me nothing.”

and so the man heads off to the counter after an affirmative nod from you. rushing off to demand for a smaller glass for his son with new milkshake.

immediately you dive in to clean the boy up and remove the sweater he had worn over his t-shirt, and covered him with his jacket again. sitting with him and gently playing with his hands to quiet him down and soothe his bad mood.

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. ˚◞ ꒰ 🍰 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒔 ꒱ tip jar . masterist ⊹ ۪ ࣪

[enoughtotemptme]

a year and a day

Everyone knows that if you want to make a deal, you go to Eddie Munson.

Desperate to be rid of Jason once and for all, Chrissy makes a deal with the local demon. The consequences are…not what she expected. A story of friendship, love, and paying one’s debts.

Chapters: 3/13 Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationship: Chrissy Cunningham/Eddie Munson Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Demon Deals, POV Chrissy Cunningham, Friendship, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Found Family, Roommates, Domestic Fluff, 1990s, Caretaking, Pining

Chapter Three: August

Eddie looks tired the morning of the move. She knows it stormed for a good few hours in the middle of the night, because the thunder and lightning had woken her up, rattling the house. 

Chrissy had gone to find Eddie at that point—she hadn’t been frightened, but she’d known he’d already be awake and she wouldn’t be able to sleep until the worst of the storm passed. 

“Got you too?” he’d asked when she’d knocked lightly on the doorframe. “Come on, get in.” 

She’d taken the spot next to him on the bed and he’d read Fellowship aloud until the storm was distant enough for them both to sleep. But even accounting for those lost hours last night, he looks too tired, Chrissy thinks as she watches him check all of the closets, cupboards, and drawers for strays. 

She puts her hand on his arm when he sticks his head inside the oven and rattles around like he’s going to find the entrance to Narnia tucked away somewhere inside. 

“Eddie.”

“What?”

“You’ve got everything. It’s alright.”

He remains stiff under her touch for another moment, then sighs and pulls himself out and upright, if a little slouched.

Eddie looks grim as he glances around the kitchen, the living room. Even the pegs on the wall are gone now, and it all seems very bare. 

Her hand moves to his back, and he radiates heat against her palm. She doesn’t know if her touch is as comforting to him as his is to her, given that she’s at least a handful of degrees cooler, but she hopes it’s at least a little helpful.

“Are you sad?” she asks softly, and he shrugs jerkily, then looks down at her with a half-smile. 

“I dunno. Maybe?”

She rubs a small circle on his shoulderblade and he slumps a little more, sighing. 

“It shouldn’t bug me; it’s not like Wayne’s still here. But this was our place, at least since my dad dumped me here.” 

“He dumped you?” Chrissy echoes, before cringing a little. Not the most tactful reaction.

“Eh. I was, what, five? Six? Old man finally got wise to what I am when I sneezed and set his shorts on fire.”

“He didn’t know?” Chrissy asks, surprised.

“Nope,” he says, popping the p. “Must’ve come from my mom’s side, and she’d died a couple of years earlier. Surprised us both.”

“Oh,” she says, soft. 

Eddie shrugs under her touch. “It’s alright. He left me with Wayne, which was probably my best case scenario for not turning out a complete shithead.”

A very tender spot under her breastbone makes itself known when she lets herself imagine it—a frightened little boy who’d already lost his mother, losing the only other parent he’d known for reasons entirely out of his control.

She’s never met Wayne Munson, but she feels a sudden, fierce gratitude for the man Eddie loves so much, who’d kept him safe when his own father wouldn’t. 

“You’re only a little bit of a shithead,” she says instead of saying any of those things that hurt, and Eddie lets out a startled laugh, wrapping his arm around her neck in a headlock. 

“Takes one to know one, Cunningham.”

“I had a great teacher,” she says, wiggling out from his hold, only to shriek when he scoops her up with one arm like a football. He takes off for the front door, cackling like a madman. “Eddie!”

They leave the home in Forest Hills echoing with laughter.

[click here to read the rest of chapter three on ao3]

[mcdonaldsnumberone]

WALTZ OF THE FLOWERS!

you're relearning how to find the magic in the trivial, and sam decides to show you the charm in simplicity: with a few flowers, a date, and a promise.

gender neutral reader

twisted fart june bride event 1: rings | "do you want to attend a wedding? it'll be our wedding but don't sweat the small stuff."

if you enjoyed reading this fic, please consider donating to providing aid in palestine!

“Are you sure you don’t want to go inside? We don’t have to stay out if it’s messing with your nose this badly… I don’t want this to hurt you or anything.”

Sam shook his head defiantly, and you bit back a defeated smile as he rummaged through his pockets to bring out a was of crumpled napkins before heartily blowing his irritated, red nose into them. Splayed out in his lap was an assortment of wildflowers that the two of you had collected, running around the fields surrounding Pelican Town and gathering up different blooms of varying sizes and colors.

It felt nice to soak up some sun and spend some quality time with your boyfriend. Between helping around the house, managing his newly returned father, and cleaning up after whatever mischief Vincent got into, you didn’t want to burden Sam with too much else. He would always accept you with open arms and a bright smile, but you knew he had a lot on his plate that he wasn’t showing. Still, you hoped a quick outing like this might help take his mind off of things and let him act more like the young man he was.

“My allergies are fine,” he vehemently insisted. He flashed a sunny smile at you as if to insist that he was truly okay, even if you weren’t fully convinced. But you weren’t going to press on it too much, not when he looked so proud of all the flowers he had gathered and was now messing around with. “Besides, I don’t want to head back just yet. I like spending time with you. I like it when we’re alone and not with anyone else.”

The blond paused for a second before stealing a shy glimpse at you. “…Do you think that makes me selfish?”

You blinked at him, your fingers brushing over the flower petals that you had harvested. “Selfish? What do you mean by that?”

You watched with slight intrigue as he stumbled over his words, his normally confident voice wavering a hint. A light flush kissed his cheeks, and his face slowly turned to the same cherry pink hue as the flowers his hands had been fiddling with. 

“Well…,” he trailed off slightly, and he found himself suddently unable to look you directly in the eye like he normally would, “It’s like I said. I like spending time alone with you, y’know? Just the two of us and no one else. I guess I like knowing that I’m the only who has your attention when we’re like this.”

He pressed his lips together, overcome with a wave of uncharacteristic shyness. You let out a soft laugh at the sight of your boyfriend practically squirming in his seat after confessing that he wanted to hog you all for himself. It was hard not to be charmed by him, especially when you knew how much he wanted and was honest with you, with how unsparing he was with his affections, constantly vying for your attention and doing whatever he could to brighten your day.

You smiled, and you leaned over to rest your head on his shoulder. “If I said yes, would it make you get all worked up like this? You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Sam stared at you with his eyes blown open wide, and the innocent flush that had spread all over his face was creeping down to even his neck. He smacked at you playfully, and you let out a loud laugh as he tried to hide his face in his hands, only to stuff his nose into the handful of flowers he had been holding and then melting into a pile of rushed sneezes.

“You’re- You’re the worst!” He sniffled, hastily blinking past the tears in his swollen eyes to see you basically collapsed on the floor in a fit of your own laughter. “Here I was thinking I could be smooth with you! You never let me win!”

“You should know better than to think that you could actually win in the flirting department.” You watched him go back to shyly fiddling with the flowers, fingers moving to deftly weave the long stems into pretty knots and thick strands. “I’m the one that practically chased you around town trying to win you over! All you did was stand there and look pretty.”

He pretended to pout. “Saying it like that makes you sound like a creep stalker.”

“Who’s to say I’m not?” You prodded him with your elbow, and he deepened his pout. You could tell that he was more engrossed in whatever he was doing to the flowers than he was at grilling you as part of some halfway revenge for winning over him. Your eyes softened when you saw how gently he was touching the delicate flowers, transforming the soft petals and stringy stems into something special.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you, and you took the opportunity to soak up the moment. Every part of this quaint date felt like something straight out of a coming of age movie, despite its undeniable simplicity. There really was nothing extraordinary about life in Stardew Valley, and yet every second you shared with Sam pulled at something so deep and fundamental in your heart that you couldn’t find the right words to describe it in a way that would do it justice.

But that was what love was, you supposed. It was listening in a field of flowers, admiring the way the casual breeze tiptoed through the reeds, the constantly babbling brook murmuring to you like a newborn infant. Somewhere in the distance, you could make out the faint sound of birdsong to accompany the pleasant weather and the rightful fluttering of wings. 

These were all things you’d never even stop to appreciate or even notice in the first place, had you not made the life you have now. You would have lost sight of the important things a long time ago without your present day in Stardew Valley, and you didn’t even want to think about what you might have become had you never met and fallen in love with Sam.

“Ta-da!” Sam proudly announced, shaking you out of your momentarily solemn reflection. He stuck his creation in your face, more or less waggling it in front of your eyes excitedly so that you couldn’t miss whatever he had been working on. You blinked, instinctively craning your head back slightly, but quickly had your surprise melt into fondness when you noticed the finely crafted shape of flowers and tweed bent into the shape of a ring.

“It’s for you!” Sam insisted. His eyes were practically sparkling with a spring-like vigor, and you swore that if Sam had been born as a puppy dog instead of a man, his tail would have fallen off by now from how hard it would have been wagging. “Pretty nice, isn’t it? I know I’m not the most graceful guy in town, but I’ve been practicing doing more delicate craft these days. I think between doing stuff like this and practicing my instruments, I’ve become pretty good with my hands!”

You stared at it a bit longer. The various petals seemed to blend into one another to form a beautiful swath of color, interweaving through the smooth stems and carefully patterned leaves. It was such a simple, homely gesture but at the same time, you could see how much work and care Sam must have put into picking out the best flowers and weaving them together this coherently. And judging from his words, he must have put his all into making sure his handicraft was worth your while.

Your heart softened. “Sam…”

“Here, give me your hand!” The blond reached towards you, and you let a tender smile grace your lips as he took your fingers in his. It was as if sparks were flying up your skin and all over your body when his body brushed up against yours, and you held your breath as he gingerly slipped the flower ring over your knuckles and down securely onto the base of your ring finger.

Just like earlier, you let your gaze fall to the ring again. It caught the sunlight better than any pricey gemstone could, your skin crowned with the fine results of Sam’s dedication. All sorts of emotions welled up inside of your chest and throat, threatening to spill over your mouth and your waterline with what could only be overwhelming affection and gratitude towards Sam for loving you unconditionally and wholly.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed. “Thank you, Sam.”

He beamed at you, eyes crinkling up. You were probably the only person in the world who would notice all of his small and obvious details, and you loved him for everything he was and had and would be. Who else in the world would do something this sweet for you? He loved you without any inhibitions or fear.

He wrapped your hands in his, and he pulled himself even closer to you until you two were sitting side-by-side with one another, his form flush against yours. “I’m glad you like it. I wanted to do something nice for you. I know I’m not a big romantic guy, and I’m not all that smooth either. I’m a far cry from the perfect man you deserve, but… I still want to try! I want to be with you for a very long time, so I have to make it worth your while.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder, and you hummed. There was something comforting about being with Sam. He was dependable, hard-working, and honest, and you knew that you would always be happy with him so long as you shared your love with him.

“You don’t have to do anything special, you know. I like you for who you are,” you remarked plainly. Your gaze fell off into the distance, into the greenery and the vast openness of nature. You two were such small, irrelevant little blips in the grand scheme of the universe, but you wouldn’t trade anything in this plane of existence for what you had with Sam. 

He grinned, looking proudly at the flower ring nestled snugly on your finger. He liked the way it looked, even more than he might have once dreamt of, and he wished he could keep this image in his head forever. 

“But you’re special,” he reiterated. “And that makes me want to treat you that way. We’re only young once, so I think that means we should do all sorts of dumb and stupid and special things together. Though, I suppose we can also do that when we’re old and gray as well.”

You glanced up at him. “When we’re old and gray too, huh? Looks like we’ll be with each other for the long run then.”

“Well, did you expect anything else?” He nudged you as if to scold you, and you simply replied by giving him a happy giggle. You clung to him, knowing that he was your whole world. There simply wasn’t anybody else that could make your heart sing so effortlessly or light up every single one of your days. Had you been any younger, any more foolish, any more snuffed out by the treachery of what you believed was the entirety of life, you might never have had a chance like this.

But as you sat in the big, wide flower field, enjoying Sam’s presence and the warmth of the afternoon sun, you held your hand out to admire the ring atop your finger. The ring itself might wilt after a few hours and be nothing more than a sweet gesture for the time being, but you took all of Sam’s hopeful promises of happiness and a fulfilling lifetime with one another and engraved it deeply into each and every crevice of your heart.

And you instinctively knew, such a thing could only be the prologue to a bright and merry future together.

x

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[alwaysonthemend]

Author's Note: Hello hello! She's finally here and I am SO very excited for you all to read! As I mentioned before, this story will most likely be around 12 parts and I will be updating with a new chapter every other week. I hope ya'll enjoy!

Finally, without further adieu!

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

Part I: Into the Storm

Word Count: 5081

Warnings: Threats of violence / death of family members (in the past, non graphic)

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

Whence they come and whence they go 

Ere ever the waves dance to and fro. 

‘Cross cold grey stones and empty shore, 

Ne’er rest or break since days of yore. 

And from the depths a face doth creep, 

Pallid and haggard from the deep. 

And as I watch out on the sea,

I beg you please: come home to me.

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

July, 1709

The pitter patter of tiny feet slapping against the wooden floorboards breaks through the silence of the room. 

“Get back here!” A voice calls angrily, followed shortly by the sound of heavy footfalls. 

There is no answer other than laughter – a child’s laughter, as the chase continues. The girl – no older than eight or nine years old, runs past the doorway towards the balcony overlooking the town below. She skids to a stop at the railing, wide eyes staring down at the drop. Trapped and with nowhere to go, she turns to face her father with a guilty smile. 

“Give it to me.” Her father demands, stepping out to meet her on the balcony. He’s angry, though her young mind has yet to place the seriousness of his tone. 

“But Papa-” 

“Now.” He silences her, thrusting his hand outwards towards her tiny frame. 

Hanging her head in defeat, the young girl brings her hand out from behind her back, a thick, old volume clutched between her tiny fingers. Mercilessly, her father yanks the book from her grasp, an angry huff escaping him at the sight of her face contorted in anger. 

“These,” her father seethes, waving the book about in his grip, “are not stories meant for children. Especially not for a young lady. Do you understand me?” 

The girl huffs a breath, jutting her bottom lip outwards as she looks up to her father. Though he towers over her, there is a challenge in her eyes. 

“Why am I not allowed to read them? They are just stories, Papa!”

He shakes his head at her, disappointment clear on his face. 

“Stories that are not good for young girls like you. You are far too impressionable. Pirates and adventures are not the subjects on which you should spend your time. You would be much better suited towards placing your focus on your own lessons – instead of mucking about like a heathen.”

The girl rolls her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest in challenge. The fire in her eyes has not dimmed at his words – but rather seems to have only grown brighter. 

“Papa, I do focus on my classes. But I do not see why I should not be allowed to read such stories in my own time for my own amusement. It harms no one!” She does not stutter as she speaks, clearly a rehearsed argument. 

“Enough!” Her father’s voice rises – his own frustration at her growing by the second. “I will not tell you again, Y/n: stop it with these stupid stories of pirates raids and mystical creatures. Piracy is nothing to be sneezed at or enjoyed – especially not by any daughter of mine.” 

As he speaks, the girl turns to walk back inside, pointedly refusing to meet his gaze. Her steps fall heavy as she purposefully stomps her feet as she walks past him. 

Fast as lightning, his rough hand darts out to grip her bicep – thick fingers wrapping around the delicate skin harshly. Without warning, he yanks her towards him, bringing their faces just inches apart. 

“Listen to me, girl.” He mutters lowly, eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Any more trouble from you… and you will wish that you had listened to me the first time.” There is a warning in his voice now, unspoken but so very clear. He is no longer asking. She knows what punishment lies in wait for her. It’s a punishment she’s received before that she’s not eager to experience again. 

“Yes, Papa.” 

“We are finished here.” He releases her, turning on his heel to stride back inside. 

The girl frowns as she rubs where his fingertips had pressed into her skin. A sigh escapes her. Her shoulders droop in defeat. It is not the first time that she has been ridiculed by her father, though she’s growing old enough now that it is no longer taken lightly as it used to be. She is old enough to know better now – and her father’s anger only grows with each passing day. She hates it here. 

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

November, 1720

Easthallow is not a town of splendour – at least, not anymore. What used to be a prospering fishing town now reduced to nothing but a washed up port city, forgotten by the rest of the world. The town has fallen into disrepair, and its people are too tired to fix it. 

The house is perched not so far from the cliffs of Tunstead and sits ominously atop the hill. It’s less of a house and more of a fortress. A fortified conglomeration of walls that only vaguely resemble something that could be considered a home. The Calloway mansion had fallen into disrepair, just as Easthallow had. Though, it cannot be said that the two are not connected. The Calloways had long been the sole proprietors of wealth for the sleepy little port town, and their wealth and influence had extended far across the waters, pulling in merchant ships and trade that made this little town boom into a home of bustling commerce. No one knew where the Calloway fortune had come from for sure – but most had their guesses that it had not come from a place savoury in nature. There was no doubt that the wealth of the Calloways came from their dealings with royals in the North, though no one was ever brave enough to ask them for proof. The people of Easthallow were more than willing to turn a blind eye to the dealings of the Calloways, and took pleasure instead in the fruits of their (most likely) illegal business. 

But as the years went by, season after season of wealth and commerce, the Calloway fortune slowly began to run out. Their ships, once seemingly blessed with good fortune, began to sink on a regular basis. Old friendships (borne of blackmail, surely, but strong nonetheless) fell apart, leaving the Calloways to slowly rack up more and more debt until at last, the family fortune ran out. The masses of servants that tended to the mansion were let go, until finally there only resided a small number of Calloways left inside it, withering away alongside their fortune. 

And now, all that lies within this rotting fortress of ill-gotten wealth, is my grandmother – the ageing matriarch of the Calloway empire, and myself. It’s sad, really, to think about what my family once was – but in a detached sort of way. My mother had died of fever when I was just three weeks old and my father had been a brute, driven mad by grief and loneliness. He was never home, constantly sailing off to… somewhere. He never told us. He died at sea and I didn’t even cry. And then it was just me and my grandmother in this God-forsaken house, surrounded by the ghosts of a past that I didn’t know. The mystical nature of my Calloway family history had kept my young mind intrigued for a time, but it had quickly dwindled with age. I know only as much as the rest of this town knows, as my grandmother had never been willing to tell me anything of my family history. I had given up years ago.  

Instead, I spent my time in our library, content to busy myself in the stories buried within the thousands of pages – focusing my attention onto tales of magic and sea-faring adventures instead. I am not sure if it was the boredom, or some lingering resentment that I carried for my father that made me love them so. Either way, I was content – content in becoming a recluse as a child, content to sit with my books alone. My grandmother, I think, was simply grateful that I left her alone. There is no small bit of resentment in the old woman towards me – the very last Calloway. I know that, had I been a boy, she would have at least been comforted in that the Calloway name would be carried on after her death. 

Though I still owe the woman much – as she taught me everything I know. But I am no fool; had my mother birthed a boy before she had me, I am sure that my grandmother would never have even so much as looked in my direction. But since I am all that there is, she taught me much in my youth. She taught me how to read the coded letters that my ancestors had left behind, and how to steer a ship, and how to travel following only the stars. All things that proper Calloways had to know back in their days of seafaring.  

And as age continued to ravage her frail body, I know that she regretted not having been more affectionate with me as a child. 

Grandmother died on my 20th birthday, and I had cried empty tears as I watched her casket be lowered into the ground. I think my sadness had been borne more of guilt than sorrow – what type of granddaughter was I to not be heartbroken over my last relative’s death?

– 

The Golden Perch is a small, humble tavern just a five minute walk from the port. The earnings are meagre and the patrons rude but it is all I have to call my own. Thomas, the owner, had been the only one kind enough to offer a Calloway a job, and I had jumped on the opportunity. Bar work, though nothing glorious, gave me purpose at least. When the books ran out, when I read and reread them enough that I could no longer stand them, I needed something else to take up my time. And The Golden Perch had given me that. 

Tonight, only a few patrons have braved the storm outside. Thunder rattles the dinghy wooden walls, the fire in the fireplace dwindles with each gust of wind from the chimney, and I am hopeful that I might get to close up early tonight. Thomas had gone home hours ago, leaving the tavern solely to me for the rest of the night. 

The quiet murmuring of the patrons is interrupted by the slam of the front door, and all eyes turn to the threshold at the loud entrance. The storm outside rages on, and the cold wind entering the open door plunges the room into a damp chill. The fire flickers pathetically. 

“Everyone on the floor!” 

A deep voice cuts through the confused whispering and a man steps in from the chaos of the night. The tone of his voice leaves no space for argument, and the patrons all lower themselves slowly to the ground.

But I cannot move. I am rooted to the spot as my eyes take in the stranger and his men as they march into the small tavern. 

Five men disperse themselves throughout the room, each of them drawing cutlasses from their waists and holding them out menacingly towards the tired, terrified fishermen who sit huddled on the floor. 

The sixth man, clearly the leader, strides quickly across the room until he reaches the bar. He’s clad in black pants and a white billowy shirt unbuttoned down to his naval, covered from the storm by a long black coat that almost touches the floor. He’s got long brown hair that’s tied back by a black ribbon, and several expensive looking silver medallions rest against his chest. The golden handle of his cutlass glitters at his waist thanks to the light from the fire.

His face, despite the fear coursing through me, brings heat to my cheeks. His eyes are a deep brown and his lips are pink and plump looking. His jawline and nose are sharp, accentuated by the dim light. His tan skin is unmarred, save for a thin white scar starting at his hairline, cutting through his eyebrow, and ending just on the outer corner of his eye. It must have been lucky that the cut hadn’t taken his eye.

“Who are you? What do you want?” I will the tremor in my voice to subside as I raise my chin in defiance at him – hoping to give him the impression that I’m not afraid. 

The man extends his arm outwards, splaying his palm against the bartop and tapping his fingers against the wood. 

“My name is none of your concern.. And I’m looking for someone.” He says lowly, eyes glittering dangerously at me from beneath his thick lashes. 

“And who might that be?” 

He inhales sharply through his nose, straightening himself and pulling his hand from the bar top to rest it on the handle of his cutlass. Everything about him screams authority. 

“Calloway.” He finally answers, and the air punches itself from my lungs. I fight to keep my expression steady as my heart pounds in my chest so hard I’m sure he must be able to hear it. 

“Never heard of ‘em.” I lie, placing my hands on my hips to hide the way that they shake. “Must be in the wrong town.” 

“Oh, I don’t think so, lass.” He smiles, revealing perfectly white teeth. “You see…” He starts, drawing his cutlass from its sheath and brandishing it proudly in front of him. “I need something from Edward Calloway, and I’m not leaving here until I get it.” 

This time, I know that I fail in keeping my expression passive at the mention of my father’s name. Surely enough, his smile widens. 

“Oh? So you do know of Edward Calloway." He hums, a sinister look spreading across his face. "You're going to tell me where he is, my good lady… or my men kill everyone in this room.” 

At that, the other patrons all begin to panic, frenzied whispers breaking out amongst themselves as the other men step even closer to them, their blades gleaming dangerously. 

“He’s dead. Edward Calloway is dead. Has been for a long time. There aren’t any Calloways left anymore.” I tell him, and I revel in the slight slump to his shoulders. He hadn’t been expecting that.  

One of his men, a man with light brown curly hair, turns to look at his leader, his eyes carrying in them a silent question. The two stare at each other for a moment, seemingly carrying on a conversation without words. Finally, the leader steps towards the door. 

“Kill them all.” 

“What?” The curly headed man asks with wide eyes. He looks horrified. 

“Did I stutter?” 

“Wait!” One of the fishermen shouts, causing a blade to be pressed into his neck. “She's a Calloway!” He says frantically, pointing towards me with an accusing finger. "She's Edward Calloway's daughter!'' He says it like it's an insult, spittle flying from his lips as he points at me. 

Dread overtakes me like ice water being dumped over my head, but I cannot blame the man. Old sins cast long shadows after all, and no one in this town would be willing to give up their lives for a Calloway. 

The leader turns on his heel, a menacing expression on his face. I feel as though I’m nothing but a small animal, cowering in the face of its predator. He rounds the bar top, gripping my bicep in his hand and squeezing tightly. I can’t help but to wince as his fingertips press into my skin harshly. He leans in close, so close that his lips just barely graze the shell of my ear. 

“That true, lass?” He asks, pressing the blade of his cutlass into the skin of my neck. 

I swallow and nod, body trembling in his hold. 

“And you live here?” He asks again, nodding his head towards the stairway that goes upstairs. It’s a vacant room though, reserved only for patrons that are too drunk to make it home. 

“No.” I whisper. “Not far from here, though.” 

He nods, tightening his grip on my arm even more before turning to the curly haired man again. 

“Joshua, return to the ship. Wait for me there.” 

Another man, this one with long brown hair that reaches all the way down to the middle of his back, speaks up. 

“You’re not going alone. Have you lost your mind?” 

“Jacob, you're being reckless. This isn't-” Joshua speaks up, pinning his leader (apparently named Jacob) with a fiery expression. 

“Enough! My brothers the two of you may be, but I am still your captain. You will not question me.” 

The rest of his men only look on in silence, eyes darting between the three men as they stare at each other. Finally, Joshua’s shoulders drop in defeat. He keeps his cutlass drawn but lowers it, the rest of the men following suit. 

“The rest of you,” Jacob orders, scanning his eyes across the terrified faces of the fishermen, “Get lost. You never saw us. We were never here.” 

They all clamour to their feet, tripping over themselves in their bid to get out the door. The storm outside has finally died down to nothing but light rain, and each of them scatter our into the darkness like mice abandoning ship. Jacob’s men follow after them, Joshua stopping to look over his shoulder one last time before stepping out into the night, leaving you alone with their captain. 

“Are you going to kill me?” I whisper, the tremble in my voice obvious. 

“Not yet." He whispers. "You said you did not live here.” He says, voice growing louder as he drags me roughly towards the door. I fight to keep my balance as he all but lifts my feet from the floor. 

“I do not.” 

He stops, grip still tight on my arm. He looks at me, waiting for me to continue, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction. He sighs heavily, eyes rolling backwards at my defiance. 

“I do not have time for this. I need something. Now. And your father was the man who had it.”

I weigh my options silently. There is no doubt in my mind that I will most likely be dead before the night is over. There is no mercy in the eyes of this stranger. I can refuse and no doubt he would kill me right here… let me bleed out alone and my body grow cold until it’s found tomorrow morning by an unsuspecting Thomas. Or, I can take him back to that wretched place that I call home and pray that he finds whatever it is that he’s looking for. Maybe then, I could convince him to spare me. 

“My father’s things are still in his study. I have not touched them. If he really did possess whatever it is you seek, it would be there.” 

Jacob nods once, sheathing his cutlass at last. I sigh in relief. 

“And you will take me to it.” It is not a question, more a demand that he’s phrasing nicely. 

“Yes. I will.” 

“And is there anyone there that might get in my way?”  He asks, and I shake my head. 

“I live alone.” 

He hums, and I can feel it as the sound reverberates through his chest. 

“I am going to let you go now and you will lead me there. Try to run…” he warns, lips once again pressed against my ear, “You’ll be dead before you even realize that I've caught you.” 

I nod. 

He releases his grip and I bring my hand up to rub where he’d been holding me so tightly. I know that it will bruise. A brief flicker of… something, flashes through his eyes at the action before his expression smooths over, once again becoming blank as he waits for me. The rain has stopped but night has fully fallen. I reach upwards and grab one of the lit lanterns from above the bar top, holding it aloft in front of me as I lead us out into the night. 

– 

I watch out of the corner of my eye as his gaze sweeps upwards, taking in the rotting fortress as we ascend the steps. Though my last name may be Calloway, I have never felt any sort of ownership over this house – it has always been, simply, the place that I must stay. I have never felt embarrassed at its disrepair before, but as I watch Jacob’s eyes scan this terrible place, shame begins to pool deep in my belly. I hate the feeling. 

“You never told me your name.” His voice startles me from my shame-filled thoughts and I cut my eyes to him quickly. 

“You would not give me yours.” 

His lips quirk into a smile. 

“And yet you still learned it anyway. It seems only fair that I know yours in return.”

“Y/n.” It slips past my lips with hardly a second thought and I curse myself for giving it to him. I cannot say why I told him, only that I felt powerless to deny him. 

“Y/n.” He repeats, and the sound of my name from his lips sends a shiver down my spine. 

The front door creaks as I open it, making me cringe slightly at the loud sound. We step through the threshold, and immediately the cold dampness of the house envelopes us. 

“Lovely place.” Jacob says with a grin but I don’t glorify him with a response. Instead, I begin to ascend the ornate staircase that leads to the second floor. 

“You live here alone?” He asks, following behind me closely. 

“Yes. My grandmother died this past spring. We’re the only ones in the family left.” I tell him as we reach the top. 

“Hardly a place for a young woman to live alone.” 

I scoff at him, leading him down the winding hallways. It angers me the way he says it, as if he truly is concerned. As if he has not just threatened my life. 

“Why do you care?” I snark, stopping in front of the mahogany door that leads into my father’s study. I had not stepped foot into the place since his death all those years ago. 

“I don’t.” He says coldly. 

I nod once and push open the heavy door. 

Immediately, my nose is assaulted by the dust that floats through the air. Every surface is covered, and I fight the cough that tries to claw its way from my throat. I step forward and enter the room fully, holding the lantern up so I can see his old desk. It’s a massive thing – taking up a whole corner of the small study. It’s expensive, that I know – imported from somewhere overseas. I was never allowed to touch it as a child. I place the lantern onto it before jumping upwards to sit (enjoying the small bit of satisfaction that the action gives me, even though my father is not here to see me do it). 

Jacob rounds the corner of the desk, pulling the drawers open and beginning to rummage through. Little bits of his hair have fallen out from where he has it tied back, and the way they frame his face makes him seem softer somehow. 

“And what exactly are you looking for?” I ask him, sliding the lantern closer to the edge of the desk so that he can see better. 

“Directions.” He supplies, not looking up from his task. 

“To what?” 

He doesn’t answer. 

“Okay.” I sigh. “Why did my father have it?” 

Finally, Jacob stills his movements and looks up, appraising me silently. 

“He traded a lot of money for it. It took me a long time to track it down.” He finally answers, looking back downwards to continue his rummaging. “Your father was involved with some dangerous people.” 

“I wouldn’t know. I know nothing of my family.” 

It’s silent between us for a long moment, broken only by the sounds of him pulling open drawers and searching through papers. After what seems like forever, he finally throws his hands up in defeat. 

“God damn it!” He exclaims, and I startle. 

He falls into my father’s chair, chest heaving as his eyes frantically scan the desk. The desk is bare except for a few sheets of paper covered in my father’s lilting handwriting, an accounts notebook, and his reading glasses. The drawers have been completely searched through on both sides. 

“It’s not here.” He sighs, shoulders dropping as he places his head in his hands. A distant feeling of fear still thrums through my bloodstream, but I cannot help the sympathy that flows through me at the sight. He just looks so… sad. 

“I am sorry.” I tell him, and I am shocked to find that I mean it, somehow.

He looks upwards at the sound of my sincerity. His dark eyes have pooled with unshed tears that glisten in the light of the lantern and I am struck suddenly with the desire to reach out and touch him – to comfort him somehow. His pain seems to radiate from him, enveloping me in a blanket of misery. 

“It is what it is.” The sorrow in his voice causes a dull ache to thrum in my sternum. 

I glance around, desperately trying to find somewhere else that my father might have hidden something important. The walls are covered in old paintings – family members that I never met and don’t even know the names of. A bookcase sits off to the side, but it is empty. My grandmother had taken the books and placed them in the library downstairs years ago. There would be no way to know which ones had been kept here by my father before. The fireplace, filled with old, dusty ashes sits barren and cavernous. There is a cracked leather armchair in front of it and nothing else. I look upwards to the mantle, decorated only by a round mirror with gold accents and a framed painting of my mother. 

I pause. 

Grabbing the lantern, I rise and walk slowly over to the mantle. I grab the picture frame and bring it back to my father’s desk, noting the way that Jacob’s eyes track my every movement. Placing the lantern down, I turn the frame over and take the back off. The painting of my mother flutters out and lands on his desk, along with a yellowed, folded up stack of papers that had been tucked behind the picture. 

Jacob reaches forward, a slight tremble to his hand, and slides it towards him. I watch in rapt attention as he unfolds it and leans in closer to the lantern in order to read the first page. I watch as his expression falls from hopeful to defeated yet again. 

“It’s nonsense.” He says angrily, slamming it downwards onto the desk with a loud smack. “Utter nonsense.” 

I peer over at it, tilting my head and squinting to read it. My heart rate picks up as I scan the page, brain working tirelessly to try and remember the symbols and patterns. 

“It’s not nonsense. It’s in code.”

Jacob catches my gaze with wide eyes, lips slightly parted at my words. 

“Can you read it?” 

I nod. 

“With time.” I tell him, reaching out to grab them. “There’s a lot here and it's been a long time, but I think I could read it.”

“I don’t have a lot of time. I need to leave. By tonight.” He says, tone suddenly demanding as he stands abruptly. “You will translate it. Now.” 

I furrow my brows, holding the pages tight to my chest. 

“Well you’re going to have to make time. This is not something that can be done right away. If I read them.” 

Fast as lightning, Jacob places a palm in the middle of the desk and lunges across it, using his body weight to shove me backwards and slam my back into the wall. I keep the papers clutched tight to my chest, breath stuttering out as fear overtakes me once again. It’s like a flip was switched – the man standing in front of me now reduced to nothing but a wall of rage and aggression. He presses in close, breathing heavily as his hand reaches upwards to wrap around my throat. He doesn’t squeeze, but the threat is there, loud and clear.

“You will read it.” He orders, a growl deep in his throat. 

“Or what?” I goad him. “You can’t kill me.” 

He sighs. He knows I’m right. He moves his hand from my throat and I flinch away from him – afraid that he’s going to strike me. 

But he shocks me instead.

His rage is still palpable, and I can tell by the twitch of his fingers that he wants nothing more than to use physical force to get me to obey him, but the fight drains from his tense shoulders as he sinks to his knees at my feet, dark eyes staring up at me in the dim light of the lantern. 

“Please.” He whispers. 

I know immediately that I cannot deny him. It’s as if my very soul is calling out to him – drawn to him in a way that I cannot begin to understand. It feels like he was meant to find me here, alone in this terrible place – rotting away along with the walls around me. Whether by God or by Fate, he was meant to find me. His sorrow and anger radiate for him in waves, threatening to choke the air from my lungs. He needs this.

Somehow I know that he will not survive it should I deny him. My decision was made from the very moment I first locked eyes with him. I will help him in any way that I can. 

“I will help you. But I need time. It cannot be done quickly.” 

He nods, staying on his knees as if he’s too tired to rise. 

“I understand. But I must leave tonight. The thing that I am seeking… I have only a few weeks to reach it. If not, it will all be for naught.” 

His vagueness frustrates me to no end but I understand that I will receive no more from him tonight. 

“Do you know at least in which direction you must go from here?”

He nods. 

“Then you must take me with you. And I will do my best to translate it as we go. Is that acceptable to you?” 

He nods again solemnly, looking up at me from his place at my feet. 

“It is.”

:¨·.·¨:☾☆༺ 𓆩⚔︎𓆪 ༻☆☽:¨·.·¨:

Part 2

Mirror of the Damned taglist:

@jakeyt @joshym @sacredjake @carbondancingthroughtime @literal-dead-leaf @sinarainbows @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @aflame4goinghome @writingcold @ignite-my-fire @mysticalstarcatcher @brinlygvf @vanfleeter @chewbeka22 @starcatcherchords @char289

[doctorwhoandfairytaillover]

Storge

Summary: When one spoke of the Lannisters, the last thing that came to the mind of anyone was familial love.

A/N: I apologize to everyone still waiting on pt 5 of Loving Arms, a lot has been going on in my personal life and I only had the energy to finish this one up. Hopefully this sort of makes up for it.

It had been a long journey for the pair, almost 5 months since the day that Jaime’s younger sister had turned five and ten name days old. The longest journey that the young girl had ever experienced in her life, spending much of it behind the walls of the Red Keep.

Despite the opposition from Cersei and Tywin, King Robert had a grand celebration done to celebrate the girl as he held a fondness for his slightly strange and quiet sister by law. It should have been a time of merriment, but only a Lannister like Tywin could find a way to bring the mood down when he had both Jaime and (Y/N) brought to his study to tell them that he intended on marrying his youngest daughter to the Mountain, Gregor Clegane. 

Immediately both Jaime and (Y/N) were opposed to the idea of the girl marrying the man, it was an inconceivable thought. But there was little love from Tywin for his youngest daughter, born from a brief marriage, who only served as a reminder of being the wrong sex and cause of him losing another wife. It was a mere miracle that their pleading seemed to do anything and the Lannister patriarch agreed that if they could somehow convince the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell to agree to a match, then he would leave the girl be. 

As they ride towards Winterfell with the cold air biting at their faces, Jaime can't help but feel a sense of unease the closer they get to it. In his mind, he is already planning out how to make this proposal of having young Robb Stark and his younger sister marry, sound as appealing as possible to Ned Stark. The man has always been a man of honor, but his disdain for Lannisters runs deep. 

Jaime can't help but glance at his sister, her small frame huddled against the cold and heavily bundled with her cloak and furs. His protective instincts kick in, and he can't help but feel a pang of worry for her safety. There was a part of him that wished he had tried harder to have her stay behind, but another part of him knew that leaving her in the care of either of Cersei or his Father was out of the question. He figured it would be better to keep a closer eye on her as they approach Winterfell, his hand always ready to reach for his sword in case of danger and awareness that should she feel any colder, that he was sure that he had an additional cloak.

The snow begins to fall softly and (Y/N) looks up at the sky in childish wonder, so accustomed to the warm weather and heat, it wasn’t a surprise that she stopped her horse to stare. And Jaime can't help but smile at her awe, her expression filled with a wonder at seeing snow for the first time was one that he had missed. It filled him with regret that he had not been able to ensure that it was a constant for her and he watches her for a moment, the snowflakes catching in her hair and on her eyelashes.

"Pretty, isn't it?" he mutters, his voice affectionate.

“Very pretty!” she says as snowflakes fall on her hair.

He chuckles at her excitement, her childlike wonder making him smile. 

"Careful, sweetling. You'll get covered in snow and we don’t want to risk you falling ill,” he mutters, reaching out to brush some snowflakes from her hair.

“But it's so nice Jaime!” she giggles but ultimately listened to her brother and put up the hood of her cloak.

Jaime grins at her words, her laughter filling the air. It's refreshing to see her so happy, so carefree, despite the daunting task that awaits them at Winterfell.

"Just be careful not to catch a cold," he mutters, his tone affectionate as he watches her put up her hood. "We don't need you sniffling and sneezing all the way to Winterfell."

But as they draw closer to Winterfell, Jaime can feel his nerves starting to fray as the anxious thoughts swirl in his mind. He reaches down to grip the pommel of his sword, his heartbeat picking up speed. He glances at his sister, who is looking up at Winterfell with wide eyes.

"Almost there, sweetling. Just stick close to me, alright?"

She nods but her excitement doesn’t fade. 

Jaime leads her closer to the gates of Winterfell, his eyes sweeping the surrounding area for any sign of trouble as the horses trundle through. It is obvious to everyone that the Lannister siblings aren’t from there and the guards look at them with a mixture of suspicion and disdain, more so when they recognize the Lannister sigil on their cloaks. Jamie can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing as the guards call out for them to halt.

He reins in his horse as they approach the guards at the gate, his voice firm and commanding.

"We seek an audience with Lord Stark. Tell him Jaime Lannister wishes to speak with him."

One of the guards goes inside, and the remaining guard keeps a watchful eye on them, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Jaime tries to ignore the man's watchful gaze, his mind racing as he waits for Ned Stark's response. After some time had passes that felt like an eternity, the guard returns, a serious expression on his face.

"Lord Stark will see you," he says gruffly, his eyes flickering over Jaime and his sister.

The guard leads the way through the gates, and Jaime follows suite with his sister close behind him. The castle of Winterfell looms above them, its massive stones casting a massive shadow. The elder Lannister glances towards his sister, seeing the nervous look on her face and reaches back to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Do you think it’s warmer than it looks?” she asks.

Jaime can't help but chuckle at her question, the innocence in her voice making his heart ache. He glances up at the imposing structure of Winterfell, the stone walls and turrets seeming to reach up to the very clouds themselves.

"Trust me, sweetling. Nothing can keep out the cold in the North. It's as cold as a witch's teat in there."

Jaime can't help but smile at her giggle, her laughter like a balm against his nerves. 

“That’s not a proper joke to be making, Jaime” she laughs while trying to draw closer to her older brother.

"Just keep your cloak on tight, alright? We don't want you freezing to death before we even get inside."

She nods and tightens her cloak. Not far off they can see Ned Stark waiting for them. As they approach Lord Stark, Jaime can feel his heart hammering in his chest, the man's stern expression and steely gaze making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. His sister shrinks back a little, her small frame dwarfed beneath her cloak.

"Lord Stark," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "I appreciate you taking the time to see us."

Ned Stark nods at Jaime but looks at the girl curiously, “This is no place for such a young girl, why did you bring the little lion cub along?”

Jaime takes a deep breath, his mind racing as he tries to come up with a convincing explanation. He can feel his sister's small hand gripping his, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a sword.

"She insisted on coming, Stark,” he replies, trying to keep his voice calm. "She's... she's always had a stubborn streak. There was no talking her out of it."

The young girl jumps down from her horse before anyone can help her down and curtsies in front of Ned Stark, “It's very nice to meet you ser.”

Ned Stark glances down at her, his stern expression softening a little at the sight of her curtsy. He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes taking in her small form and wide eyes.

"And what is your name, child?" he asks, his voice gruff but not unkind.

“(Y/N), ser” she says softly.

Ned Stark raises an eyebrow at her response, clearly taken aback by the name. He glances at Jaime, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “(Y/N)? That’s quite a different name, isn’t it? Doesn’t sound very Lannister” he repeats, his voice tinged with curiosity now. 

Jaime nods, “Her mother wanted something different than the usual Lannister names”

Ned Stark's expression softens a little more at the mention of her late mother, his voice taking on a slightly warmer tone. "I see. And how old are you, Little Lioness?"

She brightens, “I had my five and tenth birthday not that long ago ser”

Ned Stark's eyebrows raise at her response, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Five and tenth? You're nearly a woman grown then, Little Lioness," he says, his voice slightly amused.

“Yes ser, and that's a little of why my brother and I are here.”

Ned Stark glances at Jamie, his expression becoming serious again. "Is that so?" he says, his voice tinged with curiosity. "What is it then that brings the two of you all the way to Winterfell?"

Before either of the siblings can respond, she lets out a small high pitched sneeze and sniffles. Ned Stark looks down at her, his expression softening at the sight of her sneezing and sniffling. He glances at Jaime, a knowing look in his eyes.

"It's cold out here, Little Lioness. Perhaps it's best we go inside and speak in the warmth."

“Yes, please!” she thanks.

Ned Stark nods and leads the way towards the entrance of Winterfell, the massive doors opening to let them in. The heat of the castle envelops them, and Jaime can feel his sister relaxing as the cold air is left behind. The Lord of Winterfell leads them into what must have been his private study, a fire burning in the massive fireplace. He gestures for them to take a seat at a table, and takes a seat across from them, his expression betraying nothing. The man says nothing as he watches Jaime pulls out a chair and helps his sister sit, his expression softening again at the gesture. He watches the two of them for a moment before speaking.

"So," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "What is it you wish to speak about?"

She looks nervously at her older brother and Jaime can feel the tension in the air, his sister's small form fidgeting nervously. He takes a deep breath, his mind racing as he tries to come up with the right words.

"We have a proposition to make, my lord," he says, his voice steady but his heart hammering in his chest.

Ned Stark leans back in his seat, his expression guarded. He folds his arms across his broad chest and regards them both with a serious gaze.

"Go on, then," he says gruffly.

Jaime takes another deep breath, his heart pounding in his ears as he knows there is no going back if they were to make their proposition. But with a glance at his sister, her eyes wide and nervous, and his protectiveness towards her only strengthens his resolve. He looks back at Ned Stark, bracing himself.

"We wish to propose a marriage."

An expression of surprise washes over Ned Stark, “For whom?”

Jaime swallows hard, his heart feeling like it's stuck in his throat. He knew this was the difficult part, the part that would decide it all. "For my sister," he says, his voice steady but firm. "With your son."

Ned Stark's expression darkens at the mention of his son, his eyes narrowing in suspicion and perhaps anger.

“With my son? Robb?”

Seeming to notice the man’s anger, (Y/N) interjects quietly, “Yes ser! But it was my idea, so please don't be angry with my brother.” 

Ned Stark's expression softens somewhat at her words, his stern gaze shifting to regard her instead of Jaime. "It was your idea, you say?" he says, his voice still gruff but lacking some of the anger it had before.

“Yes, ser. I heard Starks were honorable.”

Ned Stark's expression softens further at her words, his voice taking on a slight hint of warmth. He looks at her for a moment, his eyes taking in her small form and earnest expression.

"And what led you to this conclusion, Little Lioness?"

“Very little ser, all my knowledge comes from books of history and rumors,” she says, “I hoped that the stories were true.”

Ned Stark's expression softens even more at her honesty, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "You're a well-read young lady, it seems," he says, his voice carrying a hint of approval. "But what makes you think I would even consider this proposal, let alone to a Lannister?"

Jaime looks at his sister, and feels a pang of sympathy for her. Her wide eyes are pleading him to reassure her, and he can feel the weight of Ned Stark's gaze on him. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself to defend her proposal.

"Please, he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "Hear her out before you make a decision."

Ned Stark glances back and forth between them, his expression still stern but now tinged with a hint of curiosity. He leans back in his seat, signaling that he is willing to listen.

“Our houses have had animosity for a long time, but I know we could accomplish much together” she says with as much confidence as she can muster, “and I also have a slight selfish reason for this betrothal as well.” 

Ned Stark raises an eyebrow at her words, his expression betraying a hint of curiosity. He gestures for her to continue, clearly intrigued by her statement. 

She fidgets with her skirt and shrinks in her seat, “Um.... before we came here, my father hoped to marry me off to the Mountain.” 

Ned Stark's expression darkens immediately at her words, his eyes narrowing in anger.

"The Mountain? You mean Gregor Clegane?" he growls, disbelief and anger clear in his voice.

“Yes ser, to thank him for his service to our family.” 

Ned Stark's expression is now one of absolute disgust, his hands balled into fists of outrage."You cannot be serious," he snaps. "To betroth a young girl to a man like Clegane... it's monstrous."

“It's why I then suggested your son, I thought if he was raised by a man like you, perhaps I could find some happiness” she murmurs. “And my father said if you somehow accepted, then he would not intervene.”

Ned Stark's expression softens, his anger subsiding a little at the girl's words. He looks at her for a long moment, his eyes taking in her small form and now the hint of desperation in her voice. "You wish to escape a marriage with the Mountain, and see my son as a suitable alternative," he says, his voice quiet but still firm.

“Yes ser.”

Ned Stark considers her for a long moment, his expression betraying a hint of sympathy now. He glances at Jaime for a moment, clearly weighing the situation in his mind.

"I see," he says slowly. "You understand this is a very serious proposal, don't you? Do you understand what it would mean if I agreed?"

“If I said yes, I would be lying” she says. “One thing is reading about such things and it's another to truly do them.” 

Ned Stark nods, a hint of respect in his eyes. "I appreciate your honesty, Little Lioness," he says, his voice gruff but kind. "It takes a lot to admit such things, and it's a better quality than most people have."

He leans back in his seat, resting his chin on his fist as he contemplates the girl in front of him. He glances back and forth between the two Lannister siblings for a long moment, his mind clearly searching for a way forward. Finally, he speaks.

"I will give you an answer by the start of the new year," he says, his voice firm but not unkind. "In the meantime, you will be welcome here at Winterfell as my guests."

She lets out a small sigh of relief and looks to Jaime. 

Jaime feels a weight lift off his shoulders at Ned Stark's answer. He smiles back at his sister, feeling a surge of relief and gratitude to the Northern lord. "Thank you, Stark,” he says, his voice firm but honest. "We are most grateful for your hospitality."

“Thank you! thank you!” She says gratefully. 

The Lord of Winterfell nods at her, a slight smile flickering across his lips. "You're very welcome, Little Lioness," he says, his voice taking on a hint of gentleness. "But now, perhaps you should rest from your journey. You look quite exhausted."

But in that moment a knock comes at the door. All three of them turn their heads at the knock, and Jaime feels a flicker of curiosity.

"Who is it?" Lord Stark calls out.

“Father, may I come in?” calls out a voice belonging to a young man. 

Ned Stark looks at the door, a flicker of surprise across his face. He looks at Jaime and the girl for a moment before answering. "Come in," he calls out gruffly.

Jaime watches as none other than Robb Stark enters the room, his eyes taking in the Stark heir. The young man looks a lot like his father, with the same stern expression and strong stature, but of course must take some after his mother judging by the boy’s auburn curls.

Surprise is etched on Robb’s face, “Oh, I apologize Father. I had no idea that we had guests.”

Ned Stark shakes his head, a slight smile on his face at his son's trepidation. "No need to apologize, Robb," he says, his voice gruff but not unkind. "These are two of our guests from King's Landing, Ser Jaime Lannister and his sister, (Y/N).”

Robb's eyes widen in surprise at the mention of their names, his gaze flitting between Jaime and the girl. He glances at his father, a hundred questions clearly running through his mind.

Ned Stark gestures for his son to come closer, "Why did you need to talk to me, son?" he asks, his eyes watching Robb carefully.

“We can discuss it later,” he says, his gaze on the Lannister girl making her blush. 

Jaime notices right away as Robb's gaze has fixed on the girl, and he feels a flare of protectiveness towards her. He glances towards his sister, and notices the blush creeping into her cheeks under the Stark boy's gaze. Ned Stark notices the interaction between them as well, his eyes flicker between Robb and the girl for a moment. A slight smile tugs at the corner of his lips, but he remains silent, his gaze watchful.

“Hello, it's nice to meet you” Robb tells her as he offers a polite bow. 

The girl looks up as Robb speaks, a hint of nervousness in her eyes. She blushes deeper under his gaze, but manages to speak quietly. "It's nice to meet you too," she says, her voice soft and shy.

Jaime watches as they speak, his eyes flickering between them. He can sense the interest in Robb's gaze, and the shy reaction from his sister. His protective instincts flare up within him, but he holds his tongue for now.

“Could I perhaps escort you to supper?” Robb asks her.  

The girl looks up at Robb, surprise and excitement in her eyes. She turns to her older brother, clearly seeking his approval. Jaime would have preferred to escort her himself but nods slightly, silently giving his consent. He watches as she turns back to Robb, her voice still very slightly nervous.

"I... yes, I would like that," she says, a small smile on her lips.

Robb and the girl bow and curtsy respectively to the adults in the room then head towards the dining hall, arm in arm with bashful smiles on their faces.

Ned Stark watches as the two young people leave the room, his expression a mix of contemplation and slight amusement. He turns to Jaime, the slight smile still present on his face. "He's taken a shine to her, it seems," he notes, his voice gruff but not unkind.

“Yes,” Jaimes says. “I suppose that's a good thing.”

Ned Stark nods slowly, his eyes still contemplating the doorway where the youngsters had just exited. He turns back to Jaime, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Do you approve, Ser?" he asks, a hint of a challenge in his words.

“Of all of this?” 

“As my sister said before, if I'm honest, I don't know” Jaime says as he attempts to keep the worry from his tone. 

Ned Stark's expression softens slightly at Jaime's words, sensing the worry in his voice. He takes a deep breath and looks at him with a steady gaze.

"I understand your concerns," he says. "But I assure you, I would never allow your sister to be mistreated or unhappy. I have no love for your family, but she seems an innocent in all of this. And my son is a good, honorable man."

“I have no doubts that your son could come to love her, my sweet sister isn't hard to love,” Jaime says softly. “I just wish that I had more time.”

Ned Stark's expression falters at Jaime's words, the hint of a smile touching his lips. "Time is a luxury we don't always have in life," he says, his voice quieter now. "Sometimes we have to make the best decisions with the information and time we have. It's clear you care for your sister's happiness. But you also need to trust her, and in this instance my family. Do you think you can do that?"

“I have no choice but to do so,” Jaime says honestly. “She's been through much at the hands of family and I would hope this is better for her.”

Ned Stark nods slowly in understanding, his expression solemn but sympathetic. "I know you want what's best for her," he says, his voice carrying a hint of compassion. "And I assure you, I will do everything in my power to ensure she is treated fairly and with respect."

“Thank you.” He says sincerely, “Now, should we follow the youngsters and make sure they behave?”

Ned Stark lets out a soft chuckle at Jaime's words, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I think that would be wise," he says, standing up from his seat. "They are young and full of excitement, after all. Let us see how they are getting along."

Together, Ned Stark and Jaime exit the private study and walk towards the dining hall, their footsteps echoing in the corridor. They can hear the distant sound of laughter and chatter coming from the hall as they approach, indicating that the youngsters are already well into their supper. The two men step into the hall and are met with the sight of Robb and the girl sitting beside each other at one of the tables. They are deep in conversation, the girl occasionally laughing at something Robb says. They are clearly enjoying each other's company, their faces lit up with smiles. 

There is a slight dreamy look on Robb's face when the girl speaks and Jaime is quick to notice expression on the young Stark’s face as his sister speaks, a hint of surprise registering on his face. He watches the young couple for a few moments longer, a mixture of emotions warring within him. 

But in a brief moment, she notices her brother. “Jaime, Robb was just telling me of how his sword training is going.”

Jaime turns his attention to the young couple as the girl speaks, hiseyes flickering between them. He forces a faint smile onto his face, masking his internal conflict.

"Ah, yes," he says, a hint of forced cheerfulness in his voice. "I had my own share of sword training in my youth. I trust Robb is doing well?"

“Yes! In fact with more practice he could be as good as you” (Y/N) says with a bright smile.

Jaime raises an eyebrow at the compliment, a mixture of surprise and amusement crossing his face. "Is that so?" he says, a hint of a smile curling on his lips. "Quite a high praise, to be compared to a knight of the Kingsguard."

She blushes and smiles at Robb once more. While Robb doesn’t hesitate to grin back at the girl, clearly enjoying the attention. He casts a quick look at Jaime, a hint of respect in his eyes, before returning his gaze to the girl.

Ned clasps a hand on his son's shoulder, “You both seem to be getting along well.”

Robb looks up at his father, a hint of embarrassment on his face at being interrupted. "Yes, Father," he says, his voice slightly sheepish. "We were just discussing our love of swordplay."

Ned smiles at his son, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I see," he says. "And have you been able to impress the lady with your skills?"

Robb blushes, a hint of bashfulness creeping across his face. He glances at the girl before turning back to his father. "I've certainly been trying," he says, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. "She seems to be enjoying it, though."

She giggles shyly, while her brother can’t help but roll his eyes at the twitter patted boys attempts at smooth talking.

Ned chuckles softly at the reaction of the girl and her brother. He glances at Jaime, a knowing look in his eyes. "It seems the young lovebirds are getting along splendidly," he says, his voice laced with gentle teasing.

The two youngsters are all bashful smiles and clearly in the beginnings of perhaps something more.And Jaime watches the two youngsters for a moment longer, a slight smile on his face at their bashful reaction. He steals a glance at Ned, silently expressing his understanding and resignation to the situation.

Time passes by and as the new year approaches, Winterfell becomes alive with preparations for the celebrations. The atmosphere is one of excitement and anticipation, the snow falling outside adding a soft, magical touch to the castle. Ned Stark seems more lighthearted than usual, clearly anticipating the festivities to come. The evening of the New Year's Eve, the great hall of Winterfell is buzzing with activity. Servants hurry back and forth, ensuring everything is in order for the celebration that will soon begin. A sense of excitement and anticipation hangs in the air, making it almost electric. 

But for the Lannister siblings, their time in Winterfell had been a combination of a well deserved respite from their family and a mounting hope that their proposal would be accepted. The number of ravens that they had received from both Cersei and Tywin were far too many, and it only served to further increase their worry in the midst of their interactions with the Starks. As much as (Y/N) had enjoyed her time with Robb, speaking with Jon and the Stark children, and even interacting some with Catelyn and Ned, there was always that worry in her mind that it could all be pulled away should Lord Stark not agree to a marriage between her and Robb. While Jaime did his best to stall his sister and father for a response as best he could, because the last thing he wanted for his young sister carted off and married to a beast like Gregor Clegane. 

But they would soon know that particular evening if all of their effort would bear fruition. 

That evening Jaime helps his sister with her dress, adjusting it carefully. He casts a glance at the window, seeing the snow falling gently outside. The sound of chatter and laughter in the great hall can be faintly heard, adding to the atmosphere of festivity and celebration.

“Jaime?” 

He turns his attention to his sister as she speaks, noting the slight hesitation in her voice. "Yes, dear sister?" he says, his voice soft and patient.

“Do you think this is what it will be like, if Ned Stark accepts the betrothal?”

Jaime sighs slightly, his expression turning pensive as he considers her question. He runs a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with the answer. "It's hard to say, sweetling, he says after a moment. "Ned Stark is a man of honor and duty. I don't doubt he'll live up to his word and treat you well. But the north is a cold and hard place, and life here will be much different than you're used to in the south."

She blushes, “Robb has been very kind in the time that we have been here.”

Jaime nods, a hint of resignation in his expression. "Yes, Robb seems to be a good young man," he says. "He's clearly smitten with you, it seems."

“Jaime!” She says shyly, embarrassed with her brother’s teasing. 

Jaime can't help but let a slight smile slip across his face at his sister's bashful reaction. He reaches out to squeeze her shoulder gently. "It's alright, sweetling,” he says, his voice softening. "I'm just teasing you."

Her face scrunched a little in thought, “Would you be able to stay, even if I was to marry Robb?”

Jaime's expression turns serious at the question, his eyes meeting his sister's. He hesitates for a moment, clearly torn by the emotions the question brings up. "I... I can't say," he says after a moment. "My place is with the Kingsguard, as you know. I have taken vows to the King, and my duty to protect him comes first."

“Oh…” 

His heart sinks as he sees the disappointment on his sister's face. He reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice thick with sincere apology. "I understand if that's not the answer you wanted to hear."

“I would miss you,” she whispers. 

Jaime feels a pang of guilt at his sister's words, but he knows he cannot promise her a different future. He takes her hand in his, his fingers gently gripping hers. "I would miss you too," he says sincerely. "And I will always be here for you, no matter what. I promise you that."

“Even if I stay with Robb?” Her eyes wide and pleading.

Jaime nods, his expression firm but sincere. "Even if you stay with Robb," he says, his voice steady. "I promise to always be there for you, no matter what. You are my sister, and I will always love and protect you."

She smiles tearfully and hugs him tightly.Jaime hugs her back just as fiercely, his strong arms encircling her and holding her closely. He gently rests his chin on top of her head, his expression a mix of protectiveness and melancholy. He felt a little sentimental holding her in his arms, remembering a time when she used to fit in his hold, a small babe that sought him out even back then.

He closes his eyes for a moment, his grip on his sister tightening ever so slightly in a mixture of loving protectiveness and reluctant resignation. He struggles to reconcile his dual role as a Kingsguard and protector, and that of a brother who loves his sister dearly. He knows that she would be safe and taken care of with the Starks, but the thought of her being so far from him is bittersweet.

Finally, he draws back from the hug, his expression composed but betraying a hint of melancholy. "Come now, we should head to the feast," he says, his voice slightly rough. "We wouldn't want to be late to the celebration."

She twirls in her dress and smiles, “Do you think he will like it?” 

Jaime gives his sister a look that is part playful and part sincere. He runs his gaze over her figure, taking in the way the dress only serves to accentuate her beauty. "If he doesn't, he's a bigger fool than I thought," he says with a faint smirk.

She's bashful at his compliment, “Thank you Jaime, you're a really good brother”

Jaime's smirk softens into a fond smile at his sister’s kind words. He reaches out to pat her head gently, an affectionate gesture. "You're an irritating, yet lovable, little sister," he teases, his tone warm and affectionate. "Of course I'm going to be a good brother to you." He stands up and offers his arm to his sister. "Are you ready to join the celebration now?" he asks, his tone light but his eyes betraying the hint of melancholy that still lingers within him.

“Ready as I can be,” she says nervously. “But you will be with me, so I know that I will be okay.”

Jaime offers his sister a reassuring smile as he takes her arm. "I'll be here with you every step of the way," he says, his voice firm and comforting. "You won't be alone, I promise."

With that, the Lannister siblings make their way to the festivities where they can hear the music, laughter and more. Jaime leads his sister into the great hall, his steps confident and measured. The atmosphere inside the hall is one of gaiety and celebration, with musicians playing lively tunes, servants hurrying back and forth, and the sound of laughter and conversation filling the air. The elder of the siblings spots Ned Stark across the room and gives him a nod of greeting before turning his attention back to his sister. But her eyes are on Robb as he talks to his own brother, flustered as she looks to the younger Stark.

Jaime follows his sister's gaze and a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, amused by the sight. "Looks like someone has caught your eye, sister," he says, his voice laced with gentle teasing.

“When we arrived, I didn't think I would fall for him as quick as I did,” her gaze never moves “but I'm glad it was him.”

Jaime glances between his sister and Robb, his expression softening slightly as he sees the smitten look on her face. "He seems a good-natured enough lad," he says, a hint of approval in his voice. "And he clearly has eyes for you as well. I can tell by the way he looks at you."

As he says that Robb turns in their direction when Jon points in their direction, and the boy has an awe struck look.Jaime can't help but chuckle slightly as Robb looks in their direction, the young man's smitten expression clear on his face.

"See what I mean?" he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "He's utterly taken with you, sister. It's almost embarrassing to see."

She fidgets a little beside him, “Should I ask him to dance or wait until he asks me?”

Jaime considers the question for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "If I know anything about young men like Robb Stark, he's likely too bashful to gather up the courage to ask you to dance on his own," he says with a smirk. "So if you truly want to dance, you'll have to take the initiative and ask him yourself."

She looks unsure of herself and turns to him; seeing the uncertainty on his sister's face, Jaime gently takes the lead, guiding her through the crowd and towards where Robb Stark is standing. He gives her a reassuring smile and squeezes her arm gently, his tone reassuring.

"Don't be nervous," he murmurs to her. "You look beautiful, and he's clearly smitten with you. Just ask him to dance, and he will be too stunned to say no."

The brother and sister approach Robb and Jon. Jaime gives a nod to both of them in greeting, while his sister blushes faintly and averts her eyes, clearly a little timid. As the two of them stand there, Robb looks at her with a smitten, yet slightly abashed expression, his eyes drinking in her appearance.

“I... I apologize for the interruption Robb, but... would you like to dance?” She asks timidly.

Robb's face brightens at the question, a boyish smile on his lips. He glances at his brother for a moment before nodding eagerly. "I'd be honored to dance with you," he says, his voice slightly nervous but undeniably eager.

Jaime watches as his sister and Robb make their way to the dance floor, and as the two of them begin to dance, he watches his sister's expression, noting the way her eyes sparkle in the light and the way her cheeks flush with embarrassment and blossoming affection.

“They are quite the smitten pair, aren't they?” Ned Stark says catching the elder Lannister off guard and offering a glass of wine. 

Jaime takes the offered glass of wine, nodding in agreement as he glances at Robb and his sister on the dance floor. "Yes, they certainly are," he says, his tone a mixture of resigned acceptance and reluctant approval. 

He takes a sip of the wine, turning to face Ned Stark more directly. "You must be proud of your boy,” he says, his tone carefully neutral. "I know my sister is quite taken with Robb, and... he seems to care for her as well."

“I will be blunt Lannister,” says Ned. “When you're sister made the offer of a betrothal between the two of them, I wasn't sure what to think.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow at Ned Stark's bluntness, his demeanor calm but betraying a hint of wariness. He takes another sip of wine, his gaze steady as he regards the Lord of Winterfell. "I see," he says, his tone cool and guarded. "And why is that, if I may ask?"

“As she said, our houses have hated one another for so long. To think that in a single generation that could be mended, seemed unlikely and it still does.”

Jaime nods, understanding the sentiment behind Ned Stark's skepticism. He sets his wine glass down and laces his fingers together, his expression contemplative.

"I can understand your doubt," he says. "Our houses have a long and bloody history, and it's understandable that you would hesitate to consider an alliance between us."

The Lord of Winterfell looks at his son and Jaime’s sister as they dance, “But seeing these two, despite that animosity, growing to care for each other. I see hope.”

Jaime follows Ned Stark's gaze to the dance floor, where his sister and Robb are still dancing. The two of them are engaged in a seemingly effortless conversation, their eyes locked on each other and their faces flushed with affection.

As he watches them, that sense of resignation tugs at his heart once more, but he cannot deny the hope and potential that this pairing represents.

"Yes," he says, his tone soft. "I see what you mean. They do make quite a picture, don't they?"

He takes another drink of wine, his gaze lingering on his sister and Robb for a few moments more before turning back to Ned Stark.

"But you must also understand," he says, his tone laced with caution. "Our houses have always been enemies, and the shadow of our past will always linger. Even if our families are joined through marriage, it does not erase our history."

“No it does not,” says Ned. “But I believe these two will surprise all of us with what they could accomplish. Which is why I made my decision”

Jaime raises an eyebrow at Ned's words, his curiosity piqued. "And what decision is that, may I ask?" he inquires, his tone cautious.

“I accept betrothing your sister to my son Robb.”

Jaime is somewhat taken aback by Ned's straightforward declaration, his eyes widening fractionally as he processes the words. He hadn't expected the Lord of Winterfell to agree to the betrothal so readily. But a weight does lift from the Lannister’s shoulders that his sister wouldn’t have to return to a doomed marriage.

"I see," he says, his voice betraying a hint of surprise. "I must admit, I didn't expect you to accept so quickly." He leans forward slightly, peering at Ned Stark, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and curiosity. "May I ask what changed your mind?"

“Speaking with your sister and watching the interactions with my family made me realize. That surely if such a sweet and intelligent girl like that can come from your house, then there must be some good.”

Jaime is taken aback by Ned's words, a strange mixture of offense and understanding coursing through him. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before responding, his tone measured and guarded. "I... see," he says, his voice low. "You believe that my sister represents the good in our house. Is that what you're saying?"

“In sum, yes.” 

Jaime lets out a scoff, a mix of annoyance and resignation in his voice. "And I suppose you believe that I and the rest of my family represent the opposite, then? The bad in our house?"

“I believe that you and only you, represent what a man who loves his family enough will do, even setting aside his hate for another, just to see his sisters happiness” 

Jaime's expression softens at Ned's words, a small flicker of surprise in his eyes. He looks down at his hands, his thoughts swirling within him. 

After a moment, he speaks, his voice quieter than before. "You're right," he says grudgingly. "I would do anything for my sister, even set aside my hate. I suppose... that makes me less of a monster than you believe me to be."

“Not a monster Jaime, a flawed man like the rest of us because a monster would never have done what you have for that girl.” 

Jaime pauses at Ned's words, his jaw clenching slightly as he grapples with the mixed emotions coursing through him. For a moment, he looks like he's about to say something snarky in response, but instead, he lets out a mirthless chuckle.

"Flawed indeed," he mutters to himself. "You have no idea how flawed I am, Stark."

In that moment the elder Lannister glances up as his sister and Robb return to them, both of them breathing heavily and flushed with the exertion of dancing. He can see the happiness and excitement in his sister's eyes, and the adoration in Robb's gaze as he looks at her. He watches the two of them closely, his expression betraying some of his internal turmoil.

“I haven't had this much fun in a long time,” she says with excitement. “Are you enjoying yourself Jaime? Lord Stark?” 

Jaime glances at her, his expression still a bit guarded, but a small smile tugs at the corner of his lips at her excitement.

"I suppose I am," he replies, his tone light. "The festivities are... lively."

Ned Stark nods in agreement, a warm smile on his face as he regards both Jaime and his sister. “I am glad to hear you're enjoying yourself," he says, his voice warm. "It's been a long time since we've had such a joyous occasion here in Winterfell."

Jaime takes another sip of his wine, his gaze shifting between his sister and Robb, who are still standing side by side, their happiness almost palpable. "Indeed," he says, his tone dry. "It seems love is in the air tonight."

The youngsters glance at the other and laugh shyly, Jaime watches the interaction between the two. Ned Stark chuckles softly at the sight, his eyes crinkling in amusement.

"Ah, to be young and in love," he says, his voice laced with nostalgia. "It's truly a beautiful thing."

“Father?” Robb asks bashfully. “Did you come to an agreement with ser Jaime?” 

Jaime turns his gaze to Robb, his expression schooled into a cool neutrality. He glances at Ned Stark, who nods slightly before speaking.

"Yes, we have reached an agreement," Ned says, his tone matter-of-fact. "Your betrothal to his sister is approved."

The older Lannister sees as both his sister and Robb light up in joy, their happiness and excitement almost tangible in the air. He can't help but feel a bittersweet pang. Marriage is a serious matter, and he knows all too well the weight of responsibility that comes with it. But seeing the joy on his sister's face, he can't help but feel a hint of relief that she's found someone who loves her and cares for her.

“Then Lord Stark, may I have this next dance with you as my future father in law?” (Y/N) asks nervously.

Ned Stark chuckles at her request and nods graciously. "Of course, my dear," he says, offering her a hand. "It would be my honor to dance with the woman who will be my future daughter in law."

Jaime stands beside Robb, his gaze following his sister and Ned Stark as they begin to dance. He takes a sip of his wine, his expression contemplative as he glances at the young Stark man beside him.

“Ser Jaime?” The younger Stark says hesitantly.

Jaime turns his gaze to Robb, his expression faintly curious. “Yes, Stark?" he responds, his tone guarded yet curious.

“Um... I know you have already agreed with my father, but I was hoping to have your blessing to marry your sister.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow at the young Stark's request, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He studies the earnestness in Robb's expression for a moment, weighing his response. He lets out a small sigh, his expression stern yet contemplative.

"You care for her, don't you?" he asks, his tone not confrontational, but measured.

“Yes, I do. She's like the moon and stars, lighting up my world that I didn't realize was so dark before her.”

Jaime's expression softens slightly at Robb's words, a hint of understanding in his eyes. He studies the young Stark man for another moment before speaking, his voice lower now, more serious.

"And what assurance do I have that you won't hurt her? That you won't break her heart?"

“I don't have much, I can only give my word and this,” he holds out a dagger to Jaime.

Jaime's eyes flicker down to the dagger that Robb is holding out, his expression unreadable. He glances back up at the young Stark man, his gaze searching and intense.

"And what is this, Stark? Some sort of token of your dedication to my sister?"

“For you to use,” Robb says matter of fact. “If you ever think I have hurt her or broken her heart, use this on me. Because I won't deserve to breathe if that ever happens.”

Jaime's eyes widen slightly at Robb's words, his expression a mix of surprise and respect. He gazes at the dagger in Robb's hand, his mind contemplating the weight of the young man's words. He reaches out and takes the dagger, turning it over in his hand for a moment before speaking his voice solemn and measured.

"This is an unusual request, Stark," he says, his tone not hostile, but wary. "You're asking me to condemn you to death if you ever betray my sister."

“Yes,” Robb says with a shrug. “Because nothing could be worse than betraying her and it seems like a fitting punishment.”

Jaime studies Robb for a moment, his gaze appraising and contemplating. He can see the sincerity and determination in the young man's eyes, and can't help but feel a small amount of respect for the boy’s dedication to his sister.

"You're a foolish, idealistic young man," he mutters, his tone more resigned than scolding. "But perhaps there's honor in foolishness." He glances down at the dagger in his hand, then back up at Robb.

“So would you, give me your blessing? (Y/N) loves you dearly and sees you not just as her brother but a father as well, so nothing would make her happier than knowing you approve.”

Jaime let out a small sigh, his expression shifting from stern to contemplative. He studies Robb for a moment, the young man's words sinking into his thoughts.

"You speak as if you know my sister better than myself, Stark," he says, his tone a mix of surprise and grudging respect. "But I suppose... that's not entirely inaccurate." He pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering to his sister, who is still dancing with Ned Stark on the dance floor, her expression radiant with happiness.

“No, I could never think to know her more than you,” Robb says. “You have been her protector through the worst of her days, I could only hope to be half that kind of protector for her.”

Jaime nods slowly, his expression thoughtful as he regards Robb. He can see the genuine admiration and respect in the young man's eyes, and can't help but feel a grudging trust.

"You speak with a level of confidence that's both admirable and irritating," he mutters, his tone gruff yet contemplative. "You make me almost believe that you're sincere in your devotion to her."

“No man could ever be good enough for her,” Robb says with a shake of his head, “but I would like to try.”

Jaime lets out a small scoff, "You have a talent for flattery, Stark," he mutters, his tone dry yet somewhat softened. "You're almost making me want to like you."

Robb laughs, “I believe the day that happens, Kings Landing will have frozen over.”

Jaime smirks at Robb's words, his expression amused despite himself. He can't help but acknowledge the young man's humor and confidence. "Truly, a cold day in hell," he responds, his tone now slightly playful. "But let's not get too ahead of ourselves, Stark. Just because I don't loathe you doesn't mean I necessarily like you either."

He glances out towards the dance floor, his gaze finding his sister as she continues to dance with Lord Stark. He watches her with a mix of caution and protectiveness. "My sister is fiercely intelligent, and possesses a strong will," he says, his tone more serious now. "You'd do well to remember that."

The younger Stark nods and a comfortable silence settles between the two. 

Eventually the Lord Stark and (Y/N) return, both with jovial spirits. The younger Lannister reaches for her older brother’s hands. 

“Come on Jaime, I waited best for last” she giggles. “Dance with me!” 

Jaime lets himself be dragged by his younger sister, carefully leading her in a slow dance. “Here I thought that you would want to dance the night away with Robb,” he teases. “But you have only danced with the poor boy once.” 

“I will have many more chances to dance with him, Jaime” she laughs. “I just want to enjoy the time I still have with you. Does that suit you? Or would you rather have the evening with many of the beautiful ladies here?” 

“I am dancing with the most beautiful one tonight” Jaime says softly, “I think that there is no need to trouble anyone else.”

She smiles bashfully, “Thank you Jaime. For everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes Jaime, everything” she explains. “You were always there. You saw to my needs, you explained things I never understood, you were patient with my eccentricities. You fought for my happiness and have done so for the majority of my life. I know that I was sired by Tywin Lannister, but in my heart, it is you.” 

They stop in the middle of the crowd and she hugs him tightly, “My wonderful and loving older brother. It is you Jaime Lannister, that I see as a father, and I hope that you will do me the honor of giving me away.” 

A knot gets stuck in his throat as Jaime holds onto his younger sister, “There is nothing I would love more” he whispers quietly. 

He holds onto her tightly. 

Just as he tries to hold onto the memory just as much a year later, when he is given the news of what becomes of his sweet beloved sister and her husband in the Riverlands in the midst of the War of the Five Kings. 

[bellofthemeadow]

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Country Singer!Joel Miller x Female Reader

This is my entry for the 1k event found on @pedrostories

Trope: Forced Proximity

Masterlist

Rating: M for Mature (18 + no minors allowed)

Word Count: 12.7K (T.T Sorry )

Story Summary: Amidst a raging storm, an unexpected meeting thrusts you into forced proximity with former country sensation, Joel Miller, in the midst of an isolated nowhere. As the evening unfolds, filled with tension and vulnerability, both of you unveil the depths of your grief and heartaches. Through this shared journey of sorrow, an unanticipated bond forms, and maybe some light at the end of the storm.

Warning: Mentioned of death, TLOU canonical character death, mentioned of attempted suicide, depression, mental health struggle, referenced to cheating, angst, hurt and comfort, allusion of alcoholism, self hatred, smut, sexual intercourse, P in V, oral (female receiving), no protection, one night stand, age gap (late 20s/early 30s Reader with mid 40s Joel(No Minors Allowed! Thank you)

Notes: Hey everyone, I am taking a short break from my regular story to enter the 1K event on @pedrostories. What was supposed to be a short one shot, became an almost 13k word Behemoth! Although this is intended as a standalone, I found myself really liking the universe and the characters. If any of you would be interested to see more of the universe, I would be super open to making a second and a third part  😀 🤞 😀   

Let me know what you all think and if you'd like to see more of it and if you enjoy the story. I always love to hear what you all think!

Again, thank you to everybody, I love you all so much xxx Sending you all the love and support wherever you are ❤️ 

(SMUT BETWEEN **** SKIP IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT****)

Joel Miller sat hunched next to the large stone hearth, He carved a solemn figure in the corner of his secluded cabin. Far into the woods and away from the rest of the world, he had called this place his home for the past decade. Clutched in his hands was a photograph —a young girl, her long curly hair and dusky complexion frozen in a smile that still reached into his very soul and threaten to rip it out everything he looked at it. That smile, oh, how he longed to see it again, it had been his only wish for so long. Even for just minute, a mere second; he would gladly give his soul to have his life lighted by the smile of his babygirl just one last time.

With a gentle touch, Joel traced the delicate outline of his daughter, the girl whose absence had dug a profound whole in his heart. One that could never be mended again. It was ten years today, Joel thought bitterly. But still, he clung to her memory fiercely, fearing the gradual fading that time brings to everything. He dreaded the thought of losing the vividness with which he saw her now, a fear that gripped him tighter as the years moved forward. The details that once were clear as the early morning dew now seemed to slip through his fingers like grains of sand. The echo of her laughter, the title of the last book she held in her hands, the subtle nuances that made her unique—he struggled to grasp them, and this realization filled him with fear and hatred. What kind of father forgot about his babygirl?

Was her sneeze loud as his own, or was it a delicate sound, more like a sweet whisper? The uncertainty gnawed at him, a relentless reminder of the gaps in his mind. Why couldn't he rememeber? What if a day came when he could no longer conjure the contours of her sweet face or the mischievous curve of her teasing smile? The thought was unbearable, the guilt consuming him more each days.

Joel’d never considered himself an exemplary father, he grappled with the weight of regret for being too engrossed in his career to give his daughter a normal childhood. The rhythm of their lives was not marked by little league games and playdates with neighbours; instead, it was deafining with the roar of tour buses and the pungent scent of roadies, accompanied by the loud cheering of fans all over the country. Sarah’s life had always been unorthodox and it had been his fault—home tutoring replaced high school classrooms, the lessons fitting in the gaps between Nashville and Austin, where he recorded albums to give entertainment to the world. Something that, looking back, seemed futile and completely stupid. He would give all of his money, awards and recognition away just to hold his Sarah one more time.

When she died, he was stripped bare, nothing left inside the whole where his heart had once been. And Joel found himself adrift, the passion for his craft evaporating. How could he make music without the sound of a heart that once beat in harmony with his daughter's laughter? The will to create, the desire that once fueled his artistry, had lost its pulse. The prospect of touring, once thrilling and freeing, now seemed like an empty road stretching into oblivion. What purpose did it serve if Sarah was no longer there to illuminate the stage of his life? The exhilaration of performance, the applause that once gave him purpose—these fragments of success had become hollow, devoid of meaning.

It was not all bleak though, amidst the darkness of his existence, there were moments where the good outweighed the bad. Nights brought dreams of Sarah, where her presence was vibrant and tangible. In those dreams, she would look at him with that familiar smile, and for a fleeting instant, the chasm between what was dead and alive seemed to bridged together. Joel would see her as clear as day, sitting together in their old house, the echoes of their conversations resonating through is sleeping form. It seemed like hours would melt away as Joel and Sarah would delve into discussions about music and school sharing stories that held a fragile thread between past and present. But in the end, dawn would inevitably break, and reality would reassert its grip. Joel would inevitably wake up, the cabin steeped in an unsettling silence, his heart laden with the guilt and grief of her absence. Those dreams were his sanctuary, a bittersweet realm where he could briefly hold onto the warmth of what once was. But he couldn't live in dreams, and now even those moments that seemed to make life bearable were starting to wade in their appeal; they appear more cruel than kind as every mornings killed him a little more.

A resounding clap of thunder reverberated through the confines of the cabin. In its wake, a brilliant flash of lightning pierced the darkness. Joel sighed heavily and the raindrops began their relentless descent upon the cabin's roof and walls. It seems like the world outside mirrored his internal turmoil, the tempestuous weather a reflection of the storm within. 3652 days had slipped by a relentless procession of time. 87,648 hours of unbearable absence. Each passing moment stretched into an eternity, a cruel reminder of how long he had been without his cherished little girl.

Immersed in this ceaseless torrent of sorrow, he existed in a realm of suspended animation. Every action felt like a monumental effort, and the concept of simply being felt like an insurmountable challenge. The world around him had dimmed, muted by the overwhelming weight of his emotions. In this somber existence, even the simple act of drawing breath carried the weight of an arduous task. The colors had faded from his world, leaving behind a landscape of gray and desolation, mirroring the emptiness within.

His hand reached out, fingers closing around the cool neck of the whiskey bottle resting on the low table before him. A pang of bitter guilt tightened within him—he could almost hear his little Sarah's admonishment, disapproving of the choice he was about to make. She always hated the strong smell of liquor that would linger on his old leather jacket when they would go on tour.  His eyes drifted toward the shotgun that rested next to the door, his heart seized tightly within his chest. Maybe tonight he would do it, he thought. Maybe tonight he would free himself from the pain and the guilt of an existence without Sarah.

In the stillness of the cabin, Joel's voice trembled with pain and longing as he whispered, "To you, babygirl, I miss you so much."

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

Loud knocks echoed through the quiet cabin, making Joel freeze in his tracks. Raindrops kept beating in a frenzied rhythm on the roof, their clamour joining forces with the unexpected raps. Joel couldn’t remember the last time someone had knocked on his door. With how remote cabin the cabin was, there was hardly any visitors, ever. Only his brother Tommy and his old manager Tess knew about this place. Tess used to drop by every now and then, hoping he'd start working on a new album (which would never happened). But now she knew better than that.

With slow and deliberate movements, Joel set the bottle onto the table's worn surface, his movement unhurried as if not to disturb the tension that now hung in the air. His gaze swept the room, his gaze landing again on the shotgun near the entrance. He grabbed it and made his way to the entrance. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be a zealous fan who had somehow found his address. He really wasn’t in the mood tonight to re-enact Misery.

He swung the door open, his irritation peaking, prepared to confront whoever was bothering him on this day above all others.

"I don't know if ya capable of reading,", his voice dripping like venom, seeping with annoyance, "but in case ya missed it, there's a 'Private Property' sign right on the..."

You sat on the large leather couch, trying to make yourself as small as possible while your body shivered involuntarily as the chill from your drenched clothes seemed to seep into your very bones. You didn't want to be here. The man who opened the door for you certainly didn't want you here. But the violent storm outside had other ideas. The dirt paths of the forest had turned muddy and slippery and the force of the wind and rain had completely obscured your vision, there was no way you could have made it back to your car in those conditions. So when you had spotted the cabin as you were looking for shelter, you had almost cried in happiness. Now you weren't so sure as anxiety gripped you. You replayed the moments after the door swung open, revealing a stern looking man who eyed you with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. The hint of a shotgun nearby had done nothing but intensify your fear. For a second you had wanted to bolt from the place, but you had no other choice. In the end the man had let you in, simply introducing himself as Joel.

Clutching your arms around yourself in a futile attempt to generate warmth, you look around yourself at the interior of the cabin. Surveying your surroundings, the rustic charm of the living room did little to alleviate your anxious mind. The ambiance should have felt cozy, even romantic in any other circumstances, with the warm wooden decor and the crackling fireplace. But under the weight of your current predicaments, thoughts of roasting marshmellows and teasing kisses were at the back of your mind.

You were alone, drenched to the bone, in the company of a man you knew nothing about. Shit that was exactly how people died in horror movies. I am totally going to get myself killed, you despair frantically. They’ll find my body dismembered in a bunch of little pieces all over the forest, your mind supplied unhelpfully.

You tried to calm  yourself as best as you could, taking deep breath in an attempt to settle your mind. Frustated, you pulled out your phone. The meager 8% battery life and lack of data coverage was a sobering reminder of the shit you were in. If anything were to go awry, if this Joel turned out to be less than accommodating, you'd be stranded with no means of communication.

You had shared your plans for the day with your friend Chrissy mentionning how you were going to take the Broken Bow trails to. But even then, you two had been texting sporadically since you left DC so you were fully expecting her not to worry until several days had passed. Not ideals if you were to disapear without a trace. So, if Joel shifted from hospitable to hostile, no one would be none the wiser. And you would become forest fertilizer.

At this point, you were hoping that Joel would be more the flower and wine type instead of rope and chainsaws. Speak of the devil, the man appeared in the doorway, his large frame illuminated by a flash of lightning. In his arms, he was holding what you believed to be clothes "Got these for ya," he stated curtly, his gaze holding yours for a fleeting moment before he gestured vaguely toward the stairs. "Shower’s up those stairs. Go change and I’ll get some coffee on the stove. It'll warm ya up"

Your initial instinct was to decline, you began to stammer, only to be met with Joel stern gaze "I ain’t letting ya freeze to death in my livin’ room," He stated firmly his tone a command that quashed any protests. His words were spoken clearly, and he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. "Now go," he added, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Under the weight of his stern order, nervousness bubbled within you, mingling with a touch of gratitude. The contrast between his gruff demeanour and the kind gesture of care left you momentarily speechless. All you could do was nod, your voice silenced by his unspoken authority.

With a whispered "thank you," you accepted the bundle of clothes from his hands, your fingers brushing against his in a fleeting spark of connection. Without further words, you turned and hastened toward the staircase, his gaze lingering on your retreating form for a moment before he turned his attention to the kitchen where the coffee was. The stairs creaked under your hurried ascent, each step carrying you further away from the enigmatic man who had offered you shelter in this storm.

Twenty minutes slipped past quickly, after the hell of a day you'd just had, you felt like you were in heaven. The sensation of being washed clean, wrapped in warmth, and clad in what you swear were the coziest clothes you’d ever felt on your skin. A pair of well-worn gray sweatpants and a faded band shirt clung to you like a reassuring hug. You sighed contendly before meeting your own gaze in the bathroom mirror.

Looking back at yourself, you started to contemplate that you would soon have to venture downstairs to thank Joel. At the thought, a flutter of nervousness twirled in your stomach. The bathroom, with its locked door, felt safe, shielding you from the uncertainties of the rest of the night. Staying here, was tempting, at least until morning. Even if Joel had been nice so far, you didn’t know the guy from Adam. But in the end, you knew that you couldn’t just hold the guy’s bathroom hostage. Plus, practical needs called—you had to charge your phone, and the promise of warm coffee was hard to resist. Pushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear, you started to quietly make your way downstair. Praying to every Gods you knew that Joel was the good samaritan he seemed to be.

Returning to the living room, your gaze settled on Joel, perched on the same leather couch where you had sat earlier before he directed you to the shower. On the floor nearby lay some old rags, sopping wet with the water that had seeped in along with your drenched clothes.

Joel sat with a tensed back; his focus consumed by something he held in his hands. Tentative steps carried you closer, each one a whisper of uncertainty. Yet, despite your movements, the man remained oblivious, lost in whatever held his attention.

You approached with trepidation, your heartbeat quickening in the otherwise silent room. Your eyes flicked to the object in his hands, curiosity mingling with your apprehension. Peering over his shoulder, your breath caught as your gaze locked onto the image, he was engrossed in. A young girl, staring back at you with a bright, innocent smile that seemed to transcend even the still image of the photograph.

The room seemed to hold its breath, a moment suspended between your gaze and the photograph. "She's really pretty," you ventured softly, your voice a hesitant thread. Joel's response was sharp, almost as if you had slapped him. "... she was," his words carried a weight that hung between you both, heavy with a bittersweet melancholy. As your heart clenched at his words, understanding washing over you like a cold shower.

An awkwardness settled in the air, thickening the silence. You felt the pulse of your heart, its rhythm echoing the sense of disquiet that now swirled around you. Meeting his gaze, you found yourself lost in the depths of his sad brown eyes.

Summoning your courage, you utter "Thank you again for saving my skin out there," your words wavered slightly, betraying your uneasy timidity. "I put my wet clothes on the rack in the bathroom to dry. Hopefully, they'll be alright by morning, and I'll be out of your hair as soon as possible." The words tumbled out in a rush.

Joel's gaze remained on you, as if he was studying you intently, trying to unravel something beneath the surface. His response was measured, his voice carrying a southern twang "... 'tis no problem," he conceded after a beat. "Coffee should be ready," he added.

You nodded and followed in the wake of Joel's towering form. Along one wall, your eyes landed on an acoustic guitar that with the dust covering it, seemed to have remained untouched for a while. Intrigued, you couldn't help but point at it as Joel poured the rich black liquid into your mug. "You play?"

The response was understated, but you could tell there was more to say to this story. "... used to."

You took the hint, choosing not to pry further. At the very least, Joel didn't strike you as the stuff of horror movies; in fact, there was something about him that felt invitingly genuine. A warm and gentle gruffness that seemed lost in this day and age. As he poured coffee into your mug, your gaze wandered over him, observing the details that your earlier unease had masked.

Joel, in his rugged masculinity, demanded attention by his very presence. His size and broadness were emphasized by the worn flannel he wore, his biceps and shoulders hinting at strength beneath. Shaggy brown hair carried threads of white, suggesting a long life lived. You guessed he must be in his mid-40s. As he extended the cup toward you, his face once again came into view, and you couldn't help but acknowledge the magnetic allure he commanded.

But there was a sadness etched into those handsome features, an undertone that tugged at your curious nature. Your earlier observation seemed validated by his demeanour—tired and burdened. His reaction to the photograph had been a cryptic puzzle piece that hinted at a story you could only begin to piece together. Silently, you returned to the living room, the space that now felt familiar in its strangeness. As you both settled back down on the couch, Joel offered a comfortable-looking blanket, a gesture that warmed you in more ways than one. "Here, it's cold."

His soft gaze met yours, accompanied by a tentative smile. You felt yourself burned under his gaze, a response to the genuine kindness he radiated. Accepting the blanket, you cocooned yourself within its folds, savouring the moment with this stranger with a larger heart than most of your old friends.

A comfortable silence enveloped the room, your shared presence settling into a serene rhythm as you both sip your coffee. Then, Joel's voice cut through the quiet, breaking the spell. "I put your phone on the charge. I hoped it's okay."

The unexpected statement jolted you slightly, and you responded quickly, "Yeah, it's alright. Thank you so much." Your gratitude was met with silence from Joel.

His hand reached for a bottle of whiskey positioned beside the photograph you had noticed earlier "You mind?" he inquired, and without words, you extended your mug, a silent affirmation that brought a warm laugh from Joel. The sound resonated in the room, carrying a hint of teasing as he added a splash of whiskey to your coffee before topping his own. You found yourself loving the way he sounded when he laughed.

Your lips curved into a wry smile as you voiced the irony that hovered between you. "I know I shouldn't, a girl all alone in a cabin with a strange man who gets drunk on whiskey, its literally the beginning of a horror movie." Your words carried a touch of dry self-awareness. "But at this point, I guess that if you wanted to cut me up and dump me in your backyard, you would've done it already."

Joel's response was immediate, his words laced with dry amusement. "Not really my style. Too messy."

You met his words with a dry look, "That's good to know," the exchange drew the first genuine smile from Joel.

"So, what's your story? Why're ya in the woods in the middle of the night?" Your reaction was a scoff, a playfulness smirk edging on your face.  

"I mean, it's 9 pm. Hardly the middle of the night." However, your attempt to downplay the situation was met with an unimpressed eyebrow raise from Joel. He kept on looking at you, as he sipped his spiced coffee, a silent challenge written in his eyes. You wiggled under his stare feeling bare and open, your most secret parts expose for Joel's eyes to explore.

One part of your brain insisted that you shut up, keep the conversation brief, feign a headache, and retire for the night. However, another part of your mind encouraged you to confide in him, to share the minutiae of pain and heartache that you had carefully concealed since leaving DC. It urged you to unseal the chest you had locked away and pour out its contents – the essence of your soul – at his feet.The thought crossed your mind that Joel likely didn't receive many visitors in this cabin in the middle of nowhere, if any at all.

Leaning into the quiet intimacy of the moment, you found yourself opening up to him, allowing the words to flow from you like the torrential rain falling outside. "Well, I was a project manager back in DC, worked that job for about four years after college," you began. Memories of your time in the office flitted through your mind, remembering the long hours that stretched long into the night and the thankless faces you would see everyday.

You continued, "There had been some layoffs happening, but my boss told me I'd be fine." Your voice carried a tinge of bitterness, a lingering taste of disappointment. "Turns out I wasn't fine. She called me into the office last month, told me to pack my things, and said security would escort me off the premises." The raw frustration in your words was still palpable, "Like I was a fucking criminal!"

The expletive slipped from your lips, your emotions laid bare, you met Joel's gaze but he simply shook his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Like he was feeling the same emotions as you, like he was angry on your behalf. He then opened his mouth in a low whistle steeped in your shared indignation. "What a bitch," he declared emphatically.

A wry smile touched your lips as you continued, recounting the details of that shitty day that had changed everything for you.  "And that's not all," you added, "So, I'm hysterical, you know? I just lost my job and all." You took a deep breath, "I call my boyfriend, but no answer. I figure he's busy. It's the middle of the day, so I think nothing of it. So, I get to our apartment. I open the door, and there's clothes all over the place, like a goddam hurricane happened. And then, I hear that bastard going at it in the bedroom." A groan escaped you, still pained at what you had found that day.

Joel said nothing but extended the bottle to you, an unspoken gesture. You grabbed the bottle, the whiskey warmed your throat as you took a hearty sip, to settle your nerves and your heart.

All the while, Joel remained silent, his presence a steady anchor, "So yeah, he was screaming, she was screaming, and I was screaming," memory seemed distant, a scene from another life, like you were watching a movie "I was so angry. I could have throttled them." The bitterness was palpable in your words, "But in the end, the apartment was under his name, because I had moved into his place, and we hadn't renewed the lease yet."

So that was it, loss layered upon loss until even the space you had called home was stripped away. "So, he basically told me to pack up my shit and leave. Which mind you, I was more than happy to." you added.

 But then, you got quiet, That night, I found myself in a McDonald's drive-through, and it struck me that within a single day, I had lost my job, my boyfriend, and my apartment," your voice softened as you recollected everything that had gone wrong so quickly. "So, I made the choice to leave DC, to escape the city," you went on, "I suppose I was hoping to discover what direction I truly wanted my life to take."

"And now you're here," Joel supplied.

"And now I am here," you echoed.

Joel's hand reached out, his touch a silent comfort on your arm, skin raising under his touch as if he was setting it on fire. His voice was gentle as he spoke, his empathy evident. "'M sorry 'tis happened to ya sweetheart, it ain't right."

You felt yourself clench at the endearing word, a small timid smile tugged at your lips, "Yeah, that's life though," you replied, "Sometimes it hits you, and there's nothing you can do about it, My mom told me once that it's not about how many times you fall down, it's about how many times you can get back up. And even though all that's happened hurt like hell, I won't let that define who I am."

Joel's gaze bore into you, “You ‘ma seems like a smart woman.”

You smile a bit at his words, “She is, you'd like her. She isn’t the type to appear on people’s porches in the middle of the night.” You joke.

“Thought it was jus’ 9 pm?” Now you let out a loud guffaw, “Joel are you teasing me?” Your only answer was a sign of Joel’s hand motioning toward the bottle that you still held in your hands. You handed it over, watching as he took a hearty sip himself, copying your earlier movement.

"Her name was Sarah," Joel's voice was heavy as he uttered those simple words.

You watched him closely as he gestured towards the photograph with the smiling girl "She was my little girl," his voice trembled. "And I loved her more than anything in the world."

You let him continued at his pace, not wanting to spook the man "Raised her m'self, her mom didn't want nothin' to do with us," his words held a touch of resignation and a whole lot of bitterness. "She was the only light in my life." The pain in his voice was palpable.

His voice faltered, moved by the vulnerability he was showing you, you shifted closer, a gesture of comfort that mirrored the earlier touch he had offered you. Placing your hand on his knee, you offered a gentle squeeze, to reassure him of your presence and understanding.

Joel took a deep breath, "When she 'as just a baby, I was workin' construction, but it didn't pay much," he began, "So in the evenin', I would go to the bar and sing and play guitar. There I met Tess; she loved my sound and soon enough she became my agent. Next thing ya kno', Sarah and I 're in Nashville, and I'm recordin' music full time." you interjected raising your eyebrow with curiosity. "So, the guitar..."

He nodded, his expression softening as he continued. "Yeah, from when I was makin' music. Was a pretty big deal for a while."

"So, I would have heard of you?" you asked, your tone light earning a light scoff from Joel as he shook his head, a rueful smile gracing his lips. "Unless ya into country, I don’t think so."

You offered an apologetic smile, "Can’t say I’ve listened to much.”

His response was warm, reassuring. "It's okay." Joel continued, " Sarah and I did it for a while. The lifestyle. I would make music, tour, but she was always there with me. It was a lot of hours, and she was homeschooled so she could stay with me." His voice wavered, his gaze distant as he spoke, lost in the memories. "But we were happy. For a while anyway."

At his words, you tightened your grip on his knee, "One night, we had a big fight," Joel's voice carried a heavy ton. “Sarah, she was upset. Wanted a normal high school life, friends her age. But I was gearing up for a tour and we’d be on the road for at least six months. She wasn't having it. Said she'd rather stay with my brother, Tommy than go on another tour with me."

"I tried to make her feel better, promised her we’d have fun, that she could meet people her age at the hotels we’d be staying at" he continued, his voice filled with regret. "Told her this tour would be the last, that we'd settle down after that, somewhere quiet in the middle of nowhere.” His breath itched as he struggled to keep his voice steady, “And I promised I'd stop making music. But she didn't want to hear none of it." His voice quivered, "She told me she hated me." You winced at his words.

"I got angry and said things I shouldn't have," Joel's voice cracked, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Called her a brat." He sounded haunted by those words, like he wished he could take them back even after all those years.

His hands covered his face as he let his emotions and his tears flow freely for what seemed like the first time in a long while. Without thinking, you reached out, holding his hands to offer comfort and support as Joel continued, “So, I told one of my tech guys to take her back to the hotel, needed to get focused for the show. Next thing I know, I'm halfway through my set and I get a call. Sarah's in the hospital, the car got smashed by some drunk driver. I bailed the second I heard, but when I got to the hospital, she was already gone. My little girl died alone, and she thought I hated her. The last words I said to her was how much of a brat she was." Seeing him crumble before your eyes was heartbreaking. Tears flowed down his face as he clutched his head in his hands. Instinctively, you reached for him, gripping him firmly, pulling him close to you. Your arms wrapped around him tightly, holding him to convey that he wasn't alone, at least not tonight. "Let it out," your voice was a gentle murmur, encouraging him to release the pain and the sadness that had been locked inside for so long. "You're safe, Joel. It's alright, I'm here.”

And he did let go. Sobs racked his body as his emotions poured out like rain from the storm-clouds outside. You held onto him, providing a safe place for him to pour his grief into. Time seemed to blur as you clung to each other, your touch offering kindness in the face of his pain. Your fingers traced soothing patterns on his back, your whispered words a soothing lullaby, as you tried to ease his sorrow, even if just for this fleeting moment.

After what seemed like an eternity, Joel's sobs began to fade into quiet sniffles, and then, gradually, into the gentle rhythm of sleep. His exhausted body had finally surrendered to the emotional storm he had weathered. You held him tightly, letting him fall asleep in your arms, so he could rest.

Your gaze shifted to the photograph on the table, Sarah's smiling face looking back at you. With a soft tone, you whispered to the sleeping man before you, your words a tender balm to the wounds of his heart. "I might not have known her," your voice barely more than a breath, "but I can see the love between you two. In her eyes, in that smile." Your voice carried a quiet conviction as if you were reassuring both him and her. Leaning in, you placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Rest now, Joel. You're not alone."

Unbeknownst to you, as sleep began to claim him, Joel was in that liminal space between wakefulness and sleep. Your words, like a soothing melody, reached him in his half-conscious state. His heart ached at your kindness, the unexpected solace you had brought him. His emotions swirled, a mix of sadness and gratitude, as your presence provided a momentary respite from the perpetual pain. For the first time since Sarah’s death, Joel fell asleep warm and comforted.

The harsh sound of rain pounding on the cabin's roof roused you from your uneasy sleep. Your neck and back protested, bearing the marks of an uncomfortable night spent on the small couch you had shared with Joel. You shifted, trying to find relief from the awkward position you had contorted yourself into. The darkness of the cabin wrapped around you, the only sound apart from the rain was the rhythm of your own breath.

You felt Joel’s absence from beside you, his warmth now gone. He had managed to slip away without disturbing your slumber, a feat that puzzled you considering his imposing presence. The darkness outside the windows hinted at the early hours, perhaps around 2 or 3 in the morning. You peered around the room, but the limited light prevented you from seeing much beyond vague shapes and shadows. The night seemed to have its own weight, as if time itself held its breath in the midst of the storm.

"Are y’awake?" Joel's voice cut through the darkness, startling you into a sudden yelp.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle ya," his voice held an apologetic note as he stepped into view, a flashlight casting a soft, warm glow around the room. "Lost power sometime in the night, didn't wanna wake ya. Seemed like you needed the rest." He settled at the far end of the couch, a few inches from your feet.

"Joel…" your voice was hushed, a mixture of emotions swirling within you.

"It was ten years last night," he continued, his voice carrying the weight of years of grief. "Ten years ssince my babygirl died." His words hung in the air, heavy and poignant.

"I've always felt so alone," his voice trembled, "like there was no way out, like I was as good as gone. For so long, I've told myself that I should've been the one to go instead of her." His words struck a deep chord, and tears welled in your eyes.

"Still think I should've, it ain't right for kids to die before their folks" he whispered angrily, the pain evident in his voice. "But Sarah… she was like an angel, always takin’ care of me. And on the night when I'm considerin’ takin’ that shotgun and finally goin’ to see her… you show up." His gaze met yours, his expression confused. You saw pain, sadness, anger but there was tenderness and hope etched deep wihtin in his eyes. Joel ran a hand through his hair frantically.

"It's like my Sarah is still lookin’ out for me," he continued, "Like she knew what I was plannin’, and she sent me another angel to be with me."

A warmth spread within you, blooming deep inside of you at his words. With a slow motion, you pushed the covers aside, the cold air prickling your skin as you cautiously maneuvered over the short expanse of the couch until you were close to Joel. The room was dimly illuminated by the soft golden glow of the flashlight, casting shadows that danced around you both.

In the velvety cocoon of the hushed darkness, an unspoken desire bloomed between you. You moved with a subtle grace, straddling his wide hips, your gazes locking in the dim, intimate light. The air seemed to crackle with a newfound tension as you whispered his name, a gentle invitation laden with longing.

Joel's hands moved instinctively to your hips, his touch both gentle and possessive, grounding you in him. "Yes, my angel?" his voice held a soft edge of anticipation, a promise hanging in the air.

****You leaned in, your lips finding his in a dance that transcended words. The kiss was a slow, intoxicating melding of souls, a harmony of sensations and emotions that seemed to surge through every nerve in your bodies. Joel's lips were warm and inviting, their touch conveying a mix of urgency and tenderness that ignited a spark within you.

Your fingers cradled the back of his head, tangling in the strands of his hair as you deepened the kiss. A low, throaty moan escaped him as he yielded to the sensation, his response igniting a fire of desire within you. The taste of his lips, the press of his body against yours, it all felt like a perfect symphony of your two body.

As the kiss broke, Joel's whispered words mingled with the soft hum of the storm outside. "Are you sure?" he asked a thread of concern woven into his tone.

A smile touched your lips, a mix of assurance and desire. "Never been surer in my life, cowboy."

His smile in response was like a sunrise, warmth and light flooding the room. Rising from the couch, he held you in his strong arms, your laughter echoing as he started to ascend the stairs with you in his embrace. The world outside was forgotten, eclipsed by this moment. Eclipsed by Joel holding you close.

As you reached what you assumed was Joel's bedroom, a surge of anticipation and desire compelled you to draw him into another fervent kiss. The soft laughter that escaped him was a melody that danced against your lips, and you responded with a mixture of eagerness and playfulness.

Joel's touch was both electrifying and gentle, he swatted your bottom teasingly, his voice a breathless whisper against your lips, "Patience, angel."

His words sent shivers down your spine, mingling with the electric tension that enveloped you both. The room seemed to shrink around you as desire flared, intertwining your fates in a web of longing and need. With a mixture of restraint and yearning, you allowed the dance between you to continue, each moment a step closer to surrendering to the consuming passion that had ignited between you.

With a gentleness that belied his strength, Joel guided you onto the large bed. Your senses were alight, every detail heightened as if the world had shifted into sharper focus. The bedding beneath you cradled your form, its softness embracing you like a lover's touch. The air around you carried a faint chill, a stark contrast to the heat that seemed to radiate from the space between you and Joel.

But it was his gaze that held you captive, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that set your heart racing. In his gaze, you saw a constellation of emotions, desire mingling with a hint of vulnerability, each flicker a testament to the depth of connection you shared. Time seemed to slow, the storm outside merely a distant echo as you were immersed in this moment, this charged space where nothing else mattered except the unspoken language of longing that passed between you. The room felt small, a universe confined to the expanse of the bed where you lay,

 And the dance began—a sensual rhythm that both of you instinctively understood. Joel's hands, firm and determined, reached for the fabric of your shirt, his fingers curling around the material before he tugged it away from your body. The garment was discarded to the side of the room, forgotten. A smirk graced his lips, his eyes alight with a mixture of desire and amusement.

"That was an old shirt from my '01 tour in California," he confessed playfully. "Seeing you wear something of mine stirs up all sorts of feelings, angel."

A breathless laugh escaped you, a mix of nerves and excitement intertwining in the sound. Joel's mouth descended with practiced skill, capturing your right nipple in a delicate play of sensations. His lips and tongue orchestrated a dance, alternating between gentle kisses and teasing tugs, coaxing your body to respond. Your nipple responded to his attentions, standing taut against the flicker of his tongue. His warm breath brushed against your skin, sending a shiver of anticipation coursing through you, a stark contrast to the cool air that surrounded you.

The torturous symphony of sensations migrated to your other nipple, the alternating rhythm of pleasure and tease sending shockwaves of need radiating from your core. Unable to contain your yearning, you whispered a plea, your voice a hushed prayer. "Please, Joel..."

His response was a gentle murmur, a tantalizing question. "Tell me what you want, angel."

A rush of arousal and aching need surged through you, and you implored him with a breathless urgency, your words carrying a plea for more. "More, please..."

Amusement danced in his eyes as he pushed you further, his own desire and anticipation evident in the way he held you, in the way he looked at you. "You're gonna have to be more precise than that, angel," he coaxed, his voice a seductive melody that echoed between you.

You suddenly grabbed Joel’s head and directed him towards your aching core, “Touch me here please Joel, I can't.”

“Whatever my angel desires.” And he bends his head down wrenching a scream of delight from your lips as he started lapping at your core with enthusiastic desire. You had never felt anything like this before, previous lovers have always been less than enthusiastic at performing this particular act, but it seemed like Joel reveled in making you squirm and he was trying his best to elicit as many breathless moans from you. And you were more than happy to oblige him. He started alternating between lapping at your clit teasingly and rubbing his fingers alongside your slit, all the while murmuring cooing words into your core “my beautiful angels, you are so good to me.”

With a surge of boldness, your hand darted out to grasp Joel's head, your fingers threading through his hair as you guided him to the source of your aching desire. A plea tumbled from your lips, raw and unrestrained, "Touch me here, please, Joel. I can't wait any longer."

A playful smirk danced across his lips, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of fulfilling your desires. "Whatever my angel desires," he responded, his voice a seductive promise. Bending his head with deliberate intent, he set forth on a way that was sure to send you in  a primal surge of ecstasy.

A passionate cry of delight erupted from your lips as Joel's skilled tongue found its mark, dancing across your sensitive core with an enthusiasm that set your senses ablaze. This was an experience like no other, a stark departure from previous lovers where enthusiasm had been scarce. With Joel, it was different—he revelled in your pleasure, his fervent devotion evident in every movement.

His lips and tongue worked in tandem, alternating between tender lapping and teasingly rhythmic motions that sent electric jolts of pleasure coursing through you. His fingers joined in the sensual symphony, tracing delicate patterns alongside your slick folds, igniting fires of sensation wherever they ventured.

Amidst the heady sensations, Joel's voice reached your ears, a sweet and enticing serenade that whispered cooing words directly to your core. "My beautiful angel, you are so good to me," he murmured, his words like molten honey, dripping with adoration and lust.

Your moans and gasps crescendoed into a symphony of pleasure, each sounds a testament to the waves of ecstasy coursing through your body. As if guided by the melody of your desire, Joel responded with a calculated touch, slipping a finger inside you. A powerful scream of pleasure erupted from your lips, the sensation of his digit plunging deep within you electrifying your senses and igniting a fierce yearning.

"Oh my God, Joel, please!" Your words tumbled out in a jumble of incoherence, driven by an insatiable need that clouded your thoughts. The urgency in your voice spoke volumes, even if the words themselves were fragmented. You needed more, you craved more, but your mind was too consumed by the sensations to formulate coherent sentences.

Joel pressed on with his skilled ministrations. He gauged your need, asking, "You want more? You think you can take one more?" Your head bobbed in a fervent affirmation, your eyes filled with a mixture of longing and anticipation. Without hesitation, he introduced a second finger, and your body reacted with a surge of pleasure mixed with a hint of discomfort—a delicious sensation that heightened your desire.

Closing your eyes to savor the pleasure coursing through you, you felt Joel's fingers expertly moving within you. The sensation of them crossing and spreading you wide sent intoxicating shivers down your spine, a tantalizing preview of what was to come. His mouth remained devoted to your neglected clit, lavishing it with attentions that drove you wild.

"I've got to prepare you real good, angel," Joel breathed, his voice husky with need. "You've got to be spread wide to take all of me. I ain't like one of those DC boys you’re used to." His words, a potent mix of promise and possession, sent a thrill through you. "Yes, yes, yes, Joel," you pleaded, your voice aching with desire. "Spread me, make me ready for you."

A knowing smirk curved Joel's lips as he introduced a third finger, a hint of pain deliciously mingling with the intense pleasure, intensifying the sensations that rocked your body. "So good, angel," he moaned breathlessly. “Joel, I’m gonna…” “Yes, come for me, angel. Please come for me right now!" His encouragement was all it took, and you shattered into euphoria like never before. Explosions of white dusted your vision as you felt yourself gush around Joel’s fingers, which continued their relentless rhythm inside you. Your body tensed and then went limp, as if weightless.

When you opened your eyes again, Joel's gaze met yours. He was lapping at his fingers with an obscenely indulgent expression, making your body tingle with renewed desire. "You taste delicious, like the sweetest honey," he purred. A groan of need escaped your lips as you reached for him, your hands eager to explore. "Please, Joel."

"Do you want me, Angel? Do you want me to take care of you?" he asked, his voice a seductive blend of desire and tenderness. You nodded, and as Joel started to take off his shirt he suddenly stopped in his track “Fuck, I don’t have condoms.” He brought his hands to his face in a movement of frustration.

 A soft smile graced your lips as you moved closer to him, your face now level with his taunt stomach. With gentle reverence, you pressed a soft kiss against his skin, just above his waistband.

"If you trust me, Joel," you began softly, “I got tested after I found out Bryan was cheating, and everything came back clear." Your words hung between the two of you as Joel realized what you were offering.

Joel's reaction was swift and intense. His hand gripped your jaw firmly, his eyes ablaze with a mixture of protectiveness and possessiveness. "Don’t say that piece of shit's name when you're in my bed, angel," he growled, his voice laced with a raw edge. The shiver that ran down your spine was both a thrill and a reminder of his complex emotions.

"Come here," Joel commanded his voice a blend of authority and strength. Eager to comply, you shifted closer to him, a fire of anticipation burning in your veins. Slowly, Joel started to guide you back down onto the bed, his hands moving with a purpose that matched the intensity of his desire.

"I want to look at your face when you come on my cock," he murmured, his words sending a shiver of longing down your spine. Anticipation pooled in the pit of your stomach as you locked eyes with him, feeling the weight of his gaze on you.

With deliberate movements, Joel began to undo his jeans, freeing his long and thick cock from its confines. The sight of him left you audibly gulping, a mixture of want and anticipation coursing through your veins. You couldn't help but wonder about the sensations, the weight, the pleasure that his size would bring.

"Can I put it in my mouth?" you asked, your eagerness apparent in your voice. Joel chuckled, his laughter a low and intimate sound that sent another wave of desire crashing over you. "Not tonight, angel," he responded, his tone both playful and commanding. "Tonight, I want to come in your pretty little pussy."

Joel's hands and lips explored your body with a relentless hunger, each touch igniting sparks of pleasure that coursed through your veins. Lost in the dance of passion, you found yourself swept away in a symphony of sensations, the symphony building to a crescendo of ecstasy that left you breathless and yearning for more.

In one swift, delicious motion, you felt Joel's firm length slip inside you. The sensation was both intense and electrifying, and you couldn't help but close your eyes and let out a loud moan of pleasure as he stretched you open in the most pleasurable way.

"Oh shit, angel, you're so damn tight," Joel groaned, his voice laced with desire and amazement at the sensation. You couldn't hold back your response, your own voice a mixture of bliss and disbelief. "Oh my god, Joel, that's because you're so fucking big!"

With deliberate slowness, Joel began to move his hips, creating a rhythm that was both torturously slow and exquisitely pleasurable. His gaze remained fixed on your face, his eyes locking onto yours with a passionate intensity that sent shivers down your spine. The intimacy of the moment, the raw connection between your bodies, fueled the flames of desire that burned between you.

"Please, Joel, you have to move faster, please, I'm begging you," you implored.

A smirk tugged at the corner of Joel's lips as he teased, "If I go faster, you're gonna make this old man come way too quick, angel."

"I don't care," you gasped, your need overpowering any sense of patience, "you have to move, please!"

"As you wish," Joel responded with a sly grin, and in the blink of an eye, the slow and deliberate rhythm transformed into a furious, unrelenting pace. His hips met yours fiercely, each movement driving you to the edge of your senses. Your heart raced, pounding in your chest like a wild drumbeat, and for this moment, nothing else mattered except the intense connection between you and Joel. The world outside faded away as you were consumed by the sensations of pleasure and desire, lost in the intoxicating dance of your bodies moving as one.

The tight coil of tension within you wound tighter and tighter with each fervent movement, aching to be released. The desperate need for release surged through your veins until you couldn't hold it any longer.

"OH MY GOD, JOEL, I'M GONNA COME AGAIN!" you cried out, your voice a mixture of ecstasy and urgency.

"Fuck, me too, angel, I'm gonna cum," Joel groaned, his voice heavy with need. "Please, you have to come with me, please, Angel!"

"Oohh my goddd, I'm cum..." Your sentence was left unfinished as the intense wave of pleasure crashed over you, shattering the tight coil and setting your senses on fire. Simultaneously, Joel's hips stuttered against yours, and you felt the warmth of his release inside you.

"Fuckkk," Joel whispered against your throat, his breath hot and ragged, as both of you rode out the waves of bliss, your sweaty bodies entwined and sated.

"That was..." you began, your voice trailing off as you searched for words to capture the intensity of what you had just shared.

"It sure was," Joel finished, his voice carrying a mixture of satisfaction and amusement. ****

You let out a hearty laugh, the tension of the moment dissolving into light giggles, as Joel momentarily left the room. While you lay there, still basking in the aftermath of your pleasure, he returned with a warm towel and a glass of water. He handed you the glass, and then, with gentle care, he began to clean you up. Your body was still sensitive from the climax, and you instinctively squirmed under his touch, but Joel held you in place.

"None of that, angel," he chided softly, his eyes warm and reassuring. "Gotta make sure you're all cleaned up. Lemme take care of ya."

His words and the softness of his touch melted away any remaining tension, and you found yourself yielding to his gentle care. You let go, allowing him to attend to you in this tender and intimate way. Once he was finished, he guided you back onto the bed and gathered you into his broad arms. A smile played on his lips as he pressed a gentle kiss against the nape of your neck. You closed your eyes, feeling a sense of serenity wash over you.

"Sleep now, my angel," he whispered, his voice a soothing murmur in your ear. "We'll talk in the morning."

With his strong arms wrapped around you, you nestled into his embrace, finding comfort and warmth in his presence. Your eyes closed naturally, the weight of the day's events and the embrace of his body lulling you into a peaceful slumber.

The morning greeted you with the cheerful chirping of birds, their song gently coaxing you awake. Blinking your eyes open, you realized Joel's form wasn't beside you in the bed. You reached for his discarded shirt on the floor, wrapping it around yourself before quietly slipping out of the room. As you stood before the bathroom mirror, your reflection showed the aftermath of a passionate night: tousled hair, eyes still bearing traces of desire, and lips that bore the marks of fervent kisses. A satisfied smile tugged at your lips as you grabbed the toothpaste, relishing the refreshing feeling as you brushed your teeth.

After tidying up a bit, you descended the stairs, your senses greeted by the delicious scent of cooking. Following the aroma, you entered the cozy kitchen where a rustic-looking pan held sizzling bacon and eggs. The scene was comforting, but there was no sign of Joel. As you scanned the room, the soft strains of a melody drifted in from outside, drawing your attention.

Curious, you made your way toward the source of the music, stepping outside to find Joel sitting on the porch swing. He held the acoustic guitar you had spied last night on the wall, his fingers moving deftly across the strings to produce a gentle tune that seemed to blend harmoniously with the morning breeze. You leaned against the railing beside him, listening intently to the music.

Joel paused his melody and turned his gaze toward you, his lips curling into a soft smile. "That was beautiful," you offered gently, "What were you playing?"

Joel's smile widened as he motioned for you to join him. "You inspired me last night," he confessed. "I had these melodies in my head, and I just had to play them." Your lips curved into a smile as you leaned in for a kiss. "That's unexpectedly romantic," you teased, causing Joel to chuckle. "Romantic, huh? Never been accused of that before," he playfully responded. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "Starving," you replied, a rumble of hunger confirming your words.

Joel's laughter filled the air as he gently set the guitar aside and guided you back indoors. He motioned for you to take a seat at the spacious wooden table, his warm smile inviting. He playfully swatted your hands away as you attempted to help, his touch grounding and reassuring. "Let me serve you, angel," Joel whispered softly as he settled you into a chair.

As Joel expertly portioned out the eggs onto your plate, you admired the beautiful table before you. "This table is stunning," you remarked, inspecting the grain of the hard oaken wood "I've always dreamed of having a big wooden table. Somewhere to have all my family and friends and have big dinners." Joel's smile held a touch of nostalgia. "Yeah, me too. That's why I built it."

"Wait, you built this?" you exclaimed, surprised. "Is there anything you can't do?" His laughter was infectious, and he shook his head playfully. “Just eat ya eggs." You smile happily in response before digging in.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you as you happily munched on your meal. "This is really good, thank you, Joel," you said with genuine gratitude. Joel's smile was warm, yet his gaze seemed to drift elsewhere, lost in thought. You observed him from the corner of your eye, curious about what was going on in his mind.

After a moment, Joel pushed his half-eaten plate of eggs aside and made his way over to you. Without a word, he grasped the back of your chair and turned it toward him, causing you to let out a surprised "Joel!" as you were suddenly lifted from the chair. He settled down, pulling you onto his lap, holding you close.

You chuckled softly, noting, "Breakfast's gonna get cold..." But Joel's response was immediate, his voice a whisper against your collarbone, "I don't care. Need to be close to ya, angel." You felt yourself melting into his embrace, content and cherished.

You closed your eyes, savoring the sensation of being enveloped by Joel's arms. Inhaling his masculine scent deeply, you wanted to imprint it in your memory, wanting to hold onto every detail of this moment. You never wanted to forget the way he made you feel. As Joel's hand gently traced patterns on your back, his lips pressed soft, feathery kisses along your neck, causing a contented sigh to escape your lips.

In that instant, you realized that in just one day, Joel had managed to make you feel safer and happier than your four-year relationship with Bryan ever did. "Joel," you timidly began, your voice a fragile thread. "Hmmm, what is it, angel?" Joel's response was gentle, encouraging you to continue. "About what you told me last night… About Sarah…" His sigh against your neck was heavy, and you gathered your courage for what you wanted to say next. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for what happened to her. It wasn't fair."

"Angel…" You guided Joel's face up from its hiding place in your bosom, holding it between your hands to meet his eyes. "Sarah loved you, Joel. And she knew you loved her. She wouldn't want to see her father suffer alone like this."

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a mix of frustration and protectiveness. "Angel, please stop." But you couldn't hold back; not after last night, not after seeing him this morning with the guitar, not after he pried open and emptied the chest of feelings that you had buried deep in your heart. "Joel, I don't want to argue. I know we've only just met, but I can see the kind of person you are. And I might not know a lot about you, but I know that you don't deserve to keep punishing yourself. You deserve to be happy."

Your fingers brushed against his face tenderly as your eyes glistened with tears, your plea carrying all the sincerity you could muster. However, Joel only gently lifted you from his lap and set you down on the chair. He turned to walk away from the kitchen, but before leaving the doorway, he paused. "Finish your eggs, and when you're done, it might be best if you leave." His words were heavy and definitive.

The atmosphere grew icy as your eyes welled up with tears. "Better for you, you mean," you muttered bitterly, pushing the plate of eggs aside and standing up. "I'll get out of your way right now, Joel. I'm sorry for overstaying my welcome." Without waiting for a response, you swiftly moved past him, your heart aching as the tears streamed down your face, not wanting him to see how vulnerable you felt. How much his words had hurt you deep within your bones. Not even your ex-boyfriend cheating had hurt as much as Joel’s words.

Hastily, you ascended the stairs, feeling a mixture of confusion, hurt, and urgency. Joel's shirt clung to your skin as you moved, a reminder of the passionate night you had shared. With hurried hands, you peeled the shirt off, folding it and placing it on the bed with a mix of sadness and longing. Slipping into your clothes, you realised how they were dry and carried a faint, comforting clean scent. It dawned on you that Joel must have taken the time to wash and dry them while you were still asleep. The small act of care spoke volumes, tugging at your heartstrings even harder as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you.

A soft sob escaped your lips as you quickly pulled on your leggings and t-shirt. The pain within you intensified, a heavy weight on your chest that made it hard to breathe. Your fingers trembled as you fumbled to button up your shirt, your mind racing with a mix of regret and confusion. Every touch, every moment, seemed to replay in your mind like a whirlwind of emotions that you couldn't make sense of. Your breath came in ragged gasps, and the room felt stifling as you imagined Joel's hands, his lips, all over you.

Each second that passed felt like an eternity, the need to escape growing more urgent by the second. You couldn't bear the idea of staying in this place any longer, not when your heart and mind were in such turmoil. Your head spun as you gathered your belongings, your thoughts a jumble of conflicting feelings. With shaky hands, you grabbed your bag and moved toward the bedroom door, your heart racing and your vision blurred by unshed tears. It was as if the walls themselves were closing in on you, suffocating you with memories and emotions that you couldn't yet fully process.

You quickly made your way down the stairs and you quickly reached the entrance of the cabin, your hand gripped the doorknob, the exit just a twist away. But then, like a lifeline thrown to your drowning form, Joel's voice cut through the tension-laden air. "Wait," he implored. For a moment, you could have pulled the door open and walked away, sparing yourself the pain that seemed inevitable. But something in his voice, something in the way he had said it, made you hesitate, your fingers tensing on the handle.

"Please wait," Joel's voice, gentle and soft, reached your ears, halting your movement. His words were like a fragile confession, tinged with regret and vulnerability. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It's just... it still hurts so much, and I can’t do anything about it. I don't even know if I wanna do anythin' 'bout it! If I stop hurtin, it ain't fair to her, it's like 'm forgettin' her. My babygirl. I can't... I can't be the man you need me to be. You're young, and you'll find something much better than a washed-up singer, a father that’s always gonna be haunted by the ghost of his daughter. I'm carrying too much baggage, And I ain’t  worth the pain I know I’ll cause ya angel.” Frozen in place, you listened to his words, his admission of hurt and fear, his belief in his own unworthiness all washed over you, leaving you empty and oh so sad for the man in front of you.

With your back still turned toward him, your grip on the doorknob loosened. You could feel your heart aching for him. You closed your eyes, attempting to blink away the tears that threatened to fall, your breathing ragged and unsteady.

You took a steadying breath, turning slightly toward him, though you couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze. In a voice that was stronger than you felt, you spoke your truth "Joel, it's not about what baggage you have or don’t have. It's everything that’s happened since yesterday, how we make each other feel. And last night... it meant something to me. I don't need you to be something you're not. I just want you to be who you are, because that person is worth something to me."

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. "I can't pretend to understand everything you've been through, Joel. But I can see the person you are, the one who's been through pain but is still standing here. You deserve happiness too, Joel. You're not defined by your past, and you're not just a has-been singer or whatever it is you impose on yourself. You're Joel, and you're worth more than you realize."

A tear escaped your closed eyes, tracing a path down your cheek. With a determined step forward, you pulled the door open, your voice steady despite the vulnerability you felt. "Take care of yourself, Joel," you whispered. With that, you stepped out onto the threshold, the cool breeze against your skin offering a stark contrast to the warmth of the cabin. The door clicked shut behind you, a gentle sound that marked the end of a moment that had touched your heart so deeply. And as you walked away, you didn't look back, hoping that Joel's own journey would guide him to a place of healing and acceptance.

Three months had drifted by since the night when Joel's presence swept into your life, like a gentle breeze altering the course of a quiet stream. The echo of his words still lingered in your mind, painting the canvas of your memories with vivid strokes of vulnerability and tenderness. As you slid into the cocoon of your car that night, the world outside felt different, as if reality itself had taken on a new hue.

Driving away from the cabin nestled in the heart of the woods, you found your plans melting away, leaving behind a blank slate that you were now eager to fill with Joel's presence. But you knew he had his own journey to embark upon – a journey toward reconciliation with his past, a voyage of healing that no one else could undertake for him. You couldn't help but hope, perhaps even naively, that the currents of life would someday guide him back to you. It was an uncertain prospect, but then again, your whole life had become a cascade of the unexpected.

After first leaving behind the familiar landscape of DC, and wandering the country for some time, you found yourself meandering down unfamiliar roads that led you to the vibrant city of Austin. Amid the soulful melodies and friendly faces, you decided to step into a music store, compelled by the yearning to connect with Joel on some level, even if he wasn’t physically there with you.

Inside, the air was stuffy as if the shop had been forgotten by the residents of Austin. Rows of albums beckoned to you, as you look around for the country section. Descriptions were exchanged with a middle-aged cashier, who turned out to be a rather passionate fan of Joel and who guided you to the shelves where most of Joel Miller's discography was. For you, it was like hearing the life of the man you think you might very well love. As you left the store, the weight of those albums in your arms was more than just a collection; it was a tangible piece of the bond you shared with a stranger who had become so much more.

With Joel's music filling the airwaves of your trusty Honda Civic, you embarked on the next leg of your journey, leaving Austin behind and setting your sights on the vibrant landscape of Los Angeles. The roads stretched out before you, winding through varied terrains like the unwritten chapters of a story waiting to unfold. Each curve and bend felt like a step toward a new beginning, guided by the soulful tunes that had become the backdrop of your life.

As you navigated LA's bustling streets, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. The sprawling landscapes seemed to mirror the vast possibilities that awaited you in this city of dreams. The skyline glittered with promise, like a tapestry woven from the aspirations of countless dreamers who had walked these streets before you. With each passing mile, you allowed yourself to be swept away by the energy of the city, ready to embrace whatever adventures lay ahead.

Amidst the hustle and bustle, you found your place in a small yet energetic communication company. It was a far cry from the monotonous work you had left behind in DC. Here, you were tasked with crafting communication campaigns for non-profit organizations across California. The challenges were real and the work was hard, but the rewards were immeasurable. Your days were now filled with purpose and creativity, and you felt a genuine connection to the causes you were championing. It was as if you had finally found the missing piece that had been absent from your previous life. Like you had found your drive back.

2 months into the job, your coworker Amanda's loud shrilly voice pulled your attention away from your work, her words cutting through the office buzz. "Hey, you're the one who's into Country music, right?" She grinned, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. You chuckled softly, not exactly an expert on the genre but you supposed you did listen to more Country then you used to these days.

"Yep, that's me," you replied, offering a small nod.

Amanda leaned in a little closer, her voice lowered as if sharing a secret, "I've noticed you play Joel Miller's older albums. Is he your favourite or something?"

You smiled softly, realizing your tradition hadn't gone unnoticed. "Yeah, I have a soft spot for his music," you admitted with a shrug.

Her grin turned into a mischievous smile, "Well, guess what? He just dropped a new song. Have you heard?"

Your heart skipped a beat. "A new song?!" you echoed, genuine surprise lacing your words, heartbeat treatening to send you into a heart attack.

Amanda pulled out her phone, her fingers dancing across the screen before she handed it to you. The screen was illuminated by what you deciphered as some tweets and posts, all buzzing with excitement about Joel's latest EP release. Your eyes widened as you scrolled through the tweets, feeling a mixture of excitement washed over you.

With a grin, you glance at Amanda, appreciating her tip, before returning to your workstation. Settling in, you tried your best to steady your breath as you open the article on TMZ and locate the link that directs you to Joel Miller's freshly released track on his SoundCloud. Your cursor hovers over the link, anticipation rising making you feel buzzed. Clicking the link, you're instantly engulfed in a cascade of harmonies. The initial notes carried on the wings of a soft guitar, weave a delicate tapestry of sound that threads its way through your senses. It's like stepping into a forgotten memory, the strums of the guitar bringing you back inside the cabin and into Joel’s arms.

And then, Joel's voice joins the strumming of the guitar. A tender baritone, it carries the weight of longing and sadness, each note reverberating with the depth of his life. The rawness of it tugs at your heartstrings, and you can’t help the tears forming in your eyes. With each note, it's as though Joel is speaking directly to you, his presence palpable despite the distance. You close your eyes, allowing the music to sweep you away, the gentle strumming and resonant vocals painting a vivid scene in your mind;

I can’t stop thinking about you

I can't escape your memory's grasp,

My angel, you're etched within my soul so fast.

I yearn to become the man you envision,

Unveiling depths within, a heartfelt mission.

For you, for you alone,

This version of me, yet to be known.

As the soothing timbre of Joel's voice envelops you, he navigates the tapestry of emotions with his lyrics. His soft voice carries the weight of promises and aspirations, mingling with the bittersweet tinge of guilt and the fervent pull of desire. It's a symphony of feelings entwined in each note, a raw portrayal of the battles raging within him. He sings of uncertainty, a man grappling with the enigma of his own identity. Yet, amidst the chaos, there's a constant, an unwavering North Star – the presence of his angel. The lyrics paint a portrait of yearning and unspoken desires, his admission that even amid the turmoil, your memory is an anchor he can't escape. His voice, like a gentle hand, guides you through the labyrinth of his feelings, allowing you to glimpse the depths of his soul. And as the final note fades, it's as if his heart has been laid bare, an intimate portrait of a man searching for solace and finding it in the memory of his angel – you.

Tears gather in your eyes as the song reaches its poignant conclusion. Joel's heartfelt words resonate with the depths of your emotions, and the floodgates of your own feelings burst open. Each note, each lyric, is a testament to his pain, his struggles, and the love that has bloomed during the short encounter you had.

As the music fades, your tears flow freely, a river for the man who has touched your heart so profoundly. You could feel your coworkers casting puzzled glances your way, but in this moment, their opinions mean nothing. You wept for the unfairness of his life, you wept for the loss of his little Sarah, and you wept for the years he's spent punishing himself. You weep because you love Joel Miller. Your heart aches for the man who entered your life on that stormy night and left a mark deep within your soul. Etching his name into the very essence of your being.

Your mom had always said, "The future holds its secrets close" and now you couldn't help but agree. A year ago, you would have never imagined that you would find yourself in LA, away from old friends and family. Yet you couldn't remember a time when you had been more content. Except maybe when you had been in Joel's arms in the warmth of his cabin. But now, as you restart the song Joel had written and as you lose yourself in the warm timber of his voice, you feel happy. Joel's baritone promising that he would love his angel as best as the damaged man he was could love. As you let yourself be carried by the softness of his voice, you know that whatever happens, you'll never part ways with Joel again. You know that wherever he is, he will find you, and you’ll be able to take him in your arms and hold him close to you.

You smile; after all, Joel had just delcared his love for you to the world, his declaration intended for all to hear. And as Joel's voice serenaded you with vows of love and protection, soothing you to your core, you made a promise of your own to Sarah. You promised her that you would care for her father, that you'd stand by him and that you would love him until their eventual reunion, following what you hope would be a beautiful life richly lived.

[flowers-of-io]

candles for any of the hive <3

“It was in the year that my Mother the Black Needle struck Elulium of the Eimin-Tin with a thought-lightning,” Balwûr began.

Crota opposed instantly, gesturing so ardently he almost slapped Nokris in the face, “No, it was the year that my Father the King of Shapes devoured two-thirds of the Eimin-Tin armada and rent them down to chitin that he then plastered onto his flagship as trophy!”

“No,” Scoroboth said, “it was the year that my Mother War Herself claimed the Umber Sun for herself, and devised a bomb capable of destroying three neighbouring systems in its explosion.”

Incaru was too young to remeber that, so from her spot pressed between him and her sister she only stared at him with curious eyes. Scoroboth’s arm was curled around her protectively. He had no siblings, and Incaru was currently the family's baby; he had latched onto her from the moment she was born, and sometimes Nokris wondered if it wouldn't be easier for everyone to just let Xivu Arath smuggle the kid to her own brood.

Balwûr scowled at the interruptors, “Can I continue?”

Nokris leaned further against the wall pressing at his back. They—Balwûr and Scoroboth, Malok and Incaru, Anûk and Halak and Crota, and him—were all clumped together in one of the back rooms of the High War, crowding around a hearth, the trembling flame casting shadows that danced around the chamber. Balwûr’s face was lit orange as she went on with her story.

“Then: in the year of the extinction of the Eimin-Tin, a silkweaver in service of the High Coven was sent to one of Xivu Arath’s war moons as part of a sisterly bargain...”

Nokris felt his attention drift off like a leaf caught on a lazy river current. He knew the tale of how the Scalpel of Savathûn was forged well enough he could recite it backwards from memory, but there was still something comforting in half-listening to a familiar story told by a familiar voice. From beyond the doorway, he could pick up faint chatter and laughter coming from around other hearths. Fireglow played on the faces of his siblings and cousins, deepening the shadows and bringing out the glimmer of their eyes.

Crota yawned and rested his head against his brother’s shoulder. Small horns had already begun to form over each of his earholes, and one of them was now digging into the base of Nokris’ neck, making him want to sneeze. He shuffled to get more comfortable. Balwûr’s voice was a pleasant hum filling his mind like cotton, words slurring together—and it was not even halfway into the story that his eyes flickered and dimmed, and Nokris drifted off.

A/N: If, unlike Nokris, you actually *are* interested in hearing Balwûr’s story, read on…

This is the story of how the Scalpel of Savathûn, the Archentrope, the Missing Piece of All Puzzles, was forged:

In the year of the extinction of the Eimin-Tin, when ORYX THE KING devoured two-thirds of their armada and rent them down to chitin for his ships, when SAVATHÛN struck Elulium with a thought-lightning and XIVU ARATH claimed the Umber Sun and devised a bomb capable of destroying three neighbouring systems in its explosion, a silkweaver in service to the High Coven was sent to one of Xivu Arath’s war moons as part of a sisterly bargain. She was a young thing, her talent not yet honed by age—but Savathûn valued her craftsmanship, for the silks that would come from under her claws were unlike any other. Her hands had been mutilated from birth, right bearing only two fingers and left bearing four, and though she had been told she would have never become a craftswoman, she went on to ignore that prophecy profoundly. Her weave was unique due to the gift of her asymmetry, and her threads firm with the strength of her will.

She lived and worked within the war moon, in a workshop at the end of a dead-end tunnel. Word about her craft spread quickly throughout the brood: gossip claiming that she could weave silence into a fabric, that the patterns she made would blink and move, that her thoughts themselves were threads she spun not with her hands but will alone. She did not care much for these rumours, as long as they kept those who could seek to challenge her away for her to do her work in peace. But not all were so easily discouraged. A silversmith who lived in the war moon as a representative of her guild overhead the stories, and set off to check just how big the seed of truth in them was.

Who she found was a woman of patience and persistence, clever and focused on the delicacy of her craft. Not once did a fine thread snap under her claws, not once was a cord braided too tightly or fraying ends messed in a tangle. She wove slowly, but diligently, and the few words she spoke were all pointed and purposeful. The silversmith fell in love with her instantly.

Their courtship was swift, and their time together was spent gladly. One night, overcome with fondness for her beloved, the silversmith spent hours in the workshop working on a fitting gift she might present to her, something brilliant and never before created, everlasting like the Shape. What she forged was a scalpel — long and silver and infinitely precise, feather-light and as sharp as the edge between realms. No thread it would cut ever frayed. She gave it to the silkweaver, so that in her work she would always have her love’s aid.

When the time came to return the lease and Savathûn demanded her favourite craftswoman back, the silkweaver trembled. She knew of the ebb and flow of the Sea of Screams, of errant currents which carried the royal courts close together and drifting apart with no reason but the fickle whims of gods. She knew that if she left the war moon, she might never see her beloved again. Thus she went to plead with Xivu Arath.

“Please keep me,” she begged. “My time in your Court has honed my skill; I will make for you a tabard softer than the King’s silk robe. I will weave wavelengths of sound into the fabric for your banners so that they scream and scream forever. I will braid the light of the Umber Sun into luminescent threads to drag behind your throne as a proof of your dominance. Please keep me.”

“It’s not enough,” Xivu Arath said. “Your return was to be a token my of love to my sister. If you want me to keep you, I demand you give me your love in return.”

It was a cruel offer. But the silkweaver was a cunning bastard — she had, after all, been raised at the feet of Savathûn’s throne — and so she pulled out the silver scalpel and presented it in stretched-out hands.

“This blade had been forged in worship,” she said, “to be the perfect extension of its maker, sharp with her sharpness and beautiful with her beauty, so that she would always be with me whenever I held it. Thus I was never without my love. I offer it now to you.”

Xivu Arath was impressed by the silkweaver’s boldness and wit, and accepted. From that day on the two craftswomen lived in the war god’s brood, never again separate, reshaping the universe under their claws into beauty and terror.

When Savathûn came, at last, to Xivu Arath to question about her end of the bargain, the war that ensued cost each brood two dozen warships and one common war moon acquired from the Qugu system. As they scuffled for the final victory, Xivu Arath pierced Savathûn’s carapace with the silver scalpel, and its infinitely sharp edge sunk deep into the godly flesh, puncturing the heart. Thus Savathûn received her sister’s gift, and the war was concluded.

(Read both on Ao3 here and here.)

[themurderofcrowscollective]

DIRKJOHN LETS GOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! God I'm blazed but our Dirk is fucking... zooted and laughing with me I'm livin' like larry- ANYWAY- Dirk is just very... bodily-antisocial. As introverted as he is already, John has to wander into his dark-as-fuck room and pull him out into the light in order to love him and hug him like a really antisocial cat and John is the owner who loves his skrunkly man. Dirk. is. moody. Simple as that, this bitch can hold soooooooooooo much mood and angst!! John loves to tease him when he's moody, but when he goes into angst territory, John tries to tone down the teasing cause then Dirk gets emotional from getting teased for too long. John is the only one who's seen Dirk cry. Not just small manly tears, I'm talking Niagara falls level tears, tears from laughter, tears from sneezing too hard, or tears from yawning too much. Even the secret tears Dirk doesn't want John to see at night. But John's a softie, he's the best medicine for a gloomy Dirk. I'm so high right now... ANYWAYS!! Dirk when he gets ideas is fun to be around. John loves to listen and Dirk loves to ramble, so it's a good time for everyone. Bonus points if they both get excited over everything they say to each other and turn the small idea into a bigger idea. THEY. ARE. BOTH. NERDS. John catched Dirk playing DnD late at night with his online friends, fight me on this. Then John joins the party and it becomes more fun that way. Dirk loves to cuddle his windy boi, kinda becoming needy when John isn't in his arms or when he's not in John's arms. John often falls asleep under the risk of him being crushed in a hug from Dirk. So far this hasn't happened at all but John is a lil bitch sometimes. Pulling pranks. That's a whole other story. When it comes to cooking food, these bitches order a lot of takeout cause Dirk's too obsessed with ramen and John doesn't want to follow his father's footsteps of becoming a baker and working with the batterwitch.

[cherrycocaineee]

33. Rowena McLeod - Bedtime Stories

Synopsis: It’s a late evening inside the bunker, and the young witch, Poppy, has come down with the flu. Everyone’s doing what they can for the young girl, including a distraught Rowena. While everyone’s asleep, Rowena goes to check on the young witch, finding her awake. So Rowena decides to read the witch a bedtime story, hoping she’ll get the much needed rest necessary to get better.

* Rowena’s p.o.v *

Despite the quiet thunder rumbling effortlessly through the evening sky, warning anyone it could of the upcoming storm brewing in the distance, the inside of the bunker was silent. I sat worriedly at the large table nibbling at my cuticles as I listened for Poppy; a cough, a sneeze, her cries of pain as she hurled into the garbage can Sam Winchester had placed beside her. There was no magical spell that could make her feel better, just old fashion care; something I wasn’t use to giving. Maybe it was good news that she wasn’t having trouble sleeping, maybe it was the first sign that her illness was starting to kick itself out of her system. If that was the case, then I should probably head to bed myself and check on her in the morning.

I pulled my tired body out of the chair, my legs feeling numb from how long I had been sitting there, and made my way towards my guest room. With each step I got closer to Poppy’s room, and the deepening worry of a mother continued to grow and rage inside me.

“I’ll check on her one more time tonight. Just to be sure,” I hummed to myself.

Her door was cracked open, the dimly lit lamp creating a sense of warmth and welcome as I approached. I didn’t go inside right away, instead, I leaned forward to get a better listen then gently pushed the door open. There was a light creaking sound caused by the rusty hinges that desperately needed to be oiled up. When I poked my head inside, I saw Poppy sitting up in her bed sipping from her glass of water. In her lap was a book and I wondered to myself how long she had been up, and how I didn’t hear her.

“Rowena?” She questioned, tilting her head to the side; her onyx black hair shuffling at the sudden movement, “I didn’t think you’d be awake so late.”

Beside her bed was an alarm clock that read that it was almost two o’clock in the morning. I stepped completely into her bedroom, my heels clicking against her bare floor. She really needed a carpet in here, the poor girl hardly wore any shoes and the floors probably felt like ice in the early mornings.

“Well,” I said, my thick accent clouding the room, “with you being sick, sweet girl, I figured someone should stay up to wait on you. And since the boys have turned in, I thought a mothers touch would be better than a sleepy, grumpy, gun wielding Winchester.”

A grin cracked onto her face as she giggled, and I swore I could hear the sound of fairies being born in the distance. She was magic inside and out. Her laughter was killed off as she started coughing, hacking up whatever fluid was currently blocking her airway. Sympathy coated my glistening eyes as I approached her, rubbing her back soothingly. When she was finished coughing raspily, she sipped on her water to soothe the aching soreness in her infected throat.

“You shouldn’t get so close,” she croaked, “the flu is no joke, apparently.”

I sat down in the chair that was angled beside her bed, letting my hands rest in my lap.

“Darling, don’t you worry your sweet little head about my wellbeing. What have you got going on here?”

Our attention turned towards the book that rested easily in her lap. It didn’t look like any book I’ve ever seen, nor did it seem like a spellbook considering all of the funny little pictures inside.

“It’s a story book,” she muttered, “I’m not feeling very tired, so I wanted to read a little bit. Thought maybe it would be like when a mother or father reads their children to sleep. Unfortunately, it’s not.”

It was a miracle that Poppy turned out the way she did, kind, loving, friendly; considering all of the bad things that have happened to her during her life. If anyone had the right to be angry and cruel at the world it was her but instead she held onto things that children clung to.

I took the story book out from her lap and peered down at the page. I didn’t recognize the story, it was one I’ve ever heard or read about. The portrayed photo on the right showed a pretty redhead with a green tail staring off at some shipwrecked, ditzy prince.

“The story is called ‘The Little Mermaid’,” Poppy informed, “it’s about a curious mermaid who falls in love with a human prince and bargains her voice away to win him over on land.”

“Ah, well, sounds like it should be…interesting. Come on, let’s get you tucked in and I’ll read you a wee bedtime story to help you drift off to sleep. You need to rest if you plan on getting better.”

Poppy laid back in her bed and pulled her covers closer to her chin, nuzzling herself deeper into her fluffed pillows. I flipped to the beginning of the story, crossing my right leg over my left. Taking a deep breath, I began reading.

“There once was a curious little mermaid named Ariel with the most beautiful voice in the entire sea…”

The story was just as she had said it would be. A teenage mermaid, curious of the human world, trades her voice to the sea witch so she could win over her prince. And so on and so on. By the time I finished the last line in the book, Poppy had fallen asleep. The sound of her stuffy nose wheezing with each deep breath she took barely filled the room. I reached over and turned off the lamp beside her bed, leaned down, pressing a simple kiss to her fevered temple, then left her room while still holding her book. The soft clicking sound of the door closing drifted throughout the halls but not loud enough to wake anyone up. In my own bedroom, after changing out of my normal attire, I plopped myself into the mattress ready for bed. I stared down at the book I had read to the young witch and smiled.

“Things would have been different if I had a daughter,” I muttered to myself, “if Poppy were my child.”

[fangirltothefullest]

Hold up! Patton being an evil step father with an evil cat but he’s still high key allergic. So his maniacal laughter is cut off by Patton’s loud ass dad sneeze

I like the way you think yes give him like three "evil" kitty cats all named after "bad cats" from TV but they're named after bad old cartoon cats cause hes still a dad so he has Tom, Lucifer and Azrael from Tom and Jerry, Cinderella and the Smurfs respectfully.

[phoenixflames12]

@kigiom tagged me to share the first ten lines of my posted fics.

Rules: ‘share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.’

I've intepreted 'first lines' quite liberally, so this will all be under a cut

‘One phone call. Ten minutes. That’s all you’ve got, city boy.’

He nods, keeps his eyes down, hopes his hands aren’t shaking. That the blood that stains his palms from the twill of Thursday’s jacket isn’t visible.

Hopes that they can’t see the tears that he is trying to hold back, the weight of his guvnor’s head still aching in his arms.

Stay with me, sir!

Please-

Please, please stay with me- (into the west away, Endeavour)

2. The last time that Morse had cried had been when he had been twelve years old, and his mother had died. Joycie had been fourteen, still new, still strange to him even though she had meant well. Her hands had shaken on his shoulder as they had stood in the bedroom that had only few a hours ago been full of his mother’s laughter.

Her bedroom window had overlooked the garden that they had watched wither and die when their father had sent him to school and Joycie to their aunt’s.

He had gazed out of the window and wiped his nose with his sleeve. Had tried very hard not to make a sound as the sobs had silently torn his heart to shreds.

Now, crumpled on the Bodleian library steps, the rain seeping through his jacket and drenching his skin, he howls. - (thou, which art but air, Endeavour)

3. They hadn’t meant to drift apart.

For a while, John had been diligent with his letters, capturing the weekly or monthly news and thinking of Henry parsing out each sentence slowly on the docks.

Henry’s letters had been short and slow, each word considered, each brush of the pencil like the shadow of an albatross wing. John had kept each, tracing the lines of the faded ink on evenings when the wind had howled against the windows, and he was unable to sleep.- (letters, The Terror)

4. ‘Good luck, Will.’

‘Good luck, Peter.’

‘See you afterwards.’

‘And you.’

For days after the last of the hammocks have been tipped over the rail and the Union flag had been furled away, he lies awake in the midshipman’s berth. Watches the shadows shift and shimmer through the slats on the deck above and tries not to think of Peter. - (see you afterwards, Master and Commander 2003/Aubreyad)

5. They had come to the island with its’ salt-stained banks and wide, white beaches, far away from the smog and the noise of the city. All around them lies the soft, white sand scattered with pebbles, grey-green water glistening in rockpools.

 Tendrils of seaweed, glistening like ropes over the rocks.

The sea crashes over the rocks, white horses tumbling into the surf.

She gathers pebbles that glisten with salt and cup them in her hands, sand catching under her nails. - (patchwork, The Terror)

6. The tavern is a burst of noise and sweat, the heat of too many bodies and too many species being pressed together for far too long. Outside, the wind lashes the glass in ice shard sheets, the lamps flickering against the draughts.

Henry has found a shadowed corner to nurse his ale, letting the warmth seep through frost frozen palms. It had been a long walk along unfamiliar, mud clogged roads, the rain seeping deep under his cloak and into his clothes. Every inch of his skin feels grimy, dirt clogged deep into his ears, under his fingers, deep into the follicles of his hair.

The woman who had served him had raised an eyebrow as she had stropped off the foam from the tankard. Had taken in his rain-soaked hood with the barest sniff, as if wet and weary strangers were not known or welcome in this part of the country.

He exhales. - (there is freedom in the dark, The Terror)

7. ‘Are you sure that you don’t want to go to bed, love? You- You look-’

‘Like death warbed up only durse?’  

Henry tries to smile through another sneeze, his voice thick with snot.

John nods silently, feeling the weight of the younger man’s head all but collapse into his chest.  

‘Dobn’t want to-’  

Dark eyes well up at him and John’s heart cracks at the pain he sees there. Gently, he cups Henry’s face in his hands, stroking back a fallen lock of hair out of his eyes.  

‘You won’t. Trust me on this one love. I had my flu jab last week; I’ll be all right. I’ll be up in a bit when you’re settled.’   - (Pressing Pages, The Terror)

8. Henry’s lips are blue.  

Blue and cracked and so cold compared to the smudges of powder that linger against an ashen cheek. His skin shivers with heat, his eyes half closed against the shadowed light that flickers through the slats of the barn’s roof.  

Fumbling for his canteen, John lets a dribble of fetid water wet his fingers. The blackened throb of an Adam’s apple convulses as he brushes them over Henry’s lips, the long, full lashes flickering for just a moment.  -( militat omnis amans, The Terror)

9. ‘The southwest coastal path, Tarts? All of it?’  

Henry can’t keep the disbelief out of his voice, running a hand back through his hair as he paces Bill and Lucy’s living room floor.  

‘In stages, mate. And no, not all of it, unless you want to stay longer?’ There’s a breath of a laugh to Tom’s voice at the other end of the phone. ‘Charlie and I’ve got maps all thought out. I thought I could pick you up tomorrow and we could drive down to Seaton and walk over Goldencap to Seatown? An evening of fish and chips on the Cobb at Lyme?’  - (the wild silence, The Terror)

10. Late August brings with it a heavy, dripping heat that hangs like a cloud over the cottage.   

The evening light bathes the garden in a soft, barely there glow. It shimmers and catches and pools down to the river that runs on down towards the sea where they have spent many happy hours watching the splash of the trout, the blue dart of a kingfisher flashing in and out of sight.  

Where John has watched Henry’s face become splashed with sun kissed freckles splattered over the bridge of his nose.  

 Where he now lies, with his hands pillowed behind his head, letting the play of the evening light dance before half-closed eyes.   - (meadowsweet, The Terror)

No pressure tagging: @silvermagpies, @bloomrebounds, @boatgays, @pudentilla, @astridcontramundum, @gohoubi, @alittletoosmarttobestraight)

[persepinas]

Death and loss and grief and wondering.

It has been four years today that you left us, going to a place we cannot follow. It doesn’t feel like it has been that long and at the beginning i didn’t believe that I could live if you weren’t living. Surely I couldn’t ever laugh or smile again? But now it’s been four years since I lost you, my most darling Papa, and I miss you more than is measurable. 

I often find it difficult to believe. Mainly because I do not know where it is you have gone to? Do you hide in between shadows? Are you there at my bedside as I dream at night? Are you at my side as I live my day to day life? Can you hear me as I speak to you? Are you here now, as I write this? Sometimes I believe I do feel you. Sometimes, and there have been many moments when we have felt your presence. That unmistakable energy. Sometimes I have smelled your cologne. It’s been there and then disappeared in seconds but I have smelled it. 

I don’t know where it is we go when we die, but I will forever believe that our energy does not simply disappear. That’s impossible. How can I ever believe that those I love simply disappear forever as if they were never there to begin with? 

And especially not you, my father. Not you, my protector. The one who made me feel safe in a way I no longer can feel or ever will again. There was a protection you provided in life that nothing has been able to compare to. I knew when you lived, that I wouldn’t have to worry. You were there. Even when we fought, even when we didn’t see eye to eye, even when all I wanted was to curse you and cast you out of my life. Even then, I knew I was loved and that you protected me. 

I miss you so very much. I miss the sound of your voice. That deep voice, with that memorable accent. I miss your laughter. I miss your terribly high pitched and startling sneezes. I miss the silly voices you would make when you told us stories about your life before you married Mama and became a father. You had so many adventures! You were so wild and so free, but in ways you never allowed me to be. 

I don’t miss that feeling of inadequacy. I don’t miss knowing that because I am female, you didn’t allow me things you allowed my brother. I don’t miss our arguments. I don’t miss the way I would scream at you as you screamed at me. I don’t miss the negative. We were so alike, you and I. In more ways than just looks, and Papa, I hated it back then. I hated the way I resembled you. I hated the way so many would say it to me. That I was so clearly your daughter. That I looked so much like you. 

Now I look at my reflection and I see it as a way of you continuing on. That when I see my face, I see you, and in that reflection, you are still saying hello to me. 

I remember the final smile you gave to me. How you were so brave as I was taken out of the hospital room and the doctor spoke to me. I remember the way our eyes met and my darling Papa, the strength I could see even in your withered and ravaged by cancer and chemo features. You were still so beautiful, and your smile was so lovely, and how I wished I could keep you smiling even as the doctor told me you could have hours or days left. 

I couldn’t stand to think of you suffering. But you never did do things the way others expected. I suppose that is something I have of yours. My unwillingness to do things the way others expect. That I am living my life as I wish to. That I will dance to the beat of my own drum. That I will find ways to do things that are so different but they work out for me and me alone so that is what matters in the end. 

You were told you had a few months left, but you chose to leave us in only a few days. You refused to prolong the suffering and it was not yours, but that you didn’t want us to suffer along, to be so hurt, so pained. You were my father, my very strong and big and bold father, and when you chose it, you left. 

I held your hand in mine, as your life faded. It was right, felt right to hold it. You had held my small, newborn hand in yours, as my life began. The last breath you took was quiet, soft, unlike the strong, loud, excitable person you had been in life. So full of life, of so many stories you revealed to me as the years went on. I hold them close and cherish them, but forever wish that you could tell me just one more. Only one more. 

I remember the night we came home, after you were told you only had a few months left. I remember the way I looked at you, watched you, and asked you if you were afraid. You looked at me, my strong father, and shook your head no. Why would I be afraid, you replied. I am strong. I am not afraid. I am not afraid of anything. 

My heart was broken.

There are parts that will never heal, although many others have mended and formed a new shape inside my chest. 

I didn’t want to lose you. I could not imagine a life in which my father was not there to greet me in the morning. To not have you call me. To hear your voice. To see you, to laugh with you. To go to Starbucks with you even though Mama didn’t want me to take you because she said the Java chip fraps you so loved were so bad for you. 

I remember the last time, and how we went to target and you insisted I take your photo as you stood before Christmas trees. You smiled, but it did not reach your eyes. Not like your smile always had. Did you know then, Papa? Did you know you wouldn’t be with us for much longer? 

You wouldn’t have told us anyway. You kept so much inside you, hidden from us. Maybe you felt it was another way to protect us. 

But I hope you didn’t know. I don’t want that for you. I want you to be blissfully ignorant to the pain that would soon follow. I want to believe you had hope, held fast to your religion and the saints you so often prayed to. Saints I couldn’t. Not when I felt so betrayed. 

How could god be real if he chose to have us suffer so terribly? Why would he take you away when we were finally all happy together? That is a cruel god. It isn’t a god I want to think of or pray to. 

But then you left. You left of your own accord and you took so much of who I had been. I will never be as I was. The person I am is a new creation, one forced to exist and live on and accept the grief and the loss. 

You do not get over death. You learn to live without those who have left you. That is it. That is the truth. That is what I didn’t know and couldn’t know until I lost you. 

I hope you hear me when I speak to you. I hope you are there in dreams to visit me and say hello. 

I will say this. 

I vividly recall the dream I had of you shortly after you died. I was in a house that was not my own, walking down a very long hallway. I paused, turned, and through an opened bathroom door saw you. I was shocked in the dream, but you took me in your arms and held me and I felt it. I felt your embrace. I felt your warmth. I felt the soft skin of your arms. You were with me then, truly with me, and I loved you for it. You were healing in the dream world. You were gaining your weight back. The poison wasn’t stealing it anymore. 

And you kissed my cheek and I felt it even as I woke. You had visited me. You had come back to me, even if only for a very short time. 

Thank you. I love you. I miss you.

Always.