#maria would be the only solace he would have

[gunstellations]

itll be alright

[lunarmoves]

who i see, looking back at me (ch1)

pairing: sebastian solace x reader

mentions: post-urbanshade fic, no use of y/n or pronouns, u are his partner <3, hallucinations, grief/mourning, hurt/comfort, ooc sebastian probably, i took creative liberties with his mom and siblings, check masterlist for fic summary

a/n: this is something i decided to write after scouring ao3 and tumblr for anything like it and finding nothing. i was just- (thanos voice) "fine i'll do it myself." hope you guys enjoy! i cant believe im simping for a roblox fish man in the year 2024, literally who am i.

word count: 9.5k+

masterlist

ao3 link

When your husband was executed for a crime he did not commit, you decided to move out to the seaside. 

It was a way to just… get away from everything. Start fresh. His face was plastered all over the news after his death sentence. Everywhere you went, it felt as though people were staring at you. Judging you. Hushed whispers followed you just as much as the haunted look on Sebastian’s face when he’d taken his mugshot. It was—unbearable. You needed to get out and away from all the people who only saw you as the partner to a murderer.

His presence lingered everywhere, back at your tiny apartment in the city. From the framed pictures on the wall, to the green toothbrush next to yours, and the faint smell of cinnamon attached to your bedsheets. It was—overwhelming, in more ways than one. You itched and itched with the urge to get out. You stayed only as long as you needed to after his death to go through the process of moving out. It took a couple of weeks. The you from the future would applaud you for lasting longer than a few days, you were certain. 

You didn’t know what to do with all of his things. You sold his expensive belongings unclaimed by his family, like his laptop, electric guitar, and gaming system. The more materialistic items were packed into bins to donate to charity—his old textbooks, binders of sheet music, clothes he seldom wore. The rest you separated into two boxes. One had some things you figured would be appreciated by his mother. The album of his family he kept tucked away in his desk. A small teddy bear he’d had since he was a toddler. Some of his favorite shirts and jewelry he’d been gifted from his siblings. 

The other had things you could not bring yourself to part with. 

You spent a while hovered over that box, tracing the worn edges of a red and black flannel that he always wore around your apartment. There was a small panda plushie that you won at an amusement park on one of your dates and decided to give to him when he said it was ugly-looking. A sketchbook he doodled in from time to time that you didn’t have the heart to open, but knew you would regret giving away. A crumpled piece of paper with hastily scribbled vows on them. Each and every item in the box held some amount of sentimental value—you wondered if it would ever haunt you, keeping them. Part of you already knew the answer.

When you dropped off Sebastian’s things at his mother’s house, you couldn’t help the way your heart sank deep into your chest when she opened the door. Maria was a beautiful woman, and you saw traces of Sebastian in her every time you saw her. The warm honey of her skin, the crinkle of her blue eyes, even the way she smiled. It made your eyes sting and ache with something fierce. Agonizing, even now. Especially now.

She looked at you with a sad smile, gratefully accepting the small box you offered her. “Gracias, sweetie,” she said, hands tightening on the edges of the cardboard. “I appreciate you coming out all this way.” 

“It was no problem,” you told her, shifting slightly on your feet. You hadn’t seen her since—well… You cleared your throat, doing your best to ignore a pang of guilt and this ever so tightening feeling in your chest. “How are you doing?” 

She hummed, a weary thing that matched the dark circles under her eyes and the new streaks of gray in her hair. She looked down at the box. “No muy bien,” she murmured, “but who would after losing a child so wrongfully? I can only hope it gets better to handle with time.” Her gaze lifted up to meet your own. “What about you, hm? Almost done packing?” 

Blue eyes the same shade as his. You looked away, staring down at your shoes and her slippered feet. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Just gotta put a few more boxes into the car.”

“I do not blame you for wanting to get away,” she chuckled. “I would too, if I could.”

As though on cue, there was the sound of a crash somewhere behind her, immediately followed by raised voices. Sebastian’s siblings causing havoc, no doubt. Maria whipped around to shout into her house. “Isidora! Lucas! ¡Comportense!” After she got two distant apologies, she turned back to give you a look. “See what I mean?”

You could only manage a stiff nod, not quite trusting your voice. That feeling in your chest was growing by the second, and you were not sure how long you would last. Maria didn’t deserve this, but you couldn’t help it. You felt like you were being stifled under a large, unforgiving pillow.

You could feel the way she watched you—that same probing stare that Sebastian often wore when he could sense you weren’t feeling well. You continued to stare resolutely at the ground, not wanting her to crack you open like a book to see the way you just couldn’t stand being here right now. She sighed, and you had to suppress a wince.

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” she finally said, turning slightly to head back inside. “No eres una desconocida, you hear? You are always welcome here.” 

“Right,” you whispered, and when you finally managed to pull your gaze back up to her face, she only gave you a small, melancholy smile before gently closing the door. You stood there for a moment more, heart beating in your throat as you cursed yourself for being a coward.

The drive down to the seaside was only a few hours. It was relaxing, in its own way, as you passed by concrete buildings that slowly melted away into wide, open fields. Rolling hills and staggering cliffs. You could almost taste the change in the air the closer you got. The stale, musty scent of the city was replaced by a fresh, salty breeze. If you listened close enough, you could hear the distant roar of the ocean as its waves crashed against rock. And once you arrived at what would be your new home for a long, long time, you took a moment to just stand outside and breathe. 

One breath in, one breath out. The seaside air felt cool on your heated face. Out here, you felt like everything could be put behind you. A breath of fresh air to chase away the way you hurt inside. You could finally shed the layer of muddled emotions and thoughts that had surrounded you for weeks. 

If only it was that easy. Still… Baby steps, you reminded yourself.

The cottage you were moving into was a quaint thing, with just enough space for you to live comfortably on your own. It was more than a steal, and you were thankful that you’d managed to snatch it up before anyone else could—and at a reasonable price, too. It sat near the top of a small cove, overlooking miles and miles of open water. If you walked down to the shore—away from the cove—there was a small dock that jutted out into the sea like a pirate’s plank. It was old, though, covered in mold and made of rotting wood that creaked ominously in the breeze. You didn’t dare risk venturing out on it. 

It took you most of the rest of the day to bring all your belongings inside and unpack everything. You stood in what would be your living room, a mess of boxes scattered all around you, and felt a mixture of emotions that you couldn’t make heads nor tails of. Your eyes landed on that small box of Sebastian’s things, and you turned away with this twisting sensation worsening in your gut. 

Getting properly settled in and starting your new job in the nearby town’s clinic took up most of your time. Your energy and thoughts. But at night, when it was just you laying in a too small bed in a too small room, your mind wandered. The moon peering through the small, curtained window into your bedroom bore witness to the way you stared and stared and stared—unblinking at the popcorn texture of the ceiling. Always twisting the gold band that remained on your finger in absentmindedness. 

There was a gnawing ache in your chest that waxed and waned, but it never truly disappeared.

You thought about those final days a lot. They didn’t let you see him. All you got was a single phone call, sometime before his scheduled execution. The contents of that call would follow you no matter how far you tried to run from them. How hard you tried to forget. 

(The phone felt locked in your grip—your fingers tight and stiff. There was a silence that was broken by your name spoken on the tailend of a choked breath. Your teeth clenched so hard you felt a muscle spasm in your jaw.

“I-I didn’t—” Sebastian’s voice stuttered thickly, hushed into the microphone. Something sank down to the soles of your feet, then continued on in an endless spiral. “I didn’t do it. I didn’t.” 

There was something so devastatingly helpless about talking to him like this. Divided across miles and miles, nothing but a thin connection between you and him. Your words his only comfort.

“I know, baby,” you told him miserably, raising a hand to palm at your wet eyes. “I know.”) 

You couldn’t even host a proper funeral for him. His body was never released to his family—for what reason, you were unsure. It felt as though you never had any proper closure. You could scream and cry about the injustice of it all, but… no one would listen. It was done. It was over. There was no getting him back. It was a grim thought that you grappled with on the daily, always present at the back of your mind. At the front of your mind. Suffocated you in gallons and gallons of grief. You did your best to work through it all over time, but sometimes it felt like your best just wasn’t enough.

And then… a couple of years after his death… you got a call. 

You were lounging around in your little living room after a long shift at work, a book splayed out on your lap as you relaxed. Your phone was sitting right by your legs, just out of sight. So when it buzzed with an incoming call, you did not bother to glance at the screen before you answered it.

It was Maria.

The tremble of her voice made you instantly freeze. 

You couldn’t understand what she was saying—so rushed and stifled through choked sobs. You sat up, both your hands gripping at your phone. 

“Maria— wh-what—” you stuttered out, a sinking feeling slowly making itself present in your gut. You stood up, barely registering your book falling off your lap and onto the floor. “What’s—” 

“They— they were wrong,” she hiccuped out, breathless and hysterical. “We knew they were and they— they—” 

“What are you—” You tried to make sense of her words, but she quickly dissolved into more incoherent crying. You swallowed thickly, a cold sweat erupting along your back.

It took you a few minutes to calm her down enough so that she could strangle out a “Check the news.” Your eyes snapped to the darkened television sitting against the wall across from you.

Your throat felt drier than a desert. The remote was wedged between the cushions on your couch, and you fumbled around for it before finally managing to press the power button. Channel twenty-one, the news. You punched it into the remote. 

There was a picture of Sebastian on the screen. His mugshot, actually—black hair messily scattered across honeyed skin, dark eyes that glistened in the dim lighting, thin lips downturned into an unsteady frown. A ringing sound erupted deep within your ears, drowning out all else as your gaze narrowed in on the bold headline. 

Innocent man wrongfully convicted for murder of nine. 

A short, disbelieving laugh escaped from your lips. This was how you found out? They didn’t bother to contact you first? You almost couldn’t believe it. Two years after he’d already been imprisoned. Two years after they’d decided he should die via electric chair. You laughed again, and your phone slipped right from your fingers as you dropped onto your knees. You barely felt the impact—barely heard Maria’s questioning sniffle above the racing of your heart.

You laughed and you laughed and you laughed and you laughed because wasn’t that just the funniest fucking thing? They found out the truth after what had been done to him could never be taken back. After you and his family had fought so desperately to prove his innocence. 

Funny! It was funny!

You bit at your bottom lip to suppress the way it violently quivered. 

Years passed and you continued to live on without Sebastian.

You thought time would help you heal—would dull the ache you experienced at every waking moment of the day and night. But there were times where you just felt infinitely worse. It was awful. It was so utterly miserable, and you were tired. You were just… tired. You couldn’t think about him for too long before you’d feel that familiar sting to your eyes. So you tried not to think about him at all. 

It didn’t work. 

You were plagued by him. Awake or asleep—it did not matter. 

“You’re still up,” he murmured into your ear at night as you laid curled up on your side. Like this, you could face the window of your room—where the moonlight filtered gently through your thin curtains to brush against the walls like the hand of a ghost.

You hummed in response, face partially buried in your pillow. You tried in vain to ignore the presence you felt at your back. Making the hairs prickle on your nape. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel light breaths against the side of your face. 

“You’ve got work in a few hours, you know,” he said, matter-of-fact. His voice lowered, gentle and calm. “What’s bothering you?” 

There was a pause. Distantly, you could hear the waves of the ocean as the tide rose and fell along the shore. A constant source of white noise. 

“Nothing,” you eventually whispered back, closing your eyes momentarily to breathe in the faint smell of cinnamon. “Nothing at all.”

It wasn’t real, you told yourself. Over and over and over again. He wasn’t real. He wasn’t.

He didn’t stop there. 

He sat across from you at your little dining table in the kitchen, grinning at you as you forked spoonfuls of pitiful dinner after dinner into your mouth. He was in the bathroom, sitting on the lid of the toilet as you showered or brushed your teeth. He was in the living room, sprawled across the floor in front of you as he gazed at you with his face propped atop his palm. 

He accompanied you to work, a pair of blue eyes staring at you in the rearview mirror of your car as you drove. He lingered over your shoulder as you pushed paperwork or chatted to other nurses. Close enough to touch, yet never crossing that line. Always present. Sometimes silent, sometimes not. You weren’t sure which was better.

He was haunting you, and you could do nothing about it. 

The only place where you seemed to have any kind of reprieve was down by the little cove or the shore. You liked taking walks along it—when the walls of your cottage seemed to loom too close for comfort. It was refreshing, being able to just… breathe in the sea air and take in the rolling waves from the sand. A healing balm for your enervated soul. It became a habit no matter the weather, every evening after work. Soaking in the sun, basking in the mist, watching dark clouds grow closer on the horizon. You were oftentimes alone, but occasionally you’d pass a few people also enjoying the fresh air. They never bothered you, so you never bothered them. 

Once you returned home, however, he would be waiting for you at the door—all warm smiles and crinkled eyes that made your insides ache like they never have before.

You contemplated going to grief counseling many times. But something held you back. You just… didn’t have the energy to pick yourself up and go. Didn’t want to come to proper terms with it all, you supposed. Or maybe you were desperately holding on—afraid of letting go completely when you could look in a mirror and see him standing somewhere behind you. It hurt. It soothed. It was a push and pull that you learned to deal with as time went on. 

You often caught yourself staring at the tiny closet in your room—where you’d buried that small box of Sebastian’s things so deeply, it would never see the light of day again. Most of the time, you could drag yourself away from it, pushing it to the back of your mind once more. But one night… you couldn’t help yourself. You caved. You just… needed to.

You pulled the box out from the depths of your closet and sat on the floor, eyeing it warily as you clutched a pair of scissors in your hand. It was just as you’d left it—flaps tightly sealed with packing tape. You hadn’t bothered to label it. You knew what was in there and that was enough. 

You took in a deep breath and stabbed the point of the scissors into the box’s top to pry it open. Then, you stared down at its insides. 

It simultaneously felt like you’d packed his things away in this box just yesterday and a hundred years ago. In any case, the tender ache at seeing it all still persisted.

The panda plushie, which you picked up gingerly and ran your fingers over its short fuzz before setting it off to your side. It used to sit on a shelf, back at your shared apartment, picked up only occasionally when he wanted to throw it at you to bother you. 

(“Sebastian!” you shouted, startled out of your focus on your book when that goddamn panda nailed you directly on your face. You glared at him, setting your book to the side to snatch up the plushie when he laughed hard enough that he doubled over. 

“Oh my god, your face!” he wheezed, swiping a finger under his eyes to wipe away an imaginary tear. “Come on, you didn’t see that coming? You’re losing your game here, babe.”

“Shut up, you ass! I was reading!” you fumed and stood up to pelt the plushie at him. It smacked him right on the arm, and he only laughed even harder.)

The sketchbook, rarely ever seen by your eyes because he was so protective over it. Abashed, more like, you came to realize a while ago. And for a good reason, you supposed, your lips twitching as you flipped open the thick cover. 

There were some landscape drawings at the start—places you recognized at your old university. The café near the library, the statue at the center of the main quad. A few students walking around or sitting outside on benches. Some components from his engineering projects—designs with their associated dimensions, fluid mechanics calculations, free-body diagrams. You saw a handful of drawings of Lucas and Isidora, either fighting or sleeping against each other—gaping mouths and all. 

And then… once you hit a certain point in the book, there were drawings of you. 

He’d been so embarrassed when you caught him sketching you one day, though he’d tried to play it off. It was before he’d asked you out, you remembered. You’d thought it was flattering—at least what you could glimpse on the open pages. He’d slammed the book shut pretty quickly once he’d realized you were peeking over his shoulder.

It wasn’t until years later that he’d finally let you flip through the sketchbook properly. 

Doodles of you sitting around campus, doing homework or looking at your phone. A sketch of you walking down the street or staring out a window. Upper body shots of you smiling, or laughing, or talking to one of your friends. The level of detail always blew you away—he managed to capture details about you that you never quite paid attention to yourself. The crinkle of your eyes or the pull of your lips. 

You gently brushed a finger over a rough doodle of you and him—sitting back-to-back as you did your respective work—then closed the sketchbook to set down next to your legs. 

Next was the crumpled, smudged paper of his vows—that you lingered over for a moment, reading it briefly with a small smile. 

There were the silly ones, where he promised to be the best pain in the ass you could ever ask for. To make fun of you for being shorter than him or annoy you to smithereens everyday because he loved the face you made when you were mad.

Then there were the sincere ones, promising to always love you unconditionally. To take care of you whenever you were sick, or encourage you to be the best version of yourself you could possibly be. To hold your hand whenever you were scared. To always be by your side, no matter what. 

You wiped at your eyes with your sleeve, sniffling slightly, and let the piece of paper flutter down to the ground.

And finally… you picked up the flannel. 

Even after all this time, the material was still soft in your hold. You squeezed it between your fingers, tracing over the lines where patches of black met patches of red. If you closed your eyes and imagined hard enough, you could almost feel a warmth coming from it—like it had just been shucked off a warm body. Raising it up to your face to take a deep breath, you could faintly smell that familiar cinnamon. A comfort. A heartache. 

“You know,” Sebastian started, and you lifted your gaze briefly to glance up at him standing a ways in front of you. “I’ve always liked how you looked in my clothes.” He wore a sharp grin that made his cheek dimple on his right. He winked down at you. “Always liked how you looked outta them too, but that’s neither here nor there. Go on, put it on.” 

You rolled your eyes, but found yourself complying anyway. You stood up and slipped the flannel over your arms, fixing it properly over your shirt. Closing your eyes, you wrapped your arms around yourself. 

You could almost imagine him embracing you. Something in your stomach twinged.

“There you go,” he whispered, a breath of air just barely out of reach in the fragile twilight of your room. “Just look at you.” 

You only smiled sadly at the ground and hugged yourself tighter.

In recent years, the small dock by the shore was stripped down and built anew. 

You saw them doing construction from your cottage’s window when the project was first launched and spent many nights fantasizing about dipping your feet into the water from the dock’s edge. And once it was finally complete—after months and months of waiting and watching—you did just that. 

Your evenings were kept mostly the same with your walks along the shore or within the cove. But now you could trudge out onto the now sturdy dock and embrace the ocean in its entirety. You could let the tips of your shoes protrude off the far end of the dock as you breathed in and out. Salty air. The hint of rain in the distance. The spray of water against your face as the waves ebbed to and fro. It was refreshing. The perfect way to let the incessant buzz of your mind die down in preparation for a quiet night.  

The dock, from what you could see whenever you were at home, was mostly used during the bright hours of day. A couple of fishermen during the afternoon. Teens from the town who wanted to jump off and swim to the shore. Either way, by the time the hush of evening fell as people prepared for bed, the dock was empty and perfect for some alone time. 

It was nice, being able to sit down and soak your feet in the cool water when the weather was warmer. You liked watching the sun as it sank beneath the horizon, painting the sky in shades of burnt mandarin and dusty magenta. The last vestiges of gold light would make way for inky darkness that sparkled with hundreds and hundreds of stars. You were never able to appreciate the night sky in the city—so you took every chance you could to sit and stare up at it. Trying your best to identify constellations or just admiring it all until you got too cold to stay out for much longer. 

Sometimes you ate your dinner out on the dock while you chatted with Isidora or Maria on the phone. Sometimes you brought along a book or sketchpad. You missed listening to Sebastian strum away at his electric guitar at times—always filling your apartment with music—so you impulse bought a ukulele and sat by the sea plucking awkwardly at its strings. The dock became a place to pass time. It became a habit that you stuck to for many years. 

You were familiar with it all after spending evening after evening after evening out on its wooden platform. You could count the number of planks it was made of, the number of nails you could feel under your hands. You learned how to read the sea—when it hinted at an oncoming storm or calm night. In a way, it became a safe space for you, away from the stifling walls of your cottage. 

So naturally, when something disrupted it, you noticed almost immediately. 

You were sitting on the dock, half a sandwich on your lap that you’d scrounged up for a late dinner. Your feet idly swished through the water, cool against your heated skin. The dock was high enough that it only submerged your feet up to your ankles, but you did not mind.

You took another bite of your sandwich, then felt an odd prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Pausing, you noticed the hairs on your arms were standing straight up. It… felt like you were being watched. You glanced around—at the wide ocean before you, then the sandy shore behind you. There were a few stragglers in the distance, but they were far enough that you were sure they were not the cause for your sudden unease. 

You swallowed your bite and decided it was probably nothing. 

The following evening, however, it happened again. Then the next evening. And the next. 

Like clockwork, almost, every time you sat down on the dock to relax after your shifts at work. It did not matter what you were doing, or how late you were there. Even for how long. You would always feel that prickle along your nape, and it would not leave until you walked back down the dock to make your way home. Sometimes it followed you up until you shut the door to your cottage. 

You tried testing to see if you would still feel this way walking along the shore, or lounging on the sand of the cove. But even if you completely avoided the dock, you would still feel that familiar prickle of your hairs standing on end. It was… stupefying. You wondered if you were being paranoid. Or maybe you were losing it, just a little. 

“If it’s any consolation,” Sebastian said one night, watching you with half-lidded eyes as you both sat at your tiny kitchen table. “You might have already lost it, sweetheart.” He only grinned at you when you told him to shut up. 

After weeks of enduring this strange sensation, you decided it was best to just pretend it wasn’t there. You could ignore a little unease if it meant your routine would remain undisrupted. So you sat at the dock and minded your own business. Stared out at the rolling waves, read a book, laid back to stargaze. You were able to find peace again. 

Then, one night, you noticed something. 

It was by chance, really. You were staring out at the sea, watching as the waves crashed against an outcropping of rocks in the far distance. It was dark, the only lighting coming from the moon and the stars. It caused the waters to turn black—void-like, almost, if not for the gentle moonlight. Maybe that was what had ultimately allowed you to see it. 

There, just behind the rocks jutting up from the sea like a jagged line of teeth, was this teal glow above the water. 

It hugged along the wall of rock, barely visible from your vantage point. You paused and found yourself squinting at it, trying to make out what the hell it could possibly be. The moment you stared at it for a second too long, however, it ducked under the water before disappearing out of sight. 

You were confused, yes, but you brushed it off as some sort of reflection. Maybe even a marine animal or bioluminescent plant of sorts, though you weren’t sure what. 

You saw it again some nights later, this time just under the surface of the calm waters by the outcropping. It was oddly hypnotizing, in a way, even muted under the deep, navy waves. A constant presence, throughout the entirety of your time on the dock. You could even see it from your cottage window if you squinted. 

The underwater glow became another upset in your routine that puzzled you to no end. You tried to ignore it like you ignored the prickle along your nape, but it was almost impossible to do so when it was so blatantly present in the water. No matter where you looked, the glow always lingered in your periphery. And it wasn’t like it stayed in the same place either. Some nights, it stayed near the rocks. During others, it seemed to draw closer. Farther. Closer. Closer. Farther. 

Definitely not a plant, you concluded one night as you warily eyed the teal glow as it lingered several meters away. A trick of light? You cast a glance up at the vantablack sky dusted with twinkling white. But no, that would be impossible. It showed up no matter if the night sky was clear or cloudy. 

Maybe you were imagining it after being on your own for so long. You grimaced as you thought about your cottage and the inhabitant waiting for you to return to it. Him. As real as your mind could make him. 

In any case, the glow was not a priority. Not with the way the days cycled on—a twisting, gnawing feeling soon growing in your chest that you were well acquainted with by now. Though you wished desperately that you weren’t. 

You woke up tired. 

Not atypical for you, by any means. But this was a different kind of tired—that lingered deep within your muscles and tissue, even your very soul. It made every single motion feel as though you were lugging along hundred pound weights. You were slow in getting out of bed for this reason, taking a few moments to blink wearily up at your ceiling and rub at your temples in a vain attempt to ease the headache you could feel trying to manifest. Already you were not off to a good start.

Steadily, you sat up and immediately spotted Sebastian looming in the far corner of your room. Smiling at you with his hands shoved into his pockets. He opened his mouth to say something, but you lifted up a hand to stop him. Your throat felt like it was lined with cotton.

“Not today,” you told him, voice barely over a whisper. You closed your eyes, then reopened them to give him a weary look. “Just… Not today.” 

He only closed his mouth and continued to smile at you.   

Once you picked yourself up and trudged over to your bathroom, you took a second to regard your reflection in the small mirror. Dark circles that lined the area under your eyes. A small wrinkle between your creased eyebrows. A dullness to your complexion and a hollowness to your cheeks. You rubbed an eye and sighed, a deep thing that didn’t make you feel any better. The day must go on, as much as you didn’t want it to. 

Your coworkers knew not to pester you too much once they saw you arrive at the clinic, so you were granted the relief of a somewhat quiet day. But that did not make things any easier for you—forcing you to be with the overwhelming spiral of your thoughts. You kept yourself busy with work around the clinic, but by the end of your shift, you somehow felt even worse than you had before. 

On the drive home, you stopped by a store to pick up a couple of groceries you needed. And once you returned home and unpacked everything into their proper places, you whipped up a quick dinner and spent some time sitting at your little table poking at it sluggishly. You weren’t all that hungry, despite only having some crackers and water earlier. Your stomach churned, your chest ached. You feared if you ate too much, you would just end up throwing it all up. 

It was quiet. You took your time to clean up and shower. Procrastinating, you registered faintly at the back of your mind. You slipped on some comfy clothes, then snagged Sebastian’s flannel that you’d never had the heart to pack away back into the box with the rest of his things. It hung on a hook on the back of your bedroom door, next to your towel. Forever a haunting presence in the corner of your world that you grew accustomed to with time. You slipped it on, the sleeves lolling past your hands.

Making your way back to the kitchen, you glanced out the window over your sink at the steadily approaching sunset. You’d gotten home slightly later than usual, but it was fine. You shuffled over to your fridge to grab a small, two-pack container of cupcakes and pried it open to take one out. You rummaged around in a nearby drawer for a few things, then slipped out your front door to make your way down to the dock.

It was a bit colder today, especially with the sun dipping closer down to the horizon to make way for night. You took a moment to stand at the edge of the dock and breathe. The fresh air helped, if only a little. The swell of the waves eased some of the tension lining your shoulders. You sat down, crossing your legs, and set the cupcake atop the small space in front of you. 

Leaning back onto your palms, you watched as dusk bled across the sky until it was overtaken completely by night. The moon painted the waves in a milky glow that highlighted their crests and shadowed their troughs. You could faintly register an ache behind your eyes that worsened bit by bit every time you blinked. You leaned forward and rubbed your cold hands along your upper arms before deciding it was time.

From your pockets, you pulled out a single candle and a lighter. You stuck the candle into the top of the cupcake, then—with a flick of your finger—used the lighter to set it aflame. The tiny, orange bud of fire flickered in the gentle wind and washed its soft glow along your hands and legs. Your wedding ring glinted in its light. You stuffed the lighter back into your pocket and sank into a slouch as you stared at the cupcake. 

Faintly, you could smell cinnamon. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your eyes stung, unblinking as they were. You swallowed and it was like choking down a bucket full of thorns.

He would have been thirty-three today, you thought miserably to yourself as you stared and stared and stared. The fact settled over you like a particularly suffocating blanket. That fatigue you'd felt earlier came back full force, accompanied by a wrenching feeling in the pit of your gut.

Thirty-three. Your face felt hot and cold all at once. You rubbed at your cheek and your fingers came away wet. You exhaled a shuddering breath.

All those years of missed opportunities and moments. No waking up to his slumbering face or to his gentle kisses on your eyelids. No playful teasing or hugs that stole the breath right out of your lungs with how tightly he squeezed. No midnight dances in your little kitchen, swaying back and forth to an imaginary tune. No being loved by him. 

Your heart ached.

“Happy birthday, my love,” you whispered out into the still air, closing your eyes momentarily as your jaw trembled. “I miss you. So, so much.” 

You leaned forward and blew out the candle. 

Then, you buried your face in your palms. And you cried.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, hiccuping into your hands. It hurt, god, it hurt so much. It always did. You were sure even years down the line, you’d find yourself trapped in the same wallowing pit of despair. The pain dulled, yes, but ever so sharp and present when the time lined up perfectly—as much as you dreaded it. Your chest hurt with the way you suppressed your pain.

When you finally managed to pull the shaking pieces of yourself together, everything felt numb with cold. Your head was stuffy, your eyes were bleary. You sniffed and had to choke back another sob. It truly never got easier, even after all this time. You needed some painkillers and a long, long rest.

Sighing, you plucked the cold candle from the cupcake along with its paper wrapping to toss into your trash later. You stood up and hugged yourself, giving the lone dessert another long glance before turning on your heel to head back into the warmth of your cottage. Come morning, the birds will have eradicated all traces of the cupcake from the dock, as they tended to do.

As you walked, the back of your neck prickled all the way up to your door.

In the following days, you noticed the teal glow you’d been seeing underwater was growing closer and closer—even moreso than it had been before. 

This would not have alarmed you too heavily—after all, it wasn’t like it hadn’t been going back and forth in terms of distance for a while—but it was getting to the point where it was only a few meters away. You could slip into the water and swim over easily, you mused, as you warily eyed the glow. Just in case, you decided to avoid sticking your feet into the water for now. 

You couldn’t kid yourself anymore. It was weird—really weird. Pair up the glow with the ever present prickle along your nape and Sebastian’s haunting presence at home, and you had a recipe spelling out… well… mental disaster. It was all you could do to hang on. There really wasn’t much you could do about it anyways, you figured. These days you were just too tired to care.

Currently, you were sitting cross-legged in your usual spot on the dock, aimlessly scrolling through your phone’s notifications as you enjoyed the night air. You had a couple of messages from Maria to respond to—you’d been trying to get better at maintaining contact with her every so often. It was a work in progress, but at least texts were easier for you to deal with than phone calls.  

You thumbed through the rest of your notifications. Lucas had sent you a meme around one in the morning last night that you’d missed. He was in his last year in university, you mulled. How time has flown. You remembered when he was still an annoying preteen, bugging Sebastian to use his no doubtfully expensive guitar. It was difficult to get Sebastian to ever part with it. The thought made you smile slightly to yourself, then you sobered upon remembering you’d had to sell it. In hindsight, Lucas’ guitar phase hadn’t lasted all too long—or maybe he hadn’t wanted something that reminded him of his older brother so much. Sweet memories turned sour after the execution. You sighed and sent him a meme back after liking the one he’d sent. Something about weird-looking cats. 

Oh, one of your coworkers wanted to grab dinner in a couple of days. Hmm. You checked your calendar, then sent off a response text in agreement. The distance you were from the nearby town was not large by any means, but it was enough that you rarely sought exchanges outside of work. You really needed to get out more. Most of your other interactions were online, especially after moving from the city and away from everyone and everything. It certainly was not doing you any favors. 

As you typed up a comment on one of your older friend’s social media posts, you noticed something. 

Just over the top of your phone screen—reflected in the dark water of the ocean. You paused and lowered your phone to stare at it. 

It was the teal glow, brighter and closer than it had ever been before. You eyed it for a moment, apprehension taking root in the pit of your stomach. But there was also this sense of tentative curiosity. You leaned forward just enough to peer down at it beyond the dock’s edge, submerged as it was beneath the gentle waves. It was almost underneath you, oddly hypnotizing as you tilted your head at it. You felt as though you could be sucked right into it, lulled into a trance as the glow encompassed all that you were. 

Brighter and brighter the glow grew. There was the distant thought in the back of your mind that maybe you should be more wary—maybe you should lean back or stand up to gain some distance. But all you could hear were your steady breaths, feel the way your grip tightened on your phone. Maybe you could see if what you were seeing was really an animal of sorts or just some figment of—

There was a head. Sticking out of the water.

You froze immediately, breath caught in your lungs. 

For a moment, you couldn’t process what exactly you were looking at. But then you realized you were staring at a gray-blue face framed by raven hair stuck to its sides. A rather large face, in fact, nowhere near the size of a regular human’s. A… mermaid? You weren’t entirely certain, and even then, there was a lot to unpack with this realization that you were in no way prepared to do. 

There was some sort of lure attached to the top of the creature’s head that drooped down into the water in front of it. Two—no, three, you noticed—eyes were trained intently in your direction, pupils indiscernible in a way that made it difficult to tell where precisely it was looking at. The back of your neck prickled.

Ah, you thought faintly as teal light gently washed across the nearly black surface of the water from the creature’s eyes. That’s what that was. 

You weren’t sure how long you and the… mermaid… stayed there, staring at each other, but eventually something had to give. You were just surprised it wasn’t you first.

The mermaid’s jaw seemed to tense. It regarded you with an unreadable gaze that you could feel flicking over your face. Then, it parted thin lips to say a quiet “Hey.” 

It was like getting punched in the gut—harsh and utterly unforgiving. 

It sounded— It sounded just like Sebastian. Raspier, maybe. A little lower in timbre. But unequivocally him. It was unmistakable—his voice so deeply cemented into your mind when you lived day by day listening to him speak over your shoulder. You felt like you couldn’t move a muscle, couldn’t force the air you so desperately needed into your lungs. 

He seemed to take in your silence, appraising you for a moment before speaking again. 

“I know this has gotta be… weird as shit…” he said slowly, voice stiff and slightly stilted. “But I”—he swallowed thickly—“I can explain.” 

You weren’t sure what expression you were making, but you saw the way the skin above his eyes seemed to crease together. You wanted to force yourself to spit out something, anything, but you could not hear yourself think over the rapid ba-dump ba-dump ba-dump of your heart in your ears. The vice-like grip on your insides with how much this mermaid sounded like Sebastian. How it made you hurt. How it made you ache. 

What the hell was going on right now?

“You—” you eventually choked out, your eyes taking in what was before you. A membranous fin at the side of his head flicked slightly at the sound of your voice. “You— I—”

He said your name quietly, and it was like another vicious twist of your gut. The sounds of the sea became white noise, distant and weak. “It’s me. Sebastian. You know? Love of your life?” His face scrunched up, sharp mouth turning into a strained grin as he stared at you with wide, imploring eyes. “Come on babe, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?” 

Just like him. He talked just like him.

But that couldn’t be right. That couldn’t be right. He was dead. He was—

Something suddenly clicked in the far recesses of your mind. 

“Ah.” The syllable dropped from your lips like a rock from a high place. You slumped like you’d been cut from a few taut strings struggling to hold you up. “I get it now.” You exhaled deeply, willing yourself to gain control of your mind and your heart. You knew exactly what was going on here. 

No need to panic. You were in control.

“...Do you really?” he asked warily after a minute or two. You ignored him to focus on yourself.

Deep breath in, deep breath out. You released the tight hold you had on your phone—line etched into your palm from the pressure—and shoved it into your pocket so you could lift your hands up to rub at your temples. 

You were tired. Of this, of everything. 

“I thought this was supposed to be a safe space,” you grumbled under your breath, your eyes closing in a vain attempt to stave off the building headache you were experiencing. “You had to follow me out here too?” 

Sebastian made a sound—a questioning, confused little thing that made you open your eyes to gaze down at him. He looked hurt, almost. “I— What?” 

Your hands dropped from your temples, and you leaned back onto your palms so you could look out at the calm sea. A few clouds passed over the moon from above, temporarily casting a shadow over you and him. You eyed him after a moment of letting yourself relax from the previous adrenaline spike.  

“You’ve never looked like this before,” you eventually mused as your eyes traced over the shadowed line of his nonexistent nose. The way his skin glistened in the dim lighting. “Did something change from yesterday?” You didn’t think you were capable of imagining him like this. Inhuman. No honeyed skin or rough scar bridging his nose. You wondered why it was happening now, of all times. If maybe it was the result of staying by the sea for so long, alone to deal with everything that had happened.

He opened his mouth as though to respond. But then he closed it and just… stared at you. Observing you. Analyzing you for something you were not privy to. A probing gaze that made something under your skin itch. You watched him back, then found you could not hold his gaze for much longer. You looked away and cleared your throat. 

“I’m thinking pasta for dinner,” you remarked casually to fill the silence, eyes shifting skywards in thought. “The alfredo we made last week was pretty good. I got the sauce on sale at the grocery store.” 

Another pause. Another moment where your skin prickled with the sensation of being picked apart, piece by piece.

And when he spoke, his voice was barely over a murmur—a grim realization to his tone. “You… You’ve really lost it after all this time, huh?” 

You made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Don’t be mean. I’m— well…” You gave him a smile, something melancholy lining your lips. “Doing just fine.” The words were bitter across your tongue. He only gave you a look like he didn’t quite believe you, something indecipherable in his gaze. 

“Right,” he snorted. “Like I’m gonna believe that after whatever the hell you just said.” A hand lifted from the water to gesture at you, gray-blue just like his face. 

Rolling your eyes, you shifted on your feet and stood up, brushing off your pants as you shoved your hands into your pockets. You hadn’t realized, but there was this twinge building in your stomach with every minute that ticked by. You needed to sleep this off… whatever this was. You sighed, long and weary. “I should not be entertaining you.” But it was so hard to resist—has been, for years now. 

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Sebastian muttered to himself, pinching at the bridge of his nonexistent nose with two large fingers. When you only raised an eyebrow at him and took a step in the direction of your cottage, intending to head back to get started on dinner, he lurched forwards in the water. “Wait. Where are you going? Y-You’re leaving?” 

You didn’t intend on answering him, so accustomed to ignoring him in your cottage whenever he spoke into the air. But when this Sebastian snapped out your name in a warning tone, you gave him a look. “I’m not leaving, silly. I’ll see you inside, won’t I?” 

“God, do you even hear yourself right now?” he rasped out, voice betraying a certain incredulity as he lifted himself up in the water just enough that you could see what looked like a waterlogged scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. “Listen to me. I’m here. I’m real.”

Real, huh? 

You closed your eyes and thought about a figure standing in the corner of your living room, watching you with a small grin. You thought about the endless nights of him standing near your bed or hovering just beyond your shoulder, whispering at you to close your eyes and sleep. You thought about a lot. You thought about nothing.  

And so you hummed, a distant thing that you did not quite register as you started to turn away, unwilling as you were to continue this. But before you could make it even a couple of steps back down the dock, Sebastian made a noise—ragged and disbelieving. There was the sound of rushing water directly behind you. The roar of a small waterfall, almost. It made you turn back and blink in surprise as your head craned back.

The wood beneath you creaked and groaned in an ominous manner. 

“We are not done talking,” Sebastian growled as he loomed over you. Like this, you could take him in his entirety—from the brown jacket covering his torso that was dark with seawater, to the three arms he had that held himself up atop the dock’s surface. The shirt he had on was translucent enough to appear gray in color. If you looked close enough at the sliver of his unclothed body before it disappeared beneath the dock’s edge, you could just barely make out the shine of scales. 

This was—like nothing you have ever seen before.

Your lips parted when a drop of water landed on your cheek, startling you for a moment. A glance up at the sky showed clear skies above you. Maybe you’d imagined it. You shook your head slightly and focused back on Sebastian.

Water continued to run down his body, each drop soaking into the wooden planks of the dock, before it eventually eased into a trickle.  

“What is there to talk about?” you asked lightly after contemplating his words. 

His grip tightened on the dock, enough that you could almost hear something splinter. “Much, in case you were not aware.” He surveyed your open face with narrowed eyes, a soft teal glow dusting across your features. It was like you were being held open like a book, all of your innards exposed for him to analyze. You weren’t sure what he found there, but it made him suddenly soften like butter atop a warm stove. 

“I just…” He sighed, something long-suffering that came from deep within his chest. “This wasn’t how I’d imagined things would go, believe it or not.” 

You cocked your head at him and watched him slouch from his rigid position. Still dripping water. Still with that raven hair plastered to his face. There was a sort of exhaustion to him that you’d never noticed before. It made something pang in your chest—caused you to clench your hands into fists in a vain attempt to focus on anything else. 

There was the pungent smell of fish, raw and metallic.

Not real. This was not real.

Sebastian shifted, and the hand attached to his torso—smaller in size and covered sloppily in stained bandages—raised as though it was going to reach towards you. Your heart nearly skipped a beat at the motion. But then he stopped, staring down at his palm. Big and gray and consisting of four thick fingers with sharp ends. There was the glint of something gold around his fourth finger. Your own hand twitched inside your pocket. 

Always just out of reach. Never crossing a line. 

His hand clenched into a fist, and he lowered it back to the dock with a quiet thud.

He said your name. “I know this is difficult to hear, but… It’s me,” he whispered, voice strained like it was on the precipice of breaking. “It’s really, really me.” 

You swallowed heavily, feeling as though the world was unraveling by the seams beneath your feet. 

This was not him. It couldn’t be. 

Why would you ever imagine him like this? 

“No, it’s not,” you eventually said bitterly, breaking eye contact so you could glance back at your cottage. You closed your eyes, then reopened them as you turned your back to him. And when you spoke again, your voice teetered like you were one step away from falling into a never ending pit. “You’re dead.” 

And then you walked away.

Each step you took felt like eternity, something heavy weighing you down. He called out your name. First so quietly you almost didn’t hear it, a tinge of something fragile to it. Then again with frustration lining his voice—louder and aggrieved. There was a sharp crack of something behind you, but you were determined in your march back home. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Your jaw clenched to suppress the tremble you could feel working its way throughout your body. You refused to look behind you, and you succeeded right up until you stood before the door to your cottage. With one hand on the metal knob, you twisted around to look back at the shore—the dock you could see a ways behind you. 

It was vacant, not a soul in sight. 

Your lips pursed together, and you opened the door to slip inside with a heavy, grim feeling taking root in your stomach. 

Sebastian was waiting for you already, sprawled atop your couch as he grinned at you wide enough that you saw each and every one of his white teeth. 

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said amusedly, one of his hands raking through the wavy mess of hair on his head. His voice lowered, gentle and sincere. “Maybe take a break from the dock, yeah?”

You only slowly shook your head and moved past him, suddenly feeling queasy and lightheaded and so frazzled that you couldn’t bear being awake for much longer.

Your thoughts lingered on the shore. Teal eyes and the sound of breaking wood that felt so real in that instance. You forced yourself to breathe.

It was fine. It was fine. 

You would deal with it as you always have.

part two

[shisasan]

Picking a single favourite quote might be an impossible task so which quote (or quotes) do you seem to come back to more often than others?

Picking a single favorite quote might truly be an impossible task because there are so many brilliant writers out there whose words have deeply influenced my life. These extraordinary souls have breathed new life into me when I was ready to give up on everything. Without any particular order, these quotes are not intended to enlighten or educate anyone but offer a brief insight into the words I turn to for comfort, inspiration, or understanding when I'm not at my highest self.

I'll begin with my most dearest Hermann Hesse, whom I like to call my Alpha and Omega. He transformed my life from a young age, opening mysterious portals to other worlds and making me feel deeply understood, embraced, with a true sense of belonging. His writing not only awakened my mind to new realms of thought and emotion but also offered immense solace and companionship through his exploration of the human spirit:

"A wild longing for strong emotions and sensations seethes in me, a rage against this toneless, flat, normal, and sterile life."

"I have always thirsted for knowledge, I have always been full of questions."

"We have to stumble through so much dirt and humbug before we reach home. And we have no one to guide us. Our only guide is our homesickness."

Rainer Maria Rilke, a beautiful and tender infinite soul, whose writings deeply resonate with the complexities of the human condition and the relentless quest for understanding:

"I am dark, I am forest."

"I grow strong in the beauty you behold. And with the silence of stars, I enfold your cities made by time."

"Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer."

Novalis, who occupies a cherished place in my heart for his poetic and deeply insightful exploration of life and love.

"We are eternal because we love each other."

"I often feel, and ever more deeply I realize, that fate and character are the same conception."

"Sometimes with the most intense pain a paralysis of sensibility occurs. The soul disintegrates—hence the deadly frost—the free power of the mind—the shattering, ceaseless wit of this kind of despair. There is no inclination for anything anymore—the person is alone, like a baleful power—as he has no connection with the rest of the world he consumes himself gradually—and in accordance with his own principle he is—misanthropic and misotheos."

Egon Schiele, whose intense and raw portrayal of human emotion and beauty has deeply moved me, revealing the unfiltered essence of the human experience.

"I must see new things and investigate them. I want to taste dark water and see crackling trees and wild winds. I want to gaze with astonishment at moldy garden fences, I want to experience them all, to hear young birch plantations and trembling leaves, to see light and sun, enjoy wet, green-blue valleys in the evening, sense goldfish glinting, see white clouds building up in the sky, to speak to flowers. I want to look intently at grasses and pink people, old venerable churches, to know what little cathedrals say, to run without stopping along curving meadowy slopes across vast plains, kiss the earth and smell soft warm marshland flowers. And then I shall shape things so beautifully: fields of colour…"

Anaïs Nin, a force of nature and embodiment of feminine strength, whose deep exploration of inner life and boundless creativity has left an indelible impression on me. Her work continues to inspire and challenge me to embrace the fullness of my inner world:

"She was colour, brilliance, strangeness."

"I have the power to multiply myself. I am not one woman."

"Ordinary life does not interest me. I seek only the high moments. I am in accord with the surrealists, searching for the marvelous."

"I can only connect deeply, or not at all."

Carl Gustav Jung, one of the most brilliant psychiatrists, psychologists, psychotherapists, and empiricists in history. Jung's exploration of the collective unconscious and shadow self has offered me invaluable tools for self-awareness and personal development. His legacy continues to inspire and guide those seeking to understand the depths of the mind and the path to self-discovery.

"A man who has not passed through the inferno of his passions has never overcome them. As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light in the darkness of mere being. Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves."

"People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own souls. One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious."

"The privilege of a lifetime is to become who you truly are."

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, the maddening genius with profound understanding of human nature and morality:

"If you want to overcome the whole world, overcome yourself."

"People speak sometimes about the 'bestial' cruelty of man, but that is terribly unjust and offensive to beasts, no animal could ever be so cruel as a man, so artfully, so artistically cruel."

"People. People. Endless noise. And I am so tired. And I would like to sleep under trees; red ones, blue ones, swirling passionate ones."

"I exist. In thousands of agonies—I exist."

"If there is no God, everything is permitted."

Virginia Woolf, a literary giant whose deep introspection and exploration of the human condition have left an indelible mark:

"No need to hurry. No need to sparkle. No need to be anybody but oneself."

"What is the meaning of life? That was all—a simple question; one that tended to close in on one with years. The great revelation had never come. The great revelation perhaps never did come. Instead, there were little daily miracles, illuminations, matches struck unexpectedly in the dark; here was one."

"I want to raise up the magic world all around me and live strongly and quietly there."

"Reality? Reality has never been enough for me."

Mikhail Bulgakov, a masterful writer and playwright, another troubled soul who faced censorship and persecution in his lifetime, with immense talent and a deep soul, fascinated me with his imaginary worlds that blend reality with fantastical elements, feeling both familiar and boundlessly expansive:

"But would you kindly ponder this question: What would your good do if evil didn't exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared? After all, shadows are cast by things and people. Here is the shadow of my sword. But shadows also come from trees and living beings. Do you want to strip the earth of all trees and living things just because of your fantasy of enjoying naked light?"

"Kindness. The only possible method when dealing with a living creature. You'll get nowhere with an animal if you use terror, no matter what its level of development may be. That I have maintained, do maintain and always will maintain. People who think you can use terror are quite wrong. No, no, terror is useless, whatever its colour – white, red or even brown! Terror completely paralyses the nervous system."

"Everything passes away - suffering, pain, blood, hunger, pestilence. The sword will pass away too, but the stars will remain when the shadows of our presence and our deeds have vanished from the Earth. There is no man who does not know that. Why, then, will we not turn our eyes toward the stars? Why?"

"There are no evil people in the world, only unhappiness disguised as evil."

And then there is indispensable Franz Kafka. Although I have shifted away from his writing in recent years and no longer resonate with it as much, he was a dear friend and frequent company during my darkest, loneliest, and most challenging times. His work, full of raw honesty and insight, offered a kind of companionship that felt both intimate and enduring:

"The way he can risk everything and risks nothing, because there is nothing but truth in him already, a truth that even in the face of the contradictory impressions of the moment will justify itself as such when the crucial time arrives. The calm self-possession. The slow pace that neglects nothing. The immediate readiness, when it is needed, not sooner, for long in advance he sees everything that is coming."

"I, for the most part silent, had nothing to say; among such people the war doesn’t call forth in me the slightest opinion worth expressing."

"You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet, still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet." Of course, there are many more authors who deserve to be on this list, but I chose these because they have touched my life in ways that are both unique and deeply personal. I hope that at least some of you will read to the end and find a bit of inspiration and insight in these quotes, just as they have given me. If you’ve made it this far, thank you. 🌹

[jreads]

Not sure if this is where we submit requests, but i’d kill for a fic where reader’s having debilitating anxiety attack in Jackson (like where your vision blacks at the edges and you can’t breathe) and suddenly a strong force is keeping you up and you look up and it’s Joel; and he’s concerned bc he relates (but you don’t know each other) and you take a fistful of his shirt and suddenly they feel the symptoms retreating - and that’s how you meet, and you’ve found comfort in each other since. :’)

Sorry if that made no sense it’s word vomit LOL

Also sidebar: unexpected constellations will stay w me forever thank you:’)

Of Memories and Mealtimes (Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: Mentions of blood, Mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, Mentions of death, Foul language

A/N: this prompt was so cute, I hope I did it justice!

It’s been getting colder recently. No snow, not yet, but the breeze has a certain nip to it, blowing burnt orange leaves to rest on the ground like a natural carpet. The days are grey, and the nights are long, and that creeping feeling has been looming ever closer recently. You’ve found solace in the comfort of the kitchen. The air here is warm and humid and smells of frying garlic and onion. You perform repetitive, menial tasks and it staves off—to some extent—the ever-present penetrating feeling of loneliness. 

Since arriving in Jackson, you’ve struggled to find a place, a sense of belonging. You’re coming to the conclusion that maybe you never will. You thought you had one… but that was a while ago. 

It’s selfish to think you’re the only one in this town with a painful past; it’s clear that everyone is trying just as hard to find reasons to get through each day. You’re not alone. But you do feel like it. Often.

Maria has taken pity on you, stationing you in the kitchens because she knows you like it there. Knows you like to watch the people sitting at tables and soak up sounds of laughter in an attempt to steal a moment of second-hand happiness.

It’s late now, pitch black outside, and your shift is almost over. You’re cutting fruits and veggies for omelettes in the morning: spinach, olives, tomatoes. There are maybe five people still sitting, a table of three, one woman at a booth, and a man sitting alone at the bar. Sometimes, you like to eavesdrop.

The trio are talking about their old lives. They seem to have found something in common, street racing. Moding their cars, evading the cops… back when you could just drive into a gas station for petrol.  One used to have an old Charger, stolen in the looting. He reminisces over how the purr of the engine felt, how the lights of the highway would turn to a blur as he accelerated. From the corner of your eye, you see the man from the bar get up to leave, dropping some coin on the counter. You used to like to drive fast too. When it was for leisure and not for survival.

“I’m scared.”

The familiar voice sears through you like a branding iron, bringing with it flashing images of memory. Fuck. No, no, no. Not now. 

The freeway is peppered with stationary cars, and you’re swerving, as fast as humanly possible, trying desperately to navigate the mess. The Jeep behind you is gaining, and the little boy in your passenger seat is rigid in fear. If you can just make it through the overpass, it clears out after that. Their car is good offroad, but yours is faster. You upshift.

There’s gunfire, and your rear window shatters. He screams. You use your right hand to push his head down. He needs to stay low. You’re almost there.

Another gunshot. You try to ignore the popping of the rear tire; try not to think about what it means. The vehicle swerves and you fight against it by correcting the wheel. It’s no use. You clip the side of an abandoned car, and your own flips. You’re thrown through the windscreen. It’s the last thing you remember before your vision goes dark.

There’s pain. But not from the onslaught of old memories. You’ve slipped with the knife in your distraction, cutting a deep line into the side of your thumb. It’s dripping down, coating your fingers in a slick red. Your heart is pounding out of your chest, lungs constricting so hard you can barely get a breath in.

“Could I take five?” you manage to gasp to the other lady. But you don’t even wait for her reply before dropping the knife with a clatter and banging gracelessly through the back service doors. Your vision is blurring, darkening at the edges and your head is spinning. It feels as if you might die. You’re going to die.

Your hand is now coated in blood and—with little thought—you try to brush it off with your right, only succeeding in spreading the scarlet until it’s all you can see.

You wake in a ravine. How long have you been out? There’s pain in your cheek and you reach up to pluck a piece of glass from it. The crash. The kid. Oh, no. Oh, god. You call his name, voice hoarse. No reply. Your legs are too weak to support the weight of your own body, so you scramble up from the ditch, back onto the freeway. The car lies a few meters away on its side. Scraped and destoyed. And beyond it, a small body. No.

You crawl to him, sobbing at the bones bent in unnatural angles. And the bullet wound through his chest. You scream. You wail. His lifeless form is so small in your arms, leaking blood over your palms. You were supposed to protect him. You were supposed to—

His body is going cold. Limp and lifeless. But you can’t let go. Maybe, if you just hold on tight enough, the force of your love can breathe life back into his lungs.

You’re covered in his bood, figuratively, literally, it’s everywhere. Stumbling as if you’re drunk, you cry so hard that the tears only blur your vision further. It’s been a while since you’ve had one this bad. If you could just get back to your house. God, why did it have to happen in public? You can’t see where you’re going, so it’s no surprise when you run into something.

No, someone. There are hands on your shoulders and a comforting voice, gravelly Texan accent. What is he saying? You can’t tell. You’re going to be sick.

Something blocks out the lights of the streetlamp. There’s a body beside you.

A fragile body, broken and empty. Leaking life onto cracked pavement.

No, but this body is warm. Strong and gentle. A calloused palm cradling your head into a broad chest, a steady heartbeat. Alive. This body is alive. You clutch onto the fabric of his shirt with desperate hands, forgetting for a moment that your own blood will stain the fabric. He’s speaking words, low whispers, but the sound of them vibrates through him and into you. He’s telling you to calm down.

But you can’t. How do you tell him you can’t? You’re choking on air, hiccupping in a way that hurts.

“Come on now, breathe with me.” He smells nice, like cedar and whiskey. You can feel him smoothing circles onto your back, the rise and fall of his chest as he inhales and exhales. You try to copy him, lungs spasming with the effort. “That’s it. Keep going.” You’re heaving loud, ugly, uneven breaths, but it’s all you can manage. Past and present are flashing before you, your own blood, someone else’s, unseeing eyes and dead silence, a thumping pulse and soothing voice. It’s getting easier; you’re synchronizing your breaths to his own. But as you lean into the comedown, that exhaustion starts to creep up behind you. You melt into him in relief, but he doesn’t shy away. “There you go. I got you.”

Pieces of your surroundings start to fade back into view. You’re under the awning by the barn, shrouded in shadow. He’s practically holding you up by himself, and you feel a sudden deep stab of embarrassment. You can’t look this stranger in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his shirt.

He doesn’t loosen his hold. “You got nothing to apologize for.”

“Probably got… blood on your shirt.” It’s taking effort to even form the words.

He laughs lightly and the sound is like warm caramel. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

The nausea is ebbing, but you find you don’t want to leave. Caught in his arms, you feel the safest you’ve felt in a long while.

“You should probably get that finger bandaged.” He steps away, pulling your arm into the light to examine the cut and you almost sob once more at the loss of contact. “I got supplies back at my place, if that’s alright by you?”

“Okay,” you say because you feel too weak to walk back to your own house alone right now. And also because in the glow of the streetlamp, you can see the rugged handsomeness of his face, etched with sweet worry, dark curls interspersed with shots of grey. You’ve seen him before. The man at the bar, so often alone. 

You’re shaking now, visceral, wracking shudders. He sheds his coat and swings it over your shoulders before leading you down the laneway.

His house is not far, a five-minute walk at most. He ushers you up the front porch, opening the door to a dim-lit living area.

“Joel?” A shrill voice calls down from above. 

Joel Miller? This is Joel Miller?

“Yeah Ellie, it’s me.”

A little girl comes bounding down the stairs, dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She stops dead when she sees you, noting the jacket around your shoulders, the blood on your hand.

“What happened?” she says, with a kind of fascinated wonder that comes naturally to kids. Oh god, she reminds you of—

“Kitchen accident.” Joel replies smoothly. “You mind getting the med kit, kiddo?”

Her big eyes blink once, twice. “Oh, yeah.” Then she’s running right back up the staircase.

Joel sits you on the couch, grasping your wrist with a tender motion so at odds with all the things you’ve heard about him. Then again, you never knew he had a kid.

“Is she yours?”

He doesn’t look up from your palm. “In the ways that count.”

The girl, Ellie, is back down in record time with a worn first aid kit that she extends to Joel. When he takes it, she looks again at you with blatant curiosity. You feel guilty for barging into the warmth of their home like this.

“Ellie, why don’t you go boil some water for coffee.”

“Can I have hot chocolate?” she asks, and the hopeful joy in her voice is enough to finally make you smile.

Joel does too. “Sure.” And she’s off once more, rounding the corner to where you assume the kitchen lies. “But don’t go putting extra sugar in it,” he calls after her. The soft domesticity makes you ache with loss.

“Well, good news is you won’t be needing stiches.” He pulls an array of supplies from the box: disinfectant, gauze, a bandage. “But you should tell Maria to take you off kitchen schedule for a couple days.”

“How’d you know I was on kitchen schedule?” 

“Lucky guess,” he replies easily, but you swear there’s pink travelling across his cheeks. 

The disinfectant stings and you hiss. He falls into silent work, and you find yourself watching him, trying to understand how the man in front of you is the very same that garnered such a ruthless and cold reputation. 

He breaks the silence first. “I don’t mean to pry but…” Joel fastens the bandage securely around your finger. “…if you want to talk about what happened…”

You don’t. Not now, maybe not ever.

When you don’t reply, he nods his head. “I get it.” You watch him cast a glance toward the sound of a boiling kettle, to where Ellie is. “Trust me, I do.” 

You sit with him and Ellie—quiet with a warm cup of coffee—until late into the night. Ellie makes a face at the smell of it and quips back and forth with Joel about how he can ‘drink that piss.’ The girl has a mouth on her. She’s clever, sharp-witted, and the banter between her and him seems to dig a needle and thread into your gaping heart and sew one single stitch into it.

Past midnight, despite your repeated refusal, Joel insists he walk you home. Seeing your own house, cold and devoid of light makes your shoulders slump and heart race anew. Joel seems to note the behaviour.

“You’re always welcome at ours.” You know you’ll never take him up on the invitation. From the sadness in his eyes, you think he knows it too.

There are miles between you. “Thank you.” He only nods. You leave him standing on the lawn.

From behind the safety of the porch window, you can see that he waits for the light to turn on in your living room before walking back down the street.

Maria has insisted you take a few days off. Damn it. Joel must have said something. You try to busy yourself in the garden instead, but the gloves fit awkwardly over your bandage. You don’t last long anyway. The sound of school children heading home hits your ears around 3:00PM, and within minutes, a small shadow blocks where the sun hits your face.

“What’re you doing?”

Just seeing her face is enough to put a small smile on your own. “I’m planting basil.”

“What’s basil?”

You laugh. Actually laugh. “You want to try some?” You offer her a leaf and she chews it thoughtfully. Gives it an approving face. A thumbs up.

“You should bring some for Joel.” The forwardness of her suggestion is almost shocking, but she seems like the type of kid who says whatever comes to mind. You like that about her. “His cooking is pretty bland.”

Two laughs in one day. This kid is like medicine. “You think so?”

“Mhm. You could come over now. I think he’s on patrol, but he’ll be back soon.”

You think about turning her down, just on reflex. But you like how it feels to laugh, just the way you liked how you had felt in Joel’s arms the other night. So you agree. Her smile is brilliant. 

Minutes later, when she loops her arm through your own, she says, “Hey but don’t tell Joel what I said about his cooking, okay?”

You promise.

Around 7:00PM, he comes through the door, a weary sigh giving him away. “Ellie,” he calls.

“In here!” She’s excited. You’ve prepared a meal: pasta, sundried tomatoes, and the basil plucked from the garden. She’s been picking at the penne with her fingers, unable to wait until he arrives.

Seeing the surprised look on his face when he rounds the corner makes you feel suddenly shy. “I wanted to do something to thank you for last night and, well… Ellie found me in the—”

“Joel, it’s so fucking good.” At this point the muscles in your face are starting to hurt from smiling. 

Over dinner, you actually start to engage in the conversation, and somehow you seem to get along like you’ve known each other for years. In tandem, they work to bring you out of your shell. Your voice is hoarse and face warm by the time you go to leave, but Joel stops you at the door.

“Let me walk you back again.” Your selfish streak is only getting worse. You say yes. You think you see Ellie’s face in the top window as the two of you leave, a devious grin on her face.

Conversation flows on the way, about food, wine, Ellie. It’s comfortable, familiar, but there’s something… 

A yearning, buried under layers of friendly formality. He walks you up your porch and you think, for just a moment, about inviting him inside.

But you’re not quite ready for that just yet. So, you rise up to kiss him on the cheek instead, relishing the stunned look on his face.

Shy again, you back away across the threshold. “Good night, Joel.”

He says it back, and the way your name rolls of his tongue ignites something long dormant within you. You think he might be looking at your lips.

When the door closes, you let out a shuddering breath. And for what seems like the thousandth time that night, you smile.

[holylulusworld]

Flowers (5) - Honeysuckle

Summary: Honeysuckle flowers represent true happiness, romantic love, good fortune, and sweetness towards one another.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: angry Bucky, fluff, love confessions

Flowers (4) - Daisy

Flowers masterlist

For the next few days, you barely left your apartment. Bucky and you spent the time talking about all the things you never dared to bring up.

Your relationship, his feelings for you, and the woman almost ruining your relationship. Dolores. 

At first, you wanted to go ballistic and beat the shit out of that woman. Bucky had to hold you back and calm you. He promised over and over again that Dolores didn’t stand a chance.

You are the only woman he wants, and the one he needs. He confessed his love and sniffled when you confessed your feelings for him.

One week later you finally leave the apartment to grab a few things for your upcoming trip to your uncle’s cabin. You want to get out of the tower for a while to spend some well-needed alone time with Bucky.

“You look pretty today, doll,” he complimented while holding your hand in his gloved one. “I mean…uh—you always look pretty. But today, you glow.”

“Aw, someone wants to get laid,” you giggled and pecked his cheek. “I thought last night was enough to tame the python in your pants, Sergeant Barnes.”

“You know how I get when you are close,” he smirked. “I lose all control and need to get my hands on you, doll.”

“You’re insatiable,” you retorted, but mirrored his smirk. “Maybe after our shopping trip. We will take my car today.”

“No bike,” he sighed and looked at the list in your hands. “I bet I can store everything on my bike.”

“I bet you’ll lose half of the things we will need, and there is no space left for me,” you pointed out, sticking your tongue out.

“Fine, no bike today.”

“We should go to Maria first. I want to tell her that she can pair me up with you for missions again. And,” you cleared your throat, “to make sure she knows that we won’t work with that red-haired bitch.”

“Did I hear my name?” Natasha poked her head around the corner, one brow furrowed.

“Nope,” you grinned at the redhead. “There is only one red-haired bitch I hate. And that’s not you.”

She winked at you and chuckled. “So, you’re good? No more fighting or rom-com drama?” 

“Shut up,” you grinned at her. “We had the best reunion sex ever.” You narrowed your eyes the moment Dot stepped out of one of the offices. “We almost broke the bed, the couch, and the shower.”

“Do you want me to hate you?” Natasha sighed deeply. It’s been too long since she had animalistic and crazy sex. “You win. I’m jealous.”

“Sergeant Barnes,” Dolores cooed, acting like she didn’t lie to you to steal your boyfriend. “How have you been? We have missed you during training.”

“He had better things to do than listening to your lies,” you bit back, and gritted your teeth. 

She chuckled, still believing there was a chance Bucky would leave you for good and find solace in her arms. “I asked Sergeant Barnes, not you.”

“Careful,” Bucky’s features darkened, and her disrespectful tone. “You caused enough trouble. Don’t believe for one second I will forget that you lied to me.”

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about, Sergeant,” she tried to smile her way out of the situation. 

“I’m not the man I used to be,” Bucky let go of your hand for a moment to tower over Dolores. She shrank into herself. No one faces the former Winter Soldier and doesn’t pee their pants. “But don’t think for one second that I will let you get in between me and my girlfriend. Get it in your head,” he pointed his index finger at Dolores, “I only love her.”

He slung one arm around your shoulders and guided you away from Dolores and her boring looks. “Buck, I think you made her pee her pants.”

“Good.” He said. “She deserves that much and more.”

“What is that?” You pointed at the cat Bucky carried in his jacket. He wanted to grab more things for your trip, only to bring nothing but a small white furball home. “Bucky?”

“That punk kinda followed me,” he sheepishly said. “It began to snow, and I had to stop my bike. I got off my bike, to wait for the snowfall to stop and then,” he looked at the cat poking its head out of his jacket, “I heard this guy meow loudly.”

“Where did you find him?” You pat the cat’s head. “Bucky?” You looked him in the eyes. “You didn’t steal the cat, right?”

“What? No! Someone locked him in a box and threw it in a dumpster. I fished the box out and freed him,” Bucky pleadingly looked at you. “Can we keep him?”

You looked at the cat, and then at your smiling boyfriend, already knowing the answer. 

“Do you already have a name for him?” You laughed as Bucky nodded eagerly. “How’d you name the poor cat? I hope it’s not snowball.”

“Alpine,” he said while patting the cat’s head. “He’s a fighter. A survivor and…he’s white.” Bucky wouldn’t stop smiling. He allowed you to carefully take the cat out of his jacket but followed you hot on your heels to keep an eye on Alpine.

“We will need cat food, and toys, a bed, a toilet,” you hummed to yourself. “Maybe we can cancel the trip? We need to take care of him first.”

“You sure?” Bucky asked while watching you play with the cat on your shared bed. “I guess there is a new man in town, huh?”

“We should order all the things we will need for Alpine online.” You watched the cat curl into a ball on the bed. He was still shivering, but he meowed happily when Bucky sat down on the bed. 

“Hey punk,” Bucky patted the cat’s head, but his eyes were glued to you moving closer to sit next to him. “How do you feel?”

“We can ask a vet to check on him,” you put your hand on Bucky’s lightly squeezing it. “I guess we now have a kid, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Maybe we can work on putting on into you too?” He smirked at your shocked expression. “Or at least try? I like trying…”

The End...

Tags in reblog.

[sunnycanvas]

As Life Fades, Sibylla remembers Baldwin IV

Warning: Implication of sexual violence and strong implications of internalised misogyny

Note: Although inspired by heavily historical events the fiction is still historically inaccurate. So please take everything here as a grain of salt

From former queen of Jerusalem

Sibylla

Sibylla signed the letter with a heavy heart, her hand trembling as she sealed it. She ordered her servants to deliver it to Conrad de Montferrat, though she knew deep down that it was likely in vain. Already stricken with illness, Sibylla mourned in the camp alongside her relatives, where the epidemic had ravaged their lives. The loss of her daughters, Alix and Maria, who had succumbed to the epidemic just days earlier, weighed heavily on her soul. As she lay in her tent, waiting for Conrad's reply, a sense of foreboding settled over her. Death was closing in, and though the thought of reuniting with her children in the afterlife brought her some solace, she couldn’t shake the sorrow for her kingdom. Why had God been so cruel to her? Had she not been the obedient wife she was required to be? Had she not remained silent when it was demanded of her? What had she done to deserve this fate? Why would God allow the kingdom to fall into Saracen hands? Her troubled thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a servant, holding a letter from Conrad. Sibylla’s heart raced as she demanded impatiently, "What does it say?" Despite her worries for the kingdom, her desire to reunite with her children in the afterlife was overwhelming. She wondered what her sons and daughters would be like in heaven, confident that she had earned her place there. The servant hesitated, nervously clutching the letter as he fidgeted with his fingers. "Well...?" Sibylla pressed, her voice sharp with anticipation. Finally, the servant unfolded the letter and began to read aloud, "I shall maintain the succession rule established by the former King of Jerusalem, King Baldwin IV." Sibylla's eyes widened as memories of her late brother flooded back. The atmosphere in the tent grew tense, as the other servants and maids fell silent at the mention of Baldwin’s name. She could see the grief in their eyes, a reflection of the loss they still felt for their king. Sibylla, too, missed her brother, but after the death of her son, she had scarcely had time to think of him. A maid, her voice filled with nostalgia, remarked, "Our kingdom flourished both spiritually and economically under his rule." Sibylla’s cheeks flushed with shame at the reminder of her own failures. Before she could dwell on it, her health took a sudden turn for the worse, and she collapsed to the floor. To her shock, none of the servant neither the maids nor the male messenger standing by the tent’s entrance moved to help her. One maid, her voice dripping with venom, spat out, "We were wrong to think our kingdom was cursed because of our leprous king. No, it was cursed because of you. You are the reason why our women are being violated, why we lost Ascalon to save your husband. We lost our lives and dignity because of you, and I pray God gives you the judgment you deserve for your sins." Sibylla wanted to protest, to defend herself, but she was too weak. Her life was slipping away, and the last thing she heard was another maid scolding the one who had spoken so harshly. As darkness closed in, her final thoughts were of her brother Baldwin, wondering how he would have reacted if he were alive to see the fall of Jerusalem.

Sibylla awoke, feeling groggy and disoriented. As she looked around, she found herself in a dark, desolate place. The only things visible were trees, their branches bare and charred as if they had been burned. The oppressive darkness weighed heavily on her, and she struggled to recall anything her name, her family, or where she had come from but her mind was blank. With no memory and no sense of direction, Sibylla began to walk, her feet sinking into the wet, murky ground. She wandered aimlessly, unsure of where she was headed, until she noticed a faint glimmer of light in the distance. Desperate for a sign of hope, she pressed on toward it. As she drew closer, the ground beneath her feet became warm and dry, and she found herself surrounded by clouds, a stark contrast to the darkness she had just left behind. Sibylla sighed in relief and continued walking, hoping to find someone who could help her make sense of her situation. Soon, she spotted a blonde, bearded man crouched down, playfully interacting with two little girls. He looked cheerful, chuckling as he gently pulled the girls' cheeks, his eyes filled with warmth. Sibylla felt a surge of hope and hurried toward them, eager to ask for help."Excuse me, Sir," she called out. "I find myself in a strange situation where I can't remember my name or where I come from. Do you happen to know how to help me?"

The man's smile vanished the moment he heard her voice. He stood up slowly, his demeanor shifting from warmth to a stern, almost detached expression. "Sibylla," he said confidently, addressing her by name.Sibylla stared at him in confusion, the name sounding familiar yet distant. The two little girls turned toward her, their innocent voices calling out, "Mommy?" Her confusion deepened as she looked at them, unable to comprehend what was happening. The man's gaze remained fixed on her, his expression now tinged with frustration and disappointment. He closed his eyes halfway, his tone sharp as he spoke."You seem as lost as we were when we first arrived here," he said. "But it's okay, you’ll remember soon enough... 'Dear Sister'."

Sibylla’s confusion quickly turned to frustration. Unable to contain herself, she yelled at the blonde man, "I came here looking for answers, but you've only made things worse! Help me if you can, or leave me alone! Why do you insist on complicating my life?" As the words left her mouth, a sudden wave of déjà vu washed over her. Baldwin, hearing her outburst, chuckled bitterly and shook his head. "Still the same," he muttered, his voice tinged with a resigned bitterness. Sibylla noticed how tired he looked, as though her reaction was something he had seen too many times before. It was clear he knew her far too well for a stranger, and that only deepened her frustration. "You look like you were expecting me to say that," she protested. With a weary sigh, the man replied, "This time, yes. I only wish I’d expected it back when I was alive." He paused, then added in a strained voice, "Sister." The word struck Sibylla, silencing her. The déjà vu grew stronger, and suddenly, flashes of memory began to surface, fragments of a past she had forgotten starting to come back to her.

"Annul your marriage. It’s what's best for our kingdom," the king insisted. Sibylla clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Don't you see that what I’m doing is for the best?" The king looked at her, shocked, as if she had just grown a second head. "No, you can’t rule not that you’ve ever shown any interest in ruling, anyway." Sibylla hummed, a slight smirk on her lips. "You’re right, brother. As a woman, I’m supposed to have no voice, only to be a devoted wife and mother." Frustrated, the king snapped back, "And yet you disrespect your king by disobeying his orders in front of everyone! What about your duty to me and our kingdom? You and your husband humiliated me before the entire court and the common people by refusing to appear when summoned, and by questioning my authority when I personally came to see him." He paused, the weight of his position evident in his voice as he continued, "I’m trying to stabilize the kingdom, but you and your husband seem determined to tear it apart. People are already questioning my authority because I chose Guy de Lusignan as my successor. It’s hard enough to stay on the throne as a leper, especially after our parents' marriage was annulled. They see Guy as a weakness, one that can be exploited against me." His tone softened, now vulnerable, as he added, "Can’t you show the same love and devotion to me, your brother?" Sibylla smiled, her tone almost patronizing. "Brother, God cursed you because of our parents’ annulment. I’m doing everything right, fulfilling what’s expected of me as a woman. You should be here helping me, not arguing against me. Why do you have to make everything so complicated?" The king, exhausted, sighed deeply. "There’s no point in arguing any further. I’ve made my decision—I am disinheriting you."

Sibylla blinked as tears welled up in her eyes. "Baldwin?" she whispered. Baldwin nodded, confirming her suspicions. Sibylla looked down, her voice trembling as she asked, "Alix and Maria?". The two girls beamed with joy. "Mommy!" they exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace her. Sibylla felt a surge of joy as she held her daughters, overwhelmed to finally be reunited with them. As she looked up, she noticed Baldwin’s attention had shifted to his nieces. His expression was warm and affectionate as he gazed at them, a tenderness that pierced Sibylla’s heart. She realized, with a pang of sorrow, that Baldwin had never shown her the same love since she arrived here.

Baldwin knelt down and gently called to his nieces, "Do you remember your promise? Now that you’ve seen your mommy, it’s time for you to go to the place where you truly belong."

The girls giggled and replied, "Okay," before hugging their uncle one last time. Baldwin welcomed their affection with open arms, ruffling their hair and kissing each of them on the forehead. "Go," he said, though his voice wavered, betraying his vulnerability. Fortunately, the girls didn’t notice and left .

Sibylla’s heart shattered as she watched her daughters walk away. Driven by an instinct to follow them, she started to move, but Baldwin gently caught her hand, stopping her in her tracks. She turned to him, about to question his actions, but Baldwin spoke first. “They had to go; they’d stayed longer than they should have,” he explained softly. “Children aren’t meant to linger in the afterlife like we adults are. Besides, I wanted some time alone with you.”

Sibylla composed herself, knowing she couldn’t question the workings of the afterlife. Yet, she couldn’t resist asking, “How are my son and mother?” Baldwin’s response was sharp and filled with anger. “Do you think anyone would want to see you after what you’ve done?” His sudden outburst made Sibylla flinch; Baldwin had never spoken to her like that before. Her eyes welled up with tears as she struggled to hold back her emotions. Sensing her distress, Baldwin pressed on, his voice cold and demanding. “I can’t help but wonder… Why did you do all of it? Why did you betray me and our kingdom like that? Was it because I was a leper?” Tears streamed down Sibylla’s face as she protested, “How could you say that? You’re my brother; I could never hate you.” But Baldwin shook his head, refusing to listen. “You said you didn’t wish to rule, and I accepted that,” he continued. “All I asked in return was respect, but you undermined my authority by refusing to come to court. Your husband publicly insulted me in front of both commoners and nobles when he refused to answer me, even when I was carried on my litter to ask why he disobeyed his king. I was already blind, my limbs barely functioning, yet I got up from that litter and knocked on his door. He ignored me ignored his king in front of everyone, showing them all how weak I was in controlling my own vassal.” Sibylla shook her head, now openly weeping. “That’s not true, brother. I thought I shouldn’t meddle in men’s affairs. Besides, my husband said you would separate us.” Baldwin, however, was unmoved by her tears. “If it were that easy, I could have eliminated my brother-in-law and forced you to marry someone else. Sister, you’re not naive or submissive, because if you were, you wouldn’t have tricked the council into making Guy de Lusignan king.” Sibylla’s eyes widened in shock as she stared at her brother. Baldwin met her gaze and continued, “Yes, I saw everything from above. I saw how you abdicated the throne in your husband’s name. You knew exactly what was happening; otherwise, you wouldn’t have been able to deceive the council. I watched as you dismantled my kingdom so easily after my death, as if my words and choices meant nothing to you. You knew how much I despised him, yet you went ahead and did everything I expressly didn’t want. Did I do something so terrible to deserve such disrespect from you?”

Sibylla tried to justify herself, but Baldwin had no interest in her excuses. “I tried to understand your actions, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t. How could I, a leper cursed by God, earn the respect of both my enemies and allies, yet fail to earn my own sister’s respect? You never stood up for me against your husband, not even when it came to my health. Back when my condition wasn’t as severe, I needed Tyre for medical reasons.” Baldwin paused, a bitter smirk crossing his lips. “Remember?”

Sibylla swallowed hard as the memory came rushing back.

Baldwin dismounted from his horse and approached the residence of Guy de Lusignan. He signaled the guards to come closer. "Tell your lord I wish to exchange Jerusalem for Tyre," he instructed. The guard bowed and departed. It wasn’t long before the guard returned, his expression clearly indicating that the news was unfavorable. Bowing again, he reported, "The Lord refuses to exchange the city, stating that it is of no benefit to grant such a favor to yourself." Baldwin was deeply offended by Guy’s dismissive response but decided to try once more. "Tell him that Tyre is essential for my health and that I am willing to trade it for the holy city of Jerusalem," he said firmly. The guard, visibly anxious, left to deliver the message again. When the guard returned, he brought another scathing reply from Guy. The people around Baldwin were astonished by the continued rudeness. The guard, fearful of Baldwin’s reaction, attempted to excuse Guy’s behavior by saying, "The Lord is not very skilled at communication," but it was too late. The insult had already been delivered, and the damage was done. In the twelfth century, such disrespect was intolerable for any king, and Baldwin left the encounter in evident displeasure.

Sibylla smiled as she reminisced, saying, "You could still walk back then." Baldwin was uncertain whether Sibylla was being nostalgic or attempting to humor him. His frustration flared as he replied, "The coastal climate of Tyre was beneficial for my condition, which is why I was willing to exchange the holy city of Jerusalem for it. Yet, despite how Guy treated me, you repeatedly took his side. Why did you persist in supporting him after everything he did to me?" Sibylla, trembling with pain, responded, "I didn’t understand back then. I loved him too much to question him." Baldwin raised an eyebrow and pressed, "Love? Or was it something else? Did you harbor a personal grudge against me?" "I am sure the man who you loved, for whom you fought against your family and gave up MY kingdom wouldn't even personally mourn your death but mourn the claim he lost through you" In her fearful state, Sibylla defended herself, "Please brother, don't talk to me like that, it hurts" "I listened to you when you advised me to marry William Longsword, and I also obeyed when you instructed me to marry Guy de Lusignan, despite not knowing him well. Just as I obeyed you, I obeyed my husband." Baldwin sneered, "Imagine if Father had refused to annul his marriage out of love. He would have been seen as a fool. You, however, have the advantage of being a woman here. Nobody would have questioned you, but they would have questioned me if I choose my decisions emotionally" "They had already questioned me when I failed to appoint a proper successor. I could have been ruthless, but I loved you too much to do anything that would deeply hurt you and therefore now I look ike a fool in front of everyone" He paused, his laughter fading into a sigh of exhaustion. "Honestly, I find it hard to believe you were so naive. If you were truly that submissive, you would have married someone else when I asked. Jerusalem might have survived longer." Sibylla looked horrified. "How could I annul my marriage with a living husband and marry someone else while he was still alive? I couldn't jeopardize the kingdom by angering God. I cared for the kingdom enough to call for the Third Crusade."

Baldwin retorted, "Our kingdom wouldn’t have suffered so if you hadn't crowned Guy as king again. Your husband surrendered the birthplace of our Lord because he lacked both the skills of a king and a general. Jerusalem wouldn't have fallen so quickly if it weren’t for Guy. Your husband’s incompetence led to the city's fall and the suffering of its people. We had our enemies boasting about their atrocities especially r**pe committed against women. Everyone knew Jerusalem would fall if Guy continued to rule. I publicly dismissed him while I was alive, yet you disregarded my authority as king by not appearing in court when summoned. You crowned Guy again despite the pleas of the entire nobility. Even our enemies were baffled by your choice. You went to Ascalon with your daughters to defend the city, only to surrender it to Saladin in exchange for Guy's release, but the sultan kept him imprisoned anyway."

Baldwin's voice grew weary as he expressed his frustrations. Baldwin walked away from Sibylla, standing at the edge of the clouds, his posture reflecting a profound sense of brokenness. Sibylla felt a surge of fear as she saw him like this, a sight that reminded her of the last time she had witnessed him so shattered after Guy's massacre of the Bedouin.Just when Sibylla thought things couldn’t get worse, she heard Baldwin whisper words she wished she had never heard: "At the cost of my life." The whisper brought back painful memories she struggled to forget.

Bedouin were a nomadic tribe under royal family's protection. They provided information about the Egyptians' movements. Guy's massacre of the Bedouin of the royal fief of Darum, who were under royal protection of Baldwin shocked him. She had first time seen him so broken and suffering from severe anxiety from at that time. He shortly suffered from fever and died. Sometimes Sibylla wondered if Guy's action indirectly caused his death. Sibylla felt immense guilt feeling in her bones now that her suspicion in proved to be true. Baldwin generally keeps falling ill all the time with new diseases. Sibylla believed that she was overthinking when she felt somehow her husband was related to it. Alas, her suspicion has been proved true. She really never wished to know about it."Jerusalem, the place for which I sacrificed my body and soul," Baldwin said with a wistful smile, reminiscing about his past. "I remember when I was a child, surrounded by physicians who rubbed oils on my body and performed bloodletting. I could sense something was terribly wrong, which led to my isolation. I lost all my childhood friends, and I came to realize that my condition was the reason for this separation. When I finally understood my disease, I accepted it, believing I was cursed. Defending Jerusalem was not just a duty but a way to escape the torment of my condition." Baldwin paused, looking at his hands. "I loved being a king and not just a helpless leper. Jerusalem reminded me that I could still be a king despite my curse." He continued, smiling once more, "I did everything for Jerusalem, the designated birthplace of our Lord, even at the cost of my health. Despite being advised to rest and relinquish my office, I refused." The smile faded from his face as he spoke sadly. "To have those very places taken away, as if my sacrifices meant nothing," he said, turning to Sibylla with a face full of pain. "I waited for you to seek answers so that I could finally move on peacefully. Everyone I met in the afterlife told me to let go. They advised me to accept that I had earned my place in heaven and it was time to leave. I could go if I wanted, but I truly needed an answer: Why did you do all that?" Sibylla began to beg, tears streaming down her face. "Please, brother, no more. I can't bear to hear any more. I was blinded by love. I thought I was making things right by following my husband's commands. I believed he was the best choice to rule the kingdom. Please forgive me. It hurts so much." Baldwin pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Is love the only justification for everything? Even at the expense of my health? I endured more anxiety from your husband's actions than I did in the Battle of Montgisard. How could you be so naive? You could have ruled alone, with no one threatening your power, unlike our grandmother, Queen Melisende." Baldwin’s expression grew calm as he faced his sister. "If you truly loved me, you would never have given up Jerusalem the place I protected with my life. I had hoped for a different answer, Sibylla, but I must accept that you loved your husband more than you loved me."

With that, Baldwin turned away from Sibylla, his back turned to her. Desperate to end their conversation on a more positive note, Sibylla ran after him. "Brother, please wait," she pleaded as she chased him. Baldwin began to slowly fade into the clouds, and Sibylla felt herself slipping away as well. As her final moments flickered before her eyes, tears streamed down her face until, with one last, anguished cry, she too vanished.

Meanwhile in Acre:

"So the queen is dead". Muttered an elderly knight. Another knight complimented the queen "She was a good devoted wife who shed tears when her husband was held hostage". All the others nodded their head in agreement.

"So what happens to Jerusalem then" questioned another knight. The question laid heavy in the air. Which was answered by solem reply

"I don't know"

[lavendertales]

Hii! So I'm here to make a request, you can totally ignore this if you don't like it, I just really like your writing and wanted to pass this idea to you ♡

It's a angsty with happy ending story, hope you like it ♡

So the idea is that Joel and reader (established relationship) are kinda new in Jackson, but Joel being Joel is not very used to being there yet, so he doesn't tell anybody that he is in a relationship with reader bc he is scared that they think he is weak or smth, and totally ignores her outside of their home, so reader obviously feels insecure, but our lovely Joel makes her feel better at the end of the day.

thank you, love!! hope you enjoy this❤️

new territory—Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: 1k

You went into this situation with Joel without having any sort of expectations. In an outbreak, there aren’t many expectations to be had. So you simply settled for the comfort of another human being.

It grew by accident, really; tentatively, till you were both overwhelmed by the need to be close to each other, and eventually, it became some sort of mutual understanding that Joel was your protector. And, whenever you could, you protected him, too.

By not breaking his already fragile heart.

You took care of each other and looked after each other, and some nights you sought solace in each other’s arms, your bodies tangled in a fit of ecstasy. Sometimes it was something primal, rough and fast, other times it was impossibly languid and caring.

Upon your arrival in Jackson, the little town Joel’s younger brother Tommy put together, things were the same between the two of you.

Until they weren’t.

The moment Joel stepped outside the door, you became a stranger. You were surprised by the shift in behavior, to say the least. Whenever you tried to approach the subject in private, Joel either shut down or distracted you. You began to think maybe it was all in your head, or perhaps a matter which had nothing to do with you.

But when you were at the bar one evening, grabbing a drink with Tommy and his wife, Maria, you became certain that Joel was purposefully being cold towards you. Barely any eye contact, no touch of any sort, laser-focused on whatever Maria was saying to the group.

Your heart sank in your chest. While there weren’t any definitions to be given to whatever resided between you and Joel, you still liked to think that there was mutual respect and care involved, certain feelings—although not voiced yet.

“I think I���ll call it a night,” you announced, standing up.

Joel’s eyes shot to you, surprised by your reaction.

“Are you sure?” Maria checked with you. “It’s still quite early.”

“I’m sure. I’m a bit exhausted. Thank you for the drinks. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya tomorrow,” Tommy wished you.

You didn’t glance at Joel; you just wanted to get home, curl under the blanket and stay there. How foolish of you… perhaps he meant more to you than you did to him. Perhaps this was all in your head indeed, and you assigned more meaning to the situation. And now you were rushing to get to the so-called home, the one you shared with Joel and Ellie. It seemed the suffering was never-ending.

You heard your name called out in the background, but you dismissed it. You felt your eyes stung with tears, and you only hoped no one would remark your distress. You were at least thankful no one could see or hear the way your heart ached, practically wept, at the realization that you had gotten too emotionally attached to Joel when all he did was simply find relief.

“Stop, please,” Joel called to you.

“I just wanna go home, Joel.”

“Let me explain.”

You stopped in the middle of the road, turning around slowly. Joel was almost out of breath, his face red and riddled with regret at the same time. Worst of all, it hurt him to see you this disappointed and angry.

“Explain what? Why you’re ashamed of me? Or ashamed of being seen with me?”

“I’m not ashamed of—“

“You won’t even look at me, you won’t touch me unless we’re locked inside the house. You can see why I might think you’re ashamed to be with me.”

“I am not ashamed to be with you.”

“Then what is it?! Because I’m sitting there, watching Tommy stare at Maria like she’s the only thing in the world for him and I just… it hurts, Joel. It hurts to know that I care more than you do.”

“I care about you. A lot.”

He was standing far too close to you, reaching for your hands to take in his as your vision gets blurrier due to the tears.

“I never asked you anything, I didn’t ask you or even expect you to feel anything for me, but I just wish this wasn’t all in vain or some cheap thrill.”

“Listen to me. I’m—I’m sorry if you felt like I could ever be ashamed of you, or us. I’m not. I just…”

He took a deep breath, contemplating, gathering his thoughts.

“I only acted that way because I felt uncomfortable with all the people starin’ at ‘Tommy’s big brother and his girl. I don’t like ‘em staring. I thought if I kept some distance, they wouldn’t annoy you with questions or stares or jokes.”

You frowned. “Why would they joke or have questions?”

“Tommy has a good reputation ‘round here. Me, on the other hand… I’m sort of the black sheep. People got a lot to say. I didn’t want you in the middle of it.”

You caressed his hands into yours, oddly touched by the confession.

“I don’t think you’re the black sheep,” you told him. “I think you’re a great man who’s been through hell and back.”

“I did horrible things. Things you don’t know about. Killed people.”

“We all did terrible things to survive.”

You were grazing his cheek with the palm of your hand, and were surprised to see Joel close his eyes at the touch, leaning into it.

“But caring for someone doesn’t make you weak, if that’s what you’re worried about. I thought you learned that lesson with Ellie.”

Joel gulped, nodding solemnly. You suppressed a fond chuckle.

“I really am sorry,” he muttered.

“Next time you just talk to me. You know I’m here for you if you let me.”

“I do, I know.”

Then your lips stretched into a smile. “So… I’m your girl?”

Joel shook his head nervously, a grin on his face.

“I could make it up to my girl if she’d let me,” he teased.

“I think she’d like that.”

[zal-cryptid]

how would are main 8 friends/family's react to there toyfolk form

Most of them would freak out. Talking, living toys isn't exactly a normal thing, and in fact can be quite creepy. But here's the ones I know for sure would transpire if they happened:

Eleanor's step-daughter received the best Christmas gift she ever got in her young life that night. Catharsis. She would have shattered her even more had Krampus not stepped in and taken her away.

Sue... oh, Sue...💔

Paul's little sister would have cared for him, I think. She would have been the only one he could have found solace and refuge with. His old man would have had a heart attack, I think.

Jen...do you remember what happens to Chucky at the end of Child's Play? Yeah. I imagine her parents doing that out of fear.

Maria's mother would have locked her "son" in a box, thinking "he" was possessed or cursed. Maybe give him away to a priest or something to get the whole Annabelle treatment.

[psychedelic-ink]

© PSYCHEDELIC-INK. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.

TV SHOWS & MOVIES MASTERLIST

PPCU MASTERLIST.

🔮 personal favorite || ☔️ smut || 🤧 angst || 🧁 fluff || 🩸 dark content

Live Wire Under My Skin 🤧

Joel comes back home wounded, and as you clean him up the two of you have a little chat.

Can't Get Enough Of Your Lies 🤧

you accidentally hear Joel grieving, and you do everything you can to comfort him.

I'm Yours to Tame 🤧☔️

Not being able to sleep, you sneak in next to Joel on the bed. You're stirred awake with a still-sleeping Joel grinding his hips into you.

Fire Burning ☔️

joel wants you to sit on his face, you have hesitations.

Burn For Me ☔️🩸

joel looks after you, provides for you, fucks you until the sun comes up; his only ask is that you never leave his apartment, not willing to face another loss. One day when you find the door unlocked, you decide to take stroll, promising yourself that you’ll be back before he returns home.

Love Will Abide ☔️

a retelling of the third episode but with you in it. Starts with Ellie reading Bill's letter.

Well, are you mine? ☔️

joel fucks you in an empty alleyway. that's it, that's the plot

Perfectly Wrong ☔️

Joel thinks you have the car battery that he so desperately needs and doesn’t believe you when you say that you don’t.

Ends Of The Earth ☔️🧁

joel brings you a care pack Maria gave him and you find a razor inside but when you confess your insecurities around the topic, Joel offers to help you out.

So My Darlin' ☔️🧁

you convince joel to have a bubble bath with you.

When You're Reading Me (pre outbreak!joel miller) ☔️🧁

If you had to make a list of things Joel Miller might buy you as a gift— nipple clamps, would not be a part of it. 

Reckless ☔️🤧

It starts with soft touches hidden by the dark. In a world where finding one bed is considered lucky, it means that you and Joel frequently share one. He offers to sleep on the floor, or a tattered couch every time and every time your answer is the same. No. 

aquatic rehabilitation ☔️🧁

Joel has been experiencing knee pain for the past two months. When he finally sees an orthopedist, he learns that he has some minor damage to his meniscus. The doctor prescribes him anti-inflammatory medication and physical therapy, recommending swimming. At the pool, he meets you.

Spitfire ☔️🤧

joel x tess

To put it simply, Tess did not want to exist but did so anyway. She stared blankly at everyone and everything. Her mind and heart urged her to make the smart choices. She was quick to eliminate the possibilities that might cause her death. She assessed the weak links of the group. Stayed clear away from them. 

Smart choices. She blamed that part of herself for wanting to approach the Millers.

Or alternatively, the story of how Joel and Tess met and how they came to be.

Rises the Moon ☔️🧁

As the man responsible for operating the lighthouse, Joel lives a solitary life on the isolated coast. He has no complaints, enjoying the hauntingly beautiful songs that echo from the sea at night. One stormy night, he rescues a mysterious mermaid tangled in a fishing net. As you recover in the lighthouse, the two form an unlikely bond and find comfort in each other's company.

Cry Baby ☔️🩸

slasher au (still takes place in the tlou'verse) + sex in the woods or somewhere public (added bonus if it includes knife, blood, hunter x prey kink)

bodies have been dropping left and right in the most brutal ways in jackson. as the relentless wave of deaths continues, your mind becomes increasingly restless. however, you find a sense of comfort and solace in the presence of joel. who might be hiding secrets of his own.

On Your Mark ☔️

cyberpunk au + fallen angel au + “i will keep hurting. i will keep killing. anything to protect you.”

you and tess go in to dismantle a cult, neither of you were expecting to find a rugged fallen angel being experimented on.

Distracted ☔️

woodshop teacher!joel miller x f!reader

there are many advantages to enrolling in a woodshop class: drawing you away from not-so-happy thoughts, relearning something that you enjoyed doing when you were a kid, and, well, the sight of watching mr. miller do something he’s undeniably good at.

Hoofbeats (feat jack daniels) ☔️

joel challenges jack to make you into the finest there possibly is in two days.

Biting Down ☔️

body piercer!joel miller x f!reader

you finally go and get your nipples pierced.

That Pretty Girlfriend ☔️

When your boyfriend is desperate to win back what he lost, he bets on you this time without your knowledge. And everyone knows you don't go back on your word when it comes to Joel Miller.

'my girl now ☔️

joel is used to asshole clients, and when one of them calls him an old man and basically demands him to finish his girlfriend's kitchen in time, he expects you to be the same. But you're the opposite. when he learns how you've been treated, he comes up with a plan to get back at your boyfriend.

Can You See His Silhouette? 🧁

 you get your period and without anything to help you with it, you’re mortified. Luckily Joel is there to help.

From My Skin to Yours ☔️🤧

joel survives and finds life deep inside of you.

Burning Pile 🤧 hero/villain au + one takes care of the other’s injuries

the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

Wildflower ☔️

after seeing a delivery of supposedly aphrodisiac petals, you give them a try, convinced that they wouldn't work. Joel finds you in a not-so-professional position.

Sleepy Hollow ☔️🧁

a typical morning in jackson.

Light Petplay thoughts w/ joel miller ☔️

Exile 🤧☔️

Runners. Stalkers. Clickers. Shamblers. Bloaters.

Domestics.

All infected. One unlike the other.

You expect the infection to eat you from the inside out, turning you into something horrid. But instead, you find yourself with leaf-shaped ears and antlers that belong to a deer. While you live out the rest of your days trying to adjust to your new features and survive, you meet Joel, a survivor just like you but with a more grim approach to life.

Both of you adopt the forest as your home. One wants the other gone, meanwhile the other will do anything to not be left alone.

Stay In Bed 🤧☔️🧁

joel miller x reader, onesided tommy miller x reader

After your grandfather’s passing, you find yourself moving into his home in Texas. You meet the Millers; Tommy, his older brother Joel and his daughter Sarah. With time, you and Tommy become close friends and Sarah visits you often. But Joel…Joel keeps his distance. The reason for this is due to one crucial fact you don’t know but he does; Tommy has a crush on you. Which means you’re off limits no matter what. But as your own feelings for Joel grow, things start to get more and more complicated.

Head Filled With Parasites (musician!joel miller) ☔️

One night you decide to visit a bar all by yourself. There you meet a guitarist, Joel miller, and things escalate from there. Here you'll find snippets and one-shots of the relationship.

Dark Hearted People ( joel miller x reader x ezra)

Trying to reach Tommy, you and Joel meet a charming stranger. He persuades the two of you into helping him find his stolen equipment. During your travels, none of you expect to fall for one another.

Behind The Velvet Rope ☔️

(bodyguard!joel miller x actress!reader x dieter bravo)

a grumpy bodyguard, an eccentric actor, and you, who is thrust into the limelight. What can go wrong? The three navigate the challenges of Hollywood, tensions may arise and conflicts may occur but they’ll always have each other to lean on.

Ravish Masterlist ☔️

(webcam model!reader x joel miller, no outbreak)

Joel, only now starting to feel the impending sense of loneliness, decides to listen to Tommy and sign up on an online streaming service called Ravish.

Followed The Beast 🤧

You, both a member of David's group and one of his former victims, are already contemplating escape when Ellie arrives at the resort. Seeking Ellie, you decide to take advantage of the unexpected opportunity to run. But before you can find Ellie, you cross paths with Joel instead.

How Mr Miller Stole Christmas ☔️🤧🧁

enemies to lovers, fake dating, roommates, close proximity, age gap

You're the sole firefly that Joel spared in his pursuit to free Ellie from the hospital bed. You have no idea what it was—maybe it was the fact that you were significantly younger than the other soldiers, maybe it was because you were already out the door when he pointed a gun at you— no matter what it was you were miraculously spared from the bloodshed. Weeks later you find yourself in Jackson, wanting to leave the past behind. But of course, life has other plans. It always does.

No one knows what Joel did. No one except for you. And when you threaten the thinly veiled peace he managed to build for himself, he has you by the throat and against the wall. When people from the town see this in order to save face you kiss him, blurting out that you two are dating.

Rumors spread like wildfire and when a new family comes in, Tommy offers that they stay at your house and you to stay with Joel since you're already "dating".

Now you're stuck with each other with no way out. It's either keep the dating charade going or for the whole town—and Ellie—to learn the truth.

[thedgeoftheuniverse]

Spring Breeze

joel miller x reader

word count: >1k

a/n: to whoever requested this i am SOOO sorry i lost ur request pls pls find this i am so sorry also tumblr stop fucking up my formatting

He is hesitant, you can feel it in the stiffness of the joints—he does not want to accept the comfort of being cared for, he does not know how; he has spent a lifetime as a protector, never accepting that he deserves to be treated with the same devotion.

He has been gone for what seemed to be ages. Time passes relentlessly, each second gone reminding you that he was not beside you, each minute taunting you with a very plausible reality that he never will be again. Patrol should not take so long. It never takes this long and you cannot smother the worry erupting from your chest. You did not know how to occupy your time.

You have been a long-time resident of Jackson, having been rescued by Maria from borderline starvation. You were welcomed to the commune with open arms, shown luxuries you thought would never again exist, and given opportunities to taste a semblance of life from before—what little you could remember of it. You became reacquainted with your love of baking as well as members of the community who craved the loaves of bread you sat out every morning. It was how you met him—he came to you with wringing hands and an empty stomach, he could not withstand the temptation of the warm dough in front of him. He came nearly every day, giving you shy smiles and kind words, but rarely left with your offerings. He seemed to only want the sweetness of your voice and the smell of the pastries.

It is in this moment, in the space between your bodies, that you realize the comfort of Jackson is nothing in comparison to Joel Miller. 

It is not until dusk that he returns. His feet carry him to your home (he cannot understand why, but he knows you smell like a spring breeze and summer has been brutal) and his heart seeks solace in the embrace of your arms. 

“What happened?” You ask him as you take in the sight of his mangled body—blood covers his clothes, his knuckles bruised and busted, hair matted and body trembling, You have never seen him in such a state—you did not believe he had the ability to feel fear, but he wears it brazenly.

“People.” He did not need to say anymore for you to understand.

“Come on, cowboy. Let’s get you cleaned up.” You lead him into your kitchen, where you pull a chair up to the sink and instruct him to sit.

“You don’t ha—” “I know. Just let someone take care of you.” You interrupt as you fill one side of the sink with lukewarm water and retrieve a rag from the drawer below.

You start with his hands. He is hesitant, you can feel it in the stiffness of the joints—he does not want to accept the comfort of being cared for, he does not know how; he has spent a lifetime as a protector, never accepting that he deserves to be treated with the same devotion. You take special care at his split knuckles, applying a featherlight pressure as you begin rinsing the blood. He will never show it to you, but you know that he is in pain.

It is when you move to his arms that you notice the slowness of his blinks—his eyes are staying closed just a moment longer than necessary—and the stiffness fading from his body. His breath, one jagged and heavy, slows down to a steady rhythm. You are humming a song that you cannot remember the name of as you wash away the physical evidence of the violence that lays inside of him, allowing the softness you are familiar with to shine through once again. And it is when you gently lean his head back into the sink, running warm water and your nimble fingers through the grayed strands that he begins leaning into your touch. You are gentle and warm and the embodiment of everything he feels he no longer deserves, but you give it so willingly that he is unable to refuse. Sighs and hums of content leave his lips as his entire being is consumed by you—a spring breeze that he will never stop longing for.

You are turning the water off when he bashfully whispers: “Can you do that just a little longer?”

“I’ve got a better idea.” You reply. You towel dry his hair with the same kindness you used to wash it before you lead him to your couch. As you sit, he goes to position himself upwards beside you—you can feel the disappointment radiating from his skin (or maybe he is always this warm and you have never noticed) and you realize he does not understand your intentions: “Lay down.” You instruct.

He is unsure at first; he has not been in such an innocently intimate position in many years, but the softness in your expression tells him your intentions are true. He does not need to try to relax when your nails begin to scratch at his scalp and your free hand rubs up and down his bicep. He thinks this form of intimacy is the most terrifying thing he has experienced—he is still learning how to accept being cared for but when you whisper, “You’re okay,” he is wrapped in a silk blanket by your words and transported to a time where he was whole. His hair is softer than you had thought it to be; this is just as therapeutic for you as it is for him.

There is no longer empty space between you. There is only silent air and nimble fingers as Joel sleeps in your lap, arms curled into his chest and his shoes still on. It was the first night he fell asleep in peace.

[gamchawizzy]

"Look Into My Eyes.", a Byrgenwerth Trio-inspired playlist

𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺, 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺…𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴.

This was a playlist I made a long time ago while I was figuring out characterising my headcanons for the Byrgenwerth Trio (Micolash, Rom, and Laurence). It eventually sort of morphed itself into becoming a partly-cohesive story. Maybe some of you guys might want to hear it.

All the songs added in are either 1. the lyrics fit the characters/story or 2. the melody adds to the atmosphere

Anyway songs and interpretations under cut if you like reading that stuff. I did my best to make it as chronological/sensible as I could but feel free to suggest any rearranging!

Photo credit: Portrait of Raskolnikov by Samanyu Sharma ( flic . kr/p/5fxXGf )

Astronauts - Rom is the butt of everyone's jokes, the one who struggles the most in class. Maybe she is better off not having gone to Byrgenwerth at all. Maybe she should've stuck to being a countryside florist. Maybe she's dragging the others down. The best she can do is keep her head down and push forward. She's lost a little bit of herself along the way, but that's okay. She knows they'll be proud of her in the end.

Now I close my eyes, my ears and start to walk forward. I can't hear your voice, and can't see your smiles, but it's fine.

Clair de Lune - Ok no brainer since the name translates to "Moonlight", but I imagine this is what Byrgenwerth in its glory days would "feel" like. Classy, sophisticated, and a little lonely. Every student is on their own at the end of the day, after all. It's an unspoken race.

Take It From Me - Still very Rom-themed! Also flower-themed lyrics. Finding friendship in Micolash and Laurence. School is hard but life goes on. They're helping create a future for humanity after all.

Trinity Eye - Laurence this time, being a young determined man who knows his research is right. If only the school wasn't so opposed to the blood. Willem's teachings and his early findings about Flora, the Moon Presence keep clashing and have made him cynical.

Can you feel my rage? I'll go again: go against the light It towers all amongst the stars at night, between the trinity eye Everything stops and starts again when I feel your heart In a minute can we go again? Go against the light

I Should Be Allowed To Think - Definitely both Micolash and Laurence. Brilliant minds who seem to be asphyxiated by the very institution they come from.

Hey Moon - Laurence finding solace in the moon, knowing the Moon Presence is out there, somewhere, somehow… Being a foreigner in this strange city is lonely. The only constant he has is the moon.

Stars - More Rom because I love her. I think she grows closer to Micolash. Similar ideas and sweetness in their friendship. I like that this song combines both of their motifs - stars and flowers.

Sleepwalk With Me - Hints of one-sided Mico/Rom, chattering into the wee hours…

Manta Rays - More Mico/Rom :33c My Mico is ace/greyaro so this is more of a queerplatonic bond-type of situation. Feelings are so weird for him hahah

ocean eyes - Mico/Rom. I've headcanoned that Rom's always had a lot of insight! A bit of clairvoyance, too, seeing a future Micolash and a ruined Yharnam.

Antigravity - Micolash gaining more insight, his research pushing him to new heights. Eyes open.

I Wish I Was The Moon - The research wears Rom out. Overworked, underpaid, alone - She wishes she could stop. Wishes she could sleep forever, but she can't. Not when she's so close.

Bringing It Down - Shortly after the Fishing Village incident. Micolash witnessing the lies of his colleagues finally falling apart, particularly Rom, Laurence, and even Maria. It makes him even more embittered towards them. Rom most of all - she isn't as innocent as she seemed. Her moral grandstanding meant nothing. They're all in this damned mess together now.

Asleep, and Unwell - Both are for Rom! As she draws closer to ascension, having either been blessed by Kos, or having "used" her - Rom is slowly having the realisation that maybe ascension isn't all that what it's cracked up to be. Doesn't seem worth it from what she's had to go through. Now she's alone and friendless once more. But it's starting now, and she can do little but wait.

Misery Fell - Laurence introducing Blood Healing to the public. No more of that classist education. No more of those expensive medicines. Blood is free.

Evil Eye - DEFINITELY Micolash coded song, I think this is when he gets his own school. Now he's a big shot. Sure, Laurence is bigger, and still hates him. He knows it and gloats over it.

Spleen - Rom probably on 100 insight at that point and spouting prophecies and nonsensical blabber while she is locked away in Byrgenwerth.

Andromeda's Eyes - Kinda self explanatory. Rom's full name is definitely Andromeda in my canon lmao. I think she's fully ascended into Kin at this point. Laurence and Mico know she's finally achieved perfection and visit her for one last time. Willem is still blabbing away at how they've gone and thrown Yharnam to the dogs.

Puzzles, and What's He Building? - Both Micolash themed ambiences.

Don't Stop - Laurence at the height of his power as the Vicar.

Who Will Save You Now - Micolash descending into madness as he's turning the entire school rogue against the Church.

Fresh Blood - Mostly just Yharnam-themed. After the ashen blood, the beginnings of the beastly scourge. A lot of the first victims to beast attacks are most likely women of the night.

New Person, Same Old Mistakes - Micolash tamping out the last bits of his humanity and memories, justifying it all with the grift that he comes to believe himself.

Dark Matter - Mensis Ritual! aka the Cool Micolash moment. I imagine at the end of this the Wet Nurse emerges from the cosmos as Micolash is in the eye of a swirling nightmare, enveloping him and his colleagues

Give Me A Sign - Micolash is still praying to Kos, but she doesn't seem to hear him…

Glass Spiders - Rom kind of just. Mourning her friendships

Volatile Times - Laurence as he slowly falls sick to the scourge. I think the word "volatile" fits the situation so well - everything is literally on fire at this point. Soon enough, even Laurence himself.

Where Owls Know My Name - It's lonely at the top. Having ascended into Kin, Rom now exists on a different plane.

Waste of The Moon - More Rom regrets!! If you haven't noticed at this point I love making this story revolve around everyone having regrets

Bloodstream - Sad Laurence moment where he has a "conversation" with the Moon Presence. He can't go where she is.

Let It Burn - More sad Laurence! His hopes for humanity, his soul, and Yharnam - they all burn. The Great Ones, The Moon Presence - they all do not hear him.

Hurt - Micolash, alone in the Nightmare. No one hears him too. He's too far gone into what he's done. He's had regrets too. Too bad he'll never quite internalise it.

Those Were The Days - Just looking back at old Byrgenwerth days.

ECNALUBMA - MERGO IS HERE IT'S SILLY TIME AGAIN. I know everyone's dead but I think it'd be funny if "the men in fancy uniforms" were the other students. "Marry me and be my wife" sounds so funny too, I think he'd say that to Wet Nurse and she would visibly shudder

Evening Harmony - Rom as she ponders the state of Yharnam now and what's become of her former friends.

For The Departed - Laurence as he transforms into the Cleric Beast.

The Irremediable - Another one of Rom's prophecies and/or incoherent ramblings. A damned man descending endless, bannisterless stairs, Going lampless down the brink of a pit Whose stench betrays its watery depths, Where slimy monsters glare With great phosphorescent eyes That deepen the darkness of the night And make nothing but themselves visible

Curses - Laurence in the Hunter's Nightmare.

Lost At Sea - Rom in her dying moments, knowing Micolash will soon be next.

Bright College Days - A farewell to Byrgenwerth memories.

Mirror Man - yeah it's another Mico song

Blood - Of course

Eternity and A Day - Really just end credits, but also The Hunter (Luce) as he is trapped in the Nightmare with the strange man with the cage on his head, the odd bespectacled man who shares drinks with him, the mysterious winged figure, and the most unnerving being of all - the invisible baby.

[natalias-wife]

My solace | n.r

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x reader

Summary: Just some fluff with the love of our lives

Warnings: slight angst? I think. Kinda rushed.

Word count: 2k

Author’s note: So this is really short and has a lot of things that can be improved, but honestly for my first fic it’s not that bad. Feel free to give me some tips if you see any errors or something.

You sighed as you looked at your alarm clock only for it to read 2am. When your stomach started growling you stood up with a groan and left your room to go to the kitchen for a snack. Looking around the cupboards and the fridge you decided to eat some of the cookies Wanda baked a few days ago and a glass of chocolate milk for a drink.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You jumped slightly at the voice which she chuckled at and you looked at her. “Mhm guessing neither could you?” You smiled shyly at her and she smiled softly back with a small nod. She sat down next to you on the kitchen aisle.

“The cookies any good? The guys keep stealing them before I even have a chance to eat one” you both chuckled softly at that and you gave her one of the cookies. You both sat in a comfortable silence for a while until you broke the silence. “Nat?” She hummed in acknowledgment. “Do you ever get scared before missions?” You were fidgeting with your fingers and when she looked at you her gaze softened. “Of course I do. I’m pretty sure everyone does. Why? Are you scared of the new mission Fury just put you on?” She grabbed your hand to stop you from fidgeting and with her other hand she lifted your chin up so that you would look at her. “I mean yea it’s my first solo mission and I’m scared I’ll fuck something up. I don’t wanna accidentally hurt anyone...” She frowned at that. “Look y/n, i know it’s scary trust me I do. I still get scared of the fact I’ll hurt innocents. But you can’t let that fear control you if you can do it with duo missions you can also do it on a solo one. And I’ve seen you fight, you’re good agent y/l/n!” She pulled you into a hug which caught you off guard for a bit, but you quickly hugged her back.

//

Natasha fluttered her eyes open and stood up to go for her morning run with Steve. She saw Steve waiting for her by the kitchen with 2 water bottles and some energy snacks. “Sam’s waiting for us at the park he wanted to get some warmups in.” Natasha raised her eyebrows. “Still so eager on outrunning us?” Steve chuckled at that. “Unfortunately.” They both started walking to the park together and met up with Sam.

After their run they went to shower and change into training gear. After they were done changing they all met up at the training room with the rest of the avengers. “Okay so today we’re going to be focusing on hand to hand combat. Sam you’re with me, Tony with Rhodey, Wanda you’re with vision and y/n you’re with Nat. Alright into positions!” Everyone walked up to their partner and got into their fighting positions. “Move your legs a little closer to each other.” You did as she said and asked her if this was better. “Wait let me.” She walked up behind you and moved your legs into a better and more comfortable position. “Thanks.” Getting back into her position as well you started sparring. Obviously Nat went easy on you since she’s way better at hand to hand combat. After a while of just blocking and attacking she threw you over her shoulder onto the mat. “Okay that hurt” you said while groaning in pain. She smiled at you and helped you up. “Take five?” You agreed and went to sit on one of the benches while drinking some water. Nat sat next to you and Wanda joined as well. The three of you got engaged into light conversation about training and you also started teasing the boys a bit.

After training you bid your goodbyes to the rest and went up to Fury’s office for your upcoming mission. Walking into his office you greeted the man and Maria who was there as well. After going through the steps and all the information he informed you that your jet would be leaving in an hour and a half.

You started packing all your gear and some extra stuff for if the mission had to be expanded. After that you went to the main floor to bid farewell to the other avengers. Everyone have you a hug and a quick be safe then they went back to whatever they were doing before. Lastly you walked up to Nat and Wanda and Wanda immediately pulled you into a tight hug. “Be safe okay? I know you’re stubborn, but please just follow the instructions they gave you.” You smiled at her and nodded. “Swear?” You held your hand up while holding your other hand in the air “I swear.” You teased and she chuckled then said bye once more and went back to baking with Vision. Then Nat pulled you into a hug and gave you a kiss on the top of your head. “Promise me you’ll be careful.” You promised her and kept hugging her, until Maria told you it was time to go. You both said your goodbye’s to each other and you stepped into the jet.

//

Walking into the building which contains the information you need you hold your gun ready and check every corner of the room then move on to the next one. Shooting the few guards in your way you went room by room. When you finally saw the laptop with the files you needed you did one last check around the room and then walked up to it and put the usb in it. While the data was being transferred the doors busted open. ‘Shit’ you quickly took cover behind one of the desks when they started shooting. Trying to look at how many agents there were you peeked above the desk but quickly ducked back down when a bullet barely flew over your head.

Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes you readied yourself to use your powers knowing you weren’t going to get out of this without. Your hands burst into flames and you started throwing fire blasts at the agents. You managed to knock a fair amount of them back and started going into hand to hand combat with a few others until you were in the clear. When you looked back and saw that the transfer was finished you quickly grabbed the usb and went to get out of there. When you were out of the building you were surrounded by even more hydra agents. You groaned and put your hands up in surrender and got on your knees. Just as one of the agents walked up to you to cuff you S.H.I.E.L.D finally showed up and shot the agents surrounding you.

You got up and started walking to the jet when another S.H.I.E.L.D agent shouted out a warning. Turning around you readied your gun but dropped it when you felt a pressure against your stomach just as one of your agents shot the hydra agent. Looking down you immediately pressed your hands against the wound to stop the blood from spilling out. You quickly walked further inside the jet and sat down while breathing heavily. The agents around you were grabbing medical stuff for you but you could barely focus as your sight started to get blurry. You could hear someone telling you to keep your eyes open and just then everything went dark.

//

It felt like the whole world stopped moving when Natasha got the news. She was distant ever since it happened and mostly kept herself in her room. Clint and Wanda brought her food and kept pressuring her to get some sleep but it was no use. She couldn’t sleep not knowing if you were going to be okay or not. Even though Cho already told them you were going to be alright. The bullet didn’t hit any critical organs but you still lost a fair amount of blood. You awoke this morning and Cho told you what happened while making you drink some water for your dried up throat. You asked her if you could see Wanda and Nat and she agreed. She asked Friday to inform the woman of the fact that you’re conscious and ask them to come up to see you. It wasn’t long before the doors opened and both woman came barging in. You frowned at the sight of them since Wanda’s eyes looked red and puffy while Nat’s were wet with tears and you could see the bags under her eyes. You opened your arms for both woman to hug you and they did so carefully not to hurt you. After reassuring them that you’re feeling okay and it only hurts a little Wanda left the room to grab some food for you.

“You promised..” you winced at the crack in her voice and sat up straight ignoring the protests from the redhead. You grabbed her face in your hands and started wiping her tears with

your thumbs. “I’m sorry Nat.” You softly said to her. She looked you into the eyes and you both sat there in silence for a little while.

“Can I kiss you?” The question caught you off guard. I mean you’ve been hopelessly in love with this woman ever since you joined the team but never would you have thought she felt the same way. You were both just really oblivious to the others feelings.

“Please.” You let out in a quiet voice but thankfully she heard you and pulled your lips into hers. The kiss was slow and passionate and you both sighed dreamily into it. She tasted so much sweeter than you thought. When the kiss broke apart so that you could both catch your breath she put her forehead against yours.

“I wish we did that earlier.” You said while intertwining your hands with hers. “Me too.” She kissed your hands and made you look up at her.

“So I know this is cheesy and I feel like a high school girl asking you this but do you want to make this official and be my girlfriend?” You nodded frantically and she pulled you in for another kiss. Only pulling away when the rest of the team showed up and Clint cleared his throat with a teasing smirk on his face.

When Cho cleared you from the med-bay you asked Nat if you could sleep with her that night and she agreed. So now here you were laying together in her bed while looking at each other lovingly. You gave each other a goodnight kiss and you asked her to hold you.

“Is this okay? Tell me when I hurt you yeah?” You smiled at her reassuringly “Nat you could never hurt me. And yea this is perfect.”

You both fell asleep with smiles on your faces that night feeling safe in each others arms.

[bey0nd-1he-stars]

You owe me at least three days of rest in the infirmary - Solangelo

Masterlists

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Pairing: Nico di Angelo x Will Solace

Warnings: nightmares, think that's it

Word count: 1233

Summary: The three says in the infirmary with some change.

SEVEN | NICO

- I like being alone 

but I hate being lonely -

Nico woke up in the infirmary in the worst way possible. The 4 hours of sleep he'd gotten had been filled with nightmares and flashbacks of the worst parts of his life. The walls of Tartarus and all of the things that had bruised him down there, both physically and mentally. The claustrophobic walls of being locked up in the jar, Persephone turning him into a dandelion. The last memory of Bianca flashing in front of his eyes, Percy coming back with the statue of Hades, telling him how his sister was gone. The soft eyes of Maria di Angelo looking down at him as they walked through Venice. Camping with Minos along the river Styx and Cupid manipulating him in his cave with Jason. He still hadn't told anyone about that. Jason and himself were the only ones who knew what really happened there.

With gasp Nico sat up straight in the hospital bed. Cold sweat was running down his face and his hair was damp and messy. A few tears ran down his cheeks and he furiously whipped them away with the back of his hand. His breathing was uneven and his throat felt sore. A gentle hand on his shoulder made him jump and Will immediately took it away, looking a bit offended. He offered Nico a glass water which he gladly took and gulped down the cold, calming liquid. Definitely better than liquid fire from the River Phlegethon. He mumbled a weak 'thank you' as Will softly took the empty glass from Nico's hand. The soft thud from the glass made him jump again. Everything felt off. Nico was more tense than usual and he was easily frightened which he definitely usually wasn't.

"You okay, Nico?" Will asked and squatted down beside the bed, resting his arms on top of the mattress. Will's eyes were worried when they met Nico's and judging by the worry in his voice and the wrinkles between his furrowed eyebrows the son of Apollo was very worried.

"I'm fine, Will," Nico snapped at him and turned away. The dark hair hiding his glossy eyes.

"I can see that you're not. You can talk to me, Nico," Will said softly, reaching out to push away the dark hair from Nico's face but he moved out of the way. Will let his hand fall and Nico could sense the disappointment and worry in the air.

"Please... Just, just leave me alone," he stuttered and turned away from Will. He was still wearing Will's too big clothes but Nico didn't have much of a choice. They were comforting and still reminding him that Will wanted to help even if Nico wouldn't let him. The soft material smelled sunshine just like Will and as Nico breathed in the sent he calmed down. The thought of Will's sent calming him down irritated him but couldn't help but feeling a bit graceful for his kind gestures.

"Okay... Tell me if you need anything," Will answered quietly and then he stood up from the floor and walked over to his desk again, leaving Nico to himself. Nico looked up, shocked that he'd done as he asked. Will was stubborn and Nico was shocked that he'd left without so much of one single argument. He shook it off. Nico reached for the glass again only to realize it was already empty. His head was full of things and it made him lose concentration on every little thing and that annoyed him. He was always on point, ready for everything and anything. Now he couldn't even remember how he'd swept down his water just minutes earlier. Nico placed the glass on the table again and when he looked over he saw the drawing of Bianca lying there. Will had given it to him at 5 am and it was the most beautiful drawing Nico's ever seen.

He was thankful for it and would probably even ask Annabeth for a frame for it later, when he got out of here. This was his last day and Will had promised to let him go in the afternoon at 6 pm. Now the clock was standing at almost 9 am so he still had a few hours left here.

"You want anything to eat, di Angelo?" Will asked. He was standing in the door, resting against the doorframe. The sun shone behind him, making him look like he was glowing himself. Nico couldn't say something, his eyes stuck on the son of Apollo. He managed to look away and a faint blush came to his cheeks.

"It would be nice with some fruit or pasta," he mumbled. Will nodded and walked out, leaving Nico alone in the infirmary. The silence gave him time to think clearly again. He'd pushed Will away again. The trust, friendliness and care was okay but when things like this happened, when his past haunted him in his dreams. He couldn't lean on Will with all that. He'd gone through Tartarus alone; he could manage through this alone too.

The sound of the door opening made him cut his thought and meet the gaze of Will Solace. He had brought a plate of pasta and a bowl of fruit to the infirmary. Nico smiled softly. Will placed it all on a small table and placed it beside Nico's bed. Out of habit, Nico jumped back a little to make place for Will on his bed. They'd eaten every meal like this, in Nico's bed facing each other. And Nico enjoyed it. Having this little thing with Will they always seemed to do. Will looked shocked at the gesture though. Nico had pushed him away, not even meeting his eyes honestly. Now he wanted Will to accompany him while they ate. But he still smiled at the gesture and placed himself on the end of Nico's bed.

"Sorry," Nico started and looked down. "I didn't mean to push you away but... it seemed easier that way. To not let you in and have you deal with all the stuff that runs my mind. It's not very pretty, if I do say so."

Will softened and reached out to take Nico's hand in his and this time he didn't pull away. He didn't know why but it felt right.

"It's okay Nico, I understand, I get it. But I want to help you. I want you to know that I'm here for you. No matter what it's about, I'm here. You can talk to me or not talk to me, that's up to you. But I'm here," the blond boy smiled softly and Nico felt a bit more at ease in his chest. The anxiety from his dreams was still there but it seemed to lighten up at Will's words. Once again he had to thank the boy in front of him. He pulled a hand through his dark curls.

"Thank you, Will," Nico pulled his hand from Will's but kept a small smile on his lips. He reached for the pasta Will had brought him and stuck a fork in it. Will shook his head at Nico but smiled with him. The tension in the room eased and Nico seemed quite happy with himself. Another thing to thank Will for, he thought and put the pasta in his mouth with a smile.

[pls-let-me-out]

The Selection AU- 11th time’s the charm

Everybody knows Maria di Angelo. Everybody loves Maria di Angelo. And Nico, the only heir to all her messes, is sure he will forever live in her shadow.

When people look at Nico, they see Maria di Angelo’s son. And truly, there’s not much else to see. He sings beautiful songs, but hers were better-written. He does ballet, but her on-stage persona is impossible to replicate. He leads a lonely life, and people don’t know hers wasn’t much different.

Nico isn’t surprised when he’s called for Prince Will’s Selection. He half-expected it. So he goes to the Golden Palace where the Solaces live, and enters with his head held high. People don’t know who he is yet, all the feedback he’s received comes from the Academy of Arts, where he’s spent the last ten years of his life. He’s twenty now, and he will graduate in June. When he’s honest to himself, he admits to feeling scared of the future.

He isn’t the only student of the Academy who’s taking part in the Selection. There’s also Drew Tanaka, who used to be Nico’s best friend, in a time that feels very far away. They — Nico and Drew — aren’t the only students who had submitted to the process of the Selection, but they’re the only ones who have been chosen. It’s the Small Council who chooses the participant of the Selection, taking people from all across North America, which is partly ex-Canada and ex-US.

Nico sighs as he’s lead to his room. He feels weighted down, like someone’s placed an enormous rock over his shoulders. He should have known better than to let the Academy Headmistress, Alecto, submit him. His whole past will be brought up, he will be scrutinised in the worst of ways in front of the whole country.

Before he left the Academy — where he won’t return until Prince Will sends him home, or until the Selection finishes — Alecto gave him a letter from his father. Sitting on his bed, he turns it in his hands, without opening it. He hasn’t talked to Hades in almost a year, since his father went and moved to the Republic of Athens, on the other side of the world.

At the end, he doesn’t find the courage to open the letter. He places it in the nightstand and decides to undo his luggage. He’s doing great, until there’s a knock to the door. When it opens, a guy about as tall as Nico and with curly, brown hair stares back at him. He has brown skin, and a loopsided smile.

“Hi,” the boy says. “I’m Leo Valdez. It seems we’re suite-mates. I checked the other rooms, we’re the first to arrive.”

Nico gives the other a small smile. “I’m Nico.”

Leo raises an eyebrow, entering the room and closing the door behind himself. “Just Nico? I thought you’d have a surname. Are you a lord or something? You look kind of regal.”

Nico laughs. “I’m not. Di Angelo, by the way. That’s my surname.”

It’s the first time Nico has to introduce himself. Everybody knew who he was at the Academy, the same way as he knew everybody else.

Now, Leo raises both eyebrows. He has an expressive face. “As in Nico di Angelo the son of Maria di Angelo?” He lets out a low whistle. “That’s impressive.”

Nico shrugs, putting away one of his shirts. He had to buy clothes before coming, at the Academy he only ever wore his uniform and his dance-clothes.

“We’ll be meeting more impressive people,” he says.

Leo concedes. “True. What do you think he’ll be like? The prince, I mean. He always seems kind on the tv.”

Maria also seemed kind on the tv, and maybe she was, but Nico would always remember her screaming when Hades had to return to Persephone, his actual wife. Nico looks away. He can’t bear Leo’s hopeful eyes.

“I hope he will be,” Nico says.

On Sunday, all the contestants have arrived. Boys and girls alike, as per the prince’s preference. They are placed in the Tower of Dawn, in the east wing of the palace. At the ground-floor, there are the breakfast room, the music room and the relax hall, where they can simply spend their time doing whatever they prefer. There’s also a piano, which Nico approaches. He doesn’t have the time to brush his fingers on the keys, before Drew sweeps behind him.

“Di Angelo, spare me!” She says. “Not one of your depressed ballads again.”

A few people — who seem to have befriended Drew — snicker. A few others stare shocked after the revelation of his surname.

It’s not that Nico is ashamed of being a di Angelo. He just doesn’t go around telling everybody he is. But tonight, when they are presented at North America’s News with Piper McLean, the whole nation will know.

“You’re right, your sex-anthems are much better,” he replies.

Drew rolls her eyes. Truth is, Nico doesn’t mind Drew’s songs. He likes a few of them. Granted, none have been officially released, but the Academy is a small school, and everybody knows everybody’s work. Alecto even wants them to collaborate on something before they graduate.

“Don’t be a bigot,” Drew says, bringing Nico back to reality.

“So, you two know each other,” a girl named Annabeth will later tell Nico, once they’re having supper.

Nico almost scoffs. Know is too little a word to describe their relationship. Nico feels Drew like he feels his limbs, she’s been apart of him for the last ten years of his life. And Nico managed to throw it all away with a harsh decision.

“We go to the same school,” he replies instead.

Leo whistles, something he seems keen on doing, though it goes against palace etiquette. He probably doesn’t know, as Nico reasons.

“I bet her teenage years were a handful,” Leo says.

Nico grimaces. “So were mine. But it was fun.”

Partly fun, as he reminds himself. His teenage years are the ones in which he’s lost the most. He lost his Bianca. But they were also the years in which he ran up and down the halls of the Academy with Drew on one side and Rachel on the other, gossiping and sharing their deepest secrets and fears. Rachel is still friends with Drew, they’re still close. Nico wonders what they say about him.

A clap of hands, clearly to attract everybody’s attention. It works. Nico turns to the head of the table, to see a man on a wheelchair staring back at him, if only for a split second. Nico has a feeling he knows the man, thought he can’t place him.

“Good evening everybody,” the man says. “I am Chiron, and I will be your supervisor during your stay. Should you need anything, you come to me. I’m sure you’ve heard the rules already, but I will repeat the most important ones. If you abstain, you will be sent home. Number one: no getting physical with other contestants. By that I mean both fighting and having sexual intercourses.”

Nico blushes at Chiron’s words, looking away. He catches Drew’s eyes, who mouth at him, ‘Prude’. He clenches his fists, and brings his eyes back to Chiron.

“Number two: no relationship is allowed with the staff. By that I mean you cannot have physical or emotional attachments to any of the palace staff, guards included. Number three: what the prince wants, the prince gets. If what he wants is to send you home, you will be sent home. If he wishes to keep you here, you will be kept here. If he wishes to have time alone with you, he will have it.”

Nico’s ears start ringing. He’s sure Chiron lists other rules and explains how they will have to behave at the interview, but he’s not listening anymore. He can only think of rule number three: what the prince wants, the prince gets. Nico has never been put in a place where he couldn’t deny himself, but now he feels he’s faced with the harsh reality of life. Sometimes, there is simply no way out.

Dinner resumes, and dessert is brought to the table. Nico exists the room, leaving his new acquittances very confused. He needs air. He can’t breathe, and this damn shirt he’s wearing is too tight on the neck.

Finally, he reaches the glass doors to the gardens, but before he can even phantom what’s happening, his path is blocked by guards.

“You can’t go out at this time of the night, sir,” one says. He’s an Asian man, and for a moment Nico thinks of his father’s bodyguard, Frank.

“I need air—” Nico tries to explain. His voice is raspy, his eyes glassy. He doesn’t know how much longer he can resist.

“What you need is none of our problem,” the other guard, a woman, says. “We need to protect you. And that is what we’re doing.”

Nico opens his mouth again, but only a pained sound comes out.

“Let him through,” a voice comes from behind. “I order it.”

In his daze, Nico turns and vaguely recognises the figure he sees as Prince Will. He doesn’t care much, however.

The doors are pulled open and Nico steps outside. His lungs fill with air, more than he thought they could contain.

“I hope you’re doing better,” Prince Will says, evidently having followed Nico outside.

Nico startles. “I am. Your Highness. Thank you.”

His words come out robotic, but he means them. Without the prince, he would have probably ended up in the infirmary.

“You are the first contestant I meet,” the prince says, stepping closer.

Nico takes a step back, but all too soon his back meets a column’s marble. He’s trapped, and what the prince wants, the prince gets.

“Am I?” Nico says, more to himself than to anybody.

“Yes, I was wondering whether the quarters were of your—”

That is when Prince Will commits a mistake. He gets too close, too friendly, and Nico isn’t used to it. Alecto always told him: people will want to be you, or they will want to bed you. And Nico doesn’t want that at the moment, and there’s no other way out really. So he does the only logical thing: he knees Prince Will right between his legs.

[mantis-dea]

When a Good Deed Causes a Series of Unexpected Events - Chapter 1 - The Encounter

As a general rule in a large city, you should MYOB - Mind Your Own Business. Of course, who would've thought calling a man an ambulance and giving him your umbrella would leave to something called Stands. Definitely not you.

My first Tumblr post! My blog will be fanfics, mostly JoJo's Bizarre Adventure and maybe Overwatch. Not sure if I will take requests yet.

For this story, I don't know how fast chapters will be coming out, nor do I know how many chapters it will have. I do want to say that, so far, this story in progress has over 10k words.

It's my first fanfic I'll be publishing, and a lot of it is just me going with the flow. I'll let you know if previous chapters have changed and what changed. Feedback is welcomed!

As you stand inside the old brick building, you watch pellets of water race down the glass windows, creating a blurry kaleidoscope of colors. You hear a distant low rumble of thunder, a reminder of the powerful storm raging outside. It’s been three days since you last caught a glimpse of the moon, hidden behind the thick veil of clouds that have been crying down on the city. This relentless downpour had transformed the streets into shallow rivers, and it seemed like the storm had no intention of relenting.

But you were grateful for the shelter of the building. It's a familiar haven from the relentless rain—a place where you've found solace amid the chaos of Lapalton's changing seasons. You decide not to think too much about the storm and to enjoy the soothing sound of the rain tapping against the windows. It's a comforting backdrop to the cacophony of voices and clinking glasses that fill the bar tonight.

“Why?” The drunkard’s wording slurred, “Why? Why did she leave me?”

You continue to clean a wine glass with a towel, your focus on your task. Such outbursts are common among the last-call patrons, and you’ve learned not to take it personally. But when he places a crinkled hand on top of yours and starts rubbing, you feel a surge of discomfort. You try to pull away, but he tightens his grip.

“Sir, please let go,” you say calmly, unsure if he’ll even pay heed to your comment.

Instead, he starts mumbling about how he can’t find someone like you who’s good at “care.” You raise an eyebrow at his words, having not a clue on what he’s even muttering about.

When he finally notices the deafening silence, he releases your hand and stands up. “You’re too fat for my taste anyways,” he mutters, stumbling towards the door, leaving no tip.

No. Tip.

Bartending for the rich is great, they said. It pays well, they said. High end bar, my ass. I’m barely pulling $10 a night in tips.

Several months back, you used to work at a small hotel. Checking people in, reserving rooms, and even sometimes cleaning the questionably wet bed sheets. There, you overheard your coworkers gossiping about Maria, a coworker who quit her job and became a high-class bartender, making six figures. The words “six figures” were all you needed to hear. You quit all your jobs without two weeks’ notice once you surprisingly got a job at SPW, a high-end bar in one of the biggest cities in America.

That hype immediately faded on day three.

Sure, your salary did increase, but it surely was not the six figures you were promised. You know what did increase? Your hatred for the wealthy. They constantly brag about being rich, but they can’t spare you a few dollars? The rare time you do get tipped fairly is if they bring a party with them; they only tip as a power move to show just how wealthy and considerate they are to their group.

After cleaning up the bar, you grab your things, open your umbrella, and lock the doors. Unfortunately for you, buses run less frequently past midnight, and it is currently two-thirty in the morning. So, your options are to either take the thirty-two-minute walk or wait an hour at the bus stop that is about two blocks away where drug addicts hang out.

You trudge through the pouring rain.

Walking home in this fucking sucks.

You do love rain, just not when you have to walk through it at two-thirty in the morning after a twelve-hour shift.

Surprisingly, you reach your block five minutes faster than usual. The motivation to make it home made you walk faster. All you wanted to do was sleep.

In the distance, you spot a familiar sight – an unconscious man leaning against the aged brick walls, slumping over. You live on the less fortunate side of the city, near the slums. The disoriented drug addicts, wandering drunkards, and the frequent thievery and robberies make this area one of the worse areas to live, but the inexpensive rent of a decently size apartment is a major selling point for you. Luckily, all the crazies you’ve encountered so far have been relatively harmless. Still, you’re always on edge whenever you pass one.

If people were amidst a drug exchange or passed out drunk, you’d wait it out; unless they overdosed, they typically don’t stay for more than half an hour. However, tonight, you don’t care. You don’t feel like waiting for this one to get up and go. The weather is abhorred, and you’re drenched, cold, dirty, and exhausted. A steaming hot shower and a good night’s rest sounds like heaven right about now.

You proceed with caution and approach. You were planning to just ignore him. However, your bafflement got the best of you. You halt and squat down to stare at the young man before you. Despite the alleyway being dimly lit, the man’s golden, disheveled hair shines like a polished gold bar. He looks around to be your age – early 20s. His expensive-looking black suit and pants consist of many cuts and scuffs; it seems as though he got into a fight with someone.

 You lean forward and take a whiff.

“Well, he’s not drunk.”

You put a hand to his nose; you feel a light puff of air. Then, you pull up both his tattered sleeves. No track marks. No injuries.

Your eyebrows furrow. This man is mysterious and sketchy. Mysterious because he’s hot and looks innocent. Sketchy because he’s in a not-so-good area in this awful weather, unconscious of all things. He looks like he got into a fight, but he’s completely uninjured.

I bet he’s part of an Italian mafia. Like that movie, Godfather.

You shot up and stumble back when you hear a small grumble from him. You stay deathly still for a minute, readying to bounce if need be. However, the man eyes never opened.

You let out a small sigh of relief. You feel terrible as he sits knocked out in a dirty alleyway in the rain. You truly do want to help him. However, you don’t know him. You don’t know who’s after him. Why he ended up here in the first place. It’s too dangerous to assume he’s a good person. Still, you did not want to leave him like this. You place an umbrella over the man and call for an ambulance before heading in the direction of your apartment.

Your apartment complex is unique – there is no main indoor lobby where you could chat with the landlord and take an elevator up to your floor. No, instead, you must walk up a flight of questionably rusty metal stairs to get to the door of your apartment. Fortunately, you are only on the 3rd floor and not the 13th floor.

You unlock the door to your apartment. The exterior would fool anyone into believing that the old building is rack and ruined. It may or may not potentially fail a building inspection, but the apartments - well at least yours - are very clean. The complex is a bit expensive for the area, but much cheaper compared to the inner city, meaning there are more people like you and less addicts living within the flats. Though, the smell of weed does pass by from time to time.

When you step into your apartment, a familiar, rubber, black mat greets you. You bend down to untie your dress shoes and place them neatly in the small compartment beside you. Your studio apartment is spacious. Hidden in some parts of your white walling are large storage compartments. You had a white sliding door that disconnects and reconnects the kitchen area from the rest of the living room. A black metal staircase to the left leads you to your bed. Very spacious indeed, but dark. Your only window is the one next to the entry door; though, at least it’s a large window. Another feature located to the left of your door is the bathroom that harbors a washer and dryer.

Turning the handle of your bathroom door, you hear the familiar click as it opens. You reach for the shower handle and, after a few moments of finicking, water streams down from the showerhead. As you shed your clothes and step into the shower, the hot water soothes your tired body, and a contented sigh escapes your lips. Thoughts of your job as a bartender, with its challenges posed by wealthy patrons, linger in your mind. Being a bartender has its moments of fun, but it's also filled with frustrations, and you can't help but think about the high turnover rate in your line of work. People can be demanding, and the pay is barely above the minimum yearly salary.

You dry yourself off, slip on a pair of warm pajamas, and head to bed. Usually, you would sit down and do at least an hour of assignments for your classes, but you are not in the mood today.

Your eyes flutter open. Stifling a groan, you sit up and pull out your flip phone from under your pillow.

9:42 a.m.

March 11th, 2008.

Normally, you’d sleep for a few more hours. However, your kitchen is starving; you have not gone grocery shopping for the past two weeks because you’ve been so caught up with work. Your boss proposed higher pay if you willingly worked from opening to closing this entire week. Of course, you outright rejected. Then, he countered with time-and-a-half. There was no hesitation when you told him, “Bet.”

Even with your 5’2” stature, the loft area of your apartment is too petite for a proper stretch. You slowly climb down your ladder to prepare for the day ahead.

After eating an instant mac-and-cheese microwave bowl, you put on your shoes, and head out. As you walk down the metal staircase, you notice the absence of the young man from last night. A pang of guilt courses through you as you think of the condition you left him in. You’re hopeful an ambulance came to give him the care he needs.

As you tread by where the young man was, you suddenly catch sight of something. Something that smitten you instantly. Amidst the dark, dank alley, something in the distance shines with an otherworldly brilliance, beckoning you closer. There is no resistance; you mindlessly walk towards the light, until you’re standing right in front it. Your head tilts. It’s still unclear as to what it is; the intense shine blocks the view. You reach out towards the light.

A sudden, searing pain has you screeching at the top of your lungs. You’re quick to clasp a hand over your mouth to muffle your screams of agony. Your body suddenly felt heavy, and you began to sweat excessively. The world seems to be spinning around you at a rapid pace. Something is not right, you thought, just as your legs buckle. You crumble to the ground.

[aylacavebear]

She Thought She was Normal

Story Summary: Maria really thought she was normal, for most of her life. It was normal for people to have natural talent, she would tell herself the older she got. Many things came easy for her, and that was probably how their rivalry began when she was five and he was seven and she met the Winchesters. Little did either of them know that it wouldn't stay like that forever, both having a far larger destiny than they could imagine

Word Count: 2131

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will eventually be 18+!

Warnings: Alcoholism, Hustling Pool, Injuries

----------------------------------------- Chapter 9

Maria spent the next three years traveling across the country, torturing numerous demons trying to get any information on the yellow-eyed demon that had taken her parents from her, but not one of them gave anything up.

Maria had changed the paint job on her father’s truck, her truck, to all black, wanting it to blend in as much as possible. She’d also given it a few upgrades over the years; better gas mileage and tweaked it so that it could go faster than it used to. She’d also installed a lock box in the bed of the truck where she kept her hunting supplies, as well as other supplies like spare clothes.

The nightmares had mostly stopped at this point, as had her grief. She hadn’t coped with it in the healthiest of ways, killing every monster she came across and finding solace at the bottom of a bottle most nights, whiskey her choice of numbing poison. Maria found that she had a knack for playing pool as well, eventually getting good enough to win games and become quite the pool shark. She used the money for motel rooms when she felt the need for a bed and a hot shower.

She’d found herself back in Sioux Falls, South Dakota one day in late August, driving with no particular destination in mind at the time. When she saw the familiar buildings from a life that seemed to have almost been a dream, she sighed as she turned down a side street, mindlessly heading to her Uncles, more muscle memory than anything. 

His place looked the same as she’d remembered it as she pulled into the driveway, turning off the engine. She hadn’t spoken to him since that night they’d burned her father’s body, the memory played in her mind for a moment of the night she’d driven away. A heavy sigh left her lips as she got out of her truck.

“Maria?” a voice asked from the doorway of his house.

She’d been looking at the ground, moving somewhat slowly when she heard his voice, “Hey Uncle Bobby,” she said with a small smile as she looked up at him.

For a moment all he could do was stare at her, relief, shock, anger, and curiosity all mixed in his expression. She was an adult now, twenty, and her birthday was only a few months away. She was in front of him, embracing him in a hug before he could even speak, “Sorry I never called,” she told him quietly.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, kid,” he told her, hugging her back before the two went inside, “How you been?” he asked.

They sat in his living room, spending the next several hours catching each other up on their lives over the time she’d been gone. He didn’t even mind her having a couple of beers while he drank whiskey. When she excused herself, he called John, asking him to pass along to the boys that she had shown up at his place and was okay. It was the least he could do, knowing they’d been just as worried as he had been. John thanked him and agreed before the two hung up. Bobby debated asking her about the book she’d taken out of his safe but chose not to. He had also chosen to keep the package that had shown up at his doorstep four months after she disappeared, a secret as well. The instructions stated not to give it to her until she was twenty-one.

“So, you get a new number?” he asked when she returned.

“Yeah. I’ll leave it with you before I head out tonight,” she replied, sitting down on the couch and getting comfortable again.

“You’re not staying?” he asked, sighing.

“No. Heard about a werewolf a couple states over,” she replied casually, sipping her beer.

“Can you make me a promise kid?” he asked, looking over at her.

“What’s that?” she said, tilting her head a bit.

“Will you at least stop by again, for your next birthday? You’ll be twenty-one. Least I can do is get you something,” he replied with a small smile.

“I don’t see why not,” she chuckled.

“Wish you were staying longer,” he sighed.

“I’ll try not to be such a stranger,” she replied, looking out into the room at nothing in particular.

“You still didn’t promise,” he told her, raising an eyebrow.

She looked over at him and rolled her eyes, “Fine, Uncle Bobby, I promise I’ll be here on my twenty-first birthday,” she said, slightly sarcastically, but had meant it.

That had at least made Bobby feel better. He knew she’d keep her word, or at least hoped she would. She stopped drinking once her beer was gone though, needing to sober up before she headed out in a couple hours. Maria enjoyed getting to catch up with her Uncle and was thankful none of the Winchesters were there, wanting to leave before they had a chance to show up, even if they had no intentions to. 

The two bid each other farewell before she drove away while Bobby watched her from the driveway. He could tell she had shut her emotions away and had pulled away from everyone she’d known, even after three years. She’d left out how she’d turned to whiskey most nights, drowning out the memories and the pain just so she could sleep without the nightmares of that week. She hadn’t wanted him to worry but had no idea he saw through the facade she had put on in his presence. He didn’t know the details, but he’d been through enough grief in his life to have an idea of how she was coping with it. 

She took care of the werewolf, barely breaking a sweat, but was glad she’d gotten a motel room for the night. It had been an easy enough kill but the blood splatter required a shower and a change of clothes. As she sat on the bed, brushing her damp hair, her mind wandered to Sammy and Dean for a moment. She hadn’t thought about them since that night. Her gaze fell on nothing as she remembered the two of them, briefly curious as to what they were up to. A small smile came to her face, thankful she hadn’t asked her Uncle for their numbers. 

“Another day, another dead monster,” she said quietly before heading to bed for the night.

Over the next several months, past the holidays and into the new year, she was still interrogating demons for any clue on the yellow-eyed demon. She wanted to know not only who he was but what he was, knowing he wasn’t a normal demon. Maria also took care of random cases along the way. Her phone though, had gotten destroyed on the last case she took, and that wasn’t the only thing that had taken a bit of a beating. 

She groaned as she pulled off her flannel, then her shirt, barely able to raise her arm high enough to get it off after fixing her other dislocated shoulder against the motel wall. Her other arm had a gash four inches long on it. Thankfully it wasn’t deep. She went to the bathroom to clean up her wounds. As she glanced in the mirror she noticed the bruise forming on her cheek and her split lip.

“Stupid demon,” she grumbled as she turned on the warm water and grabbed a washcloth.

Maria cleaned up her wounds before bandaging her arm. Her whole body was sore after that fight and all she wanted to do was sleep, not even having the energy to drink that night. 

Again, she’d lost track of time, completely forgetting her promise to her Uncle, following yet another lead on the yellow-eyed demon. Before she knew it, another almost two years had passed. She was twenty-three, only a couple of months before her twenty-fourth birthday, and found herself in Palo Alto, California. The drive she had been on had been a long one so she got a motel room for the night before heading to the local bar near the college. 

It was a Friday night and the place was packed with college kids, most of them around her age. She wasn’t paying much attention to any of them when she heard a voice to her left, “Sis?’

She felt goosebumps run down her body hearing that word before she turned to look at the man who had spoken to her. His hair was short, but also with a little length to it, and even with his age, she saw that little twelve-year-old boy in his eyes, “Little brother?” she asked, wanting to make sure.

He smiled and fought back tears at seeing her. There was no mistaking that jet-black hair of hers, even if it was longer now, laying over a red flannel, even if it wasn’t the same one from their childhood, “How have you been?” he asked, pulling her up and into a hug. 

She was a bit shocked at his strength and his height. He was almost a foot taller than she was now when he’d always been shorter than her before.

“Who’s this?” a female voice said before Maria could answer his question.

Sam let her go, and wiped away the couple of tears near his eyes as he put his arm around the woman who was now next to him, “Jessica, this is Maria, my little sister,” he told her.

Jessica smiled at her, “I’ve heard a lot about you,” she told Maria before she pulled her into a hug.

Maria was surprised but hugged the woman back, “Uh, nice to meet you,” Maria replied, before she pulled away from the hug, fighting all the emotions that had begun to surface.

Sam kissed Jessica on the cheek as Maria just watched the two of them curiously for a moment before the woman walked over to a group of people a few tables away, “So, how you been sis?” Sam asked her again as he sat down at her table.

“Uh, good…” she replied before she too sat down across from him and looked up at him.

“What brings you to Cali?” he asked her, sipping the beer he’d brought over with him.

“Honestly, not sure really. I was just driving and needed to stop for the night,” she replied, and glanced around the bar, looking for his brother and father.

“They’re not here,” he told her, figuring out quickly who she was looking for.

She looked back at him and tilted her head a bit, confused, “You’re hunting alone?” she asked.

Sam laughed a bit at that one, “I stopped hunting. I’m going to college to be a lawyer,” he told her, “Jess is the love of my life,” he added, looking over at the woman and smiling.

Maria glanced at her before looking back at Sam, “Well, you’re smart enough for it,” she chuckled.

Jessica gave the two space for the night as they caught up on each other’s lives. Sam explained that he and John had gotten into numerous fights over the last few years when it came to Sam wanting to go to college and stop hunting. It had eventually boiled over to where John had told him that if he left, he wasn’t to come back, and he hadn’t looked back, especially after he’d met Jessica, whom he called Jess.

Maria stayed in town over the weekend, hanging out with both Sam and Jess. It was a feeling of family she hadn’t had in a long time and the two easily slipped back into their routine of being siblings. Sam had explained that he hadn’t even spoken to his brother or father since he left. That had made her feel a little more comfortable about staying the weekend. Jess had taken several pictures with her phone of the two of them, and even some with the three of them. Sunday night had come too quickly for the three of them as they said their goodbyes. Sam made sure to write his number down for her and hide it in her glove box, even if she had programmed it into her phone.

“Hey, come back by around Halloween. I’m taking my tests next semester and it’d be nice to see you again,” Sam told her while she sat in the driver's seat of her truck.

“I’ll do my best, but I’m not making any promises,” she replied, chuckling a little.

“And next time, you can stay with me and Jess. She adores you,” he chuckled.

She rolled her eyes, “We’ll see, okay?” she replied.

“Yeah, we’ll see,” he said before she drove off, heading who knew where to fight god only knew what.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 10

Tag List: @deans-spinster-witch @kazsrm67

Link to the master list for this story.