#she probably deals with the world outside of jackson more than anyone in jackson

[mariatesstruther]

the way some ppl villainize maria whilst simultaneously extending the most grace humanly possible to tommy and and abby and joel and tess is….. odd

[adirajackson]

Well here I am humbly raving about a request, a percy jackson x Children of dionysus? Thank you!

But daddy I love him! ☻⚡︎

Percy x Dionysus!reader

FINALLY A REQUEST AHHHHHH ILYSM OFC I WILL WRITE THIS MY LOVE!!!!!

Warnings: implied smut? Swearing, overprotective dad, arguing, emotions? Idk maybe y’all are allergic to them or sum

Radio:

You and Percy had just…finished a few rounds of….the forbidden tango, and were making out heatedly, you both had attempted to put your clothes on, but Percy only had this boxers and sweats on, and you were in your underwear shorts and bra, you had gotten distracted from a…side quest and decided that something else was more important. “ Fuck, Perce,” you said between wet kisses and moans. He hummed in response, moving back down to your neck, adding a fourth hickey to the collection he made. “I can’t…I can’t walk.” You said, blushing as you admitted it. “Good,” he said, softly rubbing your back as a way to hopefully comfort you. “I can keep you exactly where I want you. In my arms.” You grab his jaw softly and he looks you in the eye, panting slightly. “As cute as that is, I kinda need to walk.” You said, finally noticing your surroundings. You had accidentally grown grape vines all over his walls, a result that formed from him pleasuring you deeply. He looked over at the wall and picked one off, popping it in your mouth before grabbing another and putting it in his. “So sweet,” he said, licking his lips. “Did I do that?” He asked, smiling like a kid on Christmas. “I-”

“PERSEUS FUCKING JACKSON!” A voice boomed from outside of his cabin doors, which were slammed open by multiple, thick, grapevines. Percy flinched slightly and pulled you behind him in a protective manner, covering your bare stomach and slightly shown breasts from the outside world and whomever had just barged in an made the decision of a dimwit, peabrain, no good- it was Dionysus. Good thing he couldn’t read minds, Eh?

“Daddy!” You said, immediately clambering to get your dress that was thrown on the ground, put back on. Percy was also scrambling to put his camp hoodie on. “Y/n.” Dionysus looked at you for a split second and then back to Percy, a purple fire lighting in his eyes. “It’s- it’s not what it looks like!” You said, immediately starting to unravel the grape vines that you had made, from Percy’s rooms’ walls. “Oh really? Then tell me, exactly what it was? Because if I ask anyone in this camp, I’d say they’d know exactly what you were doing, their ears were probably stained with the noises.” He said angrily.

“She didn’t do anything wrong, don’t get mad at her for no reason-” “Oh you really think I’m mad at her? No, I’m mad at you, Peter.” Dionysus cut off Percy when he tried to speak. “You’ll be finding a worse punishment than ‘no dessert’ in your future,” your father threatened, walking out of the cabin, muttering curses. You ran out of the warm, sex and wine smelling, confined of Percy’s cabin, following your angry father, your dress wasn’t even buttoned since you had rushed to follow him. “Don’t do this!” You yelled, catching up to him. “Oh I will be doing this, he deserves it for ruining my princess," he said, not even looking at you.

“But daddy I love him!" You shouted. “I’m- I’m having his baby!” Dionysus stopped abruptly and stared at you, wide-eyed like a mad man. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. A sour grape vine sprouted from the ground, though. “No, I’m just kidding but you should’ve seen your face!” You smiled, after all, you were still a Dionysus girlie, you can’t resist making someone go crazy or panic, even if it means your own dad. Dionysus sighed and shook his head. “What am I gonna do with you…” “let me date my super awesome boyfriend?” “Thats a hard maybe. If he ever dares lay a bad finger on you-” “he would never” “-then you’ll have to deal with a dolphin instead.” “Dad!” “I’m off to bed. Keep it down. Also, no dessert for a week for you, none for a month for him.” “Love you too, dad!” “Yeah, yeah, love you."

The next morning, you and Percy woke up with your hands tied together with a thick grape vine and a long, ten foot, list of rules and conditions for being a couple.

You knew your dad loved you though, he just wanted what was best for his daughter.

[prentissluvr]

eyes open — joel miller

gn!reader , can be read platonic or romantic , sometime between kansas city and jackson in the fall, mild angst maybe hurt/comfort , cw : canon typical violence, infected, swearing, wounds, blood, guns, medical inaccuracy , wc : 2.4K part two here !

initially, the plan was to find a coat, and get the fuck out. you knew you were lucky to have found a mall that’s mostly intact, even better, one that appeared to still have shit inside. of course it’s a small town, and therefore a small building, but you still found what you were looking for. what you weren’t looking for, however, was the party of two you spotted on the level beneath you. the second you saw them, you ducked away and out of sight, eager to avoid anyone.

that was barely a minute ago, and now that you’re nearing the exit on the upper level, you’re sure that you’ve avoided the worst of it. but you hear them first. it doesn’t take an idiot to know that the sounds below you are that of infected, and your first instinct is book it out of that building as fast as possible.

only two seconds later do you pause, cursing the sympathy you still can’t seem to get rid of in this hell of a world. there’s a kid. one of them was a kid. when you started to sneak away, you heard her laugh and it almost made you smile. you try to convince yourself that they can deal with a couple of infected, but when you peer down, it’s not just a couple, and they’re headed right in the direction you last saw the travellers.

“fuck,” you whisper. “i can’t believe myself.”

you scoff, but nonetheless pull out your gun and find the nearest broken escalator so quietly you swear you can hear your own heartbeat.

the idea that you’re purposefully moving towards a group of infected is actually insane, maybe just flat out suicidal, but you don’t want to think of what could happen to the girl of her and the man she’s with get when they are caught by surprise. from thorough inspection of the outside of the building, you know that the only unblocked exit is up where you were, past the infected.

once you’re convinced you’ll actually be able to shoot a decent amount of the infected and still make a break for the nearest exit, you take a deep breath, and aim.

at the first shot of your gun, chaos ensues. the infected start screeching, turning in your direction. but they’re far enough away, so you keep shooting, taking down three before turning and running. but there are more and now you’re really cursing yourself, because they’re blocking the way up the stairs.

your savior comes in the form of more gunshots, ones that don’t come from you. the last two who you initially chased fall, and another is deterred by your own shots. there’s only one left, one you plan to take down yourself. but your savior becomes an enemy when a searing pain rips through your side. a bullet skims your skin and plants itself in the side of the infected. moments later it’s fallen and you hear the gruff voice of a man telling you to put away your gun, or he’ll shoot.

you do as he says, turning to find him and the girl rapidly approaching.

“there could be more,” is all he says, walking past you and towards the stairs.

“right,” you grunt, pushing your hand up against the gash bleeding through your shirt and jacket. you do your best to limp after the two, and you almost run into the girl when the man suddenly stops.

he nods his chin in the direction of the coat you haphazardly stuffed into your bag. “where’d you get that?”

“up my ass,” is all you say, not happy about the way his bullet cut you up.

“i won’t ask again,” he warns. you just scoff.

“you know, i came down here and threw myself at a bunch of infected so you wouldn’t be trapped in here. all i get are threats?”

clearly, he doesn’t care about anything you could say. “i probably saved your life more than you did mine. now tell me where you got the coat.”

“i’ll tell you if you help me get the hell out of this town, i don’t know, since i’m gonna have a bit of trouble travelling thanks to someone’s bullet,” you bargain.

“no.”

you roll your eyes. “fine. get me somewhere to sleep tonight, make sure i don’t die within the first night of getting this stupid ass gash, and i’ll tell you where you can find the coats. even better, i’ll point you to some unfortunate person’s stash of actual good shit. i took as much as i could but there’s still more. there’s ammo, food, even some first aid shit.”

for the first time, the girl speaks up. “let’s just help them. we wouldn’t have known about the infected as soon as we had if they hadn’t shot up a few of them first.” you thank her in your head for taking your side.

“fine. where’re the coats?”

“up there, the store still has a few intact,” you inform. the two of them arrive at the top of the stairs far faster than you do, your feet starting to drag; the strain of your wound plus the stairs feel a little bit like hell. 

once you reach the top, nearly wheezing, the man orders you to give your pack to the kid.

“why, so she can run away with my shit?” you bite.

“i wouldn’t do that!” she argues.

he pays no attention to her, only explaining in short words, “you’re moving too slow and there could be more infected.” 

“well, i wonder why that is,” you grunt.

he huffs in annoyance at your snarky attitude, but nonetheless tells you he’s going to help you walk faster. despite feeling far more than miffed by the man, you allow him to wrap his arm around your waist and you hold onto his shoulder for extra support. moving is still slow, but you reach the store faster than you otherwise would have. the girl drops your pack on the ground in order to search for something to fit her or the man, coming up empty handed for him, but finding a padded coat for herself. 

you clench your jaw against the pain in your side before speaking. “i think there’s a men’s boutique a few stores down.”

once there, the girl begins searching again, and you hate to find yourself leaning further and further into the man’s support. luckily, it doesn’t take long forher to find a fleece lined, brown jacket to fit his broad frame. you’re starting to feel a little bit out of it, and he can’t help but notice the way that your breathing is getting labored and your face seems paler than he thought it was before.

“we should get you bandaged up now,” he says, realizing your wound is probably worse than you’ve been letting on.

“sure,” you grunt. but you don’t even get the chance to sit down before you hear noises coming from the lower level. “nevermind,” you sigh. “there’s an exit that way.” you point in the direction you came with your chin.

the young girl gathers up all of the belongings she set down, sticking close to the other side of her companion. as the three of you make your way out of the building, you do your best to stay steady on your feet, not eager to even chance upon finding out what else was in there, be it infected or other people. you make it out of the building and turn down the first alleyway you find to cut into a different street.

with both the support of the gruff man at your side and the adrenaline coursing through you, you’re able to keep up a decent pace. but as the blood loss catches up to you, your steps falter and you trip over your own feet. with the arm firmly wrapped around your waist, the man pulls you even closer into him, nearly dragging you along at this point.

stopping at a corner to breathe and check the safety of a new street, his deep voice reaches your ears.

“just stay awake,” he orders.

“it’s not that bad,” you bite back through gritted teeth.

it seems he can’t care to argue further, just keeping a firm grip on his gun and a watchful eye on the girl as you continue to move away from the mall.

finally, he deems a fairly intact house on the edge of the town safe enough to do a sweep-through for safety. you stumble inside and he leaves you leaning against the wall with the girl to search the house. the second he’s out the door, the younger turns to you to strike up conversation.

“you kinda saved us, so i’m gonna hope that telling you my name isn’t gonna get me killed?”

“definitely not.”

“great.” she even smiles at you. “i’m ellie! the old grump is joel. sorry he shot you.”

you wish you had more energy to talk to her; she seems funny. but you have to keep your answers short, because you’d rather that someone so young not have to know just how much pain you're in. so you tell her your name in a curt tone, but make sure to tell her it’s not your fault. what you’d add if you could speak more would be that it’s his fault, but even him you understand, as he was just doing what he needed to protect her.

she doesn’t speak much more, probably getting the memo that you aren’t in the best position for conversation right now. even so, you still notice the way that every minute or so, she says something or asks a question, just to be sure you’re conscious enough.

ellie’s spirit is nice, but it’s a relief when the man, joel, you remember, reappears. he helps you to lie on the floor, then slips your coat under your head before gathering up supplies from your pack.

“gonna pull up your shirt, just a little, ‘k?” he’s more than respectful, almost gentle in contrast with his words that are rough more often than not.

you just nod, letting him remove your hands from your wound and lifting your shirt just enough for him to see the gash in your side. luckily, it’s stopped bleeding so much due to the pressure you had been doing your best to apply, but he was right; it was definitely worse than what you had been letting on at first.

“why didn’t you say anything when you had the chance?” he asks, voice harsh, insinuating that you should have stopped to care for yourself before or while ellie was searching for coats.

“well you didn’t seem particularly concerned with my well being,” you say through gritted teeth. he just huffs, knowing that you’re right, but you’re also an idiot for letting your this type of wound stay untended for so long.

“this needs stitches,” he frowns. a few snarky retorts stored in your mind beg to be used on him, but you opt to just nod, knowing you’ll need your strength. “you should bite on this.” he grabs his new jacket, bringing the sleeve to your face. you lift your hands up, placing the fabric between your teeth. it’s not comfortable, but when the first wave of pain comes from the alcohol poured on the open wound, you’re grateful to bite into the fabric rather than your own tongue.

before joel can begin the stitches in your side, you grab his wrist and pull the fabric out of your mouth with your other hand. you gasp before speaking, “does this kid have to stay?” you don’t want her to have to watch this.

it seems he agrees, because he immediately tells her to find a different room to stay in. but she’s stubborn, insisting she can stay. joel argues back when you don’t have the energy to, but she doesn’t have any of it, so he just shifts his attention back to you. you just place the sleeve back in your mouth as he sterilizes the needle and moves your clothing around a bit more.

his touch is gentle, but it does nothing to lessen the pain of the needle pushing through your flesh. you react viscerally, your hands clutching his shoulder and forearm, a muffled yelp escaping your lips.

“jus’ a few stitches,” he says steadily. “ellie, come over here grab their hand, it’s gettin’ in the way.” ellie does as she’s told, scrambling from her previous spot to sit right by you and take the hand that had latched onto joel’s arm. in the back of your mind, you feel bad for squeezing the young girl’s hand so hard, but you can’t help it. 

joel is right; it’s only a few stitches, but by the time he’s done you’re barely conscious. he fixes your clothing to cover your torso once again, then reaches up to softly pull the fabric from your mouth. you let out a dry groan when he does so.

“eyes open,” he commands as he grabs water. he helps you drink, one hand holding his flask, the other holding up the back of your head. once you’ve finished drinking he removes his hands from you and begins to pack everything he used back into your bag, instructing ellie to keep you awake while he does so. 

“can’t i just sleep?” you grumble out.

“there’s a mattress upstairs, we’ll sleep up there,” he says sternly. you only hum in response, and there’s no need for ellie to keep you awake, as joel’s finished with the bags. she grabs them, leaving joel to hoist you into his arms. the movement pulls a pained groan out of your lips. and yet, the warmth of his body is comforting and you wish you had the energy to hate it, but your own body betrays you as your head sinks into his shoulder. the added pressure causes him to look down at you. he tells you to open your eyes when he finds them to be closed. but it’s almost like you can’t hear him, the only reaction he gets is a furrow of eyebrows in reaction to the pain you likely feel as he starts up the stairs. “alright,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone else as your features finally relax and you fall into unconsciousness. at least now you’re all safe, so he can’t say it’s the worst thing to have you asleep in his arms.

[halfbakedspuds]

Thanks to @honeybewrites for the tag

WIP Questionnaire tag

Rules: answer the following questions about a WIP!

I may as well do this for the Tempest Prince

What's the first part of your WIP that you created?

Probably the idea of the bloodmoon being responsible for beast activity ramping up. (not an actual bloodmoon, they just call it that because it looks like a second moon made out of churning blood that only the hunters can see)

If your story were a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

'kickstart my heart' by Mötley Crüe would work really well for this, but I think for the darker parts later on 'House of the rising sun' as covered by Ghost of Johnny Cash would work better with some lyric changes

What are your favourite characters that you've made? Why?

I have two:

Lifvinja Ravenscar was really interesting to write because of the whole psychology of someone who spent the first fifteen years of her life believing with good reason that she likely wouldn't live to see her twenties only to accidentally make herself immortal. The psychology of someone who feels isolated both because she'll outlive everyone and because her clockwork body makes her the outsider in any setting. Also her feelings towards her 'late' wife (I mean it's been a thousand years) and how it's shaped her life.

Eileen Snowsong only shows up much later, but I enjoyed writing her mostly because I relate with her more than any of the other characters (which says a lot given how much I relate with most of them). I can't say why I relate with her without spoilers, but part of the reason is her specific inner tug of war between what she feels is expected of her and who she really is.

What other pieces of media do you think your fanbase would share?

Bloodborne definitely.

Probably Percy Jackson too but I'm not so sure about that one.

What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

Writing a series of this length is daunting.

Like, I have all 21 books roughly planned out (with the Jason, Alex, and Helga's story being five books long) but it's daunting trying to write it simply because it's such a massive undertaking, and trying to talk myself out of that fear has been my biggest constant struggle.

Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

There are these things called Beasts, which are sort of like the universe's immune response to humanity. Whenever a creature is touched by the void (Usually during a bloodmoon) they mutate and disfigure into a beast, and it's around that point that they become the problem of the hunters. Humans are somewhat immune to this process, however that's how Demihumans are created and that's a story for another day.

It tends to be more concentrated around heavy population densities, so cities are the most commonly hit, and it got so bad in the area from Central to Southern Asia that the hunter vanguards in the area broke off to deal with it themselves because the hunter cities just did not have the manpower to give them adequate support

How do your characters travel/get around?

Most hunters use witchpowder lanterns to partially detach from reality and relocate to a different part of the world in a matter of seconds.

However, Jason and Alex have some upgrades from regular hunters.

Jason figured out pretty early on that he can literally ride the lightning and travel that way (which is a few minutes faster than lantern travel as long as he's not hopping from Antarctica to Northern Canada, Scandinavia or Russia.

Alex has portals, although he has passed out several times in the past from the exertion of keeping them open, so he doesn't like doing it.

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

I have so much done in the first book, but two years on the introduction still refuses to click for me, so I guess trying to get it to work

What are your hopes for your WIP?

Mostly just that people enjoy it and that I don't fuck it up too badly.

Open tag for anyone who wants to hop on

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Good Girl, Bad Boy (Pt. 02 of 15)

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X Reader

Word count: 2.3 K

Summary: You're the extreme opposite of Billy Hargrove. The good girl, with perfect grades, the child every mother wants to have. And you don't want to have nothing to do with his kind. Ignoring Billy – and his constant, lingering stare – became an habit. But after you're put together for a special school program, you'll have no choice but to get along with him. And soon enough you'll find out that Billy is so much more than just Hawkins' bad boy.

<- (01) Previous part

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{Stranger Things Masterlist}

{Dacre Montgomery Masterlist}

×

Growing Closer

You find Billy walking away from his locker, ready to go home. He's alone this time, and you heard something about Stacy being mad at him. You wonder what he did to her. Or if he just got tired and is now aiming for someone else.

“Hargrove.” You call when you're closer enough to be heard. Billy turns around immediately, and you both stop in the middle of the hall. “Do you happen to have some time? We need to discuss the calendar.”

“Sure.” He simply says, and it's clear to you he's pissed off already. He was forced into the program, so it's only normal he doesn't want to do that.

“We can hit the library. It remains open for two hours after class.” You can't help but notice some people staring. But that isn't a surprise. You and Billy are as different as day and night, and nobody expects to see you two talking.

“Sure.” He repeats, and a fun expression crosses his face before he steps aside, gesturing for you to walk.

Chuckling, you furrow your eyebrows, starting to make your way to the library.

You know the place by heart since you're here at least three times a week. Waving at the teacher who stays in the reception, you pick a table in the back, so your chattering won't bother anyone. Taking a seat, you watch as Billy settles down across from you.

It's a little weird at first, and a silence falls in between you two. You suddenly realize you've been staring at him, way too focused on his blue eyes. You didn't know Billy's eyes were so beautiful. But you quickly clear your throat, searching on your bag for your notebook.

“I made you this planner.” Pulling the paper sheet off the notebook, colorful by many different marker colors, you slide it over to him. Billy's eyes fall on it immediately, eyebrows raising. “It's just to help you keep up with everything until the end of the year. More stuff will probably be add, but don't worry, I'll let you know.”

“You have everything figured out, don't you?” He finally speaks up, holding the paper in his hands.

“I know you don't want to do this. But this is senior year and you're almost free. Just a little longer and this will be over.” Offering him a small smile, you put a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I won't repeat the year. My grades are enough to get me through.” He sounds a little angry, and you sigh.

You don't know what to say to make him cooperate if he doesn't want to. “Look, you can't get out of the Improvement Program. But you can pick another tutor. So if you want, I have a list of everyone who's still available and maybe if there's someone you already know or happen to be friends with–” As you speak, you start looking in your bag for the small blueish paper. “–you just have to talk to Mrs Martinez and–”

“I want you to be my tutor.” His voice startles you since it's a little too loud and because of the silence, it echoes a bit. “But just because I know you're the smartest person in this school.”

Biting your lip, you nod, not sure how you feel about his compliment. “Thanks... I try.”

“You freaking succeed,” Billy mutters, cupping his hands above the table.

There's heat creeping through your cheeks so you look away, bringing back to mind what else you must talk to him about. “So, the next project is a presentation on History about World War I. Our part is about the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand, the invasion of Bosnia and Herzegovina, and the July crisis. The happenings before the war was set.”

“Great.”

“Shhh.” Someone says, and you look at a small group of people on your left.

“You shut up, asshole.” Billy raises his voice a little, and you look at him with wide eyes.

“Hey. Don't say that.” You warn him, giving the boy an apologetic look. “We're at a library, we're supposed to be quiet.”

“Excuse me.” Mr Williams comes, standing a few feet away. “Some students are complaining about your chattering, so I'll have to ask you to leave, please.”

“Oh...” Blushing a little, you start gathering your stuff. “Sorry, Mr Williams. We'll leave.” Billy is just about to say something when you give him a look.

You're quickly outside again, fixing the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “We...” Moving out of the way of some people heading to the library, you set into his pace, walking side by side. “We'll need some time to work on everything. So we can switch between your place and mine because doing things in the library won't work.” You feel a little shy to propose this, but it's not a big deal. You'll be doing this until the end of the year, so it's quite inevitable. “If that's ok with you, of course.”

“We should hit your place then. My father is home today, so... It just won't work.” There's a change in his voice, and you glance at him.

“My mother is home too. But she won't bother us.” Walking a little faster, you gesture at your car. “Just follow me.”

Billy nods, and you smile, giving him a little wave.

The school is empty, and so are the streets around it, so you have no trouble speeding away. Keeping your eyes on the review mirror, it only takes twenty minutes to get to your house, so you park on your usual spot, stepping out of the car and waiting for Billy to do the same. When he finally joins you on the porch, you move to unlock the door.

Billy couldn't help but feel lucky to be at her place. He never thought he'd come here, under any circumstances. Trying not to let her notice, he allows his eyes to wander a little as she opens the door, taking in the place (Y/N) calls home. It has a weird feeling for him, almost as if the place is sacred, somewhere he wasn't supposed to be.

“My mother is nice. But she may say some embarring stuff so... Be prepared.” Following her inside, Billy notices as her mother looks at them, eyes going a little wide to see him. He wonders if she isn't used to her daughter bringing boys home. Knowing (Y/N), he knows she's not. “Mom, this is Billy Hargrove. I told you about him yesterday, remember? From the Improvement Program.”

She told her mother about him. So yes, she was thinking about him. Maybe just for a couple of seconds, maybe just as someone she knows, who she has told to help. But it doesn't matter. (Y/N) was thinking about him, and for now, it's enough.

“Of course.” She stands up, coming to give her daughter a quick hug and shake Billy's hand. “I'm Amanda. (Y/N)'s mother.”

“It's good to meet you, Mrs–”

“Call me Amanda kid, or else I feel terribly old.” She jokes, kindly smiling. “I believe you'll be hanging around here a lot because of school. But don't worry, I won't get in your way.”

“Thanks, mom. We'll be in the dining room.” (Y/N)'s light touch on his forearm is enough to make him shot her a glance, almost too desperate, something in him wanting to ask her why she did such a thing. Billy curses himself as he follows her to the dining room for feeling so stupid. It's just a freaking touch. On his freaking arm. And she wasn't even giving it much thought.

As Billy settles down on the table, (Y/N) moves the centerpiece to the edge so they'll have more space. “Do you want anything? Water? Or some chips? I happen to have some.”

Her voice sends Billy into some kind of stupor. A guy like him shouldn't feel this way. (Y/N) is just a girl, and he had many. But none of them ever made him feel like this. Like his heart is trying to jump off his chest. After a year, he did think he got over it. But he was wrong. Billy didn't want to be this close to (Y/N), always watching her from a safe distance. But this stupid school had to put them together, so damn close. Look at him now, seated on her dining table, staring at her like a complete idiot.

Just because she offered him water and freaking chips.

“Water is nice.” He mumbles, eyes on her back as she walks away, passing behind his chair. A sweet scent irradiates from her. Like flowers, he doesn't know which one though, like freaking sunshine.

Laughing at his stupidity, Billy looks down at his hands. How can someone smell like sunshine? It's illogical.

“Get it together, she's just a girl,” Billy says to himself, resting his back against the chair and taking his jacket off, laying on the chair next to him. Girls are nothing new to him. He had they all figured out, their ways, how to break them, how to please them, how to bend them to his will.

But not (Y/N).

A nice girl like her is immune to his tricks. And that's good because if she wasn't, it would mean she could also fall on someone's traps. Like Tommy, or Jimmy, or Jackson. The very thought of those assholes with her, touching, caressing, kissing... It disgusts him, and he's quick to push such images away.

“Did you say something?” (Y/N) asks, coming back from the kitchen and handing him a glass with cold water. Once she's close enough, he takes a deep breath, and her sweet scent almost drives him mad.

She's not a girl for you, get it together. “No.” He mumbles, taking long sips before putting the glass down. “So what now?” He sounds a little rude, so he immediately clears his throat after, eyes on (Y/N) as she takes a seat next to him on the round table instead of across from him. Billy finds it odd, but he's thankful for the proximity. This way, he can be surrounded by her candy-like scent, trying to memorize it so he could play it back later. When he's into the nightmare he calls home.

You're just about to start, History books already on the table, since you'll begin with the presentation, notebooks and papers so you can take notes, but then you look at Billy. There's a bruise on the apple of his cheek that you haven't noticed it before.

“Did you get into a fight?” You ask, leaning slightly forward to take a better look.

“What?” There's a moment of confusion on his face before it changes. “Yeah.”

“Did you win?”

“In a way.” It doesn't look like he'll say anything else.

“Well, if someone punches you, make sure to beat them up.” Smiling a little, you take the History book, opening it on chapter 7. “What exactly do you know about–”

“Are you still dating Steve?”

The question takes you by surprise, making you nervously giggle. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Just curious.” He shrugs his shoulders, tilting his head to the side. “Saw you two talking earlier today and he wouldn't be happy to know we'll be around each other a lot.”

“Steve is my friend. We dated last year but only for two months.” Avoiding Billy's eyes, you go through the book, not really paying attention to anything. You can feel his stare, and for some reason, your cheeks start heating up.

“Who broke up with who?”

Chuckling, you turn your body towards him. “Why do you want to know, Billy?” Maybe he's just trying to procrastinate. “Because if you're just trying to delay things I–”

“No, I really want to know.” He leans forward, pulling the book closer to him. “You and Harrington don't fit together, so I was surprised to see you hanging out with him last year.”

“Steve and I got pretty close when he dropped the jerk act. And we were both single so we decided to give it a try.” The only reason you're telling Billy this is because it's not a secret. Some people know and they probably didn't put any effort into keeping it hidden. “But it didn't click. We were dating but it wasn't really romantic, so...” You smile to remember it, and the memory that comes back is definitely a secret. Nancy is the only one who knows, her and Steve, obviously. But you guess it's ok to tell Billy, it's quite funny. And silly. “We... We never really kissed, you know?”

“What?” His voice startles you, and the genuine confusion on his face only makes you laugh. “You're joking.”

“I'm not, and if this gets out, I'll know it was you.” With a finger pointing at his face, you fake a threatening face. “So keep it between us or else.”

Pinching his eyebrows together, Billy seems amused. “Or else what?” His voice gets lower, as he leans closer.

“Or else I'll have no choice but to make out with Steve in front of the whole school.” In a sassy tone, you smile, biting your tongue not to laugh at his expression. Billy is... Impressed? Surprised, maybe. Something tells you he wasn't expecting this answer.

“Ew. Please don't.”

“Then don't tell anyone.” Shrugging your shoulders, you pull your feet up, crossing your legs on the chair. “Now, C'mon. World War I.”

“One more question and we get to it.” As he speaks, you feel him pulling your hand away from the notebook, forcing you to give him attention. “Why in the hell didn't you and Steve–”

“We kissed. I mean, those quick kisses, you know. Like when you say hi or goodbye. Just a peck in the lips. But that was it.”

“That was it?”

“That was it.” Giggling again, you assure him. Why is it so important to him anyway? “Now, can we start?”

You watch as Billy's eyes remain on you, burning, lingering. After a while, his lips break into a smile and he looks down at the book, shaking his head lightly. “Let's start.”

×

@multific @clockworkballerina @tina1938 @graciehams @moatsnow @all-the-stars-on-your-skin

[aiyaar]

Nico di Angelo was ten years old when his life went to hell. He never felt so devastated, so ruined. The only person who cared about him, his family, his everything was gone.

Nico hated all of them. He hated sister for leaving him behind, as if he was nothing, just to die afterwards and leave him completely alone. He hated those stupid huntresses of Artemis for taking his sister away from him. He hated Annabeth Chase, whoever it was, for falling off the cliff and making them go on this quest. But most of all he hated him. Percy Jackson. The ultimate hero, so strong and cool. He hated everything about him. He let him down. Percy Jackson let his sister die.

It was already a month since Bianca left this world. A lonely, cold month. Grieve still strangled him. This month has passed in a blur.

Nico passed an empty street, not even bothering to lift up his head. Snow was falling from the white sky and Nico shivered slightly from the cold. He needs to find some warmer clothes.

The city clock struck twelve, sound cutting through the silence. Another day has come. As if Nico cared. Suddenly he stopped, absentmindedly looking at the date on the billboard. 28th January.

Nico titled his head. He didn’t even know his birthday was coming. He always loved his birthday, so excited to modestly celebrate it with Bianca. Bianca…

A lonely tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another. Nico didn’t bother to wipe them, letting them fall.

“Happy Birthday to me.” He said in a shaky voice, sitting in the snow right in the middle of the street. Nico buried his face in his palms, trying to quiet down choked sobs.

Nico di Angelo was eleven years old when he lost himself.

*

Nico di Angelo was eleven when he started to chase the dream of making his sister come back to life. He was obsessed with the idea, almost going mad in the company of hurt and angry ghosts.

Minos had promised him that he’ll see Bianca again. And Nico believed. What else he could do. He was alone. He was hurt.

Why can’t she talk to him? Why she doesn’t want to show up? She doesn’t want to see him. She despises him. She doesn’t want him.

Nico heard rustling sound under his boots. He picked up the newspaper, catching the date with his eyes. 1st February.

Well, another year passed. Nico didn’t care that he missed his birthday. But a little ache didn’t want to leave his heart as he remembered how Bianca smiled at him the day he turned ten.

And then, months later, she showed up, just to say him that he has to let go. Just to make Nico know that this plan wouldn’t work. Minos was a liar. He used Nico. His only hope was trampled.

Misery was what Nico felt. The weird, nasty feeling crawled up to his throat.

Aside from that, one image didn’t want to leave his mind. His face lived in his head, not wanting to leave. His stupid smile, green eyes, tousled hair. Why Nico keeps thinking of him?

Why did she want to talk to him, not Nico? This stupid guy, with his annoying grin made Nico want to- What?

Nico freezed, trying to finish this though. Did Nico want to kill him? Hurt him? No, it was something else. He felt weird every time he heard his name. Percy Jackson.

Nico di Angelo was twelve when he started to realize something about himself.

*

Nico di Angelo was twelve when he wanted to rip out his own heart. Abnormal, disgusting. He was sick of himself. He felt nauseous at the very thought of it.

It can’t be true, no. He’s mistaken.

He was lying on his bed at his father’s castle, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his face. Those gorgeous green eyes, goofy smile, tousled black hair. His mind was ranting: Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson, Percy Jackson.

Nico felt like he was about to cry. Why is he like this? Is he broken?

He looked to the side, at his night table. A bouquet of red roses stood there. An hour ago Persephone strode to his room with these flowers and a weird expression on her face. She silently put them in a vase and went back to the door. She stopped there, turning her head a little to look at him.

“Happy Birthday.” Was what she said. Then she left.

So it was his birthday. He’s thirteen now.

Nico stared at the flowers, a little bit shocked. She remembered about his birthday. His father didn’t even bother to check up on him.

Hades only cared about their deal. Nico was very hesitant about that. But after all, he agreed.

He just thought that if he does that then maybe Percy would… Like him? But he didn’t.

Percy Jackson hated him. He screwed everything up. It was horrible. He had to fix it.

So he did the best thing he could. He had to prove to Percy, to his father, to everyone that he is worth something. He was just a kid and the battle was scary. He was scared. But he was a hero.

Everyone respected him, some people wanted to be his friends. He even wanted to stay at camp. Nico was happy but only for a moment.

Days after the battle the whole camp started talking about how Percy and Annabeth finally kissed and got together.

Nico left without a warning. Not like he had anyone to warn. Not like anyone cared.

Nico di Angelo was thirteen when his heart was broken.

*

Nico di Angelo was thirteen when Percy Jackson had gone missing. Annabeth Chase went feral. And Nico promised to help. Of course he did.

He was actually worried. What could happen to him? Nico only knew that Percy was alive. It was somewhat reassuring.

Something bad was about to happen. Nico knew it. New demigods at Camp Half-Blood. One of them is a son of Zeus. That was a bad sign.

And now that Nico knows about romans…

Today was 28th January. His birthday. He already got used to ignore this day. Nico just marked the fact that he was fourteen now.

The door of his room swung open. Nico sat up on his bed, seeing his father in his usual black robes.

He stood there in silence for a minute or so, awkwardly staring at his son.

“Um, did you want something?” Nico said, nervously fumbling with the ring on his finger.

“Yes.” Hades came closer to his bed. “Well, not really. It’s just…” Lord of the Underworld sat on the corner of Nico’s bed. “It’s your birthday.”

Nico blinked, processing what his father was trying to say.

“Yeah, I know. Thank you for reminding me.” He finally said, scowling at his father. Like he ever cared about Nico anyway. “If that’s all you wanted to say-“

“No.” Hades looked strangely awkward. “You made me proud this year, you know?”

Nico’s eyes widened. Was his father trying to praise him?

“I wanted to say that I’m… Grateful. You made me make right choice. And what I said about you before… I’m sorry.”

Nico was more than shocked at this point. He felt awkward and Hades didn’t look better.

“Anyway, I vaguely know that mortals usually make gifts for the day one came from mother’s womb. And I thought that maybe you should spend time with your… peers?”

“What are you trying to say, dad?”

Hades took a deep breath, as if he was nervous.

“I want to give you a present. So that you will be able to go wherever you want, in those places where teenagers usually spend time.”

“You want to give me a car?” Nico asked, puzzled.

“No, you’re too young for that. I’ll give you a chauffeur, he’ll be helping you go to the mall or something. Because, well… I’m not able to do it for you.”

Nico blinked again, titling his head to the side.

“A chauffeur?”

Hades looked embarrassed for a moment. Then he put on a stern expression, standing up.

“Objections are not accepted. You should be grateful.” He strode off to the door. Then he stopped. “Happy Birthday, son.” He closed the door, leaving Nico alone in the dark room.

Nico di Angelo was fourteen when he received his first birthday present.

*

Nico di Angelo was fourteen when he met him. Will Solace.

It felt like a dawn after long, cold night. Will was his blessing, his salvation. And Nico didn't know what did he do to deserve someone like Will.

They've been dating for a couple of months, wonderful, amazing months. And Nico was genuinely thankful for everything Will had done to him.

Nico woke up at the knock on his door, blinking through the gloom of Hades cabin. He didn't know if it was morning already, because black curtains prevented any gleam of sunshine from crawling into his cabin.

Still, Nico knew exactly that it was early and he knew exactly who was outside, because there was only one person in this world who dared to wake him up.

Nico got out of bed and staggering came to open up the door.

Will Solace stood on the threshold. He was wearing his usual winter jacket and a scarf, a blinding smile on his face. He seemed to be particularly happy today and, judging by the flush on his face, he was running.

"Hey, Neeks." He ruffled his hair and came in, closing the door behind him as Nico shivered from the cold winter air.

"Good morning." Nico mumbled, still half asleep. "What time is it?"

"7 a.m."

"Why did you need to wake me up so early?"

Will looked him in the eyes, taking Nico’s cold hand with his warm one, which is weird, considering Will was the one who had a walk on winter air.

"Do you know what day it is?" He looked excited.

"Um, no, to be honest. I don't pay attention to the calendar." Nico sat down on his bed, wrapping himself in a blanket.

Will looked shocked.

"Are you serious?! I mean... It's 28th January!"

Nico's brain needed a moment to process what exactly Will wanted from him.

"Yeah. So?"

"So?! It's your birthday!"

Nico sighed.

"Guess I'm fifteen now. That also explains this." He pointed to his bedside table, where black envelope was perched on the top of black box. "Probably from my father."

Will looked at him, then at the envelope.

"So, like... Happy Birthday."

"Thank you." Nico got up again, reaching for the box. "Now go so I can change."

"Ok." Will strode off to the door, a strange expression on his face. Though Nico didn't pay much attention to it.

Nico opened the envelope. There was a thick wad of money and an invitation for a dinner. Nico will come, of course, but not today. In the box lay watches and a book in Italian.

The day went by as usual. Nico had a walk in the woods with Will before breakfast, then they were busy with their camp activities.

In the evening, right before they were about to go to the campfire, Will took his arm and told him.

"How about we won't go to the campfire today?"

"But you like-"

"I don't need to go there everyday. Especially today. Come to your cabin in twenty minutes." And he hastily strode off in the direction of the cabin thirteen.

Nico came in after twenty minutes to be met with dozens of candles around his room. Will was standing in front of him, holding a cake with fifteen lighted candles perched on it.

"Make a wish." He whispered as Nico came closer.

Nico looked him in the eyes and didn't know what to say. So he just did what he was told. Will smiled brighter.

"I baked it myself." He said proudly. "Well, Cecil helped me."

He put the cake on the table, now fumbling in his pockets.

"I have something for you, actually." He said, pulling out a small box from his pocket. "I don't know if you're going to like it but..."

Nico didn't hear what Will was saying as he opened the box with trembling hands. He pulled out a sun pendant on a thin gold chain. The sun looked just like the tattoo on Will's shoulder.

Nico couldn't hold back a tear that rolled down his cheek. Will watched him attentively, stopping his ranting when he saw it.

"Nico, what's wrong-"

The next thing Will knew, pale arms was wrapped tightly around him, Nico's face buried in Will's chest.

"Thank you." Nico said in a small, shaky voice before pulling back. He placed the sun pendant on his palm, watching it glisten in the candle light. Tears still rolled down his cheeks.

Will looked at him, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. He always understood. His sunshine was so alone, for so long. All Will wanted was to make him happy.

Will moved to embrace Nico in a tight hug, kissing the top of his head and then lifted his head with long, gentle fingers on his chin.

"I love you so much." He said. "You're such an amazing person. You're brave, gorgeous, smart, brilliant. Beautiful." He wiped the tear from Nico's cheek. "I will love you with all my might. I promise."

And with that he gently kissed Nico, making him smile while the tears of joy kept rolling down his cheeks.

"I love you, Will."

Nico di Angelo was fifteen when he found his happiness.

[sourfurball221]

“I trust you with my life...” Ellie Williams x reader

Prompt: I trust you with my life

Triggers: mentions of suicide/self-harm, mentioned blood

Notes: I did a small cross over of the Telltale Walking Dead series, its not really good but I wanted to put Clementine and Violet into the story

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“RUN!”

Y/n heard the loud screech followed by several gunshots coming from the door that her girlfriend, Ellie, had just gone through. Instinctively she tightened her grip on her gun, watching as Ellie flew out of the door and closed it, pressing her body weight against the curving piece of wood. The door bent with each thud and with the old screws slowly coming loose, it wouldn’t take much more effort to rip them from their holes.

Y/n looked around, noticing the bookcase next to the door. She immediately ran over and started shoving the bookcase in front of the door, hearing Ellie continually yell at her to run. “Y/n go!” Ellie yelled, her strength starting to falter as more and more infected start ramming into the door.

Y/n ignored her pleas and pushed the bookcase until it practically on top of the other girl. “Shove it over!” She shouted.

“Just go!”

“Move out of the fucking way or I will throw this shelf on top of you!”

Just as she was about to respond, the door broke of its hinges. Ellie jumped back, barely missing the swinging arms of a Clicker as Y/n threw the bookcase on top of it. The infected continued banging on the door, some trying to climb through the small area that the shelf couldn’t cover. Ellie looked over, saying, “That’s not gonna hold for long. We have to move.”

Y/n nodded in agreement, grabbing an extra bottle and the small amount of ammo that was in the kitchen. Ellie looked over at the other girl while reloading her guns before she ran out the door. Y/n followed close behind.

They followed the streets until they were a safe distance away from the old office filled with infected. Slowing down, Y/n jogged over to a building on the side of the road. Seems empty, she thought nodding to herself. “Come on,” she called to Ellie, opening the door and stepping into the old, dimly lit coffee shop. The walls were covered with shelves, the books once on them splayed everywhere from raiders and people looking for anything that might be of use. Tables and chairs were turned over, the old coffee machines shuffled around on the counters. Y/n walked over to the register, clicking it open. She quickly grabbed the ammo hidden inside before closing it again.

Ellie walked inside, ducking her head when a cloud of dust fell on her from closing the door. “Looks like the best place to spend the night, I’ll check the back for infected,” Y/n readied her gun and moved to the old door behind the counter. She lightly stepped into the entryway and heard the screech of a Clicker somewhere inside. Following the noise down the hall, she looked to the bathroom door next to her, hearing the clicking louder than before. Let’s go, she thought, gripping her pistol.

Behind the door, she found a Clicker tied up against the old toilet. Y/n took a quick look around the room, noticing a piece of paper wedged beside the mirror before she aimed and killed the infected creature. The body slumped down, head falling forward as the shot finished its ring within the small space.

Looking back at the note, Y/n picked it up and unfolded it, reading the contents of it to herself.

Hey, to whoever finds me, thank you. I… I wasn’t strong enough to do it myself and I couldn’t make Vi do it for me, she doesn’t deserve to do that. She said she’d come back to finish the job when she thought she was strong enough, but if you’re reading this, I guess she just never made it back. I told her to go, I don’t regret that choice, she’s lost to many people already, I wouldn’t let her count me with the people she loved that she’s had to kill.

When you kill me, leave this note so that Vi can come back and see it, she can know that I will never blame her and that she… that she’s amazing.

Violet,

I love you. Always and forever. No fucking virus, person, not even death can stop me from loving you. Even if my body isn’t connected with my mind anymore, I want you to know that I am going to be haunting you.

I’m always with you, Violet. Keep Goofball safe.

Remember, you’re still not bitten.

Love,

C.

Y/n looked up at the Clicker, seeing the old clothes hanging off her shoulders, a jean jacket discarded to side probably from when the fever was setting in. She looked down at the note once more, seeing the tear stains and the erase marks from trying to find the right words, the last words that would ever be known from her. Y/n noticed a knife placed next to the jacket, wrapped in a small piece of cloth. She carefully picked it up unwrapped it, seeing a beautiful long 7-inch knife, the handle was made of what felt like pure leather. Y/n spun it in her hands testing the weight of it before she noticed the small engraving on the side.

Happy Birthday Clem! Love you, forever and always. Don’t get bitten.

Vi and Goofball

Y/n looked over at the body of the infected creature, the person who used to have someone who loved them and who they had loved just as much. She took the knife and stabbed it through the note next to the body, making sure it was visible to anyone who walked through the door. Come back, Violet. She might be dead, but she needs you right now, Y/n thought, closing the door behind her before walking to the front of the shop.

“Took care of it?” Ellie asked once Y/n stepped back into the small coffee shop.

She nodded her head, shrugging her backpack onto the floor. She let out a small wince as she felt a sting down her left arm. “Ah, shit.” Y/n looked to her arm to see a gash reaching from her shoulder to the top of her elbow. She lightly moved her arm, seeing how deep it was or if she would need stitches when they got back to Jackson.

Ellie’s face scrunched with worry at the curse. She looked over to see Y/n rummaging through her bag for something when she noticed the line of blood seeping down the side of her girlfriend’s shirt. “Y/n,” she mumbled, storming over to look at the wound.

“Its fine, its fine. Nothing too deep, probably won’t need stitches, I just want to bandage it up before we head back out again.”

Ellie grabbed her arm, eliciting a small hiss of pain from the other girl, and gently turning it to inspect the bloodied arm. She sighed, looking up at Y/n before sitting her on the counter and grabbing a med kit from her bag. “Thanks,” Y/n mumbled, sliding back and leaning her arm forward so Ellie could apply the bandage.

Ellie didn’t reply. She stared intently at the bandage, making sure to keep it evenly placed and just tight enough to stop most of the bleeding. Silence ensued for several minutes as she continued the to wrap the hand-crafted bandage. “You should have run…” she whispered, stuffing the end of the bandage into itself.

Y/n glanced up at the girl in front of her, seeing the light reflect off her eyes. “If I had run, you wouldn’t be here.”

“But you wouldn’t have been hurt.”

“Injuries can heal.”

“It’s better me than you.”

“Why would you say that?” Y/n asked, scoffing at the girl.

“Because it’s true, I could have saved the world, I could have saved you and you wouldn’t have to deal with this shit anymore.” She turned her head, stepping away from the counter.

Y/n sat up and grabbed her before she could move any farther. “If you weren’t here, I wouldn’t be here.”

This time Ellie scoffed, shaking her head. “What does that even mean?”

“Ellie.” Y/n stood up and walked over to the other girl, forcing her to look up. “I would be dead if it wasn’t for you being here.”

“Jesse or Dina easily could have saved you from the infected,” she whispered, going to turn away again.

Y/n shook her head again. “Jesse and Dina aren’t you. They don’t notice when I’m not really feeling myself or when I’m having a rough time with things. They don’t know me like you do. You’ve saved me from more things than infected. I don’t think you realize it but you’ve saved me from other people, even from myself.”

Ellie’s eyes widened as she heard this but Y/n kept talking. “You can’t say that I would be better off with you gone or dead, because believe me I wouldn’t. If you weren’t here, I’d probably be infected laying in fucking field littered with bodies. You helped me when I first came to Jackson, you didn’t even realize how much you helped me when you killed David, you stopped me from-” she shook her head as though to rid herself of the memory “-something, just because you noticed that I looked down that day when I went outside the walls with my horse. If you weren’t here, I’d be dead, probably infected too. So, don’t ever-” she lifted her finger and jabbed it in the middle of Ellie’s chest, “-ever say that you shouldn’t be here.”

By the end of Y/n’s speech her eyes were red from holding in tears while the green-eyed girl just stared down at her. Ellie immediately wrapped her in a hug, shoving her face into the crook of Y/n neck. “I love you,” she whispered. “I trust you with my life…”

Y/n shakily sighed, returning the hug. “And I trust you with mine…”

[yourlocalauthor]

What Comes Around Goes Around

Chapter Three: Suprise!

Pairing: Topper x OC (eventually?)

Warnings for this chapter: Just some good old fashion cussing, and a slightly scary scene with an older male so take that with a grain of salt.

Word count: 2k

A/N: so excited to be back to writing! get ready for the next chapter it’s going to be exciting <3

Jo drove back home, pissed she didn’t have her lemonade, pissed that her feet and sandals were all sticky, pissed Topper was such a fucking idiot, just pissed at the entire world. Worst of all Jess and Elle went for a day trip on the mainland, and Jo had no one to complain to. She pulled into her driveway, aggressively, just wanting to go lie on her bed and scream. Her mind came to halt as she slammed on her breaks, her face looking like she had just seen a ghost. She had barely put her car into park, before rushing out of it with the engine still running.

“JJ?” She yelled running to the blonde boy who had stood from his position on her front steps. She engulfed him in a hug, tears swelling in her eyes. JJ winced a bit at the hug, but soon his arms wrapped around her, returning the hug, a little tighter than he meant to. The two stood there for a minute just silent. Soon enough the hug came to an end, once Jo realized she was also angry at him. She quickly let go, shoving him.

“Where the fuck have you been? And what the hell happened to your face.” She said now noticing some fresh cuts and bruising. She took his face in her hands examining it, as he started to speak.

“I went out of town for a few weeks, couch surfed with some people on the mainland, and-” He hissed in pain when Jo touched his cheekbone pulling his face away from her. “Jesus Jo!”

“Sorry! Get inside I’ll clean you up and then you’re telling me everything.”

“Yes ma’am” He said, giving her a salute before opening her door. Jo flipped him, before walking back to her car and turning it off.

-

-

-

“So, I was staying at this shady dudes place, and I think he was watching me sleep so I came back here and slept on some boats, until I accidentally overslept this morning and the cops came and took me to my dad. He was wasted when I got home, so wasted I guess he thought I was a intruder or something cause uh…” He made some punching motions, laughing awkwardly. Jo frowned as she closed up the medical box, and tossed the bloody cotton balls.

“That’s not funny,”

“It is a little,”

She shook her head, starting to bandage him up.

“Where are you staying now?”

“Not sure, probably couch surf some more and then figure it out from there.”

Jo frowned looking at him, she carefully held his face, examining his bruises.

“Absolutely not, you’re staying here. At least until we figure a more permanent solution. My mom wont mind, you just can’t fuck anyone on the couch.”

JJ looked at her trying to keep a straight face, but barely lasting a few seconds before smirking.

“You are a pain in my ass Jackson”

“Oh you love me” She said, rolling her eyes and shoving him again. He winced, reaching for his side. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I’ll get ya some ice.”

“Thanks.”

She walked over to her kitchen grabbing some ice and filling it in a baggie. “So, is there anything you need? Besides this.” She tossed it at him, before sitting down next to him.

“Actually, there is one thing. I left my backpack at my dads.”

“Oh that's fine let's go grab it right now,” Already popping up, and giving him a hand.

“Just one problem… I left it inside by the front door…”

-

-

-

“No it’s fine, I’ll grab it fast in and out”

“I cannot believe you are doing this for me, I owe you big”

The two sat in Jo’s truck, parked right outside the Maybank house watching. With a deep sigh placing a hand on JJ shoulder.

“If I die, make sure my mom doesn’t find my weed.” And with that she let go and exited the car.

The Maybank house wasn’t much different from when she last saw it. Maybe a few more dead plants but that was it. She didn’t come here often, this only being her seventh or eighth time visiting. Jo took a deep breath, as she stood in front of the screen door. Carefully placing a hand on the handle she pulled it as quietly as possible before stepping onto the porch. She stepped forward, being as quiet as possible when she went to open the front door. Creak The door made a loud creaking noise, as it opened causing the brunette to flinch. ‘Shit.’ She paused, holding her breath as she waited for something to happen. Thankfully nothing did.

She opened the door further peering inside. Her eyes instantly landed on her target, as she stepped inside the old home. She snagged the bag, and almost made it out of the house when. ChackChack.

“Don’t move.”

‘Fuck fuck fuck fuck, titty fucking shit mother fucker why the fuck did she even volunteer to do this.’

“I want you to turn around carefully, no sudden movements or I’ll shoot you dead. Ya hear me?”

Jo stayed silent not moving a muscle, fear polluting her body.

“I said did ya hear me?” He cocked his gun again, this time taking a step forward.

“Yes sir.” She said, turning around, now facing him.

“Ain't you that pretty girl JJ hangs with, what business do you have in this house?”

“Sir, your son just asked me to grab his bag, that's all.”

Luke let out a hearty chuckle, the sound filling the house with a haunting echo. “Is that so? Where is the fucker anyway? He too pussy to come in, he had to send in his bitch?”

Jo stood there, not sure what to do or say. This had to be the worst outcome possible from this situation, and it was just her luck she had to actually deal with it.

“Hey! Didn’t your mother teach you any fucking manners? When an adult asks you a question you answer, now where is he?”

“Sir I”

ChackChack

“I’d choose your next words very carefully missy.”

Ptooey

Before she even fully understood what she was doing, Jo spat right at his face and sprinted out the door. She heard him yelling after her, and gunshots firing at her feet, but she just kept running. She swung the car door open, throwing the bag at JJ who huffed in pain. She reversed out of the driveway as possible, and sped down the street. It was only when they were a few miles away did she pull off to the side to take a breather.

“Holy fucking shit.” JJ said, excitement filling his voice. “I have never seen you run that fast before, you came outta there like a cheetah or some shit. Woosh!” He said laughing, before opening his bag.

“Yeah, I know I was there.” She said, rolling her eyes, before relaxing in her seat. “I think my heart is about to explode.”

“The fuck you even do to piss him off?”

“Oh you mean besides breaking and entering into his house? I spat at him?”

“No fucking way,”

“Yes fucking way,”

“You are officially my new hero, we have to throw you a party.”

“What? JJ babes I really don’t need that.”

“Nope! Party in your honor, tonight!” He said nodding, with a determined smile.

“No way you can throw a part in under three hours.”

“Watch me Josephine,”

“Don’t call me that,”

“Josephine, Josephine, Josephi-”

“Do you want to walk home?”

“No ma’am,”

“The shut the fuck up,”

Jo, turned around starting her car up again, heading back home.

“I still don’t believe you’ll be able to do it.”

“Fuck you,”

“Love you,”

Soon the car went quiet, until JJ spoke up.

“So, uh have you heard anything from the Camerons?”

Jo shook her head, tapping her steering wheel.

“I heard they threw a funeral for Sarah, and I did see Rafe at a party a few days ago.”

“Wait what?”

“Jess and Elle managed to drag me to some Kook party and we ran into him, he was def tweaked out. But Topper managed to get us out in one piece.”

“Wait hold up, Topper?”

“Yeah he even offered to drive us home-”

“Well did he?”

“Did he what?”

“Drive you home!” The blonde said in an obvious tone.

“Yeah we were all too wasted-”

“I don’t bye it,”

“Ask Jess,”

“I plan on it.”

-

-

-

-

Okay genuinely Jo thought JJ was joking around about the party. There hadn’t been one at the boneyard in weeks, everyone on the cut mourning the loss of John B. But now it was 7:23 and Jess was helping her pick something out.

“I swear to god Jo, you are not leaving this house in a bikini top”

“Jess it’s just a boneyard party-”

“That you’ll be the guest of honor at!”

“Jess babes it’s really not that big of a deal, I just won’t have to pay for my booze.”

Jess rolled her eyes, muttering something incoherently, as she sifted through the closet.

“Aha! Found it, here wear this.”

She tossed the brunette, some white really frilly shirt, causing Jo to frown.

“Absolutely not, here I’ll wear this.”

She pulled out a neon pink bikini, with a pair of black shorts. Jess shook her head, starting to put away the stuff on the bed.

“You are impossible Jo,”

“I know,” She said, smiling before walking over to the bathroom to go change.

“Are we meeting Elle there?” Jess yelled, changing into a pair of denim shorts and a white button up.

“Yeah, she has to wait until her mom gets home though.” Jo said walking back into the room.

“I’ll have to admit, you do look good.”

“Course I do.”

-

-

-

-

The drive to the boneyard was weird, for some reason it just seemed like time was going as slow as possible. Not that Jo really cared, her expectations for the part were low. She wasn’t expecting many people to show up, let alone be in a cheery mood. She was actually shocked today, by how lively JJ was. She remembered how devastated he was before disappearing, barely able to crack a smile, and never laughed. But as she pulled up to the boneyard, all her expectations were blown away.

The beach was jam packed, she hadn’t seen this many people here in what felt forever. There was a huge bonfire going, and multiple lines by the kegs, and at the heart of it all, was JJ.

“Holy shit! Did JJ do all of this by himself?” Jess asked, clearly blown away.

“I guess so,” Jo replied, almost at a loss for words.

JJ spotted her truck, and came running. The two exited the car, just as he made his way over a huge grin on his face.

“Jo you made it!”

Before she could respond, Jess butt in, still mesmerized by the situation. “JJ babes, did you really organize this all by yourself?”

“Well mostly, I did have a little help.”

Out of nowhere, Kiara and Pope appeared with two smiles on their faces.

“Surprise,” They both said in unison, still smiling.

Jo ran over to them, engulfing them in a hug. “You guys this is amazing,”

“Well, y’know this party is for you Jo, but we’re also sending a message. We’re letting those figure eight assholes know we're back, and never leaving. Again,” Pope said with a surprising amount of anger in his voice. Jo was a little confused, but didn’t want to question it.

“Well, I guess we’re back bitches!”

The group cheered, before walking over to the beach all catching up, and for the first time in weeks, Jo had forgotten everything that happened. At that moment, she was just there with her friends like it was any regular summer party. Little did she know, that night was about to unravel a series of events she never would’ve seen coming.

[haunthouse]

welcome to a meta that, in retrospect, seems glaringly obvious, but that has hit me like a freight train this morning. we’re talking about the lonely as a ghost story.

ghosts as an entity are inherently about disconnect. but kaylee, i hear you say, ghosts are dead people, wouldn’t that make them in the end’s domain? but when it comes down to it, death is a good framing device for ghosts (and yeah, it’s necessary to make ghosts), but people don’t tell ghost stories just because they’re afraid of death. ghost stories are told because ghosts are irrevocably disconnected from the living in a way that terrifies us — sometimes they’re intentionally scary, knocking shit around or yelling boo!, but a lot of the time they’re just... there. and that’s the terrifying part. something that’s there and shouldn’t be; something that can’t interact with the world around it and is completely, utterly, terrifyingly alone.

ghost stories are about isolation, about being a person without any of the framework that being a person requires, without society or connection or love. being unseen and unheard and unknown to all around you — and trying so hard to reverse all those un-words, to be seen, heard, known. that’s exactly the domain of the lonely!

and onto the meat of this meta: all nine lonely-centric statements (and the journey of one martin blackwood) through the lens of ghost stories.

(spoilers for mag170 at the end, but each episode section is clearly marked, so feel free to skip it if you haven’t gotten that far yet!)

MAG013: ALONE

the first lonely statement we get (and also the first in-person statement! which is such a good inversion of the lonely being about lack of connection! jon doesn’t do a great job of comforting naomi, but he does stay with her as she gives the statement when she asks!! that’s beside the point but it is something i really love), and right off the bat, the ghost vibes are off the charts.

truly i am feeling absolutely idiotic for not really thinking about the ghosts-lonely connection before now because this statement? peak ghost story.

naomi’s fiance dies. naomi has several near-death experiences (crashes her car, then is hit by another car and winds up in the hospital), which is also a staple in a lot of ghost stories; nearly dying is set up as a way to get the living closer to the realm of ghosts, able to interact with them more clearly. it was a dark and foggy night in a graveyard, and standing at evan’s (open, empty) grave, naomi hears his disembodied voice leading her home.

when ghost stories are told from a distance, they’re about the horror of it — disembodied howling, faces in the window that keep you up at night. but when they’re told by someone close to the now-ghost, they’re love stories. it’s my grandmother hearing her father’s breathing one last time after his death, giving her a chance to say goodbye. it’s a familiar and loving presence, comforting you. that’s what naomi’s story is — the ghost of evan showing his love for her one final time.

MAG033: BOATSWAIN’S CALL

so, ships are meant to be places of community, right? ron @gerrydelano​ has a really good post about this regarding shanties. but ghost ships are an established trope of ghost stories: the inversion of what a ship should be, lacking all life and community, silently traversing the waters on its own.

the tundra is a ghost ship. it’s quiet (”very quiet... it was like they were doing everything in their power not to think about each other”) — the people there move around one another as if none of them are there, all so taken by the lonely. their cargo containers are empty. all they’re transporting on that ship is the ghosts of those aboard.

this episode falls into the trope of ghosts want the living to join them — though there’s still a mourning atmosphere when sean kelly is taken fully by the lonely, that final bit of life on the ship extinguished. (”no one said a word, but i could have sworn a few of my shipmates were crying.”)

MAG048: LOST IN THE CROWD

this one’s one of my favorites! andrea nunis’ statement deals with different kinds of loneliness — she begins it with explaining that she prefers to travel alone, but later, that loneliness is something terrifying. she’s in a crowd of unrecognizable people, unable to fit herself into the world she’s seeing — she’s completely separate from the rest of the world. she’s a ghost. 

“it wasn’t italian being spoken ... or any other language i recognized. the more i listened, the more i realized it wasn’t a language. there were no words, it was just noise.” “their faces were a blur, each and every one of them.” and, the crowning point: “i tried to talk to them or to shout, to scream at them, but there was no reaction.”

by being taken in by the lonely, andrea’s been turned into a ghost. she cannot interact with or even recognize her environment, and that’s the real horror — it isn’t just being alone, it’s being surrounded by something that should be familiar; a crowd is something she’s been in a thousand times, as someone who travels a lot, and people are the most familiar thing in the world, like looking in a mirror! but it isn’t. everything is strange and she is outside of it all and that’s what a ghost is.

and her connection to her mother is what pulls her out. people have talked at length about how love is the antidote to the lonely so i won’t go on too long about that, but the connection between that & ghosts’ relationships to the living often being what keeps them around is sure something.

also, after getting out of the lonely andrea says “i made sure i was always in sight of at least one other person” — and there’s something to be said there about needing to be seen to be real. 

chiara @red-reys​ brought up this feuerbach quote which fits very well: “that which i alone perceive i doubt; only that which the other also perceives is certain.” being the only one to perceive something (for example, a ghost), or the only one who is utterly unperceived, is a very lonely thing — it isolates you entirely from those who do not perceive it. being perceived, or having someone else see what you see, can give you an anchor.

wow i’m sure that won’t come back later!

also, far be it from me to talk about this statement without mentioning gerry keay. because it means something that he’s the one to give andrea the tools she needs to pull herself out of the lonely. gerry is someone completely lacking in human connection, who is literally haunted by the ghost of his mother and later is seen as a ghost himself. gerry doesn’t have friends; he tells jon “i always wanted my friends to call me gerry,” but in a tone that makes it clear he didn’t have anyone who could’ve. and of course he didn’t. a life so entwined with the entities and cut so short, a life so ruled by the cruelty of others that he certainly did not want to rope anyone else into. 

though gerry’s never directly stated to be affected by the lonely, he’s certainly lowercase-L lonely at the very least, and he’s certainly got enough experience with ghosts to understand the lonely. 

gerry is the trope of the helpful spirit. he’s the ghost who’ll give you directions on a deserted road and disappear when you turn around. he gives jon the information he needs to understand the entities, he gives andrea the information she needs to not become a ghost.

MAG057: PERSONAL SPACE

alright so this one is, admittedly, more cosmic horror than anything else, but if y’all’ve seen any of my comics you probably know i’m very passionate about space ghosts & haunted spaceships. and as such, i’m extremely interested in how the daedalus mission echoes ghost stories.

carter chilcott’s story pretty directly acts as a ghost story — unable to communicate with the others on the ship even when he tries, unable to interact with the world to the point of looking out the window at one point to find the world entirely missing. this is all stuff i’ve said already about the other statements, so i’m glossing past it, because what interests me more is the daedalus as malicious architecture.

because the daedalus was created specifically for this union between vast, lonely, and dark (all of which i think have significant ghostly tie-ins). everything about how the ship itself and the mission came to be is a mystery, even to those involved — manuela says “i don’t know how he convinced the lukases and fairchilds to help finance the project,” “i don’t know if they were working on rituals of their own,” “exactly how the launch was arranged, i couldn’t tell you.” 

a piece of the traditional haunted house is a sort of timelessness, and mystery inherent in its building. hill house in shirley jackson’s haunting of hill house “seemed somehow to have formed itself, flying together into its own powerful pattern under the hands of its builders... it was a house without kindness, never meant to be lived in, not a place fit for people or for love or for hope.” the oldest house in the game control is malicious architecture at its finest, and it’s called the oldest house. it predates people. it exists as a giant piece of brutalist architecture smack dab in the middle of new york, but no one knows why or how it came to be. as a real-world example: the winchester mystery house is wrapped up in mythos about its creation. was sarah winchester just a lonely old woman with a hobby for architectural design, or did she create endlessly spiraling staircases and doorways with a steep drop into the yard to keep ghosts away? who knows! we sure do like to speculate, though.

yes, i’ve talked about this in tma metas before. highly recommend jacob geller’s control, anatomy, and the legacy of the haunted house for more of this content.

even manuela dominguez, the only person on the daedalus mission who actually knew what she was doing and wasn’t just there to be a victim of entities they did not understand, does not know how the mission came to be. 

and the entire purpose of this spacecraft is to be malicious to its inhabitants! the very architecture is meant to make the people within into perfect snacks for their respective entities! the station is cramped (”so cramped that i could only fully stretch out in the section used to exercise,” says jan kilbride), but when the vast takes hold it’s suddenly endless — “a hollow pretense of a shell that did nothing to separate me from the void.” (cue me shouting about how much trust we put in the places we live, and whether or not that trust is warranted, how easily it can be turned against us!)

a few other bits of this statement that really echo ghost stories: “twice i was woken up by the sound of the door opening, only to find it as tight as it had ever been. throughout the daytime i would occasionally hear footsteps, which shouldn’t even have been possible in zero gravity.” and then the empty, ghostly spacesuit that floats past chilcott’s window — there are so many stories about disembodied wedding dresses or mourningwear walking the halls silently, so why not a spacesuit?

i started this section saying this statement was more cosmic horror than ghost story but i’m finishing it by saying this is actually one of the clearest representations of haunted architecture in the whole podcast. (other examples off the top of my head include upon the stair & a cosy cabin, the latter of which i actually already wrote a meta about.)

MAG092: NOTHING BESIDE REMAINS

the moment i started thinking about the lonely-ghosts connection i remembered this episode, because it’s so clear. complete disconnect, existing entirely alone in a shadow of the world you once knew, unable to interact with the living in any way.

very small bit but. “as the cab pulled away, it seemed to have no driver that i could discern” vs the theme of ghost carriages in older ghost stories. i am looking directly at it.

barnabas bennett can “almost think i hear the mocking joy of my friends, but there is nobody here.” he can see evidence that life continues around him, unseen — “i know that what is done by those i cannot see might be felt here — i have found glasses broken and pages torn that were not so the night before.” just as a ghost is unseen to the living, the reverse is true: bennett can see others having an impact on the world in small ways, and his letter is found by jonah, but he can’t really affect the world in any real way.

MAG108: MONOLOGUE

this one is so exciting to me because theater ghosts are a huge trope in ghost stories! theater people are some of the most superstitious people you’ll ever meet! especially regarding ghosts having an impact on their shows — there’s the superstition regarding The Scottish Play™, the tradition of leaving a ghost light on onstage to appease the spirits. there’s that time all the kids in my production of brigadoon when i was in middle school circled around the makeup mirrors to play bloody mary and got thoroughly chewed out by the adults in the cast. theater’s full’a ghosts!

(i think it’s something about the intense amounts of history behind it — and how, in playing a part that a thousand people have played before, you’re echoing their exact words, becoming a repetition of those long gone. and on a stage, blinding lights in your face washing out any view of the audience — you could, technically, leave the stage and interact with the people down there, but it seems pretty entirely impossible when you’re up there. you’re being perceived but can’t see in return. you’re essentially a ghost putting on a show for the living on a loop.)

the statement-giver for this one, adonis biros, echoes a lot of those sentiments, actually. “your words heard by no one — and in that no one, an entire universe.” “have you ever had stage lights in your eyes? ...you can look out into the audience and see nothing at all. just you.”

i said before that “when ghost stories are told from a distance, they’re about the horror of it — disembodied howling, faces in the window that keep you up at night.” the disconnect between the anonymous audience and the singular actor onstage makes the distance here extreme — so this is the sort of ghost story that’s unquestionably a horror story, focusing on the most chilling aspects of ghosts. their inhumanity, their anonymity. the theater masks adonis sees in the audience are “empty. it was a hollow shape of a man that had no life, no presence to it.” even adonis himself says he “had no doubt that what i had seen was some sort of specter or omen.”

he sees a “masked mockery of a human figure” in a window while walking at night. ghosts looking through windows is enough of a trope that once, when i went on a ghost tour in williamsburg, at least half the stories were about people seeing ghostly faces in windows, and i completely freaked out when i saw someone moving around in one of the houses before realizing, oh, some of them are still actually occupied.

this one’s undoubtably a collaboration between stranger and lonely, but i think that intersection’s one of the best for ghost stories — something not-quite-human-anymore, if it ever was, haunting you.

MAG150: CUL-DE-SAC

a lot of the bare bones of this statement are things i’ve already covered, so i’m not gonna go too in-depth on it. herman gorgoli’s statement is about disconnect (from alberto, and then from the rest of humanity), about isolation, about houses-gone-wrong (his and alberto’s house in cheadle, which he views by the end as a place imprisoning him, and the titular cul-de-sac).

we’ve seen the malicious architecture trope in the form of the daedalus already, but this time it’s on earth. it’s something that should, by all rights, be familiar. the houses in the suburbs are all the same, but it’s at least a sameness you know. but they’re all bereft of any irregularities, ghostly echoes of what a house should be.”there were no lights on in any of the houses.” he even finds a dead body in one of the houses — but the woman who’s body he finds is not the one haunting them.

it’s herman haunting the neighborhood, until his love for alberto brings him out. herman making his way through houses he cannot interact with in any meaningful way, whos details he cannot interpret. “how many corpses lay waiting behind the placid facade of this endless false suburbia?” he wonders, and i have to imagine he’s also wondering if he’s already joined their ranks, if he’s the haunting in a haunted house.

and connection brings him back and the houses are no longer empty, no longer waiting for a ghost to take resident in their hallways.

MAG159: THE LAST   (& martin’s journey in season four, generally)

we’ve all analyzed 159 within an inch of its life but i’m here to do it again, with the context of martin’s whole journey into the lonely. because the lonely turns people into ghosts. the lonely takes away humanity and life and leaves a hollow echo in its wake.

literally the powers lonely avatars have involve turning invisible. what else is often associated with invisibility? ghosts. checkmate. i’m running out of steam a bit but i swear these are good points i’m making. trust me.

what makes ghost stories so good is that even if the narrator is not a ghost themselves, just experiencing a ghost puts them at a fundamental disconnect from society. it’s something disbelieved by so many people. (there’s parallels to be made with mental illness here, but i... don’t really feel like making them right now. they’re definitely there, as is the very potent lonely-depression connection that made ep170 hit so hard for so many of us.) in hill house, the more eleanor is wrapped up in the goings-on of the house, the less she’s able to relate to the other people there. the closer martin becomes to the lonely, the less he’s able to talk to the people around him — he’s told not to talk to them by lukas, but he’s also just... unable to relate. their experiences are different than his, at this point.

nicole @brunetteauthorette99​ said something really good in our conversation about this, about ghosts “being stuck in... spaces that have moved on without them, reenacting their defining moments in life over and over again without the possibility of change.”

martin is stuck in the institute. he probably has an apartment, but we don���t see it, and i can’t imagine he as he is by season four has put much effort into decorating it or making it feel like a home. every place is impersonal — somewhere he exists without really living.

and the institute moves on without him. jon goes into the coffin and martin doesn’t know until he’s already in there. and martin can impact his environment only in small ways — leaving tape recorders on the coffin in an attempt to anchor jon home, leaving the tape of jon’s victim for melanie, basira, and daisy to find. he will not or cannot speak to or touch other living beings, just move objects around in a desperate attempt to get a message across, a ouija board of tapes and post-it notes. his moment of rejecting the lonely’s plans in 158 is dropping the knife peter has given him — another expression more through his interactions with his environment than any human connection.

martin says the lonely always had him, and with how much his story revolves around people who may as well be ghosts, that’s true. his father disappeared and left only the image martin had of him in his mind, only the echo he himself provided in the mirror, the ghost of someone who hurt him overlaid on his own reflection. his mother was only present so far as she could be malicious, disapproving; a vengeful ghost, taking out the revenging instinct she had for martin’s father on martin. and then everyone else martin cares about dies — sasha’s gone and not!sasha acts as her malicious echo for a while; tim dies; jon dies. and yeah, he comes back — but he’s different. a ghost of sorts. martin’s already pretty ghostly by then, too.

so martin is, essentially, a ghost throughout season four, and probably beforehand, as well. jon literally! asks martin! if he is a ghost! in season one! which brings us to 159: “are you real?” martin asks the first living person he’s really talked to in who-knows-how-long. because martin doesn’t feel real, so how could anyone else be? “nothing hurts here” may be a contradiction of the literal experience of ghosts we see in tma (gerry saying “it hurts, being like this”), but is a very real perception of ghosts in ghost mythology as beings beyond pain, beyond the suffering of being alive. sometimes they exist to cause others that suffering they can no longer feel, but a lot of the time, they’re just melancholy, having forgotten what it’s like to be a person or hanging on just enough to yearn to return to that feeling of life.

“i’m the reason he... i did this to him as much as you,” jon says. in ghost terms: martin died for him. of course his connection to jon, then, would be the only thing able to bring him back.

mag159 is an orpheus/eurydice story — people have made posts about that before, i’m sure, and i have too, how jon and martin invert the orpheus archetype by being saved rather than damned by the act of sight. and it feels obvious to state it, but for clarity: eurydice dies. orpheus, alive, tries to save eurydice from the underworld, where she is a spirit, a ghost, an echo of herself.

MAG170: RECOLLECTION   —   (SPOILER WARNING!)

this episode is the reason i’m making this post, but i may as well copy-and-paste the entire transcript for this section, because there is truly not a single part of it that doesn’t resonate as a ghost story. 

the lonely house as a malicious location. the chairs are all uncomfortable, the house is large enough that just by wandering it (as a ghost might) martin grows tired enough to sit in them regardless. the decorations are wrong — all the rooms are the same and martin doesn’t like it, said he doesn’t know “why i’d decorate my house like this.”

it isn’t a small house. there’s a reason a lot of ghost stories take place in twisting mansions where you can never quite find your way back to where you started. ghost stories thrive on that isolation, that loneliness — if you see a ghost while you’re alone, are you sure you’ll be believed? doesn’t that just isolate you further? architecture can twist around those within it until they’re trapped, doomed to haunt it themselves. “it's such a - such a big house, my house, there must be other people!” martin says. 

but the only others in the house are ghosts like martin. 

“hundreds, thousands of lost souls, wandering the halls. hollow memories, with eyes full of tears. i’ve seen them. they’re all trying to remember.” 

“i found someone else, wandering around. they were all thin and gray. faded. like they’d been here for ages.”

the ghosts cannot remember their names, why they are there, whether or not it is their house they exist in. they’ve become near-inseparable from the fog around them and the architecture that holds them hostage.

and the house itself, it takes all of that, and its quirks — the size, the chairs, the decorations, all of which martin openly does not like — are all made from the people haunting it. the house is wrong because the people within it can no longer change it. martin’s comment on the decorations sticks with me because it’s such a simple example of this: presumably, he could affect the house in some way in the past, but he no longer can, and he’s stuck with the results of his past mistakes, echoing over and over from room to room. the impacts remain even when the people have faded so far as to be practically nonexistent.

and once again: love is what makes him remember, over and over. he remembers jon, and then the lonely steals that memory — but the remembering is what’s important, because the act of loving anchors martin, and it helps him remember who he is, repeating his name over and over.

ghosts lack identity. whether it’s because they’ve been forgotten by all who knew them in life, whether it’s because it’s too painful to hold onto that when they can no longer do anything with it — we assign names to ghost stories, connect them to the living, but there’s always a disconnect there.

and that’s what helps jon find him, helps martin keep himself from fading out again. and even jon says “you were faint” upon finding martin. martin was a ghost haunting that house.

but not anymore.

the lonely is a ghost story. the lonely is about people who’ve become unmoored from human connection and their own identities, who haunt places, or who’ve been lured into places that are hauntings in and of themselves and have no choice but to take up residence as ghosts within those walls.

and ghost stories, often, are love stories. love keeps us tethered to life, and love is what saves people from the lonely, over and over again.

[chaoticpuff17]

A Dangerous Game

part 25

masterlist

Hello darlings! guess who finished her paper! This bitch! This one’s a little short again, my apologies, but we are inching ever closer to the inevitable for Y/N and Namjoon. Again, please take a look at the teasers for the hyung line. I would love to know opinions on who you all think I should write for next! Comment, ask, send me a message! I’d love to hear from you!-- chaotic puff

The next few weeks were oddly reminiscent of her first weeks at the estate. She was never alone. It was a though everyone around her thought she was going to break, and maybe she had. Her world had been turned on its head, and suddenly she felt every bit the fragile lady that Namjoon had made her out to be. Jackson’s betrayal had hit her hard leaving her far more listless than normal. It was as though all the fight had gone out of her. But just because she was listless, this did not mean that the estate was as well.

Everything around her was bustling in preparation for the upcoming wedding. Due to her “fragile” condition, Namjoon had taken all the planning in hand. There were a constant stream of his people going in and out of the estate. Cake tasting and floral arrangements, tuxedo fittings, and anything else you could think of. It was as though Namjoon was determined to have everything arranged as quickly as possible, before either she or GOT7 could change their minds. She doubted though that anyone changing their minds would stop him. He was a formidable man in more than one way she was finding. She didn’t think that she had ever seen a man take wedding preparations quite so seriously.

She didn’t know how he had the energy to do it all. He was running his criminal empire, planning a wedding, and he still found time to spend doting on her. She swore there was something new every day, flowers, deserts, jewelry, books. All the affection was a little smothering, and when Namjoon wasn’t with her one of his goons was. She had hoped Jungkook’s return would mean a return to his being her babysitter, but that was unfortunately not the case. She had a stream of different babysitters, the most daunting of whom was Hoseok.

While she had a preexisting dislike of Taehyung based on his being the one to place the anklet on her, and Yoongi was a decided grump, something about Hoseok unnerved her. The man was a ball of sunshine, most of the time. But there were moments where the sunshine faded away, and in its place was a darkness very much akin to Namjoon’s. At least Namjoon wore his darker nature like a second skin. He was a predator through and through. Hoseok’s darkness was hidden under a carefully cultivated layer of sunshine. If Namjoon was the wolf, then Hoseok was the snake hiding in the grass, and in this game she was only prey. With Namjoon she knew what to expect, but Hoseok was like a pipe bomb without a timer. You never knew when he was going to go off. Her discomfort didn’t seem to dissuade him from following Namjoon’s orders though. On days he was assigned to her, where she went, he followed to every fitting, cake tasting, and walk through the garden.

She was sitting in the garden basking in the autumn sun taking a break from the constant stream of wedding plans, completely exhausted. Luckily her guard for the day had to be the most laid back out of all of them. Yoongi was just as content as she was to bask in the sunshine doing nothing. If someone had told her that he was secretly a cat, she probably would have believed them. The man had a very feline quality to him, but she found him to be a very calming presence despite his grumpy demeanor. He spent the least time of all her minders treating her like a doll that would break if not handled with care.

“You’re getting married next week.” He pointed out as she waved off one of the maids telling her that her dress had arrived. “Shouldn’t you be more excited?”

“I would be, if I actually wanted to marry the man.”  She scoffed taking a sip of her tea.

“You agreed to this.” He deadpanned.

She rolled her eyes leveling him a look that was just as deadpan as the one he was giving her. “That was before I found out Jackson was still in the mafia, and that sacrificing myself for him was useless, before his friends sold me off like it was the 1400s.”

“Want me to shoot him?” He asked taking a drink from his coffee. She could swear the man survived on coffee alone.

She laughed though it held no joy. It a bittersweet sort of sound. “Do you think it would help? Would it magically send me home or send me back in time to before I met Namjoon?”

“No.” He shrugged. “But I’m a really good shot.”

And he was. Yoongi was an excellent shot. She’d found out from Taehyung and Jungkook that Yoongi was a sniper, an assassin, a fixer. He took care of problems for Namjoon. If someone got on Namjoon’s bad side, Yoongi was the one that paid them a visit.

“You wanna marry Namjoon then? That would make me feel better.” He snorted shooting her an unimpressed look. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

She shivered as a stiff autumn breeze went through her. Almost immediately a maid was there offering her a shawl. She took it only because she knew that the maid was only trying to help. Namjoon had given everyone strict orders to take care of her which translated to the hovering she had been living with for the past few weeks.

“You could have all this. People waiting on you hand and foot.” She tried to convince him as she wrapped the shawl loosely around her shoulders only slightly annoyed that Namjoon had given one the maids a shawl to hover over her with that perfectly matched the dress that she had chosen to wear that day. He was annoyingly meticulous like that.

“They already do that.”

“Only ‘cause they’re scared you’ll break their kneecaps.”

“Too much effort.” He shrugged slouching down in his seat. “You should go try on your dress though. Namjoon will throw a hissy fit if it doesn’t fit, and I don’t want to deal with that.”

“You and I both know that Jin or Hoseok would be dealing with that tantrum.” She reminded him. Jin and Hoseok were the poor souls to deal with the brunt of what could only be described as Namjoon’s pre-wedding jitters. She wasn’t supposed to know about them, but Jin, Yoongi, Taehyung, and Jungkook had no qualms about complaining about their perfectionist boss and friend to her so she heard every detail of his almost manic pursuit of perfection for their wedding day.

“Think of Jin hyung.”

“Jin can give him a sedative and do us all a favor.”  She hummed gently pushing herself out of her seat and moving over to examine the flowers that were in bloom. “Besides we both know that he wouldn’t allow the dress to be anything less than perfect. I’m pretty sure he threatened the poor seamstress with a bullet through her skull if she didn’t make sure everything was perfect.”

“If you took more interest in your wedding, maybe he wouldn’t be so stressed.”

“If I took more interest in this sham of a wedding, it would give him far too much pleasure.”

Yoongi chuckled finishing off his cup of coffee. “He’s excited to have a legal claim to you, can’t say that I blame him.”

“You want to marry me too, Yoongi?” She asked throwing him a coquettish look over her shoulder.

“No. You’re far too much trouble. But you’re good for him.”

“I’d stab him in a heartbeat given the chance, and you know it.”

“You already have.” He pointed out. “You weren’t aiming for him though. Planning to try again?” He inquired quirking a brow at her.

She was going to answer him, but a different maid made her presence known carrying in a bouquet of pink and white peonies. “Bu-in, the sajangnim sent these for you. Where would you like them?”

She sighed giving Yoongi a long suffering look before turning a tired smile on the poor maid. “Put them in the piano room please. I don’t think the bedroom has any more room for flowers.”

“Yes, bu-in.” She bowed scurrying away to place the flowers where she was directed to.

“You can tell your friend to stop sending gifts. I don’t have any need for diamonds, and if he doesn’t stop soon, we’ll be drowning in flowers.”

“Wait till the wedding. We’ll really be drowning in flowers then. Who knew Namjoon was such a romantic.”

“Romantic, psychotic, same thing.” She shrugged watching as yet another maid come out to tell her something. “Sajangnim has arrived. Would you like me to prepare a fresh pot of tea?”

“No. If he wants something he’ll ask for it. I’ll be in the piano room.” She sighed suddenly feeling more tired than before. “Would you like to come Yoongi? We can practice that sonata, and you can yell at me for messing up the notes.” She offered.

She’d found over the past few weeks that while Yoongi was a grump and Namjoon’s fixer, he was also an excellent pianist. They’d played a few songs together, but his skill far outweighed her own. More often than not he ended up scolding her for missing the rhythm or the notes or not placing her fingers correctly.

“That piano is wasted on you.” He grumbled.

“I’m aware, Yoongi. I’m aware.” 

She headed towards the door knowing that Yoongi would follow shortly as Namjoon had yet to steal her away, and she wasn’t to be without a minder when Namjoon wasn’t present. The man had become more paranoid than normal ever since the incident, as he liked to call it. Before, her minders could give her a bit of space, but now space was a thing of the past.

Namjoon found them in the piano room playing the same duet that they had been practicing for the past two weeks. He didn’t even mind the sharp reprimands that Yoongi would snap at her, something he normally wouldn’t allow, because Yoongi had gotten her to play the piano again. She hadn’t touched the instrument since the incident, but Yoongi had gotten her to play again, unsurprising given the man’s talent for piano and the beautiful instrument that was at his disposal at the manor.  

“Schubert again?” He asked remaining just outside the door. This was her space, and he was hesitant to invade it without her permission given the incident. He didn’t want anything to set her off again. He didn’t think he could handle another incident.

“Sonata for four hands ‘Grand duo’. It’s only the first movement though.” She responded with a slight smile while Yoongi grumbled at the interruption.

“She can finally play part of the first movement without it sounding like a toddler.”

She didn’t seem to mind the insult though choosing instead to lean her head on the man’s shoulder with a gentle smile. She never seemed to mind Yoongi’s more abrasive comments, and Yoongi never seemed to mind her more affectionate gestures. They all knew he was secretly a softy. She’d known that from the first time she’d seen him with Moni. The man was a sucker for dogs.

Yoongi shrugged her off and got up leaving without another word, leaving her alone with Namjoon who came to sit next to her on the piano bench.

“I see you got my flowers.” He mused while she hummed in agreement. “Play for me?” He asked, and she did.  

part 26

[walkerwords]

“The Savior Sessions” Part 5 of 33 - Negan x GN!Reader

IMAGE CREDIT: Jackson Lee Davis/AMC

SERIES MASTERLIST

Summary: With a storm approaching, you offer to house Negan for the duration and maybe in the process deal with all the nagging thoughts that have come up during all the sessions so far.

Word Count: 2232

Warning: None

Song I Wrote To: “Keeping Your Head Up” by Birdy

Note: This one is more like an intro to the next one, but I thought I’d post it cause I’m posting these in between some angsty stories!

---------

The constant arguing was finally getting on your nerves. 

Sitting in the meeting hall, you listened to the council and other key members of Alexandria argue about the same thing as always: Negan. This week’s issue was that there was a storm coming in that would most likely bring lots of rain, at least that’s what Eugene was thinking. Whether he was right or not, there was still the question of where they were putting their prisoner so he didn’t drown in his cell. 

There were those such as Aaron and Rosita who couldn’t care less about what happened to the man, but then there were people like Gabriel who were still mildly concerned. They had locked him up, kept him fed, and Gabriel didn’t think it was fair to keep him in such a vulnerable position during the potential downpour.

Nobody wanted to leave him alone in an empty house and Aaron had even suggested tying him up in the watch post, but Michonne had shot that down immediately. 

You sat in the back row of the hall, waiting for them to stop hollering at each other. The last conversation you had had with Negan hadn’t ended well. You were tired, he was curious, and you were not in the mood for his...negan-ness at all. The realization that you and the former leader were similar had rocked you a bit. You weren’t sure what to do with the information. 

There was a part of you that wanted to just walk out the front gate and not look back. Running away had once been a pattern for you before the world had ended, but you had fought to break that streak once you joined up with this group of survivors. However, spending a few days in the woods alone seemed not too bad right now. Daryl did seem to have the right idea at times, you thought. 

The hum of arguing continued and you fought against everything you had not to yell at them. If Alexandria didn't have strong walls, you were sure the Dead would have been called from miles away with this volume.

"I'll do it," you said, more to the wall than anyone. The yelling continued so you stood up and projected your voice louder, "I'll do it!"

Everyone in the room turned to look at you, Michonne pausing mid-sentence. "What?" Aaron asked.

"I said, I'll do it. Negan can stay with me at my place for the duration of the storm." Nobody knew what to say as you offered your home to be Negan’s temporary cell.

"(Y/N)," Gabriel began, unsure how to continue.

"I have an extra room," you explained, "my fireplace works, I live alone, and I'm already his therapist, might as well be his warden too."

"It's not your job to...house him," Rosita said.

"No, it's not," you agreed. "It's probably Michonne's considering she's head of security, but she has two little ones. Now, I doubt Judith and RJ would care if Negan stayed in their living room, but this way I keep him from all of you and y'all can stop bickering like a PTA meeting." 

"And if he tries to leave?" Aaron asked, but you rolled your eyes.

"He won't," you assured him, "though, if he managed to sneak past me, all the other houses, and get over the walls in the storm, then hell, he would deserve the escape." 

"Let's try not to let that happen," Michonne said and you nodded. "Are you going to need extra supplies?" She asked simply. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at how easy it was to take on the responsibility. You knew it was just a matter of time before someone spoke up and you also knew that person was going to be you.

"I think we'll be okay. I'll wait until the sun goes down and then drag Alcatraz on over.” 

You didn’t wait for a response before grabbing your jacket and exiting the hall. All around Alexandria, people were prepping for the storm. There wasn’t much they could do considering there was only a few hour warning. These were the days when you missed The Weather Channel the most. Since the world had ended, it was the small things that you missed about the old world rather than the big ones. 

Waving to Gracie who was sitting on the steps of her house, you continued on your way to your small home near the South wall. It wasn’t much and it was smaller than the rest of the homes, but you preferred it. Rick had once called it your “crows nest” which was appropriate considering your time as a sniper. 

Rosita’s house was locked up tight as you passed it and jogged up your front steps. There wasn’t much more to do as you tended to keep your house secure most of the time.

You spent the next couple of hours taping down the windows, grabbing firewood from the communal supply, and taking inventory of your food stock. The whole thing was becoming...odd. It was as if you were a kid again, making sure the house was clean for company so your parents didn’t feel embarrassed.

The thought alone made you chuckle as you finished off your chores by grabbing extra blankets from the hall closet. Glancing outside, the sun began to dip and droplets of rain were already spattering against the windows. With a sigh, you grabbed your coat and began the walk over to the cell. 

There were very few people out on the streets and you had a feeling Gabriel and Michonne had spread the news that public enemy number one would be lead out on his leash tonight. Walking by the Grimes’ house, Judith looked at you through the window. You sent her a wink and she grinned back, giving you a thumbs up. 

You often wondered where her constant optimism came from because it definitely didn’t come from being raised by Rick or by her biological father. Shane was never one to see the glass as half full for as long as you knew him. However, now that you were thinking about it, Lori did have that little spark deep down...very deep down. Perhaps Judith Grimes was one of a kind after all.

Pulling the keys from your belt, you shuffled down the steps and unlocked the large door. Stepping inside the cold room, you were surprised to be met with silence. You stepped closer to the bars and then you understood why. 

Negan was fast asleep. 

You took a moment to watch the sleeping man. There was something so innocent about the way a person slept. It was like a reset button for a night and right now he didn’t look like the monster Alexandria and others feared, he was just a man trying to get some rest in a screwed-up world. Rest that you felt bad about interrupting. 

Pulling the right key, you inserted it into the cell door and pushed it open. Negan remained asleep as you crept forward. Leaning down, you gently shook his shoulder, trying to wake him. Negan’s eyes flew open and his hand tightly gripped the arm that was resting on him. “Ow,” you grunted at the pressure, trying to pull your hand back. 

“What’s going on?” He muttered, blinking in the darkness. 

“I’ll tell you if you let me go,” you hissed. Negan finally focused on you, his brows furrowed. 

“(Y/N)?” he asked.

“Negan, hand,” you reminded him.

“Oh, right,” he said, releasing you from his grip. You stepped back, rubbing at the skin that was sure to be bruised later. He slowly sat up and glanced at the open cell door before looking back at you. “What? Has the Queen of Alexandria finally agreed to a public execution?” he asked bitterly.

With a roll of your eyes, you reached over and grabbed the thick jacket Gabriel had gotten for him a few weeks ago. You threw it at him. 

“There’s a massive storm rolling through and Eugene thinks it’ll flood some areas. You’re staying with me until it passes. No more than two days,” you explained, crossing your arms. Negan was silent as his fingers played with the thick material of his jacket. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“Why what?” you asked, exasperated.

“Why would anyone care if I succumbed to the elements?” he asked with narrowed eyes. 

“You don’t want to come? That’s fine. I don’t mind being alone,” you said with a challenge in your eyes. Negan quickly stood, shaking his head. 

“No, no, a warm house sounds very nice,” he quickly said. “I’m a great house guest.”

“Right,” you said, still feeling the awkwardness that remained between the two of you from your last conversation. Negan shrugged on the jacket and then you walked to him, producing a pair of cuffs. 

“Seriously?” he asked, staring at the chains with disdain.

“Either this or learn to swim,” you said, dangling the cuffs. Negan huffed but offered you his wrists anyway. You quickly fastened them and then took hold of his arm. “Come on, it’s already started to rain.

Negan followed you out of the cell, hesitating on the threshold for a moment. You squeezed his arm briefly and he kept walking. The two of you pushed out into the damp air and you let go of him for a second to close up the room tightly, trying to reduce the amount of water damage that was sure to come.

Turning back to Negan, his attention wasn’t on you, but on the overcast sky. His head was tilted back as he breathed in the night air. A look of content was on his face and you almost thought he was smiling slightly. It was then that you realized this was the first time he had been outside in...you didn’t know how long.

Taking his arm again, you pulled him away from his thoughts and tugged him after you. Negan kept pace with you as you began the walk home. The streets were completely empty now, but it didn’t stop Negan from looking around with those curious eyes of his. 

You didn’t know what compelled you to do it, but you easily slowed your pace, letting the walk take twice as long as usual. Looking up at Negan who was completely focused on Alexandria, you let yourself feel a bit sorry for the man. Obviously, Michonne had her reasons for keeping him locked up. You knew them and so did Negan, but you thought that perhaps he should be let out a bit more often. 

Michonne had asked you to start visiting him because she thought all the isolation was bad for him, but she also didn’t realize that it wasn’t just being alone that wasn’t good for him. He needed to be out and even if it was starting to pour, you were going to let him have this moment. 

Sliding your arm off of his, you let him wander ahead of you a bit, keeping him close, but not so much him being a dog being lead on a leash. He took the paths with grass on them and ran his hands down light posts and across fences. It was like watching someone rediscover the world and it made you oddly happy. 

“This way, genius,” you called when he began walking down another street. He quickly walked to your side with a grin on his face. “What?”

“I just never imagined you’d be taking me home so soon,” he joked and you rolled your eyes. 

“Well, I didn’t think you would enjoy spending the night in the stables,” you explained, kicking at a loose stone on the road. 

“And Michonne and Gabe probably told you that I needed a babysitter.”

“That too,” you agreed. You finished the walk in silence. There were moments when you had to steer Negan in the right direction, but overall, you let him walk on his own without a guard. Arriving at your house, you pulled him up the steps, ignoring Rosita who was glaring at him through her window. Negan didn’t seem to notice or if he did, he didn’t say anything.

“Home sweet home, huh?” Negan said as he stepped into your house. The fire was already burning as your pulled of your jacket and lay it across a chair near the flames. Negan was looking around at the warm room when you walked to him and grabbed his wrists, the key to the cuffs in your hand. “Really?” he asked, surprised. 

“Did you expect me to keep them on?” you asked, removing the cuffs.

“Kind of, yeah,” he admitted. 

“Well, this is not the cell, it’s my house. My house, my rules, and I say that nobody needs to wear handcuffs. So, here you go. Two days of whatever you want. The kitchen is stocked, there’s decently hot water, and the spare bedroom is the final door on the left. However, you touch my weapons and I will put the cuffs back on, deal?” Negan stared at you for a second before nodding. 

“Yeah, no problem,” he said and you gave him an awkward thumbs up before leaving him be in your living room. Walking into your kitchen, you wished for whiskey, another small thing you missed from the old world.

“This is going to be a long two days.” 

TAGS:  @thanossexual​ @yes-sir-hotchner​ @boom-bunny​ @delusionalteenagewhispers​ @sophia-gwendolyn​ @ritajammer21

[arse-crack-thistle]

a firstprince meet-cute

the heroes of olympus au

in which the roman son of apollo meets the greek son of themis

Henry—the quiet son of Apollo and Centurion of the 3rd cohort—leads a team of five demigods through the Long Island woods. Their task: spy on the Greeks and bring information back to Octavian. The golden-haired boy wishes he could’ve refused, but anyone who goes against the Pontifex Maximus gets severely punished and he will not let any harm come to his legionaries. Not again.

The group weaves through the trees, dodging the sight of any patrols. Henry has no idea how he’ll get close enough to hear anything, but he might be able to interpret some battle strategy from the Greek’s night preparations. As his fellow soldiers fan out beside him, Henry inches up the hill. He’d say a prayer to his father if he thought it would help, but he doesn’t. After many unanswered prayers about his sexuality, about his rather fucked up influential family, he doesn’t bother with Apollo anymore.

Henry gestures for his right-hand man—Pez, son of Mercury and the only one who actually knows he’s gay—to peer over the hill with him; the others stay back, keeping watch. The Centurion readies an arrow just in case, while Pez has his hand on the hilt of his blade, and they watch Greek demigods reinforce their buildings, sharpen their weapons, and prepare medical tents. None of them are practicing formations, which doesn’t help Henry or Octavian at all. He has to come back with something, so he puts the arrow away and crawls forward.

This could be really stupid, but he has to try—not for Octavian but for New Rome. It’s the only place that’s felt like home to him. Back in England, there’s his grandmother, the CEO of an underwhelming home goods empire. The stuff is cheap, but they’re still the number one seller back home. His mother and brother have a part in it. His sister ran off a few years back, and he has no idea where she is or if she’s even alive. His father—or rather ex-step-father—hasn’t wanted much to do with him since about three years ago when he found out Henry’s mother had an affair at a music festival fourteen years before.

They had a scandalous divorce, covered by every major news outlet, and Henry found out his true identity when a handsome demigod knocked on his door and told him he was in danger and had to be take to California. Several monsters, a few thousand miles, and a few months with a wolf goddess later, he found himself at Camp Jupiter. Everything that happened to him up until then—the blurry images of creatures at the corner of his eyes every time he turned a corner, the dyslexia that made his passion for writing frustrating, the way he never really fit in with his family—finally made sense. He was a demigod! And when the sign of Apollo appeared over his head after he made his first bullseye at the archery range, he truly felt like he found where he belonged.

Pez whispers for him to come back, but Henry lifts a hand in warning. Just then, someone—a dryad probably—screams an alert to his enemy, and all Underworld breaks loose. His legionaries get in formation behind him, readying themselves for the Greeks. They were taught never to run from a fight, but Henry can’t allow this to happen. He’s been in enough battles to know when he can win and when he can’t. Eventually, they’ll be outnumbered because Octavian won’t send him reinforcements if he can help it. He doesn’t know how violent the Greeks will be, but if they willingly fired on New Rome when their defenses were down, then he can’t take the risk. And he won’t repeat what happened in the Titan war.

Henry orders his soldiers back, telling Pez to take temporary control of the cohort and share the minimal information they gathered with the Pontifex. If they’re to be any casualties tonight, it will only be Henry and the Greeks he can take down with him.

•••

The last thing Alex—the wise-ass son of Themis—wants to do in the middle of the night is go to a counsel meeting at the Big House. He wipes the sleep from his eyes as he walks up the creaky steps. Inside, Chiron and the other counsellors gather around a table. It’s times like this he wishes it was a year ago when the children of minor gods were left out of meetings and decision-making. But as soon as he slaps himself awake, he regains his undying need to get involved and raise hell—fair and just hell, of course.

He sits down next to Nora, the temporary head counsellor of the Athena cabin. She’s bouncing in her seat—no doubt high on caffeine and nectar and ready to get back to developing war strategy. She gives him a wink and taps her fingers like she’s back home typing on a computer. Chiron clears his throat and tells the demigods of a Roman scout team that was spotted an hour ago. Unfortunately, most of the soldiers got away, but they did manage to capture one. He’s being held in one of the Big House’s guest rooms.

Now it’s Alex’s turn to bounce. He’s been waiting for an opportunity like this. A prisoner of war means they’ll need to get information. There will need to be a lawyer present—or a lawyer in training that is. He can preside over the questioning, be the voice of justice, and maybe even get the Roman to see the right side is his. He can picture it now: Camp Half-Blood safe from the Romans and that dude reformed in his ways, joining them to stop Gaia. Yes, this is his chance to step out of his sister’s shadow.

He volunteers to mediate for whoever is charged with the interview. Alex ignores Chiron’s obvious hesitation; just because he can get a little heated—thank gods Leo isn’t here cracking a dumb pun joke at that, which would inevitably leave them both laughing on the floor—doesn’t mean he can’t be objective. So he hates the Romans’ guts and thinks they should go back to their stuck-up little camp, so what? Once he’s in the real world, going to college, running for congress like his father, he’ll have to deal with a shit-ton of people he doesn’t like. Looking at you, Bitch McConnell.

Just as Chiron decides he, Nora, Will Solace, and reluctantly Alex will talk to the Roman boy, a camper from the Aphrodite cabin bursts through the door and tells him one of the Hephaestus girls accidentally blew up a boy from the Ares cabin. Apparently, armor strapped with projectile explosives wasn’t the best idea. So Chiron declares they will talk to their guest in the morning, and in the meantime, they’ll take shifts in pairs guarding him. Alex raises his hand to get the first watch, but Chiron appoints Drew Tanaka and Connor Stoll. They both roll their eyes at the idea of being stuck together for the next few hours. Alex’s chest deflates.

Ever since his sister left—he and June are some of the rare demigods that have the same mortal and immortal parentage without being twins—the responsibility of the Themis cabin has fallen on his shoulders. He wanted it, of course, but his siblings also elected him to the head counsellor position, thinking he’d follow in June’s footsteps: ruling with truth, justice, and wisdom. Just like their mother.

Back in his cabin, Alex stares at the marble statue of her that presides over her children. Her iconic image—blindfolded, holding a sword in one hand and balancing a scale in the other—reminds him he’s definitely no June.

She was a leader of quests; Alex has never been on one. June was the voice of reason at counsel meetings; he struggles just to sit still, let alone calm a room with one enlightening sentence. When the children of minor gods were finally given their own cabins, there was no question who should run theirs. Now, he hears his siblings whisper whether they should hold another election. Gods, you call out your conservative brothers one time—it was way more than once—and suddenly, you’re imposing your opinion on everyone.

That’s not it though. Alex has never been given a chance to step up. No matter how many times he tries to convince the counsel they should establish a court system at camp—nothing settles an argument like a nice, fair trial—he always gets shot down.

Not anymore. He’s not going to sit back this time. Not when the threat to camp is this great. He’ll get what he needs from that Roman. If June were here, she would’ve been trusted to go ahead without Chiron, so Alex will do the same.

•••

Henry wakes up to angry whispers outside of his door. The twelve Greeks overtook him easily, but he did put up a good fight. At least, he did until he was knocked unconscious. On the table beside his bed, a note sits atop a plate of food.

Eat well. Hydrate. Rest. We’ll speak with you soon. -Chiron

A glass of juice spiked with nectar sits next to the plate. Why would those imbecilic Greeks give him what’s essentially strengthening serum? He intakes his surroundings: a bed, a table, a dresser, and a chair. Window to the left. Only door out to the right. There’s a clean set of clothes at the end of the bed, but Henry would rather go to Tartarus and back than put on another camp’s shirt.

He jimmies the window, but it’s locked and to hard to break. He lightly tries the doorknob, but it’s locked as well. By the sounds of it, three maybe four people argue outside his door. Romans never had this much trouble changing guard shifts. Henry fiddles about the room, looking for anything to 1. unlock the door and 2. use as a weapon. He can handle four Greeks, and he’ll do everything in his power to get back to his cohort.

Henry hears the click of the door unlocking. Gods, they’re thick, aren’t they? He grabs the wooden chair, and as the door swings open, he thwacks the person walking in with it. Just as he suspected, the chair breaks, and he uses one piece to press against the throat of the careless demigod he’s pinned to the floor.

The boy beneath him groans. He’s got light brown skin and dark curly hair, and if Henry weren’t about to kill him, he’d think he was quite cute.

“Gods, can you Greeks do anything with finesse? Even your hero, Percy Jackson, as talented as he may be, flies by the seed of his trousers.” Henry grits his teeth.

“Ha!” the boy coughs out. “Jumping to conclusions, are we? I thought you guys were supposed to be strictly trained soldiers. You miscalculated.”

He points behind him, and when Henry looks up, a girl stands battle-ready with a sword in her hand. The distraction is enough for the boy below to wrap his legs around Henry and flip them. The Greek holds a dagger to his neck.

“Listen here, pretty boy, are we going to talk or am I going to go all American Revolution on your British-ass?” He presses the dagger, and Henry yelps.

The boy’s brown eyes peer into Henry’s, and some strange part of him likes it. The Greek looks about his age and, while clearly not as capable as he, definitely has some fight in him.

“I’d like to see you try, graecus. But be forewarned, if you send me to the Underworld, I’ll drag you and your camp down with me.” He keeps his face plain and uncaring, though he can feel the heat in his cheeks. Apollo help him.

The girl interrupts them to remind her partner what they’re here to do. She sheaths her sword and closes the door.

He’s called Alex. Henry swallows. And they need information.

Alex releases him. The two get up off the ground. No one moves to sit or get more comfortable. The boys just stare at each other, long and cold.

Henry can tell this guy is a complete and total arse, and yet he can’t shake the swirling feeling in his stomach. A memory from a quest eighteen months ago flashes in his mind. In Vegas, a priest of Venus dressed like Elvis told him great tragedy would befall his love life, but with the goddess’s blessing, he’d find happiness again.

He already lost someone. The demigod who found him, Daniel, son of Ceres, his sponsor when he joined the camp, his Centurion. Everything was quiet between them—few words needed for mutual understanding. Daniel brought him fresh lavender; Henry played him a tune on the lute. But then the Titan war came. And Daniel disobeyed the Praetors’ orders to save the boy he loved. Henry barely had time to grieve before he took control of the 3rd cohort and lost four other demigods in the process. Not a day goes by when he doesn’t think of the five who died because of him. Because of love.

No. This feeling he has is the desire to beat the Greeks, nothing more. He doesn’t give a damn about happiness in love or this obnoxiously hot demigod before him. Like even as Alex breaks eye contact first, puts his sheathed dagger in his boot, ruffles his hair, puts his hands on his hips, and sighs, Henry feels nothing. Elvis can go fuck himself.

“So,” Alex says, “what do you have planned, and how can we convince you to stop? We’d really like to prevent another demigod civil war.”

Henry laughs, and even though nothing would make him happier than to stop fighting, to rest as Chiron suggested, he tells Alex, “You’re really a dickhead if you think I’m giving you anything.”

•••

“It was an accident!”

“You expect me to believe with our two camps in a centuries-long feud that the one time we let down our defenses, your lot just attacked us on accident? Right, and I suppose Pluto is actually a sweet guy once you get to know him, too?”

“My buddy Leo was being controlled by Gaia!”

“Your mate Leo should come up with a better lie.”

“You’re impossible!” Gods, Alex really hates this guy. “Nora, can’t we just—”

She shakes her head before he can finish. He’s not really sure what he was going to say. Have Drew come back and charmspeak him? Feed him to the harpies? Pin him down again? Wait—what?

“Listen, dude. We’re really on the same side here. Right now, both Greeks and Romans demigods—our friends—are fighting against a greater threat than the world has seen since the beginning of time. That’s got to count for something,” he says.

The Roman is quiet. Alex hates how he looks like a goddamn prince even after a fight. But maybe he got through to him. After all, it is true. For all the shit he talks about Romans, he knows they’re not bad, just different. They actually have more in common than they’d like to acknowledge. Jason Grace taught him that. If there was ever a Roman WASP he could get behind, it’s Jason.

So Alex tries a different approach. He gestures to the bed. “You want to?” The blond boy stiffens, and Alex clarifies, “Sit?”

“How about we start over?” He sits. Nora takes the opportunity to march to the other side and bellyflops onto the bed. “I’m Alex, son of Themis, the goddess of justice. And you are?”

He watches the Roman look from the undefended door to Alex and back again.

“You could run,” Alex says. “But then we’d have no chance to broker peace. Hera thought she could do it by trading heroes, but I think you and I both know it takes more than one person to heal two armies.”

Power swells in his chest. Alex can’t know for sure, but maybe his mother is looking out for him. This is how he can bring the demigods justice for Gaia’s destruction. June would be the better choice, but Alex is here and he has to try.

“Let’s work together. Or at least, get along long enough for the prophesized seven to come back home,” he says.

The Roman hesitates. Alex can see in his light blue eyes the number of strategies racing through his mind. But ultimately, he decides to sit. Nora snores next to them. Five a.m. and a caffeine/nectar crash will do that to you.

“So your name?” Alex asks. “It’s only fair.” Dumb pun but he winks.

The boy coughs, but then he looks into Alex’s eyes. “I’m—er—Henry, son of Apollo, Centurion of the 3rd cohort.”

so this is a little late but we’re just going to ignore that...

i just finished reading toa a couple of weeks ago, and i can’t stop thinking about it!! so when i saw the meet-cute prompt, i couldn’t resist a percy jackson-ish fic! i hope you enjoyed this little short piece. <3

rwrb romance week | @rwrb-fests

[faedawayyy]

og verse: my plans for the guys.

this gif of chloe is nothing to do with this but i love the bratz lol. triggering topics below! read with caution.

DALLAS JACKSON, 23, third year. 

SECRET: he deals drugs. the jacksons are in the circle of wealthy families in violet springs alongside the calloways, hamiltons, carmichaels, barhams sinclairs etc.but they’re bankrupt, the family has a lot of dark secrets and the main one is that his dad is an addict to both gambling and drugs, to the point where their family is now bankrupt and loaning tons of money from other families are dodgy loan-sharks. the pressure from being the main bread-winner of the family has turned dallas into somebody he never set out to be. 

WHERE HE IS ATM: mentally, dallas is on a rocky road to health. he’s still addicted to drugs himself but after a very messy break-up with zara and a messier one with soraya, he’s working closely with friends to focus on his career and try to at least get his mental health in the right place.  MY PLANS: another downfall is literally inevitable, it’s dallas. i do think he’ll build himself back up to be huge, though, but he has a lot of resentment to a lot of people and can count on both hands the people he actually likes at st judes. i think there’ll be a lot more of OG dallas; hurting people/arguing with those he doesn’t care about etc.  UP COMING PROJECT: justice the album.

MASON CARMICHAEL, 26, fifth year.

SECRET: mason is the only child in the carmichael family who knows that their dad isn’t dead. after getting too close to being tied to a very serious money laundering case, he took his stroke in 2019 as a route out. however, he kept in touch with mason knowing he’s probably the most trustworthy to keep his whereabouts a secret. mason is sitting on the information but it’s getting harder and harder to do when he sees how much the loss of such a key figure is affecting him.  

WHERE HE IS ATM: at the moment, mason and kendall have been trying to start a family and he’s also found out that amy is his daughter. this threw him into a huge dilemma and he clashed extremely hard with madison over it. there are still hard feelings - and towards bash, who was just given the role of amy’s father despite mason knowing nothing about it.  MY PLANS: i think mason is going to want to see amy more and more despite knowing kendall isn’t hot on the idea/neither is madison to an extent. depending on how everything goes, he’ll definitely take madison to caught for joint custody of amy seeing as he’s never refused to be her dad or acknowledge her - he was just never told.  UP COMING PROJECT: princesses, the franchise. 

BRODY CARMICHAEL, 25, fourth year. 

SECRET: brody has very publicly become a father. he and disney have had their relationship watched by the world since they started high school musical at 14. on the outside, he has everything together. he’s the alpha male type; not that that’s great; think the character taylor plays in her “the man” video and pretty untouchable. on the inside, he’s seriously grieving the loss of his dad and isn’t coping well with the pressure of a new family. his drinking problem happens very much behind closed doors and is straining his marriage but divorce isn’t a marriage, both of them are way too invested in being the world’s most perfect couple.

WHERE HE IS ATM: he’s already had a warning from the hospital that another binge like he’s had could be the end of him and he’s on a very stern plan to become sober. again, nobody actually knows this so he’s kind of recovering in silence but i think he’ll genuinely get better.

MY PLANS: it’ll take a long time but he’ll definitely get better. i don’t think plots always have to be about characters spiralling. i’m also planning for him to see his dad by mistake or something of the sort. i feel like a lot of people will assume he’s high/drunk and it’ll really fuck with him but i haven’t sat and thought out of the details. 

UP COMING PROJECT: neighbours 2: sorority rising 

BLAKE CRUZ, 23, third year.

SECRET: he watched his brother die. blake didn’t really know what was happening at the time but when he was 12, his older brother charlie was 16. he’d come in after a night of sneaking out and crept back into their shared room as usual. blake was still awake and heard he was clearly drunk, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. he only knew something was seriously wrong when he fell asleep, and then woke up a few hours later and realised charlie was unconcious on top of his bed, still in his clothes - he never just passed out and always got ready for bed; even when completely wasted. he finally called for his parents but it was too late. by morning, charlie was pronounced dead and blake is living with the guilt of not saying anything because he didn’t want to get his brother in trouble. instead, he just let him die. he still hasn’t come to terms with it and tells charlie’s old friends that his death was undetermined instead.  WHERE HE IS ATM: blake is very good at burying his memories of charlie and focuses on his relationship and career to stop him from falling down a rabbit hole of guilt and self blame. he’s focused on his new marriage and releasing music with the 5SOS boys, although he’s had his own projects in the works for a very long time - he just doesn’t know how to go about it.  UP COMING PROJECTS: CALM, 5sos. 

OTIS KINGSTON, 21, second year.

SECRET: otis actually wants to become a teacher. he’s enrolled in the academy for acting after his uncle pushed him towards doing it and he’s had moderate success but his true passion lies in teaching others and being out of the spotlight. that’s why he’s very slowly failing on purpose; he wants to be a seventh year and be given more normal career paths. it might have something to do with the fact that he was having an affair with his older brother’s girlfriend who also failed her final year and is currently a student teacher. his brother never bothers with her so it makes it easy for the two of them to sneak around.

WHERE HE IS ATM: otis is very good at pretending. he puts on such a show that when he loses out or doesn’t get a role, people think he’s GENUINELY upset when in reality, he probably did it on purpose. he feels a little bad taking the spot from someone who wants it, but he did what he needs to do.

UP COMING PROJECTS: euphoria (?)

NATE HARWOOD, 23, third year.

SECRET: nate never got into st judes to begin with. he cheated himself in by changing some of his exam results in high school. a good friend of his tried to push him to do the right thing and consider his other options but nate was fixated on getting into the school, along with two more of his friends who initially failed. his friend threatened him and told him that he’d let their professors know if he went through with it. to stop him getting anywhere near, nate and his friends spiked his drink to get him too drunk to remember on prom night; however, he was so drunk he fell down a huge staircase outside the venue on the fire escape and ended up paralysed from the waist down. 

WHERE HE IS ATM: nate has more or less buried the high school mistake but every now and then it comes back to haunt him. at the moment, he’s just making music and doing his best to live the dream he risked WAY too much for. 

UP COMING PROJECTS: a good friend is nice

DARIUS RICHARDS, 24, fourth year.

SECRET: darius is actually a west ivy’s student. he was selected by his principle to secretly enroll in st judes to check out the competition. he’s also behind a lot of the sabotages that have been happening in the school (including the up and coming fire). his main aim is to make sure that west ivy’s is better than st judes in everyway, no matter what it takes. 

WHERE HE IS ATM: he’s hiding in plain sight. nobody suspects a thing from him. darius is being extra careful with the projects he releases and to always stay a little bit below complete stardom - it makes it easier for him to navigate and do things unnoticed. but, he has met people he genuinely likes too and does his best to save them from sabotage. 

UP COMING PROJECTS: starboy

TATE SIMPSON, 26, fifth year. 

SECRET: back to the tragedy in his home...it’s true that tate was never harmed by anyone growing up; not physically, anyway. but that doesn’t mean his home was perfect. his parents were young when they had him and he grew up with little money. this put a lot of strain on them and his dad couldn’t deal with it. he resorted to cheating, drinking and being wildly abusive. there were mornings tate turned up at school without sleeping because he’d been up all night hearing his parent’s argue and fight. it escalated. his father moved on to beating his mother and he’d feel helpless. one night while they were arguing, the fire alarm went off due to them leaving the oven on and it stopped them. so, the next time the fighting got severe and tate heard his mother being beat again, he had an idea. he grabbed a lighter from his parents bedroom and set fire to one of his stuffed animals to set the fire alarm off - it did, and his parents stopped arguing, but not before the fire had spread across the top floor of their home. the fire brigade rescued tate and his father, but not his mother. she passed away and he’s blamed himself ever since. nobody ever found the real case, but that doesn’t make it much better for him.

WHERE HE IS ATM: he’s new and just starting out! 

UP COMING PROJECTS: big time adolescence 

MARCUS CARMICHAEL, 26, fifth year.

SECRET: marcus is often used as his uncle’s scapegoat. james never wanted to get leo, mason or brody too tied into the shadier side of the family business so marcus; child of a single mother and secretly desperate for an in to their world was the perfect candidate. he’s never minded either, to be honest. if he gets paid for shifting some money around or scamming a big time director, so be it. however, the last job he did for james was way too intense, even for him. it included the trafficking of janey and collecting the money made off of her. he had a chance to save her, he knows that, but not without exposing his uncle’s dark secrets. he was never DIRECTLY involved but he knows that doesn’t make him any better. 

WHERE HE IS ATM: marcus is focusing on his acting career and making a conscious effort to be better and stay out of trouble. with ghosts from his past constantly showing up, though, it really is proving to be difficult. 

UP COMING PROJECTS: hemlock grove

ANTHONY HENSHAW, 27, fifth year. 

SECRET: anthony is a stalker. he fixates on people and it gets intense. after being bullied in high school, he latches on to the people who’re nice to him and reads too much into small acts of kindness. he can actually be incredibly dangerous; not many people have noticed yet. 

WHERE HE IS ATM:  he’s currently fixated on natasha but always open for more.

UP COMING PROJECTS: probably some kind of deal with spotlight to shoot different students idk 

KRISTOFER NILSEN, 27, fifth year.

I’LL DO HIM WHEN I CBA 

PHILIP LAWSON, 27, fifth year. 

SECRET: the stunt at the calloway isn’t random. his dad persuaded him to get it in order to get more information on gerald and more specifically, his account details. believe it or not, philip has already managed to access one of his minor accounts after snooping through a secret office of his, but it only had hundreds in there. he’s ok though; he’s ready to play the long game - and steal from all his less privacy-savy friends while he’s waiting.

WHERE HE IS ATM: just starting out! 

UP COMING PROJECTS: big time adolescence/bloom

JUDE BAKER, 18, first year.

SECRET: he’s family are super broke, but he doesn’t let on TOO much. everybody in town knows that his family own the motel that’s on the border of violet springs and london, but that leads to people assuming he’s quite well off or at least average which is how he likes it. his dad is way too carried away with his dream of being a hotel owner which has lead to the baker family selling everything. he literally lives in the motel and really doesn’t have much else to report on.

WHERE HE IS ATM: he’s quiet, anxious and i feel like he’d have one friend who isn’t exactly popular either. all through attending springs park, he was bullied by assholes and st judes was meant to be his fresh start, but he’s realised everybodys worse and with a bigger ego. he keeps himself to himself and is just tries not to be a target. 

UP COMING PROJECTS: stranger things >:) 

EZRA HUGHES, 25, fourth year.

AGAIN I’LL DO IT WHEN I CBB 

[darlingsdevil]

Of The Valley (Joel x Reader)

Chapter 8: Only This and Nothing More

Summary: Life in Jackson is never easy. Consoling angsty teenagers, wading through the mysterious waters of Joel’s romance language and with a child of your own on the way? Life is about to get a lot harder.

OTV Masterlist

RDR2 Masterlist

Tag list (comment to be added or removed) @sidepuff @joelsheartache e @fangirl-inthe-us @cowboyfrazer @scarletpines @mikah-writes @sleepylunarwolf f @mr-robot-x @shybookdragon @heughan @writer-jamie @nelliecraine

A/N: I’m so sorry for the later update.. I went on a vacation to Nashville (more like just helping my sister move in but I call it vacation).. I’m going to be a lot more busy next few months so updates will be not super often.

Anyways, a lot of this chapter is my own weird humor and poking fun at my own writing.. Reader is starting to sound like me when I’m at work or anyone bothers me while I’m at home lol.

Another mini update.. the main plot points of the story are pretty much already plotted. Ending is all set.. just how do I get there 🤔 I guess I’ll figure it out as I go.

Comments/likes/reblogs are super appreciated!

•••

You woke up early for work as usual, the sun would rise in a few hours. Not many jobs required such early hours — most starting as the sun rose but the bar needed extra hands before they opened. It was a much better pace for you, quick, a reminder to put on your strong face through the day and pretend everything was fine.

You had made yourself a nice breakfast, realizing your increased appetite throughout the past few months wasn’t because you were eating your sorrows away. It was better to remind yourself you were eating for two now anyways.

How long would it be before you really started showing? Who would notice first? You were already barely beginning to show.. if someone looked awfully close they could see that. You opted for a baggier shirt when you chose your outfit for the day. There was a sense of dread as you thought about having to tell your close friends, though Maria was the first to know, you doubted everyone else’s reaction would go as smoothly. It was foolish to think Maria would be anything less than supportive.

You thought about how you would have told Mark if he had been still alive. You wondered how he would react.. how Joel would react. How it would only put further strain on both of those relationships.

But how would Joel react now? You wanted to play it safely, while you didn’t regret telling Maria, you needed to be more careful. You had enough to explain to Joel as is, you didn’t want to tell him of your secret just yet.

Joel was angry with you, yet he had accepted an invite to the lake (even though he did owe you a trip back), it was progress. You would have to play it smart, let him know at the right time.

It was easier to warm up to the idea of having a baby after talking to Maria, it was reassuring. Perhaps it wouldn’t too difficult, especially while living in Jackson. And if you did decide you didn’t want to keep the baby, you were certain there were families willing to take the child in.

You managed to make it out of the door quickly, there was no twinge of nausea as you walked to the bar, that was welcoming. Exhaustion pulled at you, staying up to find Ellie had certainly taken a toll on you. You usually worked morning shifts, which meant you could leave and have the rest of the day for yourself.

Joel was probably getting ready to go out for patrol now, depending on what route he had. Ellie was probably sulking in her room — or asleep waiting for Maria to come knocking again. The teenagers who snuck out would definitely be talk of the town, especially if a group that large headed into the Courthouse.

Jackson was quiet, as it had been earlier in the night. Few lights were on, it was always particularly quiet this time in the morning. The autumn air was cool and refreshing, Halloween was creeping around the corner, so was the Autumn festival. Mark preferred the Autumn Festival over Halloween, it was a place holder for the broken arm incidents.

You wished he was here for it. Seasonal dances were always his favorite. He would pull you onto the dance floor after he begged the DJ to play Bill Withers. You missed his laughter, though it was being blurred as time went by.. you couldn’t exactly remember how his laugh sounded, or where the scar on his face started on his nose. It was haunting, forgetting Mark was like forgetting a part of yourself.

Mark was gone. That life you had with him was gone. There was a shell of a room in your house, his child growing inside of you, dog tags around your neck and a world turned upside down. Mark’s death was not something quiet in your life, and yet few people knew of it.

You remembered every second of his death, the running for your life, hiding and hoping it was enough. Watching him, silently from your hidden spot. The blood on the floor. The sound of a gunshot. It was something unforgettable, a memory forever ingrained into your mind in splitting detail. Sometimes the faint smell of copper would appear in your mind and it would make your head woozy. The nightmares rarely let up.

Mark would touch your life forever.. even beyond the grave he had left something behind. You weren’t sure whether to thank him or curse.

•••

Ellie figured she could sleep before hell broke loose. There was no point in staying up all night. She dreaded the morning, listening to Joel yell at her along with Maria, having to take the walk of shame into the Courthouse with the other teens, dealing with Cat and Dina. It was a pure mess.

Maria knocked on her door before sunrise, waking her up. Ellie groaned quietly and pulled herself out of bed, flicking the light on as the early morning light fell through her window. Her head was aching from last night’s adventure.

She opened the door for Maria, Maria didn’t wait for an invitation to enter, she walked in.

“Punishment has changed, you’re only getting the same punishment as the rest of the teenagers. Seems like you owe Y/N a favor,” Maria told Ellie.

Ellie’s brow furrowed in confusion before she realized.

“Y/N asked me to go easier on you, so I did,” She explained non chalantly.

“Wow, well thank you,” Ellie said, surprised, she was relieved.

“You should thank Y/N.”

“I will,” Ellie nodded. It was silent for a few seconds.

“Look, I’m sorry about last night. I was upset and drunk,” She apologized.

“I know. It still wasn’t right for you to go outside the wall, you know the rules,” Maria said softly to the girl. It was going smoother than Ellie had expected.

“I just.. wanted to get away from everything for a night,” Ellie said to Maria. Maria wasn’t surprised.

“I understand. It still wasn’t the best course of action though,” Maria said thoughtfully, though she was disappointed.

“Yeah, I know,” Ellie replied, shame hinting in her voice.

“Joel’s already up, he has a shorter route today so he didn’t have to get up so early,” Maria explained to her. Ellie could feel the dread grow in her as she glanced out the window, the lights were on inside. She barely went over to his house these days, barely even said much to him, avoiding Joel as much as she could. She had things to figure out, Joel being around her would only confuse things further. It hurt having such a strain with someone she looked up to, but Joel was keeping the truth from her.

“Come on,” Maria said, motioning for Ellie to follow her as she exited Ellie’s room. There was frost on the grass, and a chill swept through the morning air.

Maria knocked on Joel’s back porch, Joel’s footsteps were loud enough to be heard from the other side of the door. Joel opened the door, looking confused to see both Maria and Ellie standing outside.

“Maria?” He asked, glancing over to Ellie as well, his brow raised.

“Can we come in?” Maria replied. Ellie stood to the side, praying this would be over quickly. Joel opened the door for them, they entered into his kitchen. Joel’s house felt foreign to be in, like entering a stranger's home, as if she was intruding. And yet it still felt familiar — like it was a hidden memory locked away from years of repressed thoughts, barely recognizable.

Joel leaned against the kitchen counter, waiting for Maria. Ellie averted her gaze to the floor as Maria began.

“Ellie snuck out last night with a group of teenagers,” Maria told Joel.

Joel’s face was unreadable until he spoke, looking over to Ellie. “What?” He said, his voice bubbling with disbelief and harshness.

“She snuck out. Got drunk too,” Maria explained, both of them staring at the teenager.

“Have you any idea what is out there? Have you forgotten what it’s like?” Joel scolded, anger and disappointment lacing his words. Ellie flinched at his voice.

“Am I not allowed to have fun anymore?” Ellie scoffed back with defiance, throwing her hands up in the air in protest.

“What you did was reckless and stupid, you know the risks,” Joel said, his face contorted in anger.

“Like there’s even any infected near town.” Ellie rolled her eyes.

“Ellie,” Maria replied firmly, shooting her a look.

“There are a thousand things that could have gone wrong. You shouldn’t have gone out there.” Joel was disappointed in Ellie.

“People do it all the time, why am I getting flamed for it now, huh?”

“Because you got caught,” Maria said.

“You only care when it has something to do with me. Y/N and Dina snuck out and you didn’t give two shits about them!” Ellie felt her head growing hot, her words fueled by anger.

Joel was surprised to hear that you had gone, a sense of worry flooding through him, why had you gone out as well?

“Y/N and Dina were looking for you,” Maria reminded her.

Ellie was silent, the tension was thick in the kitchen and Joel was burning holes in her head with his eyes.

“She’s getting the same punishment the rest of the party goers are getting, they’re going to the courthouse when the sun rises,” Maria explained to Joel.

“Take her off patrol for a month since she’s gotten too comfortable with being outside,” Joel said coldly.

“Sure,” Maria said. She was fine with that punishment.

Ellie’s mouth was agape. “That’s bullshit! You said you weren’t taking me off patrol!” She shouted to Maria.

“I said I wasn’t anymore. I’m leaving the rest to Joel.”

“It’s final, Ellie. You made a stupid mistake and now you have to pay the price for it,” Joel said. There was no debate, but Ellie would put up a protest.

“That’s such bullshit,” Ellie scoffed, storming out of Joel’s house, slamming the door behind her. Joel stood in the kitchen, feeling the rift pull them further and further away.

“I’ll go get her,” Maria grumbled, becoming increasingly annoyed at Ellie.

“No, let her go,” Joel sighed, feeling a tension headache coming on.

“I don’t know what’s been getting into her lately,” Maria replied, leaning her back on the counter next to Joel.

Joel grunted softly, “I’m trying, I am.”

“I know Joel, I think whatever is going on with Ellie she needs to figure it out herself.”

•••

The morning rush was annoying as ever. You were barely able to sit or even have a moment of rest, it seemed another customer walked through the door each time you even leaned against the back counter. But it was nice, busy work, it kept your mind off things and it was a constant reminder of how to socialize with people. It kept your mind off the horde coming to town, the baby, Joel, Ellie, practically everyone.

As the sun rose mid way through your shift, you saw the crowd of teenagers meet outside the Courthouse. You spotted Ellie and Cat, on opposite sides of the crowd. The people in the bar noticed too, perking up as they saw Maria and the rest of the Council members show up. Some people cracked jokes, some people muttered to each other, but as they went into the building the chatter died down. You wondered what the punishment was going to be. At least you managed to get Ellie no sentence from Maria, you also wondered how Joel handled things.

Joel was probably out on patrol by now, Tommy wasn’t with him, you wondered who he had gone out on patrol with then. You were almost always assigned with Mark — occasionally Joel. But usually Mark. The head of patrol usually kept you two together considering you were roommates, wanting to keep the same schedule.

A large group came into the bar and you groaned inwardly, cursing yourself and your job. Dina and Jesse were a part of the group. The crowd dispersed and went to their own tables, Dina making a beeline towards you

“Hey,” She smiled at you, sitting down at the bar. It wasn’t uncommon for Dina to stop by.

“How’s it going? Group patrol today?” You asked, wiping down the bar.

She nodded, “Yeah, we came in for breakfast before we went out. We have a long route today so Jesse wanted to make sure we all ate.”

“How are things between you and him?” Dina had mentioned they were having some issues last night.

“I haven’t really talked to him about us. He knows about Ellie, he’s pissed at her for not inviting him but he thinks it’s funny she got caught,” She rolled her eyes. You were glad someone here was making advancements in their relationships instead of hitting a brick wall — or multiple.

“Ellie’s at the Courthouse right now, I saw her with the crowd that went inside.”

“Yeah.. hopefully I’ll be able to catch her later tonight, try to smooth things over.”

“Good idea. Who else is patrolling today?”

“Joel, I know is, not sure who else I’ll have to look at the gate logbooks. You know you should really think about coming back to patrol, I miss seeing your’s and Mark’s messages next to the logbooks,” Dina replied, she wasn’t attempting to persuade you like Maria was.

“You know I was convinced no one ever read the Adventures of a Town Crackson, Mark isn't convinced though,” You laughed, remembering his silly stories and messages he would leave for others to find. The piles of sticky notes he left next to logbooks told a story, the story went that he would make mini comics out of old sticky notes and leave them around lookouts for people to read, you would have to visit them all in a certain order to understand. The Adventures of a Town Crackson was a parody of Jackson, except the main character, Lame Lane was a superhero on a revenge quest to kill the evil mastermind Mister Jacobsonithia, who had wronged him years before by killing those close to Lame Lane. It was both a bizarre and funny story.

“Oh no, that story is practically famous! Mark left us on a cliffhanger at Volume.. what was it.. 13th? The one where Lame Lane breaks into Jacobsinthia’s fortress and finds him! Right when Lame finally faces the bastard!” Dina excitedly rambled. Mark would have loved to talk about his story with Dina, you were glad at least someone had read what he called his masterpiece.

You simply stood and smiled bittersweetly, listening to Dina talk about Mark’s story.

“You really have to convince Mark to come back to patrol, I want to read the end of the story!” She said finally as you put her meal in front of her.

You shrugged, “I don’t know if he’s thought of an ending yet.”

•••

Later in the day, someone knocked on your door. You had been getting so many visitors lately.. you wondered who was there and what the hell they wanted. You had ate more of the cookies Maria brought over last night, they were good. You wanted something salty or sour to balance out the sweetness, like pretzels or pickles. Maybe both. You were mid way through your second cookie when someone knocked.

You got up quickly, grumbling the entire time underneath your breath. You were damn tired of leaving your town, socializing, looking for a teenager and having to take orders all day. You just wanted to eat cookies and collapse in bed.

Ellie was at the door surprinsgly.

“Ellie, hey,” You said, opening the door to let her in, closing the door as she entered.

“Hey.”

“What brings you here?” You asked, wondering why Ellie had suddenly shown up at your door.

“I just wanted to say thanks for having my back and letting Maria drop my punishment,” She said sincerely, even though her words seemed hard to get out.

“Of course, it’s the least I can do,” You replied.

“Joel still took me off patrol for a month,” Ellie rolled her eyes at the thought.

“He can do that?”

“Maria let him,” She said, sucking in a breath.

“I’m sorry, that sucks,” You told her.

She rocked on her feet, swaying gently back and forth. “Yeah,” She mumbled.

“Have you talked to Cat or Dina?”

She perked up at your question, “Cat’s still pissed at me and Dina’s out on patrol today so no.”

“How did Joel handle things?”

Ellie shrugged, not wanting to discuss the topic.

“Okay by the way, how was the Courthouse?” You changed the subject. The Courthouse was never fun.. it was where the Town Council did all of the planning for Jackson, assignments and occasionally hearings/punishments.

“Council put us all on clean up duty for the festival and nine pm curfew for the next two months,” She sighed.

“What assignment are you going to take in the meantime?”

“I don’t know, maybe trading post,” She said unthrillingly. There weren’t many open assignments that were anything but a bore. At least people at the trading post got to talk with others from outside of Jackson, though you weren’t sure it was Ellie’s style. You could see her on wall duty, though there were rarely open spots. Ellie likes kids, but you weren’t sure she could handle screaming toddlers for days on end, the daycare was a no go.

“How about the farms or gardening?”

“Do I look like a gardener to you?” She joked.

You shook your head humorously, “No, but I could see you in overalls and maybe a big farmers hat.”

“Fair enough,” She smirked.

“Oh, since you’re here did you want to get the Walkman tapes and the records?” You remembered promising her Mark’s old collection.. though you were sure you wouldn’t be able to give away his favorites, it would be far too cruel.

“Yeah sure, is Mark here right now?” She asked, glancing past you to the hallway.

“Oh, uh no, he’s not but he won’t mind, trust me,” You replied. Lying about Mark’s whereabouts was something you were getting good at. Of course, you knew exactly where he was and where he would be for all of eternity.

Ellie nodded, excited to hear some more tapes.

“I’ll go get them from his room, I’ll be right back.”

Walking back to his room, twice in less than twenty four hours.. it was insane. You weren’t even sure you could ever go into that room again and here you were, walking back up those same steps to his loft, feeling his dog tags jingle with every step, twisting the doorknob open and being inside of his room.

The room that felt lifeless. It felt wrong to take anything from out of his room.. like it was a scene forever stuck in a piece of history and you were disrupting it. But his things would have to go eventually, Ellie would appreciate his records. You were sure she would.

And yet a thought struck you.. would your child want something to remember their father by? Was giving away his records the best course of action? For months you wanted to get rid of everything that reminded you of him.. and yet you wanted to keep things. To have something to remember him by. The Walkman tapes would go untouched for years.. and you would only keep Mark’s favorite records — you were sure Ellie wouldn’t take too many of them regardless.

Bill Withers, Motley Crüe, Green Day and Queen records were all off limits. Mark would come back from the dead and knock some sense into you if you gave away any of those.

But there were others you were sure Ellie would appreciate.. Pearl Jam, The Sleek Habit.. or whatever the hell it was called. It was Mark’s favorite thing to collect — records, it seemed like he could listen to one album a day and still not have listened to them all by the time he turned eighty. At least he kept them ordered by genre, it made your life easier to pick out a few boxes. The boxes of records under his bed, in his closet, next to his dresser. You found his Walkman tapes in a small drawer on his bedside table, he didn’t have quite as many.

You decided on bringing Ellie, punk rock, folk music and alternative. Plus Mark’s entire collection of tapes.

Somehow, you managed to bring them all down to her. Her eyes lit up at the sight of them, you set the boxes down on the kitchen table.

“Take as many as you want, just let me see them first, otherwise Mark might get mad I’ve given away his favorites,” You said to her as she began flicking through the boxes.

She picked out a few she liked, luckily they weren’t all that memorable to Mark, or at least what you had remembered, you weren’t sure you had the heart to tell her to put any of his favorites away though if she had managed to pick out one of his favorites.

“Find the ones you were looking for?” You asked her as she picked all the records and tapes up.

“Yeah, Mark’s got a big collection, I even found Shawn James and Crooked Still,” She smiled, the sparkle returning to her face. You were glad Mark’s love of music had made her happy, he could pass on gifts even beyond the grave.

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Tell Mark I say thanks. I’m really sorry, I have to bounce, I think Dina might be home by now, seriously though, thanks again for getting me off the hook,” She said to you, her sincerity apparent. There was still uneasiness between you and her.. as there was with almost everyone, and yet things were starting to look brighter and brighter.

You nodded, bidding her farewell for the rest of the day, a pang of remembrance hitting your heart, as if things were slowly and yet surely returning to what normal felt like months ago. Even if a large part of your life was missing from it.. things were starting to look up. It felt almost wrong to be happy after months of grief and isolation, you felt guilty for allowing yourself to step back into the light, but you were happy things were starting to look better. Mark would have liked you to be happy, that was certain.

•••

Another knock on the door, another interrupted hour. The sun had set by then, you were done with dinner and were watching a movie you had found. You had a nice candle flickering too, the people of Jackson were awfully crafty, it was one of the few commodities that you regularly sought out, Mark had his candy and records, you had candles. Your house was starting to feel more lively again.

You opened the door to see Joel standing on the other side. You were definitely surprised to see him.

“Joel,”

“Hello, can I come in?” He asked.

“Sure,” You said, opening the door for him. Your porch light illuminated the dead flowers hanging from the roof.. you had been meaning to take those downs.

“Don’t worry, Mark’s not here,” You said to him as he entered.

Joel nodded as he glanced around your house. Not much had changed since the last time he had been there.

“Been awhile huh?” You asked.

“Yep. Been some time.”

“Any reason you decided to stop by?” You asked.

“I wanted to thank you for looking out for Ellie,” Joel began.

“Of course. I would have gotten you if we wouldn’t have found her, I just didn’t want to wake you up,” You explained.

“Yeah, I get that. I’m glad you’re looking out for her though.. I know you don’t like being outside Jackson anymore.”

“I didn’t want anything to happen to Ellie,” You shrugged.

“She’s not happy with what I told her. Not that I’m surprised though. I’m disappointed in her, I thought she knew better.”

“She’s a teenager, Joel. Teenagers are allowed to make mistakes,” You said.

“She still needs to be reminded of what’s out there.”

“Not arguing with you on that,” You replied softly.

It was silent for a few moments, “So.. about our trip to the lake,” He began again.

Your eyes lit up at the thought, “Oh! Yeah, right, I shoot the infected, you take me to the lake, that’s how it went, or maybe you still owe me a trip back,” You reminded him.

“I do still owe you,” He smiled.

That day.. so much had happened in such a small period of time, everything felt like a blur.

“You do. But I was thinking we could skip the lake and maybe.. you would want to come with me to the Halloween party?” You asked, almost shyly.

Joel smiled as he scratched his beard, “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Maybe?” You blushed lightly.

“It’s a yes or no question, Y/N,” He teased.

“Yes. It’s a yes, I’m asking you on a date.” Three months of no contact and here you were asking Joel on a date.. you weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh or cry. Damn you, hormonal imbalances.

“Then yes, I’ll take you to the party.” He nodded.

“A date it is then,” You said happily.

“Are you sure you’re not sick anymore though?” He asked playfully.

“I'm not , maybe it was just something I ate that day,” You shrugged, lying through your teeth. You knew what came over you, and you weren’t sure how exactly that would ever come up in conversation with Joel.. how would he even react to that? The longer you waited.. the harder it would be.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Me too. Hopefully it wasn’t Tommy’s stew.”

“At least it wasn’t mine.”

Joel left shortly after that, you were still smiling as he left. There were still questions, and there were answers you needed to give, but at least it wasn’t as rocky as it had been a few days ago. Maybe it was easy to heal.. or maybe the circumstances were making it easier. Or maybe it was just time to start living your life again, a new life that mirrored your last, but in an entirely new way.

It was a fresh start. You put your hand on your small bump, barely noticeable as you sat down on the couch. Your knees weak and your smile wide. Maybe it was time.

•••

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Day 2: “You should probably go home.”/“But I’m already home.”

masterlist

Kingdom Collisions AU (prequel scene): you do not have to read or be caught up on my Kingdom Collisions fic to know what’s happening here

Princess Piper Mclean wakes up to the midday sun and sighs contentedly, stretching her languid limbs until they shake. It is one of those rare days when her princessely duties are non-existent and her mother wouldn’t bug her because she’s not there. She hears the soft chirp of birds outside and peers out the window to see scarlet-breasted sparrows hopping along the branches and singing merry tunes. She loves summer. Everything is always so cheerful and full of life. It reminds her of childhood. A gentle knock sounds at the door and she recognises it as her handmaid/tutor/nanny. Her friend.

“Come in Anisa.”

“Princess,” She smiles, bowing her head with one hand over her chest.

“Hello,” Piper sits up in bed, “I like your hijab.” It is the most beautiful shade of blue, like sapphires in glittering water.

“Thank you.” Her lady smiles, “I have brought you something to eat.”

“Are we classifying this as breakfast or lunch?” The princess teases, knowing her need for order and compartmentalisation.

“Brunch. A truly glorious invention.” Anisa huffs, scrunching her nose at the crack.

“Well thank you all the same. Are you going to join me?” She takes off the silver cover of the tray to reveal berry and cream waffles and a steaming cappuccino with the prettiest leaf design. “Chef Ambrosia is really getting creative with their designs.”

“I’m pretty sure they just have the biggest crush on you and the only reason they haven’t put a heart is because it would be wholly inappropriate.”

The princess just laughs and digs into her meal with vigour. They talk about non-essential things like her dress for the upcoming ball and their various plans for the weekend. Anisa was finally going home to see her children and anyone could see the excitement radiating off her. Now that she didn't have to be a nanny all the time she could actually look after her own children. Finally the waffle is demolished and the cappuccino nothing but froth.

Anisa looks at her carefully.

Piper raises a brow, “What?”

“I have some news.”

Immediately her heart is beating a thousand miles a minute and there is disaster after disaster crossing her mind. “What?” She says again, this time breathless with worry.

“A certain Prince wants to visit.”

She immediately lets out a gush of air, her whole body dropping in relief. And then she registers what her friend had said and her brown eyes go as wide as saucers. The last time she had seen that prince, because undoubtedly it could only be that prince, she had nearly ruined their lifelong friendship by almost kissing him. Now she doesn’t trust herself around him, which means she’s been avoiding him.

“I think you should say yes.” Anisa gives her a pointed look, “He’s worried something is wrong because you can’t woman up and face your feelings. You’re hurting him by avoiding him.”

The Princess groans, scrubbing a hand across her face. “I know, I know. But I just can’t face him without wanting to either make the world swallow me up or jumping his annoying pretty bones.”

“You should invite him to the ball.”

Piper closes her eyes, the sun suddenly too bright, too hot against her sensitive skin. If she invites Perseus she’ll get to see him and reassure him and actually get to spend time with her friend, which she misses, greatly. Her own fault. If she doesn’t invite him she can put off dealing with her ever-growing, constantly-harder-to-ignore feelings and have an embarrassment, possibly rejection free night. The coward’s way out. She is many things, but a coward has never been one of them.

“Okay,” She nods, letting the decision settle in her core, “Let’s invite him. He can stay the night. Hell the week if he wants.”

Her friend claps her hand and gathers the empty dishes and cutlery. “Ill be here to collect the letter this evening to send out for the night post. Don’t be late.” She waggles a finger, ever the mother. “And use the blue wax seal. It’s his favourite.”

“It is?” Sometimes she feels like a terrible friend.

Anisa just winks and makes a graceful exit, her hijab catching in the once again warm rays, and glittering sweetly.

A week later her castle is abuzz with activity: caterers and decorators and various other event planners all running around like hounds are at their feet. There is little more than an hour to the ball and Piper is finally getting around to putting on her dress and swiping a little lipstick on. She fell in love with her garment the moment she laid eyes on it and now that she sees it in her gilded mirror she feels as if every stitch was made with her in mind. A deep maroon fell across her in waves of silk, starting with the string-thin straps over her shoulders, into the straight neckline, and down, down, down to the skirt that flared at her waist and trailed against the pristine marble floors. She buckles gold shoes at her ankles and slips on two small diamond encrusted earrings. With a final glance at her reflection she steps out of her room and into the transformed hallways. There are flowers hanging from the ceilings and stars underneath her feet and she feels as if the world has turned on its axis. Adequate considering it is Summer Solstice which marks the changing. She nods hello to the guests and servants rushing through the passage and then she is outside the ballroom doors.

With a deep breath she smiles at the doorman who returns it before pushing the door open.

“Presenting Princess Piper Mclean of Hanaan.” A loud clear voice says from somewhere to her left.

She curtsies low to the room and then glides down the stairs to greet her mother. All the while her eyes are scanning the room, trying to catch a particular head of black curls, and skin only slightly darker than her own. When her scan comes up empty she hides the disappointment behind a practiced smile and engages in conversation with some duke and duchess. She really isn’t paying attention to anything so it catches her by surprise when a warm hand brushes her waist and the familiar scent of ocean, and wind, and life surround her.

“Sorry Duke,” A charming smile disintegrates her worries. “May I steal the princess away for a dance?”

“Please,” The duke is jovial, waving them away. The duchess smiles that smile that says aw cute young love.

Piper wants to see them through her eyes. But before she can think on it she is being whisked away and planted on the dance floor, suddenly staring up at hypnotic green eyes and that troublemaker’s smirk.

“Sorry for my tardiness Princess. Wanted to make a grand entrance.” Crown Prince Perseus Jackson grins.

She narrows her eyes at him as they sway across the floor, “You overslept your nap again didn’t you?”

He rolls his eyes, stealing a pinch on her side that tickles more than hurts. “Actually I got caught up in the music room.”

Her eyes light up like crackling fire, “Will you play for me?”

“Anything you want,” He whispers and pulls them closer, so her dress is flush against his suit, also made of the smoothest satin.

“How have you been?”

He gives her a look that she chooses to ignore. “You would know if you weren’t avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you,” He dips her, and she thanks the heavens they put her hair up or it would be sweeping the floor.

He pulls her back up and sets a determined gaze on her, “Yes you are. I haven’t seen you in almost three weeks. We’ve never gone that long without-”

“Okay, okay,” She’s never going to win this argument. “Maybe I have been avoiding you just a little.”

“Tell me why.” His voice is soft but his tone is demanding. She loves when he gets like this.

The music speeds up and before she can reply he’s twirling her so fast only the years of ballet are keeping her from dizziness. When she stops abruptly right against his chest she is only faintly aware of the scattered applause.

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me.” Raspy, gentle, caring, raspy, raspy, raspy.

She suppresses a shiver. “I’m planning a surprise party for your birthday and i’ve been a little busy with the details.”

He growls in her ear before lifting her up in a twirl of his own and setting her down, “Liar.”

“Am not.” She huffs. The music speeds up.

They spin, and spin, and spin.

“You are. You used the surprise birthday party excuse every year for something or the other.” A gleam enters his eyes as he dips her and swoops her all the way up until she’s back to looking at his beautiful, angular face. “In fact last year you used it because two books from your favourite series were coming out at the same time and you didn’t want to be disturbed until you were finished.”

She stifles a giggle and looks anywhere but at him, because she will burst out laughing if she sees his judgemental look.

“Okay, okay.” The music reaches a crescendo as he lifts her high above his head, so she can see every patron attending the ball, and the crystal chandeliers hanging like rose bouquets above her. He sets her down and they stop abruptly; the last chord of the violin reverbrates through the room. “But let's go outside.”

She is breathless, his chest is heaving, and the applause is deafening. They are angelic. Percy raises a hand to present her and she curtsies for their audience. The claps get impossibly louder. She maintains a dignified smile, but can do nothing about the beautiful flush of her cheeks as she presents her dance partner who bows low and blows a kiss. The spectators laugh, some swoon, she wants to scowl. She smiles brighter.

And then they're racing outside and into their favourite place to get lost: the Maze of Madness. He laces their fingers together and sprints for the center, diving around corners and cursing at dead ends. She just laughs, her hair coming loose and her princessly state unhinged. She is nothing but sweetness, and flower petals, and summer breezes.

Finally they get to the center where the white stone bench sits, engraved with the words Si vis amari, ama. If you want to be loved, love. Gifted to them before she was an inkling on the horizon by the Kingdom of Caelum. The bench has held many a love story, and supported many a heartbreak. She believes it’s good luck.

They collapse onto it, stars glittering in their eyes and take a moment to catch their breaths.

Percy is the first to break their silence. “So,” he pokes her side, ‘Why are you avoiding me?”

“I was being a coward.”

He turns his body to her and gives her that intense look that simultaneously makes her wince and sets her soul on fire.

She starts slowly, trying to find the words that wouldn’t ruin their friendship but would still make her feelings clear. “I wanted to do something that night in the House of Hope but it might have turned out badly and I didn't want to risk it”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, doesn’t even seem like he’s breathing, so she forces her gaze upwards, to see green eyes burning into her.

“Some risks-” He is just as slow with his words, just as gentle. “Some risks are worth it.”

Percy puts a hand to her cheek, cold fingers brushing her skin. There is a question in his eyes that opens the cage of butterflies in her stomach.

“Kiss me Percy Jackson.” Piper whispers.

His answering smile lights up her every nerve, and when he finally brushes his soft lips against her own, every beat of her heart shudders to a stop. He cups her face in his hands, and brushes their lips over and over and over. Like he’s tasting the barest hints of her. Like if he goes any deeper he’ll never stop. She doesn’t ever want him to. So she laces her fingers behind his neck and keeps him pinned to her and when he groans her world detonates. They explore each other, in languid, deep strokes. His lips. Her tongue. His teeth. Her lips. Their hearts. They kiss like they mean it. They kiss like they’ll never get the chance again. They kiss like this is the meaning of life.

And when they break apart for gasping-interrupting air they are both grinning as wide and bright as moonlit ice. Her lips tingle and she touches a finger to them to make sure they’re still there, working, experiencing what she did.

He chases her hand away and brushes the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. “You are so beautiful.”

Before she can reply a messenger rounds the corner, breathless. “Prince, your mother would like you back at the castle. She says it’s urgent.”

“Can it not wait till tomorrow?” He doesn’t bother to put any distance between them as he turns to the young boy. Her lips brush his cheek.

“I’m afraid not Prince, she says it’s a matter of great importance.”

He nods stiffly, and she can see the exasperation trying to escape his lungs. The messenger hurries away and Percy turns back to her, resting their foreheads together, eyes half-closed.

“You should go home,” The princess says after several beats of silence.

He presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’m already home.”

And she cannot help the smile that bursts out of her, like fireflies escaping the glass jar.

“We will continue this again soon, yes?” He opens his eyes, looks at her with all his intensity.

“Yes,” And the possibilities running through her soul float her up to cloud 9.

“Good,” He nods once, captures her lips with his again, and then tugs her up. “Then i shall go home, attend to whatever emergency my mother has and come back within the week.”

“I can’t wait.” Somewhere in the back of her mind, a clock is already ticking.

He kisses her again, like he can’t get enough, like he’s addicted. “You are beautiful Little Dove.”

Her heart squeezes at the familiar nickname. “Come back soon.” She hugs him by his car. “Come home soon.”

“You should come to Mare with me.”

“I cannot. I have to be here for the ball, and besides it’s the Floating in a few days.”

He takes her hands in his, kisses her knuckles. “Then I will be as fast as I can.”

Her eyes are shining with love as she pulls him in and kisses him one last time. He returns it with vigour, promising, promising, promising worlds between their lips.

And when she waves goodbye to the retreating black vehicle until it blends in with the night she decides the bench is in fact goodluck.

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

Tags (if you want to be added to/taken off the tag list all my channels of communication are open):

@nishlicious-01​

@leydiangelo​

@spoopylucy​

[jj-ktae]

Papers, I

Title : Papers Pairing : Park Jinyoung x Fem!Reader Genre : Victorian Era, Romance, Fluff, Angst, smut-ish,  Words : 3076 Summary : In the merciless 1850′s, Park Jinyoung finds solace in tiny pieces of paper and their owner.

Will be updated every Wednesday at 9 p.m CEST.

Prologue  ➳  II, III,

I,

Jinyoung wouldn’t call himself lucky. He doesn’t believe in such subjective things and his mind only sees things from a direct perspective. He knows a writer should be less down-on-earth, but he finds it hard to be laid back when everything is so harsh around him. 

He doesn’t even know why he assumes he has to think like a writer.

It’s probably because it is the only future he can foresee.

He receives an answer to each notes he leaves behind him. The conversation is casual but Jinyoung finds it more stimulating than any other mundanities. He is tired of having to avoid the other students and being ignored. It might be what the etiquette is about, but neither him nor his friends will ever understand the difference between two similar human beings.

They all blame it on the lack of education at the orphanage. It’s true that things were hard and revolved around beating up kids more than functional education but Jinyoung doesn’t get how it makes him unworthy of picking up a classmate’s handkerchief to give it back to him.

Jackson hates every minute of these moments. He hates how he has to stare at the ground or keep quiet when he hears the others talk about them like they carry the plague. Jaebeom ignores the whole situation, his introvert side taking the upper hand now while he would end up in nasty fights back then at the orphanage. 

This is exactly why he enjoys the candid answers he gets. He starts wondering who the person is, what they do, where they live. He doesn’t say much about himself; he knows enough to shut his mouth on the part where he is an orphan. Maybe the other one will stop answering, maybe he will have to deal yet again with that social difference. 

So cowardly he calls himself a literature student, a writer wannabe who lives in the rich part of the city. He writes no name after his notes, and he gets none in return. While he interacts with The art student, he begins his own narrative. It builds up slowly, with steady steps about the encounter of two people and lost pieces of paper. He starts again and again, never satisfied until he gets a note that offers more answers to his own interrogations. Jinyoung ends up imagining so many scenarios that it almost turns him crazy but for the very first time in his damned life he feels alive, eaten by something that isn’t hatred.

He even forgets about his surroundings and it feels like heaven. 

“Did they tell you about themselves?” Jaebeom barely questions him about it. He understood one thing about Jinyoung, and it doesn’t involve explicit talk. “You seem to be….vivid, these days.” 

Jinyoung looks up from his old notebook, his brow furrowed as the sun blinds his vision. They never stop outside, they barely let themselves feel vulnerable outside of their home. Society is about showing the bright things and they aren’t part of the jewels of the country. “I didn’t ask,” he says, closing the book with careful hands. “If I try, I will have to do the same.”

“Fair enough,” his friend answers, yawning so wide he receives curious glances from the other students. “You don’t want them to know who you are, but don’t you want to know who you’re talking to?” 

“I do,” Jinyoung chuckles, “but it doesn’t matter. I get answers, so it is enough for me.” 

Jaebeom leans against the wall, smiling when he sees two young students greet each other with stupid bows and fake smiles. “How do you think we would be living if our parents were still alive?”

It makes Jinyoung sigh way too loudly. “I don’t think about such things. It’s not like we can change anything.”

Jackson’s loud voice startles the whole tiny garden, putting it to silence as everyone stares at the sweaty boy. “Am I late?” He pants. 

Jinyoung looks around, doing his best to ignore the soft yet sharp comments ringing into his head.

“Let’s go.” Is all he says before getting up and escaping as fast as he can toward the classroom. 

He finds the anticipation of a new note way too stimulating. 

--

A  woman. 

It’s a young woman. 

Jinyoung didn’t expect the person to be a young lady. He barely comes across any at this tiny school. It’s a small academy of literature and arts, it has nothing to do with the big and horribly expensive schools of the city. It has its standards though and it’s filled with young people, fancy and fitting perfectly.

It changes everything. There are a thousand things you can’t say and do around a lady, so there must be the same rules for writing. Jinyoung takes his own piece of paper and coughs, not sure why his handwriting becomes so neat.

“A girl ?” Jackson’s voice startles him as his ideas vanish yet again. His friend observes the piece of paper, lips pursed. “aren’t they...not supposed to do such things?”

Jinyoung nods, surprise still visible on his usually neutral features. “These hold no face, it is only paper and ink. She must think of me as one of notables’ son and it gave her courage.”

His friend scoffs, “Does this even help you?” he whispers, letting the paper fall softly on the table.

Jinyoung doesn’t answer. 

It does.

He thinks for a minute before picking the note. It’s nothing but small talk, nothing important but he reads it over and over again.

I am an only child and I have no plans for the future. I just end up coming here and on a not so hectic day I found your note. I have to say it is not common for a young lady to do such tricks…

Tricks. Is this how they call it, in the mundane world ? Maybe it’s a distraction for you, something you do because you’re not allowed to. It’s probably the only thrill you get on a boring day and Jinyoung understood you fully.

He starts writing when his brain summons him to stop overthinking things again.

I understand.  I am an only child too, but my comrades are like brothers to me. Never did I think that I would get an answer initially and judging from the way you present yourself, I would have put my guess on a fellow gentleman. I suppose boredom makes us do the unthinkable.Tell me more about your week next time and as insignificant as it will likely be, I will let you know about mine. 

Jinyoung doesn’t need to ask as Jackson offers his chewing-gum silently with a wink. He puts it tight against the wood before crossing his arms.

--

A gentleman. 

He is a man. 

You pick up the note with shaky hands, not believing what you just read. You thought it was a lady, someone who was bored and needed distraction. It is not behaviour for a gentleman, as bored as he can be. You are not supposed to interact with them and considering the situation, you are not to interact with anyone.

Answering would mean not following proper etiquette, and you’ve transgressed a few rules already.

Still, he seems to be puzzled, as if eager to know more about a lady who would be daring enough to do such things. There is no harm in continuing and he has no clue about who you are exactly. The lack of interactions between you and the rest of the people assures a certain hideout.

He will never know. He must never know. 

You look around, the silence evident and deafening. Each answer is a risk you’re not sure you’re willing to take. 

As you pick up a forgotten piece of paper and rip a corner, you pray for tranquillity. 

You will probably be disappointed as I’m afraid nothing exciting happened so far. It is repetitive, filled with night and day. I come and I go in silence, avoiding society. I don’t loath my surroundings but I fear the dexterity of social gatherings. I might not be cut for such a delicate exercise. I stay away, running when I can and watching when I have to -

Maybe it’s too personal. He shouldn’t guess anything, especially not your hatred toward your own self.

“Y/N! If anyone sees you we will be in trouble!” The high-pitched voice makes you nod, your eyes meeting the worried features of your friend’s face.

“I’m almost done!”

- I act like i am complaining but be assured that I enjoy life as far it can take me. I had a busy day filled with nothing worth sharing. I will probably let you know if anything exciting occurred in my next note, if you are still inclined to keep the exchange. Do not forget to let me know about your week as you promised. 

You use the same gum to hide the note  - and you hope he doesn’t notice it, before getting up and leaving. 

“You will be the end of me, Y/N.” Your friend whispers angrily as you leave the classroom. She is fidgeting with worry as her eyes wander the corridor.

“Nothing will happen to us. No one is here at such a time. I made sure no one finds the note, Vivi.” You try to appease her fear by throwing an arm around her shoulder but she hushes you, an upset smile appearing when you start laughing.

“If someone were to see the way we behave…” She shakes her head before stopping in front of the door. “As soon as we get there, I want to see the note!”

Vivienne is a good person. She is the neighbour’s daughter and your lives have always been as entwined as they could be. Her smile is contagious but she takes things too seriously.

Well, you’re probably the one not caring enough.

You open the building’s door and hook and arm around hers before rushing back home. You don’t let go of the tiny piece of paper.

Vivienne takes the notes from your hand as soon as you enter your room. She follows you like she always do every week. Today is the day you always come back late so she stays with you. 

She reads it with dreamy eyes before letting it fall on your bed. Her position change as she can finally be herself.

“A Gentleman ? Y/N, does he know ? I thought you were entertaining another stupid young mistress. I cannot believe such a thing is happening. He should never-

“Never know who I am. I know.” You finish with a sigh before jumping on your bed. “He doesn’t say who he is either, so nothing will happen. He seems so bored and serious.” You laugh when Vivienne unties her tight dress. 

“He is a rich literature student living in the city, what good is it to do such unholy things, especially with a lady?” She wonders, taking a deep breath when the air finally enters her constricted lungs. “It has always been a game, to them.”

“Drop it, Vivi. We know enough about etiquette to understand it is not made for us. It must be entertaining for him to know that a young lady of good education can interact with a gentleman with no worry. I don’t find it shocking in any other circumstances; we both know it isn’t a crime to talk with a gentleman but they don’t. I’m more worried about the gossip and what i will lose if anyone discovers what I have been doing.”

It is true. You talk with the kids in your neighbourhood every day. The young boys here are friendly, if not more caring than any other boys. You are not used to follow etiquette as it isn’t needed; you know it only because it is necessary to survive and remain. Speaking loudly, laugh, sing, fight, eat messily, hug, all of this is normal life and you can’t imagine it being forbidden. 

“Boring. They must be so boring.” Vivienne concludes, her voice dying and another one shaking you both.

“Time for dinner!”

--

Jinyoung finds it unusual. He never anticipates a class. Creative Writing is interesting when it doesn’t involve endless talking. He hates it when he has to lock his brain into his head and listen to whatever happens and it often happens. 

But today he is eager to enter the class and hopefully discover an answer. He ignores Jackson and Jaebeom’s witty remarks about how a Lady has taken an interest in him and merely answers. She must be too bored and in need of something thrilling. It is the way they live.

He pulls the paper from under the table as soon as he takes a seat. He doesn’t even try to hide anything.

“You should be careful. You will be in trouble if they start meddling in your business.” Jaebeom taps his pen on the table rapidly before glancing toward the professor. “She will be, too.”

What trouble could she get? Money is enough to make your way out of trouble. Trouble is for people like us, Jinyoung wants to answer. 

Instead he nods before opening the note.

It sounds different this time. He was expecting lines of useless tea gatherings and uninteresting chatting but he finds more depth than he thought he would have. She seems lost and far from the acts of the Upper class. Jinyoung doesn’t quite understand why would anyone not enjoy living among the rich in such hard times so he gets puzzled as to what he could answer.

He wants to say he hates the rich, he wants to yell at whoever deemed it good to let people behind to they own misery. He cannot speak though, his tongue is tied and his soul gone with the promise of a disturbed future. 

A wave a melancholy hit him and against better judgment, he keeps the answer neutral, like nothing is triggering him.

On this we do agree. I am myself not fond of such games. I stay evasive when needed and watch my surroundings. This is why writing heals more than it is supposed to - it is not surprising for a literature student, you may think. I am afraid my days aren’t exciting either. I am working on a piece that I will have to submit to my teacher so it takes most of my time. Considering the amount of stimulation I receive, I can say it is not going smoothly. 

Jinyoung stops when he thinks about how ridiculous it is to act like someone he isn’t. What the hell should he feel ashamed of what he is?

So his last sentence hits the papers way faster than intended. He hopes to find excitement, he believes it is to get a better view for his works but in fact he wants to disturb. He wants to pique, if not face to face, then on papers it will be. 

ps : If I may ask, what do you think about the rich? Please do not fear of my reaction and do not answer if such questions disturb your tranquillity.

He snorts at himself before sticking the paper again. Why would he even care about disturbing the empty life of the powerful?

When class ends he leaves, furious at no one and nothing but filled with a rage to change the balance. He will not end like this. 

--

“What I think about the rich?” You ask yourself, crouched behind the table.

It is ridiculous, why would anyone ask such a question? You start to panic when you imagine the probability of being discovered. Speaking badly of them would be ill-mannered, but no one would ever be able to tell it is you who wrote those words.

You are not even supposed to know how to write. 

Vivienne is busy next to you, her dirty dress swiping the floor with every step.

You grab a piece of paper you had previously taken with you and try to find an answer.

Before you can think you start writing messily, like someone is watching from behind.

If you don’t mind, you can share the subject of your writing with me. I see we both fancy peacefulness- 

You stop, not in the mood to act like you want to know more. 

About your question, I don’t know what it is that you mean but I would say that they are the essence of our society. Their intelligence is building the country and our wealth is nothing to be ashamed of. If you mean to put it in confrontation with the poor, I would say they do nothing but maintain an order which every peaceful monarchy should have. The rich have the knowledge and power and it is what it is. It is natural for humanity to place its bets on the survival of the fittest.

You feel nauseous as you finish the paper. It is probably what he wants to read so you wrote whatever would please a rich person. It is disgusting and untrue but there is only so little you can do without rising doubt in the mind of this young gentleman.

If he wants someone to flatter his pride, then so be it.

It has always been that way. 

--

The notes get shorter after that. You are not sure whether you did something wrong or not, but the answers get colder and colder. There are still here though, every weeks and with the same beautifully written letters.

You answer, even though it is nothing but wind in an empty shell. 

Jinyoung doesn’t know what he was expecting. He knew from the start who he would be corresponding with and it is no surprise. 

It is after one class that the story gets blurred. 

He is about to leave when the professor interrupts them. 

“Starting next week we will gather in the main amphitheatre. This room is only used for creative writing and in spite of how inspiring I think it is, it will no longer be used in this way.”

Jinyoung freezes, his notebook almost falling. 

While Jaebeom and Jackson are leaving, he speaks, startling them.

“Sir, no other lessons are being held here?” He looks vivid.

The teacher is as disturbed as the rest of the class. “No, it hasn’t been used by anyone else in the past five years.”

-