Sienna (Athena)
Illustrated by Tomek Baginski
Little Bit of Sunshine * Doc Holliday/OC
Summary: Traveling with her sister, uncle, and future husband to Tombstone, Isabel Blaylock is eager to start a new chapter in life. To get married, and have a family to call her own. But almost as soon as they arrive, she begins to see that things will not always go according to plan. Not even when it comes to matters of the heart.
Content Warnings: Language, alcohol use, eventual smut (I will keep this tasteful, I promise), angst.
**This is my first time actually posting something I've written on Tumblr, and I am...moderately terrified? Nonetheless, I hope it is something that at least a few of you enjoy!**
(December 31st, 1887)
When the gunshot rings out in the crisp evening air, the woman hardly flinches, choosing instead to focus her attention on the remainder of the journey home.
She can recall a time when the sound had terrified her. When it would send her heart into her throat and tie her stomach in knots. It meant danger, at one time. A threat. Something to fear. But now?
Now it provokes little to no reaction from the woman at all.
Or at least nothing more than a vague upturn at the corners of her mouth that may, at one point, have resembled a smile.
Jovial shouts and laughter in the distance serve as enough reassurance to prove the shot was not intended to cause harm. That it is likely only an overly inebriated attempt at celebrating some event she is not privy to. And, secure in such notions, the woman continues on her way, clutching the edges of her shawl more tightly around her shoulders to ward off a sudden chill.
In truth, she is exhausted. Bone-weary, despite knowing she can do no more than go on. It is not as though she has no desire to do so. In fact, the truth is quite the opposite. But she feels trapped somewhere between wanting to continue moving forward, and actually succeeding.
And the very worst part of it all is that she had known it was coming. She had known this would be her future all along. Still, she had taken the chance. Choices were made. And if anyone ever cared to ask, she would tell them that yes, she would certainly do it all over again.
There will never be a day where she believes the preceding five years were a mistake. Even if it is nothing short of a certainty that she will now face the remainder of her own life without the man she loves more than anything else in the world.
Lifting a hand to dash away an errant tear, the woman does what she can to shake herself from such morbid thoughts. She reminds herself that in spite of it all, she is not truly alone.
Her steps quicken as she approaches the covered veranda of the boarding house. For a moment, it is almost as though the grief that is a constant weight around her heart can actually fade. The white-knuckle grip on the shawl around her shoulders relaxes, even if only by a little, as the door opens with a touch of her hand, only emitting the faintest of creaks in protest.
Instinct guides the woman's movements more than anything else as she ascends the stairs immediately to the right of the door, and before she knows it she is standing outside of a familiar room.
It is hardly the home she might have envisioned inhabiting at eighteen, but the younger version of herself had always possessed a tendency for rather grandiose and foolish dreams. The woman that had arrived in Tombstone with her fiancé in 1879 was a far cry from who she is now at twenty-six.
Regardless of her former dreams, however, the sight that greets her as soon as she fits the key in the lock, and shoulders open the perpetually stubborn door is more than enough to relieve her of any inherent sadness or bitterness that her current reality might provide.
"Mama!"
The woman has only moments to prepare before a tiny frame launches towards her, a pair of skinny arms squeezing around her skirts in an enthusiastic embrace. Automatically, her fingers push back unruly hair from the boy's brow while he peers up at her with a nearly blinding smile. But it is not that smile that sends a pang of longing straight to her chest, perilously close to her heart.
Rather, it is his hauntingly familiar green eyes, and for a moment, the woman can scarcely breathe…
"Sorry, love. Little man all but refused to sleep 'til he knew you were safely home."
The words are enough to pull the woman back from the almost alluring haze of her memories, and she allows herself to meet the gaze of the older woman seated in a rocking chair working on needlework with only a hint of her usual trepidation. Widowed two years prior, Ida Whitlaw had maintained the boarding house she once ran with her husband, and had become something of a friend to her younger companion over the last month. Someone to seek guidance from in this new stage of her own life.
For what must be the hundredth time since taking up residence in this room with her son, the woman recognizes the familiar flickering of concern in her older companion's expression. And knowing her continued silence will only bring about questions she is not prepared to answer, she hurries to reply.
"I can't thank you enough for looking after him, Ida. If—if there is any way that I might repay you—"
"Nonsense, dear. Your companionship and time with that little boy of yours is all the repayment I require."
"Ida—"
"He's an angel, truly," The older woman persists, setting aside her needlework, and standing on somewhat stiff limbs, "And I've set aside a few stray sandwiches for you to have before you retire. Lord knows you didn't have time while workin'."
"Mama, you hungry?"
"I'm fine, baby."
"Think your boy and I both know that's not exactly true, dear."
Emotion clogs the woman's throat, despite wishing she might ignore it with every last ounce of strength she has, and the only gesture she seems capable of managing is a tremulous smile coupled with a nod in response. Her hand slips from her son's hair to his shoulder, pulling him more tightly against her skirts as though he can shield her from the renewed pain pulling at the inside of her chest. The pain that threatens to drag her under with every passing breath.
The truth is, she never wanted any of this. Never wanted to feel beholden to anyone, because the idea of accepting charity without means of repayment still smarts against her pride.
Pride. The one thing she can no longer afford to cling to. And yet it may just be one of the only things capable of keeping her above ground.
The other thing, of course, being the little boy whose right hand is now clutching at the fabric of her skirt.
"Thank you, Ida. Truly. We'll be—well I suppose we'll be fine," The woman states, the lack of conviction behind the words making itself known in the bitter taste that blooms against her tongue, "We'll be just fine."
"Oh Isabel. Soon you'll be able to say those words and mean them."
"I—I do mean them."
Even saying the words, Isabel can sense their falseness. She can feel the twisting knife of guilt in her gut, because no matter her circumstances, she had always promised to speak the truth. To never lie. It was a virtue she always hoped to model for her son, and until recent days, she had been successful, or so she thought.
Ida Barclay is nothing if not perceptive, though, and as she offers her younger companion an understanding, yet sorrowful smile, Isabel comes to realize she truly cannot expect anything she says right now to ring true.
Especially to a woman who has been existing in similar circumstances for far longer than Isabel has, herself.
"The ones that love us never really leave us, dear," The older woman assures, reaching out to place a gentle, age-worn hand against Isabel's cheek, and making a point of ignoring the moisture left behind by a tear when she pulls away, "And you have two more reasons to carry on than most."
Before she can stop it, Isabel lifts a hand to place against her abdomen, her breath catching in her throat as she manages another hasty nod in acknowledgement of the other woman's words. She remains silent, while Ida offers her hand a squeeze, and then reaches to pinch affectionately at her son's cheek by way of farewell.
It is not until the door closes with a soft snap that she finds herself pulled back into some semblance of awareness, her gaze turning downward as the warmth of her son's hand slides into the embrace of her own.
"Are you still sad, Mama?"
"No, baby," Isabel replies, removing her free hand from its place upon her stomach in favor of using it to cradle her son's face, instead, "Now let's get you to bed."
"But I ain't tired."
"Perhaps you should try to be, anyway. Just for old time's sake."
The words are gentled by a far more genuine smile than Isabel is ordinarily capable of these days—a smile reserved for her son, and him alone—and she watches as her boy scrambles over to the bed in the far corner of the room, tiny hands grappling for a worn book resting on the table nearby. And even if the idea of seeing those pages, haphazardly littered with the familiar scrawl of a man whose wit knew no bounds pulls at the knife's edge resting perilously close to her heart, Isabel allows her son to hand the volume to her, regardless. She allows him to squirm about beneath the blankets, until he comes to settle, curled against her side.
Shifting to bend until she can press her lips against the hair at the crown of his head, Isabel does what she can to prepare herself before opening to the very first page, and beginning to read…
Even when her son begins to drift off in her arms, she does not stop, and for a moment—only a moment—it almost begins to feel as though she is not so alone after all.
…
here's a landscape tutorial!
i focused on natural environments for this one, if you find it helpful I'll be back with how I learned to draw buildings.
let me know if it helps! and have fun drawing ✨
byす
Happy new year my dears,
It would be great if they were a family. I know that canonly wise Camus is 20 year old, but I don’t believe he’s only 20. He seems older than that.
I can imagine the following plot: Camus and Natassia fell in love. She got pregnant and he came back to Greece without knowing she was pregnant. She wrote some letters to him, but those letters never arrived. Years later she discovered that Mitsumasa Kido was recruiting boys to became saints and she decided to go to Japan and the rest of the story you know.
now here is my headcanon:Camus was like 30 or 31 in the original series(rather than 20),around 4 years younger than natassia,they fell in love while Camus was in soviet before the canon series happens,Natassia get pregnant but she got taught that his son will be reincarnation of Zeus and heras’ angel– Eodipus,he will be a hero and save humanity,natassia didn’t aborted the baby because she have deep feeling for him,also she knew the baby will fated to killing his father in the future,so she decided to stop seeing camus that left him in misery over the years,also she never knew camus was a saint since gold saint shalt never showed their true identity to other people in their normal life,she will never expect his son will fight against his father-another saint oneday(yeah she thought camus was just a normal person)
Meanwhile kido try to adopted hyoga before Zeus and Hera taking Hyoga away become a Angel and rest of story ya know
folkfashion