#sighing wistfully as i stand on a cliff staring off into the ocean like a sailors wife

[oddthesungod]

Dorian storm i miss yoooouuu 😔😔😔😔

[dreamerstreamer]

Somewhere Only We Know

Pairing: god!Dream / DreamXD x gn!reader

Summary: [Reincarnation!AU & Dream SMP!AU] Being a god can be especially lonely—Dream knows that better than anyone. Yet somehow, you always manage to find your way back to him in every life you live. If only it didn’t hurt so much to love you.

Warnings: tw// mention of death

Word Count: 5.6k

A/N: requested by the lovely 🤡 anon, who asked for a piece based on keane’s somewhere only we know! i got rather carried away when writing this, and it’s certainly quite sad, but i hope you all enjoy it! <3

Dream blinks lazily up at the fluffy clouds drifting across the cerulean sky, his emerald eyes tracing over their soft edges. He hums to himself as one of them drifts in front of the sun, the warm light suddenly leaving his face. Frowning, he sits up a little straighter, raising his arm above his head. He snaps his fingers once, and in an instant, the clouds vanish. Warmth floods his cheeks as the sun’s brilliant rays crash over him once more. He smiles, but it’s melancholic, a forlorn look passing over his face.

Just how long has he been alone like this?

Sighing, he rises to his feet, kicking at the soft dirt beneath the soles of his boots. His viridian cloak is light atop his shoulders, his wings neatly folded underneath the soft fabric. Above his head, his halos glow with a dazzling golden hue, sending beams of amber light flashing across the nearby tree trunks. Rolling his neck, he snaps his fingers again, and his wings and halos vanish in a flash. Just like that, the weight on his back dissipates, and his lips twitch. There—that’s much lighter.

His gaze flickers over to the waterfall lying just a yard away, rushing ripples of water streaming down the short cliff face and into the pool lying at its base. He crouches down next to the small pond, brushing his hand over the soft soil beneath his feet. Sparks shoot up his arm and into his fingertips, the earth suddenly bursting to life underneath his touch.

All of a sudden, a blossom sprouts from the ground, soft and pink as it unfurls its petals and soaks up the warm sunshine. Dream grins as row after row of flowers shoot up from the ground, circling around the pond and lining the trees around the clearing until suddenly, the whole space is surrounded by breathtaking blossoms. He stands back with a satisfied hum, glancing around himself with an almost nostalgic gleam in his gaze.

It’s been ages since he last returned to this little alcove in his favourite forest. He could tell no one else had stepped foot here except for him, too. After all, there was only one other person who knew about this place—the only other person in the world he knew would be able to find it in the first place.

Had it been decades or centuries since he last visited? He’s not sure anymore, but really, he’s not sure if he cares, either. There’s a reason why he doesn’t come back here very often—one that he hesitates to even think about.

It’s far too painful of a memory to relive.

“Hello?”

Dream freezes, his eyes going wide at the sound of a new voice—a familiar voice. Slowly, he turns, his lips parting in awe as he sees a figure stepping into the clearing, a mix of caution and curiosity flitting across your cheeks.

He knows that face—knows you.

His heart aches at the thought.

“Hi,” he manages after a long moment, swallowing ever so slightly.

You flash him a sheepish smile, lowering your gaze to the ground almost bashfully as you brush a stray leaf off your shoulder. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding, or anything. I was just passing by when I saw the flowers, and thought they looked really pretty, and...”

You trail off, your voice growing smaller and smaller until it fades off into silence. Dream stares at you, unmoving as his heart races a mile a minute in his chest, battering against his rib cage as your timid gaze flickers to his.

“I, um,” you squeak out, feeling the intensity of his eyes on yours. “I can go if you wa—”

“No,” Dream suddenly blurts, the word flying out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He can already feel the heat flooding his chest at the way you startle in front of him, and he sucks in a breath.

“Wait,” he says, calmer this time. “Please, I—you’re not intruding at all. You can stay.” He takes a shaky step forward, offering you a crooked yet earnest smile. “I’d love it if you stayed.”

In an instant, your face lights up, and his breath hitches in his throat at the sight. “O-Oh, thank you! It’s nice to meet you. My name’s [Y/N].”

In that moment, he could have sworn his heart stopped and would never beat, again. “What’s yours?” you ask, your eyes shining like freshly cut gemstones.

His eyes scan your face for a moment, taking in the soft panes of your cheeks and the delicate curve of your lips as your smile leaves tiny cuts in his lungs.

“Dream,” he breathes at last. “Call me Dream.”

Suddenly, your eyes curve into tiny crescent moons as you grin at him, and he feels the loneliness flowing through his veins subside the tiniest bit.

Even after all this time, he still can’t bring himself to forget your smile.

Dream hums to himself as he tosses a pebble into the pond from his spot on the fallen tree log. The stream laps at the stone once before swallowing it whole, letting it sink to the murky bottom without so much as a splash. A rustle comes from behind him, and he immediately whirls, his lips curling up into an eager smile.

“[Y/N],” he chirps, bright and keen, “welcome back.”

Your glowing face greets him in return, and he nearly combusts on the spot. He still remembers the way you had promised him you would return to see him again a week ago, when you had first stumbled upon his clearing. His head still spins at the thought, and it almost makes him forget the longing ache that sinks into his bones when his gaze lingers on you for a fraction too long.

Almost.

You wave at him as you jump over a protruding tree root, crinkles forming at the corners of your eyes. “Good morning, Dream! What are you doing here so early? The market only just opened.”

He shuffles over on the log to give you room, raising an eyebrow at you. “I could ask the same of you.”

Crouching over, you settle down onto the space next to him, not at all noticing the way he stiffens when your thigh brushes against his. “I woke up early to watch the sunrise,” you say with a half-drowsy smile.

There is a beat of silence, then Dream tilts his head at you. “The sunrise?”

You bob your head, turning to look at him. “Yeah,” you murmur wistfully, raising your arm to wave your hand up at the sky above. “I love watching all the pretty colours fill the horizon. It only lasts a few minutes, but it’s so magnificent, and I always try to watch them if I can.”

His eyes flash as he takes in your gentle expression. Then, he opens his mouth, thoughtful and slow. “Sunrises, hm? What other things do you like?”

You pause for a moment. “Other things I like?” When he nods, you hum, averting your gaze from his until you find yourself staring over at the bubbling waterfall.

“I like... I like flowers,” you begin, “but you already knew that.” He chuckles at the hint of a smile that dusts your face before you continue. “I like exploring the market every Saturday, too. They always have something new to find.”

Suddenly, your eyes flicker to life, glittering with excitement. “Oh, I also like stargazing! It’s like watching the universe paint a picture with little crystals every night, and something about looking up at the sky makes me feel so small, and I... I...” You gesture vaguely, a frustrated noise escaping your throat. “I don’t know. I just like it.”

Dream cannot help the way his heart melts in his chest at the sound you make, a certain fondness seeping into his soul. You were always so endearing—always, always, always.

“What about you, Dream?” you say suddenly, looking at him curiously. “What things do you like?”

Dream blinks at you—once, twice. Suddenly, his mind is flooded with image after image, memory after memory.

He thinks of the millennia he has lived through, the cities he has watched rise and fall. He thinks of the countless distances he has wandered, travelling far and wide with a heavy loneliness hanging in his barren heart. He thinks of soft kisses pressed to calloused fingertips and fluttering eyelids.

Then, he looks at you, with your enraptured eyes and your glorious grin.

“You,” he says, sincerity gracing his every word. “I like spending time with you.”

He watches as you stammer in reply, your eyes going wide as you gape at him in a mixture of embarrassment and flattery. He laughs at you, and his heart swells in his chest.

He’s missed you—more than you would ever know.

“Say, Dream, have you ever seen the ocean?”

The sun glares harshly into your eyes from where you lie on the earth, staring up at the cobalt sky, but Dream hardly notices—his eyes are too focused on you. “I have,” he murmurs as his gaze traces over the bridge of your nose in wonder. He’s seen more of the world than he would like to admit. After all, he was the one who created it in the first place. But to you, he’s just a simple traveler with a penchant for waterfalls.

Before he can even register it, you’ve bolted upright, bending over him with an excited shout. “Really?! What’s it like?”

He jolts at the sudden movement, all too keenly aware of how close your face is to his before his shuffles into a sitting position, resting his chin on his hand. “Well,” he begins, “it’s really big. So big that you can’t see the shore on the other side no matter how hard you try. It’s blue as far as the eye can see, and the breeze kind of tastes salty if you open your mouth.”

He catches a flash of your awed expression as he waves his arm in front of him to illustrate the vast size of the ocean. “The water,” he continues, envisioning the waves as they crash onto the sand, “is nice and cold, and if you swim deep enough, you might find fish and coral. It’s relaxing to watch the tide come up into the beach. Sometimes, shells wash up onto the shore, too. You can keep those as little souvenirs.”

For a moment, you are silent as you simply stare at him, something swirling deep within your gaze. “Wow,” you say at last, sounding completely breathless. “That sounds beautiful.” You stretch your legs out in front of you, your fingers curling into the grass spread beneath your palms. “My best friend says there’s mermaids in the ocean.” You scrunch your nose. “I don’t know if I believe him, though.”

Something dark ripples through Dream, and the tiniest of frowns passes over his face. “Your best friend?” he parrots.

You nod. “Yeah—his name’s Karl. He’s really nice and likes to goof off a lot. He’s also a really good storyteller!” You look at him then, fondly and with such a kind look it almost knocks Dream right over. “I think you might like his stories.”

His lips quirk up into a coy smile, and he leans ever so slightly forward. “Would I, now?” he croons, a teasing lilt tinting his tone. “What kind of stories does he like to tell?”

You clasp your hands together, excitement brimming in your face. “Oh, wonderful ones! There’s the one about the sleepy fox, the one about the pig who could not be killed, and the one about how we all face reincarnation after death, but my favourite,” you murmur, “is about the creation of the world.”

Dream goes still at that, his smile faltering for a split second. “How does that one go?” he asks softly.

You scoot the tiniest bit closer to his side, your gaze lowering ever so slightly. “Once upon a time,” you start, your voice as smooth as velvet, “a god descended from the heavens and carved the world into the shape it is today.” You traced your finger along the soft dirt. “He made valleys and hills, oceans and rivers, decorating the land with flowers and trees. The world he made was beautiful, but it was lonely, so he filled it with people to keep him company. He was so full of joy to have friends, until one day, he fell in love.”

Your demeanour, which had been cheerful up until this point, suddenly shifted, darkening as you let out a sigh. “He fell in love so quickly and so deeply that he was blind to the nature of his own creations, as they had a mortal lifespan, unlike him. When his lover died, a part of his soul died with them. He vanished after that, never to be seen again.” You curl your knees to your chest, resting your head upon them. “Some people say he wanders the world, mourning for all of eternity. Others say he died of heartbreak. Even fewer believe that his lover lives on and he loves them still, although they’re not entirely sure. Either way, he has yet to appear, and humanity quietly awaits for his return.”

Dream is silent beside you, his lips pressed into a thin line as his chest rises and falls with the timing of his breaths. “Why is that story your favourite?” he finally asks.

You lift your head, surprise shooting across your face. “I’m not sure,” you say softly, pondering for a moment. “I just think he sounds so... sad. It’s a tragedy, what happened to him. He only wanted to not be alone anymore.” Your voice drops even lower. “He only ever wanted to love someone.”

An ache suddenly expands within his gut, digging into his sides of his skull with such ferocity he fears he may never escape it. That same, fleeting sense of solitude slinks around his lungs, squeezing and squeezing until your eyes lock into his, and they halt.

“Do you think that he lives on?” you whisper, your gaze searching his. “That he might have found someone else to keep him company, despite his sadness?”

You pause, something like hope sparking within your eyes. “Do you think... he ever loved again?”

Dream stares at you, and stares at you, and stares at you. Your lips are right there, are so dreadfully close to him as he looks at you, feeling the blood pound through his ears as the pain in his heart begins to lift. It rises higher and higher within him before sliding off his shoulders entirely, leaving nothing behind but tender affection and warmth—a warmth he had been yearning for for so, so long.

He smiles at you then, and for once, this one is real.

“Something tells me he did.”

Dream stretches his wings out behind him with a quiet groan, feeling the cool air ruffle his ivory white feathers. His cloak sits on the ground next to him while his golden halos spin rapidly atop his head from where they float, glowing faintly in the fading evening light. After a moment, he lets his wings fold back up against his back, lowering his arms with a sharp exhale. In the distance, he catches a glimpse of the setting sun just before it dips below the horizon, shrouding the world in darkness. With a bored look, he picks at his nail, curling his toes in his shoes.

He’s already waved you off and watched as you wove your way out of the clearing and between the forest’s tangled trees back to your village. Now, he has nothing left to do but wait for your return the next day, his throat aching for your arrival with every passing second.

How far I have fallen, he thinks distantly to himself, to be reduced to nothing more than a helpless admirer for a human.

A moment passes, and his heart sighs.

A lovely human, at that.

All of a sudden, he hears a stick snap behind him, and Dream immediately snaps his fingers, his wings and halos disappearing in a flash, almost as if they had never existed to begin with. Whipping around on his heel, he narrows his eyes at the clearing entrance, jaw clenched in preparation. His shoulders are raised at his side, tense with anticipation when just then...

...you stumble out of the forest, tears streaking down your face.

Dream’s shoulders fall in an instant.

“Dream,” you choke out, your voice cracking sharply.

You don’t even get the chance to open your mouth again before he’s standing in front of you, his hands gripping your shoulders as gently as he can manage. His eyes scan your face as his stomach churns with agony at the despair painted onto your features. “[Y/N],” he murmurs softly, “what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

You sniffle, lifting your head to look at him through watery eyes as you open your mouth. “Karl—he’s sick. Really sick,” you babble like a winding stream. “The doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, and he’s been coughing so badly that you can just tell he’s in pain. At this rate, I—I’m scared he’s not going to get any better. He... I’ve known him since forever, and I—”

The words die in your mouth as you cut yourself off with a broken sob, and Dream almost feels as though he’s been stabbed in the gut. He never wants to see you in pain, to see you as sad as this, and the fact that you are sobbing at all makes him want to wail himself.

Softly, he wraps his arms around you, pressing you close to your chest as he rocks you gently back and forth with your head resting on his shoulder. Your tears soak his shirt, but he doesn’t mind one bit. “Shh, [Y/N],” he coos quietly. “It’s going to be okay.”

You pull back with a wary gaze, fear etched into your features. “How do you know that?” you whisper. “What if he doesn’t get better? What then?”

Dropping one arm from behind you, Dream slips a hand into his pocket, quickly rubbing his fingers together. Just like that, cool glass that wasn’t there a moment earlier presses against the warmth of his palm, and he pulls out a vial filled with a pale, rosy liquid.

“Here,” he says, pressing the vial into your hand. “This is an antidote I’ve been...” He pauses for a split second, then fibs. “...holding onto for a while. For emergencies.” Slowly, he clasps your fingers until they’re closed around the glass top, sending you a reassuring smile. “Give this to Karl, and I promise you he’ll recover.”

You blink at him, your eyes glimmering underneath the light of the swirling stars overhead. “You swear?” you ask meekly, hope dancing along the edge of your lashes.

Dream swallows thickly and nods. “On my life.”

You inhale a deep, shuddering breath, then raise your hand to wipe at your eyes before smiling at him, warm and full of affection. “Okay,” you murmur as you step back from him. “I trust you, Dream.”

The next morning, you come tumbling into Dream’s arms with a gleeful cry, tears flowing freely down your face as you knock him to the ground. This time, they’re there for an entirely different reason as you ramble about Karl’s cleared airways when the doctor came to check on him after you fed him the antidote.

Beneath you, Dream relishes in the warmth of your body against his, praying you cannot feel the way his heart hammers against his chest.

There were not enough words in the world that he could use to describe how deep his devotion to you ran.

He fears there may never be enough.

Months pass in a blur, and Dream watches with knowing eyes as summer turns to autumn. Soon enough, snow coats the clearing although the waterfall continues to flow. No matter how harsh the weather, you stumble your way back to the forest to him, and each day, Dream feels himself sink deeper and deeper into the very essence that is you.

To think that there was once a time he never wanted to return here at all.

“Dream,” you say abruptly one day, “you know, I think you might be my favourite person in the world.”

He cocks a brow at you, his lips twitching up into a small smirk. “In the world?” he repeats. “I think Karl would be offended.”

You roll your eyes at him, but you can’t stop the smile from stretching across your face. “Maybe, but it’s the truth!” You lift a hand and begin counting off on your fingers. “You’re—you’re so nice, and passionate, and bold, and bright, and...” You pause, then chuckle almost shyly. “I could go on and on, but that’s embarrassing.”

He chuckles at your words, only growing more and more enamoured with each word that falls from your lips. “It’s not embarrassing,” he says gently. “It’s cute.”

Your shoulders suddenly stiffen, and you slowly turn your head to glance up at him. “Cute? You think I’m cute?”

He doesn’t have to think twice about his response. “Very much so. I would dare say that you are even more beautiful than you are cute.”

You whine with a pout, heat crawling up the side of your neck as you dig your thumbs into your palms. “You can’t just say things like that.”

He stares at you for a second, then he flashes you a grin that is both parts wicked and affectionate. “Maybe, but it’s the truth.”

Your mouth drops open at the way he fires your own words back at you, and you gape at him a moment before you groan, reaching over to playfully bat at his arm. “Why, you!”

He laughs at you and loves the way he can tell your heart races in your chest. He loves the way you smile despite your small shouts of frustration. He loves the way you are just so endearing to him in every which way.

He laughs at you and he loves you, hopelessly and wholly.

Dream gazes up at the orange sky with a slight frown and furrowed brows, watching as the clouds coast by overhead on a distant, northern gale. The waterfall babbles restlessly at his side, and he taps his foot against the smooth stones lining the pond with abandonment. The flowers he had once grown rake this petals over the soles of his shoes as he lets out a long sigh, anxiety slowly beginning to paw at his backside.

Are you going to show up at all today? he wonders. There are some days you don’t appear at all, typically because you had to run some errands or something of the sort, but those days are few and far between. He won’t chastise you for not seeing him, of course, but he cannot simply ignore the pang of his heart when he misses you so.

His fingers drum against the cool material clutched in his hands, and a melancholic look flits over his features. It would be a shame if you didn’t appear though, especially given what he had in mind for the day.

Right then, he hears your lovely voice call out for him. “Dream!”

His frown is immediately replaced by a smile as he whirls around to see you, his hands carefully tucked behind his back. “[Y/N],” he greets, striding up to you. “It’s good to see you.”

You’ve only just made it in front of him when he opens his mouth again, excitement filling his words to the absolute brim. “I brought you a gift.”

You blink wildly at him, pointing to yourself in surprise. “For me?”

His grin only grows wider, his heart leaping into his throat. “Of course it’s for you, silly. Who else?”

You squint for a second, then smile. “Karl?”

Dream deadpans at you, and you laugh in return, not noticing the way his eyes melt fondly at your expression. “I’m kidding,” you chide, shuffling a step closer to him. “So, what is it?”

He’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet when he finally brings his hands out from behind him, pushing them towards you. “Ta-da! Here.”

Your breath catches at the sight of his palms, and with trembling hands, you reach up to pull the curved item from his hand. “Is this... a shell?” you whisper, your eyes as wide as saucers.

He nods, his emerald eyes gleaming with pride. “A conch shell,” he says. “From the ocean.”

You sputter as you gently turn the shell over in your hands, your fingers tracing over the solid edges with nothing short of pure shock. “H-How did you even get this? The nearest ocean is at least a week’s travel on horse away!”

Dream thinks of the wings he typically had tucked on his back and how they carried him to the ocean and back in less than a few minutes, but to you, he only smiles and shrugs. “I have my ways.”

You don’t respond for a moment, then two. All of a sudden, you sniffle, and Dream is bending before you in a heartbeat, his hands reaching for yours before just stopping short. “[Y/N]?” he asks in a soothing tone. “Is something wrong?”

Your gaze is watery, but only slightly as you raise your chin to look at him, your lower lip set with determination. “Dream,” you say with a shaky breath, “I have to tell you something.” You gulp. “It’s serious.”

Immediately, Dream’s mind runs through a million and five possibilities of what you could possibly say to him, each one increasingly worse than the last. Your family is in need of funds, or you’re about to leave on a life-threatening journey. Or maybe Karl is just sick, again.

But before he can run himself into the ground with his own worries, Dream lets out a breath and tilts his head at you. “What is it?”

Your gaze falls down to your feet, and you stare at the earth for an excruciatingly long minute. Dream simply stands in front of you, patiently and earnestly waiting for your response when you suddenly open your mouth.

“I—I love you.”

Dream’s lungs feel as though they are about to collapse in his chest. “You do?”

You bite your lip, but raise your head, your shoulders trembling at your sides. “Yes,” you whisper, the syllable steeped with emotion. With one hand clasped around the conch shell, the other reaches up to rest over your chest, palm pressed flats against your left side. “My heart is yours, all of it.”

The world is a blur of colours and sounds around him, and he can feel his head spin faster and faster as a wave of memories come crashing down over him, drowning him whole. He wants to tear his hair out and scream to the heavens above until his throat is raw and he can scream no more.

You love him. You love him back, and as much as he wants to burn your words into the back of his eyelids, something else sinks its claws into his heart and tears a hole right into the flesh.

This is not the first time you have spoken these words to him. No, not at all.

He had done his best to forget them over all those years, had tried his best to outrun the anguish with every century he lived through. After all, when you live as long as he has, it is only natural for him to forget some things. Through wandering across every land he had lovingly sculpted by hand, he had hoped to erase his suffering by engulfing himself in other worldly affairs, isolating himself entirely from others.

But no amount of time could ever truly erase the memories he had of you—the first incarnation of you, from all those years ago.

He remembers how the two of you had shared your first kiss under the light of the full moon, giggling to one another as he wrapped you up in his soft feathers. He remembers the way you would hold his hand and tell him about all the things you could not wait to do with him in the very same clearing he stood in now. He remembers the way your body went limp in his own arms, coughing until your lungs could cough no more. He remembers the agony and the torment as he wasted away, too caught up in the imprint of your skin against his before you turned to dust before his very eyes.

He remembers it all, and he cannot not let himself be shattered like that, again.

“I have to go,” he whispers, jerking his arm back from yours.

You whip your head up, pain shooting across your face. “Y-You’re leaving? What?”

He takes another step back and swallows down the lump in his throat, but it tastes like acid burning his stomach. “I—I can’t stay here.”

Before he can move back again, your hand shoots out to grab at the hem of his shirt, desperation soaking into your face: “P-Please,” you plead, “you can just say you don’t love me back. My feelings for you won’t change.”

He wants to cry. No, he thinks, it’s not that. It could never be that. Not with you.

You clutch at the cloth, hoping your feelings somehow reach him through your anguished touch. “I love you, Dream,” you begin, “I really do. I love how attentive you are, how much you always seem to care. You’re always so patient with me, so kind, so generous, and it makes me melt inside. I love the way your eyes shine so brightly, and I love your little freckles. I want to count them all, and I don’t mind if that takes the rest of eternity.”

You’re almost entirely out of breath by now, and Dream’s jaw has gone slack. He can only stare at you with a look of pure conflicting despair as your eyes search his for answers he knows he cannot possibly give. “An eternity with you would be nothing,” you breathe, your voice cracking. Your grip on his shirt suddenly goes limp, and your arm falls back to your side. “Please. Stay.”

The knife in his gut only seems to twist deeper as he takes yet another step back, his cloak feeling like a boulder upon his back. “I can’t,” he chokes out. “I really can’t.”

Tears line your eyes like tiny jewels, and he wishes he could wipe them away. “Why?” you beg. “Why do you have to go?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head. He doesn’t even know where to begin.

In front of him, a look of absolute defeat sinks into your expression, and your voice grows smaller than ever. “At least—at least tell me if I’ll ever see you again.”

Dream’s feels the back of his eyes sting, and he clenched his hands beside him. “Not in this lifetime,” he wants to say. “And hopefully not in the next, either.”

“I’m sorry, [Y/N],” he says instead.

Just like that, he watches as the light fades from your eyes, vanishing from sight as the setting sun watches on with a sad gaze. Your lower lip trembles, and before you can stop yourself, you’re crumpling to the ground in a heap and watering the earth with your tears. You clutch the conch shell to your chest and let it dig into your chest from how tightly you press it against yourself, your vision completely blurred. In front of you, Dream holds back tears of his own, forcing himself to look away from your broken figure as he walks toward the forest away from you.

Your wails follow after him even after he unfurls his wings deep in the forest and soars up into the sky, flying high above the world below as he dries his tears with the harsh wind that bites at his face.

He will not return here for a long, long time.

He doesn’t think he would even be able to bring himself to if he tried.

Dream brushes a stray leaf off his shoulder as he steps over a root, his eyes focused on the bushes before him. A bird chirps as he strolls past a tree, nestling further into its nest as he ducks under the branch. He smiles at the sight, a deep fondness seeping into his heart as he lets his hand run over the tree’s hard bark.

He recognizes this forest—these trees. He knows this sky, has leapt over these rocks. He’s walked this path before.

It’s a shame he can’t remember how long it’s been since he last came here.

He hums a quiet melody to himself as he weaves a path between the trees, drawing nearer and nearer to the place he had been searching for with every passing second. He’s only a few steps away when a sound calls out to him—a sound that isn’t a part of the forest.

“Hello?”

Dream goes stock still, his heart coming to a screeching halt in his chest.

He knows that voice, too.

Sucking in a deep breath, he slowly steps forward, out into the entrance of the clearing. In front of the waterfall stands a silhouette he is absolutely positive he’s seen before—countless times before. Something tells him that he should leave, that he should run far, far away and disappear from view. But as he watches the silhouette take a tentative step toward him, his inhibitions fall away.

Warmth blossoms in the space between his lungs, all encompassing and full of grief as he opens his mouth.

“Hi.”

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Club Takamagahara (Part 1) Z

This is probably going to be the hardest to shove the MC into to be honest. But I think my premise is good, but let me know what you think!

MC sat on the edge of a mossy cliff that was covered in scrubby, grey grass. Rocks were patched with bright orange lichen that were splashed on like paint. The sea was blue with fresh melt water from the ice caps that defrosted, a pale blue that didn’t quite reflect the sky. You learned that it was the minerals from the earth that gave the sea this unique color. The breeze caressed your dark hair and drew it across your face.

You’re back in Black Swan Bay in midsummer. You feel that it should be night, but like the winter months were dark with the sun never rising, in summer, the sun never set and the sky was always bright. Most people would never understand how a place like this could be so familiar when for them it was like living on an alien planet, but for you, even though the sky was always brilliant in the summer, you could tell the time of day by the level of light in the sky, a technique acquired by someone who grew up with exposure to an eternal day.

You’re not alone. Boots crunched in the pea gravel and approached. They were black, and lined with fur and half covered with a long, black fur lined coat worn by a young man a few years younger than you. He sat down, stretching one leg in front of him and resting one arm on his knee.

He had dark hair like you, but his eyes were a bright gold in his pale face. You always thought they were beautiful eyes, but now you understood what they meant. He had dragon blood flowing in his veins. He turned to look at you.

You remembered him being reclusive, not talking to you much unless it was to exchange witty banter. He was relaxed, always smiling cryptically, never bothered by the nurses or the rules, but never really getting into any trouble either. He knew your name when you met despite never having met you before. He reached up and brushed your hair back with one gloved hand to tuck it behind your ear.

Your expression goes deadpan. “I’m not dead, am I, Z.”

The golden eyed boy’s expression reflects surprise and then breaks into a hearty laugh. He covers his face with one hand while you watch him try to get control of himself, a warm feeling spreading in your chest that teases a smile out of you. 

Z finally stopped laughing and sighed wistfully, looking out over the ocean. “I missed you.”

He turned to you again with a look that was affectionate but calculating, like he was holding in a secret but barely. “No, you’re not dead.”

Your smile fades and you turn back to the ocean. “Why not?”

Z reached to one side of him and lifted a thick book in black leather. On the cover, a golden cross was embossed on it, but the cross didn’t look like a crucifix. Instead, it appeared to be on fire, with the flames appearing to be like a dragon’s wings. Z lifted the golden ribbon that marked a spot near the beginning.

He read from the book, his voice rose over the wind and the crashing waves. “And in very deed for this cause have I raised thee up, for to show in thee my power…”

“You’re doing this?” 

Z clapped the book shut and it vanished in a haze of golden dust. “I can’t explain everything. The pieces are not in place yet and it won’t make any sense to you. You won’t understand until the very end. That said, I can’t do everything. You had a very close call. So I wanted to warn you not to be too reckless.”

You sit up straight. “You’re alive? Where are you, Z?”

“I am alive but… Like I said, you won’t understand. Just be more careful. Alright?” He’s staring at you seriously. Back in Black Swan Bay, most people ignored his existence, but you felt he was calling you, drawing you to him for some unknown reason. At times, he would just appear next to you, like he was following you around like a ghost. And now you feel lost in those eyes once again in this strange dream world.

“Okay. I promise.”

“Promises are meaningless.” He shook his head. “Just do it.”

You nod again. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

“One more, hurry.”

“Why me of all people? Why not Renata or Vera? Or Anton or...”

“Because you were the strongest … second to Renata.” The world started to go dark, like a curtain was falling over the sea, the rocks and the grass. The wind grew still and you felt a bit stuffy and tired. Soon all you could see were those golden eyes.

“And well… you make me laugh.”

You relax into the darkness and for a moment your mind goes blank. But then your mind revives again. “...was that a Roger Rabbit reference?”

“Dammit, MC! Wake up!” He says in a harsh whisper.

Your eyes open wide. Lu Mingfei - not Z - is leaning over your head, appearing upside down in your view, arms on either side of your face. You blink wearily. “Mingfei?” Your voice is hoarse coming out a dry and scratchy throat. 

He puts one finger to your lips. “Shhh… You’ve got to stay quiet. No one knows you’re here!” He’s wearing very fancy clothes, the type of suits you see in photos of weddings and official events from magazines that depict life in Moscow. A black suit, a button down shirt with a stiff collar. Diamond studded earrings were in his ears. His hair was swept back and gelled. "If you keep moaning like that you'll get discovered! The walls are very thin and if you’re discovered we’ll be in BIG trouble!" Lu Mingfei was indeed keeping his whisper very quiet.

You’re surrounded by walls on all sides of you, made of dark wood paneling and covered by shelving from floor to ceiling. Your bed takes up the rest of the space. In fact, Mingfei is leaning over you like this because he can’t squeeze his legs between the narrow space between the bed and those shelves. As you look up at him, you can’t help but notice Mingfei’s resemblance to Z. Perhaps if Z had grown older and been able to eat more, he would have grown as tall as Mingfei.

You examine the curve of his eyes and the lift of his nose and squint. You didn’t notice this before because Mingfei does look different, he talks differently, and he acts differently. He doesn’t give off Z’s mysterious, mischievous, and dangerous aura. Z always looked like he had something up his sleeve. It could be good or bad and you didn’t know until you had it in your hand. The way he talked made you want to know however.

Lu Mingfei always looked fearful, reactionary and caught off guard. If Z was the prankster, Lu Mingfei was the pranked. So it was no wonder that you never noticed the physical similarities between someone so different until you woke up from one face to another face.

He sighed, hanging his head. When he looked up again, deep concern was reflected in his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I seriously thought you were a goner.. If we hadn’t been picked up and taken somewhere they had a nice kit, you probably would have died out there on the street.”

He lifted your hand. A clear IV tube was running from it to a bag of fluid hanging from a hook nailed into one of the shelves. “Where am I?”

“I.. '' Lu Mingfei’s lips pulled down and he looked ill. “Ugh. It’s better you see for yourself. I don't even know how to begin.”

“Caesar?”

“Oh, he’s fine. And so is Senpai. I’m the one suffering here!” He whispered, casting his eyes to one side bitterly. 

He held a clean cloth to your hand, and removed the IV and bandaged it. “I’ll give you the rundown of the situation because we’re seriously up a creek. The Hydras are labeling us as dangerous foreign terrorists, gangsters, and everything else under the sun. They’re running the news to look out for us 24/7. If we show our faces anywhere we are absolutely doomed. They have the whole country after us. We can’t use any credit cards, we’ve lost contact with the college and as soon as we try to get into contact with them, Kaguya is on us like a ton of bricks.”

Ton of bricks. The phrase reminds you of the fact that you managed to get a bootleg copy of “Who Framed Roger Rabbit'' and watched it over and over on a TV hidden in a shed. If you could get your chores done quickly, you could watch the movie there without being noticed. “Mingfei… have you ever seen ‘Who Framed Roger Rabbit?’ Do you like it?”

“What? Are you feverish?” He put one hand to your forehead. “Please try to focus! This is important! None of us can touch the network because we’re traceable. Except you!”

“Me?”

“Yes. You’re the only one of us with zero internet presence. You’ve never had so much as an email. Almost all the information on you is held by EVA and not even Kaguya can breach her system so you’re more likely to be able to log in and find some way to contact the College without getting caught, so we need you to stay safe. Got it?”

“Yes, Senpai. I understand.” You nod. Z’s warning to you in a dream seemed even more relevant now. He was protecting you by some form of mystic way, but the danger now was so great that even he had to warn you to be careful. 

Mingfei stared at your deferential response in shock. “Are you sure you’re alright? I expected you to sneer at me.”

“It’s just… you remind me of someone else just now.” You whisper, you lower your eyes. “I’m sorry if I made trouble with you. I had to do it. I’m glad you’re okay. I’m glad everyone’s okay.”

Mingfei took a deep breath. “We’re all grateful for you too, MC. So don’t worry about anything. Senpai told the boss about what you did in the Trieste. He owes you twice now. There’s no way he’d rat you out in the reports. You’re fine with everyone, okay?”

“Even Zihang?”

“Zihang doesn’t take anything personal.”

There’s a stiff knock on a door beyond the closet. “Little Sakura! You’re needed on the floor!”

Mingfei turned around, his voice squeaking loudly. “Coming!”  He turned back to you. “Okay, can you walk?”

He helped you up out of bed. You were wearing a thin nightgown and your feet were a bit wobbly but you could stand on your own. 

“Good, Caesar prepped some clothes for you, but I suggest you stay down here for now. I have to go back to work.”

“Work?”

More knocking. “Little Sakura?”

“Why are they calling you that?” You whisper. 

Lu Mingfei growled low. “Why is my life so terrible all the time? I don’t know!” He returned his eyes to you. “Stay here okay? The Boss will be back once his shift is over.”

He hurried out of the closet. You notice he’s wearing some sort of shiny loafers. The type worn without socks. 

You hear a sliding door open and then shut and then the murmur of a television. Once you were sure everything was quiet, save the very muffled beat of music somewhere above the ceiling, you venture out. 

You peer out from the closet into what looked like a bathroom with wood paneled walls and a tiled floor. Three barrels with metal bottoms were suspended over wood fired stoves. A shower was in one corner. The TV in the other corner was on, likely to mask any noise you might have made while you were unconscious. A woman was sitting behind a desk, speaking Japanese, dressed in smart business attire. It looked like a newsreel of the destruction of Chizuru -- the wrecked streets, the firetrucks and the body bags. 

You start to think maybe you overdid things a bit. Your eyes scan over the date. You’ve been out cold for 3 whole days.

On top of the TV was a small comb that looked to be made of real ivory and adorned with a blue jeweled flower. Underneath was an envelope with your name on it. Inside the envelope was a note. “I hope the offer of lessons over sake still stands.”

You smile. Of course it did.

Hanging behind the TV was another cheongsam, this time, silver and blue with embroidery of flowers. There’s also fishnet stockings and a pair of blue heels. You take the dress off the rack and step into the shower. Once you were dressed you listened hard to the sounds outside the hall and heard footsteps. 

Another knock. And there’s a shouted warning before the door slides open. A short old woman is holding a mop and walks by you as you press yourself to the wall. She’s pulling a pile of logs on a cart. Her ears are stuffed with earbuds and she’s so focused on her work that she walks right by you on the way to the rack where the wood for the stove is held. 

Heart racing, you dash out the door.

Outside is a European style promenade, completely different decor, but with the same level of luxury. The floor was covered with golden teak wood. The walls were covered with paintings of naked young people drawing water from a well. The ceiling hung with crystal chandeliers, one after another.

“Wow.” You whisper.

At the end of the corridor was an elevator with wooden doors inlaid with swirling bronze motifs of ferns. You’re supposed to stay put, but so much for that! You probably couldn’t be seen out in the hall! You pressed the only button available on the elevator - Up - and school your face cool to pretend you belong there.

Already a story is in your head, you’re an heiress to a fabulous estate. You’re orphaned at a young age and just gained your freedom to escape your stuffy household! As the elevator rises, the sound of the bassline of the music gets stronger and stronger.

Your mind is still writing your backstory when the wooden doors part and you’re hit by the bass line full force. The heat from hundreds of bouncing and gyrating bodies rushes into the elevator. Right in front of you, a man is holding up a flute of that golden sparkling liquor - Champagne. His shirt has puffy sleeves and open to reveal dark curly hairs on his muscular chest. He’s surrounded by three women in colorful half masks who are climbing on him, grabbing his hands to get at the champagne. They were all wearing skin tight, sleeveless, low cut dresses and dangerously high stiletto heels that made your demure blue cheongsam look like a formal maid’s outfit in comparison.

“Ladies! Ladies! One at a time!” He’s shouting with a brilliant smile. One of the girls bares her teeth as if she were trying to bite him and you move away.

A crowd of people, women outnumbering men 10 to 1, were all dancing in front of a brightly lit stage that was smoking with dry-ice that poured over the edge.

The elevator doors start to close and you slip out, looking for Lu Mingfei - that is, Little Sakura. Everywhere is more of the same. There’s a circular couch where drunk women were reclining over another man while holding out money for passing waiters who seem to know what it meant. They took the cash from their delicate painted fingers and passed them another bottle of liquor in exchange. All of the women turned, shook and then uncorked the bottle, spraying the Champagne in the air! It all fell in a shower while they laughed and squealed with glee!

You take a breath. You were going to stand out like a sore thumb unless you did something right now. The beat of the music was jarring your rib cage but people were bouncing to it while shouting on the stage. “Ukyo! Ukyo! Ukyo!”

You had no idea what Ukyo meant so you do the same all the while looking for any sign of Mingfei in this scene and realizing he might not even be on this floor.

“Who wants glitter?!” Someone shouts next to you. A man with a bowl of silver glitter holds it up while people stuff money in his low cut shirt and press their hands into the bowl to turn around and smash it into the sweaty chest of another man, leaving their marks on him. Your mind makes a leap to a story you heard about human and animal sacrifices in Satanism and wondering if that was what was going to happen next.

You also realize you don’t have any money. Your voice is trained by terrible punishment to be quiet so you can only let out a weak little “Woo..” and “Yay… Ukyou” while your eyes search the crowd.

What happened next was that the music suddenly ended and the sound of a Asian music, something you might hear played in a period drama, replaced it. Rather than being subdued, the crowd flooded the quiet with screams so loud your ears rattled and you had to fight to keep your hands from covering them and stand out as an outsider. 

The curtain opened and there stood a lone figure on the stage. The lights all went out, leaving a single spotlight descending to illuminate him. He’s in a white cloak with flowy sleeves, with a blue hakama and long hair that covers half his face. Cherry blossoms blow from an unseen fan, fluttering his sleeves in the wind.

[kbstories]

impression//expression

“It’s not like Kirishima had come all this way to U.A. to immediately break the promise he made to himself upon arrival.

It’s just that Bakugou is as feral as they come, and the moment Kirishima recognizes it’s fear he felt crawling up his spine that day, he makes it his personal mission to face it head-on until it’s gone.”

(Or: Being friends with Bakugou Katsuki is anything but a linear experience. Kirishima Eijirou would have it no other way.)

Tags: Kirishima POV, Developing Friendships, Protective Baku, Soft Baku, Stargazing

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Minor content warning for (discussions of) self-esteem issues. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6. Chapter 7. Chapter 8. Chapter 9.

***

“Bakugou.”

With an absent hum, Bakugou turns the page, squints, scribbles down a line in his neat, tight handwriting. A piece of black fabric separates his hand from the paper, the same wrapped around his pen, too.

Kirishima leans forward, over his own book-and-notepad combination dotted with scrawled comments and colorful post-it notes. It’s been an hour since any of it has made sense to him.

“Bakuuu. C’mon.”

A sigh, annoyed. Another line is added. Then: “The fuck d’you want?”

It takes a few seconds until the silence has stretched enough for Bakugou to look up and into Kirishima’s pleading eyes. Bakugou’s expression barely changes beyond a raised brow, unimpressed. It’s the one reserved for when Kirishima’s being especially dense – slightly more severe than muttered curses and slightly less so than that God-help-me roll of his eyes he premiered during their last study session.

Which was yesterday. Kirishima would be proud of unlocking a new Angry Bakugou Face in record time… if U.A.’s grumpiest genius wasn’t the only thing standing between him and a frankly impressive row of failed grades.

Final’s Week is brutal, even for heroes-in-training. Especially for heroes-in-training. So: Desperate times, desperate measures.

“Slap me”, Kirishima tells Bakugou, hushed in their corner of the library. “As hard as you possibly can.”

The arch of Bakugou’s brow climbs higher, utterly devastating in its wordless criticism. He says, “What”, tone Aizawa-levels of flat, and it’s not a question. It’s a command: Explain or else.

Kirishima is in no state to resist. The confession bubbles out of him in a whiny rush.

“Dude, I slept like… zero hours last night ‘cause Kami got Pokémon Colosseum – y’know, the reboot? So cool – and we kinda lost track of time. I know, I know, it was a stupid idea, I swear it was an honest mistake!”

Bakugou continues to stare as he puts down his pen and wipes his palms on the edge of his shirt. Kirishima ducks his head, hiding behind the limp strands of his hair.

“Don’t look at me like that, man. I’m seriously about two minutes from passing out here and there’s like a hundred pages of this thing I haven’t read yet, let alone understood, and oh shit Mic will hand me my ass with words tomorr–”

It all happens so quickly: Kirishima catches a blur of motion headed his way and squeaks; his skin hardens about half-way before there’s sparks and his cheek smarts, and a hissed “Motherfucker” sounds right in front of him.

The sharp slap! noise registers only after the fact, when Kirishima holds his face and Bakugou holds his hand and they both stare at each other in mutual bafflement as their skin turns red with the impact.

That moment is like glue, clear and sticky as it extends past its natural limit – then Bakugou snorts and starts to laugh, a cackling hyena-laugh that Kirishima’s never heard in full and certainly not like this, loud and unrestrained, and all hopes of holding back his own laughter is lost as he cracks up, too.

They laugh and laugh, until Kirishima’s stomach starts to cramp up and there’s the sheen of tears in Bakugou’s eyes. “Your f-fucking face”, Bakugou wheezes at some point. “Fucking bastard, you almost broke my hand! With your fucking face!”

All it does is send them into another round of hysterics.

At some point, Kirishima glimpses some of their classmates poke their head around the bookshelves secluding their study corner from the rest of the library, faces ranging from exasperated to deeply disturbed. There’s Ashido, giggling at the sight of both of them bent over and struggling to get some sort of grip, and Kaminari, who just mumbles “What the hell, guys” while straddling the line between sleep-deprived and intensely fascinated by what he’s seeing.

And hey, at least Kirishima’s really freaking awake now. There’s the problem of trying and failing to breathe without dying, his face helplessly flushed and sweating, but the world’s colors are back to being bright and sharp. Across from him, Bakugou isn’t faring much better, shaking his head and the back of his hand covering the broad smile he can’t seem to get rid of.

“Fuck you, you stupid, moronic idiot. For fuck’s sake, Kirishima.”

Kirishima rubs at his chest, the ache in his lungs starting to lessen now that he’s marginally back in control. “I’m so sorry but like”, he waves at himself and he can’t help his grin despite the stinging protest coming from his cheek. “Thanks, dude!”

“Eat a dick.” There’s no bite whatsoever in Bakugou’s grumbling as he sits back down and digs his nose into his book once more, thoroughly ignoring their flabbergasted audience.

After a moment of pantomiming what amounts to I’ll tell you later to their friends, Kirishima joins him, ready to tackle the final boss that is the English language.

*

Nitro!! (Baku 💣💥 )

yo nitro (sent 17:48)

where u at? (sent 17:48)

-

why (received 17:52)

-

why what 🤔 (sent 17:53)

OH uh to hang out? (sent 17:55)

dw dude it’s just me (sent 17:55)

-

[location] (received 18:10)

-

bakugou katsuki what are you doing in the middle of the woods??? (sending…)

NO WAY (sending…)

signal’s gone AGAIN i’m going feral (sending…)

screw it (sending…)

*

The GPS signal craps out twice more before Kirishima heaves himself onto the edge of a cliff and spots a familiar silhouette. Sheltered by a bend in the rock bed, the glow of a fire illuminates a backpack set aside, a pair of discarded hiking boots – and Bakugou, leaning against solid stone with his arms crossed behind his head.

“Took ya long enough”, he says, the lazy smirk on his lips cut in flickering shadows.

“Listen.” Kirishima wipes beads of perspiration off his temple; a spontaneous rock-climbing session by the last light of day is not what he had hoped for after hours of exhaustive quirk training. “We already have a perfectly good camp. There’s, like, leftover curry and hot springs and stuff down there.”

Bakugou scoffs. “Yeah. And a bunch of extras.”

There’s an exasperated reply on his tongue – They’re called classmates, genius. Y’know, friends? – but Kirishima knows it’s pointless to even start that debate. He snipes him with his sweaty headband instead, celebrating his own marksmanship when it hits Bakugou square in the chest with a wet thwap.

“Wha– Shitty Hair!”

“You made me climb this stupid cliff in the middle of the night. Deal with it.”

Bakugou just throws it back, the force of an explosion propelling the thing past Kirishima’s shoulder and off the mountain entirely. Kirishima watches singed white fabric disappear into the abyss, bidding it goodbye with a somber salute.

“Well, that’s lame.”

“You’re lame, fuckface.”

“Bro.”

Shaking his head, Kirishima laughs and joins him by the fire.

It’s quiet for a bit while he gets comfy and Bakugou throws a chunk of wood into the flames, sparks bursting into life immediately. This far up, the air feels… brittle, in a way, thin and cold enough Kirishima wouldn’t have been surprised to see his breath mist. The breeze ruffles the crowns of the trees around them, the rush of rustling leaves in the distance strangely soothing.

Bakugou’s gaze is lost in the night sky when he starts to speak. “Been thinking of borrowing my parents’ car and driving out here by myself. Y’know, once I got my license and shit. ‘s got some good trails, people were talking ‘bout it on those shitty hiking forums. Forums, like we’re in the fucking 2000s.”

His elbows on his knees and his head propped on his hands, Kirishima hums and looks up as well. The moon is a thin island of white in an ocean of indigo blue growing steadily darker, a myriad of stars coming out to keep her company. “Yeah?”

“Mh”, Bakugou makes around a soft breath. “Guess they’re all shit out of luck though ‘cause it’s the personal playground of pro heroes, apparently. It’s a miracle none of our idiots got fucking lost coming out here.”

‘Our idiots’, huh? Kirishima nudges his chin lower and into his palms to hide his smile. “Kinda far of a trip to make just for some hiking, isn’t it?”

A casual shrug, followed by a nod upwards. “Not for this. The lodge is the only structure for miles in any direction and even with us here, it’s got fuck all on an entire city. Get it?”

“Yeah! No light pollution, right?”

“Yup”, Bakugou confirms, popping the ‘p’. A small grin is shot Kirishima’s way, teasing rather than mocking. “What’s this, huh? Don’t tell me you paid attention in fucking physics after all.”

Kirishima breathes an offended huff, mock-hurt.

“Pshh, please. Y’know how everyone has that one niche thing they randomly obsessed over as a kid? That was me with astronomy. Back in Middle School I had like, a huge model of all the planets in my room and my favorite constellations mapped across the ceiling with those glow-in-the-dark stars. Years of useless knowledge, all stored right here.”

Kirishima’s thumb taps his forehead as he smiles at Bakugou; Bakugou’s lips pull into a smile of his own, small but there. When he turns back to the stars, Kirishima does the same, sighing wistfully.

“If Thirteen’s class were just about that I’d freaking ace it, dude. I get that I’m kinda dumb with literally anything else, but space is my jam. Did you know that–”

“You’re not.”

The train of thought Kirishima was about to gleefully jump onto screeches to a halt. “…huh?”

Bakugou frowns at him. “You’re not”, a vague wave in his general direction, “stupid or whatever.”

Perhaps the dumbfounded blinking Kirishima’s doing in response is already enough to prove Bakugou wrong on that. Still, Kirishima sits up a bit straighter, eyebrows pulling together tightly.

“Um. I appreciate you saying that, bro, but I’m only here ‘cause Aizawa decided to get in touch with his merciful side after all. Like, Cementoss totally wiped the floor with me back home. There’s no point in lying to myself about that.”

“So you’re calling me a fucking liar, is that it?”

“Huh?”

Kirishima can only watch as Bakugou’s mouth twists beyond the usual doom and gloom and into something… frustrated. Genuinely annoyed. An iron weight settles in Kirishima’s gut, heavy and hard to ignore. “I didn’t– Look, man, can we not fight over this? I’m just saying I wanna face my mistakes and do better, that’s all.”

“Then say it!”

There’s a severity to the words that catches Kirishima off guard. Bakugou is staring him down with eyes so intense they possess their own gravitational pull, closer to black than crimson in the fire’s light–

Kirishima likes to think he knows Bakugou, at least a little. What makes him tick, what makes him angry – because there is a reason and a rhyme to his anger, a pattern to the things that set him off that Kirishima has yet to properly figure out. It’s just that Kirishima isn’t usually one of those things, not anymore.

“You lost me, Baku”, he admits, quietly, after a beat or two of tense silence. “What do you mean?”

Bakugou sighs, a harsh noise between them. The deep breath afterwards is new, however, a sharp inhale followed by a calmer exhale before Bakugou points at him, a wordless listen up.

“Just– Okay. You fucked up and wanna learn from it? Cool, fucking say that then. Not some bullshit about being too dumb to do shit ‘cause you’re not. Fuck right off with that.”

Mouth opening, Kirishima is stopped by a flurry of firecracker sparks and a terse growl of “Shut the hell up, I’m not done.” Finally, Bakugou’s look snaps elsewhere, one sock-clad foot kicking at a loose rock in clear irritation.

“Studying isn’t your strength, who gives a fuck? You got into U.A. top-fucking-two, you’re one of the only capable fuckers around and if you seriously think you don’t deserve to be here because Cementoss got lucky one fucking time then you got another thing coming.”

Kirishima sits there in a state of mild shock until Bakugou huffs and glares at him again. The threat behind it is ridiculously empty considering the impromptu speech he just gave and holy shit, Bakugou Katsuki is praising him. Kirishima Eijirou.

He might actually cry.

“What? You’re competition, bitch, so don’t make me a fucking liar by pretending otherwise.”

Scratch that, tears are definitely part of the picture now.

Wet-rimmed eyes and a quiet sniff, that’s as far as Kirishima gets before Bakugou’s expression suddenly falls, crestfallen to an almost comical degree. Kirishima does laugh then, a watery little chuckle that doesn’t seem to make things much better, either.

“Sorry, just… Damn Nitro, I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. You really think so?”

And okay, yup, that’s a real glare, this time. Bakugou throws up his hands. “You’re so– Urgh. Did I fucking stutter?”

Kirishima rubs the moisture out of his eyes and smiles. “Nope.” Faint embarrassment heats his cheeks; he focuses on the warmth curling in his chest instead, glowing bright and comforting like the embers at their feet and the stars above.

“Good”, Bakugou mutters.

More wood is tossed into the fire and rekindled with red-hot palms. Scooting closer, Kirishima holds out his hands and hums happily as it chases away the ever-cooling temperatures. They can’t stay up here forever – Aizawa will have his hide for sure if he doesn’t show up to the remedial course tonight – yet Kirishima figures they have a few more minutes.

Bakugou goes right back to his earlier sprawl, unaffected by the cold: arms crossed, eyes on the sky like he can’t get enough of the sight. Kirishima thinks of glow-in-the-dark stickers, faded over time. Quietly, he wonders which constellation is Bakugou’s favorite.

“Kiri.”

“Hm? Yeah?”

Shoulders relaxed, voice even, Bakugou says: “Tell me something. About space, I mean.”

As complicated as being friends with Bakugou can get, it can be so, so easy, too. Just a while longer, Kirishima decides as he settles in next to his best friend and starts talking.

>>Chapter 4

[dracusfyre]

Number 22. Of the 50 Kisses prompt list

YOOOOO this was the first time I’ve ever had someone ask me for one of these prompt lists, thank you @zola9612​! Hope you enjoy this :D

(also on AO3)

~~~~~

Tony sighed wistfully and looked out over the moonlit ocean, listening to the muted crashing of the waves hitting the cliffside. He was sitting on a pile of rocks at the base of the cliff, close enough that he could feel the spray. The night was clear and crisp, the stars bright despite the regular sweeping beam of Tony’s lighthouse at the top of the cliff. The wind was strong and steady from the east, and Tony could smell the hint of a storm out over the water.

 “When will my lover come home from the war?” He mourned loudly, plucking petals from the rose in his hand and casting them into the water. “It has been nigh-“ he checked his phone “-thirty-seven hours and forty-two minutes since I seen him last. I fear that I might soon forget his face and be tempted to love ano-shit!”

Even though he had been semi-expecting it, the cold, wet hand that wrapped around his ankle and pulled him off his perch into the frigid water was a surprise. He laughed, knowing that Bucky could feel the vibrations of his amusement through the water, and found Bucky’s lips with his own. Bucky’s hands tangled in Tony’s hair as they kissed, mouth hot; Tony could taste the salt of the ocean and a wildness that was all Bucky, and it never failed to thrill Tony to his bones. Under the water it was dark, too dark for even Tony’s eyes to see, and all sound was muffled, and there were no smells but the sea, so the only thing that Tony could sense the feel of Bucky against him, under his hands and against his mouth. He stroked firmly down Bucky’s sides, gripping his fins and feeling the muscles move under Bucky’s skin as he kept them steady in the water. He felt more than heard Bucky’s groan, vibrating through his chest, and he bit lightly at Bucky’s lips to get more of a taste of him on his tongue. They didn’t normally get frisky like this under the water – after all, Tony had a lovely large bed with soft sheets and dark curtains to keep out the sunlight back at the lighthouse – but apparently Bucky was in the mood, hands plucking urgently at Tony’s clothes to get at the skin underneath. Tony wrapped his legs around Bucky’s waist as he pulled away from Bucky’s mouth just long enough to wrestle his shirt over his head, and then they jerked apart in surprise as they felt something plunge into the water right next to them.

He heard Bucky’s instinctive, startled cry of alarm and tried to see what was happening, but all he could see was the rapidly disappearing reflection of moonlight off the bubbles streaming through the dark water. He felt the woosh of water as Bucky swam after who- or whatever it was, and kicked his way to the surface to wait for him, raking his hair away from his face as he treaded water and cursed his lack of natural buoyancy. But it was only a couple of minutes before Bucky’s head broke the water with is cargo in tow.

“What the hell?” Tony said. It was a person. Some stupid idiot had jumped into the ocean in the middle of the night in late October; it was a miracle that he wasn’t already getting hypothermia. And it was a stranger, to boot – Tony knew everyone in the tiny town that was closest to the lighthouse, and he’d remember seeing a man this good-looking and brain-dead. “Did you just jump into the water? For God’s sake, why?”

“I s-saw you fall in, and you didn’t c-come up,” the man said, shivering but surprisingly lucid given how cold he must be.

“For Christ’s sake,” Tony started, but Bucky cut him off.

“Let’s get him warmed up, then curse him out,” Bucky said, and as Tony made his way back to the rocks and picked his way around the base of the cliffs towards the trail up to the lighthouse Bucky started towards the pebbled beach with the man in tow.

“I can swim,” Tony heard the man protest, and smiled when he heard Bucky’s click of disgust.

“Shut up,” Bucky said crossly, and Tony knew he was pissed that this guy had interrupted his plans. He all but tossed the stranger onto the beach, and that was when Tony noticed that the man was naked.

“Hey!” Tony called out. “Why are you naked? Where are your clothes?” But he wasn’t sure that the man heard him, because he was staring at Bucky as he laboriously pulled himself onto shore with his arms and great big heaves of his tail. As graceful as Bucky was under the water, he was as ungainly out of it, at least until he was far enough on dry land to trigger his transformation. Tony, of course, had never seen him transform in the day, but at night it was lovely – moonlight shone slick on his skin as the water streamed down it, then there was a soft pearlescent glow and when it faded, Bucky looked like any other man, if more muscular than most. But now he was just as naked as the stranger, which left Tony feeling overdressed and somewhat bedraggled with his wet hair and dripping clothes. “Fuck it,” Tony muttered, and kicked his own clothes off as well, stopping only to grab his phone in its waterproof case out of his pocket then leaving everything else on the rocks to gather later. Other than Bucky and now this guy, Tony had never seen another living being out on this finger of land that jutted out into the ocean, connected to the mainland by a ribbon of land so narrow that it didn’t even have a proper road on it and it disappeared in particularly high tides.

“Are you not human either?” The man exclaimed as Tony approached.

Tony shared a glance with Bucky, who was pulling his long hair away from his face and tying it up with a hair band he kept around his wrist for just that purpose. “Well…” Tony hedged, then he stopped and scowled. “Wait, what do you mean, either?”  The man looked alarmed as Tony came closer and leaned in; underneath the salty, fishy smell of the ocean, he caught a trace of – “You’re a werewolf?”

“Maybe we should talk inside,” Bucky suggested again, and Tony led the way up the trail to the lighthouse, hitting the lights as he went inside. Towels always hung by the door, and as they all dried off Tony studied the newcomer. The man’s hair was dark now, but he could tell that it would dry to a burnished gold, and he had a thick beard that emphasized his strong jaw and framed a full mouth. Now that they were standing on level ground, Tony could tell that he was tall, barely taller than Bucky, and his body was just as thickly muscled. Bucky caught him staring and raised an eyebrow with amusement as Tony just shrugged and smiled.

Tony tossed Bucky his clothes from the back of the couch, then went into the bedroom to grab a pair of pants and something for the stranger to wear. “My name is Tony,” he said as he handed the man a pair of Bucky’s old shorts. “And to answer your question from earlier, no, I’m not human. I’m a vampire.”

The man had the grace to look chagrined that he had jumped into an ice-cold ocean to save a vampire from drowning. “I’m Steve. I’m sorry for barging in on you both, I just was exploring the area when I caught your scent, then I saw you go into the water-“

 “It’s fine, you couldn’t have known,” Tony said, waving off Steve’s apology. He gestured for Steve to take a seat and hit the button for the coffee pot, the one human habit he hadn’t been able to kick even after all these years. “This is Bucky, and you might have noticed that he’s mer.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Steve said, and Tony glanced over to see that the man’s face was suspiciously red as he looked at Bucky. This time it was Tony’s turn to smirk as Bucky studied Steve with equal interest, his previous hostility draining away at the potential to get to know someone new and exciting.

“I’ve never met a were before,” Bucky said. He scratched his chin as if he actually wanted to be running his fingers through Steve’s beard, and Tony could sympathize. Bucky’s face was as hairless as his body, in and out of the water, and Tony had lost the ability to grow a beard like that when he turned. “What brings you to the area?”

“I just got out of the military, and needed some time to clear my head, so I took some time off to roam. Oh shit! I’ve got a bag with my stuff in it, I dropped it near the cliffs.” He half-stood as if he was going to go retrieve it right this second, but Tony stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s safe for now, I’ll get it for you. Are you hungry? Bucky keeps us well stocked with seafood,” Tony offered, perching on the edge of the armchair where Bucky was sitting as the coffee maker burbled and hissed.

“No, please, I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” Steve said. “I’ve already imposed enough. I should get going.” He shuffled his feet a little but made no move to get up, and Tony suppressed a gleeful smile as he met Bucky’s eyes again.

“You should stay,” Bucky said as if on cue, curling his feet up underneath him in the chair. “What, were you planning to get a hotel room or something? You’d rather stay with humans?”

“Well, no,” Steve admitted. “I’ve mostly been sticking to the woods and only going into towns when I had a craving for a hot meal.”

Tony had to laugh at that, because that was also pretty much the only reason why Tony had ever gone into towns, at least until he’d met Bucky and didn’t have to leave the lighthouse to feed anymore. “Well, we aren’t the best chefs but we can make a hot meal, and we’ve got a spare bed if you want it. If you need to feel useful, I’m sure we can find something for you to do around here.”

  “Okay,” Steve said after a moment, nodding. “If you’re sure.”

[percyjacksonfan3]

Finding Home (Part Ten)

Part One: http://percyjacksonfan3.tumblr.com/post/164310003982/finding-home

Part Two: http://percyjacksonfan3.tumblr.com/post/164310003982/finding-home-part-two

Part Three: http://percyjacksonfan3.tumblr.com/post/164310003982/finding-home-part-three

Part Four: http://percyjacksonfan3.tumblr.com/post/164310003982/finding-home-part-four

Part Five:  http://percyjacksonfan3.tumblr.com/post/164310003982/finding-home-part-fiive

Part Six: http://percyjacksonfan3.tumblr.com/post/164310003982/finding-home-part-six

Part Seven: http://percyjacksonfan3.tumblr.com/post/164310003982/finding-home-part-seven

Part Eight: http://percyjacksonfan3.tumblr.com/post/164310003982/finding-home-part-eight

Part Nine: http://percyjacksonfan3.tumblr.com/post/164310003982/finding-home-part-nine

The giant claps gleefully. “Is he dead? The poison acts fast, really he should have died minutes ago.”

No one speaks. They’re all staring at Annabeth, hunched over Percy, hands cradling his face, pressing into his torso, her voice begging him to open his eyes, to say something, to look at her.

Percy doesn’t move.

“It had to be done.” The giant says, and now his tone is almost regretful. “Quite the demigod you see, much too dangerous to be left alive. And after everything he saw and heard in the last couple of days… I couldn’t risk it, you understand?”

Everything happens quickly.

Hazel staggers to her feet, holds her hands out, mutters an incantation and suddenly the demigods can move again.

Jason absolutely lunges for the giant, rage contorting his features. He slashes once, twice, deep gashes that makes Aristaeus howl and brandish his axe but Jason parries and keeps pressing forward, so lethal the giant backs up.

The Chimera moves to protect it’s master but then Leo is there, withstanding the fire, taking it, molding it to suit his needs and throwing it back at the monster. The boys move together effortlessly, covering each other’s weaknesses and Jason summons winds made of fire, throwing it at the giant.

Meanwhile Hazel is bringing every spell the giant ever wrought down. Every ward on the cave, every glamour, every mind trick is gone, and she notices a mortal lying unconscious just inside the cave walls.

She silently wills the mortal to stay that way until this is all over. It will be safer for her that way.

Frank begins to groan and Hazel looks at him, seeing him start to move.

She doesn’t stop speaking but she does back up, keeping an eye on her best friend, the boy she’s loved for months.

Annabeth looks at Piper as soon as Leo moves away from where he was standing near Percy. “You saved Jason. Come save Percy.”

Piper looks stricken. “Annabeth-”

“You brought him back to life after he saw Hera’s true form, you told me!” Annabeth’s voice is wild, almost a yell. “Do it for Percy! Bring him back too!”

Piper’s running over, coming to a halt beside Annabeth and Percy’s bleeding body.

She swallows the bile in her throat. Percy’s blood, still wet, likely still warm, is covering Annabeth’s hands.

“I don’t know if-”

“Try!” Annabeth demands, and Piper, not knowing what else to do, does.

oooOOOooo

“Nephew.”

Percy’s eyes fly open.

Hades’ oily face looks back at him.

Percy promptly vomits all over Hades’ throne room floor.

Or he tries. He dry-heaves, but nothing escapes his stomach. When he tries to breathe he feels his body move, but there’s no relief, no feeling, from the action.

Percy looks down and sees he’s hovering about an inch above the floor.

He walks, or tries to, and instead just manages to float a little closer to his uncle, who’s seated on his throne carelessly. Ceremonial robes with faces of the tortured souls on it is his fashion choice of the day, and Percy is reminded strongly of the first time they’d met.

That meeting hadn’t ended well.

Hades sighs. “You're dead. Really, why does everybody who arrives here act like a newborn trying to walk for the first time?”

Percy looks at him, not comprehending the words. “Dead?”

He thinks back, tries to remember what had happened. It takes him a few seconds of Hades’ scrutiny, but eventually he manages it.

“No, no, no…” He looks at Hades desperately. “No, I can’t be-”

“Finally caught on, have you?” Hades doesn’t sound the least bit interested. “Thank Zeus. No, thank me. Usually it takes more blubbering and dramatic staring off into the distance for memories to return.”

“There’s a giant,” Percy says, mind racing. “My friends need help-”

Hades waves a hand dismissively. “I am well aware.”

“Then help them!” Percy shouts, trying to stomp a foot but not managing to do anything other than kick some air. Skeleton guards appear from nowhere and Hades look down his nose to meet his eyes, thoroughly unimpressed by his temper tantrum. “They need a god-”

“I do not see why I need intervene more than I already intend to.” Hades says, looking at his cuticles with pursed lips.

“More than you- what are you talking about?” Percy asks him.

Hades raises an oily eyebrow, finally meeting his gaze steadily. “You are not in Charon’s lobby. You are not in the lines of judgement. You are not standing before three judges being tried, nor are you standing before me on trial. Have you come up with no reason for this? Does it not seem odd to you? Dead souls generally don’t all end up in my throne room, demigod.”

Percy looks at him dumbly. Really, he hadn’t even thought to wonder about why he was here, it’s not like he was an expert on death. “Umm…”

Hades rolls his eyes in disgust. “Honestly,” he says scathingly. “Do you know how much I dislike you, nephew? I would love to see you sentenced to working on castle construction for eternity, or working at the admittance gates- what a miserable job that would be- but that will have to wait.

“What do you mean?” He’s really trying not to get his hopes up, but…

“You’re not staying. As much as I love the pleasure of your company, there are some,” Hades sneers, “who have requested- no, demanded- that I allow you to leave. So when your friend calls you back I am letting you answer her call.”

“Demanded I leave?” Percy asks. “Who-”

Hades gives him a long suffering look. “You want me to list them all? Not a chance. Just know you have some very powerful, very unexpected allies. Immortals I never would have pegged for being on your side.”

Hades waves a hand. “Now go. Even being in your presence this long exhausts me. You have a giant to fight and a much more horrendous death years ahead of you.”

Percy’s mouth falls open. “You’re letting me come back from the dead?”

“Letting you?” Hades scoffs. “Demigod, I am ordering you. Get out of here. I don’t want the Underworld to suffer from your presence before the Fates deem it necessary.”

“But-”

“Goodbye, Perseus. Consider this the last favour I ever do for you.”

oooOOOooo

Next time Percy opens his eyes it’s Athena standing in front of him, on the edge of a grassy hill overlooking an ocean. Sun glares down on them and Percy thinks this must be a dream because the landscape looks suspiciously like Greece. He might even see Athens in the distance.

She turns to him. “Don’t make me regret it,” is all she says before she’s gone.

He blinks and he’s in Apollo’s sun chariot. “I heard you, kid.” The god grins. “Now go kick some butt for me, will you?”

When the words sink in, Percy’s at Camp Half-Blood, in front of the fire, and Hestia is sitting cross legged in the flames. Homesickness fills him faster than the Chimera’s poison did as she smiles warmly at him. “You belong home, Percy.”

When he draws in his next breath there’s Hermes, standing outside the house of May Castellan, looking wistfully at the house but never going in. “You’re a good kid.” Hermes says, never looking away from the house. George and Martha are silent around the caduceus. “It was Luke’s time, up on Olympus. Yours is still to come.”

Next is Hephaestus who’s in a forge, banging on some sort of blade. He pauses enough to look up. “Ares didn’t want you to live,” the blacksmith shrugs. “That was good enough for me.”

Artemis follows. She’s staring up at the sky and from where she is, it’s night and they’re sitting on the edge of a cliff. Percy follows her line of sight to be greeted by the view of Zoe Nightshade’s huntress constellation, eternal up in the stars. “It would be a shame,” Artemis says, “to lose one of the only men I can stand. You could still teach my brother a thing or two. Besides,” she looks at him, and she’s not in her preferred twelve year old form, she’s in the form she adopts for council meetings and serious matters. “My Lieutenant says you owe her cheeseburgers. It wouldn’t do to let a debt go unpaid.”

Percy’s confusion morphs into reluctance when he’s greeted by Aphrodite laying on a white chaise lounge. He really tries to meet her eyes, given that she’s scantily clad in a sheer white dress. “Your love story isn’t over yet,” she sniffles, dabbing at her eyes. “And Annabeth was just so sad!”

He can’t say anything before he’s whisked away and greeted by Ares.

For some reason he can speak now. “I thought you-”

“You don’t even want to know what Aphrodite’s giving me for this,” the god of war says grinning wickedly, right before he punches Percy in the face.

He feels the pain briefly, but it’s gone by the time he’s standing before Hera in the middle of a garden. She looks over at him and purses her lips. “It wasn’t for you or the silly blonde girl, I can tell you that,” she sniffs, right before he’s whisked away to stand in the throne room of Olympus.

The sight of Zeus, full sized and looming from where he’s sitting on his throne, greets him.

Percy would bow but he really doesn’t feel like it. Instead he just stands and looks at the King of the Gods, who frowns down at him for a few moments in silence.

He’d blame the rudeness on his very recent, very sudden death but really it’s because he just didn’t feel like it.

“Every single member of my family vouched for you, and many outside as well.” Zeus looks troubled and furious in equal measure. “Even I cannot go against the Fates. Don’t mess it up.”

Finally, the next time his eyes open Percy feels more permanently settled.

He looks around and realizes; he’s in the water just in front of the cabin he and his mom always rented at Montauk.

Floating on his back in the water just beside Percy is his father.

“Dad?” Percy whispers and he’s ashamed when tears fill his eyes. “I haven’t seen you since-”

“We killed that nasty giant in Greece,” Poseidon’s eyes met Percy’s, and neither his Hawaiian shirt, nor khaki shorts seemed to be wet from floating on the waves. Poseidon’s voice is as gentle as his facial expression. “I would have stayed longer but you know how my brother gets. He was especially grumpy that day.”

Percy blinked strongly, the tears receding as quickly as they’d come and lays down on his back beside him.

“Am I still dead?” He asks, looking up at the blue sky. Clouds drift past, the water is cool against his back and Percy sees the cabin tucked away on the beach.

Peace settles over him.

Poseidon hummed at the question. “Technically, though that’s soon to change. Your friend, Piper, is calling you back right now. Can you hear her?”

Percy concentrated, trying to hear anything except the waves against the shore and his father’s breathing.

“No.”

Poseidon looked thoughtfully up at the sky, eyes tracking a seagull overhead. “You will.”

Percy turned to look at him, keeping the water away from his face subconsciously. “Why am I seeing you? All of the gods. Am I hallucinating?”

“Are you?” Poseidon looked surprised, but there was a twinkle in his eyes that made Percy think he knew more than he let on. “It’s not a hallucination. Funny, isn’t it, how many of us are willing to stick our necks out for you.”

Percy closed his eyes. “I thought they hated me.”

“Many do.”

Percy chooses to not think about that. It will save him a headache, he’s sure. “I don’t deserve it.”

When he opens them his father is watching him intently. “Believe me, son,” Poseidon says quietly. “You do.”

“You said you were sorry I was born,” Percy says past the lump in his throat, sitting up on the water. “The first time we met, you said you wished I hadn’t been born because I had a hero’s destiny and that it was full of sadness and pain. Was this it?”

Poseidon’s eyes turned sad. “Even I can’t see the future, Percy. I know snippets, as Hermes did with Luke.” He lifted a hand to rest heavily on Percy’s shoulder. “I saw your death, yes. I never foresaw all of the immortals coming together to argue it, nor did I ever know the Fates themselves would overturn it, mending a snipped string.”

Percy’s mouth fell open and Poseidon nodded. “Perhaps your mother named you aptly after all,” he said, his eyes moving past Percy to stare sadly at the beach and the cabin sitting there.

Percy closed his mouth, new questions occurring to him. “Do you come here? In real life I mean?”

Poseidon looked at him sharply before his features softened. “In real life,” he mused as if amused by the question. “Sometimes.” He answered softly. “Not as much as I used to, and not as much as I would like. But sometimes.” His eyes looked over Percy, making him shift uncomfortably. “I am- so proud of you, son.”

The lump in Percy’s throat grew. “Thanks, dad.” He whispered.

He started when a new voice reached him, breaking the moment. “Percy,” Piper was saying, and he looked up, trying to pinpoint the voice’s location. It echoed in his ears. “Percy, come back. Please. Wake up!”

Poseidon smiled at him again as if hearing the voice too. “You will need a god when you go back,” he said seriously. “Remember, son, that I am always looking over you. And that almost three quarters of the earth is water.”

Percy opened his mouth to ask but Poseidon spoke first.

“And congratulate your mother for me when you see her again.” Poseidon looked at the cabin once more, the timeless grief that all gods seemed to share etched in his features.

“Percy, Annabeth needs you. Come back.” Piper’s voice is stronger this time, and Percy feels like something grips his heart and stomach inside of him only to give a powerful yank.

Poseidon winked at him and then was gone.

oooOOOooo

Percy woke up with a gasp.

He sucked in air greedily, sparing a thought to anticipate the familiar pain in his ribs and feeling nothing. He breathes again and still nothing hurts.

Feeling the air go down his throat to his lungs and out again. Feeling warm hands on him, hearing Piper’s gasp and mutter of, “Oh my gods,” and seeing Annabeth over him, hair hanging down from her ponytail, grey eyes locked on his. “Seaweed Brain?”

Percy smiled at her crookedly. “Turns out I’m not that easy to kill.”

Annabeth gives a half-laugh-half-sob and throws herself at him. Percy grips back tight, holding her against him and tucking his face into her neck, breathing deeply once more.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, and her grip tightens to be almost painful.

“Never do that again.” She says brokenly before her voice steadies itself. “Piper might not be around next time and then I’d have to go to the Underworld, like Orpheus. You think I’d let you get away so easy? We’re staying together, remember?”

“I promise.” He replied gently, knowing deep in his bones that Annabeth isn’t bluffing. He knows because he would do the same for her.

He lets her go and grabs Riptide from where it lays beside him on the ground. He used the sword to stand up, half expecting his legs to collapse under him. When they didn’t he looked at Annabeth who was watching him from the ground and grinned.

Piper’s eyes are shiny with tears as she slowly creeps forward. “Percy, you were dead, oh my gods…”

He opens his arms just in time for her hug, feeling the newly found air in his lungs whoosh out at the force of her embrace. “Thanks, Pipes.” He says, and she lets out a strangled laugh of disbelief before backing away slightly.

He turned away, his dad’s words ringing in his ears. “Be ready.” He warns, looking to the giant.

While it seems like a lifetime had passed- which, Percy supposed, his had- there was still a giant and a Chimera to fight. Still enemies, which had taken the wrath of Jason, Leo and Hazel, but still stood standing.

Jason was lying on his back, fear written across his face, gladius feet away from his splayed hand, as Aristaeus advanced towards him. Percy looked at Leo and saw him once again try to summon a fireball only to have it sputter out as the Chimera looked like it was almost grinning while it prowled towards him. Hazel was panting, pale and sweaty as she murmured beside Frank, but her voice never faltered and her focus never wavered from the giant. Frank was still unconscious.

Aristaeus stopped moving towards Jason as he caught sight of Percy.

“Impossible!” He said as Percy stumbled towards him, Riptide in hand. “I felt you die!”

Jason’s head turned to look at Percy and a grin split his face. Percy was surprised at the strength of the reaction because he and Jason had never been that close, not really, but for a moment Percy allowed himself to believe that maybe in the future they could.

Leo laughed, backing away from the Chimera long enough to meet Percy’s eyes. “Did you have a secret cure for death too”

Percy’s smile twitched at his lips but he was distracted by a light touch on his arm.

“Percy, what are you...” Annabeth started, and he looked over and met her eyes as he felt her grasp both of his arms in support. “You’re too weak.” She said, eyes searching his, trying to silently ask what he was doing. “Percy, he’ll kill you.”

“Hold your breath,” Percy told her again before closing his eyes and ignoring the giant’s confusion and fear completely.

Three quarters of the earth was water.

Percy feels that familiar tug in his gut, he lifts his hands, curling his fingers in a come hither gesture. He’s filled with rage, he has been for a while now, and when Percy taps into it, using it to help fuel his powers, he realizes he can’t find the bottom.

When he opens his eyes Aristaeus’ axe’s blade has fallen to the ground, the handle gripped loosely in his hand as the monster turns to look at the tops of the trees, wide eyed.

Percy silently prays that Hazel can keep the giant’s magic at bay long enough just as the wave crests over the treetops and surges into the clearing.

He clenches his hands, containing the water to the clearing alone, remembering the mortal in the cave, and he makes air bubbles around his friends as the water from the Mississippi River rushes towards Aristaeus.

Percy surrounds himself with it, feeling it surge past him without knocking him off his feet. A sudden rush of energy fills him and Percy pushes the water forward, looking around to see the air pockets he’d wanted surrounding each of his friends.

The water is like a tidal wave when it finally reaches Aristaeus and the giant doesn’t stand a chance. He’s bowled over by the force of it, falling to the ground and the water is like chains, criss-crossing the giant, holding his arms and legs in place, making him powerless to move.

Percy stops pulling from the river, allowing the liquid around his friends to fall and flow away, soaking into the ground and creating little rivers and tributaries to stream between the trees. Aristaeus is laying flat on his back and Percy moves to stand overtop of him, walking across his chest and standing with Riptide poised at the giant’s heart.

“You can’t.” Aristaeus’ voice is a croak. His eyes betray him, flickering with fear. “You can’t kill me.”

Percy tightens the water’s hold on him. He’s tempted, for a moment, to draw the water from Aristaeus’ very pores out of him, to leave him a wrinkled and shrivelled husk. It would be so easy, too, that’s the worst thing, Percy doubts he would really care to remember in the long run if he did so. Just another death by his hand.

He’s lost count of how many people and monsters he’s killed.

It would be so easy to torture Aristaeus. Easy to prolong his agony through death but Percy finds he’s just too exhausted.

“After everything… You can’t kill me,” Aristaeus says again brokenly, and Percy’s resolve hardens.

“I can.” Percy replies steadily. “And I will.”

“You hate the gods,” Aristaeus says and his tone is honest confusion. “More than any of the others you despise them. You’ve tortured them in the past. Yet you are their fiercest protector. Why?”

Percy swallows, remembering Akhlys. It had taken him months to come to terms with what he’d been capable of doing to her down in Tartarus; to come to terms with everything he’d wanted to do to her.

But he had.

Long ago Percy accepted that he didn’t agree with most of the gods and the things they did. He couldn’t silently go along with them ignoring their kids and wreaking havoc only to leave others to clean up their messes.

But his dad was a god.

He knew all of the gods made mistakes. He’s suffered from many of the most recent ones himself.

Percy made mistakes too. Akhlys, Bob, Damasen, Calypso, Luke, Ethan, the manipulations, the pain.

He was mortal and he made mistakes.

So did the gods. Just like mortals. The only difference was that they had an eternity to keep making mistakes, and the power to do it on a much grander scale. Percy finds he can’t fault them just for being gods. It’s what they are, how most of them were born. Every mistake and consequence is a result of that.

And they’d saved him. Granted, he’d saved them more times than he could count which evened out the scales, but the gods had brought him back. He hadn’t expected it- the thought had never crossed his mind that they even could- especially when so many of them hadn’t seemed to care one bit whether he lived or died any other time.

Percy glanced over at Annabeth to see her standing and watching him closely. Her blade was in hand, her ponytail was a mess and her grey eyes somehow still had a sparkle in them, her mouth hinted at the ghost of a smile. The relief was still evident on her face and his heart swelled with love.

The gods had brought him back to her. He had to be grateful for that. That had to prove something about them.

“I believe they can change,” Percy answered Aristaeus, feeling the breeze around him pick up and he moved with it, by lifting Riptide a little higher. “Which is more than I can say for you.”

Percy felt power fill the clearing and run just across his skin, and the smell of ocean, of salt water and a coastline breeze, filled his senses.

Arion whinnied and Percy saw a bright green glow surround the horse’s injured ankle. His eyes were caught by Frank who was surrounded by the same thing, and when it faded the blood coating his friend’s skin was gone. Percy looked at Riptide, which was glowing green as well; the same colour that had surrounded Frank, the same colour, Percy remembered, that he had seen fade from around him when he’d fought the Chimera a couple of nights ago.

The Chimera that was currently yelping in pain, drawing all eyes towards it, before it went on to dissolve into golden dust.

Aristaeus’ expression morphed into one of genuine fear at the sight of the glowing sword. “No!” He rumbled, the vibration running up Percy’s legs at the exclamation. “The gods cannot interfere-”

It was the last thing Aristaeus said. Percy brought Riptide down sharply and Aristaeus dissolved, his howl echoing throughout the clearing as Percy was left down on one knee amidst a pile of sand. The smell of saltwater fades as the sand is gently blown away, scattered across of the surface of the earth.

It’s quiet for a couple of minutes, the only thing Percy hears is his own heavy breathing. All of his injuries may have disappeared, but he did just die and come back to life only to kill a giant minutes later. He felt like he deserved a short time out.

A hand slid up from the small of his back to rest between his shoulder blades and Percy tensed before realizing it was Annabeth.

“Hey,” her other hand pushed some of his hair back from his forehead and he looked up to meet her eyes, which were glistening. He blinked and realized his own were slightly damp.

“Hi.” He said back, soaking in the fact that she was standing in front of him, alive and relatively unharmed.

They were both alive. It was over. He could go home.

A sound escaped him, a choked and strangled sound, and Annabeth’s expression immediately softened before she settled down to kneel  in front of him. “Come here,” she murmured, and Percy felt another sob escape him just as she pulled him to rest against her.

Riptide fell forgotten to the ground and Percy’s arms came up shaking. He wrapped them around Annabeth and brought her closer, taking full advantage of the fact that they were alive, they were together and for the moment, they were safe. They had all the time in the world.

“Annabeth,” he gasps. He doesn’t say anything else, just her name, but it’s enough and she understands because she just grips him tighter and keeps running her fingers through his hair.

“Shh,” she says gently. “I’m right here.”

He loves her for that. The way she doesn’t say it’s okay, or thank the gods that they’re both still alive. She doesn’t say anything like that, she just reassures him that yes, they’re still together. They beat this just like they’ve beaten everything else and somehow, miraculously, despite the odds and the fact that, by all logical reasoning, they shouldn’t be, they are together.

Annabeth repeats the most important thing, the most comforting thing she could have possibly said to him at that moment. “I’m right here, Percy. I’ve got you.”

He lets himself fall completely against her

oooOOOooo

Afterwards, when Piper and Jason have embraced, and Hazel has checked Frank over and seen that his injuries are completely healed, when Leo goes in and finds the mortal still unconscious and unharmed, they all slump to the ground in exhaustion at once. Leo sits beside Festus, the woman beside him, picking up loose pieces of metal, stroking a hand over what used to be a golden dragon’s head.

"Let's take a vacation," Piper says suddenly. "I think we all deserve a couple of weeks. I'm feeling Paris, personally. Or London."

Leo looks up. "London, please. Paris is too mushy, and we all know what a romantic you are Beauty-Queen."

Piper scoffs and goes to give a sharp retort but Frank groans, making all of them look over at him.

Annabeth and Hazel hover over the son of Mars and Percy looks at them. "How is he?"

"We have enough ambrosia to keep him stable for now but he needs to get medical attention." Hazel looks up and meets his eyes. "I want someone to check him, make sure he’s really healed."

Arion whinnies and nuzzles Frank's shoulder, surprising Percy. He has enough tact not to say anything. Now is not the time for that horse to start cussing.

He looks over at Jason. "So what they're saying is, we need rides."

Jason's brow scrunches together in confusion for a second before his face clears and he grins at Percy. "Whoever gets them here first makes the other debrief Mr. D."

"You're on," Percy says, ignoring the confused looks from the others and Piper's exasperated eye roll before he closes his eyes and concentrates.

Luckily Blackjack answers.

He swoops down, wings flapping, and Percy grins up at him, clambering to his feet. "Hey buddy, long time no see."

Boy am I happy to see you, Blackjack answers him straight away, annoyance and exasperation obvious in his tone. Porkpie here has been getting ideas boss, about who's in charge in the stables. I keep trying to tell him that after you there's a certain rank-

He's a tyrant, Porkpie chimes in from where he's nuzzling Annabeth. Those two seem to have developed quite the bond. First dibs on donuts all of the time-

The horse that pulls the most weight gets first pick-

"Enough, guys, can we figure this out at Camp?" Percy interrupts, and both horses turn to him with an unimpressed look, almost as if they were raising an eyebrow.

Which was very strange because horses didn't even have eyebrows.

Tempest appears seconds later after a quick drop in air pressure and the distinct smell of ozone follows him. Percy shoots a grin at Jason who just sighs in defeat.

Hazel and Annabeth are already moving to lift up Frank.

"Which of them will be able to handle him better?" Hazel asks Percy and he doesn't have time to respond before Blackjack sticks his neck forward, prancing up to Hazel and preening before her eyes.

Hazel stifles a laugh. "I guess that answers that."

Percy grins at the girl's amused faces and moves forward, helping to hoist Frank onto Blackjack, careful of his wound. "Blackjack could carry three-"

"I'll go on, Arion." Hazel says. "His ankle looks better..." She trails off and Percy glances at the horse in question. Whatever magic Percy's father had swept through the clearing seems to have cured the Chimera's bite and Arion looked just as impatient as ever. "But I don't want to put too much weight on him until we know for sure. Camp Half-Blood?" She finishes.

Annabeth nods. "It's closer."

Jason and Piper settle onto Tempest's back. "Leo?" Jason calls and Leo looks up again from Festus.

Leo's face clouds over. "With enough parts- if I could get all the metal I need I could fix him."

Annabeth looks at him sadly. "Leo."

"I fixed him before." Leo says stubbornly. "Maybe if I stay I could at least figure out what I need."

"Leo," Piper slips down from Tempest to walk over and kneel beside him. "Frank needs help now."

"You guys could go-"

"We're not leaving you here." Jason trots Tempest over to them, voice allowing no argument.

Leo swallows, looking back down at his automaton. "I can't just leave him here."

Piper places one hand on Leo's shoulder, another on his cheek. "We'll come back for him."

Hazel's voice rings clear. "All of us will."

Percy nods at Leo's inquiring gaze and he watches as the son of Hephaestus catches sight of Frank and nods. "Okay."

He pulls away from Piper and stands up, still looking at Festus. "Don't worry buddy," and Percy didn’t comment on the break in his voice. "You'll be whole before you know it."

Then he visibly gathers himself and turns towards the four horses. "So how are we doing this?" He asks, gesturing towards the woman.

“You said she’s okay?” Percy asked Leo.

He nodded. “I think she’ll wake up eventually… I didn’t do anything to knock her out when I took her, Aristaeus did something and I just found her…” He trails off, face clouded. “If Hazel just takes her back to the town I could tell you where I- where did I find her?” Leo trails off to mutter to himself and Hazel frowns before walking over to him and the woman.

She snaps her fingers and the woman wakes up in a jolt. Her hair is in disarray, her clothes are wrinkled and dirty and her face is flushed.

She looks around and screams, scrambling back straight into Leo’s legs.

The woman shrieks again and stands up, taking in her surroundings.

Percy wonders what she sees. The horses probably just look like regular horses to her, but what about the mess of metal that was Festus? What about their weapons? Do they look like guns? It had happened before.

“Where am I? Who are you people?” The woman gulps. “What am I doing here? Please don’t kill me. I’ll give you money, seriously, anything you want-”

Hazel moves a little closer and the woman pales. “What are you- you’re just kids, she’s coloured just like me, how can you all commit these- these hate crimes-”

Percy frowns trying to make sense of what she’s talking about but it’s Hazel who puts it together.

“We’re not going to hurt you, please don’t panic.” Hazel looks stricken. “I promise. We- we-”

Annabeth jumps in. “We’re a camping group,” she says, moving closer to get into the woman’s line of sight. “We’re learning horseback riding- well, we’re the more advanced group, and we all know how to ride, so the counsellors let us go on a little run as long as we promised to stick together.”

The woman looks at their horses before meeting Annabeth’s eyes again, eyes wide.

“We found you here, so it should really be us asking you why you’re out here all alone.”

The stranger looks around, meeting each of their eyes. Percy tries to smile.

“I don’t know. I was in bed, last I remember.”

“Maybe you sleepwalked?” Percy asks her and then he cringes, because it takes hours to walk from the town to here.

“I- I guess so?” She looks confused.

“Listen,” Piper hunches down in front of her. “How about you let my friend here take you home,” she gestures to Hazel, “and then you can get to work or- or your family.”

All eyes zero in on her wedding ring and the woman nods. “If- if you wouldn’t mind. Actually could I borrow one of your cell phones?” She pats herself down. “I don’t seem to have mine.”

Annabeth has a hand out before she’s done talking, cell phone in hand. “Of course.”

The woman gets up and dusts herself off, looking at them all warily once more before dialling and walking a little bit away. Percy hears her say the name “Marshall” and “I don’t know, but some campers are bringing me home, it shouldn’t take more than- hold on,” she covers the mouthpiece. “How far away from home am I? How long will it take to get back?”

Hazel shrugs. “If we go on horseback, then about half an hour? 45 minutes tops?”

The woman nods and goes back to speaking while Hazel turns to look at Piper. “Why am I the one bringing her home?”

“Blackjack has Frank,” Piper points out. “She can’t fly, that would be too weird. Plus Arion will be fastest, and you both already know where the town is. I’m sure Tempest could find it, but why waste the time? And she’ll trust you most, I think.”

“Why?” Percy asks, feeling like he was missing something obvious.

“My skin colour.” Hazel sighs and Percy says, “Oh,” dumbly. He hadn’t though skin colour would be an issue, but now that he thinks about it, and what he’s seen recently on the news, it makes sense. “Ok. Then you’ll meet us all at Camp?”

Hazel nods, the woman finishes her phone call and Piper claps her hands. “Okay great. Well, we’re going back to… our camp. It was nice to meet you…”

“Dalia.”

Jason smiles at her. “Nice to meet you, Dalia.”

“You too. Thank you, all of you. And thank you…”

“Hazel,” Hazel jumps in at the woman’s questioning look. “I’m Hazel.”

“Hazel, for being able to bring me home. My husband was worried.”

Leo makes a strangled noise that he turns into a cough and Jason moves over to say something to him. Leo shakes his head and turns away.

Dalia gives him a look but apparently decides it’s better not to ask. From the guilt all over Leo’s face Percy thinks it’s a wise choice.

“If we could go soon?” She asks. “I really do need to get back.”

“Of course.” Hazel moves over to Arion, saying a few calming words while she strokes his nose. “Do you ride?”

“My family owns a ranch, I grew up around horses,” Dalia said. “I ride.”

Hazel grins and Percy looks back and forth between them, almost able to see the horse bonding going on.

He looks over at Blackjack and Frank, wondering if Dalia even noticed Frank or whether he was made into something else. A saddle maybe?

With one last farewell and a significant look from Hazel to Frank the two girls are gone with Arion.

“Well,” Annabeth says. “I think that went pretty well.”

Piper snorts and rejoins Jason on Tempest as Percy swings up behind Frank, taking care to keep from jostling him.

Annabeth hoists herself up on Porkpie and looks at Leo. "Looks like it's you and me, Valdez," she says and Leo nods, slowly moving to climb up behind her, gazing sadly at Festus from the pegasus' back.

"Alright Blackjack," Percy tears his gaze away from the automaton and claps the black pegasus. "Take us home."