#sometimes you just wake up and your brain strings words together into a sentence you think is coherent

[sillyfudgemonkeys]

A family isn't always a mom, a dad and a kid. Sometimes a family is the bisexual (Kyoshi) and lesbian (Rangi) who are dating, and the twink (Yun/Lek/Zoryu/Jinpa) they adopted along the way. uwu

[allbimyself65]

Yandere Naga Bakugou x reader

This one's kinda all over the place and the ends abrupt but I still hope you enjoy first time writing smut so enjoy!

Yandere Naga Bakugou x reader

Warnings: Yandere, rape/noncon, overall bakugou’s an ass

Word Count:1790

When you were a little old you decided it would be a good idea to go camping in the woods alone after seeing some influencer do it you were definitely wrong. First of all you didn’t even like the woods of nature for that matter. So why you decided to do this was a mystery. 

You’re already not having a great time so imagine your horror when you see the 8ft tall monster that is naga bakugou. On top of it he’s severely pissed of at some dumb human messing up his terratory. As a pension he was originally going to kill you,but after seeing how cute you are he decided to integrate a little further to see if you’re suited for a certain role he has open.

“What are you doing here you dumbass human?” he shouts more aggressively than ever needed.

You’re shaking like a leaf and he’s only said a sentence at this point god had abandoned ship there’s nobody to help you. The only thing keeping you together is that you’re hoping you can string two and two brain cells together to make a coherent sentence and convince him not to souffle you.

“I-I’m just wanted to go camping but, uh-well-um it’s not really suited for me. I'm not exactly great at this whole um nature and defense thing so I’ll leave and never come back if you just let me go.” Your fumbling over your words at this point wondering how you’re still breathing after that stupid comment about you being defensless and how idiotic you must be to admit that to something that clearly already considers you an appetizer.

Bakugou was already sold on you after you admitted how you couldn’t really defend yourself, he knew almost nothing about humans but that didn't matter they were close enough in species. He thought the batting of your eyelashes and the quiver of your pouting lips made you look absolutely adorable to him. Perfect as a mate for him to care for and breed. So he didn’t want you fighting on the way home or knowing how to get out of the forest in case you somehow got the fucking smart idea to try and escape him. So he lunged at you and bit you with a small amount of venom to knock you out.

When you woke up you were traumatized to say the least. Waking up in a bed made of flowers in a weird cave. You looked around and recognized the snake man from yesterday. Your brain jumped and latched onto the thought that he was going to eat you so you slid off the bed very carefully and went towards the light and what you assumed was the entrance towards the cave. Of course as soon as you put your feet on the ground with a light thump, Bakugou heard and immediately woke up from his nap on the rocks he was sunbathing in. Slowly slithering and standing up with a drowsy look on his face he went up towards you and mumbled

“Going to get food, dumbass , try and escape I’ll hunt you down and drag you back myself so sit down in the nest and if you move your ass if mine got it?” he said getting angrier at the thought of you leaving the nest. While he said this he was gently picking you up and putting you back in the heaps of picture perfect hand woven flower bla=nkets and you now understood why celebrities sometimes had their pillows filled with flower petals.

“Y-yes I’ll stay put” With that threat blazing in your mind you decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea to go back to sleep in the bed or nest as he called it. Laying down and cocooning into the blankets you slowly drifted off to sleep. At least this time you thought it was willingly and not forced.

Bakugou returned with the food and looked at your sleeping form and was very smug to say the least. Looking at your tiny cuddling and being so submissive to his demands made his pride spike higher than he would’ve liked to admit.

“Hey human wake up I brought food” with the little knowledge he had of humans he understood they could eat fruit so he brought them some and pushed it towards you. Rating most of your meal in silence even though you had a million questions in your mind you choose one of the simplest ones and blurted out.

“What's your name?” he swiveled from where he was eating and looked at you and shouted 

“Bakugou katsuki dumbass now don’t go fucking forgettin’ it you hear me” you nodded quickly

“I’m Y/N L/N” you replied quickly eager to get answers from you other questions

“So why am I here and when are you letting me go?” you spoke this time with a little more need and want in your voice from the desperation of not knowing the answers to this question.

Bakugou let out a sigh before saying,

“You’re here because you’re my mate and that’s non-negotiable. You don’t get a choice if you're too small and too weak to fight off anything yourself so that means I have to take care of you.” Mentally slapping yourself for those comments earlier you felt rage boil in your bones for the audacity to take you because he didn’t think you weren't capable enough and made you seeth.

“Now listen here you weird ass snake I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and don’t forget now thank you for the meal I’m leaving go find another mate.” you said more confidently than you’ve ever been in any of your past talks.

“NO you’re staying” he said yelling at impossible loudness.

“Yes I am” you said fully confident with that tone you reminded yourself of your parents scolding you pride surged within you from the confidence and you began walking away what you didn’t expect was to be yanked on over next to bakugou by his tail and into his arms.

“You’re staying my little mate and I don’t care what you think about it, you're mine” he said scathingly now, getting angered at your defiance and wishing for your previous submission. What you did next was unthinkable, and undoubtably stupid. You slapped him. Big mistake.

“Little mate you realize now how big of shit you’re in as punishment for you being a brat I’m going to fuck the living day lights out of you.” he said while picking you up and throwing you on the nest.

“Wait! No, no, no please! No!,” you spoke voice became panicked as he began to strip you”I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry please stop!” you were blubbering out now as he  got impatient and ripped off your clothes. Then in silence you saw his cock. Big, thick, and long you panicked you couldn’t imagine that fitting inside you. Hell you didn’t want it inside you in the first place. Bakugou took two of his fingers lined up against your puffy pussy while saying “Going to make you regret that my little brat, gonna fuck you till you can’t walk.” He pushed his fingers in making them in a scissoring motion before putting in a third then started pumping in and out his long fingers hitting things you’re stubby ones could never. You couldn’t help it, you were moaning like a bitch in heat, everything felt too hot, and it was all too soon. Deciding he was pleased with how he stretched you he lined up with a long veiny cock and pushed in the tip making a scream erupt from you. He ignored you begging to stop and pushed in further until finally he bottomed out on you. MAking you feel like you were stuffed and to be honest you were stuffed full of bakugou;s cock. He pulled out and then pushed back in slowly as if doing a test drive. He smirked at your form. He muttered. 

“Going to make you my best breeding bitch, a proper little whore for her mate” he said with a glint of excitement in his eyes as he watched you squirm at the embarrassing words and you absolutely needed him. The self restraint you had gone and none you needed bakugou dick inside you everything feeling empty and  hot but not hot enough.Bakugou being the observant man he is takes advantage of this pushing in quickly hitting a sweet spot and making you moan and obscurely lude moan. He pulled all the way out.

“C’mon my little slut begged for me to fill my fat cock in your tight little pussy.” he said arousal clear in his every being.

“P-please I need your fat cock please! Fill me, make me yours, I'm yours, your mate just please fill me!” you begged with every word more shame filled your body as the embarrassment would be too much later. At this point though you didn’t care, want and need overtook pride at this point. Seemingly satisfied with your answer he slammed into you staring at a brutal pace. You couldn’t see anything but stars and white. Everything falling out of your mouth was incoherent and not even you knew what you were trying to say with moans falling out of your mouth as bakugou ridiculously huge cock made you feel like a drunk whore. He was also having a god time milking you pussy for every drop it had while saying things at this point turned you on even more like “Fuck yeah bay come one let that tight pussy squeeze aroudn my dick” He would occasionalyl slap you to have him quench around you more that or he was reminding you why you got this punishment in the first pplace. With yours and his orgasm approaching faster than a bullet train you moaned out.

“Bakugou please let me cum need it! Need i so bad!Please let me cum!” happy with your begging and groveling he replied “Go on baby cum around my dick.” which you happily complied with screaming while you did so. Bakugou came after with a groan shooting thick hot ropes of come that painted you quenching pussy walls. He was still fucking you while your orgasm happened and you couldn’t feel anything except white hot pleasure. This went on for two more rounds before bakugou eventually became tired. He looked down truly taking in your fucked out face and knew how truly helpless you were. Well it’s a good thing you had bakugou as a mate now wasn’t it.

[alisonsfics]

reconnected

pairing: shawn mendes x reader

request: “hello. i was wondering if you could write where y/n and shawn met at school or on vine or idk at a coffee shop. both of us were young new artists and bonded over that. as both of us start getting popular we lose contact. a few years later we decide to collab on a song and that rescinds a spark of friendship and maybe something. but of course, I wanted to at a bit of drama. while you try to catch up on, you know life, the paparazzi are sure you two are together, shawn's ex is stringing up trouble and all your friends and family keep on bothering you two about each other” - @iwishiwasyuri

word count: 2.7k

It had been a peaceful day. You had woken up early and started a day of productivity. You were currently drinking a cup of tea and replying to a few business emails.

It was peaceful. Birds were singing outside. It was early, and it felt like the world was not awake yet. This moment of serenity almost felt like the calm before the storm.

Then, your phone buzzed and shook your desk in the process. You were taken out of your thoughts.

You glanced down at the lit screen. You noticed a text message had popped up on your screen.

Woah.

You hadn’t seen that name in years.

Shawn.

Shawn Mendes.

You and Shawn had known each other for years. You both bonded over being singers and the rest was history.

You two had a beautiful story, much like a fairytale. The way you both met felt like a page out of a novel.

You had been at your local coffee shop, way before you had become successful in the music industry world.

It was back when you uploaded videos of yourself singing covers on YouTube. It was simple and seemed mediocre now, but at the time you loved it. You were singing all the time and it was your dream, even though you made virtually no money. You still loved it.

You jumped up into the seat at the high table. You pulled out your laptop to edit your most recent video. You sipped on your warm latte. It made you feel warm and cozy, as opposed to the freezing weather outside.

You plopped your headphones over your ears and started to edit the video. Within seconds, you heard a voice talking over your shoulder.

“So you’re a singer?” The voice asked. You jumped, almost managing to fall out of the chair. You felt a pair of strong arms catch you and keep you from falling.

Finally, you got a chance to look at the source of the voice. You had been prepared for it to be some creepy guy, but you were wrong.

So wrong.

The guy was cute and had the most perfect smile. You were speechless. You froze, and your brain shut off.

“Hi, uh sorry about that. I’m Shawn. It’s just, your headphones are unplugged. I was going to tell you and I realized it was you singing. I’m sorry I scared you” he said, kindly. You had to pinch yourself to realize this was all real. “I...uh hi. I’m Y/N. I was just zoned out, it’s not your fault. But hi, I’m Y/N” you rambled.

His smile made your stomach do flips. You felt like you were on a rollercoaster.

“Yeah, you said that already” Shawn said, chuckling. It was endearing. He wasn’t laughing at you, he was just amused by the cute girl who was stuttering over her words.

You didn’t know it then, but he thought you were adorable.

You thought the exact same thing about him.

The story went on. You two became great friends. You never got the courage to mention your little crush on him, but time went on.

As you both got busier, you started to drift apart. Eventually you just stopped talking. Any time you heard his songs on the radio or saw an article about him, it just pulled on your heart strings.

But now he was texting you.

Hey, Y/N. I know it’s been a while, well maybe longer than a while. It feels like forever. Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted to meet up and talk. I really miss you

You were stunned. You could barely comprehend what you were reading.

It felt like a crazy dream, and you were about to wake up any second now.

You picked up your phone and tried to come up with a reply. It was harder than you thought it would be. How did you put years worth of feelings into just a few sentences?

Hi! It has been forever, I miss our late night runs for ice cream. I would love to hang out and catch up. I want to hear about all that I’ve missed. I hope you’re doing well!!

You pressed send and your heart leaped out of your chest. You could hear your heart thumping in your ears.

As you sat there waiting for a reply, it felt like years. In reality, it was probably five minutes.

Then, your phone dinged.

Awesome! You want to come over to my place in like an hour?

You almost jumped out of your chair. You couldn’t believe you were finally going to see Shawn after all these years. You sent a quick reply and then headed to your closet to get dressed.

You grabbed some clothes to change into and then proceeded to change your outfit four more times. Finally, you had settled on the best option. You checked the clock and saw that it was time to go.

You grabbed your phone and your keys and then headed to Shawn’s apartment.

You found yourself outside his front door, unable to move. You wanted to pick up your hand and knock on the door, but you couldn’t. Every time that you got close, you chickened out.

It had been years since you had seen Shawn. What if he changed? What if he didn’t like you anymore? What if you embarrassed yourself?

Every time another one of thoughts popped in your head, it became harder to try to knock on that door.

You took a deep breath and tried to still your shaking hands. You felt a small moment of confidence. Before it went away, you quickly knocked on the door.

Your pulse quickened. You felt the extreme urge to just run away. Before you could do that, the door opened.

There he was.

He looked different in person. Magazines and social media had been the only place you saw him for years. Now, three feet in front of you, you were almost shocked that he was three dimensional.

“Hi” was all you get out.

You were absolutely frozen.

“Hey” he said, slowly. He seemed to also be at a loss for words.

You looked him up and down, taking in all of his features. His hair was longer now. His shoulders were broader and he was so much more muscular now.

You were almost drooling over his arms in the tight shirt. Your lingering gaze left his body and you met his eyes.

Small smiles appeared on both of your faces. He grabbed your hands and pulled you into a hug. His tight embrace was comforting. His strong arms around you made your heart swoon.

After a while, you both pulled away. Once again, you couldn’t get rid of the grin on your face. “So how have you been?” He asked, looking into your eyes.

You started to tell him about major changes in your life that he had missed. While you were talking, his hand naturally slipped into yours. He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze as you spoke.

Your heart was racing at the speed of sound. It felt like a dream. There was no way you could really be standing in front of Shawn after all these years.

“It’s so good to finally see you again. I’ve actually been wanting to ask you something” Shawn said, after you finished talking. You were immediately intrigued, but also worried.

“And what is that?” You asked, rocking back and forth on your feet. “I was wondering if you would want to collab on a song sometime. I really love your music, and it would awesome to work with you” he told you, honestly.

You were taken aback. “I would love to. Is that why you invited me? To use me for monetary gain?” You teased him, giggling. He chuckled and shook his head. “No, that’s not why I wanted to see you again” he said, with a certain sparkle in his eyes.

You started gazing into his eyes, and it became harder and harder to stop. You didn’t notice, but you both started to step closer together. What you did notice was Shawn carefully placing his hand on your waist. He did it so lightly that you almost thought you imagined the lingering touch.

Before you both started to lean in, there was a loud commotion outside the front door. You both quickly jumped away like teenagers caught doing something mischievous.

Shawn sighed and headed towards the door to check who it was. He looked through the peephole and then quickly backed up. You were confused by his urgency.

“Who is it?” You asked, curiously. He didn’t answer you right away. He walked over to a wall and quickly closed the curtains. “The paparazzi are here” he said, walking back over to you.

“Well then I guess you’re stuck with me until they leave” you said, smiling as you walked over to the couch. You plopped down on the couch, and Shawn joined you seconds later.

“So do you want to watch a movie because you’re going to be stuck here?” He asked you, grabbing the remote.

You nodded and leaned your head on his shoulder. He didn’t expect you to do it, but he leaned into your touch. He pressed play on a movie and then put his arm along the back of the couch.

Slowly, as the movie continued, his arm moved from the couch to your shoulders. The way he transitioned was so natural, like he was used to having his arm around you. It felt good, and was definitely something you could get used to.

The movie became dull, and you glanced up at Shawn. You found yourself admiring his features as he watched the screen.

Then he caught you.

He looked down into your eyes. You felt your cheeks heat up as you were caught. “Hi you” he said, sweetly. You just smiled and then cuddled further into his side.

“Hey wait. I wanted to ask you about something?” Shawn said, pausing the movie.

You looked back up at him. It was hard to not smile. You always felt happy when you were around Shawn.

“So, I know that we haven’t seen each other in years, but there’s been something I’ve always wanted to tell you. Since the day we first met, I have—” Shawn started to say before he was interrupted.

Your phone loudly started ringing. It distracted you from what he was saying. You glanced down at your phone. It was your mom calling.

“I’m so sorry. It’s my mom, I have to take this” you said, apologetically setting one of your hands on Shawn's. He nodded. He was always so understanding.

You quickly answered the phone. Before you could say hello, your mom started interrogating you.

“Are you and Shawn finally together?” She asked, very quickly. You were taken aback by the question and also how fast she had asked that. “Uhh...no. Why would you think that?” You asked her, confused.

“The pictures are everywhere. It’s you walking into his house, and there’s a picture of you two hugging. All the tabloids are saying you two are together. I know that I shouldn’t trust tabloids, but I’ve always wanted you two to date. You are both so great together. Plus, he’s very handsome. So, you have good taste” your mom rambled, only stopping when she ran out of breath.

“Woah woah woah. Slow down. I promise you, Shawn and I are not dating” you assured your mom. Only then, Shawn started to listen to what you were saying. He had been trying not to listen or eavesdrop, but you were right next to him.

He just smirked at you. You saw it and rolled your eyes at him, as you tried to hold back from laughing.

Eventually, your mom said she believed you and hung up the phone. “I’m sorry about that. She started listening to the tabloids” you explained to him. He chuckled as he looked at his own phone. “That’s okay. All my friends are texting me about it too” he told you, smiling.

“Well then I guess you’re stuck with me as your fake girlfriend” you said, sticking your tongue out at him. He put his arm around you and then you leaned your head on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you” he said, softly.

You started to trace shapes on the back of his hand. “I’ve missed you too” you said, at the same volume.

You felt Shawn kiss your temple and you felt the heat rush to your face.

“So what were you going to ask me before?” You asked him, giving him your full attention. Just as he was about to tell you, there was a loud knocking at the front door.

Shawn groaned and then stood up. He walked over to the door. He looked through the peephole and just sighed.

“Hang on a minute” he said to you. Then, he opened the door. You couldn’t see the door from where you were sitting. “Hey there sweetheart” you heard a girl say, and your blood ran cold.

Did Shawn have a girlfriend? You had never even brought it up. You felt so stupid. Of course he had a girlfriend. It had been years. You had been sitting here hoping he would make a move, but he was taken. He was gorgeous, any girl would be lucky to date him.

“Ashley. What do you want? We broke up. Stop acting like it didn’t happen” Shawn said, sternly. It threw you even farther off guard. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, but it seemed like Shawn was actually single.

“I just saw on Twitter that coffee shop girl was here before. If you are dating, I want you to know that you can do better. I’m still single and you know I’m hotter than her. Just come here and kiss me so all those paparazzis will know you’re mine again” you heard Ashley said.

You felt disgusted listening to her talk. She was being really rude to both you and Shawn. “Goodbye Ashley. Go ruin somebody else’s day” Shawn said, closing the door.

He walked back over to you. He looked defeated. “So that was...?” You asked. “My ex-girlfriend. I know, bad idea” he said. You didn’t know what to say.

Shawn cursed under his breath. He looked furious. You stood up and walked over to him. “Hey it’s okay. It’s no big deal. We’ll just move on. You don’t have to worry about it” you said, trying to console him. You didn’t know why he was so upset of all a sudden.

“No, it’s not okay, Y/N” he snapped at you. You jumped away from him. You visibly flinched. His eyes softened when he saw you back away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted, it’s not your fault” he said, hanging his head low.

“It’s just— I’ve tried to kiss you three times today, or at least just tell you how I feel. Every time that I try, something gets in the way. I haven’t seen you in years and I just want get this off my chest. I feel like we have something special. I don’t know if you feel it too, or I’m just crazy. I really just want to kiss you, but I’m afraid something will get in the way if I try” he confessed.

You were shocked. This was the last thing you expected him to say. You had always wished that your connection was more than just friends, but you had always second guessed it. You always assumed that you were just making it up.

“Well, there’s nothing stopping you now” you said, coyly. He quickly looked up to meet your eye contact. He looked unsure, so you made the first move.

You walked towards Shawn and placed your hands on his chest. “What are you waiting for?” You asked him. That was all the clarity he needed.

He instantly connected your lips and wrapped his arms around your waist. It felt perfect. That sounds cliche and unrealistic, but the mixture of years of feelings and yearning made the perfect combination.

You both pulled away and couldn’t look away from each other’s eyes. “I guess I should call my mom back and tell her I lied” you said, giggling.

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[bipercabeth]

“Something’s wrong, I can tell” for percabeth 💖🔪

(in which we ignore the fact that hoo exists)

Annabeth’s alarm clock blinks 5:00 PM on her bedside table, the bright red casting a glow over her dark dorm room. Her blinds are drawn back, but uselessly so. The sun hides behind rain clouds that drown the city in their gloom. And so the turn of spring is more limp than victory march, or maybe it just walks to a cadence Annabeth can’t hear. The moment her feet hit the floor this morning, it felt like she was stepping out of time. 

The darkness presses in heavily on Annabeth, like maybe it’s her fault the sun rose wrong today. The girl with a plan for everything can’t even rouse herself out of bed. Afternoon collapses into early evening, and the weight of the lost day pins Annabeth below her comforter. Alone in a twin bed, the way it way built to be. Even after nearly a decade of sleeping in a cabin with all her siblings, that’s all Annabeth has ever really been: alone, the way she was built to be. 

Sneakers scuff the carpeted hallway, stopping when they reach Annabeth’s door. A key scrapes the lock without a knock, which is how she knows it’s Percy on the other side. 

Light from the hallway follows him in, and both of them blink as their eyes adjust. Annabeth is blind for a moment, able only to focus on Percy’s silhouette. Even in the lowlight, she can see the way concern softens his brow and stiffens his hands. 

“Baby...” he says, a nickname that has become a common occurrence in their seven months of dating. This is the first time it has failed to warm Annabeth’s chest. “What’s wrong?” 

Annabeth tries—she really does—to sit up and wipe the tear tracks from her cheeks, but her nose is snotty and half her hair falls out of its scrunchie from being upright for the first time all day. Her voice cracks when she says, “M’fine.” 

Percy just crosses the room and turns on her desk lamp, giving the place a soft yellow glow. He looks like the sun sweeping away the shadows of a dim day. With gentle hands, he undoes Annabeth’s scrunchie and coaxes her curls into a bun that will hold in the wake of her wallowing. Annabeth leans her head back into his stomach to look at him upside down, at which point he holds her cheeks and breaks her with a gentle, “Something’s wrong, I can tell.” 

She just gapes at him uselessly, because isn’t the lack of words the very core of this pain? All the power of Athena’s wisdom, Daedalus’s laptop, and Annabeth’s own mind, and she cannot string together a sentence about Luke Castellan that rings true. 

He was a hero. Naive. 

He was a monster. Calloused. 

He loved me. 

Well, aside from that, which is the only thing she knows to be true. 

Percy senses the tectonic shift within Annabeth and holds her tight, laying her back on the mattress and tucking himself in behind her. His arms wrap around her like he can prevent the earthquake, but all that tension can only do one thing: snap. 

Luke loved her. It’s the one thing she knows. None of it makes sense if he never loved her. She has to make it make sense. 

Most days her brain buries the ache. Annabeth is a runner; she is good at lacing up her shoes and hitting the road, but her feet cannot carry her far enough. She is the house she’s running away from. Luke’s influence is a painful design that fuels self-hatred and frustration, but the bones were good. At its core, the house was built with love, the kind you want to share with family. Before her fearlessness and fire were her own, they were his. Luke was the first person to put a weapon in her hand, and Annabeth is nothing if not a warrior. He made her to be the exact thing she needed to be to survive him.

Seven months after his death, and sometimes a day goes by where Annabeth doesn’t think about it. Some days are too full of Percy’s sunshine smile for the sky to dream of dimming. Other days—ones she keeps to herself—the thought of Luke shines in the rose-tinted lens of nostalgia. And then there are days like today where she is rendered immobile by the mere memory of him.

Closure is a sick and twisted joke. Luke’s love for Annabeth saved his soul and the world, just the way she wanted. All the pain and suffering of the past four years was worth it. She was right to believe in him. So why does the burden still burn into her shoulders? 

Percy presses his lips to the back of Annabeth’s neck, drawing her back to the present. His arm rests underneath her neck and wraps around her shoulders while the other falls over and around her torso, linking their fingers over her heart. He’s grown considerably since the summer, a fact that bothers Annabeth until moments like this where the width of his shoulders eclipses her own. It almost fools her into thinking he can protect her from this. 

“Easy.” His voice is low, whispered into her neck. “You’re okay. Just breathe with me, alright? I’ve got you.” 

Each swell of Percy’s chest coaches Annabeth through her own. Inhale. Hold. Feel his hands squeeze each second. Exhale. Listen to him whisper affirmations like prayers into her skin. Repeat. 

It takes a while, but Annabeth’s heart slows.

Percy’s voice resonates again her back. “What happened?”

This, she thinks, is the hardest part. Annabeth doesn’t have an empathy link like Percy and Grover, nor does she have someone with shared experience to speak to. In her struggle with Luke, she is truly alone.

“It’s not fair,” she manages, breath hitching.

“What isn’t?”

“That he—“ A stray tear leaks onto her pillow. Percy’s lips linger on her shoulder, patient and steady and everything Luke couldn’t be. Annabeth sobs, a mortifying sound, and she’s glad Percy can’t see her face as she presses it into her cold pillowcase. The stain of fallen tears waits for her, inviting her back into old pain. “That he loved me. It’s not fair that he loved me.”

Though he tries to hide it, Percy’s body goes rigid. They have fought about this on Annabeth’s rose-tinted days or whenever someone brings up Luke’s legacy, be it as hero, pawn, or monster. Part of Percy will always be the twelve year old boy who was betrayed by Luke, and part of Annabeth will always be the seven year old girl who found a family with him.

“Love isn’t always enough,” Percy says, and she can hear the tension in his jaw. Bless him though, he tries for her. “It’s not your fault he couldn’t do a single damn thing about it.”

He pulls her into his chest and lays his head on her shoulder, keeping her from falling off the bed while her body shakes. She withers at the realization that she can’t offer him anything in return, not even a promise that she’ll take his words to heart.

Luke did something about it: he died. He became the hero Annabeth saw in him after years of struggling, and then he left her again.

But he kept his promise. 

Annabeth’s chest aches as it always does when she thinks about Luke, it just runs a bit deeper today. It was in his nature to cut to the bone. 

“I just don’t want to feel like this anymore.” She sounds every bit the small, bitter runaway. 

The cold of the pillow is replaced by Percy wiping away her tears and dabbing at her nose with the sleeve of his hoodie. “What can I do? Tell me how to help.” 

“Just stay with me.” She leans into his palm, kisses his wrist. “Hold me a little longer.” 

“As long as you need,” Percy promises, dropping kisses along the line of her neck, her jaw, her cheek. “But I need you to look at me.” 

They untangle their limbs for Annabeth to flop onto Percy’s chest. His arms wrap back around her, this time firm around her waist while his free hand slides to her neck, his thumb under her jaw to hold her gaze. His eyes blaze with the fierce love she is still learning to accept, the one that burns to protect. 

“I love you so much,” he says, his voice aching as though it almost hurts. “And if I could take this away, I would. You don’t deserve it. I know we don’t... That he...” Percy frowns, then tightens his grip on her. “I know I don’t get it. I know. But I’m still here, you know? I don’t want you to be alone. Ever.” 

The gears in Annabeth’s brain take a moment process, and her response comes out in a breathless, “I love you.” The phrase is warm, as it always is, like the sun shining through the rain on her window. Loving Percy turns the light on in every room she enters. The rest of her words fall short, though they’re honest. “I don’t know what to say.” 

Percy’s thumb swipes across her cheek. “Me neither. We’ll figure it out together, yeah?” 

She throws herself into the crook of his neck, knocking the air from his lungs. He just softens and holds the back of her head while tracing circles on her hoodie—steady, sweet, supporting. He holds her tight and kisses her temple with the same tenderness she presses into his collarbone: a small attempt at reciprocity, but a meaningful one nonetheless. They’re trying, which is all they can do. 

[mediocre--writing]

what if when neil found out steve and billy are dating, instead, he goes and beats the shit out of Steve to teach billy a lesson

“billy, shut up or i’m telling steve!”

the pause in the air was so pregnant that nobody dared to move.

billy felt his pulse shoot up so high he was sure he was going to vibrate off of the chair he sat on. he could see the fork in his hand wobble more and more violently as he willed it to stay still.

this was exactly what happened last time.

being too joke-y and playful, max saying something just incriminating enough, and the whole universe coming to a pause, just to jeer and laugh at poor billy hargrove.

the dinner was nice, one of the better ones susan had made, and everyone in the house was smiling.

max and billy were closer than ever, even before the move out to indiana, and felt like true siblings, much to the delight of both parents.

neils nose scrunched. he looked back and forth around the table before raising his steel eyes to meet max’s.

“who’s steve?”

max knew she’d done it this time. she was cornered and her face was burning with shame for what she brought on billy, what she brought on herself, what she brought on the house.

“one of billy’s friends. he babysits dustin sometimes. drives him around, ya know?”

max sounded causal. and it wouldn’t have been suspicious had the room not had a tense air that hadn’t been present prior to the move.

“friend?” neil moved his eyes over to billy, who instantly straightened his posture and set his face as blank as possible. “billy, you’re finally making good friends here?”

billy’s eyes scanned up and down his fathers figure before nodding, “yes, sir,”

neil smiled, “well, that’s great to hear,” and continued eating his vegetables.

billy didn’t move. this seemed like a trick.

there is no way that neil hargrove had so easily brushed off a comment like that without causing a fit or threatening to kill.

billy could still feel the phantom pains that came with the beating after neil had found out about harry.

billy had never experienced that much pain, never felt so fearful for his life as his dads boot pressed into his neck.

how bad it hurt when neil ripped out his original earring and pulled out his hair.

how he couldn’t sit straight for weeks, but still forced himself to in order to seem proper and kind and sweet, like the good son he is.

billy remembers the crunch of his ankle when he fell down to the floor. he remembers the threat on his life if neil even found a trace of billy acting the way he did.

worst of all, he remembers the way his heart ripped itself in half, every string connecting it being brutally ripped and burned on the ends to ensure there was no connecting it back together on the night he told harry he was leaving.

told him not to stay in touch, not to find his new number or his new address. not to even so much as think about billy for too long, in fear that neil would just know.

how he sat in the johnson’s backyard sunroom in the late afternoon and sobbed in harry’s arms.

how he had his right leg on the side of the couch, a big blue cast making it heavier and the splint he had on his wrist making it hard to grab at harry’s shirt.

how harry stroked at his hair and never mentioned the patch in the back that was gone, completely bald in that one spot. never mentioned how billy’s earring had moved sides and how there were three small stitches holding the other ear together.

and, now, billy having to see neil sit at a table and act like nothing happened, he almost felt more afraid than he did then.

monday morning, after billy’s weekend from hell. and no, it’s not what you’re thinking.

billy didn’t get hit once. didn’t get any dirty looks or obsessive nagging from neil.

of anything, neil seemed to smile at billy more that weekend.

billy didn’t dare step out of line, though. he offered to do dishes every night and did everyone’s laundry. he sat in the family room at night and was kind and sweet. didn’t leave the house once, nor did he make any phone calls.

and he was more on edge than ever.

driving him and max to school that day was like a breath of fresh air. even if it was kinda cow-shitty air, it wasn’t neil’s air.

billy pulled up to the middle school curb to let max out, but she didn’t move.

when billy turned to look at her, he saw her staring, slack jawed at something in the high school parking lot.

when billy turned his head, he wished he hadn’t seen it.

steve.

steve with his arm in a cast and sitting in a sling. steve with his face bloodier and more bruised than billy had ever made it look. steve waking with a limp as he got into the school doors.

“you don’t think—“ max couldn’t even finish her sentence before billy felt rage take over his entire body.

“get out. go to class. if i don’t pick you up today, go home with one of your friends. do you understand?”

max quickly said yes and got out of the car, billy whipping into his usual parking space before getting out and running, yes running, to steve, who was still trying to get through the front door.

“steve—“ billy stopped a few feet away as steve finally got the door open and walked into the halls.

billy chased after him, which wasn’t hard (steve was limping) but the sheer amount of people in the halls was hard to get around.

“steve! steve, stop!” billy forced himself through the hallways, never remembering them being this crowded before, or maybe that was his anxiety talking.

“steve,” billy finally stopped as he got in front of steve.

“billy, i really don’t want to talk to you right now,”

steve’s eyebrows did that weird thing where they scrunch in the middle and make the ends push down. they make him look more tired than he already is.

“no, no!” billy was freaking out. even without looking, he knew his hands were shaking worse than they ever had before.

“just—“ billy looked around before seeing the boy’s bathroom, gently pushing steve through the doors before locking the two of them in there together.

“bil—“

“is anyone in here!?” billy asked as he peaked under the stalls and checked every inch of the bathroom.

“this is my fault, but you gotta tell me what happened, steve,”

“i—i don’t even know!” steve looked around the bathroom as he leaned, defeated, against the wall next to the towel dispenser.

“you don’t know!?” billy was shouting, “did he come to your house? was this like an ambush thing? did he say anything to you? you have to give me something, steve!”

“i—i,” steve was floundering for the words to tell billy.

“he just— saturday night, i was coming home from dustins and i had to stop and pick up some milk from the 24-hour store and i came out and three of my tires were slashed.

“so i set down my stuff at the car and go back in to ask to use a phone, but someone yanks me back to the alley behind the store and beats the shit out of me, billy!”

billy was rubbing his hands over the stubble on his chin as he tried to process steve’s story.

“told me to stay the fuck away from his son and that he’d kill me if he found out i even looked at you again, alright! all while he’s shoving his foot into my elbow, but not before he pulls up on my wrist and breaks my arm!”

“oh my god,” billy stumbles backwards until his back hits the wall between the sinks, then he starts to slide down until he’s sitting on the floor, forcing himself not to cry.

steve huffs out something that sounds like “yeah” before moving to sit down too.

“did you tell anyone?”

“i didn’t know if i should,”

“you didn’t tell anyone!?”

“what was i supposed to say!?”

“that a psycho jumped you in the alley! what did you tell the hospital?”

steve was quiet for too long.

“you went to the hospital, right!?”

“not... exactly,”

“you fixed your own broken arm?”

“no.” steve looked down then around at the stalls, “i had jonathan help me,”

“steve!”

“well i needed someone to pick me up and i knew he wouldn’t ask questions!” steve admits. “would you want me to tell people?”

yes.

billys first thought. of course steve should have called the cops or gone to a hospital. neil hargrove should be arrested for what he did to steve.

no.

the logical part of billy’s brain says. if they take him to court over something like this, it could have too many repercussions.

for one, neil could tell everyone that his son and steve harrington are gay and fucking each other.

plus, it would force neils... home tendencies to come up at some point, and if it didn’t work out in a pretty liberal cali, then nobody in conservative indiana is going to berate neil for ‘taking care of’ his gay son.

it’s a lose-lose situation.

“billy?”

his blue eyes snap back to steve’s face: still kind and reassuring with the huge, grotesque scabs and swelling scattered everywhere.

“it’s why he didn’t do anything,”

the comment, said mostly to billy himself, caught steve’s interest, “what?”

“max... talked about you at dinner friday, and he didn’t do anything. i was waiting all weekend for him to snap and he never did, smiled more, even. now i know why,”

they sat together in thought for a while, a good ten minutes after the late bell rang, before billy cleared his throat.

“you said he slashed your tires?”—steve nodded—“you get ‘em replaced?”—steve nodded again—“did you drive yourself to school today?”

“yea—billy where is this going?”

before steve even got a read on billy’s face, the bathroom door was unlocked and swinging open, billy racing out.

steve, crippled as he may be, managed to get off the floor with his bum leg and broken arm, walking after a brief glimpse of billy as he turned corners before leaving out to the student parking lot.

billy was at steve’s car before he was, reaching through the open windows and popping the trunk, bitching about how steve needs to roll his windows up because people are gonna steal his car.

he reached into the trunk and grabbed the nail bat he knew steve would have there (the bat goes where steve goes).

“hey! billy!” steve is yelling to an empty parking lot, the only response being steve’s trunk slamming shut and billy marching over to his own car before getting in and screeching out of the lot.

steve was still standing there, speechless, as he watched the quick blue car shoot down the road.

steve, ever being the hero, limped back to the school, rifling through his pockets for loose change to push into the phone before dialing the byers house.

joyce picked up after two rings.

“hello, byers house,”

“is hopper there!?” his voice came out scratchy and worn.

“steve?”

“joyce! is hopper there?”

“he’s about to leave for work, why do yo—“

“put him on the phone! now!”

“o—ok,”

there’s rustling and muffled voices on the other line before steve hears hoppers gruff voice ask what he needs.

“i need you to do me a cop-like favor but as hopper, not a cop,”

“kid—“ hopper sighed and steve could just imagine him running a hand down his face. “i’ve gotta get to work and i don’t have t—“

“i think someone may be getting really hurt but i’ve been asked—well, not asked, but it’s been implied—that i shouldn’t get cops involved but i need you to do this for me, hopper!”

“is it... lab stuff?”

“no! this is like—halfway murder stuff!”

“who and where?”

“billy’s house. i think,”

hopper sighed and was quiet for a moment before giving a quick ‘i’ll go check it out,’

“not as a cop!”

“not as a cop,”

and steve felt useless. he knew he wouldn’t be able to go into class and feel ok.

hell, even if everything turned out alright, steve wasn’t sure when this fluttery, anxious feeling in his stomach would go away.

so, as a sane person would do, steve started slowly driving to billy’s house. not slowly, but the speed limit. just to give billy and hopper time to do something and steve wouldn’t get yelled at by billy for ‘getting in the middle of it.’

but when steve does get there, boy oh boy!

there’s a truck that’s got holes and dents all around it, windows smashed in and the wheels all flat, billy panting with the nail bat held limply in his hand.

neil, however, was standing on the porch, dressed ready for work, holding a shotgun at billy.

steve was parked a bit down the street, but the screaming could be heard with just his windows rolled down.

nothing sounded like anguished yells of pain, just hurtful jabs and ruthless words being spat back and forth.

steve couldn’t have wished harder for hopper to hurry the fuck up.

steve was intently watching the two men, both seeming to think they had the upper hand, when he heard the cocking of a gun taken off safety.

he sees billy’s blond hair start moving backwards, away from the house right as he catches a glimpse of a tan truck in his rear view mirror. hopper.

neither of the hargroves have noticed hoppers truck.

neil shoots a warning shot, one that goes a foot above billy’s head and into the wooded area in front of their house.

billy backs up quicker.

hopper turns his sirens on.

billy’s head shoots left to see the two cars.

neil’s finger lifts off the trigger.

hopper parks the truck, having already called for backup the second he saw neil holding a gun at his son.

he gets out, has that intimidating air about him that makes everything else quiet.

“we doin’ alright here?” hopper asks, hands resting on his belt, close to his gun.

“everything’s fine,” neil grits out.

“‘everything’s fine’ but you’re holding a gun at your boy. explain that to me,”

“listen here, pig, i don’t need you tellin me how i can raise my kids!”

“not questioning your parenting, just your choice of punishment,”

“he broke up my car!” neil yelled, hopper looked over to the (absolutely demolished) truck. “i told him, i told him he ain’t messin with what’s mine and the boy didn’t listen! so i’m just showin’ him how the real world is gonna come at him!”

“the real world is going to shoot him?” hopper asks with a quirk of his eyebrow.

billy has backed up all the way to the end of the driveway, behind where hopper was standing, and steve has gotten out of his car and was walking across neighboring lawns to get closer to billy.

he finally reaches billy.

“what the hell are you doing?” billy asks with wide eyes at steve, trying to keep quiet and not alert his dad and hopper.

“i—i’m not really sure,”

“jesus, you’re an idiot,” billy grumbles as he watches hopper and neil get closer as they talk.

the men are getting within ten feet of each other when hopper gets neil to put the gun down, even closes the part on his tool belt that has his gun.

neil comes off the porch, he and hopper are close, like two feet.

they’re talking quietly, and as much as steve and billy want to know what they’re saying, they don’t dare move any closer.

“—that boy!”

they only catch the end of the sentence, but neil is pointing at steve and hopper has his head turned with a disappointed look at steve.

“you couldn’t have waited in the car?” hopper groans and neil looks outraged.

“you’re telling me you support this abomination!? this is your doing, isn’t it? you allow things like this in your town? do you!?”

hoppers face looks calm.

“yeah, yeah i do,” he smiles, the mustache lifts with the rest of his face. then neil takes a swing at him.

they get into a brawl, but neil, however easy it is for him to beat up teenagers, can’t take hopper. not even on his best day.

hoppers backup shows up soon after, neil getting shoved into the back of a cop car with handcuffs (god, billy wishes he could get a picture of that).

hopper gets statements from steve and billy and susan and max. even mrs. garibaldi, the neighbor whose window looks right into the hargrove house and has written down dates and descriptions of what she sees (what a godsend, that woman is).

hopper has friends with high positions, good lawyer friends who don’t mind doing a good thing for a bad situation.

everything works out in the end.

plus, steve has a gnarley scar along the side of his neck, leading to his ear that billy enjoys kissing all the time. (and a lifetime of aches from waiting three days to do to the hospital for his backwards arm!)

[boognish-worshipper]

Remember the Rain

praying this is the final part of “Sunrise, Sunset” by the time i’m done omg ,, lamar finally talks it out with frank. i was tryna keep the titles consistent with a sky theme? wasn’t sure what to name this one at first, but i settled on naming it after a i song that i felt was sorta fitting lol ,, also lamar’s dramatic when drunk, that’s jus how it’s gonna be

oh and i included one last convo w/ that psychic lady bc each character got three opportunities to speak to her lol

//

The night Franklin and him fought was the third night in a row Lamar couldn’t sleep right. Then it became four. Then five. Six. He had hoped after the first couple days of Franklin being mad, that it’d all blow over and things would go back to normal. That he wouldn’t ever have to say anything about what he felt deep down. Even though he told himself he had to, he wouldn’t. He waited it out, and still hoped it would all just fucking blow over. That wasn’t what happened of course.

An overcast sky was spread over LS, light rain tapping against Lamar’s window. As cheesy as it was, it reflected how he felt. Another day had passed. Franklin wasn’t picking up, not even reading his texts, nothing. He called a couple times at first when the fourth day of the silent treatment occurred, then tried a few more times to contact him in the following days. It had grown into a long and sad string of texts.

franklin.

dog

plz

pick up

answer me

plz?

c’mon frank i told you i have nothin goin on with yo auntie

i wanna talk things out with you.

u ain’t let me finish explaining

text me when u read this. plz bro

He sighed. This was hopeless. He set his phone aside, still laying awake. A buzz came right after. Fucking finally, something.

fuck you

we got nothin to discuss

He didn’t know how to feel. This was fucking him up and he couldn’t think straight. He tried calling him once more, the ringing as he waited for a pick up mocking him. Voicemail yet again. How many messages had he tried leaving at this point?

for fucks sake frank pick up

u ain’t doin this to me rn

jus let me explain myself

He stared at the ceiling yet again, like it would have all the answers sprawled out for him. As he did, he focused on how the rain had picked up, coming down harder. Then he felt his phone buzz.

no

now stop blowing my phone up

i’m tryna sleep

Lamar was never one to be sensitive, but he felt so crushed right now that all he could do was cry silently to himself. He didn’t even have Chop around anymore to comfort him like he normally would whenever Lamar was going through something. Would he even see him again? He lived over at Frank’s now. Fuck. Did this mean they’d have to share custody now? If he wasn’t so upset, he most likely would’ve laughed at the idea of it. He was letting bad thoughts consume him, turning to a last minute resort of drinking to try stopping it. This kind of thing rarely happened to him, these kind of feelings weren’t common. He knew no other method of trying to stuff bad feelings down, working through a 6 pack of beer on his own, followed by a bottle of some type of random liquor. Anything to stifle the pain in his chest, although it didn’t accomplish much other than making him feel even more queasy. He left one last voicemail, choking back a sob. Or what he had thought would be the last one. He lost count.

“Franklin. Please jus’ talk to me already man. You- you believin’ what you wanna believe right now, you ain’t even givin’ me a chance. You my best fuckin’ friend, don’t that mean shit to you anymore? We.. homies n shit.” He sniffled, cringing to himself when he said the words “best friend”. Franklin was so much more than that to him.

“Ion… Ion think I can live without you in my life. You can’t hate me man that shit.. that’s fucked. This is fucked. I’m fucked.”

A strong feeling of humiliation hung around him for many reasons, one being that he was fully crying now, over the phone. He couldn’t get any lower.

“You jus’ mad right now. But you.. you won’t be, eventually. Right? Please get back to me soon. Please. I’d rather fuckin’.. die or sum’ than have you hatin’ me n shit. At this point I might as well.”

After hanging up, he decided to visit that site one last time. His tears blurred his vision, making it harder to type. The shit in his system didn’t help either.

lady

i fuckef up

thsi is yo faukt

What now? Why are you back?

frankljn hates me

He does? That’s not right.

damn straighy it fuckign isnt

No, I mean that’s not correct.

There’s no way that he could, even if it seems like it right now.

jus fuckin tell me whst to do

That’s out of my hands.

is not u fuckin wirch

*withc

*witch

Look, I really don’t know how else to help you. I don’t have any other visions to offer. You’re on your own.

They do say though, that dreams are visions themselves.

dont fukcin speak in riddles rn

Precognition, Lamar. Just have faith

prewhatnow

n yeah. faith. bc that helps so fuckn much

All I can say to you is good luck - it’s all coming together. Just wait.

th fuck does that mean?

It means that you’re stressing too much - you better sleep it off. Farewell Lamar. You’re gonna have a killer hangover you know…

SERVICE UNAVAILABLE. PLEASE TRY AGAIN LATER.

The notification did nothing but make him more upset. He calmed down eventually, the crying and alcohol tiring him out. He blacked out soon after, not remembering when he fell asleep.

For the first time in a while, he dreamt about the two of them. The start of the dream showed a radiant sight before them, the sky lit up in a million shades. Chop was laying beside Franklin, head on his thigh. All three of them sat on a grassy knoll, a soft breeze blowing through each blade. Franklin turned, Lamar not taking his eyes off him since the dream started. He only noticed the sky’s wide color palette because the intensity struck Franklin’s face just right. He looked right into Lamar’s eyes, speaking softly.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“What?”

“You had so many opportunities. So many times, I thought that you would. I got my hopes up, you know. I waited. When Tanisha left.. I only had you.”

“Tanisha..”

“I still love her. I.. I think apart of me always will, but I love you just the same. Even if you drive me up a Goddamn wall sometimes. You both mean the world to me.”

Franklin looked back at the view ahead. A heavenly indigo replaced the vivid hues from before.

“But she’s gone now. Shit ain’t the same. All I know is you stayed when she didn’t. Even when she got pulled outta the hood and made some kinda new life for herself, you never left my side. Never changed yo loyalties.”

He turned back to face Lamar again. His eyes were glassy, the glow of the midnight sky reflecting in them.

“So why didn’t you say somethin’ sooner?”

“Franklin.. I ain’t deduce that shit ‘til now.“

“You really didn’t know?”

Even in the dream he could feel that previous frustration occur in his mind. Was he hiding in a glass closet or something? He could only let out a wry laugh.

“Yeah man. I was a fuckin’ fool, jus’ like you always said.”

“Damn straight.” He chuckled, and Lamar came to the conclusion that he could listen to that laugh forever. Franklin’s face then fell solemn.

“Y’know I really thought that.. I really thought that you jus’ got with someone else. Not even jus’ my Aunt. I saw how you wanted to get away from me, and I thought…” He stopped himself, petting Chop’s head.

“I.. wanted to be happy if you was, but the thought of that at all bothered me.”

“Why?”

“Cuz you were all I had, dog. Mike n Trevor, they have their own lives, their own history n shit. I can’t always rely on them. Denise don’t give a fuck what happen to me. You my lifeline dog, I’ve known you for years. I didn’t want you to forget me over a chick or sum’. That day you acted all different n shit, it worried me.”

“Hey man, y’know I ain’t ever gon pull that shit on you. I’m with you for life.”

“Then don’t pull other kinda stupid shit on me.”

“Whatchu mean?”

“You can’t ever die on me bro. That ain’t how this shit works.”

“Ay man, I don’t plan on dying jus’ yet. Not unless yo ass by my side. Not ‘til I tell you I…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Franklin got closer to his face, cupping his cheek. His eyes shone as the stars around them fell from the sky, akin to raindrops, hitting them. Everything about him was flooding Lamar’s senses, and it felt surreal, between his aroma and all the other things he loved about Franklin. Golden flecks covered them both, and the stars continued to crash down. The sky was growing darker than before.

“Just say the words Lamar. Say them and this shit’ll be over.”

“How?”

“Well first you need to wake yo ass up.”

“Huh?”

“I said wake up, fool!”

Lamar’s blissful dream had been interrupted by an unknown figure shaking him, literal raindrops hitting his face. He was still bleary eyed, only seeing a vague silhouette in front of him. A wet slap to the face rattled his brain around, the hangover settling in. Shit, was he still drunk? What time was it?

“Lamar! Get up!”

“Oh.. Th’fuck? Who- who that is?” He grunted out.

“It’s me you fuckin’ clown!”

“Frank?”

“Who the fuck else?”

“Why are you-”

He was abruptly yanked out of bed, thudding to the floor with a small “oof”.

“Get up you punk bitch!”

“Franklin what the fuck-”

He was grabbed again, tossed back onto his bed. Franklin straddled him, shaking Lamar by the collar.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He said, Lamar getting another slap to the face.

“What in the fresh fuck is you talkin’-” Another slap.

“15 fuckin’ missed phone calls! 15! Are you fuckin’ nuts?!”

Lamar’s eyes practically popped out of his head. 15? What the fuck did he say to him?

“I did what-”

Franklin shook him even harder by his shirt, stretching the material out. He was straining his voice now.

“You had me worried like fuckin’ crazy! I thought you was in some sorta fuckin’ trouble again! You blew my phone up when I told yo ass not to, and then didn’t fuckin’ pick up after I heard the first couple special messages you left me!”

Oh God. This was it. He told Franklin everything, didn’t he? The color drained from his face.

“Oh fuck me..” He mumbled, putting a hand over his eyes.

“What?!” Franklin yelled, shaking him again. Lamar’s head was pounding.

“Franklin.. what.. what I say on there? I barely remember a thing, let alone callin’ yo ass.”

“You seriously don’t fuckin’ remember?!”

“Yeah. Seriously, man.”

Franklin slid off of him, putting a palm to his face. He breathed through his nose hard, trying to calm down. Lamar realized he was drenched from the small downpour outside. Pellets of rain thumped against the window as a reminder that the storm never went away.

“You.. fuck, man. You started sayin’ all this shit about how bad a fuckin’ friend you was. That you, you was hidin’ all this shit and couldn’t live another day without tellin’ me.”

Okay. Good. He didn’t tell him the truth.

“You told me you wanted to die dog. Didn’t realize yo dumbass was safe n sound asleep in yo fuckin’ bed.”

“Oh.”

“…’Oh’? Is that really all you have to say?!”

“F, I was jus’ drunk. It was dumb of me, I know, but I.. It’s nothing, okay?”

“Don’t do this shit to me man! I’ve already dealt with enough of yo fuckin’ schemes n shit-”

“Frank.”

“It’s 3 am! You had Chop barkin’ his Goddamn head off the whole night!”

“Franklin.”

“Then I race my ass over here to find yo drunkass self passed out in bed-”

“Franklin.”

“What! What?! You finally gonna put yo two cents in for once?”

“Stop yelling. My head hurts like a bitch right now.”

“Good! I’m fuckin’ glad because I know mine does as well you fuckin’ asshole!”

Lamar looked pathetically up at him. This was getting out of hand. He let it go on for too long.

“Why did you come here then?” He croaked.

“Because you were fuckin’ sobbin’ into the phone! All I heard was you cryin’ like mad fuckin’ crazy and it scared me. You don’t ever do that shit, not even when you fucked up.”

“How much I say?”

“I got the first message pretty fuckin’ clear, the rest was jus’ incoherent bullshit. I barely got through the second one before speedin’ on over. You sounded hurt n shit, I thought something happened. I thought you was a goner.”

“No weird shit though right? I ain’t say nothin’ bad?”

“What? Lamar, what the fuck are you on about? I just told you what yo ass cried out to me! I couldn’t even understand any of the other messages!”

“Okay, okay. That’s.. good I guess.”

“That’s good? Fuckin’ hell, why did I come here? You- ugh!”

“Franklin. Can you jus’ sit down before you pop a fuckin’ blood vessel? You stressin’ for nothin’.”

If anything, Lamar should be the one stressing right now. He had been so close to confessing without knowing. Franklin sat next to him, arms crossed.

“Franklin.”

“What.”

“I’m sorry that I scared you. I didn’t mean to.”

“Well good fuckin’ job, you accomplished that real well didn’t you.” He said, sarcastically applauding him.

“I thought you were cutting me off for good homie. You think I was gon’ let that happen?”

“Lamar, that still ain’t a good reason to freak me out like that in the middle of the night.”

“It’s only cuz you hadn’t been listenin’ to me bro. I’ve been wanting to tell you somethin’ so badly lately and I never.. got the chance.”

“Then do pray fuckin’ tell LD, what the fuck is so important that you had to do this shit to me at 3 AM!”

“Franklin man, c’mon-”

“No! Don’t start!”

Franklin stood, heading for the door as he spoke. He stopped in the threshold.

“Tell me what the fuck is goin’ on with you, or I’m leavin’ yo sad ass here to wallow. I mean it L.”

“Don’t be like that. Please man. I want to, but I-”

“Jus’ fuckin’ tell me! Why won’t you tell me?!”

“Frank-”

“I dragged my ass all the way over here for nothin’ didn’t I? You ain’t dead, you ain’t sayin’ shit, you jus’ bein’ so- ugh! Fuck!” He threw his hands up, exiting Lamar’s bedroom.

“I’m done man, fuck this.”

“Franklin wait- don’t go-” He pleaded.

Franklin did nothing but leave him stranded again, thunder rolling far in the distance. Lamar ran after him as he walked out the door, hearing the rain heavily hit the pavement. His mind was racing far ahead of him. Franklin was leaving, he was leaving for good, and he couldn’t. He can’t. That’s not how it’s supposed to work. Franklin can’t do that, he can’t-

His mind had gone so far away, that he didn’t even realize that he had tackled Franklin to the ground. The two of them fell to the ground with a loud splat, followed by sounds of pain.

“Lamar what the fuck?!”

“Don’t go! Fuckin’ hell, I gotta chase yo ass and for what?!”

“Get off me dog!”

“No!” Franklin was pinned beneath him. The raindrops that rolled off of Lamar hit him in the face.

It reminded Lamar of when they were younger, playing football or whatever sport they could outside even as the deluge soaked them both to the bone. The roles had been reversed, with Franklin constantly knocking him down onto the grassy sludge. They got quite an earful from Lamar’s mom as they tracked mud in the house upon returning. It was a memory amongst many that stuck with him like glue. Those memories couldn’t go away. Franklin couldn’t go away.

Tears mixed in with the rain as he yelled out to him.

“You fuckin’ idiot! Why you makin’ this shit so hard for me?! You keep leavin’ before I can even finish!”

Franklin struggled to break free from Lamar’s grip on his wrists, huffing as he looked away.

“Look at me!” Lamar shouted, grabbing his face with a free hand.

“I didn’t wanna fuckin’ tell you like this, but Jesus Christ! For fucks sake you stubborn asshole-”

He was doing it. He bit the fucking bullet.

“You know how we got into that fuckin’ argument last week? When I told you that I was dealin’ with that whole love thing, I wasn’t talkin’ about yo Aunt, a hoe, nobody else! I was talkin’ about you!”

Lamar threw himself off of him, stumbling backwards. Franklin propped himself onto his elbows. He finally said it. He said it, and he was far from finished.

“But you didn’t wanna fuckin’ listen! And now I’ve fucked our friendship over for a second time! All because of you! This whole thing has been drivin’ me fuckin’ insane lately, and I couldn’t do shit about it! I tried so, so hard to avoid this, but nothin’ ever goes my way, huh?! Every time I think a plan of mine’ll work, it doesn’t! You know why?!”

Opening his arms wide, he spoke loud and clear, finishing his rant.

“Lemme remind you: I’m Lamar fuckin’ Davis! The biggest fuckin’ fool, fuckin’ clown, fuckin’ whatever you wanna call me! Lamar Davis, the most naïve bitch on the planet! Fuck me for thinking that this would ever go well!”

Now it was his turn to leave. But he didn’t go back into his house. His legs moved for him, walking in no particular direction. He just needed to get away from Franklin, not caring about how damp his clothes were now. He was shaking, and he didn’t know if it was from the rain or the range of emotions he was flying through.

He could hear a pair of sneakers squishing behind him. Franklin was running, and he was catching up fast.

“Ay Lamar! Get back here!”

Oh fuck. He was chasing after him now. That’s not good. Lamar started running himself, not caring about possibly slipping and falling on his ass. Only a few hours ago, he had told himself he couldn’t be without Franklin. Now all he wanted to do was run away.

“Lamar!”

Fuck fuck fuck.

He wasn’t fast enough. The second time they hit the ground, Lamar had the wind knocked right out of him, the duo splashing right into a puddle. Hands gripped his shoulders, flipping him around.

“Lamar!”

There were only a few instances in his life where Lamar felt small. He’d always been big in character, big in height, and according to him, big in other ways. But this was one of those moments where he couldn’t help but flinch, wanting to collapse in on himself. He was so tired.

“If you gon’ beat my ass or somethin’ jus’ get it over with.” He sighed, shutting his eyes tight.

When he felt nothing but raindrops touch his face, he opened his eyes slowly. His heart sank when he did. Franklin was visibly upset, guilt in his eyes.

“Lamar. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

A wave of déjà vu washed over him. Oh. So that’s what precognition meant. Motherfucking psychic lady.

“You should’ve jus’ told me man.”

“I tried dog. You wouldn’t hear me out.”

“Cuz I.. I thought you got with someone. I didn’t wanna hear it straight from yo mouth if you was.”

He shifted up, Frank sitting in his lap.

“Y’know I always thought that.. Part of me jus’ kinda thought that it’d always be the two of us. I’m never gonna get Tanisha back.. but you..”

Franklin looked away.

“You a crazy ass loyal motherfucker man. You stuck by my side no matter what, and some dumbass part of me was convinced that you… I mean fuck, so many times I thought you would jus’ flat out say something. Somethin’ so I could stop waiting for the one other person I had known forever to just say that they fuckin’ loved me like that.”

Lamar blinked, rainwater getting into his eyes. It wasn’t quite as serene as his dream had been, nor was it verbatim, but Lamar didn’t care. There was something about the way the water droplets sat along Franklin’s face, highlighted by a streetlight behind him that made him look angelic.

“When you started actin’ all weird it jus’.. made me so fuckin’ mad man. I thought you was gon’ pick someone else over me. Jus’ like Tanisha did.”

“Franklin..”

“So why didn’t you jus’ say somethin’ sooner? I waited. Hell, I don’t even know why I did at first.”

“Franklin.”

“But now I’m realizin’ you must not have even noticed yoself what you was feelin’, when I fuckin’ did. I noticed and you didn’t and-”

Lamar grabbed him by the face, grip surprisingly strong after being in the rain.

“How many times do I gotta say yo name for you to hear me?”

The rain kept falling, never slowing for either one of them. Yet, it felt like time stopped. Lamar chuckled lightly.

“Franklin Clinton and Lamar Davis. Two of the dumbest motherfuckers in LS. Homies for life.”

“Yeah. Homies for life.”

His hands never left Franklin’s face. He pressed their foreheads together, lowering his voice.

“I love you, bum ass bitch.”

“Yeah yeah. I love you too.”

He kissed the top of his head, moving his hands down to embrace him in a tight hug. When was the last time they did this? As he thought it over, he could hear Franklin’s voice muffled against his chest.

“Don’t scare me like that again. Next time save us both the trouble n jus’ spill yo heart out. Dramatic motherfucker.”

The words had no malice in them, Lamar feeling him smile as he said it. He kissed him once more, and they just sat in the rain, feeling it bathe them in fond memories.

//plz listen to remember the rain by 21st century it’s so good 💔😭 anyway ya i decided to end it on a sorta happy note !!!!! franklin is a stubborn guy smh,, sorry for any typos lol also i rlly had no idea where i wanted to go with this so sorry if it’s weird or whatever

[panicinart]

Avrage day (Brahms x reader)

It's almost 3 am while writing this and I crave for soft Brahms story, pure fluff and I also didn't prove read it for any errors or something similar

The clock hits 6 am and the alarm started to pull you out of your wonderful dream by it's awful screeching noises. With a groan you toss and turned a bit until you admit defeat, with a heavy sigh you pull yourself out of the comfortable and warm bed into the cold called your room. Normally it would have been at least a bit warm but Brahms somehow managed to damage the heater while crawpe through the wall.

You stretch your back and arms while slowing walking up to Brahmses room. The door squeaked a bit, you're eyes look at the still sleeping form of Brahms slightly snoring a bit. You always checked on him every morning if everyone is alright, with a soft smile you close the door and began to fish out your clothes for the day.

Your still tired body clumsily dragged you into the bathroom to make yourself fresh the morning sunlight already shining into the room.

As you finished to wash and clothed yourself the birds started to sing and it was soon time to wake up Brahms.

With the rest of the 15 minutes you quickly walked down to the kitchen and made the table ready for breakfast. Bread, butter, cheese, ham, orange juice, you counted to yourself if everything was there, with a nod you tuned on the stove to boil some eggs.

With that you happily walked up to Brahmses room and softly knocking on the door.

"Brahsm, it's time to wake up"

You sayd in a warm and soft tone.

The only response you got was a disgruntled grumble and the man you're taking care of turning his back on you. With a huff's you shoved the curtains aside and heard from behind how Brahms groand in agony as the warm sun shined on his face.

"It's time to wake up"

You sayd in a more demanding tone,

"Five more minutes..."

Brahms sayd in return, you put your hands on your hips and huffed with slight annoyance. He always says five more minutes, and out of those dives became 10 then 20 then 45 and then a hour, and after that he got mad that you woke him up so late.

You shaked your head and pulled the blanket off of Brahms who put a bit of a fight with it.

"You need to make yourself ready now, I already started to boil the eggs and if I wait any longer there is going to be a mess."

He only pouted a bit when he heard that sentence and slowly started to dramatically drag himself out of bed. With a smile you patted his and and got him some fresh clothes out of the drawer.

When all was done you got Brahmses hand and convoy him to the kitchen, since he still made his body heavier then it was and walked around like a puppet who's strings almost fall off of it.

But all that behavior quickly stopped when he sat at the table and got his breakfast.

You quickly were finished with yours and started to clean the dishes while Brahms lazily munched on his last sandwich.

"After you are brush your teeth and come back to play the piano, okay?"

He nodded while swallowing the last bite and quickly walked away.

Into the room with the pino you already picked out the piece he is learning at the moment and clipped it on the board. It didn't took long until the tall and lanky man joined you and took a seat.

The man was an incredibly talented player, his nibble and skilled fingers played the music with ease. No matter how many times you hear him play it impresses you each and every time. Actually when you think about it, he is generally a really talented man. He is amazing at playing the piano, his painting skills are remarkable and even if you don't hear him sing a lot his deep growly adult voice is just so wonderful to hear. He also learns quick, every new info Brahms get he will absorb it like a sponge. To bad that instead of using his talent for someone good and productive he rather use it to play a few pranks on you or cause mischief if he feels like it.

The time fly by fast, piano lessons were over and Brahms was finishing his school lession outstandingly well. So as a treat for working so well you told him you would read him 3 chapters more of his favorite novel. With small giddy jumps he walked up to you embracing your much smaller form in a tight hug. The cold and slightly cracked porcelain nose nuzzled its between your shoulder while your soft hands caressed his head softly.

You both placed yourself on the newly bought couch listening to the music Brahms choice for today. But it was clear that he was occupied with something else. The tall man snuggled tighter to your form and fought your fingers into yours, playing with them. He was way to caught up with your presence that he completely blacked out the music. Every now and then his big hand gave yours a small playful squeeze or his face burying its into the crook of your neck.

The little actions make you giggle slightly and your warm smile grew a bit wider when he asked if you could give him a kiss on the forehead. Normally you tell him kisses are only for goodnights but you let it slide just this once.

Brahms flaild his legs in excitment, small giggles escaping his mouth as you shower his face with kisses.

At noon it was Brahmses playtime. You already made yours comfortable on the floor watching the man gathering all his favorite toys out of the giant plastic box. His arms filled with all the goodies and his eyes sparkling with excitement he stumbled to your way on his knee's.

But he never was satisfied with one thing. Often times he asked you to bring out his painting utensils or clay to make small figure and since you finally brought modern electronics into the house he sometimes asked to play mario kart with you.

As time flew by faster then you liked, you told Brahms to bring back the toys into the box while you went off to make lunch. With a disappointed grunt he picked up his dolls and legos.

While you prepared today's lunch you heard how Brahms was shuffling around you curiously watching you. He sometimes in between the stares asked you what your doing right now or if he could help. Even though Brahms is still a spoiled man, he learns to appreciating the moments were you both cook together. He may not be the best at it but him trying his best was good end for you and it also warmed your heart when you watch him trying to cut the perfect slice just for you.

At 1 pm dinner was ready and the table ready.

"Thank you for cooking"

Sayd Brahms with a mouth full of food, you gave him a smile and thanked him back for helping. Too bad you won't get the same help when you need to clean the dishes.

As you both place the dirty dishes into the sink and put the rest of the meal into a container. The lanky man quickly hide back into the wall to do god knows what. You never know what exactly he does there, sometimes you hear him crawl betwen the tight spaces or he gives you a vague answer when you ask. But what you know is that he needs is time alone and even if you're dying of curiosity you respect his privacy and don't want to invade it. So you dry the last plate and start to clean the house.

When the old grandfather clock striked 4:50 pm you were surprised that you didn't heard anything from Brahms, infact you didn't even hear hims shuffle inside the walls. You knew that the worst case scenario is him falling asleep between the walls but because it is so out of character for the man you still worried slightly. When you stuffed that bit of dirty clothes into the washer and your eyes staring at the clock that was now showing 6:00 pm you decide to call out his name.

And you called, and called, and called, but there was no answer the dumb side of your brain told you that Brahms slipped and bit his head on som6hard and is now hirting on the floor. But as your anxiety grew more and more it quickly got shut down as it came when you felt two strong arms hugging you from behind and the comfortable warmth of the wall gremlin.

"I hope I did not worry you too much"

A child voice sayd, before you could answer you got silenced rather fast when the man held something close to your face. It was a necklace, it looked like it was made by hand, here and there were a few rough and sloppy edges but you definitely could recognize that someone more skillful made it.

"Is-is this form me?"

With big eyes you looked at Brahms who nodded shyly

"It's a thanks for taking care of me"

He carefully placed it around your neck and hocked the ends together. You almost jumped out of your socks out of joy and gratification. Your arms embraced Brahms in a big hug softly swaying each others body from left to right and giving him small kisses. His soft snorts and giggles only spurt you even more on in drowning him in your affection.

As the clock hit 7:00 you both were already finished with dinner and making yourselfs ready for the night. But it was still a bit to early so you took the liberty to snuggle yourself next to Brahms playing with his brown locks as you listen to him whisper small words of affection towards you.

The older man shifted a bit and pulled the book from the night table to you,

"Can you please read the story for me now? You promised to give me 3 extra chapters and if you don't start now if will be to late!"

His child voice pointed out you gave him a last kiss on the forehead and took the book.

As you spoke out the sentences you didn't noticed hof Brahms slowly but surely feel asleep only his almost not noticeable snores alerted you to his sleeper form. You wanted to wiggle out of the bed but the man had a death grip on you, so instead you lays the book aside and turned off the lights also softly falling into dream land awaiting the next day.

[aceofshitposts]

Happy Valentines Day everyone!!! This wasnt actually what I initially planned and it technically... isn’t v-day themed but it DOES feature idiots in love so that’s good enough, right? No beta we die like robins okay hope you enjoy! (will probably throw this up on ao3 tomorrow too)

ALSO a reminder that you can totally send me prompts for little drabbles/ficlets!! a sentence or dialogue or just an au you think might be cool (i adore aus) or if you just wanna say hi!

-

Jason's not stupid. It's just that. Things can sneak up on you sometimes, okay? They all have that habit of getting lost in the details or not looking for what isn’t expected. And boy, is this not expected.

"Please," Tim is imploring in the same tone a child asks their parent for a candy bar at the grocery store checkout, "Bruce isn't even going to be there so you don't have to worry about him."

That's. Really not the problem. The problem is Jason has no idea why Tim is asking him, of all people. Not that he doesn't like hanging out with Tim, as a matter of fact he probably likes it too much. Seeking Tim out had become a bad habit, if he’s honest, that has escalated from working on cases together to eating meals after patrol and even occasionally meeting up during the day to whisk Tim away from the office for a proper lunch.

They're friends, right? But that doesn't explain why Tim is inviting him to an important social gathering and not, say, one of the Titans if he needs a second that badly. Hell, Dick or Stephanie are better choices than Jason is. Asking Jason is. Is. It’s-

It feels a little like Tim’s asking him on a date. Which is absurd for all kinds of reasons, least of which is that Tim doesn’t like Jason like that.

"Why are you asking me?"

Jason winces. That sounded harsh even to him and the way Tim’s expression goes from distinctly hurt to completely closed off has Jason cringing even more.

“Okay,” Tim says, turning towards the open window.

“Okay?” Jason repeats, already forgetting that Tim hasn’t answered his question.

“Mhmm, don’t worry about it,” he says in a tone that suggests Jason should absolutely worry about it.

With that Tim slips out the window and into the early Gotham morning, leaving Jason with an extra breakfast burrito that they’d never even got around to eating before Tim had… whatever the hell that had been. Jason stares at the open window for a moment more, the wind blowing a napkin into his face, and decides he’ll deal with it after sleeping.

-

“What the hell did you do??”

If the sound of Jason’s bedroom door violently hitting the wall didn’t wake Jason up then Stephanie’s indigent yelling would have done the job just fine.

“What the hell do you want?” Jason asks, then shoves a pillow over his head in the vain hopes she will go away.

“Get up!”

The covers are pulled from his body which wouldn’t be so bad if this didn’t also give Stephanie better access to punch him squarely in the stomach. Jason snarls, leaping out of bed to tackle Stephanie to the floor. They grapple around on the floor for a while, Stephanie succeeding in nailing Jason in the throat with an elbow and pinning him to the floor.

“What,” she says pointedly, “did you do to Tim??”

Jason wheezes, only half due to the pressure still on his throat. Stephanie stares down at him furiously.

“I have no idea what you mean,” Jason says hoarsely. 

Stephanie’s eyes narrow.

“Well, you better figure it out because he showed up at my apartment and has spent the entire morning moping under my blankets and obsessively redesigning Redbird on his tablet.”

Stephanie gets up in one smooth motion then offers a hand to help pull Jason up from the floor. Jason rubs at his sore throat giving Stephanie an incredulous look.

“I dunno what his problem is; he asked me to some fancy dinner and I just asked why he wasn’t asking you or whatever-”

“You what?”

“What! What did I do?”

“What did you do??” Stephanie shrieks in lieu of answering the question. “You have to be joking.”

When Jason just stares at her for a good minute Stephanie’s expression breaks and she starts laughing.

“Oh my god, please tell me you got dosed with something from Ivy or took a blow to the head recently,” she wheezes through her laughter. “Oh, noo, this is too stupid.”

“If you’ve figured out whatever is going on, could you clue me in?” Jason implores which only makes Stephanie laugh harder.

“Nope!” she says, popping the P, “this is too fucking funny. You’re on your own, bro.”

Before Stephanie leaves she makes sure to steal some of Jason’s leftovers and laugh at him some more, giving a two fingered salute as she leaves through the same window Tim had earlier that morning.

Over the course of the day Jason tries to busy himself cleaning his weapons and kitchen but he just end up stewing in the echoes of Stephanie’s laughter. He’s slumped on the couch rereading the same paragraph of a random paperback he’d grabbed when around four in the afternoon he receives a text from Cass that’s just a smiley face. It’s the only warning he gets before Tim comes stumbling through his window, laptop tucked under his arm.

“Okay, so, I’m still mad at you,” Tim starts, which is great, “but I want you to watch this.”

He sets his laptop down on Jason’s coffee table and maybe Jason can finally find out what this is all about.

On Tim’s laptop screen he opens what looks like a power-point presentation, and isn’t that just incredibly Tim, with the title: “Reasons We Make A Good Couple and Shouldn’t Break Up”.

Wait-

Back up.

“Break up??” Jason asks incredulously.

Tim’s head whips around to look at Jason, the slide on the screen changing to a picture of the two of them in uniform at the local 24 hour diner, probably taken by the waitress and posted on some social media platform, Tim reaching across the table to snag a piece of Jason’s bacon. It’s got several heart emojis all over it.

“You- yes? Isn’t that?” Tim sputters suddenly turning a bright shade of red.

“To break up don’t we have to date first?” Jason asks in a rush before his brain has really caught up with the situation.

Tim gets impossibly more red, muttering, “oh my fucking god,” while slamming the laptop shut. He runs a hand through his hair, looking as nervous and off kilter as Jason currently feels.

“I’m. I’m so sorry, Jay, I thought-” Tim starts rambling, words flowing together into an incoherent string while Jason’s brain tries desperately to parse what’s happening.

Like a lightbulb finally turning on in the middle of the night, Jason understands.

“Tim. Are we dating?”

Tim stops, jaw audibly snapping shut. He looks at Jason for all of two seconds before his gaze darts away miserably, looking at the floor.

“Yes?” he ventures, sounding unsure. “I just. I assumed you wanted to take it slow.”

Jason can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes his throat.

“Do I look like I do anything slow, Babybird?”

Tim growls in frustration, throwing his hands in the air and then pointing an accusing finger at Jason.

“We go out all the time! I hang out in your apartment! But whenever I’d try to initiate something more, you’d back off! I was trying to be considerate!”

Oh holy shit. Stephanie is right, this is stupid. Jason had thought he’d been projecting his own desires onto Tim, that there was no way Tim would want to be close to him like that. Even after all this time, Tim still finds ways to surprise Jason.

“Well, this explains why Stephanie punched and then started laughing at me this morning,” Jason laughs while draping an arm over his eyes. They really were Batman’s kids if their complete inability to communicate like normal people was anything to go by.

“God, Jason, I am so sorry,” Tim says, dropping down beside Jason on the couch with an oof. “I never should have assumed anything.”

“Hey, Babybird?” Jason shuffles over so he can throw his arm over Tim’s shoulders.

Tim startles, looking at Jason with wide blue eyes.

“Shut up and let me kiss you.”

Yeah, okay, maybe sometimes Jason is stupid. But he can at least find solace in the knowledge that sometimes Tim is also. Besides that, Jason tells himself, what really matters is that they got their shit together in the end. Even if that realization is undoubtedly going to come with a large amount of their family all pointing and laughing at them for being idiots.

“So,” Tim ventures after they’ve spent half an hour making out on Jason’s couch, “does this mean you’ll come with me to the dinner?”

Jason muffles a laugh against Tim’s collarbone and says, “yeah, sure I’ll come.”

“Okay, cool, cool. We’ve got to be there in an hour then.”

[panda-noosh]

fire and ice {Draco Malfoy x Reader}{pjo x hp crossover}

Words: 21k {:))))}

Summary: Wizards and demigods don’t get along. So what happens when the Malfoys are forced to stay at Camp Half-Blood?

Genre: angst - pjo crossover!!!

Notes: ask me about commissions! - masterlist - AM I SORRY? ABSOLUTELY NOT. this has been brewing in my brain for literal ages and i’ve finally snapped and just done it. might do more. who knows? certainly not me. 

----

Lucius Malfoy hates demigods.

   Everyone knows it. He doesn't make it a secret. He doesn't listen to the people who tell him – time and time again – that demigods and wizards aren't even meant to mingle, that him bringing their name into every press conference, every public appearance, every meeting, is doing nothing but spurring a fire that should never have been lit in the first place.

   He's at it again, though, because of course he is. That man never knows when to leave well enough alone, especially concerning business that has nothing to do with him.

    Today, his words are just as harsh as they were yesterday. The newspaper quotes him saying demigods are nothing but scum, mistakes upon the world. He has claimed plenty of times that not a single demigod was a planned child, that no god in their right mind would ever conceive with a Muggle.

   “What the fuck is a Muggle?” Percy asks.

  You shake your head, eyes narrowed at the black and white words. They jumble together, as they always have done, but you're still capable of making out the bare bones.

  Lucius Malfoy really, really hates demigods.

  “This guy is on drugs,” Percy continues. “Who's gonna be the one to tell him we're all literally just vibing over here in camp?”

  “I think it all comes down to jealousy,” says Annabeth.

   “Jealous about what? He's a fully grown wizard – he could wipe us out with one flick of his wrist if he wanted to.”

  “You underestimate us.”

  Percy scoffs. “I saw Will nearly fall into the fire the other day; there's absolutely nothing here Lucius Malfoy needs to be afraid of.”

  And you see his point. Of course you do. Being a demigod yourself, you have the utmost confidence in the fact that Lucius Malfoy could, indeed, probably wipe you out with nothing more than a brief thought. Gods only know he's wanted to for as long as you've heard his name.

  Nonetheless, this acceptance doesn't stop you from thinking about what it would be like to really stumble across the man who seems to be all talk and no action. Never once have you heard a story of wizards attacking demigods, nor vise versa. The two clans stay far apart from one another for reasons that have been made abundantly clear in the newspapers; they will just never get along. Two clashes of power like that will leave the world rumbled, and many people hurt, and it's better off to avoid that when you can.

  “We should track this Malfoy bloke down.”

   The words have fallen from your mouth before you've even fully registered they are what you wanted to say. Both Percy and Annabeth pause mid-argument, Annabeth nearly snapping her spine with how fast she twists in her seat to look at you. You flick your eyes up from your plate of roast beef and give a tiny, timid smile, as if shy that you even made such a suggestion.

  “You're joking,” says Percy, before turning to Annabeth. “They're joking, right?”

  “They're definitely joking.”

   “I'm not.”

   “Well, you need to start joking before I bring Will over here to make sure you're not running a fever or something-”

   “I'm serious!” You gesture towards the fire, where the newspaper can still be seen curling amongst the flames. “Have you guys not been reading the amount of threats he sends us every time he gets a chance? What if he's serious?”   “I doubt he's being serious,” Annabeth says, though there's a wobble in her voice that tells you she perhaps doesn't fully believe her own assurances. “Isn't it a crime in the wizard world to – like – murder innocent things?”

  “I'm pretty sure there was an entire space of time over there where people were just murdering each other,” Percy responds.

  Annabeth pales.

  “See what I mean?” you continue. “Besides, it's getting boring here.”

   Percy blinks. “Boring?”

   “I'm bored. I just want something to do, for Gods sake. Chiron's keeping such a tight leash on us-”

   Percy throws his hands up. “Oh! I wonder why!”

   “You two even said a few days ago that you miss being out and about, doing stuff, saving lives-”

   “I never said that,” Percy argues. “In my opinion, I've had enough saving lives to last me a lifetime.”

  “Weak.”

   “Coming from-”

  “Okay!” Annabeth snaps. “Enough. This conversation is officially over.”

  You pout, folding your arms over your chest like a child having a tantrum. Percy laughs at your expression, giving your nose a playful tap that does nothing but infuriate you further. It's been like this for weeks now – short tempers, boredom, an unease that can only be put to rest when you're out and about, doing what you do best.

   Maybe it's the ADHD. Maybe it's the godly blood running through your veins. Maybe you're just too curious for your own good, but you want to find Lucius Malfoy and just talk to him. You want to see if he's as tough in person as he makes himself out to be on paper. You know you're not much to look at, nothing more than a teenager with interesting parentage, but maybe that will be enough to get your questions answered – why do wizards hate demigods so much?

  Annabeth cuts the conversation short any time you try bringing it to life again. She's a master at changing the subject, sometimes deciding to just talk over you about a completely different topic. Eventually, Percy's laughter and Annabeth's avoidance is enough to make you shut up, and soon you're just sitting there, listening to Annabeth talk about the recent Athena cabin shenanigans she bore witness to a few nights previous.

  Dinner finishes, and the tables split back into their cabins. Annabeth gets lost amongst her sea of siblings, giving you and Percy a wave before she disappears for the night. You and Percy walk in silence for a little while, before you split off to your own respected cabins.

  Alone.

  Sleeping on your own has never bothered you before. It's all you've ever known. You were born an only child, your mother having lost her mind shortly after giving birth to you, your father never being around due to the complicated fact he was a god.

  Is a god.

  Sometimes it shakes you to think your own father will undoubtedly outlive you. Hades is sat on his throne somewhere, watching you do all these things in his honour, knowing full well he will one day have to watch you die. He might be by your bedside as your heart beat gradually comes to a halt in your sleep.

  More likely, he will be sat amongst his godly brothers and sisters, watching you fight on the battle field, catching the very moment a sword pierces your chest and you bleed out with no one to help you, no one by your side, no one caring.

  You shake the thought from your head as you reach your cabin, a large, black painted building with a skull and crossbones over the door. It's a lonely place, but demigods are lonely kids, so it kind of fits, and you've never seen any problem with facing the truth.

  As soon as the door closes behind you, you grab your notebook and pen from beneath your pillow. It's been a long time since you wrote anything, considering you've been too tired to even properly function these days, but tonight, your thoughts are heavy, and you need to find some way to let them loose. You sit cross-legged on the uncomfortable camp bed Chiron provided you with all those years ago, and start scribbling.

  Just random sentences, things that probably won't even make sense when you wake up tomorrow morning, words that don't even go together, but are just popping in your mind every few seconds. You've always called it poetry, but it's on thin ice. You let nobody read it, considering you know how bad it is, how weird it is. You can honestly imagine someone reading it and immediately expressing concerns for your mental stability.

  But it distinguishes that weight in your brain. It makes you see sense for a bit, pouring these words onto paper before closing the notebook and stuffing it beneath your pillow. You won't have to read them again if you don't want to, and that's the best part; it offers a moment of bliss, but there are no strings attached. All is well. All can be ignored if you want it to be.

  ----

  It takes weeks for the subject of Lucius Malfoy to arise at the dinner table again.

   Annabeth has been fighting it off. The demigod has known you for far too long; at this point, all she needs to do is take a glimpse of your face, and immediately she knows exactly what is going through your brain. It's like a sixth sense to her, and it gives her the perfect opportunity to change the subject before you can so much as utter the word Wizard.

   Percy notices the tension, and finally snaps.

  “Are you still thinking about what Lucius Malfoy said?”

   Annabeth groans, slapping Percy on the arm. “I told you not to bring it up!”    But your attention has already been grabbed. You straighten up in your seat, grinning from ear to ear as you say, “So can we go?”

   “Give me a break,” Annabeth grumbles, dropping her head into her hand. “We're not going to visit Lucius Malfoy. We don't know the guy.”

  “He doesn't know us.”

   “Good.”

  You lean across the table to flick Annabeth's forehead. “But he still insists on talking about us to whatever freaky wizard press he has special ties to; I just want to see him, Annabeth! I just want to – like – mess with him a little bit!”

  Percy laughs, nudging Annabeth's elbow. When he speaks, it's through a mouthful of noodles. “I actually think our Y/N is on to something.”

   “Thank you, Percy.”

  Annabeth's head shoots up, a pale spot in the centre of her forehead where you flicked her. “No! No, this isn't even up for debate. Chiron will kill us if he knows we're even talking about it.”

   “No he won't,” you reply. “Chiron trusts us. He's seen us do all sorts, and it's not like I'm asking you guys to go and risk your lives for me. We'll go and talk to him, get his side of the story, and then we'll-”

  “It's honestly like you think I'm stupid.”

  You freeze, fork hovering halfway to your mouth. “Come again?”

   Percy laughs, failing to stifle it behind his hand. “You've only gone and woken the beast, Y/N.”

  “Shut up.”

  Annabeth sighs, running a hand over her ponytail. “I've known you since we were seven years old, Y/N – I know what you're up to. You'll never just talk to Lucius Malfoy. You'll get there, and you'll have to taunt him, and jeer at him, and put a stink bomb in his bathroom-”

   “That's the oldest trick in the book – I'm better than that.”

  “But you know what I mean!” Annabeth shakes her head. “You'll get carried away, and we know what happens when you get carried away.”

  Your stomach dips. Even Percy's bright smile falls, replaced with a grimace the two of you share. It's a low blow, and Annabeth knows that, but she also knows better than to make it out like you and Percy aren't two of the most unpredictable demigods to walk on Camp Half-Blood soil.

  When Annabeth next speaks, her voice is softer. “It's just too risky.”

  “Since when did you start being scared of a little confrontation?”

  Percy's voice startles you from your momentary reverie. Both you and Annabeth snap to attention, turning to look at your friend with raised brows; suddenly, he doesn't look like the happy-go-lucky, always bantering kid he usually is. His expression has darkened, jaw set and eyebrows lowered so his blue eyes look darker than normal. He can't even bring himself to look you both in the eye, instead choosing to keep a firm glare on the noodles and rice in front of him.

  “What do you mean?” Annabeth asks. “I'm not afraid of confrontation. My scars can vouch for that.”

   “Right, so why is Y/N's suggestion so scary to you?”

   You blink; this was certainly not the direction you were expecting the conversation to go. Annabeth and Percy bicker like cat and dog, but there's never been any malice in it. Now, listening to Percy, you can hear the genuine hurt in his voice, and you know her previous comments about getting carried away have actually struck a chord in him.

  Annabeth stares with her mouth agape, clearly unsure how to respond. She must sense the tension, too, must realise she has said the wrong thing.

   Still without looking up, Percy says, “I agree with Y/N; we need out of this camp for a little while. We need to do something. So why not have a little road trip to visit the man himself, huh? Why not get our questions answered?”

  “Percy....” Annabeth flicks a desperate glance in your direction, but you're not inclined to intervene when Percy is like this. As someone who has experienced the difficulty of controlling powers that you have been forced to ignore for a grand number of years, the last thing you want to do is provoke Percy any further than Annabeth has already managed to do.

   “I'm bored, too,” he continues. “And, to be honest, I'm getting pretty tired of them wizards thinking they can say whatever they want about us. It's about time we let them know they're not better than anyone just 'cause they wear them stupid robes and have a council.”

  “So what are you saying?” you pipe up, excitedly. “You'll go with me?”

   Percy shrugs. “I don't see why not. It'll be a bit of fun, won't it?”

   You cheer, throwing your hands in the air before catching a glimpse of Annabeth's angered expression. Your cheer immediately drifts away, and you let your hands fall to your sides before mumbling, “You sure? 'Cause, I mean, we don't have to.”

  “No, we're going,” says Percy, staring right at Annabeth. He has a death wish. That is the only explanation you can come up with right now. “It'll be fun, as you said.”

  Annabeth's nostrils flare. She says nothing else, simply sends one final glare to Percy – as if you're not even present – and stands up, marching away before dinner has finished.

   Percy huffs, slumping back in his chair. “Where does she get off telling us we get carried away?”

  “I mean, she isn't wrong, Percy.”

  Percy scowls. “I don't think that's very fair.”

  “You're in denial.” You plunge your fork into his noodles, using his distraction to steal some food for yourself. “But we're going to visit Lucius Malfoy! That'll be fun!”

   “I only said that to make Annabeth angry.”

  “I know, but a promise is a promise. We're going, and we're gonna have a fantastic time.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  Not even two seconds later, Percy squeals and jumps from his seat. “Hey! Don't do that!”

  You grin, willing the skeletons hand to let go of Percy's ankle and sink back into the dirt.

  -----

  You and Percy remember this so well.

  It's muscle memory at this point, standing in the Hades cabin in the dark of night, Percy having tip-toed over to your domain to indulge in some illegal shenanigans. When you were younger, this used to be a nightly occurrence, which is one of the main reasons you both share such dramatic memories; neither of you are capable of staying out of trouble for very long, and maybe this is the very reason why.

  It's so easy for you to go wherever you want. You could shadow travel out of Camp Half Blood without a second thought, exhaustion be damned, but you never do. You respect Chiron too much to go out of your way to disobey him, but tonight is an exception. Percy stands by your side, hands tucked into an oversized hoodie. He's pulled the hood on over his dark hair, shoving the tangled strands into his eyes, though he does little to fix this. Instead, he keeps his blue gaze on you and says, “How long do you think we'll be?”

   “Not long,” you reply. “A few hours. Maybe a little longer if you fancy a stroll around London before we head back.”

  Percy scowls, glancing over his shoulder at the window. Nobody is awake. Camp Half Blood has never been so quiet.

  “Stop worrying.” You grab the sleeve of his hoodie, ushering his attention back to you. “I know what I'm doing, Perce – you've been with me a thousand times before. You know I can do it.”

  “Last time you shadow travelled this far, you nearly died.”

  “I was younger then. I've had more practise.”

  “Enough to travel to London?”

  You grab his hand, the motion so familiar now it's almost second nature. “Let's find out, shall we?”

   You don't give life the chance to throw another distraction your way; you inhale in that way you always do before a lengthy jump, and then you let your mind empty of all rational thought. Your mind does not go blank, nor does it settle; for a brief spell, you feel insane. You feel utterly and completely unhinged as the dead cackle in your head, thrashing through your brain like dogs trying to leap a wire fence. Your thoughts are no longer your own, replaced instead by the thoughts of people who are angry at death, angry at their own fate, people who blame your father and all of his offspring for the way their lives turned out.

  It hurts. You're forced to watch their faces as they twist into expressions of pure agony, begging for a help you cannot give them, because they are hundreds of years too late.

  It stops once your feet hit the ground.

  You try to steady yourself just to give off the illusion that you're perfectly fine, but your legs give out and you fall to your knees. Percy grabs your arm, but your body is limp as it slowly restores from the hectic ride that is shadow travel.

  “Never gets any better,” Percy grumbles; even he is a little uneasy on his feet, swaying to and fro. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” you belch. “Are we in London?”

  Percy looks up. You follow his gaze, warmth immediately flooding your stomach at the sight of a job well done, because the two of you are amongst the unmistakeable sights of London.

  It's a bit disappointing, you won't lie. Pictures in newspapers always perceive England to be this sophisticated, well-lit place, bustling with people dressed in suits and expensive clothes. Instead, you're greeted by a dark city street, broken street lights flickering overhead, people bustling by with their heads down, wearing track suits.

  In the distance, someone yells, “Come on, mate!” and it echoes off the cobbled stone walls.

  You and Percy share a glance.

  “Maybe we just expected too much,” he says.

  “Probably.”

  He hauls you to your feet, keeping a hand on your arm just in case you end up toppling over again. Through the darkness, you are just able to make out the peak of a large house in the distance. It's straight from a horror movie in your opinion, made up of dark cobbles, a golden fence adorned with spikes to keep the Muggles from entering; the word itself is nearly enough to make you laugh, though the sight of the house keeps you quiet.

  You and Percy approach the gates timidly, his hand still on your arm. “Is this the Malfoy house?”

  “I think so,” you whisper. “It looks like the pictures we always see. It's what I was aiming for, anyway.”

   “Good job, soldier.”

  “Thanks, boss.” You pause, craning your neck to get a better look at the house. “How do we actually get through the gate?”

  There are lights on in at least four of the rooms, a shadow passing by a curtain that looks tall and slim, gliding more than walking. You grab Percy's arm and point, whispering urgently, “That must be him! Lucius!”

   Percy ducks his head down and laughs. “Okay, okay. Let's just climb the fucking gate and get everything set up.” He glances at you. “You're sure you're up for this?”

  “I've never been more prepared for anything in my life.”

  Together, the two of you scale the metal gate, using the upper body strength you have gathered from years of training at Camp Half Blood. You're over and in this strangers garden in a number of seconds, sprinting through the grand garden before suspicions can be roused. Around you, white peacocks look up from their grazing, though none of them make a sound to give away the presence of two strangers.

  You reach the fountain and duck beneath it; this is where Percy needs to be if he wants to succeed in his part of the plan. He crouches beside you and hovers his hands over the water, not even giving you a warning before he uses his powers to pull the water from the concrete fountain. It sprays across the garden, and that's when the peacocks start to scream.

  Water splashes against their feathers, startling them. You can barely hide your laughter at the sight of them springing up from whatever peaceful graze they were involved in beforehand, now darting around the garden like someone has plucked a feather from their flesh.

  Percy shoves your arm. “Stop laughing and get on with it before they come out!”

   You push past the distractions and focus your energy on your own powers. Your exhaustion makes it all a little bit more difficult, but the image of the final product is enough to have you pushing the exhaustion aside just to reap the benefits of this. Inside yourself, something pulls, and it's familiar, uncomfortable, but it has the effect you want. Almost immediately, a skeletal hand darts from the ground. Just one for now, but you wait patiently before making the next one erupt.

  The front door of the Malfoy house bursts open, and standing there is no other than-

  “That's not Lucius,” Percy says.

  “It definitely is not.”

   The person standing in the doorway cannot be much older than you, with snow white hair and a sharp face. His eyes, blue and cold, are wide as they take in the sight before him, his wand clutched in a trembling hand.

  “You said you saw Lucius in the window!” Percy hisses, struggling to reel the spray of water back into himself.

  “I thought it was!”

  “For Gods sake.” Percy grabs your arm and drags you up, no longer caring about being seen. However, you stumble as he runs, dragging you along behind him, because the sight of the boy is distracting; he looks terrified, like he was expecting something completely different, like he thought someone was finally coming to take him away.

  You recognise the expression only because you've worn it yourself so many times; growing up as the child of Hades leaves a lot of scars and a lot of fear on a person, considering your father certainly isn't the most liked individual upon the Olympians.

  As Percy attempts to drag you back to the gate, you glance over your shoulder. The boys blue eyes glare into your own. He has seen you.

  And nothing can really prepare you for what happens next. You don't know enough about the wizarding world to expect this, but the feeling is unlike anything you have ever felt before. Someone yells in your direction, and then something is crashing into your spine, slithering along your neck, giving you not a single chance to react before the world goes still and you drop to the floor, no longer processing a single thing happening around you.

  ----

  “Would you just wake up?”

  The voice is posh and annoying. It makes you want to laugh.

  The pain in your spine stops you from doing such a thing, however. Instead, you slowly rouse from sleep, met by the blinding lights of a room unfamiliar. You lay on a bed fit for a king, soft pillows engulfing your sore head, thick mattress swaddling your body like a newborn baby.

  And standing above you is a boy you remember seeing only vaguely; pale skin, snow white hair, a grimace that shows he perhaps isn't too happy about having you in his home.

  You stare at him a moment, willing him to make the first move. Maybe if he starts the conversation, you won't have to go into too much detail about why you're actually here, because despite the glitches in your memory, that is something you remember very, very well.

  Running across his lawn, thinking you were clever because you and Percy were finally going to give Lucius Malfoy a piece of his own medicine.

  And now Percy is gone, and you're trapped in a strangers house.

  The boy stood above you, however, says nothing. He looks almost nervous, eyes flashing between you and the door, like he's planning the easiest way to flee if things reach that point.

  Finally, you snap. “Hello.”

  He jerks away, nearly stumbling over a stool by the bedside as he does. “Oh,Christ. Hello.”

  “I didn't mean to scare you.”

  “You didn't – I'm not scared. I just thought you were still Stunned.”

  You blink. “Stunned?”

  “I Stunned you.” He pauses, biting his lower lip. “It was the only way I could think to get you to stop running.”

  “Is that some kind of spell?”

   The boy waves a dismissive hand. “The point is, you were in my garden earlier. If my father had been the one to see you, he wouldn't have hesitated to curse you and call it self defence.”

  His father.

  Something rushes through your stomach, an excitement that doesn't really make sense. All has failed. You're going to go back to Camp Half Blood and be chastised, probably brutally punished, for the choices you made tonight, and yet here you are, overjoyed at the mere mention of Lucius Malfoy, because that's the only person this boy must be talking about.

  “You look a lot like him,” you say.

  The boy narrows his eyes. “My father?”

  “Lucius,” you clarify. “He lives here, doesn't he? He's the one Percy and I came to see.”

  The boy slowly leans back in his chair; it's quite cute, actually, that he dragged a chair into this room just so he could sit over your Stunned body. Maybe he was making sure you didn't die. Maybe he just didn't trust leaving you on your own.

  “What business could you possibly want with my father?” he asks. “You must be my age. What year are you in at Hogwarts? What House?”

 You smile. “I don't go to Hogwarts.”

  He reels back. “Really? Are you from a foreign school? Beuxbatons?”

  “I don't go to your fancy magic schools. I'm not a wizard.”

  The boy blinks. It never ceases to baffle you the pure ignorance of these people – how they can grow up in a world completely detached from everything and everyone, and yet are still unable to fathom the idea of anybody being different.

  “If you're not a wizard, how did you make the water fountain do that?”

   “I didn't. Percy did that.”

  “Who is this Percy bloke you keep going on about?”

   “He's my friend, the one you apparently let get away.”

  The boy raises a brow, glancing over at the window as if expecting to see Percy just standing there; honestly, you wouldn't even be surprised.

  He turns back and says, “So your friend is a wizard? Are you a Muggle?”

   He's taking an awfully long time to catch on.

  “No,” you reply, exasperated. “Neither of us are wizards. We're from New York – a little place called Camp Half Blood.”

   And for a second, the revelation doesn't land. The boy continues staring at you like you have three heads, mouth slightly agape, eyebrows furrowed. But then the ball drops, and he jerks back, the chair dragging in the carpet with the speed at which he jumps to his feet. He looks almost horrified.

  “Alright,” you mumble. “I'm not going to bring Zeus down here personally. He's a bit busy-”

  “How did you even get here?” he hisses. “Are you an assassin? Is that why you were looking for my father – so you could kill him?”

  “Oh, don't be so dramatic. I'm a demigod, not a murderer.”

  The boy looks at you like he doesn't think there's much difference between the two.

  This angers you. Something in your stomach burns, and suddenly, the only thing you want to do is to get away from him. You want to go back home. You want to find Annabeth and hug her, tell her she was right, just as she always is. You don't like being in the company of wizards. You don't like being away from the people who understand you best.

  “Look, this was fun,” you say, pushing yourself up from the bed. “But I need to get going. I'm sorry about your fountain-”

  “Where are you going?” he demands.

  You pause, raising a brow.  “Why do you care?”

  “Because – Because what if you come back to finish my father off? I can't just let you go!”

  He must be completely oblivious. You have fought monsters taken directly out of storybooks, have argued and debated with Gods about things such as ice cream flavours and which way is the right direction to go on a road trip – the last person you have any interest in fighting with is some posh, uptight wizard.

  “Look,” you say, “all I wanted to do was mess with the guy. He's been saying some pretty harsh things about demigods lately, and Percy and I just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. I don't want to murder your father.”

  The boy stares at you. He's powerful, too. You know he is. You can see his wand sticking out of a deep pocket in his emerald green robes. One flick of that and you're a goner, and yet he chooses to just stand over you, eyes burning holes into your head.

  “What's your name, anyway?” you ask.

  He tenses. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.”

   “Sounds evil.”

  “It's a strong name.”

  “Right.” You flick your eyes to the clock hung upon the wall. “Can I go now?”

  He sighs and backs away from the bed. “My father would kill me if he found out I was letting you go.”

  You stand up, knees trembling from the aftershocks of having a wizards spell slam directly into your spine, but you manage to catch yourself before crumbling completely; Draco does nothing to help stabilise you, instead watching you with a thoughtful gaze, like he's preparing to attack at any moment.

  And it's weird. You know it's weird. You should not just be able to walk out of his house without a single consequence to your name. He should be holding you hostage, keeping you pinned to this bed until his grand old father gets home, and he can tell you off for trespassing, scaring the life out of his precious white peacocks.

  But Draco doesn't say another word as you slip out the door and barrel downstairs, suddenly desperate to be away from a world like this. It's weird. It's unnatural. They care about blood status, and they learn spells, and it's all just a little bit too weird for your taste.

  Even weirder is the fact that Draco is letting you go so easily.

  ---

  You arrive back at Camp Half Blood when it's light outside, and you know you've been caught.

  Wherever Percy may be, you do not envy the treatment he must be getting. You clamber up to the pine tree and look down at the camp you call home, not surprised to see people bustling back and forth already, Chiron included. He looks miffed, digging his front hoof into the dirt like a rabid animal ready to charge.

  That's kind of what he is.

  You hollow out your cheeks and stroll directly into camp, ignoring the startled gasps of the Half-Bloods. You'll deal with Chiron before you deal with them – that seems like the best way forward.

  Chiron spots you seconds before you reach him. He turns, dust billowing up around him before he says, “And where do you think you've been?”

  Chiron has always been a father-figure to you, Hades be damned. He saw you as a junior demigod, just growing into who you are, unable to fully process the fact that the man you always hated, the man you once believed to be a no good excuse of a father, was actually a Greek God who has spent his time watching you grow – just from the sky instead of on the ground.

  He treats you and Percy differently than everybody else. You're both feared for no reason. People shy away from you like you've been on some blood-lust streak your entire life, even though that's far from the case. When you can, you avoid using your powers, purely because you know how much people dislike them. They see them as unnatural. They think it's weird, despite them having abilities, too.

  “Hello, Chiron,” you mumble. “I'm very tired, so if you could just-”

  “We've had word from the Ministry of Magic.”

   You freeze, stomach dropping, certain you heard him wrong. The only wizard you actually made contact with was Draco, and surely he didn't go to the Ministry after letting you run free just like that?

  Chiron shakes his head. His disappointed look is more than you can bare. “What were you two thinking, Y/N? What did you think would happen?”

  “I – I – I don't know.” You look around desperately. “Is Percy here? Did he make it back safely?”

   “Percy's resting. He wanted to go after you, but Grover wouldn't let him, and thankfully so-”

  “I was fine. The boy I met – Draco -”

  “Draco Malfoy?”

  You falter. “Well, yeah. He spotted us and ended up Stunning me-”

 “Oh my gods.” Chiron runs a hand through his hair, looking up at the sky, saying whatever prayers he thinks will help right now, like the Gods have ever listened to any of you before. “You do realise that's Lucius Malfoy's son, don't you? The son of the man who wants our kind terminated.”

  “Draco wasn't like that,” you reply, even though you don't know why. “He let me go. He didn't even hurt me-”

  “You've just said he Stunned you!”

  “For, like, an hour! I was fine when I woke up! And look me in the eyes and tell me you wouldn't do the exact same thing if you could.”

    Chiron groans, turning back to the Big House. He starts walking without another word, forcing you to sprint after him.

  “Don't be mad,” you say. “It was stupid. I'm sorry. Chiron, I'm sorry. We just got bored-”

  “If children put their family's in danger every time they were bored, Y/N, the human race wouldn't exist.”

  He really is angry, angrier than you've ever seen him. It takes you back to your childhood when he used to tell you off for staying up too late, or getting out of bed in the middle of the night.

  You stumble after him, thankful that he isn't telling you to go away and leave him alone; that's one thing Chiron has always promised he will never do to you or Percy – he'll never just leave you alone.

  You walk into the Big House, side-by-side, and it's a mildly unpleasant surprise for you to see Annabeth already sat by Chiron's desk, her head in her hands, blonde curls framing her face. As soon as the door shuts behind you, she jerks up, whirls around and throws a pen in your direction.

  You catch it. “I am safe, thank you for asking.”

  “You're so stupid!” She groans, picks up another pen and throws it. Chiron is the one to interject this time, snatching the pen from thin air and tucking it into the little pouch hooked to his side.

  “Enough, Annabeth. We haven't got time to chastise them.”

  “I beg to differ,” Annabeth growls, not once taking her eyes off you.

  The guilt claws to the surface; she only wanted to protect you, only wanted to give you some decent advice, and neither you nor Percy had listened, both too absorbed in your own boredom to use the common sense Annabeth seems so prone to.

  Chiron, however, does not give you a chance to ponder over this gruesome feeling. Instead, he pulls a seat out and gestures for you to sit down, which you do without question; at this point, you know you'd be stupid to disobey him, would only be digging yourself into a deeper hole, one you're not too sure you'll be able to crawl out of.

  He takes a seat in front of you as Annabeth hovers by your shoulder, arms folded over her chest, eyes trained dead ahead. You awkwardly shift in your seat, waiting for the scolding to begin.

  But instead, Chiron grabs a golden button from a drawer in his desk and presses it without saying anything at all. The room immediately brightens up in all different colours – red, green, blue, strobe lights dancing across the room, taking shape in the centre of the carpet. You have to squint to fully understand the form taking shape, but when it does, your stomach drops.

  Made entirely of lights, standing in the middle of the room, is Cornelius Fudge, the jittery little minister of the wizard world.

  You've only seen him a few times, and never in person; a few times, he came to meet with Chiron in regards to escaped prisoners, wizards who wanted to harm demigods who were on the run. You never thought too much of him, but he looks angry now, his grubbly little face twisted into an expression of anger and loathing. When he speaks, his voice is loud and harsh, making you flinch with each syllable.

  “Chiron!” he exclaims. “I hope this message finds you well; I'm still trying to figure out the communication device you gave to me in our last meeting. It's all very confusing, and every time I press something wrong, thunder and lightening nearly wipe me out.” He coughs into a handkerchief before continuing. “Anyway, I'm here to inform you of a mishap which took place in the Malfoy Manor only a few short hours ago. I've been given word that one of your people tried breaking into Lucius's home to do God only knows what. It's only pure luck that Malfoy's son, Draco, was awake and was able to stop the wicked thing from getting through the door.”

   “Wicked thing?” you burst. Chiron raises a silencing hand, still refusing to look at you.

  “We as a nation are becoming very paranoid by the loose grip with which you have upon your own people; they are starting to become wild, careless, and I can truly see a murder from one of you in our future, which, as the Minister, I must put a stop to as soon as possible. Therefore, I demand the culprit be punished for his or her crimes, and I will be popping in soon with my witness to go over the details of the night to help you further understand where our fear is coming from.” Again, he coughs into a handkerchief. “Thank you. I hope the camp is well – the strawberries you sent were wonderful, as always! Good day to you, sir!”

  The lights blink out. The room is doused in silence. Inside your head, a scream echoes.

  You don't even know what to say. Would an apology even suffice? Would an explanation even be worth it? Years it has taken for the wizarding world and the demigod world to live in peace, and by the sounds of it, you've just annihilated all of that for the sake of a prank. You let Lucius Malfoy's hateful words burrow themselves into your head, which is probably exactly what he planned.

  Chiron puts the golden button back in his desk. The soft click it makes as it hits the wood echoes off the walls, so loud and gentle, so mocking. Slowly, he lifts his eyes to meet your own and says, “Now you can understand why we're all a little bit angry.”

  “A little bit?” You close your eyes, letting Annabeth's outburst ring throughout the room. “Chiron, I warned them! I warned them both! I said – what did I say Y/N? - I said-”

  “You said it was stupid, and that we shouldn't do it,” you mumble. “And we didn't listen.”

  “No, you didn't, and now you've given the wizard council a reason to think we're out to get them, which gives them a reason to announce open fucking warfare on us-”

  “Okay, Annabeth, calm down,” Chiron says. “We're taking this one step at a time. There's no point jumping ahead to things like that.”

  “Chiron, this is bad. This is so, so bad. The wizards are going to think we did this on purpose-”

  “Why are you saying we?” you ask. “Percy and I did this on our own. We'll take the consequences. We've done it before.” You turn to Chiron, who stands solemnly in the corner, head bowed as if deep in thought. “What are the consequences, may I ask?”

  He sighs, nostrils flaring. “We've decided that keeping you in camp for the rest of the summer will suffice for now. The Minister and his witness will be arriving in a few days and I want you to be on your best behaviour.”

  You scowl; the punishment is weak. You got off lucky, and you're aware of that, but it doesn't make it any more bearable. You hate being trapped, hate sitting in the Hades cabin with nothing but your own thoughts keeping you company. That's the hardest part about being a child of one of the Big Three – you're alone. It doesn't matter how many campers surround you, you are alone.

  But you take the punishment on the chin, giving Chiron a respectful nod before walking from the Big House to continue with the rest of your day. You'll find Percy and talk to him about everything, maybe apologise for dragging him into something so stupid, something so avoidable. If either of you had any flicker of common sense, none of this would have happened.

  It's only when you're halfway down the hill do you question anything Chiron has just told you.

  You falter, one word lingering in your mind. Witness.

  The only witness you can possibly think of is Draco Malfoy.

  ---

  He arrives in the afternoon, already looking so madly out of place.

  You spot his white hair, blowing so majestically in the wind Chiron has picked out for the day. His robes billow out around him, his sharp face stuck in an expression of anxiety. His eyebrows are furrowed, eyes darting to and fro as he strolls through the centre of Camp Half-Blood with his father at his side and the stout Minister, Cornelius Fudge, strolling behind them.

  He looks so out of place. It would almost be humorous if you weren't burning with misplaced anger at the mere sight of him; he told on you. He ran to his father and touted on you, even after making it seem like he was going to let you go with no consequences, and now you're stuck in camp for the rest of the summer with absolutely nothing to do and barely anyone to talk to.

  “Dickhead.”

  “Is that him?”

  You jump at the sound of Annabeth's voice, very nearly dropping the spear you were working with before your distraction walked through the barriers.

  “That's him,” you reply. “Draco Malfoy.”

   “I meant the other guy. The one you went after.”

  “Oh, Lucius. Yeah. He's there, too.”

  Annabeth narrows her grey eyes, following the movements of the Malfoy boys. “You know, I can kind of understand why you wanted to put them in their place.”

  You open your mouth to respond, but the words collapse when Draco's head snaps in your direction, like he somehow sensed your presence. His eyes find yours, his face draining of what little colour it has; something inside you stirs, fingers curling impossibly tighter around the spear.

  You remember those eyes so well, shockingly well, strangely well. Waking up to them burning holes into your skull was an experience you don't think you'll forget, considering the shock that coursed through you at the mere sight of him. He was so calm, so curious, not even yelling the slurs his father seems so keen on.

  And you might have made it up. You might have just been imagining it, but you're almost certain he flicks his head in the direction of the bandstand set up on the far side of camp, nearly hidden beneath the canopy of trees. You continue to stare at him, too bewildered by the miniscule movement to respond before he disappears over the hill.

  “Come on,” Annabeth urges, nudging your arm. “Let's get back to training.”

  But you're too distracted now. Knowing that Lucius Malfoy and his son – Draco – are walking around Camp Half-Blood makes your moves sloppy. And then there's the matter of Draco's little signal, like he wants you to meet him somewhere, like he wants to talk to you.

  You have nothing to say to him, but that doesn't stop you being curious about what he wants to tell you.

  Annabeth swings her sword, very nearly clipping the side of your ear. You yelp, stumbling back. Your foot catches on a rock sticking up from the ground, and before you can react, you're sprawled across the grass with your spear laying in a heap at your side.

  Annabeth sighs, kicking the weapon away from your outstretched fingers. “What the hell was that, L/N?”

  You prop yourself up on an elbow. “You could have given me some warning.”

  “Oh yes, because the monsters will be so generous as to give you some warning.”

   You scowl, shoving up from the ground. “Look, I'm just gonna get some water before the next round, okay?”

  Annabeth falters, narrowing her eyes. “Just some water?”

  “Just some water.” You give her a dazzling smile, hoping to the gods that this is enough to convince her you are telling the truth. You know it's a long shot – Annabeth knows you better than anybody else, but she's learned from her mistakes. Trying to boss you around and tell you what to do will only ever end in disaster, and so she says nothing else as you set your gear back on the rack and head up the hill towards the bandstand, out of sight of Annabeth's suspicious glare.

  Draco isn't there when you arrive. The bandstand is deserted, the only sign of life being the tree nymphs poking their heads out of the canopy to see who has arrived on their territory. You shoo them away before slumping down on the bench set in the middle of the stand, gazing around with your heart beating wildly in your chest, and for no reason at all.

  He probably won't even show up. He probably hates you. He's probably too scared to face you after what he did, and honestly, you wouldn't even blame him.

  After ten minutes, you start losing hope. Chiron will be looking for you shortly, most likely tipped off by Annabeth that you disappeared for no reason instead of finishing your training session. It won't be long for them to add two and two together and realise exactly what you have gone to do-

  “I didn't think you'd actually show up. Thought you might have been banned from seeing me.”

  Your head snaps up. “Jesus, Draco. You scared the shit out of me!”

   There he is, all tall and lanky, white hair blowing away from his forehead, his weird robes billowing out around him. It's weird how a person can make such odd attire look nice, almost like an outfit you'd wear yourself.

  “Sorry,” he says, though he doesn't sound apologetic in the slightest; he sounds tired. “I thought you demigods were meant to have superhuman senses or something.”

  You raise a brow. “Our parents are gods, not superheroes.”

  “Same difference.”

  “I'm flattered.”

  He sits down beside you, shoulder bumping yours. “Don't be. It wasn't a compliment.”

   You fall into silence then, unsure of what to say, how to start the conversation you both know needs to be had. You had so much anger built up inside you only moments before, but the second you looked up and saw his face, it dispelled. You were reminded of them blue eyes gazing down at you when you awoke from your Stunning spell, how soft and worried they were for a complete stranger.

  Finally, he inhales deeply and says, “I didn't mean for this to get as big as it did.”

  “Everyone's mad at Percy and I. Me especially.”

  He tilts his head back, glaring up at the sky. “How badly did they punish you?”

   “I can't leave this place for the rest of the summer.”

  “Not too bad, then.”

  You glare at him. He cracks open an eye, catches your expression and raises a brow.

  “It is bad?” Lifting his head, he gestures towards the open stretch of grass in front of you. “This place looks amazing, Y/N. You've got everything you could possibly need, plus you're safe from all those crazy monsters we always get word about.”

  “The monsters don't bother me. I'm meant to go out and fight them; that's my purpose.”

   Draco glances at you. You feel his blue eyes burning holes into the side of your head, can feel the judgement radiating off him as he takes in what you've just said. You never realise just how strange other people must find statements like that, how backwards it truly is to crave the feel of battle.

  “You know, I'd kill to have a place like this.”

  You look at him. “Really? Is your mansion not enough?”

  He scowls, barrelling on like you haven't said anything. “A place where you feel like you belong.” He glances over. “You may hate being here sometimes, but look me in the eyes and tell me you don't feel like this place is home.”

   You can't do that. Despite your desire to be free sometimes, your desire to head out on the streets where you don't belong, you know Camp Half Blood will always be home. It will always be the place you turn to when you need comfort, because it is the only place in the world that has ever accepted you and your weird abilities with open arms.

  Draco hums. “Exactly. I don't have that. I don't fit in anywhere; I'm not evil enough for my family, not good enough for everyone else. I'm on my own.”

    The silence that follows is a heavy one; you're not used to this kind of talk. You relate so strongly to his feelings, but you very rarely express them in quite the same way. At Camp Half-Blood, everyone is in the same boat. It's rude to think you have it worse than somebody else. Every single person here was abandoned by a parent, maybe even both.

  But Draco isn't a demigod, so maybe he won't mind.

  “I get that.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Really?”

  “Yeah.” You tug at your sleeve, pulling the material over your curled fingers. “I don't exactly come from the most well-loved bloodline in this place. Even other Half-Bloods take one look at me and cower.”

  “That blonde girl I saw you with-”

  You wave a dismissive hand. “That's Annabeth; she's more like a sister to me, but even she's wary of my powers.”

  Draco pauses. “What powers?”

  You open your mouth to respond, to go through the long list of the terrifying things you are capable of, but your words are cut short by the sound of a bark in the distance. Your head snaps up immediately, senses sparking to life before you've even fully processed where the noise is coming from. Around you, the tension in the camp is amplified as the other Half-Bloods spring to the same level of alertness.

  Draco straightens up, reaching into his back pocket for a wand that you can almost guarantee will be completely useless within the boundaries of Camp Half-Blood. You place a hand on his shoulder as you stand, pushing him back down onto the bench.

  “Stay here.”

  “Where are you going?” he asks, head darting left and right. “What was that?”

  “I don't know, but it didn't sound good.”

   “So call someone!”

  You raise a brow, shooting him a glance over your shoulder. He looks like a scared little boy, hands balled against his chest, eyes darting to and fro. They join with yours eventually, softening almost immediately.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “We don't just call someone at Camp Half-Blood. We deal with this stuff on our own.”

  Draco falters. His eyes narrow, though the expression doesn't last long; suddenly, he cries out and lurches forward, pointing madly to a space just over your shoulder. You spin just in time, yanking your sword from your belt and swinging blindly. Your shoulder smashes against the dirt, giving you a view of the beast that has just tried ripping you to shreds.

  A chimera.

  You recognise it. Of course you do. The lion head and snake tail are kind of difficult to forget.

  “What the hell is that?”

  “Draco, go!” you yell, rolling onto your knees and swinging your sword yet again. The chimera dives, talons outstretched, mouth open in a roar.

It's massive paws slam into your shoulders, shoving you back yet again. You cry out, struggling to lift your sword with the weight pressing against your chest, the blood now seeping from two wounds in your shoulders. Over the chimera's massive shoulders, you can see Draco jumping from foot to foot, clearly unsure what to do.

  “Why are you still stood there?” you scream.

  Your yelling triggers something within the chimera. You watch the gears turn in its head, its red eyes gleaming before it spins, it's tail snapping out and wrapping around your wrist. You cry out, sword clattering to the floor before you're yanked to your feet and thrown carelessly against the bench you were previously sat on.

  Draco spins. “Y/N!”

  You groan, looking up through bleary eyes; your sword isn't like Percy's. It won't just reappear in your pocket any time you lose connection with it. Where it lies in the grass, feet away from you, it will stay.

  That means you only have one way to get this beast away from you and Draco.

  It takes all of your strength, and it's never easy, but you push through the pain and the exhaustion and pull on that little trigger within your body. Something surges inside you, a feeling so familiar it almost feels like second nature. The floor rumbles. Draco yelps, clinging desperately to the back of the bench, but you keep your eyes on the chimera. It digs its foot into the dirt, growls low in its throat, and then it dives.

  The skeleton's hand bursts from the ground, wraps around the chimera's ankle and pulls it back.

  As soon as the chimera's chin hits the dirt, you bounce to your feet and sprint towards your sword. You snatch it from the ground, spin and slash through the air, no longer caring what part of the beast you hit, just as long as you injure it somehow.

  It strikes through the goats head that protrudes from the chimera's back.

  Black blood oozes from the monsters back end. It splatters up your arms, tiny dots sprinkling your face, but you don't have the time to ponder on that. You swing again, this time going for the neck. The chimera screams, but as soon as your sword makes contact with it's bushy mane, the scream disappears. The chimera bursts into golden powder in front of you, blowing away in the wind.

  A pair of hands wraps around your waist, tugging you up before you can fall to your knees.

  “Holy shit,” you whisper against Draco's collar. “Are you okay?”

Draco can't speak. Looking up, you see his lower jaw rattling, words fighting to the surface but being unable to push past his wall of fear. He looks everywhere but your face, as if trying to figure out where on earth the chimera disappeared to.

  “It's gone for now,” you say, throat dry. “You're safe, Magic Boy.”

  “How did that get in here?”

  Annabeth's voice echoes up the hill. Glancing over your shoulder, you see her marching in your direction, Chiron and Percy walking by her side. At the bottom of the hill, the other Half-Bloods look up, shocked at the sight in front of them. Your disgruntled form being held up by a wizard is certainly not a normal sight at Camp Half-Blood.

  “Y/N,” Percy exclaims. “Are you alright?”

  “Just peachy,” you croak out. “I think I might be bleeding out, though.”

  “Someone get some ambrosia,” Chiron demands, and it's with gentle hands that he extracts you from Draco's grip and lowers you to the floor. He looks up at Draco and says, “Are you alright, boy?”

  “T-the skeletons,” Draco stammers. “They just – they just came out of the floor!”

  Chiron smiles gently. “So I see you've been witness to our Y/N's miraculous abilities, hm?”

  Draco's eyes widen. “Y/N did that?”

  “Yes, you idiot,” Annabeth hisses, shouldering Draco out of the way so she can kneel beside you. She dabs a wet cloth against your shoulder, and you hiss at the contact.

  Percy arrives shortly after with an air tight bag of ambrosia, which you eat in about two seconds flat.

  “How did that get in here?” Percy asks.

  “The barriers were open already,” Chiron replies. “We needed to let the Minister and his men inside the camp, so we had to weaken them a little bit. We must have weakened them too much, and the chimera found a way in.”

   “Or this is the gods playing some sick trick on us,” says Annabeth. “Remember when Percy first arrived and they thought it would be funny to let the Minotaur roam free?”

  “This isn't the gods,” you mumble. “I haven't done anything to make them mad.”

  “So it's the wizards, then.” Annabeth whirls on Draco, folding her arms over her chest. You close your eyes, listening to Percy chuckle lightheartedly at your side. Both of you have given up trying to calm her down at this point. “You and your people just have to come in and ruin everything, don't you?”

  Draco blinks. He's barely spoken the entire time, clearly still trying to figure out what the hell he has just witnessed.

  Annabeth laughs coldly. “When will you and your people get the hint that we don't want you here. We don't want anything to do with you! It's you lot who have so much to say about us, and the minute we retaliate, you take a little hissy fit and have to get the bloody council involved! Well, goodbye to you. Get out of our camp and stay out or else the next monster to attack you won't be killed by us – you can deal with it on your own with your fancy magic spells.”

  She turns back, flicking her curls in Draco's face.

  You shyly glance up and mumble, “Sorry about her.”

   “And although that speech held a lot of passion,” Chiron cuts in, placing a hand on Annabeth's shoulder, “I'm afraid Mr Malfoy and his people cannot leave the camp until the barriers have been sorted.”

    Silence.

  Even you're too stunned to speak, staring up at Chiron as if waiting for the punchline of some joke. He simply looks around, examining the invisible barriers surrounding you, most likely seeing every single gap and crack held within them.

  Percy is the first to break the silence. “Uh. . . Why not?”

  “Well,” Chiron says, “the barriers have been split. If we were to open them any further to let these men out, I fear they might be unsalvageable. We can't risk it.”

  “So we're just gonna let them stay here?” Annabeth hisses.

  “I can't do that!” Draco exclaims, stumbling forward with wide eyes. “I have school, and my mother-”

  “This isn't up for debate,” Chiron says. “I must keep the safety of my people in mind at all times, and this is the only solution that will keep them safe.”

  Annabeth scoffs. “I wouldn't say letting the Malfoy's in our space is keeping us safe.”

  “That is because you're blinded by your ignorance.”

   You and Percy take sharp breaths through your teeth, watching Annabeth's face drop. It would almost be sad if you weren't in agreement with the centaur.

  And it's weird because you used to have the exact same thought process as Annabeth; all you read about wizards was how much they despised your kind, how they saw you as unnatural, a mistake, because gods aren't meant to have children with mortals. Mortals – or Muggles – aren't meant to carry such powerful beings.

  And yet here you are, looking at Draco and feeling even the tiniest glimmer of excitement at the idea of having him stay with you for a little while.

  Chiron turns back to Draco and says, “You can stay in cabin eleven with the Hermes kids. That's where all the newcomers go.”

  Draco pales. “I really don't think this is a good idea...”

  “It's the only idea we have,” Chiron says. “Now, get ready for the feast. You must be starving.”

  ---

  Draco doesn't go to the feast. Apparently, he isn't as starved as Chiron made him out to be.

  Instead, he follows you to the infirmary, despite having no injuries himself. Will Solace feeds you chunks of ambrosia, keeping a narrowed gaze on Draco as he sits by your bedside, saying nothing. He looks thoughtful, head ducked down, hands perched between his legs; he hasn't spoken a single word since the two of you arrived, and his skin is yet to find colour again.

  You glance at Will and whisper, “Is he looking okay to you?”

  “Absolutely not,” Will replies, pressing a damp cloth to your shoulder blade. “But I'm not one hundred percent sure how wizards are supposed to look in the first place, so I can't really say.”

  “Have you got any juice or anything like that you can give him?”

  Will hollows out his cheeks, clearly not appreciating the idea of using up resources on a wizard. Nonetheless, the son of Apollo is too kind for his own good and heads into the back room to grab a juice box. He hands it to Draco with a soft smile, one Draco does not return, before Will says he's going to go check on the other campers. He leaves you alone after that, the room empty besides you and Draco.

  Draco doesn't look up. He doesn't really need to; even without seeing his face, you know what expression he will be wearing, as it is the same expression so many people have worn after watching you bring the dead up from the ground.

  You bite your lip and say, “The food is good here. Are you sure you don't want to go and get some dinner?”

  Draco slowly looks up. His eyes are bloodshot, strained, glinting light blue beneath the yellow lights. “Who is your godly parent?”

  You pause. “Why do you care?”

  “Because what I just saw you do-”

    “Hades,” you blurt out, unable to bear hearing him go into detail again, unable to bear the disgust that will surely ring through his voice. “Hades is my father. I'm the kid he was never supposed to have.”

  Draco stares at you, waiting for you to continue, but what else is there to say? There's no relationship to describe, no happy memories with your dad you can share. All there is to it, is that you are not meant to be here, and you are.

  “And you . . . you have no brothers or sisters? You're all alone?”

  Your eyes snap up. “I'm not alone. I have Percy, and Annabeth, and. . . and everyone else. Plus, I have a little brother – Nico.”

  Draco perks up, like the idea of you having a little brother is something to be excited about. “Really? Where is he?”

  “He's floating around somewhere,” you reply. “He doesn't really like staying in one place for too long; I only really see him when he comes to visit me or his boyfriend.”

   Draco withers. “Oh.”

  “Why do you care anyway?”

  He scowls. “I don't care. I'm just curious. If I'm to stay here for the next few days, I might as well get to know you a little better.”

  “It works both ways, Magic Man. Tell me, why is your father such a little bitch?”

  “I could ask the same thing about yours.”

  “My dad is the god of death. What's your dad's excuse?”

  Draco glares. You grin, slowly leaning back on the hospital bed as you wait for his response, because you genuinely want to know. You've spent years reading articles orchestrated by Lucius Malfoy that go into great detail about why he hates demigods so much, why he thinks they're the scum of the earth; now, you have his son at your disposal, and you're determined to find out where these violent opinions have stemmed from.

  Draco sighs, folding his arms over his chest. “My father just doesn't like people who are different.”

  You pause. “Different?”

   “People who aren't pure-blood wizards are basically bottom tier to him. That includes Muggle borns, Squibs, Muggles, demigods.”

  “But he doesn't even know anything about demigods.”

  Draco shrugs heavily. “He knows you're different. That's all he cares about.”

  It makes sense, you suppose. Lucius has never kept his ignorance a secret. It's not just demigods he speaks badly about. You've read it all – his hatred for Muggles, for people who disagree with him, for good people.

  People who aren't like him.

  “And what about you?” you ask.

  Draco flicks his eyes up, still messing with his fingers. “What about me?”

  “How do you feel about demigods?” You gesture around the room. “Now that you've seen us in action; what are your thoughts?”

  Draco shrugs, looking back down at his intertwined hands. He has nice hands. Muscled, long fingers, expensive rings. “I think it's all quite odd, but I'll get used to it. I'm gonna be stuck here with you for a while, so I don't really have a choice, do I?”

  You smile. “No, I don't think so.”

  ---

  The dreams are worse that night.

  They always are after you have been injured. Already restless, you aren't strong enough to fight off the nightmares that swarm your mind, and tonight they come for you in full force.

  You always call them nightmares, even though they really aren't. More like visions, people visiting you when you least expect it. You've had Poseidon visit your dreams, Athena, even Ares, but tonight, someone new is making an appearance.

  You recognise him immediately. He has the same eyes as you.

  “Dad.”

  He stands waist deep in black mist. Curly black hair frames a chiselled face, dark eyes gazing at you with a look close enough to love that you get a little emotional. By his side is a three-headed dog, and in his hand is a skull, held so casually. Neither of you mention it. Neither of you need to.

  The room is dark. Looking down, you see black mist crawling towards you, hiding your legs from view. You should probably be panicking, but something is holding you back.

  “Dad,” you repeat. “Where's Nico?”

  “Safe,” he responds, voice too calm for a man whose son has been missing for weeks. Voice too calm for a man who is standing in front of the child he abandoned so many years ago. “And how are you, child?”

  “Good. Better than ever, actually.”

  “Even with the company you have been keeping recently?”

  You pause, certain you misheard. Hades raises a brow, tilting his head as if to say Are you going to try and tell me otherwise?

  Swallowing, you say, “So this is about Draco.”

   “This is about the wizards in general,” Hades corrects. “Don't think I didn't notice you getting comfortable with that boy.”

  “I wouldn't exactly say comfortable-”

  “He held you up when you fell.”

   “And that was very nice of him.”

  “That was inappropriate.”

  You fall silent, cheeks heating up. You truly cannot believe your dad – your real life father – is stood in front of you giving dating advice. He needs to take one look at his own history with women and sort himself out before he comes running to you.

  “Wizards aren't safe around our people, Y/N,” Hades continues. “You aren't meant to mingle with people like him.”

  “I think that's a little harsh.”

  “His father wants you dead.”

  “My father wants everyone dead! You're the god of the underworld, for crying out loud!”

  Hades's eyes widen for a moment, clearly shocked at your outburst, but you don't even have the strength to reel it back in. You have felt frustration towards many of the Olympians, all of whom seem to believe they have some sort of control over you, but the one Olympian who makes you angriest the quickest, is the one stood right in front of you, the one who shares your blood, the one who hooked up with your mum one day before abandoning her, along with the kid he always claimed he was never going to have.

  You don't even care that he's a god. You don't care that he could kill you in two seconds flat if he so desired.

  “Chiron did not raise you to have such a sour attitude,” Hades says after a moment.

  You deflate, eyes slipping closed. “There's really no point in trying to get through to you, is there?”

  “It is my job as a father-”

  You scoff.

  “-to keep my kids safe. That's what I'm doing.”

   Your eyes pop open. “Keep us safe? Bianca's dead, Dad. Nico's gone rogue. The only reason I haven't been slaughtered is because I never expected you to keep an eye on me – I do everything on my own.”

  “That's not true,” Hades growls. “You know that's not true.”

  “No? So where's my little brother then, huh? Where's Bianca? Where were you yesterday when a fucking chimera nearly ripped me to shreds, huh? Where were you then?”

  “I'm a busy man, Y/N, but I'm serious when I say that wizards are not the kinds of-”

  “This isn't about the wizards!” you yell, throwing your hands up. The ground rumbles, but neither you nor Hades acknowledge it. “This is about you coming into my dreams, thinking you can just lay down some fatherly rules after nearly eighteen years of not giving a shit about me!”

  His eyes flash. Within the dark irises, you catch a glimpse of a screaming face, and you know exactly what he must be hearing in the back of his mind right now. You hear it sometimes, too, only he must be much more used to it than you are.

  “I have always cared for you,” he says. “Even when my brothers and sisters were punishing me for having another demigod child, I cared for you. I kept them from harming you. I made sure you reached Camp Half-Blood safely so that you could be under the protection of people who knew where you came from.”

  “And they've been more like family to me than you have ever been.”

  Hades closes his eyes. A god dejected. A god not getting what he wants. It's a rare but pleasant sight.

  “I'd like to wake up now,” you mumble. “I appreciate you stopping in, but please never do it again.”

  Hade's looks at you, and you hate the resemblance. You hate that pull, so mortal and familial. You can't even help it. It's like the genes you got from this man are desperate for you to just make up with him, to just see him as the dad he is.

  But you can't.

  He argues no further, clicking his fingers to send you out of your sleep. You awake, startled, eyes snapping open to the sight of your dark room, the smell of ash heavy in the air. You flick your eyes over to see your bedside table gone – yet again, you incinerated it in your sleep.

  “Fuck sake,” you whisper.

  “I put it out.”

  You yelp, very nearly falling out of bed in your shock. Your head snaps up, hands grappling for your sword, only to pause when you look over and see Draco standing in the doorway wearing a white dress shirt and black trousers.

  He looks exceptionally smart.

  Exceptionally smart.

  Your heart jumps as you push yourself up, running a self conscious hand through your bed head. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  “Chiron asked me to wake you. He said you have training today.”

  You groan, flopping back into your pillows. Draco chuckles, and before you can tell him to stop, he strolls right over to your window and pulls the black out curtains open.

  “Noooo,” you moan, rolling onto your stomach and stuffing your head in the pillows.

  Draco chuckles. “Come on. It's already nine am. The climbing wall is gonna be packed if you don't wake up now.”

  You peek an eye out of your pillow and glare at him. “How do you even know about the climbing wall?”

  “Poseidon's son gave me a little tour after I left the infirmary yesterday; quite a nice little place you've got here, I must say. I'm quite fond of it all.”

  “Oh, happy days. As long as you're happy.”

  He grins, sharp as knives. “I feel like I'm on holiday.”

  You swing your legs out of bed. “You're digging yourself into a deeper hole, Malfoy.”

   “I can just sit back, kick my feet up, watch you lot fight a bunch of mythical creatures-”

  You lob a sock at him. “Get out while I get changed.”

   Draco grins before bowing out of the room, slamming the door closed behind him.

  And so you get ready for the day, getting dressed in your usual Camp Half-Blood shirt and a pair of comfortable jogging bottoms. The sun is bright this morning, a clear indicator that Chiron and the gods are in a bit of a better mood than they were yesterday, when rain was breaking through the already damaged seals of the camps barriers.

  As promised, the climbing wall is set up and booming with Half-Bloods. People from all the different cabins take turns going up against one another, clambering up one side of the wall, racing each other to the top as lava pours down from nowhere, lightening strikes zap through the centre of the wooden beam, as random hands appear out of nowhere and make swipes for legs and arms and faces.

  You spot Draco sat by himself in the stands, wand twirling in his fingers. It could very well be an intimidation tactic, but you stroll up beside him anyway, taking a seat to watch the scene before you unfold; someone from the Ares cabin has gone up against someone from the Athena cabin, a deadly pairing when put together.

  Draco doesn't budge when you sit down. Instead, he points and says, “I think the one with the spear is going to win.”

  “Clarisse?” you say. “Yeah, probably. She's a stubborn bitch.”

  “Daughter of...”

  “Ares.”

 “God of...”

  You roll your eyes. “Have you ever actually looked into the Greek myths?”

   Draco shrugs, leaning back in his seat. He stretches his long limbs out in front and says, “I was educated more in the ways of Dark Magic than Greek myths.”

  “Boring.”

  “Necessary, I think.”

   “Tell me how that all works.”

  Draco glances over. “Magic?”

  “The world of magic. It sounds. . . confusing.”

  Draco pauses for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. As he ponders, the two of you watch Clarisse make her way to the top of the climbing wall, where she pulls the ring loose of it's confines and holds it up to the sound of applause and cheers from the people on the ground. She hops off, landing in a crouch on the ground; her brothers and sisters swarm her, all but lifting her off her feet in celebration.

  Finally, Draco speaks. “It really is just a whole different world. Different to. . . any other world, I guess. We dress differently-”

  “Yes.”

  “The structure of the whole thing is different. You get used to it after a while, but I guess being here is making me realise just how weird the way things are run back home really are.”

  “But it's what you're used to, isn't it?” you say. “You must have thought the way we did things was weird when you first arrived.”

  Draco scoffs. “Skeletons coming up from the floor? Definitely weird.”

  Your cheeks heat up, despite the lack of malice in his voice. Your powers are still – and forever will be – a sensitive topic for you; you've had far too many bad experiences with them to ever be comfortable flaunting them around like the other Half-Bloods are capable of doing. Even now, you watch the Hephaestus kids make fire sprout from their fingertips without so much as a flicker of hesitation – you've never been able to do that, because people take one look at what you're capable of and immediately think you're some kind of devil spawn, there just to drag them into the pits of hell or something.

  Draco nudges you, pulling you from your trance. When you look over, he gestures towards the climbing wall. You follow his gaze to see Percy standing in the centre, waving up at you, arms wild above his head, that goofy grin on his stupid face.

  “I think he wants you to join him,” Draco mumbles.

  You glance over. “You don't mind?”

  “I'll stay here and cheer you on. How about that?”

   You stare at him a second longer, the wand twirling between his nimble fingers; oh, it would be so easy to hate him. That cocky smirk, the subtle hostility to everything he says. You weren't made to like wizards, but Draco Malfoy is starting to grow on you.

  You give him a smile before hopping from your seat and jogging down into the grounds. People cheer at your arrival, because this is the match they have all been waiting for; scared as they may be to face your powers on their own, they would never give up the opportunity to watch two kids of the Big Three go head to head against one another. This is truly the only time you feel comfortable using your powers.

  Percy shakes your hand when you reach him, dragging you close so he can whisper in your ear. “You and Dynamo getting a little close up there?”

   You shove him away, not even giving him an answer before you hop up onto the first ring of the climbing wall. “You coming, Seaweed Brain?”

  Percy rolls his eyes, taking position on the other side of the climbing wall. In the stands, a whistle blows, and immediately the two of you start.

  Percy's quick. Percy has always been quick. From the day he strolled into camp, dragging Grover along with him, he has proven how powerful he is.

  But you're also pretty quick, pretty lithe, just as capable as him.

  You don't even fully process where he is, much too focused on avoiding the downfall of lava dribbling down the side of the climbing wall. The heat singes your hand as you pull yourself up, and you have to grit your teeth to stop the cry of panic that always wants to make it's way to the surface when this happens.

  Percy has the advantage, of course; he just summons some water from thin air, and the lava is immediately overpowered. He laughs at your scowl, pulling himself further along the climbing wall.

  “Okay, Mr Jackson,” you mutter. “If that's really how you want to play it.”

  You pull on something within your stomach, a trick your sister Hazel was able to teach you when you visited her in the Roman camp all those months ago. You reach a hand out, grabbing the iron ore before it soars above your head after being ripped from the ground by your powers. It's not much – you're much better with a sword – but you throw it, using your powers to push it away from your body, straight towards Percy's face. It smacks him in the nose, making him cry and stumble. He slips from the ring he is hanging onto, dropping a few feet before finally latching onto another; blood oozes from his nose, and he glares up at you as you quicken your pace, hoping to put as much distance between you both as humanly possible.

  “That wasn't very fair, you know!” Percy yells up.

  “Gotta do what you gotta do!” you yell back, which of course prompts Percy to shoot a blast of water straight at your legs. You yelp, grip loosening on the ring you have grip on.

  But then you're falling, because the thing about water is that it makes surfaces extremely slippery, and not even a child of Hades can overpower that. You desperately try latching onto something – anything – that can soften your fall, but your moving too quick, and the rings are zooming past, out of reach, and you know this is it. You're going to fall to the floor and break some bones and be out of commission for weeks, because that's what always happens when Percy gets competitive. You're starting to get real-

  “Wingardium Leviosa!”

  Another yelp is ripped from your throat, this one more a yelp of surprise as you suddenly become light as a feather. The wind stops whistling in your ears, replaced now by the gasps coming from the ground, and the sound of Percy yelling, “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” over and over again.

  Ever so gently, you are lowered onto the floor. As soon as your feet hit solid ground, you are engulfed by a crowd of Half-Bloods, all coming to make sure you're okay, have not been harmed despite that being the way of things in this place.

  Percy clambers off the climbing wall and dashes to your side, wrapping you in a brotherly hug as soon as he reaches you. “Fuck, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hit you that hard-”

  “'Course you didn't.”

  “You had it coming!” He points to his nose, still dripping blood. “Look what you did to me!”

  You roll your eyes before craning your neck to get a better view over the heads of your fellow campers. You catch sight of him immediately, leaning against the stands with his wand still twirling in his fingers, the tiniest of smirks present on his pale face.

  Your stomach turns; he had used his magic, cast some sort of spell to stop you from hitting the floor.

  You probably need to thank him for that.

  However, as soon as he meets your eyes, he does nothing but wink and turn on his heel, strolling oh-so-casually towards cabin eleven.

  ----

  “So are you going to tell me what that was?”

  You scream. Your hands fly above your head, knocking the low hung lamp shade dangling from the roof of the Hades cabin.

  Spinning, you catch sight of your father stood in the corner of your room, shrunken down to the size of a normal human being. He likes playing pretend, apparently, but you see right through it. His dark eyes are narrowed, and leaning against the wall beside him is the scythe he so often carries around with him.

  “That's an intimidation tactic,” you pant, motioning to the scythe. “It's not gonna work me on, Big Guy.”

  “Don't ignore my question,” he snaps. “What did that boy do to you when you were falling?”

  You slowly straighten up. “You saw that?”

  “Answer the question.”

   “Why do you think I have an answer?” you exclaim. “I know just as much about the wizarding world as you do! I don't know what he did, but I'm not dead, so I'm not gonna bother questioning it.” You grab a pomegranate seed from the bowl beside your bed, popping it into your mouth before you point a stern finger at the god standing in your room. “And you shouldn't either; he saved your child's life.”

  “My children are capable of protecting themselves. That's how you were raised.”

  You roll your eyes, flopping down on your bed. “This again? Where do you get off talking about raising kids?”

  For a brief second, Hades pauses. You savour it, the moment his face twists into one of uncertainty, as if only just then realising where he has messed up; he can talk all he wants about his children and how you're all just like him, but he can never claim to have made you into the people you are today.

  You hum, smirking. “That's what I thought.”

   Hades snatches the bowl of seeds out of your hand and slams them back onto the bedside table. The room rattles much more than necessary, but you spare the trembling walls only a single glance before turning your attention back on your father. He glares down at you, no longer justifying your attitude with words. He's waiting patiently for you to just open up and tell him exactly what happened, waiting for you to just admit that what happened out there was messed up, and unnatural, and you will never see Draco ever again if you can help it-

  “He saved my life.”

  You believe it, even though it takes every fibre of your willpower to admit such a thing. Demigods don't just get saved. They do the saving. They live their lives getting trained to protect themselves, because they know nobody else will. Today, all those years of training disappeared, and you should have died. You should have fallen to the ground as punishment for your lack of concentration, but Draco had stepped in and given you a second chance.

  And maybe that's dramatic. Maybe looking at it as a second chance was taking it a step too far, but he had done something, and you can't just sit back and pretend otherwise.

  Hades straightens up. In mortal form, his full height is only around five foot nine, but he still manages to look intimidating. It's the eyes. You wonder if people think the same thing about you when you look at them.

  “My brothers and sisters have been voicing their concerns about you getting too close to the Malfoys,” he says, voice softer now. “I told them not to worry, that no child of mine would ever fraternise with people like them. And yet here we are.”

  You pause. “Here we are, yeah.”

   “Lucius won't be happy to hear his son has helped save the life of a Half-Blood.”

  “Lucius Malfoy won't be happy, period. Plus, I haven't even spoken to him the entire time he's been here.”You push yourself up into a sitting position. “Draco isn't like Lucius, Dad. They are two separate people, just like me and you.”

  Hades clenches his jaw. You've hit a nerve. You always do when you bring up just how desperately you want to be separated from your father, just how much you despise being told you look like him, or you do something like him.

  He looks at you with those dark eyes and says, “You're stubborn, you know. That's a trait you get from me, not your mother.”

  “You're grasping at straws now.”

  “You're more like me than you'll ever be willing to admit, but everyone sees it. Nico and Bianca. . . they had little traits of me within them, but not as much as you. You really are my child.”

   Your stomach clenches, and it's confusing. It's so, so confusing, and so painful, because there's a part of you that basks in these comments. He's your dad. No matter how much you try denying it, there has always been a part of you that wants to know you're a little bit like your dad, and yet there's that hostility that begs and clambers for any excuse you can use to go against such a thing.

  You look away, fighting the urge to cry that always seems to rise to the surface when Hades is in your vicinity. “Can you just leave, please? I'm not going to stop talking to Draco just because you lot upstairs have a grudge against his family.”

   Hades sighs. “I know you won't. But you can't say I didn't warn you.”

  “Get out, Dad!”

  When you next look up, the room is empty. Nico and Bianca's beds are desolate, pushed against the wall, suffering from years of neglect. Once again, you are alone. Outside, Draco's shadow passes the window, accompanied by Lucius.

  ----

  Draco seems to be getting comfortable in camp.

  Your father doesn't like this.

  You see, Hades has a very annoying way of making his anger obvious, especially when the anger is pointed towards his children. You will be sat talking to Draco, having a seemingly normal conversation about whatever the days endeavours are holding, when suddenly a scream will plunge right through the centre of your brain, impossible to ignore.

  It's painful sometimes. The headaches that often follow are the kind that leaves you sweating, unable to look into any form of light lest you make it worse. Hades doesn't take this into consideration, however, as he continues giving you these flashes throughout the next week and a half.

  It's another one of his stupid fear tactics. You know it is. He wants to make you suffer so you'll be on his side through intimidation, and you're not willing to give in to him like that. Gods don't always get what they want. That's something they need to learn.

  And so, you continue talking to Draco, and honestly, he's starting to become a friend. He's still a little drawn back, and you can only imagine the reasoning behind that is because Lucius is breathing down his neck every two seconds. Whilst Draco is taking the moral high ground and getting used to life at Camp Half-Blood, Lucius refuses to do such a thing. He spends his days brooding away in the Big House, getting angry when Chiron or any of the other Half-Bloods step foot in what he has now claimed as his domain. The Big House has basically become Out of Bounds whilst the Malfoys are in your presence, because Lucius throws a tantrum any time anyone besides him and his fellow wizards step foot inside of it.

  It's on day twelve that you and Draco sit together in the grass upon the hill. In your lap is a colouring book that Percy stole for you a few years back, one you haven't touched because you very rarely have the time to just sit down and colour something in. He said it got rid of stress or something like that. You wonder if it works.

  Draco lays down beside you, gazing up at the baby blue sky. He has one hand cupped across his forehead, the other resting on his stomach. His ice blue eyes are a little lighter when the sun hits them, and you can see some golden streaks in his silver hair.

  You colour in a picture of Poseidon, already excited to show Percy the final product.

  “Look at this picture a second,” you say after too many minutes of silence. “Tell me if that guy looks like Percy.”

   Draco flicks his gaze over, lifting his head just slightly to get a better view. “Percy?”

  “The son of Poseidon,” you confirm. “The annoying one who blew up your fountain.”

  “Oh, him.” Draco scowls, dropping his head back to the grass. “I suppose it looks a little bit like him, yes. Why?”

  You tilt the colouring book back and forth, humming as you inspect the drawing; it's badly done, of course, with the image probably taken from Google Images, drawn by some human who didn't know any better. For example, they drew him wearing some fancy toga-looking thing instead of his usual khaki shorts and Hawaiian button-up. You've also known Poseidon to enjoy getting his hair permed, but his hair is dead straight in the colouring book.

  “I just think Percy looks a lot like his dad,” you reply. “Not in this picture, obviously – Poseidon wouldn't be caught dead with his eyebrows looking like that. But in real life, I swear, they're the picture of each other.”

   Draco grunts. Not exactly the response you were looking for.

  You glance down at him, raising a brow. “Not gonna add anything helpful to the conversation?”

   “What could I possibly add? I don't know the Greek gods personally.”

  “Really?”

  Draco glares at you. “Forgive me for not fraternising with mythological gods, Y/N. I don't have quite the same relationship with them as you do.”

  You hold up your hands in faux surrender, recognising his angry tone. “Alright, fair enough. No need to get grumpy.”

  “You and Percy are really close.”

   It isn't a question, and you suppose it doesn't have to be. Anyone who has known you for more than two seconds will be able to see that you and Percy are close, having been through so much together. “Yeah, we are. What's wrong with that?”

   Draco slips his hand from his forehead over his eyes and mumbles, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” But his heart isn't in it, and you're not exactly convinced he's telling the truth. You haven't known Draco all that long, but you're pretty confident now in your abilities to pick up when he's angry, or frustrated, as you have seen it more often than any other emotion.

  You glance at him, raising a brow. “You sure about that?”

  “Yes. Why would I think there was something wrong with you having a friend?” He pauses a moment before adding, “He is just a friend, isn't he?”

   It clicks.

  Your cheeks heat up with the realisation. You're thankful that Draco is covering his eyes, because otherwise he would have surely been able to see your shocked expression, and that isn't the look you want to give off right now; you need to remain calm and collected, make sure you're reading this right before you go and lose your cool.

  Awkwardly, you push the colouring book onto the grass and turn your attention fully on Draco. He stiffens when he feels you move, though he doesn't look at you. He doesn't even move his hand away from his face. You wonder if perhaps he doesn't want to show you his true expression, either.

  “Yes,” you say. “Percy is just a friend. He's never been anything more than that.”

  “Oh right. Nice.”

  “Would...” You inhale, glancing down into camp. You're not used to this. Actual emotions, they're scary things. You've never been able to properly handle them. “Would that be an issue if he was?”

  This time, Draco is unable to hide his embarrassment. Beneath his hands, his pale cheeks flush red, his Adams apple bobbing as he swallows and says, “No. It's none of my business.”

  “Well, it's just 'cause, like, you asked, and I just thought-”

  “Thought what?” Finally he looks at you, eyes narrowed. “Thought I cared about what you got up to when I'm not around?”

  You reel back at his tone. “What? No! Well – yeah, I guess, because clearly some part of you cares-”

  “You and Percy can do whatever you want.” He stands, wiping the grass from the elbows of his fancy black blazer. “I honestly couldn't care less. It's not like I'm sticking around much longer, anyway.”

  You raise a brow. “Are you mad? How the hell did that happen? I didn't even say anything!”

   “I'm not bloody mad.” He groans, spinning on his heel as he runs his hands through his hair. You don't even go after him, too stunned to even move. Instead, you just watch his retreating form, only for him to stop a few feet away, turn back and say, “Do you just forget the fact that he was about to let you fall to your death?”

  You freeze. This was not the turn you were expecting the conversation to make. “Come again?”

  “On that climbing wall,” Draco exclaims. “He watched you fall, Y/N! He didn't do anything to stop it from happening, and I refuse to believe he wasn't able to, because from what I've heard, he's one of the most powerful things in this bloody camp!”

   “Things?”

  “Oh, you know what I meant!”

  You shoot up then, anger flooding your system. This is happening too often. You're losing your grip on the control you have trained so hard to gather, and it's all Draco's fault. “No, Draco, I don't actually know what you mean. In case you've forgotten, you're in our home, so don't you dare come in here claiming to know what we see is right and wrong. Percy might be one of the stronger demigods, but so am I. I can handle myself, and Percy knows that! That's the only reason he didn't do anything-”

   “That's his excuse, is it?” Draco laughs, a bitter noise that makes your blood boil. “I wonder how long it took for him to brainwash you into believing that.”

  That's what does it.

  You remember all those times Percy has saved your life. You remember spending weeks by his side, on the run from the worlds most terrifying monsters. You remember crying with your belief that he was dead, imagining a life without your best friend, your companion.

  And here Draco is, acting like he knows Percy better than you, deeming him a bad person just because of a single mishap he happened to witness, a mishap he doesn't even fully understand.

  Behind you, the black cloud arises from the ground. Without even looking, you know it's there, consuming you in tendrils of darkness. Draco's eyes widen, a cry of surprise escaping him before he stumbles back.

  The cloud follows him.

  In your head, you listen to the screams of the souls that make up that cloud, the souls you can control with nothing more than a brief thought nowadays. Draco cries out, nearly falling over his feet. Soon, you can no longer see him as he disappears behind the black curtain.

  You stay exactly where you are, watching him run down the hill, being chased by this power you have total control over. It's fuelled by anger, and you know you're going to get in trouble for doing it, but in this moment, you don't even care. You'll deal with the repercussions later, so long as Draco learns his lesson now.

  It's once the young wizard has disappeared round the corner that you let the souls drop. They sink back into the floor, a rush of energy slamming back into your body now that the strenuous work is over. The hill you are standing on goes silent bar the sound of the snickering tree nymphs.

  And then, just by your left ear, your fathers voice whispers, “Good job, Y/N. Definitely my child.”

  ----

   Percy always knows when something is wrong with you.

  There's something in the air, he says, a buzzing that he recognises as something he too possesses when he's angry. It's like the children of the Big Three communicate their anger through this weird little hum that only the other mistakes can hear.

  He must notice it now.

  He sits across from you at the lake, his toes dipping in the water as you keep your knees drawn to your chest, fingers sunk in the dirt. You keep your eyes on the tide as it sways in and out, but Percy keeps his eyes on you, waiting for the moment you will turn and look at him.

  But you don't.

  You don't want to answer his questions right now. You don't want to go into detail about what Draco said, about what you did to him, about how guilty you feel even though you know you shouldn't. You have used that scare tactic on so many people in the past, and it's always been for good reason – not once have you ever felt guilty about it.

  Not until now.

  Finally, Percy sighs and says, “So you're just gonna sit there and not tell me what's up?”

  Leave it to him to be blunt.

  You glance over and shrug, unsure where to even begin. You want to tell him the truth, of course; he's like a brother to you. The world always feels a little off when you're not telling him every little detail of your life. But gods, how do you explain this without sounding crazy?

  “Do you want me to guess?” Percy continues, shuffling a little closer to you. “'Cause I'm good at that. Especially with you.”

  “Try it.”

  He hums, leaning back. “It definitely has something to do with the wizard boy.”

  Your eyes snap up. “How did you know?”

   “It's always about the wizard boy; you two have been joined at the hip since Chiron declared his residency here.” Again, he hums, continuing his analysis. His sea green eyes are narrowed, his lower lip protruding in a pout. “Did you two get into an argument?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Was he taking his fathers side?”

  “No.”

  “Was he insulting one of us?”

  “...Kind of.”

  Percy raises a brow. “So I'm getting warmer.”

  You sigh, closing your eyes in exasperation. “He thought you and I were a couple.”

 Percy pauses. It's now an awkward pause, especially considering he bursts into laughter not three seconds after. His shoulders jolt, eyes widening as he claps a hand to leg as if to stabalise himself. “You're kidding.���

  “Alright, Seaweed Brain, hands off.” You push him away and fold your arms over your chest. “But yes, he thought you and I were a couple.”

  “And that bothered you so much that you got into an argument with him and now you're huffing?”

   You glare. “You're really enjoying this, huh?”

  Percy nudges your shoulder light-heartedly. “I'm just messing. Tell me what happened.”

  And so, as Percy gets comfortable, you begin your retelling, going into the details about Draco's little tantrum, and your retaliation to said tantrum. Percy interjects with a little “Aww” when you talk about defending him, to which you push his arm to get him to pipe down.

  You feel even worse once the story has been spilled and you are able to see everything in hindsight; should you still be mad? Did Draco deserve that kind of torment?

  Percy is silent for a moment once the story has been told. He looks off into the sea, as if calling to the waves for an answer, a piece of advice he can give you.

  Finally, his wise mind comes up with, “That sounds shitty.”

  “Yeah,” you grumble. “It was.”

  “Sounds like he fancies you.”

  Your cheeks heat up. “I don't think so. Not any more, anyway.”

  “And you're disappointed about that?”

  You shrug, because you really don't know. It would be much less hassle if you weren't disappointed about it, but you can't deny that you don't enjoy the feeling of Draco being mad at you. It feels off. It feels like you've done something wrong, even though you don't think you have.

  “You know,” Percy continues, “I feel a little guilty being the reason you two have fallen out. I wasn't even there and I'm still causing trouble.”

   You scoff. “Yeah. You have a habit of doing that, don't you?”

  “I can't help it.” He leans forward, nudging your arm. “What if I have a little chat with Draco?”

  You perk up, stomach turning at the mere suggestion. “Oh Percy, no. . .”

  “What do you think I'm gonna do?”

  “Bully him. Make him hate me even more.”

  “The fact that that thought bothers you so much just proves to me how much I need to step in and offer my expertise. Annabeth didn't fall in love with me for no reason, and you know that.”

   You open your mouth to object, but the words fall short, because he has a point; out of everyone you've ever known, Percy is the one who has been able to keep up a healthy relationship the longest. He and Annabeth argue like cat and dog, yet they still give off the aura of two young people who are truly in love with another.

  That's rare.

  You slump back against a tree. “Just don't say anything stupid to him. Please.”

  He's already standing up, brushing dirt off the seat of his trousers. “Of course not. Give me ten minutes. I'll have him seeing sense in no time.”    ----

  Draco tries his best to stop the panic.

  It's an old habit, one he hasn't been able to kick. He sees a demigod, and immediately his heart starts beating really fast, and his stomach drops, and his fingers twitch in the direction of his wand. It's a self defence reflex, one that has been built into him from day one, but he's amongst them now, and he needs to stop it.

  But seeing Percy Jackson walking towards him is never going to be a sight he's going to get used to.

  Draco remembers that picture you were colouring in the grass the day previous. You said Percy looked just like his father, and Draco can see the resemblance now. From what little he knows about the true Greek god of the sea, he can tell just where that analysis came from; Percy's black hair, his sea green eyes, even the way he carries himself like he owns the place.

  It screams My dad is a god.

  Draco pulls his shoulders back and gives Percy his best game face, trying desperately to look like he knows what he's doing, like he hasn't been lost in his own thoughts from the moment you looked at him with that anger on your face. He hates that it affected him so much, that he can't get the image out of his head, that he wants nothing more than to storm over to the Hades cabin and apologise for ever upsetting you.

  “Draco, my man!” Percy exclaims, though his heart clearly isn't in it. “How are you? Good?”

  “Fine.”

  Percy clicks his fingers, giving awkward finger guns. “That's good. So good.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks around. Then, out of nowhere, he snaps his gaze down to Draco's and says, “So, I've been told there's a bit of trouble in paradise.”

  Draco pauses. “Paradise? I'd hardly call this place paradise, Jackson.”

  Percy raises a brow; it infuriates Draco, who is so used to his comments making people angry. Percy just seems amused. “Your accent really doesn't do my last name justice when you say it like that.”

  Draco scowls. “What do you want from me, Percy? I've got nothing to say to you.”

  “Well, no. You don't. Technically, I have nothing to say to you, either, but I'm a nosy little shit head, so here we are.”

  “What makes you think I'll tell you anything?”

  Percy grins and takes an abrupt seat next to Draco, shoving his shoulder like they've been best friends for years. “If you tell me what I want to know, I'll tell you what you-” He prods a finger into Draco's chest. “-want to know.”

   Draco's heart hammers. He stares at the grinning demigod, debating whether or not to just jinx him here and now rather than let this absurd conversation go any further.

  But then the options come into his head.

  He has questions about you. Of course he does. You're just. . . a force to be reckoned with. You're such an individual, unlike any Draco has ever encountered in his life, and he wants to know more. Percy could be the key to having those questions answered.

  He coughs into his hand before saying, “I suppose I can talk a little bit.”

  Percy perks up. “Oh, really? Great! So what makes you think Y/N and I are a couple?”

  Draco's cheeks heat up. “Y/N told you about that?”

  “Y/N tells me everything. It's part of the whole being best friends thing.”

  Draco shrugs, awkwardly glancing down at his hands knotted upon his knees. “It was a stupid assumption to make. I know that now. Just. . . at the time, with how close you both are, it seemed the most plausible thing to think.”

  “Well, it was stupid.”

  “Yes-”

 “And did this assumption-” He says this with a snooty British accent that makes Draco glare even harder. “-piss you off?”

  Draco pauses; here is where he could very easily trip up. He needs to choose his words carefully.

  “Yes.”

  Percy tilts his head. “Because you. . . love Y/N?”

  “Love?”

  Percy raises his hands in faux surrender, though there is a grin flashing across his face. “Sorry, sorry. Do you fancy Y/N?”

  Draco swallows the golf ball sized lump in his throat; he wants to die. He literally wants to throw himself into the lake and never resurface. How has Percy managed to butter him up in less than fifteen minutes?

  “I suppose,” Draco mutters. “They are very – um – attractive.”

  “Big brain,” Percy says, nodding. “I get it, man. Smart people are hot.”

  “Uh, yes. Yes, they are also very smart-”

  “And scary.” Percy hollows out his cheeks, shaking his head at nothing. Draco is starting to get annoyed. “Y/N is terrifying, and let me tell you, when a person can intimidate me? Wow. Marry me on the spot, is what I say.”

   “Why don't you just ask Y/N out then?”

  The words come out harsher than Draco planned, but he can't help it. Percy is sat there, basically drooling over you, and it's driving him mad. It's been driving him mad from the instant he got that stupid thought stuck in his brain that maybe – just maybe – you and Percy were something a little more than just the best of friends.

  Percy is grinning, though.

  Draco scowls. “What's so funny?”

  “You really like them, don't you?”

  “I never said-”

  “Personally, I wouldn't touch Y/N with a six foot pole,” Percy continues, which just makes Draco even angrier, and he no longer knows just what he wants. “I'm talking about my girlfriend, Annabeth. The blonde girl. Daughter of Athena.”

  It takes a moment for Draco to remember who Annabeth is. But then it dawns on him, and suddenly everything is making sense.

  His cheeks warm again. “Oh. Right.”

  “Yep. So that's that.”

  “I'm sorry.”

  “Nah, don't be. It's not me you need to apologise to.”

  Draco bites his lower lip, understanding that Percy is right; he said some awful things, and he put you on the spot when you really didn't deserve it. You were doing nothing more than talking about your best friend, and Draco let his own jealousy push to the forefront.

  He looks over at Percy to see the demigod grinning again, an expression he often seems to have. Draco wonders why you don't like him, why you decided to spend all those hours with him instead of Percy.

  And as if Percy can read his mind, he says, “Y/N likes you too, you know. Like, properly likes you.”

  Draco pushes up from the grass, gives Percy a grateful smile before heading out on his mission – to apologise.

  ----

  You run into Lucius Malfoy shortly after Percy storms off.

  It's quite a chance meeting, though part of you can't help but feel that maybe Lucius had it all planned out from the beginning. He holds himself like a man who knows exactly what he wants, like a man who doesn't understand what a chance meeting is.

  You pause in the grass, watching him wade towards you. In your hand, you hold your sword, but that clearly isn't enough of an intimidation tactic against the tall, pale wizard. He stops only when he's feet in front of you, and with his posh accent, he says, “Y/N.”

  “Mr Malfoy.”

  “Where is Draco?”

  “Beats me. He isn't my son.”

  Lucius's nostrils flare. “Can you put that sword down whilst talking to me, please? It's disrespectful.”

  You look at the celestial bronze blade and tilt it back and forth. The sun hits off the hilt, illuminating the Greek words inscribed upon it. “No. I quite like it in my hand.” You look back at Lucius and smile pleasantly. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr Malfoy? Are you lost?”

  Lucius grits his teeth. Something throbs in his jaw, and honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if he were to draw back now and punch you square in the face.

  Or he could just cast a spell, or whatever it is wizards do.

  “You know, Y/N, Draco has told me an awful lot about you,” he growls.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. And quite frankly, the details he has given me only further prove my theory that your kind are just unnatural.”

  He's only trying to wind you up. You keep that in mind as you stand before him, listening to him spew such hatred; you could so easily just chop him to pieces right now. You could end this for everybody, but you think of Draco and how he would react and that thought alone is enough to silence the violent thoughts before you lose grip on your powers.

  “I'm sorry you think that,” you mumble. “Hopefully you'll be out of camp soon enough and won't have to bother with my kind for much longer.”

   Lucius laughs. There's no humour in it. It makes you ill just listening to it. “He told me about your little parlour trick – raising the dead, is it?”

  “Controlling the dead.”

  “That's Dark Magic, dear. That's the devils work if I've ever heard of it.”

  You open your mouth to respond, but the chance is ripped away by the sound of someone else's voice ringing in your ear.

  “I don't really enjoy being called the devil. He and I are two very different legends.”

   You close your eyes. “Dad, go home.”

  He doesn't listen to you. Of course he doesn't. Instead, he steps up to your side and places a warm hand on your shoulder. When you look up, he's smiling at Lucius with the same pleasant smile you gave him only seconds before – the pleasant smile that hides the fact you're on the verge of murdering someone.

  “Is there a problem here?” Hades asks.

  “Who are you?” Lucius demands, and you very nearly laugh at his stupidity.

  Hades actually does laugh at his stupidity as he motions between you. “Surely you notice the family resemblance?”

  Lucius stares, and then it all clicks into place. His eyes widen, mouth dropping open in a look you can only label horror. He stumbles back and says, “Hades?”

  “A god,” you pipe up. “So watch what you say. I can't hold this one back.” You turn to Hades with an exasperated look. “Who let you crawl out of Tartarus again?”

  “Nobody lets me do anything, dear,” Hades replies, keeping his eyes on the horrified Lucius Malfoy. “I just heard what our little friend here was saying to you, and I thought I'd come and put him in his place. Can't have someone insulting my dear child, can I?”

  “You've never intervened before.”

  Hades pushes you backwards, ignoring what you've just said. “So, Lucius; would you like a little duel beforehand, or are you just going to let me end your life, plain and simple?” He pauses, and when Lucius doesn't reply, he adds, “There's no shame in taking the easy way out.”

  “Dad-”

  “Stay out of this, Y/N. This is between me and-”

  “Dad? What's wrong?”

  Your head snaps up. Draco is stumbling down the hill, eyebrows raised as he glances between Hades and his father. Your heart jumps at the sight of him.

  “Draco, pack up your things,” Lucius demands, staring at Hades as if afraid to look away lest your dad make any sudden movements. “We're leaving.”

  “Oh, happy days!” You rush forward and grab your fathers elbow, dragging him back as much as you can. “Did you hear that, Dad? They're leaving!”

  “I'm not going anywhere.”

  You whirl on Draco. “What do you mean you're not going anywhere? Can't you see the predicament we're in right now?”

  Draco raises his brow, clearly still confused as to what the hell he has just walked in on. “Who is this?”

  “This is my dad.”

  Draco's skin pales even more, if that is even possible. Hades turns, gives the young boy a pleasant little wave before he starts rolling up his sleeves, eyeing Lucius up again.

  “Oh, right,” Draco squeaks.

  You turn your attention back to Hades, latching onto his arm yet again. “Come on, Dad. This is pointless. They're leaving camp-”

  “Y/N, I'm not going anywhere before we talk.”

  “Draco, this really isn't the time-”

  “Make up your mind, Lucius. . .” Hades sing-songs. “Quick and easy, or slow and painful? I can do both.”

  Your heart hammers in your chest; this is not how you wanted things to go, not at all. You wish to every other god listening that Draco will just agree to go with his father, that he will leave and never return.

  But you don't really want that, do you?

  “Curse you, Zeus, you mind-reading bitch,” you hiss beneath your breath.

  Draco glances at you. “What?”

  “Never mind.” You grab Draco's shoulders and shove him back. “Just go, Draco, please. My dad is going to-”

  But you never get to tell Draco what your dad is going to do, not before Lucius Malfoy cries out, “Avada Kadavra!”

  You don't understand what's happened; the words just yelled by the Malfoy man are unfamiliar to you, jibberish if you've ever heard it, but Draco cries out and dashes forward. A blinding flash of light slams makes you stumble before Draco's arms wrap around your waist, throwing you to the ground with him hovering over you. When you open your eyes, his face is inches from your own, but neither of you get to bask in each others closeness, because all hell has suddenly broken loose.

  Hades is so powerful. Sometimes you forget that. You've read the stories, and you know he's a god, but sometimes, all he is to you is your annoying dad who shows up every now and then to be annoying, and then he leaves. Sometimes you forget he can literally raise the dead in two point six seconds.

  And judging by the corpses now stumbling around you, that's exactly what he has done.

  “Oh my god,” Draco mumbles.

  You push him away and clamber to your feet. “Dad, stop!”

  The wind is billowing, however, and your words fall on deaf ears. Lucius has fallen to the floor, staring up at your father with a look of pure, unfiltered horror. Hades stands over him, now in full god form, and the sight is breathtaking. He's at his full height now, standing over everyone with his arms outstretched. Dirt billows around him, and a black light emanates from his body, blinding if you weren't his child. Draco has fallen to the floor, covering his head with his arms, and you are so, so happy he has the common sense to look away.

  You stumble forward, latching onto your fathers clothes. “Dad, stop this now! Please!”

  “How dare you?” Hades's voice shakes the trees. His eyes are pitch black. He is a god. “How dare you use your filthy wizard spells against my child?”

  “I'm fine!” you cry. “Dad, I'm fine! Draco saved me! Look!” You helplessly wave your arms over your head. Beside you, a corpse laughs a high pitched laugh. You glare at it and say, “Shut up.”

  The wind only grows stronger as Hades continues to bellow his threats and his curses. Lucius is too stunned to even move. Behind you, Draco cries out your name, tries reaching for your sleeve, but you pull away and continue yelling up at your father, trying to make him see sense.

  “Dad, I'm fine! If you kill him, I'll never forgive you!” You grapple for something else, some other excuse you can use. “I'll – I'll never come back to Camp Half-Blood! I'll stay in the mortal world forever and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it!”

   Hades falters. He glances down at you with those dark, sunken eyes and he says, “You know you're not safe there, Y/N. Don't joke about such things.”

  “Then let him go,” you beg. “Please, Dad. I never ask you for anything, but I'm asking – begging – you for this. Just let him go.”

   Hades tilts his head. “You're standing up for this piece of dirt?”

  “Draco,” you pant, as if that is enough explanation. “Draco just saved my life, Dad. The least you can do is spare his fathers life.”

  The wind dies down. Dirt topples back to the floor. The walking corpses drop to their knees before the soil reaches around them and drags them back into their graves, where hopefully they will remain for another few years. Slowly, your father shrinks back down to his usual five seven stature, his eyes gaining their normal dark colouring again. He continues staring.

  You stare back for only a second before you spin on your heel and march towards Draco. You yank him up by his collar and shove him back, hissing, “Go grab your stuff and get out of here. This is the shit you're gonna get wound up in if you stay. You don't deserve that.”

 Draco, flustered, grabs your shoulders and pushes back, keeping himself rooted to the ground. You want to cry. You need him to leave. You need him to be safe. You can't let him witness something like that ever again.

  “Please, Draco,” you croak out. “Save yourself the bother-”

  “You're crying.”

   You groan, quickly swiping beneath your eyes to rid yourself of the tears you didn't even realise were falling. “No, I'm not.”

   Draco wraps his arms around you and drags you into his shoulder. You don't really know why you melt into him in the way you do; it just kind of happens. Feeling the fabric of his shirt against your cheek, his arms around your shoulders, his body against yours – it's as if all the stresses of the evening flood out of you in a single swoop, replaced by a relief you didn't even know you were in such dire need of.

  It's like Hades and Lucius don't even exist any more. It's just you and Draco, swaying back and forth in the darkness, saying nothing and that being enough.

  “I'm not going anywhere,” he whispers. “Not until you know.”

  You pause, but don't pull away. “Until I know what?”

  “That – That you're special.”

  You look up, raising a brow. “Is that a demigod joke?”

  Draco groans, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “No. That's not what I meant. I meant – like – you're special to me.”

  “Okay...”

 He squeezes his eyes closed. “What I'm saying is, I don't want to leave you. I don't want to go back to the wizarding world and pretend I never met you. I want this – whatever this is – to last a long, long time.”

  Your heart thunders in your chest. Beneath you, the ground rumbles, like the floor is hungry. “Draco...”

  “I don't care what my father thinks of it,” he says, voice lower now. “I haven't been this happy in forever. I haven't met anyone like you before, and I'm so, so grateful you don't hate me.” He blinks. “Percy told me that, by the way – that you don't hate me. He wasn't lying, was he?”

  You laugh. “No, he wasn't lying.”

  “Oh, great.” He pulls you closer. “So, as I was saying-”

  “Oh, for the love of me!” Hades claps his hands impatiently. “Just kiss them already, you idiot! Why do mortals take so long to get to the point?”

  Draco looks over your shoulder, face going red. “Are you giving me permission to kiss Y/N?”

  Hades rolls his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes. Just get on with it. I'm ageing.”

  “You're immortal, old man.”

  “Watch your mouth, little one, or you're grounded.”

  Your laugh is broken by Draco's kiss.

  In the background, Lucius yells in frustration, but he quietens as soon as he looks at Hades. You don't even care, though, because once again, it's like neither of them are really there. It's just you and Draco. There is no world separating you, there is no problems, you are the same. His hands trail along your jawline before crawling over the back of your neck, holding you in place, as if you would ever willingly pull away.

  Beneath you, the ground continues to growl. You imagine it's the dead people giving you a round of applause.

---

“Lumos.”

  You crack an eye open. Beside you, Draco shifts, lifting the covers further over his head. Through the thin material of the quilt, you can make out a dim yellow glow coming from Draco's wand.

  You roll onto your back, nudging his arm with your elbow. He pauses, taking a few seconds before he pulls the covers back down, revealing his messy bed head and bare torso. He gives you a grin and says, “What are you doing awake?”

   “You woke me,” you reply, before nodding towards the book resting on his lap. “What's that?”

  “Oh, this? Nothing. Just a little book I picked up from the library the last time I was at Hogwarts.”

  You raise a brow; you haven't seen Draco casually read in quite a while. Any time he has his head stuck in a book, it's usually to learn some new potion, or some new spell that he can show the harpies to impress them when they ask for a magic show. However, looking down at the book currently perched on his knees, you can see this isn't just some simple recipe book for wizards – the pages are filled with text, with very little pictures to accompany them.

  “Can I read it with you?” you ask.

  Draco's cheeks light up. “Maybe you should just go back to sleep. It's pretty late-”

  He goes quiet when you rest your drowsy head on his chest, tugging the quilt up to your chin. You hear him sigh, a noise of content before he looks down at the page and places his wand beneath the words. In bold at the top is the title Hades and Persephone.

  “Oh, my mum hated her,” you say.

  Draco chuckles. “I can imagine.”

   You trace your eyes over the words. You can't really make them out with your dyslexia, but Draco reads them for you, because he knows. He reads the story of your father and his true wife, pausing to ask you your opinions, or if you know anything about any of it. You tell him you don't, but you want him to keep reading, so he does, and together you learn about your father and his ways.

  Finally, when Draco reaches the end of that particular story, you look up at him and say, “Why are you reading this?”

   He shrugs. You don't buy it, though, and continue waiting for his response. He rolls his eyes at your patient silence and says, “Remember when you asked me if I'd ever read any of the Greek myths?”

  You raise a brow. “Yes...”

  “I hadn't read any of them. But I realised it's kind of part of your history, isn't it? These myths, the people and things you talk about. If I really want to understand you, I have to get familiar with a few of these terms, don't I?”

   A lump forms in your throat. “You're reading these for me?”

  “Of course.” He slams the book closed and says, “Quiz me. I can tell you who Demeter is right now.”

  You stare at him a moment longer, overwhelmed beyond words. Instead of giving Draco a pop quiz on all things Greece, you reach up and press your lips to his own, whispering the unknown words of “I love you,” against his mouth.

  Draco chuckles, the sound like music to your ears. “I love you, too.”

[headheartbellarke]

Speak Now | WILLEX

dear @calamitykaty​ - happy valentine’s day! i’m your secret valentine, and i hope you have a brilliant, lovely day!! i just wanted to say that i absolutely adore your fics hehe :3 this one is for you, i hope u like it, you wonderful human!!

& a million thanks & kudos to @screwunsaidemily​​ / @jatpsecretvalentine​ for organizing this!! happy valentine’s day, raegan! and i hope today is as amazing as you are!!

✿◕ ‿ ◕✿

PAIRING(s): Alex Mercer x Willie, Flynn x Carrie Wilson, Julie Molina x Luke Patterson, past!Alex Mercer x Luke Patterson

WARNING(s): nothing haha just some fluff and we stan bobby in this house.. oh and some language

WORDS: 3.85k

SUMMARY: With his boyfriend marrying Carrie Wilson (well, in his defence, that’s his grandmother’s ‘dying wish’), Willie fancies himself to be the main character of a Shakespearean tragedy. Based on Speak Now by Taylor Swift.

KEEP READING BELOW OR READ ON AO3

     Willie exhales, watching his breath crystallize into tiny ice particles. He extends a hand to catch them, but that action causes the little cloud to dissipate.

  He rolls his eyes. Who has their wedding in Canada, in winter? Plus, not just on any day, but on Valentine’s Day.

  He fancies that he might as well be the main character of a Shakespearean tragedy. Watching your boyfriend get married is painful enough, but to a girl? That shit makes you feel as if your heart has a screw lodged in it. He feels as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  Willie likes to say that he hates Alex (i.e., the said boyfriend, the love, the light, the star of his life) – but that sentence leaves behind a bitter taste in his mouth, like he’s just had that weird cough syrup that his mother buys.

  Alex’s friends can definitely see through his act, like, right now.

  “Willie, relax! Everything’s gonna be alright!” Julie Molina, Alex’s bandmate, ‘unbiological sister’, and ‘best gossip partner’ exclaims. She is crouching beside him.

  “Julie, I’m not the type of guy to crash a wedding and sabotage it, especially one hosted by those…” His hand moves in circular motions, pointing to the direction of the church, where Alex’s parents are probably seated. 

  Luke Patterson, Julie’s boyfriend and Alex’s ex-boyfriend, and current best friend and bandmate pipes in. “Homophobic, racist mingers?”

  Willie grins. “Don’t know what that means but sounds accurate!”

  “You know, we are saving Alex’s life, right? Literally?” Bobby Wilson chimes in, Alex’s other best friend from his position behind them. They are currently hiding behind a table laden with sweets of all kinds, and it makes Reggie, the last of Alex’s best friend-cum-bandmates’ mouth water. 

  “I still can’t believe that his parents are forcing him to marry a girl!” Julie exclaims, ponytail bobbing as she speaks. Luke adds, “Not just any girl, but Carrie fucking Wilson.” 

  “My fucking cousin!” Bobby says, looking behind to check if anyone’s there. There is, but they’re all either part of the caterer’s group, or the waiters – they are currently outside a church, where the reception will be held, post wedding. The attendees, the families, everyone – are inside the church, for the wedding.

  “Hey, is Grandma Ruth really that sick?” Reggie finally asks, his eyes diverting from the sweets. Luke smiles sweetly at him. “I’m glad you finally decided to join us, Reginald.” 

  Reggie fails to catch the sarcasm in his tone, and he smiles brightly. Luke rolls his eyes, but a faint smile teases the corners of his lips. “Yeah, she really has stage four cancer.” 

  Julie says, “Poor Ruth.” 

  Luke huffs, “I don’t care that she’s dying – she shouldn’t fucking blackmail her grandson like that! Alex, honey, I’m dying. My dying wish, you ask? Marry someone. No, not your boyfriend of four years! Marry a girl, dummy. Homosexuality is a sin!” 

  Bobby adds, “Not just any girl, but your best friend’s cousin! Whose probably into Flynn, but, yeah, whatever.” 

  Julie smiles brightly at the mention of her best friend. “Oh, she definitely is.” 

  Reggie’s brows quirk. “I thought she was still into Nick.” 

  Bobby shakes his head. “They broke up last summer.” 

  Willie clears his throat, finally gaining some confidence. “He shouldn’t be marrying the wrong girl.” He exhales, and adds, as an afterthought, “Or any girl.” 

  “You two should be walking down the aisle, Willie.” Julie says, resting a hand on his shoulder. He nods, grateful for her support. 

  He remembers this morning, when he was at the grocery store, buying as many buckets of chocolate ice cream as he could fit in his arms. Suddenly, he had felt a warm hand wrap around the back of his throat, and he let out a yelp, dropping all the buckets. 

  He remembers thinking that the universe was against him. First, it’s the day of his boyfriend’s wedding, and along with that, someone’s here to kill him. Well, he thought, it’s better to die than – 

  “Willie!” A familiar voice exclaimed, and of course, it’s Julie – he realized that the hand that he thought was here to murder him, belonged to her. She was dressed in a long, pink, A-Line dress, that complimented her skin tone perfectly and – suddenly, Willie understood that it was a bridesmaid’s dress. Yep, she’s Carrie’s bridesmaid, along with Flynn. 

  Willie wondered if she was here to rub salt on his wound. 

  “What do you want?” He had mumbled, averting his gaze from her dress. Sure, it’s a pretty dress, but it reminds him of Alex, because he has a hoodie that he adores in the same colour. (It’s in Willie’s closet now, and he makes a mental note to burn it.) 

  “We have a plan.” She said, conspiratorially. 

  Willie sighed, leaning down to pick up the fallen containers of ice cream. “I’m not in the mood, Jules.” 

  She grinned, evilly. Or as evilly as you could while having an angelic face. 

  Sure, it took her a while to convince him to crash his boyfriend’s wedding, but on the way here, he felt as if it was worth it. Julie helped sneak him in, since he doesn’t have an invite – and he found the rest of Alex’s friends – Luke, Reggie, and Bobby waiting for him. 

  Now, as Carrie’s family emerges from the church doors, he doesn’t feel that way anymore. 

  “God, I think I’m gonna throw up just by looking at them.” Luke murmurs, while Julie slaps his shoulder. “Don’t say that, they look very… colourful.” 

  Bobby snorts. 

  Carrie’s family includes her parents, two of her cousin sisters and an aunt – and they are all dressed in pastel yellow. To be really honest, that colour looks like vomit. They stand in a circle in front of the church doors, and Willie notices her aunt rolling her eyes at the waiters. He sighs. This is the same aunt who told Carrie that ‘oh, honey, it’s just a phase’, when she came out as bisexual. 

  “Guys, guys, guys!” 

  Willie sees his cousin, Flynn, running in their direction, and stopping at their table. She huffs, catching her breath and he notices that she’s wearing the same dress that Julie is. 

  “Carrie is losing her shit, dude.” She says, once she’s breathing normally again. “Why?” Julie asks, concerned. 

  “Probably because she doesn’t wanna marry Alex? I don’t know, but she yelled at me for eating!” She exclaims, an annoyed expression taking over her face. 

  Willie and Bobby exchange a look – they all know that Carrie can get a little intense sometimes – she doesn’t mean harm, but on a day like this, you can’t really hold it against her. 

  “Where is she?” Julie asks, alarmed. 

  “She’s in the back. Her mom misplaced her veil, and its total chaos out there. Also, her gown looks like a fucking pastry.” 

  Everyone’s eyes widen, and Flynn sighs, looking away. “I hate everything.” 

  Willie knows that she’s feeling just the way he is. 

  Julie stands up. “Come on, let’s help her. And boys?” She points a finger in their direction. “Stick to the fucking plan.” 

  Everyone nods rapidly, and Reggie whispers, “Yes, mam.” 

  She kisses Luke, whispering something in his ear, and squeezes Willie’s shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look, before running off in the opposite direction with Flynn. 

  Watching Julie and Luke, Willie is suddenly overpowered by a memory, a memory that was gathering dust in his brain. He remembers a cold, dark winter morning in their – his and Alex’s – apartment. It was last year, and their first morning in that apartment, in their home. They were nineteen and couldn’t get enough of each other – even after three years of being together. Somehow, somewhere they felt as if an invisible string was pulling them closer and closer, until they merged into one. 

  He remembers Alex combing his fingers through Willie’s hair, and whispering, “Is it crazy if I say that this is everything that I’ve ever wanted in life?” 

  He had smiled, eyes filled to the brim with euphoria. “No, then that would mean that I’m crazy.” 

  “We’re both crazy.” 

  “Maybe.” He had pulled him closer, loving the way Alex buried his face in the crook of his neck. 

  “Willie?” Alex softly asked, drawing patterns on his bare skin. 

  “Hmm?” 

  “I want to wake up next to you every single day. Like, I don’t ever wanna be without you,” 

  “Me, too.” He had said, then adding, “I don’t see myself marrying if not you.” 

  He could feel his boyfriend’s grin. “Not gonna lie, I’ve thought about it. A little.” 

  “A little?” 

  “Okay, I’ve planned it all out.” They both laughed, and Willie felt as if he was flying. 

  Alex continued, “I imagine us getting married on a beautiful summer day – on the beach. Where we met all those years ago. Remember?” 

  Willie smiled. “How could I forget? I will love Flynn forever for bringing me to Julie’s sweet sixteen – I never thought that I’d meet my soulmate that day.” 

  “Yeah. I imagine Luke to be my best man, and Flynn to be yours. Julie and Carrie would be our groomsmaids, yep, I invented that – and Reggie and Bobby could be the other best men. It’s a little messy, because I love them all so much and I can’t choose – but yeah.” 

  “Funny that your ex-boyfriend will be your best man at our wedding.” 

  “Shut up, Willie.” 

  “Carlos could be the ring bearer.” 

  “I think he’s a little too old for that.” 

  “Well, you have a point. But he’s gonna be pissed if he doesn’t get a title like his sister does.” 

  “All right, he’ll be the ring bearer.” 

  “We could have a skateboard shaped cake.” 

  “We will… think about it.” 

  “And we won’t need a band!” 

  “I’m not playing at my own wedding!” 

  “Well, Bobby could take your place. I’m sure he won’t mind taking a day off his solo touring.” 

  “Yeah, that sounds nice.” 

  As they went over every possibility, every dream, the world melted away and all Willie could see were the oceans in Alex’s eyes. 

  Luke’s voice dissipates the haze of nostalgia around Willie’s brain. “Yep, Carrie’s family went inside.” 

  Bobby nods. “Okay, Willie, you stay with Reggie and Luke – I’ll go inside first and distract everyone, and y’all will come at my signal.” With that, he runs towards the church. 

  “Uh… what is his signal…” Willie trails off. Luke and Reggie exchange a panicked look, as Reggie says, “I’m sure we’ll figure it out! Besides – oh my god, are those flamingos?” 

  Willie and Luke’s eyes dart to the church door, where a bunch of flamingos – Carrie’s favorite bird, apparently – are on the loose and the waiters and the staff are running around trying to catch them. 

  “Boys, I think that’s our signal.” Luke says, grabbing their hands and dragging them towards the back of the church, where the girls had previously disappeared into. 

  Luke sneezes, and Willie absentmindedly whispers a ‘bless you.’ He shifts, saying, “There’s so much dirt here! It’s like nobody cares about my allergies!” 

  “I’m sure nobody in Canada will ever care about your allergies, Patterson.” Flynn hisses.

  The trio are currently hiding behind a curtain, the lilac shades sickening them. “Well, you wouldn’t be in this position if Alex’s lovely bride-to-be didn’t uninvite me!” Willie exclaims, looking around to make sure nobody is nearby. 

  “I’m sure she has a very good reason!” Flynn says, and Luke rolls his eyes, saying, “You’re saying that as if you don’t know Carrie. She’s hyper fixating on this wedding to distract herself from the fact that her parents will never accept her for who she is, from her fear about the fact that she’ll never get someone who sees and loves her for who she is and right now, she believes that this wedding would gain her parents’ favour, that somehow they’d be okay with her being bisexual if she’s married a man, a gay man at that, too – and now she’s doing everything in her power to make sure nothing gets fucked up.” 

  Willie and Flynn sharply look at Luke. 

  “Dude, that was deep.” He whispers. Flynn dabs the corner of her right eye. “You should be a therapist, bro.” 

  “I know, bro.” He grins. 

  Willie can’t stop a smile from breaking out on his face. He turns back to the scene in front of him, and his heart seizes because there’s Alex, dressed in a perfect tuxedo, with his hair perfectly done, with a perfect smile on his face, and Willie realizes that that is not the man he loves. 

  The man standing in front of him looks too pristine, too immaculate. It’s almost as if he is being strung up by invisible puppet strings, but his face doesn’t give away any of that – it’s absolutely blank, and Willie would have thought that the man in the front is not real if he hadn’t seen his eyes. His eyes, which houses cyclones, cyclones being fed by the apprehension, the fear, the anger, the sadness that he must be feeling inside. His eyes, that Willie loves to see first thing in the morning, showing off the parts of his soul that he is desperately trying to shield. 

  Willie wonders if he’ll see him standing behind the curtains. He probably won’t. Willie’s at the back of the room, and he’s at the front, waiting, waiting, waiting. For a moment, Willie wonders if Carrie is going to show up at all – because the wedding was supposed to start half an hour ago, and it doesn’t make sense why a person who has never been late in her entire life, would be late on her wedding day. 

  He doesn’t have to wonder long, though. The organ starts to play ‘Here Comes the Bride’, and honestly it sounds more like a death march. Willie is reminded, yet again, of another reason why this is not what Alex wants – he wants to play ‘Lover’ by Taylor Swift at his wedding. 

  Willie takes in a sharp breath when Carrie enters. She looks like a pageant queen – wearing a beautiful, white, classic dress. In one hand, she holds her dad’s arm, and in the other, there is a bouquet of daisies. 

  Flynn whispers. “I have to go. Boys, do not mess this up. Or I swear I’ll kill you.” 

  As the duo watch her run to the front of the room, Willie whispers, “Does she know about Carrie’s big, fat crush?” 

  Luke snorts. “You think so? Come on, let’s sit. They won’t be able to see us here.” 

  As they crouch down and make their way to the benches, Willie casts one last look at Alex, and he knows, he knows that Alex wishes it was Willie walking down the aisle instead.

     “Speak now, or forever hold your peace.” The preacher says, and Willie’s heart erupts into a frenzy. As the room goes completely silent, Luke whispers, “That’s your cue, Willie.” 

  Ignoring his anxiety, he stands up with his hands shaking, and his brain telling him to just fucking run out the doors. 

  Alex’s eyes widen, relief flooding his features, and for a moment, he looks like the real Alex again. Willie catches Julie and Flynn’s eyes, who are standing beside Carrie, and they nod at him, enthusiastically. But the bride, Carrie – she looks absolutely horrified. And so does all the other people in this room, including Alex’s parents, his grandma Ruth, and Carrie’s parents, too. 

  From Alex’s right side, Reggie and Bobby give him encouraging looks, and finally, he averts his eyes back to the man he loves. 

  But he can’t say anything. He feels as if he’s frozen in time, and his mind completely blanks out. For a moment he wonders if this is his rock bottom. 

  But Luke comes to the rescue, thrusting a guitar in his hands, and breaking him out of his trance. “I remember you told me that you can always sing, even if the world was ending. So, I brought this along, as backup.” 

  It’s true. Music is a part of his soul, much like it is Alex’s. Music is what connected them in the first place, and music is what still keeps them connected now. 

  He positions the guitar, and notices that it’s Luke’s acoustic guitar. He strums it, and finally, his mind comes back to himself. He keeps his eyes trained on that of Alex, and he watches the storm of emotions in his irises. 

  “I am not the kind of guy, who should be rudely barging in on a white veiled occasion…” He sings, loving how Taylor Swift has written a song for every occasion.

  “But you are not the kind of boy, who should be marrying the wrong girl!” He sings and hears loud gasps around the room – he knows that people expected him to be in love with Carrie or something. 

  “Or any girl!” Reggie adds, and Alex grins, and that gives him the motivation to continue. 

  “So, don't say yes, run away now. I'll meet you when you're out of the church at the back door… Don't wait or say a single vow – You need to hear me out, and they said speak now!” 

  He drags the ‘now’ for as long as he can, because he knows that the silence that will follow will be excruciating. And it is. Alex just stares at him, an unreadable expression on his face. 

  Willie finally looks at Carrie, and when their eyes meet, she gives him an odd look. He half expected her to kill him, but the way she looks at him, it’s almost as if she’s relieved. 

  Alex clears his throat, the sound piercing through the silence of the room. Whispers arise, and Willie exchanges a look with Luke, who asks him, “You want me to dig you a hole to die?” 

  Before he can nod, Alex says, “Uh…” He fiddles with his hands, before finally saying, “Fuck it”, and untying his tie. His mother gasps, and his father stands up, but he raises a hand. 

  He locks eyes with Willie, and his world spins on its axis. 

  “You are not the kind of guy to be rudely barging in on a white veiled occasion…But I am not the kind of boy… who should be marrying the wrong girl… or any girl!” Alex sings in that raspy voice of his, and Willie feels his heart soar. He can’t help the grin from escaping on his face, and he knows that his eyes are what Julie calls, ‘heart eyes.’ Luke grabs the guitar from Willie’s hand and starts playing along. 

  “And you'll say let's run away now, and I'll meet you when I'm out of my tux at the back door,” 

  Alex walks down the aisle, but suddenly remembers something, or rather, someone. He turns around, locking eyes with Carrie, and Willie can’t see what he’s saying, but Carrie smiles a big, soft one – one probably no one has ever seen on her face, and he sees her mouth ‘go.’ 

  “Baby, I didn't say my vows, so glad you were around; when they said speak now!” 

  He finishes, and stands in front of Willie, and Willie knows that the both of them can feel the air electrifying between them.   

  He turns, facing his grandmother. “Grandma, I’m sorry, but you’re 93, and I’m 20. I’m not going to give up my life for you to live. I love you, though. Mom, Dad, I’m truly sad that I’m not what you wanted. But I’m not gonna apologize for being myself, nor am I gonna apologize for loving who I want to. This is my life, and maybe it’s time that I start acting like it. I can’t keep wasting my life to please you. You – you should love me for who I am, that’s what good parents do.” Alex’s voice cracks, and Willie intertwines their fingers. Alex squeezes his hand. 

  Carrie’s mom stands up, shaking her head. “No, no, no… you do not get to ruin my daughter’s wedding –” 

  Alex’s father stands beside her, his face matching the shade of Carrie’s red lipstick. “I will not accept this –” 

  “Will?” Alex whispers, his eyes trained on his father. 

  “Yeah?” 

  “Run.” 

  With that, Alex tightens his hold on Willie’s hand, and the both of them run down the aisle, and outside. Willie can hear an uproar behind him, but it fades to background noise behind the thump of his heart. 

  “That was so fucking romantic!” Alex exclaims, as they come to a stop before Willie’s car. 

  “I just…” 

  “Wait – I’m sorry, Willie. I shouldn’t have put you through that. I should’ve fought more; I should’ve run away or something. That was not okay. I’m a twenty-year-old adult, and I should – I should – learn to be it, and not hurt any – anyone –” 

  “Hey, hey, hey…” Willie says, stepping closer to Alex. “It’s alright. They’re your parents. It’s not your fault that you want their approval. But I just want you to know that I love you, all of you, for who you are. And all of us do – Luke, Julie, Bobby, Reggie, Flynn, and even Carrie. We all love you, for who you are, and we’re always gonna be by your side.” 

  He smiles, cupping Willie’s face. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I – I love you so fucking much.” He kisses Willie, and the latter feels like he is floating amongst the stars. 

  “That – everything inside – from this tux to the decorations was horrible. I’m really glad that you… you know, stopped it.” Alex says, rubbing his thumb around Willie’s cheek. 

  He shrugs. “Well, it was your friends’ idea.” 

  “Of course it was.” 

  “Guys! Guys, guys, guys!” 

  Willie and Alex break out of their embrace at Carrie’s voice, who is currently running towards them, her dress bunched in her hands. Flynn is following her, holding her veil in her arms. Julie, Luke, Bobby, and Reggie are behind them, and they all have a look of panic plastered on their faces. 

  Flynn yells. “Carrie might’ve told your and her parents to fuck off, and your grandma to just die already, and so there’s a fair chance that we’re all gonna get killed, now that everyone knows that we’re all behind this.” 

  “Also, I threw red wine at our aunt’s dress, Carrie!” Bobby yells. 

  “I might have told your parents that they’re failures, and Julie and I are your real parents, Alex!” Luke yells. 

  “Also, Flynn and I are getting married!” Carrie yells. 

  Alex’s eyes widen, and he looks at Willie. “I think we all need to run.” 

  Willie nods, and he looks around. Maybe they will get killed (probably not), and maybe everything is a little crazy right now – but what he knows is that all of them are a family, and that he’d do anything for them. He also knows that Alex is worth everything, and that someday, they will get married, just the way they want, with the people that love them just the way they are. 

  Plus, is it weird to say that he kind of feels like Taylor Swift right now?

[quietlyimplode]

Five Songs.

Day 2 - prompt of Music for @clintasha-week Advent 2020

Five moments in time.

1/ St Ides

Crawling the broken fences, when shit gets hard

You know who your friend is

And when I lose perspective

Need to go to a place where I lose reception

“I just need a friend; not a lecture,” Natasha says quietly.

“Can I sit next to you?” Clint asks standing behind her.

“We’re on the top of a random building in New York, how’d you even find me?”

“Sometimes you come here when you’re sad. How can I not know?” Clint shifts from foot to foot, looking at her nervously. She’s sitting on the edge of the building. A move that would normally be his shiitic.

“You can sit.” Natasha swings her legs from back over the edge and looks at him. Jumping down, she slides down the wall and sits. Crossing his legs he sits next to her.

Tentatively he reaches for her hand, covering her fingers lightly.

They sit in silence, the remnants of the failed mission floating away in the moonlight.

2/ Toy Soldiers

I'm supposed to be the soldier who never blows his composure

Even though I hold the weight of the whole world on my shoulders

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Clint is furious. Angry doesn’t cover it, furious doesn’t touch it.

“I was thinking that we would lose more people if I didn’t.” It’s justified. Natasha thinks. What’s one life if so many more are at stake. Which Clint then calls her out on.

“At the cost of your own life?”

Yes, she thinks. Judging by his pacing, it’s not the answer he wants. She could placate him now or fight on this one. It’s an argument she knows is going to come up again. Fuck this. Let’s fight this one out.

“What the hell do you know? I made the right call. Without me they wouldn’t be on the quinjet back, without me we’d be at a funeral, without me..”

No more funerals. At least in the red room, there was no wakes, no funerals. She can’t stand the grief and the outpouring of emotions.

“You know what? Shut up. You made the wrong call, and it’s shear fucking dumb luck that you all made it out.” Natasha stares at him. Not luck. Clear plan, followed through by skill. Dangerous, maybe but not suicidal.

“So what? Just because you don’t have the guts to do it..” as soon as the words fly out, Natasha knows it’s a step too far.

“Fuck you and your fucking high horse.” Clint stalks out, slamming the door behind him.

.

They’re paired together 2 weeks later in a mission to Latvia. The tension bleeds through every interaction.

They’re made to share a room and it ends in another fight.

This time it’s physical.

It starts by Clint not observing personal space.

By the end of it, Clint has a black eye and Natasha has a knife wound on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t wrong though.” Natasha says passing him an ice pack.

“Maybe not, but either was I.” Clint passes her gauze.

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

3/ Are you with me?

I wanna dance by water 'neath the Mexican sky

Drink some Margaritas by a string of blue lights

Listen to the Mariachi play at midnight

Are you with me, are you with me?

“I love you.” Natasha says flippantly, grabbing her drink and clinking it with Clint's on the table.

“You’re drunk,” Clint laughs.

“Not enough to not know what what I’m saying. I love you.” She repeats.

“You’re serious.” Clint deadpans and laughs. “You’re serious.”

Natasha stretches out on the lounger, “as a heart attack.” She replies.

“I love you too, Nat.” Clint holds out his hand to grab hers and she grabs it, miss reading his intention and kisses the back of his hand.

4/ Konstantine

I can't imagine all the people that you know

And the places that you go

When the lights are turned down low

And I don't understand

All the things you've seen

But I'm slipping in between

You and your big dreams

It's always you in my big dreams

Natasha’s twitchy all day.

And the next.

It sets Clint on edge.

He tries to leave her to her coping. Whatever has triggered her this time isn’t bad (it’s not great), it’s not set off her ptsd (that he can tell) but it is frustrating (him).

She doesn’t stop moving, she doesn’t sleep and she’s more short tempered than usual. He forgot to take out the washing and she all but bit his head off.

He tries to stay away from her, spending more time in the gym, goes food shopping and the hides with Maria in her office.

By day 3, he’s had enough. Calls her out on it. Asks her what’s wrong and gets his head bitten off. Wrong move apparently.

He’s in the kitchen where he finds the writing pad where they write shopping lists, notes and messages to each other. There’s ashes in the sink next to it, a tell tale sign Natasha has burnt whatever her brain has been thinking. He shouldn’t. He wants to know. Any insight is better than not knowing.

He takes a pencil from the drawer and rubs it over the top of the paper. He feels more detective like than he’s felt in ages. She hasn’t hidden what she wrote well. But, he supposes, she didn’t expect him to be snooping.

There’s four sentences, written in her small neat handwriting. Each one drops him harder than the last.

I don’t know what’s wrong, I try and sleep and my dreams are..

He’s going to leave.

This is an exercise in futility

What’s wrong with me?

He covers his tracks, ripping the paper up and depositing it in bins around the apartment and goes in search of her.

She’s at the gym, sweating through whatever is going on. Acknowledging him with a nod she continues. He waits til she’s done and when she’s finally finished half an hour later, she turns.

He stands and goes over to her, and hugs her. Holds tight when she tries to pull away. Continues to hold it til he feels her melt into him. He tries to convey everything into it and squeezes tighter when she finally wraps her arms around him.

5 / work song

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

They’re in the hospital laying in beds side by side.

Clint wakes first, panicking she’s not next to him.

Setting off all the alarms, he falls out of bed and pulls himself over to her, pushes her across and lays next to her.

Safe at last.

______________________________________

1/ St Ides - Macklemore and Ryan Lewis

2/ Toy Soldiers - Eminem

3/ Are you with me - Lost Frequencies

4/ Konstantine - Something Corporate

5/ Work Song - Hozier

[savoies]

It Just Can’t Wait - Matthew Tkachuk.

Matthew Tkachuk x Reader.

Summary: Matthew has been planning to ask you to marry him and he isn't going to let quarantine ruin his plans.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warning: none that I know of.

“Brady what am I supposed to do now, we can’t even go out of the house and we don’t even know how long quarantine is gonna last.” Matthew expressed to his brother about his current dilemma. 

“I don’t know dude, you’ll figure it out or at least she’ll understand.” Brady said not being much help. Matthew hung up and decided to sort out his thoughts by himself since his younger brother wasn't much help. 

Matt had planned to propose to you next weekend but the world was just put on quarantine so the idea of proposing where he had planned was crossed off the list. He had the grand idea of proposing where you met and then going to celebrate with your guys family, something simple since you didn't really like being the center of attention. Now he had to come up with something quick because he wanted to be engaged to you as soon as possible. You and Matthew had been dating for a few years and he thought it seemed right. Him having a steady playing career in the NHL and you just finishing college. You guys lived and did mostly everything together so it was already like both of you guys were married. All that was left were the rings on the left fingers. 

Earlier in the month you and Matthew had walked into a jewelry store not even to look for rings but you spotted one and fell in love with it and Matt took that as a hint that maybe it was time to get engaged since before that, wedding rings had never caught your attention.

During the week he had been planning everything from talking to your family members to his trying to make it the best home proposal possible. You noticed that he did seem a bit not himself so you decided to confront him, “Hey Matty baby you ok, you just seem kind of off.“

“ Yeah I'm good babe, just quarantine is getting to my head,” he said chuckling nervously hoping you wouldn't catch him under his lie. He was really nervous, this was a big step in your guys relationship. A bunch of thoughts entered his mind. What if you didn't want to get married to him? What about if as soon as he proposed you would say no and leave? You guys had never talked about marriage, you had talked about kids a couple of months earlier but did that mean you wanted to get married? 

Matthew knew that he needed to clear his head soon or else he might blurt something out. During quarantine you were the only one he could talk to and of course he couldn't talk to you.  Something that always seemed to cheer him up no matter what, was playing street hockey with you. Now you weren't the best but he just liked having you try and be with him.

“Hey babe wanna head outside for a one on one game?” Matt raised his eyebrows quizzically at you. You noticed that he seemed stressed the last couple of days so you agreed because you knew this would help him clear his head. 

After a fun and somewhat challenging game that of course Matthew won, you guys headed inside and just relaxed cuddled up to each other.

Matt thought maybe that this was the perfect time to ask you some questions so his brain could relax and get some reassurance.

“Y/n, do you love me” as soon as the question left his lips he knew it was a dumb question. But he couldn't take it back so he nervously stared into your beautiful eyes for a response. 

“Matthew Tkachuk where is this coming from, of course i love you, you big doofus. How could I not with your big cocky attitude that is sometimes annoying but super hot and the fact that you are super clingy and affectionate when your friends are not around. Plus you are everything I've ever wanted in a man. And I mean everything. So stop doubting yourself and kiss me.” you said smacking him in the back of the head.

“Gosh you are absolutely perfect you know that and I am not clingy” Matt said huffing like a little kid then proceeded to kiss you lips, in that moment that's all the reassurance Matthew needed to know that you were really the one he wanted to be with for the rest of his life.

Saturday was grocery day for you and Matthew. Usually you guys would go in the evening around six or seven after dinner. But today Matt had to get you out of the house early. How? He didn't exactly know yet, but he had to come up with something soon. He couldn't really sleep all night so when you started to stir slowly waking  up, he was kind of relieved and glad that you had interrupted his thinking. 

You guys headed down stairs and started making pancakes. You thought that this was probably your favorite part of your guys' morning. When both of you were still in pjs and making kind of mess but most importantly breakfast. You couldn't wait to have some Tkachuk kids running around the house. After making breakfast, and cleaning up, Matthew knew that he needed to get you out of the house soon. 

It was around 4pm when Matt thought maybe it was time to send you away. “Hey babe how about you go grocery shopping right now, just you.” You were kind of confused on why he was sending you to the store alone since you guys always went together unless he had something important to do. He noticed that you looked confused so he added to his sentence from before.

“It's just that i want to make a chocolate cake for after dinner but I have a zoom meeting with the guys soon.” You thought cake sounded good and the guys were probably just going to mess around so you agreed.

You changed, kissed Matthew goodbye, grabbed your keys and headed out. Matt knew that he had to work quickly. So he grabbed some string lights and the picnic basket you guys had stored away in some closet. He headed to the kitchen to pack some stuff for a picnic.

You were at the store grabbing the last things and headed to the cake aisle. There didn't seem to be any chocolate cake so you just grabbed funfetti and hoped your boyfriend wouldn't mind too much.

Back at home Matt had changed from his pjs to something more presentable and grabbed the ring box. He headed downstairs and outside to take one last look outside to make sure everything was perfect. He heard the door open and you yell that you were back. He texted you to come outside and you stayed at the back door.

“What's this for.” you asked curious to why you guys were having a picnic in the middle of the evening.

“Well since we can not go outside to have a date night I decided to bring date night to us.” Matt said smiling sweetly at you. You approached him and sat down and he began taking everything out. 

“And you said you were not affectionate” you poked at you boyfriend. You guys just talked and enjoyed each other's company when Matt finally decided it was now or never.

“Can you close your eyes for a second baby, I know you don’t like surprises but I think you might like this one.” Matt said holding your hand reassuringly. He stood up and got up on one knee. “Ok keep them closed, this surprise I've had for a while but now that we are in quarantine it just can't wait anymore open them please.”

You saw Matthew standing on one knee and everything seemed to click in your head. From the way he sent you to the store, to him being nervous all week, and finally to him asking if you loved him. Tears welled up in your eyes.

“Y/n baby I know this isn't ideal since we are in quarantine but I just couldn't wait no more. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I love that when I'm with you I become clingy. I love that you try to play hockey with me even though you arent the best and you know that. I love that we make a mess making breakfast even though we are making the simplest thing ever. I love that we always have deep conversations. I love that you always let me rant to you about my problems even though you aren't feeling your best some days. But most importantly I love you for you and for loving me back. So will you marry me y/n” Matthew was tearing up at the end of his speech.

You were bawling your eyes out by the end of his speech and giggling at some of the remarks he made. “ Yes! I'll marry you Matthew Tkachuk. When you said yes Matt released a breath that he didn't even know he was holding in. He hugged you and you guys whispered I love you to each other. You stayed outside cuddled up next to each other while looking at the stars. Later you guys headed inside to call your family and share the big news. You were glad that you were in the next chapter in your relationship with Matt and couldn't wait for what adventures were gonna be happening in your guys lives from now on together.

im tagging people so it doesn't flop: @hartsyhart (thanks for the help) @patty-cake-nolan ( thanks for the title help) @mitch-slap @leafsxhockeywrxtes @mymanseguin and @ayohockeycheck (thank you for the string lights idea) also thank you for everyone who voted for matty.

[sheepsandcattle]

Chapter 28

The morning after he and Brandon got the train back from that festival, Curly’s dad had decided for the first time to give him the talk. The “when I was your age…” and “I don’t mind you experimenting but…” talk.

“When me and your mum split up and I was living alone again, I used to have the lads over from work,” he’d told him as he pretended to keep busy by flicking through TV channels, like the conversation was nothing but background noise. “We’d do pills in my living room every Friday at the end of our shift.”

“What pills?” He’d been amused by the thought of it. Of course his dad had smoked a spliff or two, but pills had never even crossed Curly’s mind. He supposed it worked both ways, though – Curly had come home stinking of weed plenty of times, but he’d never dare tell his old man about the pills he’d done just a few days before that very conversation.

His dad just shrugged, instead telling him, “I’d go around the whole flat and turn every picture of you around.” He chuckled, forgetting to keep pressing the buttons on the remote then. “I felt so guilty – and then the next day I’d wake up and clean the entire flat top-to-bottom before I turned the pictures back around again.” The man chucked the remote onto the sofa behind him, letting a music channel play at a low volume through the surround sound. He didn’t look upset about it really; still chuckling as he shook his head at the thought. “It was daft really because I went to work every Monday feeling mortified, but then a few days later and I was doing it again. Ay – kept me on top of the housework though,” he pointed.

“As if you did pills,” Curly cracked up, this close to telling his own story, about how daft he and Brandon had been at that festival and how bloody mortifying but hilarious the whole thing is. But then his dad took a long breath like he was about to bring out the big guns.

“It doesn’t always lead to more, Curly – and I know you’ve got your head screwed on – but sometimes it does. You have a few drinks and smoke a bit too much and next thing you know someone’s offered you a bit of coke or whatever it is, and you’re thinking, ay, why not? Might as well try it once. And th—”

“I’m not gonna do coke,” he’d scoffed at eighteen years old. “And if I do, you’ll be the first to know. How’s that?”

***

“Fucking hell you’ve missed so much.” He slouches against the wall as he rolls his eyes. Lola is sat beside him on the mattress and she gives him a nudge and a questioning look, which he waves off.

“Yeah, well, you blocked my number for two months so…”

That’s fair. He did do that, didn’t he? But he’s making up for it now, filling Brandon in on all the shit about Jordan and Jules and his living situation – or lack of.

He’s had too much to drink and he was high on weed before he even thought about moving on to coke, but it’s 5 o’clock in the morning now and he’s sat on some bloke, Rishit’s, mattress, which is placed against the wall on the floor of his studio apartment. That’s probably why he decided it was a good idea to get talking to Brandon; because as nice as Rishit has been, sharing his drugs and his home and all that, he’s Lola’s mate, and they’re caught up in a conversation about a band Curly’s never heard of. He misses talking about music like he and Brandon used to.

“I found this dead good song,” he tells him just as some other fella whose name Curly has forgotten, crashes into the nightstand and sends the lamp flying to the floor. He catches it in time though and everyone cheers. “It—”

“Where the fuck are you?”

“Some bloke’s flat,” he says, attempting to watch the TV screen as his eyes repeatedly trail off across the room. “Let me tell y—"

Brandon says, “you’re getting high at some blokes flat after what happened.” And, alright, what’s he being so arsey about it for?

“It was two weeks ago,” he tells him. “He’s being dead funny about it. Won’t talk to me or—”

“You can’t call me after two months of silence and tell me all this shit, Curly.” He doesn’t sound quite so alarmed now. His voice is perfectly level and he speaks slowly but with a punch to each word like he’s trying to drill it into Curly’s head. Weirdly, it feels a bit like he is; Curly’s skull suddenly contracting as he tries to make sense of the sudden temperament change. “I have work at nine, I’ve got to go.”

“Wait—”

“Go home, Curly,” Bandon says over the line. “What happened to Jordan is—You should be scared.”

God, he really just doesn’t get it, does he? “He won’t let me.”

“When will enough be enough for you? You stop talking to me for months because ‘I don’t know what I’m talking about’ when I tell your dad you’re in trouble -” he levels “-and then you call me at half-past four in the morning to tell me one of your drug deals had your boyfriend in hospital, you’re homeless, and you’re doing coke on some lad’s living room floor.”

Curly’s just glad he never mentioned that he’s only doing coke to take the edge off as he avoids dipping into H again tonight.

“It’s his bedroom n’all,” he corrects, talking under his breath so as not to bring attention to the topic of their conversation. “It’s a studio – open plan kitchen and that. It’s—Hello?”

He pulls his phone away from his ear to see Brandon’s contact page glowing back at him now that the call’s over. The light burns right through his eyes and bubbles up in his brain, which aches suddenly from temple to temple.

“Was that Jordan,” Lola asks, passing a hardback book with white lines over to him, her movements disrupting the powder.

“No, it—" He blocks the book with his palm as he shakes his head. “Yeah... I’ve got to go,” Curly mumbles, pretending not to notice the confused looks he receives as he stands, wobbling a little as the blood rushes to his head, numbing that pulsating pain for a moment before it comes back as the room levels out. “I’ve got work.” Wait, no. “I mean I’ve…” Why’s he going home again? Something about his car? Oh fuck, his car. That’s where he’s going. “Jordan keeps calling, I’ve got ‘go,” he says pathetically, losing his train of thought as he walks in a curved line towards the door.

“You want me to come too?” Lola doesn’t look like she’s about to stand up when he looks back into the room from the doorway and smiles when he shakes his head and heads out.

***

“Where the fuck are you?” It’s the second time in about three hours that someone’s snapped that from the other end of a phone line. He’s on about 5% charge but he daren’t start up his car to use the cigarette lighter because he can’t afford to drain his battery. It’s the same reason he’s shivering in the back seat with one coat on and another over his lap– scared to drain his car for the sake of a bit of extra heat.

“In bed,” he gulps, mouth still dry from the long walk back to his car. He doesn’t think it’s technically lying. He’s got a pillow propped against the inside of his car door, ready to smoke another spliff to send him off to sleep. “R’you alright?”

“Fuck you.”

He watches through the windscreen as a lorry tries to turn the corner into the tight street Curly is parked in. He doesn’t usually spend the night here, but when he pulled into his usual spot earlier on, there was a group of lads there having a smoke around a few cars. At the time he’d expected to sleep through the night rather than getting high in the next town over, so he’d pulled away to find someplace else.

It takes him a second to realise what the man had said. “What?”

“I said fuck you. I’m at your apartment. No one’s answering the fucking door and your car ain’t here so where the fuck are you? It’s 8am.”

Ah, alright then, shit. Curly tries to wrack his brain for all the excuses he’s prepared for a moment exactly like this one, but he comes out blank. “Sorry,” he sputters, still searching for a valid response. “I’m sorry. I lost track.”

“Of what?”

“Just. Time. I’ve been out all night so—”

“So you lied,” Jordan scoffs through the phone. “See, I called that girl you know – Lola? She sounded high outa her mind but seemed pretty damn sure you left a house party a few hours ago with some guy I’ve never even fucking heard of.”

“What? No, no. J, no, I left alone. I—Do you really think I’d—” He’s not taken anything since he left that apartment but he’s still struggling to string a sentence together. Curly’s not so fucked up that he can’t remember walking home alone, though. He knows he did that. “I wouldn’t.”

“I fucking know you wouldn’t,” the man snaps. “So what the fuck is it? A deal? You’re hiding that shit now? I don’t fucking like being in the dark, Elliot.”

“What are you calling me Elliot for?!” That’s a new one – and it sounds like poison when Jordan says it. Bitter enough that Curly wishes he never told him his name at all. “I couldn’t drive so I stayed out, that’s it!”

“I came over last Monday and that blond kid said you hadn’t been there for weeks! You’re sneaking around!”

“I’m in my car!” He doesn’t mean to snap back – knows deep down that he’d be suspicious too. Someone in a house across the street flicks the front light on and he sinks into his seat as he whispers, “I moved out,” his words almost -almost- getting choked.

“What the fuck do you mean you moved out?” He mustn’t buy it, because there’s still a sharpness in his words. 

“We had a row and I moved out, but it was stupid and I just—I don’t know why I never said, but then I was embarrassed. I’m saving for my own flat, but-“

“Idiot. Where are you?”

***

“Idiot,” Jordan says for the fourth time, sulking as he slouched beside Curly in the back seat with his knees spread and his arms crossed over his chest, jaw tense. “It’s fucking freezing in here.”

He doesn’t answer, just nods as he moves the coat from his lap, hands trembling, but Jordan shoves it back as he shakes his head before Curls can drape it over him. He opens his mouth like he’s about to bite again but then huffs instead before he fumbled his way to the middle seat and slides an arm over Curly’s shoulders. Pulls him closer just a little rougher than he needs to.

“Your lips are blue,” he tells him. Curly doesn’t respond because he refuses to bloody cry, and opening his mouth just then ought to do it. It’d only be from embarrassment anyway – this isn’t anything to cry about. “You’re such an idiot.”

“You’ve said, yeah,” he mumbles, eyes closing as the man rubs his palm over his arm in some attempt to build a bit of warmth. “Felt smart at the time,” Curly then explains before he gestures around them. “Then it didn’t anymore.”

Jordan just mutters, “yeah,” against the top of his head before they both fall silent. Cats are fighting somewhere nearby, hissing and screaming, but it’s the only noise surrounding them. Jordan bites when he speaks and glares when they make eye contact, but he holds him like he’s just scared of letting go. What a bloody mess.

The silence stretches on until J says, “I’ll drive us home.”

“J, listen—”

“No, you listen,” the man interrupts as he pulls his arm from around Curly, then moves to climb into the front seat. “You ain’t living in your fuckin’ car anymore, Curls. I can’t believe you--.” He huffs, shakes his head as he twists the key. “I’m sorry, a’ight? Sorry you’ve been doing this alone. Sorry I’m fuckin… Pissed off at you right now. You ain’t got a say in the matter anymore, though. You’re staying with me.”

Curly just sniffs in the back of the car, buried under two coats as he nods. “Okay.”

***

“No more bullshit,” Jordan says the next evening, rummaging through Curly’s stuff, fresh out of the boot of his car and piled up in the living room now. He’s picked up this box. A wooden box with brass hinges and a clip to keep it shut. Jordan flicks it open, looking inside the thing, and nods like he’s seeing exactly what he’d expected. It isn’t the poncy cologne that came inside it originally when Curly received the box a few Christmases ago. “You owe money?”

“Ey?” Curls frowns, legs crossed underneath himself on the couch.

“I gotta know where you’re at. Do you own money to anyone? Drugs? You in debt?”

“No,” he tells him, shaking his head hurriedly. He’s daft, but he in’t that daft. “Course not. No, I—”

“A’right,” J cuts him off. Doesn’t need to hear any explanations, Curly supposes. “So we’re done with this,” he concludes, before flipping the box shut again and leaving it on the table. “Heroin, yeah?”

“W—”

“How serious is it?”

Jesus, Curly feels like he’s having that chat with his dad again, about how things can get out of hand. “You would tell me, wouldn’t you, mate?”

He just nods, though. Lying doesn’t feel like an option. Explaining or justifying anything don't feel like options either as Jordan looms over him, empty arms crossed over his arms now. He doesn’t look angry at him. Doesn’t look... Anything, really. Just looks at him, waiting.

“I don’t know,” he tells him honestly. “I don’t always do it. Sometimes I can do other stuff instead. Take the edge off. It’s not… I’m alright without it. It’s just better…” Curly doesn’t finish speaking because, suddenly, Jordan’s not listening anymore. He’s making his way towards the stereo in the corner, where he loads it up with a new CD and hits play. Six Different Ways is playing as Jordan heads back to the table and lowers himself to the ground, opening the box yet again.

Neither of them speaks whilst the instrumental plays through. Jordan sniffs like he does as he pulls things from the box. Curly sees a syringe. Sees powder. Brown and white. Sees a thin rubber tube…

When Curly was thirteen, he tried his first fag. Only one that day. It was horrible at the time – just a rollie from one of the older lads on his block. When he got in his dad brought out a packet of proper cigarettes. He’s asked, “what are you doing?” - as his dad handed them over. Told him he’d seen him smoking with his mates, said: “have them if you want them.” Curly had cried and shook his head and told him he was sorry. His dad smoked one right in front of him and he didn’t know why it was so horrible, seeing his dad do that, but it was.

He later found out that it was their neighbour that had seen him, and that the cigarettes were his dad’s all along, who had been smoking in secret every time he took the bins out. He apologised to Curly a few years later. Said he was out of order.

“What are you doing?” His voice is small as Jordan stands and leaves for the kitchen. “Jord.”

He hears the tap running and the hob clicking. He doesn’t move though, just stays put until Jordan’s re-emerging from the kitchen with a spoon in hand. “There’s a place on Clifton Avenue that hands out sterile cookers for free,” Jordan tells him as he places the spoon on the coffee table. “You ain’t gonna need that, though. This is your last one. A’right?”

His last one. His. Okay… Because for a second he thought that Jordan might... Just to teach him a lesson... “Okay…”

“And the rest goes,” Jordan adds. “I’ll take care of it all tomorrow… Or you can leave it and start right now,” the man then suggests, sniffing again as he goes back to linger near the kitchen door, likely watching the water boil. Curls feels his fingers twitch, the harder he tries to keep still, the harder it becomes. If he’d have known it’d be his last, he’d have savoured the hit he had yesterday.

“It’s not really that easy, J.”

Jordan just scoffs. “Like fuck it ain’t,” he mutters and leaves the room again. From the kitchen he calls though, “you’ll be clean by your birthday. I’ll get you a job at the bar, ‘right?”

"It was never quite like this before. Not one of you is the same," is the line Robert Smith is on by then and Curly fidgets in his seat.

The thing is that he isn’t hooked on the stuff. No, swear to God. It feels good like weed and coke feels good. He feels its absence like he feels the absence of nicotine. Can go without it but feels better when he doesn’t. There isn’t much that makes him feel nothing but bliss. Nothing else in the whole world that completely erases every bad thing around him and leaves him lying in a hum of euphoria.

When he was thirteen and his dad had handed him that box of Sterling, Curly hadn’t wanted them. It was easy enough to say no to something he’d only tried once and gotten unlucky enough to get caught. His dad handed him the pack so Curly would realise just how little he wanted to smoke them. Then he smoked one right there on the spot and had Curly feeling just as gutted at the man had felt an hour or so earlier when Steven from next door told him what he’d seen.

He thinks about washing Oscar’s blood and vomit off his hands; in the bathroom with Dean as the man told him, “He won’t tell you, Curls, but that shit— You don’t want him to see you like that. It’s not fair, alright?”

He wishes he could say no now, even when the options J is giving him don’t really feel like options at all. Even as the man places a syringe full of sterile water on the coffee table beside a spoon, a rubber pipe, a bag of powder… Jordan digs into his pocket then. Pulls out a lighter, then a pack of filters. Tosses them onto Curly’s lap then walks away.

“This is the last one,” Curly tells him, leaning forward to finish the job. He’s glad for it if it means he doesn’t have to see Jordan’s face as he picks his path.

In the corner of his eye, though, he sees Jordan take a seat in the armchair placed in the corner of the room. Sees him prop an elbow on the arm and press his mouth to a closed fist as he watches, wordless.

He’s not sure why he’s shaking, but he is as he holds the lighter beneath the spoon, heating the liquid back up again and waiting for the powder to dissolve. It’s embarrassing. That’s what it is. It’s bloody embarrassing to feel Jordan’s eyes on him as he does it. But for fuck’s sake he’s not doing it because he can’t help himself, alright? He’s doing it because he’ll never, ever do it again. “I promise,” he says.

Soon the needle’s in the filter, drawing up the liquid. He leaves it on the table whilst he finds a good spot and ties off. It’s not until he’s picking it back up again that Curly looks at Jordan. Properly looks at him.

“Shall I go to the other room?”

“No.” The answer’s out so quick that he swears Jordan must have prepared for it. The man sniffs again, shifting slightly only to return to the same position.

“I-I’m sorry. After this, that’s it. Yeah?” Curly promises him. “I just. I might as well just do it, ‘adn’t I? One more time and we can bin the rest.”

Jordan mumbles into his fist, “you asking?”

A shake of his head and Curly’s attention is returning to the task at hand. He wants Jordan to tell him it’s alright. Wants him to say it’s fine, just do it this once and never, ever again. I don’t mind… But he does mind. Curls knows that he’s not getting the okay from Jordan really. Just getting a blind eye this once.

It’s just as he’s pushing the needle into his skin that Jordan stands. Just as he’s settling back into the couch, slowly nodding, that Jordan stands over him, looks down with his eyes glossed over, jaw quivering just slightly as he tells him, “you ever put me through this shit again, we’re through.” A droplet falls from his eye to... Somewhere. Curly doesn’t know. Can’t feel it. J’s hand grips Curly’s chin as he tells him, “can’t fucking do this again.”

He’s not sure, but he thinks Jordan returns to his seat. The music gets louder and, for the first time, the pleasure he feels from the drug is tainted.

[peraltasames]

i knew nothing of romance, but it was love at second sight

023: “Do you believe in love at first sight?” ft. mac peralta for the one and only @macperalta 💞💞💞 title from the gambler by fun. (one of the greatest love songs of the 21st century!!)

read on ao3

Amy prides herself on being a textbook “good parent” about ninety-nine percent of the time. She buys the organic foods and limits TV time and stimulates her son’s brain with classic literature and math problems whenever she gets the chance.

She usually puts her foot down and has no issue with being the stricter parent when necessary, but there are certain things that she simply can’t say no to.

Despite every parenting book discouraging it, even now that Mac’s approaching his fifth birthday Amy can’t resist allowing the occasional sleepover in their bed. Her son’s big brown eyes looking up at her as he stands in their doorway in his pajamas and begs to sleep in their bed is one of her greatest weaknesses.

“I don’t know,” Amy says, glancing over at Jake and pretending to truly ponder the decision. “It’s up to your dad.”

Of course, they both know that’s as good as saying yes - Jake is equally, if not more, vulnerable to Mac’s puppy-dog stare.

“Okay, but you have to be quiet so we don’t wake up Zoey.”

Mac grins triumphantly and leaps into the bed between Jake and Amy, immediately snuggling into Amy’s side as she sets her crossword down on the nightstand.

“Ms. Harris told us she’s getting married today,” Mac informs them.

“That’s good news, did she say when?”

“Summer.”

Amy runs her hand through the curls that are so distinctly Jake’s, equally soft and unruly and almost the exact same shade of brown. He’s also just as fond of the feeling of her combing her fingers through his hair as Jake is, often asking for “Mommy’s magic head scratches” from the moment he began to string full sentences together.

Mac lets out a little sigh of contentment, and she thinks he’s beginning to fall asleep when he speaks again, words muffled against her t-shirt.

“Mommy, do you believe in love at first sight?”

Her rhythmic strokes pause for a moment as she studies her son’s face, purely inquisitive and brimmed with curiosity.

“That’s a tough question, sweetheart.”

“Why do you ask, bud?” Jake asks, setting his phone down as his interest in Mac’s unusual question is also piqued.

“Ms. Harris said she loved Mr. Kim at first sight,” Mac explains. “He’s the new teacher at our school this year. He brings our class cookies sometimes.”

He turns to Jake, evidently hoping for a more concrete answer than he got from Amy about the origins of love and the hypothetical possibility of it happening instantly.

“Did you love Mommy at first sight?” he asks, wide-eyed and sincere.

Jake meets her eyes and they both burst out laughing involuntarily. Their early years of partnership were far from romantic, though there was that undercurrent of something - attraction, understanding, maybe a little bit of curiosity - that was there from day one.

“Not exactly, kiddo,” Jake chuckles, opening his arms as Mac climbs into his lap and lays against him. He’s been growing up faster than either of them were prepared for, and much of their time before bed is now devoted to their two year-old daughter, so moments like these when he’s sleepy and still wants to snuggle are cherished.

“I didn’t know I loved Mommy until a few years after I met her. We were just friends before that. We actually didn’t get along a lot of the time.”

“Like Mario and Bowser?”

Amy rolls her eyes - she blames Jake playing Mario Party right next to her every single day of her pregnancy for their son’s interest in the game.

Jake shrugs. “Uh, sure. But Mommy’s Bowser, cause Mario always wins and I won our bet to see who could arrest more bad guys. And then Mommy had to go on a date with me and after that she totally liked me.”

Amy cuts in, “That’s not exactly true-“

“The point is, it took me a little bit longer than Ms. Harris, but once I realized I loved Mommy I knew I would never love anybody else that much for the rest of my whole life,” Jake smiles, pulling his arm from Mac’s grasp gently to rest a hand on Amy’s knee. “Except you and Zoey, of course.”

Amy beams at her husband, deciding immediately that she and Jake’s love story is by far her new favourite for bedtime. It might even bump Harry Potter out of its reigning first-place spot.

“Do you think Ms. Harris will invite me to her wedding?”

“I don’t think so, honey, but remember we get to go to Auntie Rosa’s wedding in a couple of months,” Amy reminds him. “And we get to go to a pretty lake upstate and stay in a fancy hotel.”

Mac nods, seemingly satisfied with this answer and the prospect of a fun vacation. He shifts back into the space between them, climbing under the covers.

“Goodnight, baby,” Amy whispers, pressing a kiss to Mac’s forehead before following suit and laying back against the soft pillows. “I love you so so much.”

“Love you, kiddo,” Jake echoes, “love you, Ames.”

She reciprocates by leaning over Mac to cup Jake’s cheek and kiss him softly, her thumb grazing his five o’clock shadow.

Maybe she didn’t fall in love with Jake the first time she saw him, but she sure as hell loves him a little bit more every time she pulls away from a kiss and sees that glowing smile.

“Love you more, babe.”

[phoenix-downer]

Fate’s Thread

For SoKai Week Day 6 - Connection AND Fate. 

~2150 words. Love Epiphany, Crushes, Pining, Mutual Pining, Soulmates, Red String of Fate.

“A red string of fate connects everyone to their soulmate.” 

The words were from an old legend from Radiant Garden. Kairi didn’t really pay them any mind as a child because she didn’t really think about such things back then, and the legend of the paopu fruit rapidly replaced the legend of the red string of fate in her young mind after she arrived on Destiny Islands. Something about the legend of the paopu fruit appealed to her more; perhaps the element of personal choice. Her grandmother had once said to her, “Soulmates are made, not born,” and the legend of the paopu fruit was much more in line with that. 

Still, as the years passed and she grew older, there were some nights when she wondered, was there someone she was meant to be with? Was fate working behind the scenes and controlling her destiny?

The morning after her fourteenth birthday party, she lay in her bed, hugging her pillow to her chest and trying to get the strange thoughts she’d been having about Sora lately out of her mind. Why had she felt so weird around him lately? Especially last night. She could hardly talk to him without the words getting caught in her throat and her face getting hot. 

It wasn’t like he had changed; he was the same dork as ever, the same lazy bum. Kairi was taller than him by about an inch now, because he was “a late bloomer,” as her mother put it. The other girls on the island were fawning over various boys now, but for whatever reason, it wasn’t those guys who made her feel all flustered when they walked in the room.

No, it was Sora. And if he hadn’t really changed… then it meant she had. 

That was the first time she remembered feeling a slight tugging on her pinkie, but then it was gone. 

The next time she felt a similar tugging was when she was playing toss on the Play Island with everyone. They were trying to keep the ball off the sand for as long as possible so they could beat their old record. 

“Here, catch!” Sora called, a big grin on his face as he looked at her. Something about the way he smiled made her brain shut off for a few seconds, and by then it was too late. The ball had fallen to the sand, and everyone was groaning loudly.

“Kairi, really?!” Wakka said as Tidus shook his head. “We were only two away from our old record!” 

She sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck. “Sorry, guys. I guess I got a little distracted.”

She looked at Sora again, and he said, “Hey, no big deal! We can just try again.”

It was then that she felt the tugging once more. “Huh? she said softly as she cupped her pinkie in her other hand.  

Then it was over. Weird. 

She picked up the ball again. “Alright everyone, are you ready?” 

“Ready!”

After that, the tugging got more and more frequent. It was never painful or anything, but she did notice it. During school, after school, on the Play Island, sometimes even at home… any time Sora was around, it usually happened at least once. 

“Mom?” she asked one afternoon after school. She was doing her math homework at the kitchen table, and her mom was preparing dinner.

“Yes, sweetheart? What is it?” 

“I think I like Sora.” 

Her mother paused a moment from chopping the carrots to give her a smile. “Oh really?”

“You don’t… seem all that surprised.” 

“Well, to be honest, I’m not.”

“Who told you?” Kairi asked, the blood draining from her face. If her mother of all people knew, then the entire town might know by now. 

“No one. Just a mother’s instinct… and observational skills.” 

Kairi felt her face getting hot again, and she set her pencil down and hid beneath her hands. “If you know, who else might have figured it out?” she moaned. 

“Relax, sweetheart, your secret’s safe with me. And trust me, Sora’s clueless. I told you that boys lag behind girls on these sorts of things, remember? They usually hit their growth spurts later, and girls aren’t really on their minds until they start going through puberty themselves—”

Kairi covered her ears. “I know, I know, please don’t give me the talk again or even mention the p-word.”

It was bad enough dealing with all the weird changes her body had been going through lately. She felt awkward and gangly, and her moods were all over the place. But she absolutely did not want to hear about the kinds of changes boys went through because it just made her all flustered and giggly and embarrassed. 

Her mom had joined her at the kitchen table, and she gently pried her hands off of her ears.

“It’s okay. I know all of this is awkward and scary, but it won’t last forever. Someday you’ll feel comfortable in your own skin again.”

“I will?” Kairi said, not really believing it. Her mother was so beautiful and confident, and so were the other ladies of Destiny Islands. Kairi felt so different from them that she didn’t think she’d ever reach their level. 

“Yes, you will. And someday, I suspect Sora might wake up and realize you’ve had a massive crush on him for years.”

“Mother!” 

Her mom smiled mischievously and squeezed her hand. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. But if it makes you feel any better, I also think that someday, he might wake up and realize he’s had a massive crush on you for years too.”

Kairi pretended to bury her nose in her math homework again after that, but she couldn’t get her mom’s words out of her mind. Was it possible Sora liked her too?

She felt the tugging on her pinkie again. That was the first time she’d felt it without him around. Was it because she was thinking of him? Or was he thinking of her?

That thought made it entirely impossible to focus on her homework, so she set it to the side for now and helped her mother finish making dinner.

“You know what you can do to help with the embarrassment when you’re around Sora?” her mom said as she handed her a potato to peel. 

“What?”

“Just talk to him. The more you do it, the more comfortable you’ll be around him again. And tease him, too. Not anything mean or rude, just playful banter. It’ll help get your mind off of your embarrassment, and he’ll understand you’re just messing with him. It’s what guys do with their friends to bond with them.” 

“That’s true, he and Riku tease each other all the time. All the guys do.” 

“Exactly. Throw in a little good-natured teasing and be willing to take it too, and you’ll be golden.” 

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Sometimes everything changes in the blink of an eye. That was what Sora’s dad had told him, but he didn’t believe it until he experienced it for himself. 

One day, he was waiting by the docks to see if anyone was gonna show up so they could paddle to the Play Island. It was finally the weekend, and they could ignore school for a full day before they’d need to start even thinking about homework. 

Then Kairi arrived, and it was like the world had gone wonky. 

“Hey, Sora!”

“Hey, Kairi—”

When he looked up and saw her, the pieces of grass he’d been fiddling with dropped from his hands. Who was this person and what had happened to the old Kairi?

“Like it?” she said as she ran her fingers through her now-short hair. “I got it cut earlier today.”

“Oh, um, yeah, it looks great—”

More than great. It looked awesome. He hadn’t realized how good she would look with short hair because she hadn’t had it this short since they were kids. 

“I mean, you look good with any hairstyle, but um, short is—”

He winced. Man, why was he having such a hard time talking today?

“My mom took me shopping too, that’s where I got this outfit!” Kairi said as she twirled around for him. She wore a white tank top and a purple skort, and they looked good on her.

“Well?” she asked in a singsong voice, her face inches away from his. “What do you think?” 

His heart was racing, his mouth was dry, his palms were sweaty, his face was flushing, and his stomach was doing flips, but he tried his best to form a coherent sentence. 

“Um, you look great—”

She leaned back and smiled triumphantly. “Thank you.” 

Riku and Tidus and Wakka and Selphie arrived right around then, and Sora was glad he could get a few moments to pull it together. He wasn’t really sure where Kairi’s newfound boldness had come from, but he… he liked it.

His blush got worse, and a part of him wanted to sink into the ground or jump overboard into the water. What was all this weird stuff he was feeling? He felt this strange tugging in his pinkie too. What was that all about?

Then someone said something that made her laugh, and Sora grinned as she brought her hand to his mouth and giggled. She was really cute, and he always liked seeing her smile. 

Oh no. Oh no. He liked her. He liked Kairi. That was the only explanation. It had been slowly creeping up on him for months and months, and it had just slammed into him like one of Wakka’s blitzballs.

Crap, he couldn’t let her see how flustered she was making him. She’d think he was lame or silly or a huge dork. And there was no way she liked him too. He was the resident lazy bum and they were just friends. They’d always been friends, and she couldn’t possibly want anything more than that, right?

But then she looked his way. “What are you doing all by yourself Sora?” she called, tilting her head with a twinkle in her eye. “Come talk to us!” 

Seeing her smile and beckon to him, he felt his worries dissipate a little. Yeah, he’d need time to think all this weird confusing stuff over, but for now he wanted to be around her as much as possible.

There was that tugging in his pinkie again. Huh. Maybe… maybe it had something to do with her.

Well, whatever the reason, he’d sort that out later too. He shrugged and joined them, and before long things felt fine. No, better than ever. He saw Kairi in a new light now, and it was like the whole world had transformed along with her.

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“Kairi, are you ready for this?” Naminé asked, pressing her fingers together. 

Kairi nodded and leaned back against the examination chair. “I’m sure. If there’s even a chance we can find a clue in my heart that might help us find Sora, I want to search for it.”

She fiddled with her pinkie finger. She hadn’t felt any tugs on it since Sora had disappeared, but that didn’t mean he was gone for good. 

“I’m sure you know this already Naminé, because you can see the connections between hearts, but I think Sora and I are connected somehow. Part of it’s because of the paopu fruit, and I know that made our connection stronger than ever. But there’s an older connection too. It’s fainter, but it’s been there for a long time now. That’s why I think searching my heart might lead to a clue.” 

“I think so too,” Naminé said. “Maybe that connection is what brought you to Destiny Islands in the first place. It’s worth checking out.”

She nodded again. “Yeah. And maybe… maybe that connection will lead me back to him.”

“If anyone can find him, you can. Best of luck, Kairi.”

Kairi said her final round of goodbyes to everyone, and then it was time to sleep, to dream. She had to chase the connection back, back, back to where it began.

She had to find out how fate had brought her and Sora together. Then, maybe then, she’d find him and bring him home.

Whether soulmates were made or born, she still wasn’t entirely sure. But if the scary man from her childhood nightmares could tamper with her fate… then maybe she could tamper with it, too. Fix it and make sure Sora came home like he was supposed to. Something felt wrong, something felt off about his disappearance, like the entire universe had gotten knocked off track. It was up to her to right things, to bring the greatest protector and defender the worlds had ever known home.

That was the promise she’d made to Sora, and those were her final thoughts before she slipped off to sleep. 

Whatever the future might have in store, she would find him. 

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A/N: The final scene in this story was inspired by Melody of Memory and my musings about how Sora and Kairi might be connected. I’m curious about why Kairi’s getting her memories from before back now of all times, and it tied in to the themes for today.

Thanks for reading! 

[lunetheaveragefan]

one day...

Hey, y’all! Finally, here’s chapter 4! Gosh, this has taken me so long! I’m so so so sorry. In other news, I will be going on a hiatus so I can build up some buffer chapters to prevent this from happening again. I’ll post updates on when I’ll be back, but I’m currently thinking it will be sometime around New Year’s or early January. Again, thank you all for reading! It means a lot to me!

A Sander Sides high school AU

Pairing: Prinxiety and some background Logicality

Summary: Virgil is used to being alone. He only has one friend, Logan. But when Logan makes a new friend, things begin to change as two more join their group. Roman, a boisterous theater kid, seems determined to destroy Virgil’s lonely, average life. How much will Virgil’s life change?

Warnings: Remus and Janus mentions; mentions of homophobia and bullying; references of name-calling; swearing. (If there’s anything else, let me know!)

Word Count: 2,660

okay, here’s chapter 4! (Oh, and the bold words/sentences are text messages by the way.)

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CHAPTER FOUR

Roman shuts the door to his car and walks inside the house. 

“I’m home!” he cries out. Feet thud on the stairs from the basement as Roman hangs his jacket on the hooks by the door. 

“Roman!” a manically shrill voice screams. Sliding across the hardwood floors around the corner comes Remus, Roman’s twin brother. Remus was a…special case. For reasons unknown, he was avidly interested in all things dark or cruel. A horrendously dirty mind and not a drop of innocence accompanied by a twisted love of morbid stories and people made Remus slightly demented, and Remus himself would be the first one to admit it. It was no wonder their parents gave up on him entirely. 

The only person who could keep Remus remotely in line was his boyfriend, Janus. Granted, Janus wasn’t the best example of a model kid, but he kept Remus from being too crazy. Roman liked Janus a decent amount and admired him for being able to put up with Remus at all, but there was something slightly off about him. The two only interacted when they needed too, and Roman was fine with that. 

“Hey, Remus,” Roman greets. “How are ya?” He feels the need to talk to his brother, show him support, since Remus doesn’t get any from their parents. Although being ignored doesn’t seem to bother Remus much, Roman tries to make an effort. 

“Fantastically fantastic!” He twirls in a circle, the tattered ends of his black trench coat flying out behind him. Roman chuckles at his brother’s antics. If only I were that free, he thinks. Before his smile can fade, Roman pastes it back on.

Before either boy can say anything else, Janus walks up the stairs and, without a single questioning glance, takes Remus by the arm. 

He must think Roman’s strained smile is due to annoyance because he says, “C’mon, Remus. Let’s go back downstairs and stop bothering your poor brother.” Remus giggles and follows Janus back downstairs, leaving Roman alone. The door shuts and the house goes quiet. 

Sighing and finally dropping the fake smile, Roman trudges to his room. He doesn’t mind that Remus gets the entire basement to himself. If they shared so much as a floor of the house, they would probably never stop arguing. Sure, they loved each other, Remus in his own backward way, but that didn’t mean they got along perfectly. 

Flopping down on his bed, Roman opens his phone to see a text from Patton. 

Sooooo are you happy you came? it reads.

Okay, okay, fine, yes, I’m glad I came, Roman responds. He bites his lip in nervousness before saying, Do you, by chance, have Virgil’s number? I would like to thank him again for helping me.

Patton’s reply is teasing, cheeky, just like a nosy father’s: Are you sure that’s the only reason you want it?

Roman chuckles before rolling his eyes at Patton's antics. Ignoring the question entirely, Roman asks, Do you have it or not?

Sadly, no, I do not. I’m afraid I cannot help your romantic pursuits this time.

Sending Patton the crying-face emoji, Roman rolls over to his back and stares at the ceiling. Maybe Virgil will talk to me tomorrow. It’s a foolish hope, and he knows that. Virgil doesn’t like Roman, and one day of studying together won’t change that. 

It’s smart to keep my feelings to myself. He hates me, and I can’t change that. It’s better to admire from afar. That’s the reason for his hesitation, or at least what Roman has convinced himself to believe. Although he’d never admit it, here’s something much deeper. Something he doesn't want to talk about. A fear he’s kept well hidden under his fake, perfect smiles that everyone buys into and the shameless flirting with every attractive person he sees and his bold, fearless stage presence year after year.

A buzz from the phone in his hand jars him out of his stupor. It’s a text from Patton.

I do have Logan’s, if you want to ask him. The text that follows contains a phone number. He hurriedly responds with a ‘thanks’ and copies the number. After making a new contact for Logan, he opens Messages again. The text should only take a few seconds to send, but Roman types his question in a million different ways, varying from borderline desperate to overly professional. Finally, he decides on the most simple one of all.

Hey, it’s Roman. Do you have Virgil’s number by chance? No explanation, no obvious signs of his crush. Straight and to the point. Even though Roman knows it’s the best way to phrase it, he still can’t make himself press send.

What if Logan figures it out? He’s the smartest kid in school, after all. What if he does have it and I text Virgil and he blocks me? What if Logan tells Virgil and they make fun of me? What if it’s a wrong number and the random person makes fun of me for my crush? 

“Dammit, Roman, get yourself together,” he mumbles, leaning his head back.

Fed up with his overthinking, Roman hovers his finger above the send button, closes his eyes, and presses down on the screen. Opening his eyes a sliver to make sure it sent, he shuts his phone off and throws it in the corner on a pile of clothes. He knows that if he keeps it next to him, he’ll obsessively check it every five seconds to see if there’s a reply. There’s homework he needs to do, for fuck’s sake.

Pulling his laptop out of his bag and opening his presentation for history, he gets to work. After a while, he forgets completely about the text. Googling the answers and finding pictures and reliable sites to use fills his thoughts, for once leaving no room for Virgil. At 11:30, once he’s done, assignment turned in with 29 minutes to spare, he grabs his phone and turns it on. 

There’s a text from Logan. 

Yes, I do have Virgil’s contact information. A string of numbers follow. His phone number. Roman’s heart flutters at the thought of being able to text Virgil.

Thanks, Roman responds. After making the second new contact of the night, making Virgil’s name just the heart-eyes emoji, he starts the agonizing process of figuring out what to say. 

“Should I just say ‘hi?’” Roman mumbles to himself, biting at his lip. “No, no, no. Then he won’t know who it is and he won’t respond. I could say ‘hi’ and who I am and then ask how he’s doing.” He nods and begins to type it in before deleting it and saying, “No! He’ll think I’m being weird! Roman, remember: he hates you. You can’t screw this up!” He groans in frustration and drops his head to his hands. “Wait, my excuse to Patton was that I wanted to say thanks again! I’ll just use that!” He types in, Hey! This is Roman. Thanks again for helping me with math today. 

“Okay, that looks good. Now, Roman, you just have to press send. It’s not that hard. Just do it.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Do I really want to do this? It’s just setting myself up for rejection. Yet when he pictures Virgil in his mind, purple hair falling across his face, freckles dotting his cheeks, he knows that it’s worth the risk. Taking one last deep breath, he opens his eyes.  

“Oh, shit!” he yells, throwing his phone across the room. Somehow, he’d accidentally sent the message while his eyes were closed. Curse my shaky hands. He meant to send it anyway, but still. Was not expecting it to happen so abruptly. Hands fly up to cover his mouth as he stares at the wall in shock. Roman’s mom comes in, looking concerned.

“Is everything alright, honey?” she asks, jarring Roman out of his distress. He blinks, shakes his head, and smiles crookedly. Quick, Roman, come up with an excuse! 

“Uh, I accidentally sent a text to the wrong person,” he half-lies. Please buy it. Please. Luckily, his mom chuckles.

“Okay, sweetie. Get to bed! Don’t want you to do bad in class and play, now do we?” She smiles warmly and shuts the door behind her as she leaves. 

Face falling, Roman murmurs, “Yup. Can’t have Golden Boy failing anything. What a tragedy that would be, for me to be less than perfect.” He laughs dryly and stands up to get ready for bed. He eyes his phone as he passes it on his way to his dresser, but resists the overwhelming urge to check it. Virgil’s probably asleep at this time, anyway. 

But Roman still can’t get him off his mind. 

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Roman wakes up to the blaring of his alarm. It’s too early for this, he thinks, rolling over and smashing the snooze button. He’s just drifted back off to sleep when the alarm turns back on. Knowing he’ll be late if he snoozes it again, he shoves himself out of bed. 

After his shower, he picks up his phone, checking his messages. Scrolling past the notifications the play director sent out about practice, he looks for anything of interest. He’s already passed the message when his brain processes the sender.

He wasn’t hallucinating; there is a text from Virgil. Roman’s face breaks out in a smile and he sits down on the edge of his bed before falling backwards.

it was no problem, Virgil had texted last night. Another text comes in as Roman is reading the one from before.

hey if you wanted to you could come to the cafe again next week. The invitation brings a lightness to his heart. Maybe he doesn't really hate me, he thinks, goofily smiling at the ceiling.  Although the idea is uplifting, he tries to shove it down, but the hopeless romantic inside of him won’t listen. Or at least not as much as I thought he did, he compromises. p.s. logan says it’s okay too. i expected him too since he has a big fat crush on patton and you would most likely bring patton with you or patton would bring you

Roman’s jaw drops at the news. Did not see that coming. It only takes a few seconds for Virgil to say, oh shit i probably wasn’t supposed to tell you that. He’s responding when another text pops up.

i never said anything okay? 

Roman chuckles and types back, Got it, Mr... Ah dammit I can’t think of a funny nickname for you bc I’m so tired. You got anything? 

There’s an awkward moment of nothing when Virgil doesn’t reply. Roman knows that Virgil’s read it; the little words underneath the message say so. Did I say something wrong? Oh, no, he probably thinks I wanted a nickname to make fun of him! He facepalms at his stupidness. Wanting to make things right, Roman frantically tried to come up with what to say, but nothing sounds right. Before he can say anything, Virgil finally replies. 

idk i’m not a big fan of nicknames 

Remembering all those days when Roman used nicknames for the wrong reason, he winces. I was such a dumbass in middle school. 

Oh right. Feeling like he has to say something more, Roman gathers all his courage. 

Look I’m sorry about how shitty I was to you in middle school. It’s no excuse but I did it cause I was going through some stuff at home. Course that doesn’t make it right but I figured you’d like to know where I was coming from, he explains. Heart racing, he wonders what Virgil will say. He’s never admitted the reason behind his terrible behavior in middle school to anyone but Patton. Trouble had no place in his life. Everyone expected perfection, so that’s what he had to show. 

Lost in his thoughts, Roman didn’t notice Virgil’s reply at first. 

oh was all it said. A moment later, another text appeared. are things better? Roman wants to say no, tell him about the pressure, the expectations, the disappointment. There’s something about Virgil that feels trustworthy to Roman. He wants to tell him everything, but he knows he can’t. Because of those expectations. He’s Roman Princeford, popular, theatre prodigy, the king-of-the-school. 

So instead, Roman answers with a half-truth, like always. Yeah I guess so. My dad’s no longer a homophobic piece of shit and has mostly come to terms with the fact I’m gay

That problem was the only one people knew about. That problem was resolved. Besides, Roman liked having it out in the open. This way, he got younger kids, freshmen, sophomores, even some juniors or sometimes middle schoolers coming up to him, telling him that they looked up to him. Telling him that it was so cool that he came out. No one could relate to a perfect person. That story was Roman’s flaw, the chip in his armor that showed everyone that he could have problems too. 

ah that must’ve sucked 

Shoving his mind out of places he would rather not go, Roman texts back, Yeah kinda 

There’s a few minutes of silence. Not wanting the conversation to end, Roman asks, How were people’s reactions to your coming out? When Virgil had come out, it wasn’t the talk of the school like when Roman did. In fact, he didn’t even know about it until a week after when Patton told him. 

well my mom was completely accepting and was the first one i told, actually. my parents are divorced so i still haven’t told my dad. he’s uber religious so idk how that’s going to go down. my extended family on my mom’s side all know and there are a few cousins on my dad’s side that i’ve sworn to secrecy. Roman had met some religious fanatics who insisted on telling him all the reasons he was going to Hell. Those conversations were never fun. He winces on behalf of Virgil and how that conversation with his dad might go down.

God, being gay is fabulous and all, but sometimes it really is annoying, Roman muses. He sighs; at that moment he was so done with all the problems he and others had to face on a daily basis for simply existing.

i guess so, Virgil responds. Roman can almost feel the thick indifference through the phone screen. Being completely dead to the world was something Roman would never understand. Just watching things happen seems so impossible to him. He’s always had a great amount of passion, sometimes to the point where he would do anything to stand up for what he believed in.

But he’d also learned when and how to shut up, a skill that had taken a long time to master. This is one of those times. As much as Roman would like to convince Virgil that he couldn’t just stand by and accept the homophobia, he didn’t think that would make Virgil like him any more.

Needing to say it once more before the conversation ends, Roman says, I am really sorry for middle school. It wasn’t until late eighth grade that Roman realized how much of an impact his words could have on someone. A day doesn’t go by where he doesn’t regret it. If only I could take all those years back, he wishes. This wasn’t the first time he’d thought that.

yeah, yeah, i get it, princey. The annoyance the text conveys wasn’t angry, like Roman would’ve assumed. It feels almost friendly, which makes Roman very hopeful. Maybe Virgil could grow to like Roman after all. Maybe his foolish dreams and feelings aren’t entirely foolish. 

you’re forgiven

Yes, maybe the path Roman thought his crush would lead him on isn’t as full of pain and heartbreak as he had previously believed. It’s possible that, maybe, if Roman is lucky, it could result in something quite wonderful.