#just finished The Commission Of All Time recently and so i wanted to scribble to celebrate | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-silentium · 4 years

Text

Folded messages

Masterlist

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader

Words: 4900 words

Warnings: TUA season 1 and 2 spoilers, swearing.

Requested by: Anon

Hello!! I just recently read you 11 Five fic and I have to say it was incredible. I have no words to describe it, your writing is so good💖💖 with that, I was wondering if you did fics based on songs, if you do, would you mind doing a 5xreader based on “sway with me” by Micheal Buble? Idk what the plot could be, maybe they are in a mission from commission and have to go to a fancy ballroom. Maybe they are enemies. Maybe reader pulls him to dance around S2. The choices are endless, go crazy :”)

A/N: Finally I found time to write! I've had insomnia for too long because I couldn't write! Damn day job!

On a better note, I really hope you guys like this little piece of fluff 💜 I swear, this started as a small idea and then it just got bigger and bigger. Sorry not sorry!

Was it even possible? The prospect of falling in love for someone of his nature was almost as high as his targets' survival rate. He wasn't an emotional man, his feelings were deeply buried in the depth of his heavily guarded heart, locked away in a three inches thick chest that was itself hidden in an impossible maze where traumas and demons were furiously protecting the paths.

Add this to the fact that he never saw her, not even once, the only proof of her existence being the small animals made of colorful folded paper that appears in his jacket pockets whenever he crossed her path, the possibilities of developing such feelings were in no way probable. The origami aside, the woman seemingly took pleasure in throwing wrenches into his work. He was asked to assassinate a brilliant inventor who was getting too close to discovering the secrets of time-traveling? It would have been an easy job if it wasn’t that every single bullet he had in his possession suddenly disappeared, forcing him to finish the job with his knife.

There was another time, he was tasked with the termination of a group of people meeting in the back of a bar, his guns were loaded, his knives were sharpened, he was full of juice, there was no way that this job would take more than one minute and forty-three seconds. He made his way to the door leading to the room hosting his targets when he noticed a small dark purple llama on the door handle. He pocketed the folded piece of paper for later and tried the handle to find out that it wouldn't even turn on itself. The assassin rolled his eyes at the futile attempt to keep him from completing his mission, he closed his hands into fists but his ability decided to fail at this right moment.

The door behind him closed on a loud banging noise, a delicate click following closely behind, indicating that the door was locked from the other side. Five remembers it clear as day, the moment he knew he had found his equal. He heard you giggling lightly on the other side of the door and his heart started speeding up. Not in anger, not in annoyance nor in embarrassment. He couldn't say what it was, but he knew for sure that he wanted more of it.

It happened four times, you making his job more challenging and him receiving a small gift before Five decided to do some research. In a box carefully concealed under the double bottom of his drawer were stored every paper animal he found during his missions along with books about origami and colors.

An olive green and lavender cat, a dark blue dragon, an orange fish and a dark purple llama were now aligned on his desk in order of acquisition. The different books were opened on different pages and then Five started his information gathering. He scribbled in his notebook the different significance associated to each color and animal and an hour and a half later, he was contemplating his findings.

The cat was a symbol of independence and mystery among other things. Its olive-green body with the patches of lavender told him that the first gift was, in fact, a peace offering from a feminine person. Her very own olive branch that he took long enough to decipher.

Then there was the dragon, symbol of power, wisdom, mastery and success. The dark shade of blue told him that the dragon was full of knowledge, power and seriousness. He frowned, thinking and slightly hoping that maybe this was how she saw him.

He didn't know what to think of the orange fish. Happiness, freedom and energy. He couldn't relate to this one, having not been free for many years now as stipulated by his contract with the Commission. He was a slave, used for his ability and his will to do everything to survive one more day and save his family from their imminent doom.

Maybe the fish was a reference to yourself. This was the only explanation he could find. You were a young adult from what he deduced of your giggles and were pretty happy and free if the folded paper was anything to go by.

The last gift proved that Five's theory stipulating that every origami was a metaphor about yourself and himself was correct.

A dark purple llama. An animal representing hard work, endurance under difficult situations and responsibility. His heart accelerated at the possibility that you knew that he was trying to buy some time and betray his employer sooner than later. Would you rat him out? He really hoped that the olive cat meant that you were on his side and not against him, he would really hate to put an end to the warm feeling dancing in his chest whenever he realized that you were around and ready to play a trick on him.

Now if he followed your logic, the next one he will receive will say more about yourself and he couldn't wait to be assigned to another mission so that he had a chance to learn more about you or even possibly see you. You, his little time traveler. Five had thought about this for the longest of time and he came to the conclusion that you were indeed a time traveler. The Commission kept very close control over their briefcase so there was no way that you had one in your possession, he would know, after all, he checked the lost briefcases records and they were all reported destroyed.

To his dismay, his next mission was uneventful. He got in and got out. No hiccup, no paper animal. Nothing. It went like this for his next six missions and with every passing success, Five found himself getting irritated. Every night he found himself chasing your shadow in his dreams and every time you managed to evade his attempts at catching you. One morning when even his first coffee of the day wasn't enough to ease his frustration, he thought of a plan that would allow him to finally see you.

To avoid making his kills personal, Five always prioritized a long-range way to kill, meaning with guns. Guns had a way to remove all responsibilities off his shoulder and lighten his soul at the end of the day. He had enough demons consuming more and more of his conscience on a daily basis, he definitely could do without this kind of remorse. Sure, he was the one who pulled the trigger, but ultimately, it was the bullet that killed the target, not his hands.

But tonight, Five decided that he would complete his mission with the idea that you were around. If you were, then he would finally meet you. If not, he would need something strong to accompany his coffee. Whiskey maybe.

He abandoned his prized sniper in the deserted building next to the one his target was currently dancing in and made his way to a back door. There he space-jumped inside the building and quickly blended himself with the crowd. He found himself straightening his suit in the case you were around and made his way to the bar.

A glass of whiskey in hand, Five turned his back to the counter and analyzed the crowd in search of his wealthy bastard who was enjoying his very last evening on this Earth. There he was, dancing around, totally unconcerned of the people around him.

Unconsciously, Five reached into his pockets where the gifts usually appeared out of thin air, his fingers searching around as they did a hundred times before but ultimately finding nothing. With a frustrated groan, Five grabbed his glass, emptied its content in one gulp, smashed the glass back on the counter and pushed his way to his target. Another night without your little schemes meaning another night chasing your shadow in his sleep. If this was how the night would unfold, then he wanted to finish this quickly.

Five's hand reached for his target, grabbed a hold of his upper arm and pulled him in a nearby hallway before jumping the both of them in the nearby abandoned building where his weapons were patiently waiting for him.

Five turned around to face his target, knife in hand and ready to strike when his breath caught in his throat and every muscle in his body contracted, stopping every movement. Where his prey stood mere milliseconds ago was now an elegant woman in a beautiful gown, all smile and giggling at his reaction. He knew it was you the second he heard your giggles, causing his heart to skip a beat and his fingers to let go of the sharp weapon.

He stopped himself from moving a stray strand of hair behind your ear, instead choosing to release his grip on your arm and take a step away. You were too beautiful, so much more beautiful than what he imagined, with your shining eyes, your soft-looking hair, your perfectly curved body, he tried to burn every detail into his memory.

"Dance with me?" You asked, closing the distance and reaching for his hand. Your movement got him out of his thoughts and everything came back full force. The mischievous glint into your eyes caused a smirk to form on his lips.

"You just want to keep me from my job." And you were doing a magnificent job at it.

"Is it working?" You batted your eyelashes in an innocent way, making Five roll his eyes before he positioned your hands correctly and pull your body so that you were almost touching each other.

You smiled in satisfaction, following his steps flawlessly on a tempo only he could hear. The blue-eyed man enjoyed the silent minute, savoring the feeling of your soft skin cradled into his palm and the warmth of your waist radiating through the fabric under his opposite hand. The comfortable silence was soon replaced by a soft song playing in the background, stopping Five in his tracks and almost causing you to fall if it wasn’t for his strong arms keeping you up and close.

Five eyes finally left your face and widened at the new scenery surrounding him. The once dusty floor was now pristine and exempt of all the trash and needles that were once lingering around, the tagged walls were perfectly painted in a new shade of light grey, giving the room a nice glow under the gleam of the light strings hanging from the ceiling.

Five didn’t know his mouth had opened in awe before you chuckled and your hand left his shoulder to caress his chin, effectively causing him to close it.

"I take it that you like it?" Your eyes were shining under the soft lights and the pride he saw in them almost got a smile out of him.

"You made this?" He was still stunned about the complete makeover of the room. Even the lingering moldy smell disappeared, letting a pleasant smell floating around in its place.

"You’re not the first one the Commission took a liking to, ya know. I’m kinda like an illusionist, but my stuff is the real deal. They saw my potential and offered me a job, which I refused and they’ve been on my tail ever since." You shrugged, replacing your hand at its rightful place on his shoulder.

Five was truly amazed by the woman standing in front of him. Her ability had so many possibilities and she managed to escape the Commission for seemingly a long time. Add this to the fact that she can time-travel and play tricks on the best assassin this planet has ever seen, Five has never been so interested in someone like that before, not even Dolores who has been his everything for many years.

"I can see why they were interested in you." He resumed his dancing, this time following the rhythm of the soft music playing around them. "Having two abilities is pretty rare."

You shook your head, before clarifying. "I only have one. I don't know where you get the second one from." You frowned in confusion, which reflected on his own face.

"But you time-travel." He remembered finding the folded fish in the 1800s, the dragon around the 1950s and today was September 23th, 1987.

"Yeah, the same way as you. With a briefcase." You nodded toward the black briefcase neatly placed near the window. Five only got more and more confused.

"But they were all dest-" He cut himself at your cheeky grin. "You created your very own. Impressive."

"Thank you." You were beaming at that point and Five felt proud that he was the source of your happiness.

The slow song ended but neither of you stopped moving your feet in unison. Five was enjoying himself like never before and he wasn't in a hurry to end it. The corner of his lips quirked upward when he realized that you pressed yourself against him when the song ended, your way of saying that you didn't want this to end either.

You silently danced the second song in its entirety, living every second like everything would disappear at any moment. Five was scared that this was a one night deal and that he would never see you again. Why did you reveal yourself tonight of any other night?

Before he gathered the courage to ask you, the song reached its end and a completely different kind of music floated in the air.

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

Five pulled away slightly, not much, only to be able to see the sheepish smile on your lips. "I love this song." Was your only answer to his frowned brows.

Five laughed softly before stepping away and made you spin. He pulled you back to him, your melodious laugh bouncing around him like the greatest melody ever written.

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

It was clear that neither of you knew how to dance on this song, but you didn't care. You were both moving around freely, Five making you spin from time to time.

Other dancers may be on the floor

Dear, but my eyes will see only you

Only you have that magic technique

When we sway I go weak

Five's heart was beating quickly, not because of the physical exercise, he was trained to accomplish way more than dancing without breaking a sweat, but because the sight of your delighted face stroked something deep within himself. A primal need. The need of a life partner. Someone who he could trust blindly and love without holding back.

I can hear the sounds of violins

Long before it begins

Make me thrill as only you know how

Sway me smooth, sway me now

A too-quick step made you trip on your own feet, in an attempt to keep you on your feet Five reached for your arms but it was already too late. Instead of helping, Five only unbalanced you more leading you to fall to the ground and drag the man with you. Thanks to his sharp reflexes, Five caught himself on his forearms before he crushed your small form under his larger one.

When marimba rhythms start to play

Dance with me, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

For a moment the assassin's heart stopped in fear. He hasn't felt afraid in years and it definitely wasn't a feeling he had missed. Your laugh flicked a switch in his heart, making it beat again in an erratic rhythm that he was almost embarrassed of. He guessed that if feeling that good meant that sometimes he was going to be afraid, it wasn't a big deal. He could deal with his fears if at the end of the day you were fine and happy in his arms.

Like a flower bending in the breeze

Bend with me, sway with ease

When we dance you have a way with me

Stay with me, sway with me

"I'm so sorry Five!" You managed to say after catching your breath. Tears rolled from your eyes and into your hair, the reflection of the lights above creating stars in your eyes.

"It's fine." Was all he could say, for his brain had stopped working when he realized that only a couple of centimeters separated the two of you. His body started heating up to his dismay, Five pushed on his arms and sit on his heels to help you sit up.

When marimba rhythms start to play

Hold me close, make me sway

Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore

Hold me close, sway me more

"Thanks." You muttered while passing a hand through your messy hair.

The sound of a metallic object falling on the ground made you jump. Five frowned, confused as to why the Commission would send him another assignment right now and not wait until his return.

"What was that?" You whispered.

"My employer." He was beyond annoyed by the interruption. They couldn't have chosen a worse time than tonight.

Offering you a helping hand, Five got up and helped you when your hand closed on his. He couldn't stop himself, he enlaced his fingers through yours, the tightness of your grip made him chuckle.

"Don't worry, they are not here." He lightly hit the wall near the window with the underside of his fist, searching for a spot on the wall that wasn't hollow. When he found it, he searched for the dissimulated door and took the canister with his name written on it.

Releasing your hand, Five opened the canister, took the folded paper and read the words. Terminate Y/N L/N. How was he supposed to terminate someone he didn't even know? This job was so frustrating! He folded back the paper, storing it in his pants pocket. This would have to wait. He turned back to you and the sight bring a genuine smile to his lips.

You were smiling at something outside the window, the light of the moon joined to the string lights gave you an angelic glow. He would have loved to contemplate you longer, but duty called and he now had two targets instead of one.

"I have to go." He didn't dare say it too loud, maybe time would stop and let him live this perfect night for all eternity.

You turned around with a small smile on your lips. He could see that you were disappointed even though you nodded like it was nothing. "Well, tonight couldn't go on forever." You walked up to him, with each one of your steps Five felt himself growing weak in the knees. Oh how he didn't want to go. "It's fine. I'll find you again." At that, you tenderly reached for his cheek while your lips pressed a delicate kiss on the other one, stealing his breath.

You giggled, surely at the blush covering his cheeks and walked away, the illusion fading along with your steps. Just as you were about to walk down the stairs, Five remembered something.

"Wait! I didn't get your name!" He quickly space-jumped in front of you to block your path.

"Y/N L/N." Her smile dropped when a dark expression fell on his face. Even if he tried, he couldn’t have repressed it, the surprise and the anger were too much.

"You have to leave." He didn’t know how they found her, he always made sure he didn’t have any bug on himself before going on a mission.

"N-not that I wasn’t doing that anyway, but w-why the long face?" His fingers twitched at the waver in your voice. It wasn’t his intention to scare you, even less to scare you off.

"The Commission knows you’re here. I don't know how, but they know." Five was starting to get tired of them pretty quickly. Maybe one day he would get out of there with explosions resonating through the hallways. Maybe he could use grenades. Yeah, grenades were good.

You started to walk down the stairs when you stopped and turned to him, one last time. "Be careful."

Five smirked although your concern was touching. "I should be the one telling you that."

With one last giggle, you walked out of his sight. Five returned to his very first task of the night, took place at his spot by the window and finished the initial job.

Back at the Commission that night, Five removed his jacket, eager to go to bed and find himself dancing in your arms again to the sound of soft slow music. A sound caught his attention when he threw his jacket on the back of his chair, the sound of crumbling paper.

His hands searched his pocket, grabbing the grey fox that somehow found its way into his jacket without him noticing. A smile stretched his lips before he carefully slipped the fox under his pillow and went to bed.

A whole year passed before the next animal appeared in his pocket. As frustrated as he was of being away from you for a whole year, Five knew why this was necessary. The Commission was close on your tail. Apparently, he wasn't the only agent tasked of your termination and some got lucky enough to find your location but not enough to hurt you.

The whole year he kept tabs on the Commission's information on you and kept worrying that someday he would find a red stamp crossing out your picture. As of today, his worst nightmare hasn't yet come true, so he pushed his worry aside and continued his job.

He assembled his sniper, preparing himself to kill the president of the United States in 1963 when something hit him in the head. It didn't hurt or anything, it was light as a leaf. Frowning, Five pulled away from the scope of his weapon to discover a brown frog made of folded paper lying on the ground next to his feet.

Receiving one of your signature gift after all that time caused his heart to skyrocket in his chest. All those feelings he had repressed, fearing that one day you would be gone for good and that he would definitely be alone in this cruel world, came rushing back at full speed, making him drop his gun and look around for you.

You weren't far, waving at him with a tired smile on your face, dark shadows marking the underside of your eyes. He didn't take the time to run, simply jumping to you and engulfing your body into his arms.

Many times he thought about how much he had fallen for you after only one dancing night and five tricks followed by origamis. If it were someone else, he would have told them that they were being stupidly influenced by their primal urges that forced them to find a partner and procreate, for this was the circle of life since the dawn of time. In his case, he knew it was much more than that. It was more important to him than a need to procreate. He had found his equal, someone that sparked an insatiable interest in him and showed him that there was way more in this life than what he originally knew.

Five tensed as soon as he heard the first sobs. Immediately he started to scan your body for wounds or blood, anything to show that you were hurt. However, his analysis was cut short by both your hands cradling his cheeks.

"I'm fine. I'm just real' tired and I'm so happy to see you." Your arms wrapped around his neck forcing Five to hug your body closer. Not that he minded.

He whispered words of reassurance into your hair while thinking of what to do next. You couldn't keep fleeing the Commission alone, not in your state. They would catch up to you in no time and he couldn't have that. He couldn't say that he killed you to get them off your back, the higher-ups would request physical proof of your death. It only left him with his last resort. He would have liked to find the good variable, but time was against him so he would have to deal with it.

"I have a plan, don't worry." He dried her tears with his thumb when she lifted her head to look into his eyes. "I'll get us out of here."

You managed a smile before chuckling. "I know. Why do you think I gave you a brown frog? A frog to ensure a safe return of your journey and brown for home."

Five shook his head, once again amazed at how perfectly you could read him despite everyone else describing him as unpredictable.

He grabbed your hands in his, mentally reciting the equation he passed the last 45 years developing. Before the portal appeared, Five stopped everything in a hurry, scaring the shit out of you. He let go of your hands for two seconds, enough time for him to run back at his sniper, grab the brown frog and run back at you. You rolled your eyes when he secured the frog in his jacket pocket, quickly saying that it has sentimental value, before concentrating on the portal again.

The blue vortex appeared, its power pushing them away. It took every ounce of strength into Five's body to pull you with him through the portal, your weakened state left you helpless in front of the blue resistance.

Five did his best to catch you during the fall, your body falling directly on top of his, stealing his breath for a moment.

You managed to roll off of him, allowing him to take a nice bowl of air to fill his lungs. He made it. You weren't 100% safe, but he could have help now. He cou-

"Five." The worry in your voice along with your hand closing tightly on his forearm pushed him to sit up quickly and find the source of the danger. He understood your reaction when his eyes fell on his siblings who looked like hell.

"You guys didn't change one bit." He deadpanned. His usual unimpressed face was back in service at the gaping fish-like faces of his siblings.

"We should be the one telling you that. You haven't aged at all!" Klaus yelled, his outstretched arms moving up and down in his direction.

Confused, Five glanced at his body and realization hit him like a brick. He knew something wasn't right!

Your repressed giggles caught his attention, he found your 13 years old body, a hand on your mouth desperately trying to keep a full-on laugh in. He couldn't help but notice how much more tired you looked in your younger self.

"It's not funny." Was all he said before he spacial-jumped the two of you to his old bedroom. There he guided you to the bed where he helped you get under the covers and watched you get comfortable.

"It is funny." Five scoffed and went to the door, knowing his siblings were gathered behind it and very probably listening to their conversation. He hit the door with his foot and as expected, Klaus yelled in pain, complaining about his hurting ear.

"I'll be downstairs to talk in a few minutes so get lost." He told them through the door. He was awarded by some angry muttering and finally, fading footsteps.

He walked back to your side when he was sure that everyone went on their merry way, sitting on the nearby chair with your hand in his.

"You need to rest. You'll be safe here." He kissed your hand at your tired smile. "I'll stay until you fall asleep, that okay?" You nodded, already your eyelids seemed pretty heavy.

"I missed you Five."

You were out in less than two minutes, your breathing became deeper and slower, your facial muscles relaxed and your mouth opened slightly allowing Five to hear your even respiration.

The boy didn't notice exactly when it happened, but the demons were now silent and the traumas shrank in size, forming a clear path toward the center of the maze that was his heart. There, the three inches thick chest that was protecting his feelings was now wide open, strings were delicately wrapped around them, not too tight as to not suffocate them, but with just enough contact so that he could permanently feel her affection enveloping him.

"I missed you too."

[A/N] This passed SO close to having an angsty ending! So close! I figured you guys had enough angst with 11 already… and the part 2 that's coming next.

#five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five #number five x reader #number five imagine #five hargreeves imagine #the boy #tua #tua s1 #tua s2 #the umbrella academy

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panda-noosh · 4 years

Text

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.”

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vs-redemption · 4 years

Text

Crime is Common. Logic is Rare. (Ch 17)

Chapter Seventeen: Grateful (HawksxGN!Reader)

Plot summary: You thought your hands were full as a regular quirk geneticist, but then you meet Hawks and things get even more exciting!

Warnings:

⚠️This story contains spoilers from the manga.

⚠️Some events and plot points have been altered from the original manga

Tag List: @ gayforkeigo/ @marshmallow-witch/ @redflannel/ @toyo-shiro

Next Chapter : Chapter Guide

Waiting for anything was never fun, but it’s something you thought you’d be used to by now. As a scientist, having patience was a virtue you’d been forced to adopt into your daily routine. You were always waiting for something. No research endeavor could be accomplished by one person alone. You were always going to have to wait for funds to be granted, proposals to be approved by ethics committees, and data results to be analyzed thoroughly. Over the years, you’d tamed your eagerness and learned not to send emails asking people as politely as possible to hurry up whenever you felt things were taking too long. All that progress seemed to have gone up in smoke though now that you were waiting to hear back from someone you cared about who could very likely be dead.

Your part of the plan had gone fairly smoothly. After finishing up with Dr. Garaki, you’d made your way home to change your clothes and do your hair. You didn’t want to look completely recognizable, just in case, but you doubted anyone would really notice what you were up to. Not many people actually knew where Best Jeanist lived, so circumstances had been on your side in that respect at the very least. Despite not knowing you, the number three hero had been surprisingly accepting of the news that his life had been chosen to be sacrificed so that Hawks could gain the trust of the Villains. You had figured it would be more difficult to convince him, but perhaps he’d already seen signs of corrupt activity within the commission before. It was reassuring to see that he trusted Hawks over the organization that governed the heroes. You might have suspected that he planned to turn you in, but he never once asked for more details than the ones you gave him. He assured you that he could find a way out of Japan without being noticed before telling you to be careful and sending you home.

That had been hours ago, and every possible horrible scenario had played out in your mind over and over as you waited for news. It was well past your usual bed time when your phone finally buzzed with a message from Hawks asking if you were awake and if he could come over. You allowed yourself to relax just a bit. He couldn’t send you anything else since his phone was bugged, but at least you knew he was alive. Of course you told him to come over. It took him a while to get to your apartment from wherever he had been, and it was all you could do not throw yourself into his arms in relief when he finally arrived. You couldn’t act like you’d been worried at all.

“Hey,” Hawks smiles after you let him in. He looked troubled but completely unharmed. “I can’t believe you’re still awake.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” You play along with the small talk. “I got some interesting news about my quirk from the doctor today.”

“Is everything all right?” Hawks frowns, looking even more stressed than he already had. You felt bad for making him worry at all, but at least this gave you an excuse to close the gap and pull him into your arms. He sinks into your embrace and wraps his arms around you without hesitation. You’d both desperately needed the contact.

“Everything is fine,” you explain while rubbing a soothing hand over what you could reach of his back around his wings. “My quirk just works differently than what I originally thought, so now I’m trying to work out how I feel about that. I can tell you more about it later though. How was your day?” He lets out a dry laugh and pulls away to look you in the eyes.

“Oh, you know,” he sighs. “Same old, same old. Patrolling the city, catching bad guys, typical hero stuff.”

You knew very well that he hadn’t been doing any of those things, and it made your heart ache to see the turmoil in his beautiful golden eyes. You reach up to put a hand on his cheek to try and give him any sort of comfort. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch.

“Are you hungry?” you ask even though you were impatient to hear all the details of what he’d really been up to all day. His part of the plan had been much more difficult than yours. He’d been tasked with finding a decoy body, staging a confrontation with Best Jeanist, and selling the act that he’d murdered a fellow pro hero to the League of Villains. None of those things would have been easy, but it was at least better than him actually committing the atrocity he’d been asked to.

“No,” Hawks nuzzles into your hand a moment longer. “I just want to spend some time with you.”

“Cheesy,” You reply teasingly before gently leading his face forward so you could surprise him with a sweet kiss. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss back with a little more gusto than you expected. You didn’t mind, but it made you feel weird that some villain was listening in on everything that happened between you and your hero boyfriend.

“Hey,” you pull away with an apologetic smile. “Why don’t we just chill and watch something on TV for a bit?” Hawks just smiles and nods his head. It would be a good way for you both to write down everything that had happened without having to fake a second conversation at the same time. You go and grab a notebook while Hawks takes off his flight jacket and boots.

“Maybe I should start keeping a change of clothes over here,” Hawks says casually as he plops down on your couch with his wings draped over the back. “If you’re going to make a habit out of letting me stay.” You pick up the blanket off the back of the sofa and toss it at his face to hide the fact that he’d flustered you.

“Or maybe I should start charging you rent,” you raise an eyebrow challengingly. Hawks lets out a chuckle and you felt your embarrassment was worth seeing him acting a little bit normal.

“Come here,” He opens his arms and calls you over softly. You sigh in defeat while sitting next to him and leaning into his side. He covers you both with the blanket you’d thrown at him after retrieving the remote with one of his feathers. You put off the serious discussion just a little longer by arguing over what to watch. Once you came to an agreement, you open the note book and start scribbling down every detail about your interaction with Best Jeanist. Hawks reads over your words twice before writing down his side of the story.

He didn’t go in depth about the decoy body. He just said he’d been able to figure something out. You didn’t want to push the subject, so you just nodded and let him continue. He also wrote about his encounter with Best Jeanist. The man had been ready for Hawks’ visit thanks to you, and had played his role convincingly. Hawks mentioned that he wouldn’t have even known Best Jeanist had been tipped off at all if it weren’t for the packed bags ready by his front door. The number three hero had even prepared a set of his hero costume for Hawks to use to make the decoy body more convincing. They’d pretended to fight, and Hawks had gone to deliver the fake Jeanist to the villains.

Hawks explained that the villains had seemed satisfied with his work and had then taken him to Deika City to fill him in on everything that had happened since the incident there. It was bad. Real bad. Apparently the whole city of Deika had banded together under the ideology of quirk liberation without anyone ever knowing. The League of Villains had been able to take over the city and recruit every last citizen onto their team. They weren’t just a small group of villains anymore. It was an army with over 100,000 members. Something would have to be done to stop them as soon as possible. Hawks would continue to work his angle as a spy, but you would have to do your part too. It was imperative that you figure out what the doctor was planning to do with All For One’s blood. You promised to do your best, causing Hawks to pull you in even closer.

“I’m so grateful for you,” he whispers affectionately. The circumstances right now weren’t the best for building a relationship, but your feelings for Hawks continued to grow stronger. Sure, his actions recently were stepping outside of what was considered heroic, but he was still doing the best he could despite the horrible situation the Hero Commission had put him in. He was smart, strong, and above all else, he was good. You wanted to do anything in your power to get him through this safely and with as much of his sanity intact as possible. You smile while reaching up to run your thumb over his cheek again.

“I’m so grateful for you too.” The response seemed to please Hawks quite a bit. Not long after that, the exhaustion from the day caught up and you both fell asleep with the comfort of knowing you’d survived the day.

#hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #keigo takami #hawks #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #my writing

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koko-bopp · 4 years

Text

Muffin

kim dongyoung x male!reader

word count – 0.7K

genre – fluff, college!au

warnings – lotssss of flirting on Doyoung's side

synopsis – Doyoung works at a cafe at his university, you've recently started coming to his workplace, and he can't seem to stop fawning over you.

"Oh my god he's so beautiful! Isn't he beautiful?– don't even answer that he's so gorgeous I–"

"Doyoung. Doyoung. For the love of anything partly breathing," Taeyong let out the longest sigh possible, before pinching his fingers on both hands as if it would further implement a point, "Do your fucking job. I completely understand that you find art students the most attractive beings on earth, but I also need you to keep this job so I don't die alone here. Please, can you do that for me, Doyoung?"

Doyoung rolled his eyes, then did a whole 90° bow, "Yes, sir. Right away, sir–"

"Get up, you bastard," Taeyong knew his best friend was just being sarcastic in his actions, but when they're at the back of the counter and there's some teenager just wanting to corder a coffee but sees the employees bowing at each other like they're peasants. Yeah, not the best look for the cafe. "Just give him a free coffee if you really want to talk to him."

"He's already had two."

"Give him another. Fuels his addiction, good for your commission work."

"Tae, that's mean, you know I–"

"Then give him a muffin. But give him the one from yesterday, he doesn't deserve a free fresh one yet."

Doyoung scanned the muffins in the glass cabinet behind him, because the fresh one are at the counter. Doyoung had made the strawberry muffin with white-chocolate glaze, the item he's made that he's specifically proud of. Why not show off his skill?

Now it was a matter of actually.. giving it to you.

"You've literally been more obsessed with him when you found out he's in one of the came lecture halls as Jeno, but please, only find out if he's single–"

"I just wanna know how big–"

"Don't even finish that sentence."

"–His bank balance is."

"Nice. Get yourself a rich boy. But he's an arts major, I honestly doubt it."

Doyoung shrugged, "He's still hot."

Taeyong rolled his eyes, throwing the piece of cloth on the counter onto his shoulder before hitting Doyoung on his back with his hand, "Do what you want, but get back to work after you do."

He picked up the muffin using a pair of tongs, putting it on a nice plate. He wondered if sprinkling the sweet with powdered sugar was too much. It probably was... But you're rather sweet, so sweet and sweet, mathematically, are supposed to cancel out.

Maybe not according to food critics, but whatever.

The boy anxiously carried the small plate to you. You sat on a round table in the middle of a bunch of tables around you. There was a laptop and two other books in front of you with pictures of artworks scattered here and there. Your earphones were plugged into your phone as your foot tapped to the rhythm. Though, your concentration was purely on your laptop, your hands typing away at what he guessed was a report or an artist's statement.

"Hi," Doyoung said, accidently too shy.

Your head perked up from your laptop, and you gave him a bright smile, removing one of the earpieces to hear him properly, "Hey," You responded, "Have I done something or..?"

"No, not at all!" Doyoung backtracked, "It's just that, this cafe has a special policy where it gives a free muffin to the best looking person in the room, and you're this week's winner!"

A breath-y laugh left your throat, and your cheeks felt warm at the compliment, "That's cute. Are you serious?"

"Of course! I picked this out for you!" Doyoung definetly lied, if you looked close enough Taeyong was rolling his eyes to the back of his brain. He placed the sweet on an empty space on your table, "If you come back next week, I have no doubt that you'll win again."

You smiled at Doyoung, his behaviour was adorable. "Was this a unanimous decision?"

"No, just me," Doyoung giggled, "I'd say I have a good taste in men and sweets. My speciality tends to be sweet men."

You chuckled at his responses, placing your chin under your palm as you looked up at Doyoung, but your eyes went wide when you realised who he was, "Wait, wait, you're Jun's friend, yeah? The music major? You're in the same dance crew as him?"

"Why?" Doyoung nervously laughed, then joked, "Did he say something bad?"

"No, no, it's was just that you'd popped up on Jun's photo gallery one time and I'd been pestering him to give me your number for ages," You admitted, "Apartently all twenty one of his dancemates are off limits. Oh god, I can't believe I didn't notice it before."

Doyoung chuckled, "That's fine, however, Jun doesn't exactly have to know..." He took out the notepad that was sitting in the front pocket of his apron, and his blue pen from his jeans, scribbling something on the paper before ripping it out and handing it to you, "... Exactly where you got my number from."

#hes so beautiful i just 👉🏼👈🏼😭#doyoung x you #doyoung x reader #doyoung x male reader #kim dongyoung x reader #kim doyoung #kim dongyoung x male reader #kim doyoung x male reader #x male reader #male reader #m!reader #nct #nct 127 #nct dream #doyoung nct #nct x male reader #nct x reader #nct doyoung #nct dongyoung

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moiraineswife · 3 years

Text

Painrial - A Stormlight Fic

ONCE AGAIN: THERE’D BE SPOILERS FOR RHYTHM OF WAR IN THIS HERE FIC.

TURN BACK NOW IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED THE BOOK.

TURN BACK. PAST THIS POINT THERE IS NO RETURN.

ON YOUR OWN HEAD BE IT.

I WILL NOT BE BLAMED IF YOU KEEP READING AND SPOIL YOURSELF, I WILL NOT.

Title: Painrial

Summary: Set in the middle of Rhythm of War. Navani's POV, set during one of their many scholarly research sessions. Raboniel is an ancient Fused, but she doesn't have an ancient body to match, so she's fine studying on the cold hard floor. Navani's body is less happy about this. Raboniel discovers some novel uses for her abilities to help. They're all extremely gay.

Teaser:

No, decorum was not the problem. She was simply having a bad day.

Her sense of propriety did not object to any of this, but her hips certainly did. And they’d recently invited her shoulders to join in the angry demonstration. How lovely.

She hissed irritably and stretched her legs out in front of her to see if that would help. It did. For precisely a minute. Then it didn’t.

Storms but she missed her painrial.

Link: ao3

Commission Link: Have me write other cosmere characters

Navani groaned softly, shifting in place on the hard floor.

With Raboniel working beside her today, the desk had proved too confining for all of the papers, experiments, and reference books they were working with. So, at Raboniel’s suggestion, they had relocated to the floor, spreading their research around them.

It did make it easier to organise and group information, spot patterns and connections, she had to admit. But it caused other problems.

Navani had thought, and secretly hoped, Raboniel would be too important to sprawl on the floor with a human. She had strange ideas of propriety.

She reminded her of Jasnah, in some ways. Though she personally didn’t seem to care much for her society’s expectations in terms of lauding her own importance, there were things she absolutely expected to give the proper presentation and respect. Appropriate use of her title, for instance.

Evidently, sitting hunched on the floor scribbling on scrap paper was not among the things that were a slight to the Fused’s honour.

Navani had, therefore, had no choice but to join her.

She had been in a queen, in one way or another, for most of her adult life. She didn’t consider herself above sitting on the floor either, as it happened, especially not in the name of science.

Being the dowager queen for some years had accustomed people to her ‘eccentricities’ which were, in fact, perfectly ordinary human things. Just things they felt one of her station should not being engaged in. That was ebbing again, in her role as Queen of Urithiru.

Indeed, Dalinar had almost had a heart attack when he’d caught her studying on the floor once. Bless him. You’d have thought he’d walked in on her giving on the Heralds a massage with her unclothed safehand.

No, decorum was not the problem. She was simply having a bad day. Her sense of propriety did not object to any of this, but her hips certainly did. And they’d recently invited her shoulders to join in the angry demonstration. How lovely.

She hissed irritably and stretched her legs out in front of her to see if that would help. It did. For precisely a minute. Then it didn’t.

Storms but she missed her painrial.

Raboniel’s eyes flicked towards Navani and she hummed a rhythm Navani couldn’t place, but didn’t say anything.

Conscious of the Fused’s attention, she tried not to show her weakness, to focus on her work instead. Impossible.

The pain, coupled with her heightened sensitivity to it, was like a screaming baby. Highly distressing, and incredibly difficult to simply ignore.

She closed her eyes, forcing herself to be still, concentrating on her breathing, which had become rather shaky and laboured.

That didn’t work either.

Frustrated, no longer able to care what Raboniel thought, she got to her feet, stretching. She rolled her angry shoulder, and it popped with a spasm of pain that made her gasp in spite of herself.

“Navani,” Raboniel said from behind her, “Is something wrong?”

Gritting her teeth, Navani forced herself to turn, bowing her head respectfully to the Fused.

“I apologise if my lack of focus is displeasing to you, Ancient One,” she said.

Raboniel studied her, still humming to that indecipherable rhythm. She did notice, distantly, that it didn’t sound like derision, however, as she would have expected.

“I did not ask out of displeasure or irritation, Navani,” Raboniel said, “But out of concern.”

Navani exhaled slowly, gripping the back of the desk chair in a white-knuckled grip, as though this would help somehow.

“I am in pain, Ancient One,” she said, too sore, and too tired, and too storming frustrated to be delicate about it.

Raboniel blinked and sat up straighter. Her rhythm became faster, with sharper, higher pitched beats, “Have you been injured?” she asked, sharply, “Shall I send for a healer to attend you?”

Navani smiled wanly. Would that it were so easy.

“Thank you, Ancient One, but no, there is nothing any healer can do for me. My own have already tried.”

Renarin had insisted, bless him. Navani had suspected, correctly, that he would be unable to help her, but he had wanted to try.

“This is an existing condition,” she explained, “It is not something that can be cured.”

Raboniel cocked her head to the side, considering, “I have heard of a condition among humans that causes degradation and inflammation of joint tissues that comes with wear and age. You do not seem old enough for this, however.”

Navani nodded, too fatigued and hazy to remark as much as she should have on the fact that Raboniel knew of arthritis, of all things.

“The surgeons suggested this to me when my symptoms presented around ten years ago,” she explained, “They thought I might have an early on-set of the condition, though their usual treatments did not seem to help me,” she said, grimly. “Another suggested that it may be a lesser known neurological condition that causes pain but does not cause observable physical damage. Without any way to see the joints, they could not be certain.”

Raboniel nodded, apparently considering, then, surprisingly, she got to her feet and walked over to join Navani.

“Would you object to my examining you?” she asked, the music of her words surprisingly gentle, as if intended to put her at ease. It made it clear this was a true request, not a veiled command.

Startled, Navani shrugged and nodded. What was the harm? Perhaps the Fused thought that she was lying. She had experienced that before. If someone could not see an injury, they assumed it was not present.

Raboniel, already having deduced that the shoulder was a problem area, motioned for Navani to remove her havah there. She did so, easing it down off her shoulder, bearing the skin for the other scholar.

She wasn’t sure what the Fused wished to examine. There was nothing to see. No visible sign of injury, no swelling, or redness.

Raboniel examined the area carefully, giving her a thorough, and apparently practiced, visual inspection. Then she said, “May I touch you? I do not intend to hurt you, and I shall stop if you request it. But I have something I wish to attempt.”

Baffled but intrigued, Navani nodded, “You may proceed,” she said.

Raboniel laid a hand on Navani’s shoulder. Her skin was callused, like Dalinar’s, but was warm, which she had not expected, for some reason.

Navani watched, fascinated, as Raboniel closed her eyes and hummed a strange, pulsing rhythm that steadily passed out of Navani’s hearing range, and was unlike anything she’d experienced before.

Even as she became unable to hear it, however, she felt it vibrating through her shoulder.

She gasped in surprise, and Raboniel faltered for a moment, blinking her eyes open, and making to remove her hand. Instinctively, Navani placed her own over it, keeping it in place.

“I am well,” she breathed, “Please, don’t stop.”

Raboniel nodde and closed her eyes again, continuing. She did this for several minutes, moving her hand to different places several times.

Finally, she stopped and hummed a different rhythm that Navani could hear, one that sounded satisfied, “Your second surgeon’s hypothesis was correct,” she announced, “I cannot sense any damage to the joint itself.”

“Sense?”Navani repeated, feeling vaguely overwhelmed. She thought she knew what Raboniel meant, but surely…

“If I touch you, and push a certain rhythm into your skin, changes in how I in turn feel that rhythm allow me to build a vague picture of things beneath the surface of your skin.

“In doing that, I cannot detect any obvious holes or degradation to the muscle or joint. Though, I will admit, this process is uncertain.”

“Storms,” Navani said, reeling from the implications of this. “It’s like cremlings that live in tunnels in the rocks,” she whispered, hand to her head, “They emit sounds and use how they bounce back to see without eyes. Scholars have recently made a study of it, but they considered it an exercise in natural science, only. No-one imagined it might have implications or other uses for us.”

Raboniel nodded, humming in the way she did whenever Navani grasped a theory she was explaining, and expanded upon it. A pleased, excited rhythm.

“It is inexact,” Raboniel said, “And imperfect. Though it is a promising avenue for exploration nonetheless, no for now it has had little testing.”

“It’s incredible,” Navani breathed, “Truly, Raboniel.”

For once, Raboniel did not seem to mind that Navani had forgotten her title. Indeed, she actually smiled.

Then the expression faded a little.

When she spoke, Navani expected her rhythm to be that satisfied one again, but it was softer, more wistful, with an almost mournful cast to it.

“Sometimes,” she said quietly, “Sometimes I wonder what good I might have brought to this world in all my long years, had I not been made to fight this endless war. How many might I have saved had I used my abilities to heal, rather than harm? What a wonderful, impossible dream that is.”

Navani reached out, daringly, and took her hand, the one that had been on her shoulder, and said, quietly but firmly, “It does not have to be impossible. It is not too late for that, Raboniel. You could still save lives, if that is what you wished.”

A darkness suffused her rhythm as she replied, “I shall, Navani. I intend to end this war, and with it save thousands from the horrors I have been subjected to throughout so many Returns. But I will not achieve that through gentle words and medical innovation.

“This war persists as each side is assured continuation. The Fused will return again and again, with mangled minds and hollowed souls echoing with the songs of hatred and pain. The Radiants will die, but their spren will bond others to fight us.

“And we will fight. And they will fight. And on and on it shall go, as it has for thousands of years.

“The only way for me to end it is to change the stakes. Make them real. Make them bloodier. Make death real, for both sides.”

Navani felt a chill run through her at that, but forced her voice to remain steady as she said, “My husband, Dalinar, believed that, too. He thought the only way to win a war was to deal so much death to his enemy that they could never recover.”

She met the Fused eyes and squeezed her hand, saying fiercely, “He was wrong. He was a monster,” Navani pressed on, determined, “He became a better man. He changed. You can change, as well, it is not too late.”

Raboniel studied her for a long time, before she smiled wryly and said, “I have always been fond of this aspect of humans. You have such hope in the potentials of the future. You believe that things will change, that things will become better. You think that if something can happen, then it shall.”

A distant look entered her eyes, and something dark reflected within them, something deep, and full of pain.

“We see it differently. The future can be different from how the past has written its script. But it must be forced, it must be pushed, it must be given some reason to change. It will not do so on a whim.”

She looked down at Navani, her eyes deep, her rhythm pulsing strongly against her.

“You seek to be that force for me, Navani Kholin, the will that shifts me from what thousands of years of history proclaim I shall be, to the mythical ideal of what I might become that lives in your mind. I commend you for that. It takes bravery, and true grit, to achieve. But it cannot be.”

“Why?” Navani said, a hint of desperation in her voice, “Why must we continue this cycle of death, and only escalate it? Why can it not change? WHy can you not change?”

“Humans are fleeting,” Raboniel murmured, “This refreshes you, revitalises you, brings new ideas and new eyes to the same old song. Your husband, he was a monster for, what? Two decades? Crem that has only just fallen may still be molded, still be altered.

I have been a monster for thousands of years, Navani.

When crem is left for centuries it becomes stone. When it is left for millenia, it becomes part of the fabric of this world.

I am as eternal and immovable as the stones and storms of Roshar, Navani. They cannot stop blowing, their fires will not stop flaming and I? I will not stop, either.”

Navani trembled, the weight, and power, and depth of this woman’s experiences shaking her very being.

“Now,” Raboniel said, her rhythm becoming stronger, brisker, once again. “Is there anything I might do that will alleviate your pain so you may continue your research with me?”

Navani paused, momentarily thrown by the sudden change in the conversation’s tone. Then she pulled herself back to level, business-like ground as well.

“There are certain plants and medications that can dull the pain, Ancient One,” she said with a grimace.

Raboniel cocked her head, “Then why do you make that face, Navani?”

“They are known to dull the mind as well as the senses,” she said, “Or they have other, even less desirable side-effects.”

Raboniel hummed, and this time she did sound displeased. “Is there nothing else?” she asked, “How did you deal with it before we arrived here?”

Navani hesitated. Storms, what she wouldn’t give for her painrial back. But no. She couldn’t tell Raboniel of that. Painrials were too essential to the traps and plans she had simmering in the back of her mind. It would not do to reveal one so explicitly.

Instead she said carefully, “Heat has proved an effective therapy for me in the past, Ancient One.”

“Heat?” Raboniel said, humming to a thoughtful rhythm again. “Would you object to my touching you again, Navani?” she asked softly.

She should have. After what this woman had just said, after what she had implied about what she had done, what she was capable of, she should have fled to the opposite end of the room and placed herself as far from her as possible.

Yet she nodded, cautiously.

Raboniel approached again, flexing her hand, and Navani gasped as flame engulfed her palm. A moment later they faded, but her palms retained a soft glow, like coals in a dying fire.

She met Navani’s eyes, questioning, and Navani tentatively nodded.

The other woman put her hands on Navani’s aching shoulder and heat from her palms, giving her the feeling of sinking into a hot bath after a full day’s hard labour.

She shivered, relief washing through her, as her muscles instinctively relaxed, no longer taut with pain, and she trembled.

She would have fallen, but Raboniel, anticipating this, moved a hand to support her, and Navani gripped her forearm, steadying herself as she let out a long, slow breath, and fought not to moan with how good it this felt.

“It is helping?” Raboniel asked softly, rhythm curious.

Navani nodded wordlessly, eyes still closed, drinking in the relief at the contact. For the moment, she forgot that the source of the heat was not one of her fabrials, but an ancient, god-empowered, immortal, voidbinding Fused and simply enjoyed it. It had been so long since she’d had any kind of relief for her pain.

After a moment, Raboniel shifted her hands from Navani’s shoulders, down to her hips and lower back, letting them rest and soothe the aches there as well.

This time Navani did let a hoarse moan escape her. Stormfather but she had been suffering with this all day. Raboniel hummed her reply.

“I am glad that this brings you some relief from your pains,” she said quietly.

“I thought you could only progress towards destruction, not relief, or calm,” Navani said, too boldly.

“Careful, Navani,” Raboniel hummed, though her rhythm was one of warning, not fury.

Raboniel withdrew not long after that, but left Navani feeling refreshed and energised as if she’d just drunk in a goblet full of Stormlight.

They returned to their work, and several times more over the hours they studied together, Raboniel leaned over and pressed warmed palms against her to soothe away her aches.

Navani tried not to think about what it meant when Raboniel’s hands lingered longer than they needed to. Or how she leaned into the touches perhaps more than she should have. Or how more than the heat from her palms flared inside Navani when skin met skin.

Storms.

Somehow, this may have caused more problems than it had solved…

****

A/N:

For anyone wondering: I wrote Navani as having fibromyalgia, because that's what I have and am therefore the most familiar with.

I wasn’t sure if Raboniel had the surge of Division or Transformation, so I kept it vague and made it gay so it worked.

Expect more content in the near future. Just as often as I remember I have stuff to post...

Comments are Delightful. I thank everyone who commented on the Jasnah/Wit piece. I am fuelled and inspired.

If there's anything in particular y'all would like to see for these two hit me up btw.

#raboniel #navani kholin #rhythm of war #rhythm of war spoilers #navoniel #navani x raboniel #y'all must surely have known i was going to yeet on board this thing #it's me in every imaginable way #this fic is also titled: taryn had a bad pain day; projected; and this is the result #also i ain't dealing with dalinar in these fics okay?#navani kholin has intense poly energy and no-one; not even the blackthorn; is going to stop her alright?#they've got a deal. he vibes. it's cool. just sit back and enjoy the gay

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black-mesa-hive-au · 4 years

Text

Entry 3

(on their way to Dr. Kleiner’s office) Calhoun: So, doc- how's your day been?

Dr. Freeman: (silent for a minute, then gives a slight nod and thumbs up)

Calhoun: Hmm...that's good, that's good. What did you have for lunch?

Dr. Freeman: [pasta.]

Calhoun: (nods slowly) Mm...pasta is good. I like spaghetti. Alfredo is OKAY...but I'm not a big fan of cheese.

Dr. Freeman: (nods slightly, putting his hands in his pockets)

Calhoun: say….what do you think we're gonna learn? Like you got any theories as to any of this, really?

Dr. Freeman: (silent for a minute, then shakes his head no)

Calhoun: Me either. Watch it be a small little thing that'll easily pass (chuckle) I bet this is all just a misunderstanding!

Dr. Freeman: (shakes his head no harshly)

Calhoun: Huh? What makes you think that?

Dr. Freeman: [........]

Calhoun: it's fine, you don't have to answer….I was just curious. I'm kinda bombarding you with questions I guess. I'm just anxious.

(They reach the door to Dr. Kliener's office, Dr. Freeman taking the lead and knocking on the door. Moments later, a pair of eyes poke through the blinds of the window.)

Dr. Kleiner: (opens the door) Oh hello Gordon! And Barney 2...2295?

Calhoun: I prefer Calhoun if that's no trouble to you.

Dr. Kleiner: Ah! Hello then Calhoun. Come in come in! Apologies for the mess….I've been working all day and making a mess of things! (he motions the two in, shutting the door behind him. He locks the office up one by one. The door, the blinds, covers the vents….ect.)

Calhoun: wow, that's uh- a lotta security.

Dr. Kleiner: You can never be too careful. Is that recording device on?

Calhoun: it's been on this whole time, sir.

Dr. Kleiner: Ah! good! Just make sure this stays between us for now. Video diaries is a very good hobby to have, especially during these times.

Calhoun: I guess so, whatever "these times" are.

Dr. Kleiner: Well Mr. Calhoun, these times (grabs a mug of coffee from the counter, probably 4 hours old or so) are getting worse by the minute.

Calhoun: Oh...well that sure is reassuring.

Dr. Kleiner: (chuckles) I don't like this anymore than you do. So, I believe it's time for me to elaborate.

Calhoun: Please do doc, Freeman's got work to finish and I've got a shift coming up….

Dr. Kleiner: Don't worry, don't worry. I'll try to be brief. Now keep in mind the most I know is from mumbles heard from those who have been in contact with administration recently. I've also done some "snooping" around. A lot of my intel isn't exact, but I feel it should be close enough! To start, Dr. Freeman here told me 2 of your dorm mates disappeared, correct?

Calhoun: Yes sir, Gilbert and Michael.

Dr. Kleiner: Pardon?

Calhoun: Oh! Er- 3006 and 1225

Dr. Kleiner: Yes! Them! The 1st generation clone and the new generation clone. Well I looked up their files earlier this week. 3006...I believe you called them "Micheal", finished training a week earlier, as you know. Their report was near identical to your fellow clones- emphasis on near. They were exactly 2.5% below parameters.

Calhoun: 2.5%?? That's like, nothing! He worked perfectly fine from what I saw. He did his work, came home to eat and sleep and woke up and got back to work like the test of us.

Dr. Kleiner: See- it sounds outrageous, but knowing black mesa I wouldn't doubt it. May I remind you I've been here way before you were even produced. Black Mesa has a history of hiding things under their ugly rug. Anyways, my apologies for getting off track! As Dr. Freeman knows, I (he chuckles) tend to do that. But yes, I believe they took Micheal away due to that percentage off, of course. I could possibly prove that if given the other one's file but I couldn't find it. Their file should've been with the other 1st generation clones. I even looked through the other generations just in case it got mixed up but I found nothing. It's all very suspicious.

Calhoun: I can tell ya that Gilbert showed no problems at all.

Dr. Kleiner: No doubt about it. The best theory I had was that Gilbert wasn't supposed to be here in the first place and got under their radar somehow. But that's unlikely due to the fact he's been in commission for 3 years.

Calhoun: Listen, doc- are you a believer in the uh….theory?

Dr. Kleiner: The theory? Like ethics or-

Calhoun: No, no the theory about clone deteriorating- whatever it's called.

Dr. Freeman: (taps on Calhoun's shoulder) [b-a-r-n-p-l-e-t-i-o-n]

Calhoun: Is that really what you scientists call it? Barnpletion? I thought it would be some sort of scientific name or something.

Dr. Freeman: (shrugs)

Dr. Kleiner: oh yes! Barnpletion! I do believe in it, yes. (He takes another sip of coffee) I see where you're going with this.

Calhoun: Yeah! Gilbert was a first generation clone, been here 3 years. He might've reached his time, like the theory states. He's definitely fairly self aware- and he questioned quite a bit. He'd ask me a lot about existential things. I didn't question it much at the time I guess.

Dr. Kleiner: Well then! That helps quite a bit actually! (he rummaged around, grabbing a pen and clipboard and scribbling things down) So, how exactly self aware was he?

Calhoun: Well, he didn't like working all the time. Which I mean, most of us don't but we don't talk about it. Cause you know, if we don't like working then they'll probably throw us out or something. But like, he'd talk about how this is all we're going to be doing all our life, just working and working. Ya know, we're made not to think things like that. Made not to question what the future is going to be like- but Gilbert moved past it.

Dr. Kleiner: (writes some more down) Okay, how often would he tell you this?

Calhoun: Mainly before curfew. He'd come back to the dorm, get some water and ask me this stuff.

Dr. Kleiner: Was Micheal apart of these conversations?

Calhoun: Well- yes. He wouldn't participate that much. I think his programming was stopping him from taking too much in, he was around a week old anyways, so he didn't have much time to become vulnerable? I don't really understand exactly how all this works, but that's the best grasp I have on it.

Dr. Kleiner: It makes sense enough! It's the best we have right now. The administration might've taken note. That'll clear it up easily, but that still raises the question of what do they do with the clone? There's no real ethical way to dispose of one isn't there? And you were also apart of those conversations, wouldn't they get rid of you too?

Calhoun:.......

Dr. Freeman: (nervously waves his hands in rejection)

Dr. Kleiner: Oh! Pardon me I- mean, er-

Calhoun: It's fine sir, it's a question we all have to get to eventually.(he takes a deep breath) I've only heard rumors about what happens when you're decommissioned. None of them make me feel any better….. God I hope they dont take me for all that crap.

Dr. Kleiner: I hope so too Mr. Calhoun. I hope so. (He takes a quick breath) Anyways we can't say for sure if Gilbert was decommissioned yet. I've got more to tell you, I'll be quick so you can get my protege back to work. A government representative recently came by-

Calhoun: Government? Since when? (He clears his throat) I mean when was the government here, sir?

Dr. Kleiner: Just a week ago.

Calhoun: Are we being shut down?

Dr. Kleiner: No I'm afraid the government isn't going to help us. The government usually never does, remember that Mr. Calhoun. We have to help ourselves.

Calhoun: I will try to remember that sir.

Dr. Kleiner: Sorry about that! I don't know what got into me just now (chuckles) pardon me. Anyways the representative came by, no warning to any of us. Dr. Vance talked with him. The man of course didn't tell him much, but he did ask about the rest of your clone colleagues. Not to mention this was the day of the disappearance.

Calhoun: Okay doc, lemme get this straight. So you're saying- that the government could've taken them?

Dr. Kleiner: They would've been the perfect subjects! Complete opposites yet the same DNA, not to mention they were both considered incomplete. Either that or it's just a coincidence the representative was here and the two were decommissioned.

Calhoun: This is- a lot if I'm being honest. It's taking me a bit to think it through…Dr. Vance, do you think we could talk to him?

Dr. Kleiner: I was going to suggest that. I'll be sure to have him stop by to talk with you two. You'd probably also want to talk with Azian, she's the one who's been collecting information on Black Mesa's messy history for years, she ought to have something.

Calhoun: (turning to Gordon) You good with that?

Dr. Freeman: (nods)

Calhoun: Alright then, we'll stop by again whenever we can to see them. Thank you for all this- we gotta run.

Dr. Kleiner: Ah yes, I kept you too long! We did have a lot to talk about! You're a kind man, Mr. Calhoun. No offense but I don’t think your fellow clones would've done anything about this, let alone think too hard about it.

Calhoun: Oh trust me sir, if they listened to me they would.

Dr. Kleiner: (moves over to the door, opening it for the two) Dr. Vance should be here in the morning. I'll see you then Mr. Calhoun. (he stops Calhoun, grabbing him by the shoulder, whispering) keep an eye on Freeman.

Calhoun: (nervously nods)

(Dr. Kleiner shuts the door, leaving them in the hallway)

Calhoun: Well, hey, we're doomed.

Dr. Freeman: (shakes his head no)

Calhoun: Well we can't stop the government! I'll be dead for sure if we even try!

Dr. Freeman: [.....]

Calhoun: God I don't know. I'm not going to be able to sleep tonight. If I'm gone the next morning you'll know what happened.

Dr. Freeman: (frowns)

Calhoun: Yea, me too doc. (reaches to turn off the recorder)

-end of recording-

#Captain's log recording #Recording by barney 2295 #4/7/97 #entries #Z292ZXJubWVudCBtYW4

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tinkerd · 3 years

Text

Interview with www.achuka.co.uk

See Original post here: https://www.achuka.co.uk/blog/meet-an-illustrator-14-david-litchfield/

ACHUKA is thrilled to have David Litchfield as the 14th guest on Meet An Illustrator, an informal weekend feature introduced this year.. Do visit the backpages to read the responses from previous guests.

The Bear And The Piano, David’s debut picture book, was published just 5 years ago, but he is already established as one of the UK’s leading illustrators and picture book creators. That debut title won Waterstones Illustrated Book Prize in 2016. Much more recently he has come to attention as the cover illustrator for David Almond’s Bone Music:

The Bear And The Piano became a trilogy with publication in 2019 of The Bear, The Piano, The Dog And The Fiddle and, this year, with the third title The Bear, The Piano And The Little Bear’s Concert.

A particular favourite of ACHUKA’s is Lights On Cotton Rock:

His 2021 publishing year kicked off with illustrations for A Shelter for Sadness by Anne Booth

and the paperback edition of Rainbow Before Rainbows by Smriti Halls is published this coming week:

Next month (May 2021) we can look forward to Pip And Egg written by Alex Latimer:

and, as we hear below, there is lot lots more to come.

As a child, what were the first illustrations you remember being pleased with?

I think that it was a drawing of a panda. It was in primary school and we all had to draw one. We then put them all on the wall and I remember feeling a bit arrogant and quietly smug that my panda was definitely one of the best ones on that wall.

Who/what inspired you when you were young?

Again at primary school our teacher sat us all down and read us Where The Wild Things Are. I remember being absolutely blown away by Maurice Sendak‘s drawings and characters and totally felt transported away from the reading mat in that classroom to that dreamy monster island. Mr Sendak and Albert Uderzo were absolutely the two biggest influences on making me want to draw every day.

Who inspires you today?

Still mainly Sendak and Uderzo. But I love finding out about new illustrators. There are an infinite amount of styles and techniques and approaches to drawing and I love being surprised by how different people create a spread or tell their stories. My current 2 favourites are Sydney Smith and Frances Ives. They both have such a free and natural style. They are amazing.

Did you study art/illustration?

I actually studied Graphic Design at Camberwell College of Art. Graphic Design felt like the most sensible career choice in the art world. I loved the course and I met some great people there. But I was really shocked at how little drawing was involved. I think more than anything that course showed me how much I really loved to draw and that I just wasn’t a Graphic Designer.

What is your favourite artist tool/product?

It sounds obvious but a pencil and a sketchbook. My absolute favourite part of a project is when it’s just me, a pencil and a sketchbook and I am just letting the idea develop by scribbling and experimenting and making a mess.

Where do you buy your art supplies?

I have two favourite shops here in Bedford. One is called the Arc which sells all kinds of incredible arts supplies and exotic paints and brushes etc. I also like Coleman’s which is obviously more of a standard stationary shop. But I don’t know, I like their pens. I spend far too much money on pens.

What software/apps do you use?

I only really use Photoshop. I tried to get my head around Illustrator but I’m just not that technically minded to be honest. I have had a play with Pro Create but my kids keep stealing my iPad so I have not had enough time to learn it yet.

What was your first commission?

My first commission happened when I was 13 years old and I drew a poster for a local comic shop. They paid me in comics. My first proper paid commission was with The Beano comic. I think that it was in 2013 or so when the editor Michael Stirling found my drawings online. For a few weeks I drew the illustrations that accompanied a poetry section in the comic. It was amazing to be drawing for a comic I had been in love with for most of my life. I will forever be grateful to that team for giving me that opportunity.

What are you working on at the moment?

I am just finishing drawing a pretty epic book written by Gregory Maguire. After that I’m so happy to be working on another ‘Earth’ book with Stacy McAnulty. I love drawing these books, and I learn so much about our planet too. After that I’m starting a beautiful book with the writer Nell Cross Beckerman which is going to be a total stunner. Towards the end of the year I’m creating artwork for my next author/illustrator book too.

Which is all very exciting. I always feel like I’m being very vague when I don’t give too much info but I’m never sure how much I’m actually allowed to say. What I can tell you is that my author/illustrator book is going to be a Christmas story set in Victorian times.

Twitter or Instagram? Instagram I think. I love Twitter but Instagram just feels a lot friendlier. Also as an illustrator it is a great, visual medium to share work on. I have also found so many new great artists from this site.

Coffee or tea?

I love coffee. But I have had to cut back a lot. I was getting the jitters because I drank it so much. Now I just have two cups a day. And only in the mornings.

Cat or dog?

Oh my goodness Dog. Dog every time. I always had dogs growing up. They were my best friends. We got a dog last summer. I was adamant that my two boys should have a dog growing up. My wife wasn’t that convinced I don’t think but now that we have one she loves her as much as we do.

Grape or grain?

Hmmm, both good, but I would have to say grape.

Sunrise or sunset?

Sunset. I don’t know if it’s a getting older thing but I love sitting in my garden as the sun starts to go down. It’s like a magic time of the day where everything is winding down and becoming peaceful.

What do you listen to when you are working?

Mainly loud rock music. But I’ve also started to listen to a fair few podcasts. My favourite ones at the moment are ‘Pod Save America‘- helps me get my head around American politics, which I can sometimes find quite baffling from time to time- and The Force Center – which is a massively geeky Star Wars podcast which has none of the snark and negativity of other fandom type discussions. I recommend it if you are a Star Wars nerd like me.

Where can we follow you on social media? I’m on twitter: @dc_litchfield Instagram: @david_c_litchfield

I also have a blog at:

tinkerd.tumblr.com

and a Facebook page at

facebook.com/davidlitchfieldillustration

-but to be honest I do keep forgetting to update that one.

#illustrator #illustrator interview #illustration

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doomedandstoned · 3 years

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Colin MacGregor: A Portrait

The cover artist for Doomed & Stoned in Scotland shares his craft and journey.

Last month, Doomed & Stoned revealed its latest survey of the heavy underground by zeroing in on the Scotland rock and metal underground, with our usual anchor to doom metal and stoner rock, but showcasing several genre blenders to boot.

We assembled an enthusiastic team of musicians, artists, and local media types to help us vet each of the submissions so we had the most authentic picture of the Scottish scene's character, as well as a listening experience of the utmost excellence.

Doomed & Stoned in Scotland by Doomed & Stoned

We're thankful to each of the bands who participated, and especially grateful for the enthusiastic participation of Colin MacGregor, whose striking dark, rich colors on canvas of an ancient druid captured the spirit of the project so succinctly, and inspired many a casual peruser to give the 40-band compilation a good and thorough hearing.

Following is a virtual gallery of his work, with commentary by Mr. MacGregor himself, from Colin MacGregor Maker Art. (Editor)

SELF PORTRAIT IN RED (2009)

9x6” acrylic on board

This is pretty much how it all began.

I was living in a flat in the centre of Edinburgh with next to no furniture, no television, no internet connection (no landline!) or working radio, I had to think of a way to keep myself occupied in the evening when I wasn’t working. This is when I found a box of 20 small acrylic paint tubes I’d bought years before and never really used, along with about 5 paintbrushes of dubious quality.

Using a photo from my rather poor mobile phone at the time, I set about creating this painting on a piece of board that I had.

The colour comes basically through how I see people I meet, depending on circumstances. This is how most of my early paintings were executed.

THOMAS BLACKLOCK “THE BLIND POET” (2013)

20x16” acrylic on canvas

This one was painted for the then bar manager of a long-gone Edinburgh pub called The Blind Poet, and the portrait is of Thomas Blacklock, of the aforementioned moniker, who lived in Pear Tree House for most of his life and was an influence on both Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns, despite losing his sight as a child through smallpox.

The painting itself I don’t have much recollection of as I’d had extensive knee surgery at the time and was on quite a number of strong painkillers, but safe to say this painting led me to my first paid commission, where I produced two more paintings for Pear Tree House, one of which is still on display in their basement bar.

This one and the largest of the three, of Andrew Usher II, are currently in storage, I believe, in the south side of Edinburgh.

MAGGIE (2014)

12x9” acrylic on canvas

This was painted for my friend who was moving from Edinburgh to Bremen. She wanted something to put in her new home and also something to mark our friendship so I painted this in about 3 days.

It’s also quite rare in my canon as it actually has a bit of background in it, usually my backgrounds are just solid black.

This colour was actually quite difficult to get right, and it was applied in very thin layers and built up gradually, which is why I think it has quite a diffused, soft image overall.

ARANCHA (2017)

12x9” acrylic on canvas

This one is of my girlfriend and is based on a photo I took of her whilst walking through a park in Amsterdam. The photo itself was quite blurry as I took it on the fly whilst walking, but her face ended up on the whole in focus so I thought I could get something out of it.

There is a second version of this painting which is done in very pale pink and white paint, which was a bit of an experiment, but I kind of liked the challenge of doing something different

DAVID BOWIE (2016)

12x9” acrylic on canvas

This was painted within two weeks of the announcement of his death. I’d painted a few musicians before this one but they were all plain black and white, whereas this one actually had colour in the eyes, something a bit different to my usual stuff.

It was also the first painting I’d done by painting the canvas black first and drawing the basic shape on in chalk, something I’ve only done again once, and that was the recent Druid painting.

FRANK ZAPPA (2019)

12x9” acrylic on canvas

As mentioned above, this was actually started in 2016 and sat in various states of… started-ness, for around 3 years.

The painting actually spent most of its life as a scribbly mess of marker pen and gun-metal grey paint, and was almost scrapped entirely until I reassessed it in October 2019 and decided to attempt to salvage it, which I’m glad I did really as it’s been used on my business cards and as the “face” of the exhibition it was included in!

LEMMY (2019)

12x9” acrylic on canvas

I actually started this one, along with Frank Zappa, back in 2016 but the pair of them languished in various states of unfinishedness for a long, long time due to a variety of circumstances.

I eventually got them both back out of storage and managed to find the focus to finish them both in time for a week-long exhibition in Bannerman’s Bar, Edinburgh, which also featured Wraith, Cronos, Ozzy Osbourne, Chris Cornell, Nick Cave, David Bowie, Mark E. Smith, the aforementioned Frank Zappa and a rendition of the Xenomorph from the Alien movie franchise. This exhibition coincided with a Bismuth gig which had been organised by Bailey Junior, who was instrumental in dragging me out my block and getting these completed.

CRONOS (2019)

15x11” acrylic on canvas

Bailey Junior approached me with the idea of producing a poster for an upcoming gig he’d organised with a heavy doom band from England called Bismuth, expecting a fairly quick Photoshop effort.

I hadn’t painted in a while maybe a year or two, having suffered a drop in confidence and not being able to find the time or motivation, but I’d long wanted to create a poster which was almost entirely in paint, rather than digital text over the top, so this proved to be the spark needed to push myself into painting again.

Loosely based on the Ancient Greek myth of Cronos and partially based on “Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan'' by Ilya Repin (1885) it took two or three evenings to complete. The text for the poster was hand painted on separate canvases and then put together using Photoshop to give the impression it was a completely painted poster. The only thing not painted was the Scapegoat.tv logo which was added later, just before the gig took place.

OZZY OSBOURNE (2019)

12x9” acrylic on canvas

This one was really, really quick. Probably about 2 ½ hours from start to finish, maybe 3 at a push. Painted roughly about 7 days before I was due to open my first exhibition at Bannerman’s Bar, it was a last-minute decision, but turned out really great.

The acrylics were almost used like watercolors here, being as there were large light areas and deep, deep blacks.

I’m especially proud of the mouth area, it really has an almost 3D effect, something I rarely managed to get right.

WRAITH (2019)

16x12” acrylic on canvas

This was the second collaboration with Bailly and Scapegoat.tv after the Bismuth gig. This was designed for Japanese band Friendship but sadly due to the rapid spread of COVID-19 the gig was eventually cancelled.

The painting itself was based on a number of different sources for reference for cloth, lighting and the hand gesture. I’m not actually that much of a fan of painting hands to be perfectly honest.

The painting itself is currently still in Bannerman’s Bar. We were planning to hold another exhibition for all the paintings in the Bismuth gig exhibition again, but the day after putting them all up Lockdown began and the pub had to close, so I’ve not seen any of the exhibition paintings in person in about a year now.

Hopefully things will change soon.

MIKEY LAWLESS (2020)

12x9” acrylic on canvas

This one was painted in the first week of January 2020 for Mikey’s mother after Mikey himself sadly passed away from cancer just days after the new year began.

I think it took me roughly about 11-12 hours from start to finish and ended up being the only painting I completed that year, despite the coronavirus lockdown and other things happening.

DRUID (2021)

16x16” acrylic on canvas

And so it brings us to this one, again it took a nudge from Bailey to get me kick-started enough to unbox the paints again, and it took a bit of time to get started.

I’m not going to lie, after over a year of being nowhere near a paintbrush and canvas I was nervous and unsure if I could even do it, but once the canvas was primed and the blue paint started drawing out the shapes it started to come together.

It took about 4-5 days, give or take, spaced over a number of evenings, to complete and use references from a number of different sources.

The blue colour was chosen as a representation of Scotland in general, trying to capture the colour of the Saltire, but also evoke moonlight.

Follow Colin MacGregor

Get Colin MacGregor's Art

#D&S Presents #Colin MacGregor #Colin MacGregor Maker Art #art #stoner art #Doomed & Stoned in Scotland #Ozzy Osbourne #Lemmy Kilmister #David Bowie #Frank Zappa #Wraith #Cronos #Doomed and Stoned

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lutrain2020 · 4 years

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Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Mew!

Commissions: Not right now but maybe at some point in the future when I improve.

Social Media: Tumblr: @nicetomeetmew Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/nicetomeetmew/

Tell us a little bit about yourself!

I'm Mew and that's pretty much the only nickname I have on the interweb (although I was known as Brandy for a while but that's a very long story). I like drawing, writing, singing, baking, video games and messing about with my melodica. My favourite colour is black but I've recent had a fondness for purple and dark pink. My favourite animal is wolves but I also love sharks!

What got you into creating? what inspires you to keep creating?

I got into art because I kept seeing so many amazing pieces online and I kept thinking to myself: "wow I wish I could do that." I mean I still can't, but I'm trying and it's fun! And as for writing: it's actually my mum who got me into it and inspires me to keep going; whether it's fanfiction or an original work.

What's your creative process like?

Honestly I'm so new to this art stuff, I just start throwing stuff at the wall to see what sticks (metaphorically, but that actually sounds kind of fun!). The only thing that's consistent is that I always end up covering my page with random shapes before I start. I think scribbling helps me get my thoughts in order and figure out where to start.

What kind of mediums do you like to use?

I mostly use my tablet for drawing, but I like mucking about with chalk and oil paints for fun.

Is there a specific scene wrote that you are particularly proud of?

"On paper, she was perfectly lovely. Her skin was clear and fair, her hair fell in long gold ringlets around her face, and she moved with such elegance and grace she might as well be floating. But that was on paper. In reality… 'HEY! Are you listening?!'"

Is there someone who inspires you and your writing or art?

Hmm... honestly I find myself inspired by almost every artist I see. There's so much unique and gorgeous art out there and I think that taught me that everyone is different and that my art is never going to look like someone else's; because it's mine.

What got you into writing or art?

I just wanted to be able to do something. I have all sorts of thoughts going on in my head and using all the energy to create something seemed like a good way to go (that was actually my mum's idea).

What's your favorite part of the creative process?

I love character planning. I probably love it a little too much. I have a whole notebook book dedicated to backstories and headcanons and all that fun stuff. Nothing brings me more joy than creating a whole new life. I think I spend far too much time on the planning but hey ho. It's fun.

What's your least favorite part of the creative process?

Excluding my character plans: I hate following a plan. If I it so much easier just to fling words at a page, then mess around with them until the make sense and I'm happy with them. I tried planning out a whole story once and long story short, my notebook ended up in next door's garden.

What's your favorite type of scene to write?

I think I find it hard to find the line between "what I enjoy writing" and "what I'm good at writing". But I'd have to say, while it's scarce in most of the stuff I write these days, I love me a nice little emotional comfort scene. Hugs. Tears. Platonic kisses. *Rubs hands together gleefully* yesss.

What's the hardest for you to create?

As much as I enjoy fluffy scenes I find them an absolute nightmare to write because my brain immediately says "make them all suffer." I like angst, I really do but it's a bit of annoying when you're trying to finally write something happy for a character an then before you know it everything has gone to hell. Example: Character A has just won some big award, he patched things up with his bestie and things are finally turning aroun- his house is on fire, his mother ran off and he is now homeless and caring for his baby sister on the streets. And yes I came up with that off the top of my head. It's a real problem is you ask me.

What fandoms do you enjoy creating for?

I don't share all the stuff I draw and write but there are a bunch of fandoms I enjoy creating for mainly: Linked Universe: not one, not two, but nine Links? Yes please. I love brotherly bonding so much. Fire Emblem Three Houses: is probably the fandom where I love creating about ships the most. Sylvix sustains me as much as Dimileth does. Kid Icarus Uprising: Dark Pit. That is all. Legend of Zelda: Do I love theorising about the BotW sequel and writing about it? Yes I do. Very much. Pokémon: Writing about teenagers traveling the land with adorable and cool creature is as fun as you'd expect it to be. And I fit shipping in there too (Haudion and FerrisWheelShipping sustains my soul). Animal Crossing: The only fandom I only draw for. Tiny lil animal friends I just... yes.

What's the work you are most proud of?

In my BotW 2 deprived state a wrote a lil fic called Don't Be Afraid, based on the very little we know from the trailer. I put off posting it for weeks but I finally mustered of the courage to do it because at the end of the day, whether people like it or not, I'm proud of it. https://nicetomeetmew.tumblr.com/post/619037409470971904/dont-be-afraid

Where do you post your finished works?

I don't post a lot of my writing (okay I've posted it twice in my whole life heh) but it's pretty much just on my Tumblr. Although I do have ao3 and I have a longer fic in the works which I plan of posting there (eventually). https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicetomeetmew

If you have any fun stories about the pieces you made, please do share!

The only art I've really shared so far is the Links from LU as Sailor Scouts (Sailor Links if you will). And, fun fact, that all stemmed from a simple discussion about what if Wild had a magical girl transformation when he changed gear with the Sheikah Slate. So I draw him doing the Sailor Moon pose in his Vai clothes and that's that, right? Nope. Next day I was watching Sailor Moon and I couldn't stop thinking about Sailor Wild so that next thing you know I'm drawing Wind as Sailor Mercury and then I'm making a list of the Links as Sailor Scouts and The Sailor Links was born. I even drew Fi as Luna. So a full month was filled with a project that was inspired by one simple discussion. And I'm eternally grateful because it was an absolute blast to do (drawing Time with a tiara is just as fun as you'd imagine).

#Meet the Creator #lu train2020 #linkeduniverse #lu

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hlupdate · 4 years

Link

Here he comes, one of the planet’s most conspicuous young men, stepping out of the London drizzle and into a dusty suburban pub. If there was an old vinyl record player in the place it would scratch quiet. Instead, the two-dozen punters turn hushed and intent, as if a unicorn has just trotted in off the street, and nobody wants to scare it off. “That’s frickin’ Harry frickin’ Styles,” whispers a young man at the bar, “in this pub.” The pop star is asked what he wants to drink and in a voice already inclined to undertones, quietly orders a cup of tea.

A former teen star who is now 25, a happier and rockier solo artist since his boyband One Direction split a few years ago, Styles has hidden himself inside a large, swamp-green parka. He’s tall, around the 6ft mark, and carries himself with a slight stoop. If Styles could only do something about his appearance from the neck up (elfin brow, wide Joker smile, a face that’s recognisable across multiple continents) you sense he could drink in pubs like this anonymously enough. As it is, cover blown, he removes the parka. A woolly jumper beneath has a picture of the planet Saturn on it. Maybe they’ve heard of Styles there, too.

We take a seat in the corner. On nearby tables, conversations start to sputter as people try to keep their own talk ticking along on autopilot while straining to hear what Styles says. I ask him about the sheer strangeness of this and other aspects of fame. Full stadiums, swooning admirers, an excess of opportunity and cash. Why isn’t Styles an absolute ordeal of a human being by now? Keith Richards, at a comparable stage, imagined himself the pirate leader of a travelling nation-state, unbound by international law. Elton John was on vast amounts of cocaine. Meanwhile, here’s Harry, known in the music industry as a bit of a freak, medically, having maintained abnormally high levels of civility in his system.

Styles tilts his head, flattered. There are others, he promises. “People who are successful, and still nice. It’s when you meet the people who are successful and aren’t nice, you think: What’s yer excuse? Cos I’ve met the other sort.”

Styles read Keith Richards’ autobiography a while back, and he recently finished Elton’s, too. (“Soooo much cocaine,” he marvels.) We talk for a bit about whether extreme dissolute behaviour and artistic greatness go hand in hand. Styles, who has just released his second solo album, Fine Line, the penultimate track of which is called Treat People With Kindness, has to hope not. “I just don’t think you need to be a dick to be a good artist. But, then, there are also a lot of good artists who are dicks. So. Hmm. Maybe I need to start scaring babies in supermarkets?”

A couple of lads hustle over to offer drinks. A photo is requested; they say they’ll wait. I’m weirdly anxious about Styles’s phone, which is slung on the table in front of him. What must be the black-market value of that thing? If fans were to get hold of it, would they want to open Styles’s music app first, to listen to tracks from the new album, or rush to see his messages and calls, to find out who Styles has been flirting with late at night? The interest in his music has always run at a ratio of about 50/50 with the interest in who he is dating.

It’s a ratio Styles tries to adjust in favour of the music by being vague about his ex-partners, real and rumoured (Taylor Swift, Kendall Jenner, Parisian model Camille Rowe), diverting to discuss his songs about failed relationships. A year ago, when Styles was floating around near this pub in north London, where he lives, and California, where he tends to record, looking for inspiration for the new album, his close friend Tom Hull told him: “Just date amazing women, or men, or whatever, who are going to fuck you up… Let it affect you and write songs about it.”

Styles, who writes in collaboration with Hull and producer Tyler Johnson, sounds as if he took the advice. The new album, Fine Line, is at its best when capturing late-hours moments, drunk calls, “wandering hands”, kitchen snogs. A golden-haired lover recurs. There are up tracks, down tracks, some with the trippy delirium of harpsichord-era Stones, others with the angsty Britpop swell of strings. While I listened, I couldn’t help scribbling down names, possible subjects. On the lyric “There’s a piece of you in how I dress” I wrote: maybe Kendall? In a song about a lover “way too bright for me”: surely Taylor.

Styles says he keeps to a general rule: write what comes and don’t think about it too much afterwards. The only time he worries about an individual lyric is if it risks putting an ex in a difficult position. “If a song’s about someone, is that fine? Or is that gonna get annoying for them, if people try to decipher it?” Has he ever got that judgment call wrong and taken a bollocking from an angry ex? Styles raises an eyebrow. “Maybe ask me in a month.”

I quiz him on something I’ve often wondered about. Why are the very famous so inclined to hook up with the very famous? From the outside it looks twice the hassle, with twice the odds of ending badly. “Don’t we all do that, though?” Styles asks. “Go into things that feel relatively doomed from the start?” I ask him why he doesn’t date normals. He seems tickled: “Um. I mean, I do. I have a private life. You just don’t know about it.”

Styles doesn’t particularly like being asked about his love life, but is amused all the same, as he is about most things. When I ask about the logistics of someone as well known as him dating someone anonymous (“Do you need to give them, like, some sort of primer?”), Styles snorts with laughter.

“Uh-h-h. Like any conversation, I guess, it’s easier if you’re honest. But I try to let it come up when it comes up. Cos that’s a weird thing to talk about, y’know? If you’ve just started seeing someone, and you’re, like: [he adopts a throaty, mission-briefing voice] So! This is what’s gonna happen!” Styles holds out his hands: no, ta. “I don’t wanna have that conversation, man. It would be fucking weird.”

And not very sexy, I say.

“Not sexy,” Styles says, “no.”

A quick aside about his accent, which is hard to capture in print. (“Nat sexy, no.”) After a workout in a hotel gym recently, Styles says he was taken aback (“taken abeck”) to be asked by a stranger whether he was speaking in a fake voice. He was appalled. But after so long crossing borders and time zones, living and working between England and the US, the accent has undergone a jazzy remix, and tends to get farthest from its Cheshire roots when he’s around strangers. Once Styles begins to get comfortable in the pub, the flatter, no-nonsense sounds of his youth return. Nowpe he says, for nope. Fook, for fuck.

“What the fook are they?” This was the response of his childhood pals, he remembers, back in the village of Holmes Chapel, when little Harry had the gumption to show up in the playground wearing Chelsea boots instead of the approved chunky trainers. Styles’s parents had separated when he was very young, but there is no origin-story trauma: he has always stayed close to both. His mother, Anne, would praise his singing voice in the car, and when Styles was 16 it was agreed he could audition for a singing contest on TV.

“The craziest part about the whole X Factor thing,” says Styles, who auditioned for the ITV reality show in 2010, “is that it’s so instant. The day before, you’ve never been on telly. Then suddenly…” Suddenly you’re a piece of national property. “You don’t think at the time, ‘Oh, maybe I should keep some of my personal stuff back for myself.’ Partly because, if you’re a 16-year-old who does that, you look like a jumped-up little shit. Can you imagine? ‘Sorry, actually, I’d rather not comment…’ You don’t know what to be protective of.”

By the winter of 2010, Styles was a fan favourite, a key member of One Direction, a five-piece that enjoyed enormous national exposure and gathered millions of fans before any music had been released. Cameras filmed every part of their rise. There wasn’t any time in the dark to practise, test things out, mentally brace. “We didn’t get to dip in a toe,” Styles says. “But, listen, I was a kid, all I knew was: I didn’t have to go to school any more. I thought it was fucking great.” He remembers having a lot of fun, and being well taken care of. He jokes: “Maybe it’s something I’ll have to deal with a bit later. When I wake up in my 40s and think: Arrrggh.”

In February 2012, One Direction were feted at the Brit Awards, hours before they were due to fly to the US for the first time. On TV that night they looked young, silly, chuffed – on the precipice of something huge, and with no clue at all. Their subsequent wonder-run (five platinum albums, four world tours) had its foundations in their ridiculous popularity in the States. Right away, Styles remembers, “We were fuelling a machine. Keeping the fire going.” He remembers it as a stimulating time; maybe overstimulating. “Coming out of it, when the band stopped, I realised that the thing I’d been missing, because it was all so fast paced, was human connection.”

I first met Styles in 2014, around the time the lack of human connection was starting to bite. One Direction were promoting their penultimate album and I’d been commissioned to write about themthe Guardian. Management felt the boys were so exhausted that my minutes in their presence had to be strictly counted. Inside a circle of cripplingly hot lights, while someone ran the stopwatch, we interacted as humanly as we could.

I remember how jaded the best singer in the group, Zayn Malik, seemed. (Malik was weeks away from quitting.) I also remember how flattered and bewildered the others were to be asked a few grownup questions – and not what Louis Tomlinson would later describe to me as “who’s-your-favourite-superhero… all that shit”. Styles was watchful and quiet that day. By total chance, a week later, we were in the same London cafe and he tapped my shoulder. He was having lunch with friends. “Will ya join us?”

t struck me as a quietly classy move. I was fascinated to see him interact with mates he’d chosen for himself. Styles was dry and funny, older than his years. After lunch we said the usual things about keeping in touch, and followed each other on Twitter. I kept an eye on his updates, about leaving One Direction, releasing an impressive, self-titled debut album in 2017, playing for 36,000 people in Madison Square Garden in New York, acting in Christopher Nolan’s Oscar-nominated war movie Dunkirk. Meanwhile, I did my best to manage the mess that had been made of my own account after Styles’s Twitter follow ignited a small explosion of teenage longing in my mentions. For at least a year I received weekly, sometimes daily, pleas from people who wanted messages conveyed to “H”. Still now, every few days, fans in America, Asia and Europe follow me to “see what H sees” in their timeline.

He has around 50 million social media followers, and with that comes the ability to ripple the internet like somebody airing a bedsheet. I’ve noticed, though, how rarely Styles directs people to support specific causes, last doing so in 2018, when he encouraged people to join a march against gun violence. Why don’t you use your influence more, I ask? “Because of dilution. Because I’d prefer, when I say something, for people to think I mean it.” He runs his fingertips across the table. “To be honest, I’m still searching for that one thing, y’know. Something I can really stand up for, and get behind, and be like: This Is My Life Fight. There’s a power to doing the one thing. You want your whole weight behind it.”

It’s one of the things that sets Styles apart, the way he puts his whole weight behind the different aspects of this strange job. If you watch footage of him as a guest host on Saturday Night Live last month, Styles plunges in, fully inhabiting the silliness of every sketch. He has good songs in his repertoire (2017’s ballad Sign Of The Times stands out), and would probably admit to some middling songs that attest to his relative inexperience as a writer. But whichever of his songs Styles performs, he goes all-in, trusting that his zest and energy will hold an audience’s attention. He approaches this interview in roughly the same spirit, not enjoying every question, fidgeting, pleading for clemency once or twice, but giving everything due consideration.

I bring up something Styles joked about earlier: the possibility of waking up in his 40s with deferred mental health problems.

“Mm,” he says

Have you thought about therapy, I ask, to get ahead of that?

“I go,” he says. “Not every week. But whenever I feel I need it. For a really long time I didn’t try therapy, because I wanted to be the guy who could say: ‘I don’t need it.’ Now I realise I was only getting in my own way.” He shrugs. “It helps.”

Lately he’s been reading a lot (Lisa Taddeo’s Three Women stood out). He’s watched a lot of Netflix (crime thrillers and music docs). He recently cried through Slave Play on Broadway. I sense in Styles, at 25, a pent-up undergraduate hunger, maybe a desire to make up for lost time. “I’ve definitely been wanting to learn stuff, try stuff,” he says. “Things I didn’t grow up around. Things I’d always been a little bit sceptical about. Like therapy, like meditation. All I need to hear is someone saying, ‘Apparently, it’s amazing’, and I’ll try it. When I was in Los Angeles once, I heard about juice cleanses. I thought, yeah, I’ll do a juice cleanse.”

How messy were the results?

“You mean…?” Styles raises an eyebrow, recalling the poos. “They were all right. I was just hungry. And bored.”

One notable feature of Styles’s solo career has been his headlong embrace of unconventional clothing. A 2017-18 tour could have been sponsored by the Dulux colour wheel: mustard tones in Sydney, shocking pink in Dallas. In a more serious sense, some of Styles’s choices have fed into an important political discussion about gendered fashion. In May, as a co-host at the Met Gala in New York, he stepped out in a sheer blouse and a pearl earring. One evening’s work challenged a lot of stubborn preconceptions about who gets to wear what.

He says: “What women wear. What men wear. For me it’s not a question of that. If I see a nice shirt and get told, ‘But it’s for ladies.’ I think: ‘Okaaaay? Doesn’t make me want to wear it less though.’ I think the moment you feel more comfortable with yourself, it all becomes a lot easier.”

What do you mean, I ask?

Styles is leaning forward, hands folded around his cup of tea. “A part of it was having, like, a big moment of self-reflection. And self-acceptance.” He has a habit, when he’s made a definitive statement, of raising his chin and nodding a little, as if to decide whether he still agrees with himself. “I think it’s a very free, and freeing, time. I think people are asking, ‘Why not?’ a lot more. Which excites me. It’s not just clothes where lines have been blurred, it’s going across so many things. I think you can relate it to music, and how genres are blurring…”

Sexuality, too, I say.

“Yep,” says Styles. “Yep.”

There’s a popular perception, I say, that you don’t define as straight. The lyrics to your songs, the clothes you choose to wear, even the sleeve of your new record – all of these things get picked apart for clues that you’re bisexual. Has anyone ever asked you though?

“Um. I guess I haaaaave been asked? But, I dunno. Why?”

You mean, why ask the question?

“Yeah, I think I do mean that. It’s not like I’m sitting on an answer, and protecting it, and holding it back. It’s not a case of: I’m not telling you cos I don’t want to tell you. It’s not: ooh this is mine and it’s not yours.”

What is it then?

“It’s: who cares? Does that make sense? It’s just: who cares?”

I suppose my only question, then, is about the stuff that looks like clue dropping. Because if you don’t want people to care, why hint? Take the album sleeve for Fine Line. With its horizontal pink and blue stripes, a splash of magenta, the design seems to gesture at the trans and bisexual pride flags. Which is great – unless the person behind it happens to be a straight dude, sprinkling LGBTQ crumbs that lead nowhere. Does that make sense?

Styles nods. “Am I sprinkling in nuggets of sexual ambiguity to try and be more interesting? No.” As for the rest, he says, “in terms of how I wanna dress, and what the album sleeve’s gonna be, I tend to make decisions in terms of collaborators I want to work with. I want things to look a certain way. Not because it makes me look gay, or it makes me look straight, or it makes me look bisexual, but because I think it looks cool. And more than that, I dunno, I just think sexuality’s something that’s fun. Honestly? I can’t say I’ve given it any more thought than that.”

In our musty corner of the pub we’ve somehow passed a couple of hours in intense discussion. We’ll lighten up, before Styles heads home, with some chat about clever films (Marriage Story), stupider viral videos (the little boy who’s just learned the word “apparently”), that favourite-superhero stuff that, after all, has its place. He talks about the curious double time scheme of a pop star’s life – those crammed 18-hour days and then the sudden empty off-time when Styles might find himself walking miles across London to buy a book, afterwards congratulating himself: “Well, that’s an hour filled.”

Before we stand up I ask if he’s minded any of my questions.

He pushes out his lips, possibly recalling them one by one, then shakes his head. “What I would say, about the whole being-asked-about-my-sexuality thing – this is a job where you might get asked. And to complain about it, to say you hate it, and still do the job, that’s just silly. You respect that someone’s gonna ask. And you hope that they respect they might not get an answer.”

I tell him I do.

“Cool.”

Styles has to find those lads who wanted a photo. He scoops his phone off the table and flicks his thumb around the screen. Lately, he says, when he messes around on his phone in an idle moment, it’s mostly to look at videos – clips that his friends have sent him, in which their kids sing along to music he’s made. “Never gets old,” Styles says, beaming.

A few years ago, when he emerged from the boyband, blinking, shattered, he set himself three tasks: prioritise friends, learn how to be an adult, achieve a proper balance between the big and the small. Full stadiums, provocative outfits – Styles genuinely loves these things. “But I guess I’ve realised, as well,” he says, “that the coolest things are not always the cool things. Do you know what I mean?” He grabs his parka and his phone and, a little stooped, heads for home.

#harry styles #the guardian #stunt mention #131219

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ccchiori · 4 years

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Hellooo there 😊

I took the liberty and decided to kinda make this post a short introduction of myself and what's this all about etc :)

As stated in the description of this Acc, I am an hobby artist with a passion for quite a lot of things - mostly different kinds of art. So, this is basically what I'll be sharing here most of the time.

I love drawing, painting, digital art in general and have recently been trying to get the hang of matte painting and photobashing. At one point, I also figured I might be interested in doing this stuff professionally, as an employee or maybe one day as an freelance artist. Although I am not sure if this will ever be my main goal, since I currently have a reaaaally nice job which I totally enjoy doing - I am employed as an IT Systemadministrator on the brink to becoming a System Engineer for Backup and Storage Infrastructure... And it's suuuuuper awesome.😊 nevertheless do I want to improve and sort of wanna share this process with others. 😊

There are a lot of professional, reaaaally really good artists out there that I personally love to look up and follow etc. However. Quite some years ago,I got incredible frustrated because almost every piece of art I saw online, was just to perfect. Even compared to a pros scribbles etc: my creations always seemed to suck. :'D I eventually wanted to share my drawings anyway, but started to felt more and more "pressured" to only show "the good, perfect stuff" and ended up not sharing anything at all. :D

Well, no one's born as an artist, professional etc. So, who cares about the so called Socialmedia-perfection anyway?! :D

What I wanna share here are drawings, doodles, commissions, sketches, failed attempts to do whatsoever and the way those "failed one's" helped me get better - Instead of only showing the "finished projects"....which doesn't mean u won't get to see the stuff i am reaaaally really proud of, of course 😁🤣

But,more about that sometimes later :-)

For now, have a nice (hopefully not so rainy :'D ) weekend 😊😊

#art #anime art #fanart #one piece #straw hat crew #mugiwara kaizoku #straw hat luffy #roronoa zoro #wip #workinprogress #drawing #tradtional art #introducing myself #introduction #new at this #colored drawing

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animeniacss · 3 years

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A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 28 - The Commission Payment

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU

Length: approx. 4.9k words

Chapter 28 - The Commission Payment

I can’t believe this is happening… Taehyung thought to himself. He starred at the email for hours before finally marrying himself to his desk and getting to work. The night following Taehyung’s time at the art show was spent only one way: working. Planning, sketching, scribbling, crumpling and tossing, only to sketch again on another piece of paper. The more paper he wasted, the more frustrated he became! Oh Jihoon, who had contacted Taehyung within 24 hours of the festival’s end, had sent Taehyung specific directions for his desired commission. It’s only a matter of time before I wake up from this –

“Fuck.” Taehyung’s thoughts were cut short as the sound of a snapping pencil tip refocused his eyes on his work. The outline of Mrs. Oh, based off a picture seemingly taken on vacation in Paris, had been carefully sketched. It had to be designed to only look like Mrs. Oh, similar to how he had made his picture resemble only you. Tossing his pencil over his shoulder, he was quick to grab another one from the cup that sat at the corner of his desk, and lean forward to continue his work. His eyes scanned the paper carefully, making sure each spot his pencil graced was done so with the right amount of pressure, the right amount of focus. This would be the best thing he ever made; he knew that.

However, it would have to wait. The sound of his ringing phone alerted his attention from the sketch, and over to where he rested his phone on the arm of the couch. It was vibrating so much, that it shifted slightly, ultimately falling towards the floor. Taehyung leaned forward, catching it in his hand as if he had planned for that to happen. When he lifted the phone to his face, your name flashed brightly into his eyes. Taehyung hummed, turning his head and resting against the back of his chair. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You hummed. “This is the third time I called. You must be busy.”

“…Was it?” Taehyung cocked an eyebrow, pulling his phone back to look at the section ‘Missed Calls’, where your name popped up three separate times in between several spam calls. “Oh, sorry. I’m working.”

“No worries. What are you working on?”

“A really important commission.” Taehyung said simply, spinning his pencil in his hand.

“Oh cool.” You hummed. “I wanted to talk to you about some cute art ideas I had for some of my lessons, and get your opinion on how to make them more exciting. But it can wait until I see you tomorrow, okay? I don’t want to pull you from your artistic focus.” Taehyung chuckled a bit.

“Send me pictures of what you had in mind. I’ll text you if I have any ideas.” He offered.

“I told you, it could wait if you’re busy.” You hummed.

“Well, if you called me three times to ask me for help, then it can’t. So, send me the pictures so I have an excuse to take a drawing break before my hand falls right off my wrist.” A chuckle escaped your lips, and Taehyung looked down at his picture. Some drafts of the words and phrases Jihoon sent, which he was practicing on various old scraps before adding to the sketch, had shifted onto the paper, and Taehyung gently pushed them to the side before getting out of his seat.

“Alright, if you don’t mind doing it now.” You hummed. “I’ll text them to you and talk more about it tomorrow.”

“Deal.” Taehyung said. “I want to tell you about my art show stuff too.”

“Yes!” You gasped. “I can’t wait to hear all about it, Tae!” Hearing you cheerfully hum Tae into one of his ears, even if it was over the phone, had Taehyung’s cheeks and ears feel hot, and he chuckled shyly. “I’ll let you go take a break. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Alright then…” Taehyung was second to hang up, the sound of the line going dead ringing through his ears. He sighed to himself, pursing his lips together as he headed towards the kitchen. He was starving. As he tried to decide what he was going to eat, a few vibrations off his phone caused him to scoop it up again. He saw a flood of pictures from you, of art projects that seemed to be photographed off of your desk in the classroom. He chuckled a bit as he looked at the examples, putting a hand in his pocket.

He had some work to do.

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Hoseok looked over at you from his spot by the play area. He was checking over the different centers, making sure all the toys were cleaned and ready for the students to rush in and use them up again. He watched you sitting at your desk, frantically typing away at your computer. He chuckled.

“Why don’t you just tell Mr. Kim you need a little more time to finish this week’s plans?” Hoseok asked.

“I can’t do that.”

“We’re his only class. I don’t think he’ll be upset.”

“I have never done that in all my years teaching here, and I don’t plan to start a new trend now.” Hoseok rolled his eyes, chuckling a bit. “I just need to upload pictures of these crafts and materials and I think I’m all done.” Hoseok, deciding not to push any farther, simply turned back to the various centers.

“…It’s amazing how messy these things get. I the pizza slice and cup that went missing from the kitchen last week at the bottom of the dress-up bin.” Hoseok pointed out. Now, you were the one to chuckle.

“If you give that slice of pizza back to the kitchen, we can’t argue to get a discount for only seven slices anymore. Yuna will start charging us full price again.” Hoseok laughed a bit, placing the plastic kitchen toy into the kitchen where it belonged. When he stood up, he heard the door open, and his eyes turned to see Taehyung step in. His hands were full of what seemed to be completed crafts.

“Morning, Tae~.” Hoseok hummed. “How did your art show go?” Taehyung, who Hoseok was quick to notice was staring in your direction, turned to the older man in the room and smiled.

“It was amazing, Hyung. Such a cool experience!” Hoseok nodded his head, walking past Taehyung towards the closet, and patting his coworker on the shoulder.

“That’s good.” He said happily. Taehyung nodded, before walking over to you. When you saw him place things down on your desk, you rolled your chair closer in order to see.

“I made some examples of those crafts for you.” He smiled. “They were already really cute, so I didn’t need to change much.” You took a moment to marvel at the colorful papers scattered among your desk. “I just figured making them a bit easier for preschoolers was a good idea.”

“Right. These look really good, Taehyung.” You hummed, looking up at him. Taehyung smiled. “I especially like this little barn craft to review the animals.” Taehyung nodded, smiling.

“Well, I had good material to work off. You’re getting more creative every day, and I’d like to think it’s from being around me so much in the workplace.” As Taehyung snickered a bit, you rolled your eyes at his playfulness.

“Sure, let’s say that. Anyway, I appreciate the help. I hope it didn’t take form your commission to much.”

“Nah, I managed to finish the sketch. It’s coming along nicely.” Hoseok, who was set aside the cleaners for the morning, turned in the direction of the both of you. He watched as you looked up at him, chatting about the work he had been doing over the weekend. A sense of nausea filled the core of his stomach, and the longer he stood in that room, the more he felt that nausea fill his stomach like water filling a bucket.

“Hey.” He called, alerting both your attention. “I forgot; I need to talk to Mr. Kim about something. Tae, you have to tell me about the weekend at lunch or something, okay?” Taehyung nodded as he watched his Hyung head to the door. However, before he could give a verbal response, Taehyung was already out the door.

Taehyung had to ask: “Is he okay?”

“I think so.” You assured, not truly sure yourself. “But I wanted to ask you about this commission. Is it a secret?”

“No, not really.” Taehyung’s eyes scanned the room, before he grabbed the chair at Hoseok’s desk and pulled it close, plopping down beside you. “At the art show, I met the CEO of the college that Jimin managed to talk to in order to even get me in.” you nodded your head, continuing to listen. “I made a really nice picture recently that I…kinda revealed there? Anyway, his wife and him came to say hello and she really liked that specific picture.” As you watched Taehyung reminisce about the experience, you felt a small smile creep across your face. “Anyway, long story short, he commissioned for me to create the same piece, but for his wife.”

“Tae, that’s amazing!” you gasped, clasping your hands together. Taehyung grinned, nodding in agreement. “When does it have to be done by?”

“He said by the end of the week, but the original only took me a few days. So, I have it all planned out so it can be sent to him earlier.”

“That’s crazy. Can I see it when it’s done?” Taehyung blinked, pursing his lips together. “The original or the commission, it doesn’t matter. I’m curious.” Taehyung nodded, smiling.

“I’ll show you the original sometime. I think you’d like it.” He assured. You chuckled. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to finishing whatever you were doing before the kids come in this morning.” He stood up. “I need to go set up my room for today, anyway.”

You watched him get up and push the seat back to the desk at the side of the room. “Alright. See you later…” you said, waving him off. “Thanks again for the help.” Taehyung nodded, waving you off as he exited the room. With him rounding the corner, you sat back in your chair, crossing your arms. Sitting alone in your room, you took a moment to embrace the silence around you, while taking a moment to focus on the noise repeating continuously in your mind. It was Hoseok’s high-pitched, sweet voice repeating the same quote over and over in your mind:

It seems you’ve made a decision then, hm?

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By the end of the week, Taehyung had stuck to his word. He had spent each and every night working on that picture, and a little at a time, he watched it grow from the ideas of a loving husband, into a finalized masterpiece. Taehyung finished it three days before it’s agreed upon deadline, Taehyung had managed to complete the picture, spending some time fixing any small portions and ensuring the picture looked as good to Jihoon as the original did to Taehyung.

He knew that it certainly would.

When the picture was complete, Taehyung looked at the final product, and his heart swelled with pride. His first big…big commission was complete. Now, to send it. Taehyung quickly opened his phones contacts, calling the direct number Jihoon had given Taheyung for when the picture was completed. They spoke for a time, Jihoon marveling at the young talents ability to complete it so quickly, and even longer after Taehyung sent him a photo of the finished product.

“The wife is going to love it. I’ll send someone over to pick it up immediately.” Jihoon said. “Thank you again, Mr. Kim. We’ll definitely be in touch.” Taehyung, elated, thanked the man before hanging up the phone. He stared at the final product, and immediately, he heard a voice in his head.

Can I see it when it’s done? The original or the commission, I don’t mind!

“That’s right.” Taehyung hummed to himself. “I promised her.” He quickly pulled up his phone once again, snapping a picture of the finished commission and sending it your way with the text: Finished! They’re coming to pick it up today! :D

While waiting on the reply, Taehyung looked at the original, the one inspired by you, hanging up on his wall. For a moment, he sat back, his eyes darting between the original and the commission. He wanted to show you the painting, because he knew you would enjoy it very much. He already knew your flattery at being his inspiration, he already knew the joy it would give you to see it. Humming, he quickly snapped a photo of it, sending it t you directly behind the first photo, with the text: Here’s the original 😊

Taehyung had to admit, sending that final response was something that made him just a bit anxious. He knew you’d like it, but anytime he sent you something inspired by you, his heart race picked up just slightly. Hoping to calm his nerves, he was quick to phone Jimin. Hopefully, his best friend and his cheery demeanor would help offset some of this weirdly placed anxiety he felt in the pit of his stomach.

Jimin was quick to answer. “Hey.” He hummed. “I’m on a break. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Apparently, Jihoon is sending someone to pick up the painting.”

“You finished? That’s awesome!” Jimin cheered, his grin seen perfectly in Taehyung’s head despite not seeing his friend face to face. “Send me a picture okay? I need to see.”

“Oh yeah, will do.” Taehyung assured. “I sent the final product to her. The original too. I’m waiting to see what she thinks.”

“I’m sure she’ll like them just like everything else.”

“I know. But for some reason, this one makes me nervous. It’s bigger than the sketches and little canvases I’ve used for her before.” Jimin snickered on the other line. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re so cute when you’re nervous.” Taehyung had to roll his eyes at Jimin’s playfully flirtatious comment.

“Thanks for that, my love.” Taehyung cooed playfully, revealing another amused laugh from his friend. “Anyway, I’m gonna rest before this guy comes to get the painting. I’m exhausted.”

“Go ahead. But send me the picture first.” Jimin ordered. Taehyung simply hummed, offering a goodbye before hanging up. As he lifted up his phone, he saw a message flash on the screen. From you. Quickly, he opened it up. You first sent a wave of emojis with star eyes, followed by the text:

I love this! The original is beautiful!

I see a lot of quotes on there. Are those special sayings to you?

I can see why the wife loved this so much. It’s beautiful.

…Did someone inspire that painting?

Taehyung chuckled a bit, glancing back up at the painting one more time, before looking back at his phone and simply typing:

Yes.

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When Taehyung got his phone call from Jihoon, he was very busy. He was currently sitting at a small table, legs pulled up, as he watched Yeonjun and Beomgyu playing with clay. This was something the kids enjoyed doing so much, that Taehyung decided it was a good idea to give the students a chance to simply play with the clay in anyway they see fit. Lia and Yeji were making clay snacks to feed to Kai, Yuna was using every piece she had in order to create a princess, which was a blob of several circles just piled on top of one another. Chaeryeong and Soobin were using their clay to roll out long, snake-like figures in front of them, cheering each other on in order to make it longer. Then, there were these boys: smashing their clay, and building it back up only to smash it down again. Taehyung couldn’t help but snicker a bit as he watched the children fool around.

“Don’t you want to make something nice? Like a vase or a picture?”

“I’m making a flat picture, Mr. Kim.” Beomgyu said simply. Of course, he was. Taehyung smiled, finally lifting himself up and deciding to return to his desk. When he did, his phone flashed, the large white text on the front reading Oh Jihoon: 1 Missed Call.

“F-.” Quickly, Taehyung grabbed his phone and walked towards the front of the room, shaky hands redialing the phone number that called only a few moments ago. When he stood outside the door, he turned towards the students, all of whom were still eagerly playing with their clays and chatting with one another. The sound of ringing in his ears made him nervous. It had been a few days since Taehyung sent the finished commission away, and all he wanted to know was how Jihoon, and more specifically his wife, thought about the painting. That was the only thing he could be calling about, right?

“Taehyung!” A cheery old voice hummed on the other side. “I’m so glad you called me back!”

“I apologize, Sir. I’m working.”

“Working, hm? What do you do?”

“I uh…work in a Pre-school as an art teacher. We’re playing with clay so I’m watching them as we speak to make sure nobody eats anything.” A hardy laugh was heard on the other side, and Taehyung had to chuckle in response to the infectious laugh of the man.

“Well then, I’ll make this brief.” Jihoon said simply. “I took my wife to dinner last night and gave her the gift. She loved it. I am so happy I asked you to do this for me.” Taehyung, in that moment, felt like a huge weight lifted off of his shoulders, and he exhaled so loud that Jihoon might have heard it on the other end, but said nothing about it. “You have a real talent, there.”

“Oh, thank you.” Taehyung sighed in relief. “I’m honored I got to do it.”

“Did you go to school for art?”

“No, Sir. I’m mainly self-taught.” Jihoon sighed on the other end.

“See, I knew you would say that. It’s a damn shame. There’s something I need to talk over with my colleagues that I would really like to talk to you about. Can you call me as soon as your shift is over?” Taehyung, stunned to silence, simply nodded his head. “…Taehyung?” Jihoon voice brought him back to his body, and he began to speak:

“Yes! Of course, I’ll call you immediately.” Jihoon laughed a bit, saying his goodbyes. With that, Jihoon was the first to hang up, leaving Taehyung on a dead line looking into the classroom with his students, still happily playing. Just before he could step back in, a voice was heard behind him.

“Are you okay?” When he spun around, he saw you standing there, hands on your hips as you looked up at the fluffy-haired man. He hummed, nodding his head quickly.

“Yes.” He assured. “Listen. There’s something important I need to do after school, so I won’t be able to come outside when the kids leave.” You nodded, staying silent as you could tell he was ready to say more. “But, there’s something I need to talk to you about, so come here as soon as they all leave, okay?” Raising an eyebrow, you were curious as to what this exciting thing could be. However, you didn’t pry anymore, knowing you’d already be late to the next subject due to having to still clean up the kids.

“Okay, fine.” You agreed. Taehyung nodded. Just as he was about to turn back around, you spoke up. “I need to speak with you too.” Taehyung blinked, smiling sweetly.

“Then it’ll truly be an interesting conversation.” He said. “…I’m not in trouble, am I?” You couldn’t help but laugh, nudging him inside as the two of you gathered up the students quickly in order to get back into the classroom in time.

---------------------------------------------

As you headed down the hall towards the art room, you thought back to the conversation you had with Hoseok while the students were in art.

“I’m going to tell him at the end of the day.” You said simply. Hoseok looked up at you, smiling gently. “I don’t want to keep waiting on it anymore. If I do, I’m scared something will happen that will ruin everything.”

“That’s fair…” Hoseok agreed. “Good for you.” A small smile fell on your lips, the thought of this day being the one that could possibly finalize everything that has been brewing in her stomach for a long time. As the moments ticked away, inching towards not only the end of the day, but to simply going to see Taehyung in order to pick up the kids, you felt like a kid in a candy store.

As you headed down the hallway, you pressed your fingers together, humming softly. Your mind was racing, unable to stop it from wandering, running a race the rest of your body couldn’t keep up with. As you approached the door, you heard voices coming from the other side. One specific voice; Taehyung’s voice. You stood silently, listening for a good time to enter.

“Yessir.” Taehyung said. “I’m honored, thank you so much. Yes, yes, I’ll be sure to contact you soon! Goodbye, and thanks again.” You waited a moment, ensuring that Taehyung was no longer on the phone before knocking on the door and stepping inside.

“Am I interrupting?” you asked curiously. Taehyung turned to you, and all you could see was a set of sparkling eyes, and a wide grin on his face that exposed a set of chubby and adorable cheeks.

“No! I was just about to come and look for you.” Taehyung said. He hurried up to you and took your hands. “I need to talk to you.”

“I know, that’s why I came. I need to talk to you, too.” You responded. Looking down at your interlocked hands, you felt your cheeks heat up, but refused to move them away. “Do you want to go first? You look like you’re about to fall out of your skin.”

Taehyung laughed, squeezing your hands tightly as he looked up at you, directly into your eyes. “Remember when I said that Oh Jihoon wanted me to commission a painting for his wife?” You nodded, and Taehyung grinned. “He just offered me a full scholarship for next semester at his school.”

You gasped, now being the one to squeeze his hands. “Taehyung! That’s amazing! Congratulations!”

“I know.” Taehyung grinned. “He said he wanted me to hone my skills, and since I never went to college for art, he thinks it would be the perfect opportunity!” Immediately, you offered Taehyung the biggest hug you could.

“Taehyung, I’m so proud of you!” you gasped. “That’s just…wow…” Taehyung, who had to admit the sudden hug pulled him momentarily from the excitement flowing through his body. He put a hand on your head, smiling happily. “You must be thrilled.”

“Actually, to be honest, I’m pretty indifferent.” When Taehyung flashed his boxy grin, the both of you couldn’t help but laugh. “Now, what were you going to say? Let’s share the excitement together.”

For a moment, time seemed to stop. You smile slowly faded from your lips and you pulled back gently from the hug, until you were completely out of the hug and stepped back. Taehyung must have sensed something off in your demeanor, because slowly, the smile faded away from his face as well. “…What’s wrong?”

“…Nothing. I just…I got so excited for you that I can’t…I can’t remember what I was going to say.” Taehyung chuckled a bit.

“You were going to finally say you love me, right?” He teased, nudging you playfully. You had to laugh a long, you had to force it out in fear he would know the truth. Anything that came out of your mouth would throw a wrench in everything he ever worked for, and that was the last thing you ever wanted to do. “I’m just kidding.” He admitted. “If you remember, let me know, okay? I need to go and tell Jimin.” You nodded, watching Taehyung scramble for his belongings. “See you tomorrow!”

“Bye, Taehyung.” You said, waving to the man as he hurried out the door of the art room, leaving you alone beside the empty art tables and facing the large rainbow still painted on the wall. You had waited too long. If you were to speak up now, it could possibly ruin everything.

Just like you had feared.

----------------------------------------------------------

“Are you excited for the company party?” Namjoon asked curiously, fixing his glasses as he looked to Jimin. The younger man looked at his boss and smiled.

“Oh, yeah! I’m really excited!” He agreed. “I think it’s a great way to celebrate the successful deal with Oh Jihoon.”

“Agreed.” Namjoon said. The duo entered the elevator, ready to head home early for once, something they got to do very rarely, and enjoyed whenever it occurred. “I’m thinking of bringing a date.” Namjoon said. Jimin was silent, knowing exactly who Namjoon was referring to without even having to say a specific name. “I don’t want to be too pushy, though.”

“…Yeah.” Namjoon said. “Well, if you do, the more the merrier.” Namjoon smiled, nodding his head as he watched Jimin glance down at his phone. “Speaking of the more the merrier, Taehyung texted me saying he’s coming to my house for dinner because he has some really good news.”

Namjoon watched as Jimin quickly responded back to his friend, a small smile on his face as he texted. Namjoon had a feeling he knew exactly what Taehyung intended to speak about. Ever since the merger, he was constantly on the phone with Oh Jihoon discussing finalized terms and ideas for their future together, when Oh Jihoon brought up his offer he had given to Taehyung earlier that day. His mind flashed to the conversation quickly:

You know that kid, Kim Taehyung, I gave him an invite to our school to work on his craft. The kid is incredibly talented, I’m grateful I found him through you and your friend Mr. Park.

…Yes, of course, Sir. I agree, he is incredibly talented.

The sound of the elevator alerted Namjoon to face front again, watching as the doors to the elevator open, and people beginning to shuffle in as he and Jimin shuffled out and onto the main floor of the lobby. “Well, let me know what happens, then.”

“Yes, Sir. You too.” Jimin offered small bow as the duo headed to the door, before heading down the street and maneuvering his way through the crowd of working individuals, and out of Namjoon’s sight. Namjoon looked down at his phone, vibrating quickly within his pocket. Slipping a hand in his pocket, he pulled out the phone and saw Jungkook’s name flashing. He was the one who picked Kai up from school, and Namjoon had to say a quick prayer to make sure this was a good phone call.

“Hello?” he hummed, walking down the street towards his parked car.

--------------------------------------------------------

“Wait-.” Jimin said quickly, setting down his bowl of rice. “So, Mr. Oh Jihoon asked you to come to his school full scholarship next semester?” Taehyung, who was standing behind his chair, his smile wide on his mouth as he nodded his head.

“I know isn’t it wild?” Taehyung asked. “An art degree some there basically gaurentees you access into any major art show, anything you make selling immediately, and basically shooting you to celebrity status. I could paint art for popular idols, or movies, or anything! The possibilities are endless, Jimin.”

“Oh, I know.” Jimin agreed simply.

Taehyung wasn’t finished. “He said he needs to go over more paperwork and figure somethings out, but everything seems like it’s going to fall into place.”

“Congratulations, that’s amazing.” Jimin said. “Did you call your mom?”

“…No, not yet.” He admitted. “I didn’t know if I wanted to hear what she has to say.”

“I’m sure she’ll only have positive things to say.”

“Yeah, but they’ll be laced into tons of comments about how I would do so well in medical school or in a trade like my father. Something like that.” Jimin sighed as Taehyung paced the table, hands running through his hair. “I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“Maybe you are. Want me to toss this hot rice in your face and see if that wakes you up?” Jimin asked. Taehyung laughed a bit, seeing Jimin motion towards the plate of food that was getting colder with each passing second. “Or maybe you can finish your food I worked so hard to make.”

“Fine…” Taehyung sighed, sinking down in his chair and lifting his chopsticks with some rice into his mouth. Jimin smiled as he watched Taehyung eat quietly, and leaned back in his seat.

“Have you said anything to the people at the daycare?” he asked. Taehyung glanced back up, swallowing a mouthful of rice before speaking.

“I haven’t told Hoseok-Hyung or Mr. Kim, but-.” Suddenly, Taehyung set his chopsticks down, causing Jimin to raise a confused eyebrow.

“But…but what?” he asked curiously. Taehyung was silent, looking down at his hands as he thought about Jimin’s question fully before providing an answer.

“Now that I think about it…if I take this scholarship next year, I’ll have to move out of town…” Jimin nodded, and Taehyung continued. “I won’t be able to work there anymore…”

“Well yeah, but when I originally told you to apply, didn’t you say you planned to leave once you hit your ‘big break’?”

Jimin waited a full two minutes f or a response from Taehyung. Unfortunately, Taehyung didn’t give one, simply leaning forward and taking another bite of rice into his mouth. Jimin frowned, but simply continued eating as well.

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