#i send so many plates to camp every day and then i bring them out when we meet a merchant so i can trade
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the NPCs holding off on having their plot relevant conversation until I'm done selling 500lbs of tableware to the merchant:
#donut plays bg3#baldur's gate 3#putting this one in the main tag bc i feel like it might resonate with y'all#i send so many plates to camp every day and then i bring them out when we meet a merchant so i can trade#i basically never spend any gold tho so heavily encumbering the whole party woth dishes is working
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You definitely don’t have to do this if you don’t want too! Clarisse x reader where the reader has always been naturally quiet and doesn’t think their good enough for Clarisse cause their total opposites
OF COURSE!!! I am not sure if this is the best, but I tried giving you the before and during the relationship
Requests are still open!
Clarisse La Rue x ShyFem!Reader
Let’s just say you are not one many people know about at camp. You can’t help it but you are honestly just very unsocial because putting yourself out there seems like a lot of work.
You have friends … let's make that clear, but it's not a lot.
Ever since you have been at camp you've had a FAT crush on Clarisse, I mean who wouldn't? Well maybe a couple of kids because she is very aggressive, but you find it charming.
But you would never have a chance with her. Because firstly, if you can't even ask the cabin counselor for some help then you most definitely won't be able to ask her on a date. And secondly, you are the complete opposites! You wouldn't last a week together.
She is loud, not afraid to make her voice heard, and scares others. And you … well you just let things happen and hope for the best.
Not only that she's so athletic and fit. And it's not that you aren't unfit, it's just that you’d prefer sitting alone or with friends.
Only one of your friends, Nicole, knew of this crush, and she supported it entirely. Every time you walked past Clarisse you'd keep your head down but Nicole would nudge your shoulder and let out a giggle.
You avoided Clarisse as much as you could but it wasn't till one day when you were asked to bring supplies to the sword training field did you have to talk to her.
You were SHY! Couldn't look that woman in the eyes as she questioned you. She thought it was cute, to say the least.
“Chiron wanted me to bring these here for you guys to try out,” you spoke softly, setting down a metal bin full of new weapons and other nonsense. Clarisse hummed in approval and picked up a new handle grip.
Luke, one of the boys from the Hermes cabin walked over with a smile on his face “Finally he took our advice on what stuff we needed … Thanks for bringing them Y/n” he nudged your shoulder in a friendly manor.
You were surprised he knew your name. You noticed Clarisse sending what looked like a glare in your direction and you took that as a hint to leave.
“Y/n” her voice called out and you immediately turned to look at her “You good with a sword? I need a new sparring partner … one who I don't know every boring move they make.” She spoke in a harsh voice rolling her eyes in the direction of Luke who was twisting his sword around and making noises like it was a lightsaber.
“I'm not good with swords, I'm more of an archery type of girlie.” You responded “Sorry”
Your hands were sweating as you gazed down at the ground. “Then let me teach you … every demigod needs to know how to work every weapon.” she looked you up and down before stepping away, hinting you to follow.
She picked up her sword and then a spare and handed it to you. You stood there like a dork, and she took a stance.
After what felt like hours she finally stopped, “You're not that bad.”
“Thanks, you mumbled” trying to catch your breath as you handed back the sword to her. The sun was setting and you felt a rumble in your stomach. “Uhm I should probably get going … I promised my friend I’d get to dinner early for her.”
Clarisse nodded her head eyeing you “Fine.”
When you arrived at the dinner pavilion you took your spot at your cabin's table, your friend slapping your shoulder slightly in annoyance for your lateness.
Eventually, Clarisse arrived sitting down at her cabin's table, and filling her plate with food, she noticed you sitting with your friends. How they all talked loudly and yet you just sat there quietly eating, once in a while smiling at what was being said.
She thought it was … cute? But she didn't like the mysterious card you were trying to play.
So the next time she saw you walking past the training field she called your name, with her hands on her hips and hair pulled back as she waited for you to come to her. “Yes?”
She hinted to the sword on the ground and you picked it up. Luke and Chris had noticed her change of behavior, especially towards you. If that was Luke she called over and he was confused as to why, she would have called him an idiot and to go kill himself.
But she didn’t tell you.
After an hour of training, she tripped you and you fell, “Why don't you fight back … you need to slander me.”
“I'm good” you mumbled standing back up and swinging back “Why are you so quiet? I've seen you yell before yet you won't now.” she taunted you … but hey at least she's noticed you before!
“I'm just naturally quiet, I'm not big on yelling, it's a lot of work.” You spoke up, clashing the sword down onto hers, this made her smirk slightly.
When you guys finished up and sat down on the grass she took a sip of water from your water bottle and then handed it to you.
“I want you to go out with me,” she said, looking out in the distance “You're strange,” she spoke up once more.
“Oh?”
“You don't have a choice, so don't act bitchy when I pick you up from your cabin. I want you pretty and sweet.” She added with a demanding tone.
And that's what you did.
After 2 weeks of dating? (Clarisse wouldn’t clarify, I think she just figured you knew you were because if you looked at anyone else she'd glare at you) you began to have doubts.
What if your relationship wouldn't work out, you were so completely different it was almost awkward.
Like for example, when you were told to sit with her at the Ares cabin table, they were all so rowdy and she just kept laughing, and you just sat there with a blank face.
Or when you went on a library date, she figured that was code for making out, but it was actually just you wanting some company while you read. (She was a little disappointed she couldn't hold your hips)
And it wasn’t just you who thought the relationship was a bit weird, Nicole (that wench) also believed the relationship was … different? But she thought it was so cute how Clarisse was the voice that you didn't like to use.
For example, when this kid kept talking and was so annoying at the campfire, you gave Clarisse a look that didn't really mean anything but also meant a lot and she shouted at the kid to shut up.
All the differences outweighed the similarities and it only made you worry, which caused you to distance yourself.
One thing you didn't realize though is how much Clarisse believed you to be adorable, and how she loved seeing a different side of you when you are alone. Even if it's only a little bit more talkative than usual.
But she wouldn’t tell you that. Hell no.
This worry drove you to a lot of self reflection, which took place in your bunk. A party was happening that night and you thought to yourself that maybe if you went and showed how you could act, Clarisse might think you are good enough and keep you around.
So you found yourself getting dressed with a scowl, sliding a tank top over your head and putting on a skirt. It was a party at the Aphrodite's cabin, and you knew she'd be there for this.
So when the time came you walked over, and just as you approached the cabin you heard a whistle, you turned and saw Luke and Chris walking a bit behind Clarisse and her siblings. Clarisse gave them a death stare and shouted 'shut up' and walked over to you, leaving her siblings.
“What are you doing here baby? I thought you said you weren't gonna come.” She said in a soft voice, but in your head, she sounded disappointed, maybe she didn't want you there so she could hook up with some other girl.
“I wanted to surprise you… I can leave if you want me to.” But Clarisse shook her head grabbing onto your waist “If you leave I'll only follow. I'm just surprised you came, I know this isn't your type of scene.”
Which was true, you only go to parties with your friends.
“I just wanted to show you that I can be sociable” you mumbled looking at her with soft eyes which caused her to smile “I know you are princess … but you don't have to go out of your way to change yourself just to prove you can be like me so we are more alike.''
She spoke gently, and she knew that if anyone heard her act this way she'd pause the conversation just to stab them.
You felt embarrassed now, becoming very aware of how you looked. “You look hot though baby” She mumbled through a smile as she gently kissed you. “Wanna go back to your bunk?” she asked and you nodded your head with a smile.
#luke castellan#percy jackon and the olympians#percy jackson#x reader#clarisse x reader#clarisse la rue#wlw#reqs open
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I'm here [Gale]
Sum: After a nightmare, Layla didn't see her father or anyone around in tent except for Gale
Gale Dekarios x Male Reader/Tav
Reader/Tav as a parent
Sorry for so many typos
Gale loves Layla. He loves it when she jumps around the camp, hugs him, plays with him, and even teaches her about his wizard techniques.
And he loves how focused she is when it comes to him teaching her. He'd even tell you that Layla would become a great wizard if she wanted To. Or anything in general. But he'd mostly bring up the Wizard thing more than anything.
Oh but he loved it when they played tea. It was one of his favorites and mostly when you actually made real tea for them to drink. And today was one of the Play tea days. He had a small table ready for them. He sits patiently as Tara purrs on his lap. And soon, he can hear Layla's giggles as he sees you with her. “Now behave. Okay?” You tell her and she nods. “Yesss!” She says and pulls your shirt down. You get on one knee and she places a kiss on your cheek. “Now go, he is waiting for you.” You say and Layla hops To Gale. She giggles and sits down on the pillow Gale had placed. “Well it is nice to see you today.” He says. “Hi Gale! Hi Tara!” Tara's ears point up and lifts her head to see Layla.
Tara Flies to her and lands on her lap and purrs. “Aww Tara!” Layla smiles and gently pets her. Gale smiles at her and sees you walk up to them. “Hello.” He says and stands up. “I brought the tea.” You say as you hold the small tea glass alongside with the cups, spoons and plates. “Thank you “ He says as he kisses your cheek. You kiss his cheek and smile. “Okay, I have to go. I'll be right back with some desert.” You say and Gale kisses you, kissing him back. “I love you.” He whispers as he presses His head on yours. “I love you too.” You say and he gives you one more kiss. You go up to Layla. “I'll be back.” You say and kiss her cheek. “Okay, bye bye!” she says and you place the tea sets down.
You walk away, along with your Shadowheart, Karlach and Astarion. Gale smiles and sits down. “Okay, so would you like some tea?” He asks as he holds the teapot. It had warm tea in it. “Yes please!”
Layla had fallen asleep after the tea party. She would rub her eyes as she tried her best to hear what Gale was talking about but Tara’s purring made her even sleeper. So, Gale let her sleep in his tent while he wanted for you.
Tara cuddles on to Layla as Layla wraps her arm around Tara. He smiles at them and sits down as he waits for you. He would read a book but as he turned through the pages, it was taking you a while to get back. You are just going to buy a small cake. Why is it taking you longer than usual?
And there you are, looking amazing as always. Even when you're covered in blood. “Hi.” He says and you look to find Layla sleeping inside the tent. Gale stands up as you approach him. “Sorry, we were shopping some clothes and these fucking shapeshifters decided to shift while I was there.” You groan and run your bloody hands on to your clothes. “Sorry.” You apologize again.
He shakes his head and kisses your cheek. “It's okay. Go and get yourself clean.” He says and you smile at him. “Wish you could join me.” You say as you send him a wink and wake to your tent to grab your clothes. He smiles and shakes his head.
Everyone else decided to go out and do their own thing. So camp was basically alone, just Gale by himself. He was getting a bit bored of having to wait so he decided to get up and walk up to your tent. He groans at the mess and decides to clean it up. Having a kid can be hard and keeping clean as well, mostly when you are a leader.
As Gale was Busy cleaning, Layla had gotten up from her nap.
Layla had woken up from a nightmare, Her vision blurry and her chest rising up and down fast. She sobs as she looks around and doesn't see dad around. She sobs and gets out of the tent and walks out. Her hands were shaky and she looked at every tent but everyone was gone for some reason.
She looks at every tent, even Astarion's tent. But she couldn't find anyone. She goes to her dad's tent and that's when she sees Gale. She hurries to him and hugs him, sobbing in his chest. “Oh- Layla?” He hears her sobs and he starts to Shush Her softly. “Hey Layla, what happened?” He asks and she starts to talk. It was in between sobs. She explained how she had a dream that she was left alone in camp, that her dad and everyone had left her, she was alone again. And she was scared of being alone.
Gale hugs her tightly and shakes his head. “He will be back, they just went to take a bath.” He says. “Here, let me show you something.” He says as he lets go of her. He holds her small hand and brings her with him out of the tent. “You want to cast some spells with me?” He asks while smiling at her. Layla rubs her puffy eyes and nods. She looks at Gale's hands as he moves them and he looks down at her. “Okay, now copy what I did.” He says and Layla nods. She moves her hands the way he did and she sees a small spark. She jumps and Gale starts to say something but Layla couldn't understand. “Copy what I said.” He says. Layla tries but she fails. “It's okay, try again.” Gale says.
Layla and Gale say it at the same time and then everything feels warm. It feels calm. She breathes in and looks around. She didn't feel scared anymore. “Okay, now imagen a happy place, someone, anything!” Gale says. And Layl nods. She closes her eyes and images herself in the home her and her dad live in, together. Gale smiles and then he raises his eyebrows. Gale was there too, with both of them.
He smiled, and soon the magic went away. “Aww…”Layla says as she feels the magic slip away. “I know.” Gale says. “I also did this with your dad, channeling waves.” Gale says as he smiles at Layla. He didn't want to tell her what he saw, but he was more than happy to see that she wanted him in their lives.
“Gale! Layla!” they hear your voice and Layla goes running to you. “Daddy! Gale taught me magic!” She yells as you pick her up. “Wave magic thingy?” You tell Layla and she nods. “That!” she giggles and you kiss her forehead. “What do you want to do?” You ask her as you walk up to Gale.
“I want food!” You turn to look at Gale and he nods. “You are in luck today Layla because it's my turn to cook us dinner.” He says as he rolls his sleeves up. “Okay, Me and Layla can help you with getting what you need.” You say as Layla rolls her sleeves up as well. Gale gives them a list and you two go.
Gale looks at Layla and you. To say the least, when he first met Layla, he was scared but also angry at you. How could you hide something like a child from him? You two are together. He told you everything about him, why not you?
“I'm sorry, Gale, I was protecting my child!” You yell. “Gale, I love you, I really do, but as a father, my first priority is to protect my kid! She's all I have, and if someone were to get her, gods- I wouldn't even know what to do!” And when he saw your tears, he felt regret. He shouldn't be angry at you. “I'm sorry.” He says as he walks up to you and wipes your tears. “I was thinking selfishly. I'm sorry.” He presses His forehead on yours. “I understand if you want to leave me-” “Don't! Please, don't ever say that.” He says, looking into your eyes. “You are all I ever want, I love you. And if loving you involves having to love Layla too, then I will.”
He thought it would take him weeks to understand Layla but it was within the day he met her. She was adorable, same looks as you, the way she acted was adorable to him, he loved her. He sees them come back and Layla hands him everything. “Can I help?” She asks. “Of course you can.”
Layla sits on a stool and watches Gale cook.
#gale dekarios#bg3#bg3 tav#bulders gate 3#gale x tav#gale of waterdeep#gale x reader#gale romance#bg3 gale#gale x male tav#gale x male reader#x male reader#x male y/n#male tav
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The Inevitable End: Part 8
Lilli poured a cup of coffee and placed a biscotti on a small plate before walking them in to Maria's office.
"Thank you, Lilli." Maria looked up from one of her many notebooks where she recorded different ideas that popped into her head throughout the day. "Do you have a minute?"
Lilli froze, anything unexpected always gave her pause. "Um, sure."
Maria gestured to the chair across from her desk. "Have a seat."
Sitting down, Lilli tried not to readjust her position too many while she waited for Maria to get to the point.
"I've gotten into a bad habit of taking on more clients then I have the bad with for." She dunked the end of the biscotti in her coffee. "Would you be comfortable taking over some smaller jobs? I'm thinking like new clientele who only are looking for one room or so."
Lilli nodded, slightly stunned at Maria's proposal. "Oh, um, sure."
"Wonderful. I'll send you the list of jobs." Maria smiled. "You are very familiar with the way I do things and while I understand that it won't be exactly like me, I am confident that you will represent us well."
Lilli instantly regretted agreeing to the setup. Maria was a control freak and Lilli was left with the feeling that Maria would probably take over anything she started.
She went back to her desk and opened the calendar. Just by looking at the jobs list, Lilli had a pretty good idea which ones would be handed to her. Guest bedroom color match session, bathroom remodel, lighting design in a hallway. All were relatively easy and straight forward and Lilli know this was a great opportunity. Still the thought of having Maria scrutinize her every move made her stomach turn.
Lilli could not wait for the end of her day. Leon was coming back from a training camp and she was going to meet him at his apartment and make dinner for them. On her way to his place, she stopped at the market and grabbed what she needed to make Tuscan chicken.
When she let herself in to his apartment, he was sitting on the sofa. She leaned over the back of the sofa and kissed him on the cheek. "Hello, handsome."
Leon glanced up and offered half a smile. "Hey."
She felt like he would have been more excited to see her but brushed it off as him just being tired. She chatted about her day and what Maria had asked of her but soon noticed that Leon wasn't really paying attention.
"You ok?" Lillli pulled out two glasses and sat them on the counter. "You seem like something's been weighing on your mind."
Leon looked over his shoulder at her. "Yeah, fine."
After pouring each glass about halfway full, she carried their glasses over and sat them on the coffee table. Tucking her legs underneath her as she sat down on the sofa, Lilli leaned against Leon.
"So I was thinking," She picked up her glass and took a sip. "My lease is up soon. What if instead of renewing it, I-"
"I don't think we should see each other anymore."
Leon had been going over and over in his mind how he could bring it up delicately but instead he ended up blurting it out. As soon as he said it, it was like all the air had been sucked out of the room.
Lilli went to put her glass back, her hand visibly trembling. "What's going on?"
"It's not working out anymore." Leon spoke quickly, fearing he would lose his nerve at any moment.
He could see Lilli's chest rise and fall in rapid succession as she moved to stand. "I need to go."
"Lilli, please." Leon stood with her. "I don't want things to be bad between us."
She looked at him, a sense of distrust that he had never seen before radiated from her whole self. "I don't think that's possible."
Leon started to protest. "Lilli, please."
"When did you decide this?" She willed herself to stay in control of her emotions. "I opened myself up to you. I let you in to corners of my life that I don't show to anyone but that's not enough?"
"Lilli, no, that's not what I'm saying." He took a step closer to her only to have her back up away from him. "I don't think I'm the right person for you."
She continued to regard him warily and it was like a kick to his gut.
"You are an amazing woman. You are smart and funny and talented and absolutely gorgeous." His voice caught in his throat but somehow he willed himself to go on. "And you deserve the world. I just don't think I can give that to you."
Pressing her lips together, Lilli just shook her head as she turned for the door.
Leon sat face down on the sofa and covered his face with his hands, eventually wiping away the tears that had collected. He reminded himself over the next few days that this was the right thing to do for Lilli, but that didn't stop him from feeling horrible. Once team training started up again, he at least had a distraction but once he came home, he just felt empty.
"You look like shit." Serge jogged along side of him in the warm up. It was said in jest but Leon knew it was the truth.
Leon shrugged. "Well, it's how I feel too so…"
"What's got you all worked up then?"
"I, uh" He gave his head a little shake as if he still couldn't believe it himself. "I broke up with Lilli."
"Huh." Serge kept jogging but he let his surprise show. "Why'd you do that? I thought you two got on really well."
Leon pressed his lips together and kept his head down. "It's complicated but it's what's best for her."
"If you say so."
Over the next few months, Leon really started to notice how much a part of his life Lilli had become. She loved to cook and often had dinner waiting for him when he got home, now he did a lot of take out when he didn't eat at the training ground. When he woke up, he rolled over to say good morning, but she wasn't there anymore. Instead, it was only her things that he saw. Leon started collecting whatever of hers that he found with the intent to give it back to Lilli. His dilemma became the fact that he didn't want to keep looking at this box of her things but he also knew that if he saw her again, he probably wouldn't be able to hold back.
Against his better judgement, Leon kept tabs on Lilli through her instagram account and would occasionally google her family members to see what they were up to. There was an article on her father and step mother and how they would soon pass the stately home down to Henrik once he was married. He could find tidbits here and there but very rarely did Lilli post anything besides the cover of the latest book she was reading. One night when he couldn't sleep, Leon looked up Maria Kreutzmann's website. He did the same thing back when they first started dating and he found a little profile on Lilli under the title of "client relations". Tonight, there was a different person under that title.
Finally, he pulled out his phone and sent her a text asking to meet for dinner so he could return her things.
It took her a while to respond and when she did, Leon could have laughed at how quintessential her response was. He would have laughed if she wasn't declining his invitation.
I'd rather not.
He stared at his phone before realizing that he wasn't above begging.
Please. I need to see you.
Finally, Lilli relented and they agreed to meet at La Boheme after work.
Leon arrived first and was seated he was browsing the menu when he looked up and saw Lilli approaching. He almost needed to do a double take because while Lilli always dressed smartly, it seemed she was much more elegantly turned out than he would expect for work. While she'd normally wear a pants suit and some sort of blouse, today she was wearing a black sheath dress with an asymmetrical neckline and a blazer draped over her shoulders while black patent stilettos completed the outfit.
Leon stood to greet her but Lilli moved closer to her chair and quickly sat down. The smile left his face once he realized that while he was elated to see her, Lilli seemed completely guarded.
"How have you been?"
Lilli kept her hands in her lap and looked over the menu. "Fine. You?"
"Good, good." Leon hoped she'd look up and catch his eye but Lilli seemed to be avoiding looking at him directly. "Busy. We've got a few weeks where we're playing twice in a week."
He stopped talking when it became obvious she only asked to be polite. "What have you been up to?"
"Work." Lilli frowned as she looked over the menu.
"Yeah?" Leon tried to sound casual now, not like he was fishing for information. "Are you still doing the decorator thing?"
Finally, she looked up. "No, I moved to the investment banking sector of an international financial services company."
"Really?" He didn't bother to hide his surprise at this bit of news.
Lilli shrugged. "It's what I went to school for and it makes my father happy that I'm doing something with my life."
"But you were doing something." Leon gave his head a slight shake. "What made you switch?"
She shrugged again. "I tried doing things they way that I wanted and it didn't work out for me so now I've decided to try doing things the way my family wants me to."
When he didn't respond, Lilli rolled her eyes. "Can you not look at me like that?"
"Like what?" Leon was genuinely confused but he had a feeling that this would be the first of many times he was going to irritate her this evening.
"Like you're concerned or whatever." She folded her hands in her lap. "I don't want your pity."
Leon shook his head. "It's not pity. I'm concerned about you because I love you."
"Ok, stop." Her voice was firmer than he was used to.
"What?"
"Please." Her assertiveness now gone. "I can't take you saying that you love me and you care about me when you left me. This is why I didn't want to come tonight."
"Alright." Leon held a hand up and tried to pacify her. "I just didn't want you to think that you didn't mean anything to me anymore."
Lilli pressed her lips together as their server approached. Obviously being in a public setting she'd need to be in control of her emotions and not cause a scene. They ordered their drinks and Leon got a flambéed goat cheese appetizer that he knew she liked.
"I don't understand." Lilli lowered her voice even though she was pretty sure the server was out of earshot. "You're giving incredibly mixed signals and I still don't understand why we broke up except that it's what you thought was best."
Leon sighed and nodded. "I'm sorry, I don't want to confuse you or hurt you anymore and maybe it's selfish of me but I just needed to know you were ok-"
"Why?" Lilli pressed him a little harder now. "Do I not deserve an explanation?"
When he hesitated, Lilli took her napkin and placed it on the table, ready to stand. "Ok. I told your brother I wouldn't say anything but he told me that if I really loved you then I would let you go so you could find someone else and still keep your title since that was the only thing left you had of your mother."
Lilli pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. "This is a lot to process."
"I'm sorry, Lilli." Leon put his hand over hers and surprisingly, she didn't pull away. "I just want you to be happy."
She shook her head as she moved her hand away. "It's not your fault but I wish you would have talked to me instead of just figuring that you knew what was best for me."
Leon wasn't sure what type of reaction he was anticipating from Lilli but he couldn't even read her response. "What isn't my fault?"
"I thought," Lilli inhaled deeply as Leon realized there were tears in her eyes, "I thought I had explained myself well enough about the whole title thing and that it really means absolutely nothing to me. I mean, my mother was Swedish so it's not like she was a countess her whole life either."
"Lilli, please don't cry-"
"And even then," Lilli continued as if she was just voicing her thoughts out loud. "The only way I would keep the title is if I never married anyone. I'd either take someone else's title or I'd give it up. The whole thing is ridiculous."
"It is," Leon nodded. "And I'm sorry."
Using the pads or her ring fingers, Lilli wiped the tears from under her eyes. "I need to go check my makeup. If the server comes, I'd like the mushroom risotto."
Once Lilli had left, Leon sighed and rested his head on his hands. He took it as a good sign that she was willing to stay and finish the meal but he had doubts as to if she genuinely wanted to spend time with him or if she was just being polite.
Lilli returned and promptly polished off the rest of her drink. "Thank you for ordering the goat cheese. I haven't had much of an appetite lately but suddenly I'm starving."
Leon wanted to point out that the only thing different was that they were in the same space again but he refrained. "I can tell you've lost weight."
"Yeah," Lilli rolled her eyes. "Thanks for bringing that up."
He cleared his throat. "Look, I'm always going to think you're beautiful but when you're happy it's a whole different level. You look very chic but I can tell you're not yourself."
"I have been miserable, I'm not surprised that you've picked up on that." She crossed her leg over her knee, brushing against his leg in the process. "And I'm not happy with how my body looks right now, but I don't need you to point that out."
"Right." He nodded, accepting his chastising. "So what can I do to fix it?"
Lilli looked back at him, a crease forming between her brows. "What?"
He leaned in. "It's my fault that you've been miserable, right? So what can I do to make you not be so miserable?"
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A/B/C/D/E/F/G/H/I/J/K/L/M/N/O/P/Q/R/S/T/U/V/W/X/Y/Z
FROM THE CHARACTER ALPHABET WITH IVAR RAGNARSSON.
REQUESTED BY: @witch-of-letters
A - affection (how affectionate are they? what do they enjoy?)
At first? Not at all.
The only person he is used to getting affection from is Aslaug, so naturally you might earn a few sceptical looks from him if you try to get close.
Nevertheless he quickly learns how pleasant the attention of someone else can be, but tries to be subtle about it. He wouldn’t want to tell you upfront that he enjoys having you close or that he likes your touch, because he fears the rejection that might come with it.
In time, he would alert you with a little nudge here and there whenever he requires your tenderness.
Slowly but surely Ivar would get more daring, trying to innitiate the soft touches himself. If you don’t pull back, he’ll get more sure of himself and as soon as it is clear to him that you are serious about him, you’ll be the only person in Kattegat to recieve affectionate touches from Ivar without any deadly concequences.
What he loves most is either having his head placed on your chest or stomach, feeling you breathe and with your hands in his hair, or laying on the side, with you wrapped around his back.
B - bodypart (what’s their favorite bodypart on their partner and them?)
His arms.
His arms have been a replacement for his legs for all his life. Since he has to crawl everywhere until he has his crutches, they are well built and knowing that you love being wrapped inside them, makes Ivar love them even more.
Your legs.
He likes your legs because they are what he cannot have. He likes them because his are so flawed, and yet you choose to love them anyways. And he likes them due to their shape, the softness of your skin and how they look when you move around.
C - commitment (how quick are they to commit?)
Not that quick.
Ivar is reluctant, to say the least.
He needs to be 100% sure that you are commited to him, before he will make any kind of promises to you. It would be a long process full of selfdoubt, selfdeprication and fear of betrayal.
Ivar would also visit the seer and ask about a future with you by his side. The seers answers would be, as always, very vague (if he says something at all).
In addition to all those troubles, his brothers are in the midst of it. Ubbe and Hvitserk might be the only positive voices of reason at times (apart from Aslaug), while Bjorn would not really concern himself with it. Sigurd on the other hand would throw salt at Ivars mental wounds, saying you were only with him out of pity.
So the viking has no real option but to rely on you reassurance and your loving words. You’d probably have to spend months proving that you are serious about him, because he has been hurt and rediculed so many times before, but in the end it’s all worth it.
Once Ivar chooses to fully commit to you, he’s there to stay.
D - dates (what would dates with them look like? what would they plan?)
Ivar is usually not that much of a planner when it comes to dates.
Normally he is content with finding a secluded place to spend time with you, away from the crowds and far, far away from his relatives.
But if, for any reason, a special occassion should arise, he would definetely ask his brothers for help as much as he hates it.
He would send Hvitserk to distract you with requests and tasks all day, while Ubbe helps him set everything up in a little cabin in the woods. Ivar would ask Aslaug to have some thralls bring plates of food as well.
E - experience (how many relationships have they had before?)
Close to nothing, really.
Ivar did not have any experience with real love and he was very sceptical of it.
The few kisses and cuddles he may have had, have all come from the thralls his family owns.
Apart from that, he has not been interested in anybody, other than finding some attractive on the outside. Too often he had to find out the hard way that the insides of people where much more ugly than the exterior.
So in response to that Ivar mainly focused on his training and on becoming a better viking, until you came along.
F - family (do they want to start a family?)
Ivar would love to start a family.
At first, he is actually astounded that you’d bring it up.
For a long time, he could’ve never imagined someone wanting to have a family with him. To have a child with him (no matter if it’s your own or adopted). So when you suggest it, he is mindblown for a second, before he cups your face, telling you that it is what he longed for all along.
He would be ecstatic upon the idea of having an heir. Or two. Or more. But at least one is fair.
For him, it feels like everything is finally falling into the right place.
G - generosity (do they give their partner a lot of presents? if so, what?)
Exceptionally generous.
And you don’t even have to ask for them.
Ivar brings tons of goods and riches home from every raid, where you can pick whatever you like. He makes sure to safe the best pieces for you and keeps an eye out for suvenirs he knows you might love.
Should you require anything else Ivar has enough resources to get you everything you want from the market. Since Aslaugs rule in Ragnars absence, Kattegat has also transformed into an important trading center, will all kinds of diverse products.
Ivar sees to it, that you have anything you could possible require, even in his absence.
He spoils you, not gonna lie.
H - heaven (how would they react if they lost their partner?)
Ivar would never recover from the loss.
After everything that happened to his family, all the betrayals and the lies and the fights, you were the one thing to keep him going. You had been there for him everytime, no matter how hard it was. No matter how dangerous it got, no matter how exhausted you were.
But now?
There was nothing.
No one.
And no way to bring you back.
One of the things that scares Ivar most is how numb everything feels. There was nobody to be angry at. Nobody to blame, except for the illness that took you away. And against something like that, not even Ivar the Boneless could seek revenge.
He should have known when you confessed you love, that you were just another thing he had to lose. First it was his father, then his mother, then Helga and Floki and now... there was nothing left of him.
Still your face, your smell, you presence would follow him everywhere he goes.
And he’d beg you to haunt him.
I - i love you (who says the three magic words first and why?)
It depends.
The only way Ivar would say it first is if he is frantic. Either in a screaming match, or when you are close to leaving him.
When neither of those are likely though, this viking would most definetely wait until you’ve said it first. For a long time he does not even dare to hope that you will. He is still a cripple after all, no amout of love could ever change that and he fears the day you realize it. Ivar is so used to rejection that he tells himself it wouldn’t hurt if you left. But deep down he knows it would. That’s why he always hesitates in the very last second, drawing back.
He leaves the first ‘i love you’ to you. But when it comes, you’ve never seen him smile that big. He can’t believe his luck. Can’t believe that you truly choose him over anyone else.
Ivar will rarely outright tell you that he loves you and only chooses particular moments for it.
But that just makes it all the more special.
J - journey (how did they first meet their partner?)
Unfortunately, you met Ivar while his men were preparing for a raid.
You stumbled upon their camp and he questioned you, demanding informations. This way he could gather when the best time for an attack might be. But not only that. You captured his interest in a way he would not have expected.
There was something in the way you spoke and the way you carried yourself that made him hesitate. He supposed that was what it must have felt like for his father with that unlucky priest Floki killed in the end. But then again, in time, he discovered it wasn’t quite the same. There was something more that drew him to you, apart from curiosity.
And he intended to find out what exactly it was.
Who knows after all?
Maybe it was fate.
K - kisses (what are their kisses like?)
Ivars kisses are desperate.
Desperate for warmth, desperate for acceptance, desperate for belonging.
He puts his emotions into every kiss and there is no such thing as ‘just a peck’ with him. Ivar likes to feel needed. He likes showing you how much he loves you, rather than expressing it with words.
He’s also not ashamed to kiss you in front of an audience, frankly he does not care who sees it, because you’re the only one that counts (but he will stop should it make you uncomfortable). He does not fear that it might make him seem weak, that thought is pretty ridiculous to him.
If anything, he’s even more proud to be the one you want.
L - love language (what’s their love language?)
Ivars love language is physical touch closely followed by words of affirmation.
Ivar feels loved the most if he recieves physical touch. He senses that most people around him are too intimidated to get close, or are simply put off by his condition. As a result of that, he rarely gets affectionate touches or attention, which he craves dearly. Even more so since Aslaug is dead and Floki and Helga are both gone. It’s important to Ivar that his partner makes him feel appreciated this way, even if it’s just a hand on his arm at the table, or your fingers laced with his. Every little touch counts.
The second best way to make him happy is through words of affirmation. Words have great meaning to Ivar, so beware of saying anything hurtful to him, for it might stay with him for a lifetime. In time you may notice that especially Ragnars last words “happiness means nothing” are stuck in Ivars head. Words impact him greatly, and you may have to undo some of the damage others have caused in his mind, with a few well-placed strikes. Ivar will appreciate it if you reassure him of your love with the right words at the right time.
M - memory (what’s their favorite memory of the relationship?)
The morning after the first night spend together.
Back then he had no idea how it happened or how you did it.
You were still snoring next to him when he came to realize he didn’t just like you. He loved you. And while you moved around, hugging the fur close to your chest a thousand emotions had swirled in his head. He was confused, surprised and completely thrown aback about what you did to him. About how you made his heart beat faster and his limbs tingle with the need to draw you closer. He watched, until the sun tickled your skin, rousing you from your sleep and when you opened your eyes to look at him with that smile... you knocked the breath out of his lungs.
Whenever he thinks back to that morning now, you catch him with an absent-minded smile on his lips.
N - newborn (how would they react to expecting a child? how would they deal with the pregnancy?)
Ivar would be shocked.
First of all, he would question if the child is truly his, as it seemed impossible before. He wouldn’t have thought that he would ever get the chance to have an heir. So, once you’ve settled his doubts, he would be the proudest father-to-be in all of Kattegat.
But also the most anxious.
He heavily questions his ability to raise a child. Even he knows his father was not a really good example to look up to when it comes to raising children, or to being a husband.
So he seeks the not really helpful advice of his brothers, who all seem to go in completely different directions when it comes to kids. Hvitserk is clearly letting his nephews and nieces walk all over him, while Ubbe is acting like an overprotective hen. Bjorn seems deadset on training them and sending them out in the wild. And Sigurd? Ivar is not quite sure the man is a grown-up himself.
In conclusion: they all started fighting amost themselves while Ivar watched the mess unfold.
Clearly, his mother Aslaug would have been a much better option.
But if she is no longer around, Ivar will instead turn to Floki and Helga where he finally finds some words of wisdom and support.
Without a doubt the woman carrying his child will be protected at all times. This is a literal miracle to him and he would be devastated if anything went wrong with the mother, or the child.
Other than that Ivar finds great joy in the pregnancy. He loves seeing the mother grow with his child and he would be truly proud of his child for carrying on his legacy. Ivar’s love grows during this incredible months, even during all the moods and cravings.
Both, the mother and the baby will be incredibly spoiled.
O - oasis (what’s their favorite place to spent time?)
The pier.
He enjoys the location, especially on warm summer days.
He has many memories stored in his mind, of sitting out on the docks. It’s a place where he can clear his head and it also gives him an overview of everything that is happening around him.
Ivar also likes the calm view of the ocean, even though he’s terrified of the sea. He likes to imagine all the lands that await him on the next raid. The atmosphere helps him to resume his strategies and to gather his thoughts.
It helps him to visualize the terrain the next war will be fought on and the techniques his enemies might use.
You will find him there often, sitting and staring out to the sea until the sun fades away.
P - petnames (what petname would they give their partner?)
“My love.”
The words tasted absolutely ridiculous on his tongue, when he first said them. Almost pathetic. That is also what he threw at your head, when you first said it, but not in anger. It was... something else. Some thing you had to figure out first.
The way he put you off was so reluctant, that it didn’t fit. He liked it. You knew he did. And he knew you knew he did. And he hated it.
This, in turn, made you use the petname whenever you could, with a smirk on your face. Eventually he not only gave in, but started using it himself.
The first time he did you probably spit out your drink in shock tbh.
He’d grumble out of embarassement, until you’d reassure him. When he knows for sure that you actually love it, it’s settled.
It would become a habit.
Q - quiet (what do undisturbed moments look like?)
Peaceful.
In quiet moments Ivar can take a breath and let go of all that troubles him.
He likes taking you down to the beach on those rare days, lying next to you in the sand and relaxing for hours. In those moments all the fights, the wars and the arguments truly fade away. Sometimes they might creep into his mind, which you scold him for when he shares those thoughs absent-mindedly.
Apart from that, it is in those quiet times that you can truly find joy in the company of each other. There don’t need to be many words or actions to keep you happy, just the two of you alone will do.
R - rivals (how do they handle jealousy?)
Not too well.
If there is anyone making advances towards you, Ivar will be the first one to notice. Probably even before you.
He knows very well that you would not appreciate a bloodbath. And further than that, there are political figures that are better kept alive during those stressful times of war. So, no matter how much it bugs him, he would keep still for the time being, trusting you to tell them off (but you may notice the tick of his jaw, or the whitened knuckles when his fingers clench around the armrests of his chair).
If you don’t notice, Ivar will be sure to inform you and ask you to do something about it. He doesn’t voice his concerns about it very clearly, but he is afraid of you leaving him for another.
Though, should a situation get critical, even after you have made clear that Ivar is the one for you, you can be sure that Ivar wont let it slide.
Even if he has to make it look like an accident.
S - song (what song is a reminder of them?)
OCEAN EYES - BILLIE EILISH
I've been watchin' you for some time
Can't stop starin' at those ocean eyes
Burning cities and napalm skies
Fifteen flares inside those ocean eyes
Your ocean eyes
No fair
You really know how to make me cry
When you gimme those ocean eyes
I'm scared
I've never fallen from quite this high
Fallin' into your ocean eyes
Those ocean eyes
I've been walkin' through a world gone blind
Can't stop thinkin' of your diamond mind
Careful creature made friends with time
He left her lonely with a diamond mind
And those ocean eyes
No fair
You really know how to make me cry
When you gimme those ocean eyes
I'm scared
I've never fallen from quite this high
Fallin' into your ocean eyes
Those ocean eyes
Da, da-da, da-da
Da-da-da, da, da
Da, da, da, da, da-da-da-da
Mm
Mm
Mm
No fair
You really know how to make me cry
When you gimme those ocean eyes
I'm scared
I've never fallen from quite this high
Fallin' into your ocean eyes
Those ocean eyes
T - token (what kind of object would be the proof of their love? a ring? a necklace? something completely different?)
Ivar can, as a prince and as a king, buy you anything you want.
So he goes a completely different way.
He would try and make you something himself. Something that wouldn’t bother you during the day while tending to your tasks, but also something that would show everyone around you that you are taken.
And something that would remind you of him.
Ivar has noticed you fiddle with the pendant of his necklace often enough.
The viking takes is upon himself to make a twin to the mjolnir hanging from his throat. He would spend ages drawing out the form and details of the hammer, making sure everything looks perfect. He would also use much more expensive material than his own was made of and would insert fitting gemstones if possible.
Ivar works through days and nights to complete his work and smiles like a child when he can finally hand it to you.
It would turn out so beautiful that you would never want to take it off.
U - unique (why did they choose their partner? what first attracted them?)
The thing that first drew him to you was your personality.
Ivar likes looking at pretty features and bodies, yes. But in a way, doesn’t everyone?
Physical attributes don’t mean that much to him. That he may find a body pleasing to look at has nothing to do with feelings. It is more about an aesthitic. About a facade.
What really interests him is your behavior and your mannerisms. How you talk and behave when nobody sees you and how you move when the great hall is filled with people.
Ivar is first attracted to you because of your habits and your character. The unique tells when he catches you lying, or the characteristic twitch of your mouth, when Bjorn shares a story around the dinner table.
V - vulnerable (how vulnerable do they allow themselves to get?)
He is a tough nut to crack.
Ivar is not the type to be vulnerable around others.
He is not always proud of it when he loses his temper, but he absolutely hates it when he has to cry. Not particularily because he sees it as a weakness, but because he despises the whole feeling of it. He hates the helplessness that settles in and the pityful looks everyone carries on their faces when tears are shed.
He does not like to cry in front of you, even when you are close. You will often have to force him to lean on you and let you comfort him. At the beginning he dislikes doing so, but quickly notices that it helps.
He starts to appreciate your help and your knowledge when you assist him to get his mind back on track and give him a perspective he might not have thought of (though there is rarely a way he does not come up with).
X - xfactor (what’s one of their special talents they try to impress with?)
His mind.
While his brothers might be honest in saying that they consider him their equal despite his disability (which he is already sceptical of), Ivar is very aware that that does not count for everyone else around him.
Not even for you.
So he tries to impress you with what he does best. Ivar is intelligent and an incredible strategist on all fields. He will use his smarts and his witt to catch you attention (and maybe even aks you for advice, even though he already has the perfect solution).
Y - yin & yang (how does having their partner around change their behavior?)
It changes quite a bit.
Ivar becomes calmer when you’re around. More patient and less heated. Apart from that he puts great value on your opinions, even of you are not familiar with all of his strategies.
The times of war are stressful even on a bright mind such as his. It makes him agitated when you’re parted and he trends to get nervous when he can’t keep an eye on you.
Since what happened to his mother while he was not around, he fears that the same fate might come for you if he is not on guard at all times. That, in turn gets him easily frustrated when you can’t join him where he is going.
Needless to say, his men are glad when you are present.
Ivar becomes more relaxed, witty and even pleasant at times as soon as you are near.
Z- zen (how calm are they during arguments?)
Not very calm, even though he tries to keep his cool.
He tends to let his frustrations out, wether that be through screaming or trashing something.
This viking does not hold back.
And we all know Ivar is already intimidating enough when he is not in a bad mood.
But usually, all of that doesn’t happen around you. Between the both of you arguments rarely arise. You are pretty much on the same page and definetely act as a team.
Though, of course, it can’t be that easy all the time. When an argument between the two of you arises Ivat tries to reason with you. The man is used to things going his way, so it might be quite a struggle to go against him at first. He tends to get louder, as a way to emphasize his reasoning, but will quickly try to shut it down if you tell him that it upsets you.
He’ll try to explain his situation and get a grip on your view at the same time, until you reach an agreement both of you are happy with, which he does not do with anyone but you.
#ivar x reader#ivar imagine#vikings imagine#ivar the boneless#ivar vikings#ivar fluff#ivar ragnarsson#ivar x you
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Can I request the Mighty Nein funding out the reader had been hiding a kinda injury
I hope it turned out the way you wanted it! Thanks for requesting 😘
(Caleb)
Caleb is no stranger to physical injury and has embraced his squishy wizard nature. You however have covered up many injuries in the past, letting them heal on their own as you always had before you had handy clerics around to fix you up. Old habits die hard and unlucky for you, when he’s not nose deep in a book Caleb will see right through your brave face act.
Upon finding out you’re injured Caleb would simply sit you down. He’ll take it upon himself to tend to your injury despite your best efforts to convince him you’re fine and it’s just a scratch. He knows better.
Silence. You’ve never managed to get a word out of the wizard when he’s caring for your ailment. He’s completely focussed but will listen to you talk so his silence is not rooted in concentration.
Caleb won’t mention your injury to anyone. It will be your little secret but you’ll be able to catch him staring at you, and when you meet his eye he’ll give you a little half smile; a nonverbal ask to see if you’re alright.
(Beau)
Training accidents happen but hardly ever exceed bruises. A sparring match gone wrong may have ended with you getting a bo-staff to the ribs with a little too much force but you play it cool. It’ll be fine. Just some bruises. You assure Beau you’ll sleep it off and it wasn’t that bad.
Beau’s not entirely convinced and definitely pries until you come clean. Persuasion isn’t Beau’s strong suit but she makes some solid arguments, and threats that leave you forced to reveal your secret.
Upon seeing the injury Beau will curse like a sailor, telling you you should have told her. Best not to mention the trouble breathing… Wether you want to or not she’ll go get the clerics to fix you up despite any and all protests.
Beau will keep grilling you for weeks, bringing your injury up as ammo in any argument she needs won and will keep a close eye out. She’ll refuse to spar with you but we all know Beau likes her training and with you being one of the very few actually able to keep up (sorry Fjord) she’ll give in and beg you to train with her again, this time more mindful of her actions.
(Fjord)
Fjord may play cool but he tends to be a worrywart and when he already has enough on his plate you be mindful not to stress him out by facing him with anything else. That includes you getting a pretty heavy hit from an enemy in combat.
Back on the ship you resign yourself to the lower deck and cargo hold duties as to stay clear of Fjord’s direct line of sight. You’d take the crows nest but an injured leg will do you no good climbing.
Bad weather and a leg injury at sea do not mix well and you, being slammed into the side of the ship unable to get back up sends Fjord in overdrive. He’ll help you below deck to a safe spot and prepare for basic care until one of the clerics can come fix you.
Fjord’s seen enough injuries; others’ and his own and knows well enough what you got didn’t come from your little tumble. He’ll be extra tentative but scold you for not saying anything and telling you you should tell him in the future.
Regardless of the clerics’ opinions he puts you on bedrest for the next few days until he feels like you’ve learned your lesson. Don’t count on being allowed to go up to the crow’s nest for a while though.
(Veth)
Having taken a tumble down the stairs while reading a book and conversing with Caleb (who you had to swear to secrecy) you deliberately stayed clear of Veth unless you had any sort of object to lean on to support yourself.
It’s more out of embarrassment you’re hiding this one even though your ankle hurts like a bitch. Every time you, Caleb and Veth are in the same room you’re sending the wizard death glares when he holds back a comment or laugh at your desperate attempts to keep this a secret.
Veth’s a mom and if there’s one thing moms are good at it’s figuring out when someone’s hurt. The moment your facade falls through, she’ll go into overdrive, pushing you to lay down on a couch or similar soft surface area, rushing to get you extra pillows and the likes.
Be prepared to have Veth hoover over you until you’re in the clear. She’ll do whatever she can to make you comfortable and brings you some trinkets to pass the time. Maybe don’t ask where she got them because they were definitely not in her previous possession.
(Jester)
It was gonna be an epic move! You’d jump down, weapon at the ready to stab down into the creature; death from above! Didn’t go as planned as you got swatted out of the air by the creature before you could strike down.
Luckily no one saw. After the battle you just claimed the plan fell through and you had to improvise. Meaning, you gritted through the pain of being rag-dolled into a cavern wall, got back up through the pain and back to battle.
If only Jester hadn’t asked you to help harvest the monster parts so you could sell them. You could barely carry your weapon, swinging it; different story. But Jester is persistent and you couldn’t just refuse the cute blue tiefling so you obliged gritting through the pain hoping no one would notice you taking a quick breather every so often.
Jester did notice and came to inspect your work, with a tap on your shoulder you feel a radiant warmth spread through you, making breathing and moving in general a lot easier. A thanks is in order and you’re sort of glad Jester keeps this on the down-low.
“Next time just tell me, okay?” Jester makes you pinky promise and you know that’s binding so you better keep your promise.
(Caduceus)
There’s a reason why you leave the cooking to Caduceus. You’ll happily cut some vegetables but try to stay away from anything else throughout the process of preparing food. When Caduceus asked you to watch the stove and add some spices to the food as he rushed to the pantry to get some more ingredients you were worried…
What should you do? Caduceus didn’t tell you how much to add of anything. Maybe you can just sniff the spices? Yeah, that sounds right. Opening the small jars and pouches one by one go through. You add a little of the fragrant ones and a bit more of the neutral spices.
One sniff of a red flaky powder sends you into a coughing fit, your airways burning like a blazing fire. Water doesn’t help. If anything it makes it worse. You get your breathing and cough under control but you do not trust your voice and scalding throat so when the firbolg returns you keep quiet.
No responses from you are a bit odd and what were you thinking you could keep anything from this man. Caduceus calls you out on your behaviour asking questions that need words and not nods, shakes, shrugs or the likes.
Upon you trying to talk he immediately knows what happened. Putting on a quick brew, in a short time you’re presented some tea to remedy your burning throat. It may not be your worst injury ever but it surely is an uncomfortable one. You gain a new appreciation for the dead people tea.
(Yasha)
You felt like you couldn’t do anything but try to hide the bleeding gash on your side, luckily covered by your clothing. Yasha had already gone through enough, last you needed her to deal with is the knowledge she injured you severely when under the control of someone else.
Back to normal you head into the next fight. For some reason you’re faltering and making mistakes you otherwise wouldn’t. Yasha notices and will be at your side in an instance to defend you but a single enemy blow sends you unconscious.
You can confidently say that opening your eyes to a raging barbarian pouring the contents of a healing potion down your throat is one of the most terrifying and admirable moment’s you’ve witnessed in your life.
Yasha asks when you got the cut since your bloodstained clothes don’t 100% add up. Tempted to come up with an excuse Yasha has you figured out. Prepare for endless apologies and a guardian angel watching over your shoulder threatening anyone with even remotely malicious intent into thinking twice about their actions.
(Mollymauk)
Molly will pretend he hasn’t noticed you’re hiding anything when he’s caught on you are being secretive. You’re entitled to your secrets.When he finds out you’re injured that’s no different. Unless it’s something that could be the death of you he’ll play along. You’re stubborn so you get to feel the consequences of your stubbornness.
He’d ask you to help him with this new routine he’s been working on or push you to spar with him. He’d make sure you have to pay extra mind as to not make it hurt as bad as your injury does when resting because that’s when the severity of your injury becomes clear to him.
Molly would deliberately make everyday tasks a little harder. You’re doing dishes? could you carry the heavy tub of water? Setting up camp? Keep pressure on this or hammer that into the ground. Will put your things out of your reach where you’d have to climb or jump to get them.
He’ll keep these shenanigans going until either you come clean about your injury or he really gets worried to the point he’ll have to step in for your own wellbeing. The former usually occurs leaving him smug and willing to carry you claiming to be your daring saviour.
Depending on the severity of the injury he’ll be a pretty decent caretaker spending time with you and assisting you whenever you need it. When it’s not as bad anymore he’ll be teasing you as much as he can. He won’t make you forget your stubbornness and pride gets in your way of admitting defeat and we all know he loves winning the game.
#critical role#critical role x reader#critrole x reader#mighty nein x reader#mighty nein#caleb x reader#caleb widogast x reader#beau x reader#beauregard x reader#veth x reader#nott x reader#jester x reader#caduceus x reader#yasha x reader#mollymauk x reader
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If you're plate isn't too full, can I request a couple of fluffy hc's about Albedo with a photographer! s/o? Like, his s/o enjoys taking pictures of the environment and etc, and even take pictures of Albedo whenever he just does stuff, and Albedo enjoys sketching then whenever they just do a whole picture spree- they even exchange pictures too
Yes, my plate is too full and I'm confused why you guys don't see the request closed thingy in my description. But does it look like I care? No, I miss writing for Albedo and you're getting Albedo NOW-
Sepia Times
Albedo with a Photographer!S/O headcanons/scenarios... (event masterlist)
Ever since Fontaine released their newest device called Kamera, you had been so adamant in getting ahold of one that you ended up going on a travel spree to the said nation. Not even waiting for the shipment to Mondstadt, you left a quickly written note of your whereabouts before you left.
Spontaneous as ever, Albedo thought to himself as his grip on the note tightens with worry.
Luckily, three days later, you hailed from the Hydro Archon's land with your newest prized possession in hand. Triumphant and giddy, both of your lives changed drastically from there.
Albedo first and foremost, almost dismantled your Kamera. Actually he may have already done so behind your back, he was just caught the last time. He was really curious of its machinations and wanted to reverse engineer it.
He only ever lived because he was fast enough to reassemble it and show you that it still works. If not, you were already charging at him to throw hands. You did not travel for three days just for the Kamera to be broken. Whether he found what he was looking for or not, he's not allowed to touch it until he gets his own when the supply reaches Mondstadt.
Knowing your excitement, Albedo takes a sudden day off to accompany you in your Kamera spree, his own canvas and easel under his arm to also channel his artistic energy.
In just a day you managed to take 20 pictures, about to run out of film in just a day. Everytime you snap a picture, you gravitate to where Albedo is stationed to show off what you got like a crow and its shiny rocks. He finds it very endearing, stating his honest honey-covered opinion that makes you overjoyed enough to energize you to snap another, better picture.
The Alchemist sees the appeal of the Kamera and how immediate the replication of the image is. But he still glorifies the art of painting. He may not be able to capture constantly moving subjects but he can capture any detail he wants emphasized unlike the limited rasterization of a photo like that.
He watches you from afar as you skip over to different places and objects, face blooming with wonder as you position your device to snap. He dons a smile when you pull out the photo and wait for the image to materialize, and produce a chuckle when you sprint over to him to show the product. It's like your routine you developed in just a day.
So at times when he needs it the most, he will steal borrow your Kamera to snap a quick picture of something fast moving that he needs to observe immediately or wish to sketch/paint in detail in the future. One of the photos he had hidden for himself had a picture of you in your natural photographer environment as you dash around to look for a scene to capture while you wait.
What's it for? Well he made it into a more intricate painting during his spare time, presenting it to you with the little image taped at the top right corner. It was so beautiful that when outsiders were to see it after they were granted to access his office/laboratory, they always ask for the price for it. Something he adamantly refuses with the coldest glare the Alchemist can make. The negotiations usually end there.
Whenever he was far and you couldn't follow, like Dragonspine for example (the Kamera was still in development so cold temperatures might risk both the device and the processing), you always send him a picture for his thoughts. Either by asking Sucrose, Timaeus or the Traveler if they were en route to his camp, of course.
As you send one to him daily, Albedo started to look forward to your little mail every time. They range from very beautiful sights he hasn't seen before, images of the people of Mond who looks to be greeting him, or of you and the things that would remind him of you.
He keeps a haphazardly strewn journal for it, and in his camp was a board of his favorite picks, and all images of you are tacked on it. The Traveler enjoys watching his cold teal eyes light up whenever he brings the daily image, watching the picture board grow as Albedo tacks the latest one in with obvious pride and joy.
When he comes back to Mond, he brings with him his most beautiful piece from Dragonspine. You'd know it's special because everything is painted in detail, even the most unimportant parts of it. It's his gift for your little photo exchange and you have it put up on wall somewhere in your house.
When he gets his own Kamera, it was his turn to drag you to his photography spree. A little one-sided competition happens between you two where you try to one up the quality of his pictures, sometimes successful and sometimes you don't really... understand what he's doing, as he captures the strangest images.
Albedo uses his solar isotoma when you want to use it for better angles. Very supportive, as you'd hear a snap from beneath as you position your own Kamera.
The whole of Mond muses at both of your antics; as you two would most likely do the finger frame thingy impulsively when seeing something worth the attention, the people around you would chuckle at how cute you two looked, focused on your own little world.
He always gifts you extra films or anything related to photography when he can. Since he barely has time to go out sometimes, he has many backup gifts in bulk to whip out if ever he wants to pamper you with his material affection. Albedo is hyperaware of your hyperfixation and will always bring films the moment you run out, like foresight.
You can barely understand Albedo, despite the closeness you two had, he was still an enigma in most occasions. This was one of them. He had been binging on photography lately and everytime you look through the photos he captured, it didn't really make sense. The most random pictures that you wouldn't even dare use a film on strewn here and there, sometimes the photo is even cut off, and you'd think it was a mistake until he started organizing them in a system only he knows.
When you finally gathered up the courage to ask what all of it was about for, you were given a smile as cryptic as his album.
But as he pulls your hand with an excitement you've only seen when his chemical solution produces the expected buff, you somehow deduced that today would be the day you'd find out what the heck he was up to.
"It took longer than I expected it to be," he says as he starts unlocking a room in the Knights of Favonius HQ that you've never been in before, "but the end result was worth it."
Your confusion only grows as you were met with a face full of hanging pictures, most of it you recognize. Leaning over some and looking up on the higher ones, the amount of string and the confusing way they were set up, amazes you still with the amount of effort he had been using on such a big project.
Your untrained eyes loosely guess around 1000 films used for this.
The glass double doors that makes it way to the balcony opens loudly behind you. "Come here," you turn to see Albedo's silhouette open his arms against the setting sun behind him. "You're supposed to look at it from this distance." His arms engulfs you gently when you moved over, sending a gentle squeeze before he turns you back around to see the hanging pictures.
You gasp.
The depth and the splash of colors from this distance, aided with the sun, turned the hanging collage into an expertly placed collage as it shows you the bigger picture: a mold of your face of the first sketch Albedo made when you first met each other. The angles and colors measured to the dot to capture and replicate your beauty.
You feel his lips kiss the back of your head as you stared in awe.
Impromptu Albedo fluff yey
@albaedhoe @struggljng @heisenwurst @moaa @dandelion-dreams @witchsungie @lehra @zelos-simp @legionqueensav @snackgod @rxsalinee @cala-ran @wind-wheel @lilydewi22 @yellowflowre @traveler-lumine @nonniechan @creation-magician @hanniejji
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#Albedo x Reader#genshin impact Albedo#exile.goblet#exile.flower#sojourner specials#gender neutral#fluffyyyyy#genshin impact headcanons
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“Everything’s changed, since you came here...Being around you makes me do stupid things and I wish it didn’t!”
This moment really surprised me in showing not just Amity Blight’s vulnerability, but especially Luz’s emotional sensitivity, too. Amity has a lot on her plate, in terms of baggage, from many regretful acts growing up underneath the abusive environment of her parents. However, that isn’t to say Luz isn’t without any kind of grief either, considering this kid is going through quite a lot currently, as well. Luz isn’t sure when she’ll see her mother again, felt seriously guilty at first about Eda’s curse overtaking her at Season 1′s end, and still doesn’t know how to exactly go about confessing the truth of her real whereabouts, which was the entire conflict of Grom Night’s plot surrounding Luz’s dramatic internal conflict. Luz’s greatest fear was her mother not understanding and being greatly hurt by her lying about summer camp, where she stayed in a more dangerous reality.
What seriously crushed me about this line of dialogue above from Amity is how she wishes Luz didn’t bring out this kind of inspiration to do super impulsive things from herself. This obviously isn’t so much a matter of Amity saying, “I hate you, Luz.”, rather I took it as Amity inflicting loathing sentiment upon her own self esteem. Amity has done a lot of things she’s not proud of whatsoever, which can definitely be seen through her treatment of Willow and how it was ripped to shreds by her parents demands for a great period of time, until Luz came along. Amity isn’t used to feeling so free to have a sense of self, let alone having some definition of happiness. Before Luz appeared, a good chunk of Amity’s life was ruled by manipulative, uncaring, and toxic parenting on how she should live. She was never allowed to have an actual carefree childhood, due to her being born a Blight getting saddled with unfairly high expectations of deemed “perfection”.
Luz is the complete polar opposite of how she has lived in contrast to Amity’s lifestyle. Luz wasn’t expected to become anything spectacular by any means necessary. Granted, her mother was gonna send her away to a summer camp as an attempt to try getting Luz’s more wackier nature under control, but to be fair it was also another way for her to try getting the kid to make actual friends. Regardless, my point is, Luz was able to live an all around normal life, whereas Amity had to immediately follow shallow standards set from the get go in a society full of unfair ideologies surrounding magical abilities. Amity meeting Luz, this kid who was so optimistic, endearing, and Hell bent on becoming a Witch, was such an alien concept to her, overall. Amity has been so used to living a life of obedience where, like her parents constantly beat into her mind, that a Blight must never show weakness to anyone on the Boiling Isles, so for awhile this was the mantra this kid followed at the expense of having genuine friends.
Every time Amity saw Luz in public it reminded her of the person she truly is buried underneath all the bullshit her parents threw onto her. A kid who simply wanted to become a Witch through hard work, determination, and have loving companionship, too. It’s why Amity was so terrified of Luz rejecting her in Grom Night because after everything that has happened she feels, “Do I deserve to be happy or loved? I’ve hurt people in the past and brutally cut off my best friend, Willow. Who would ever want to be with a person like me?”, which was plaguing her thinking throughout that entire day, until Luz helped pick her back up to take on the dark shape shifting blob of nightmares turned real.
“It’s okay I-I-I do stupid things around you too, Amity...”
There’s a lot of poetic truth to Luz’s statement here on her connection to Amity. After all, in Grom Night she willingly took on the ceremony upon herself in Amity’s place because she wanted to help her out that badly, despite having next to zero knowledge about how dangerous this tradition actually is in their world. Even after being filled in on the deadly details of how important it is to defeat the creature, Luz still didn’t waver in her determination to combat the nasty creature. Luz has unintentionally caused Amity so much trouble in the past, where she wanted to help with something very serious for a change because she knows there’s real compassionate kindness inside of her. Luz may have started to run away when her worst fears became manifested from the creature about her mother, but Amity rushing to help her out made them both inspired to defeat it together. It was the best way to explore their blossoming respect and love.
Luz did all that for Amity because she wanted to and not outta some obligation from an unfair code of Blight honor. Amity isn’t used to seeing someone go this far out of their way to help her this passionately, given she’s most likely accustomed to other peers at Hexside either fearing her, or outright being bitter about that ranking as a top student. Amity didn’t know what to make of Luz’s intentions for awhile in Season 1, due to this super self conscious behavior of conflicted inadequacy. She had a set path on her way to becoming a Witch suddenly interrupted by someone who reminded her of something Amity thought was out of reach, her happiness. While Amity felt so oddly happy about someone wanting to be there for her, it also tore the kid up inside emotionally because those regrets gnawed away at her. One could say Amity was “content” in living life of solitude away from those, like Willow, who actually care for her well being.
Luz, however, completely threw a wrench into those plans for Amity breaking her free of the mental shackles set by undermining parents. It drove Amity up a wall in the best and worst ways. On one hand, she’s deeply thankful for what Luz has helped her through in confronting bigger emotional issues, yet is still greatly confused on what it all means in the long run. Does she get a second shot at having real friends through her own decisions? Is she worthy of being loved? Is it not too late to change for the better at last? Can Amity live a life that isn’t ruled by her parents? Yes, of course she can. It just boggles Amity’s mind still that there’s someone who’s willing to go so far for her happiness this drudges up insecurities of guilt for past mistakes. Some part of Amity still thinks those moments define her, so to see Luz try to apologize wanting to make amends for the library incident in this episode’s story makes her feel, “Why are you apologizing to me? I’m not worth giving the time of day to, Luz.”. All of that gets undermined with an act of love by Luz to help get Amity her job back, by taking on deadly trials to accomplish this goal.
This moment between them carries so much layered weight.
#toh season 2 spoilers#toh spoilers#toh season 2#through the looking glass ruins#the owl house#amity blight#luz noceda
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a solitary walk
genshin impact | G | 2478 | [ ao3 ]
side hu tao/xiao | hu tao birthday fic!
every year, hu tao lives her life the way she believes it ought to be lived—loud and outright. even if reincarnation was real, and that one day we might die and then return to the earth once again, we will only ever be living this very life once. only once in these special circumstances, with these people, in this environment. it’s not because she fears death—no, it’s exactly because she knows death will come to her in the end that she lives like this.
lives treating the stone lions like they were actual cats.
lives climbing up the treacherous cliffs of huaguang stone forest to write poetry.
lives spooking others, walking late at night along wuwang hill.
hu tao knows death like the back of her hand, which is why life means so much to her. why she lives so much of it.
there is only one year a day when the anxiety is stronger than usual. when hu tao feels like living through these ideals is simply not enough. when she begins to doubt her place among the living, when no funeral pyre of inner demons can clear her head. on this day, on her birthday, it’s the long journey taking her from liyue harbor to the solitary mountains of liyue that truly takes out the storm in her heart, heavy and pounding.
when she can be between the pages of herself, among the voices of people she hopes love her.
-
“going out today, director hu?”
zhongli is, as he usually is at this hour, promptly sitting in the study of the wangsheng funeral parlor, likely just having finished some morning lecture to the undertakers. hu tao hums, whizzing around him as she peers at what book he’s holding. a history on rex lapis.
“no business today, maybe we need to rework our advertising strategy,” she says, straightening her back. “with you here, i get free time to take a walk and think of better marketing tricks.”
“please don’t use me as an excuse to skip work.”
“aiya, what do you think of me? that’s not what i’m doing,” she pouts. then, she points at the book in his hands. “what were you reading?”
“the undertakers were interested in something i said about the themes of death in liyue’s history, and i was merely reviewing my history,” zhongli answers, strangely more somber than usual. “it is mortal to fear death, but it is to go beyond what it means to be mortal to try to comprehend death as greater than something to be afraid of. as with rex lapis, who surely has witnessed a great many losses in his long lifespan.”
“what do you think the divine feel about death, zhongli?” hu tao asks, hands behind her back, looking up at the mysterious man who always seem to know more than he let on. “do you think it still means anything to them, when they live across so much time and space?”
“i think, director hu,” zhongli says, “that every death can still leave its mark. the archons were mortal once, after all. to not fear death does not mean to not honor its rightful weight.”
“hmmm,” hu tao nods, deep in thought. “you may be right.” then, a clock down the hall begins to toll, and she is shaken out of her reverie. “aiya, what time is it! i have to go, thank you for entertaining my question. i’ll see you tomorrow!”
hu tao is just about out of the door when he speaks again.
“director hu?”
she blinks. “yes, mister zhongli?”
he gives a smile that feels like it bears too much memory. “happy birthday.”
hu tao only beams at him, and then hops out of the door.
-
hu tao still remembers the disdainful stares of some of the older, more conservative people of liyue once the kids caught up to her little “hilichurl song.” something about little children chanting about death and murder in such a joyful manner did not sit right with several of the elders. this reflected poorly on hu tao, but—
did it matter?
the kids were—are—having fun, the song is catchy and she wouldn’t be conceited to say that everyone in liyue knows it at this point…
she remembers the little boy who had run up to her, who had returned fresh from a funeral rite up in wangsheng, holding her still-ashen hand saying, “you’re the big sis with the hilichurl song! teach me! teach it to me big sis!”
she remembers being that young.
she doesn’t quite feel like being this old.
the least she can do is immortalize its transcience; she’d write all the poems on death for the living if she had to.
-
she encounters xingqiu, who has obviously just come from his daily perusal of wanwen bookhouse, two books under his arm and another clasped between his fingers. she comes up right up before him and goes—
“xingqiu!”
he doesn’t even flinch, long used to hu tao’s little antics. he finishes reading the paragraph he is on before putting the book down, smiling at her.
“well, what is my liege doing this fine day?”
“oh, i’m off to take an adventurous little walk! what are you up to today, young master?”
the honorifics turned pet names were special little sparkles in their conversation. it had become so normal between them they no longer think about it, but the others who overhear are a little more curious.
“to put a little spice into the lives of a young exorcist and an aspiring cook, would you like to join me?”
were it any other day, hu tao would have said yes. there was nothing quite like getting off work early and messing around with chongyun and xiangling, mixing up the ingredients, activating excess yang energy. but today was not that kind of day, so she shakes her head and gives a little smile at her friend instead.
“not today, unfortunately. but soon, for sure!”
xingqiu nods. but before he leaves, he pulls out a bookmark of pressed silk flowers from behind his back, and hands it to her.
“taken fresh from the wilderness.”
“you mean yujing terrace?”
“where i got it is of no matter—” xingqiu says, stifling a laugh, “but instead what message it brings. may you find good company on this special day of yours, my liege.”
hu tao smiles, the kind that reaches her eyes, the one that so few people see, and then pushes xingqiu lightly down the road toward wanmin.
“go cause trouble!”
-
the first half of the journey is a lot less tricky. at a certain hour every day, without fail, there are wagons that begin their trip from liyue to mondstadt. hu tao usually hitches a ride on one of these all the way to wangshu inn, where she stops for lunch.
wangshu inn has become such a common culprit to their little meetings that no one gets surprised to see her anymore, smiling and waving at everyone all the way upstairs to the top floor. (sometimes she even passes by the kitchen for some almond tofu, but, ah, yanxiao doesn’t really want her using the kitchen, if for the sake of the food she makes.)
today, when she gets there, she finds aether and paimon sitting at the tables at the very bottom, waiting for their meals to be served.
“hu taaaaooooo!” paimon calls and waves, to which she waves in response, hopping up the stairs to get to them.
“if it isn’t the mighty traveler and paimon! my offer for a discount coupon for accidents is still available, if you’ve changed your mind!”
aether ignores the joke entirely—wisely—and asks, “not staying at the parlor today?”
“aiya, does that seem like such a strange occurence? is it wrong for the director of a funeral parlor to catch a break?”
“...from offering discount coupons for parlors?” paimon turns to aether. “and why so far out here of all places?”
the traveler knows. “we haven’t seen him today.”
“do not fret! the ever omniscient hu tao knows exactly where he will be,” she teases. “can i join you for lunch?”
"wait!" paimon whines. "who's he?"
hu tao orders nothing festive, just some plain snapdragon salad and some fish, but verr goldet hand-delivers a little assorted tray of desserts anyway—red bean soup, mango pudding, custard—all on a celebratory looking plate. she whispers to hu tao: “from the young gentleman.”
and aether’s eyes go wide as plates in realization, but before he can say anything, hu tao hushes him with a finger, not wanting paimon to make a big deal out of it. the traveler only chuckles, paimon neck-deep into a bowl of noodles, and mouths happy birthday while facing the director.
once lunch is over, they talk a little until their stomachs settle with the food, but then they are on each other’s ways. aether and paimon, headed up to mingyun to clear out a camp of hilichurls that have been causing trouble, as commissioned by the guild. hu tao, to qingyun peak, where the clouds can brush over her cheeks.
“are you gonna walk all the way there?”
“oh, it’ll take me just a few hours. i’ll get on any patrolling millelith carts if there are any. i’ll be fine. thank you, traveler!”
“take care, hu tao!” aether calls out. “and send my regards!”
-
“i knew i would find you here,” hu tao says, as she lands ever so gracefully on one of huaguang stone forest’s highest peaks. xiao sits there, cross-legged, with his eyes closed. the exhaustion from the journey sinks into her bones as soon as she sees him, as if knowing she will find rest in him—perhaps the same way the sun has sunk dark blue into the horizon.
“i’m here because i knew you’d be here,” he retorts. not even turning to face her. hu tao sinks wordlessly next to him, her hand on his lap.
she loves the way they fit together like this, two puzzle pieces magnetized to each other.
“thank you for the desserts.”
he places his hand over hers and squeezes.
xiao has never been the type for comforting words. the best he can offer is his understanding silence, the kind that makes hu tao know he can comprehend what is going on in her little, mortal mind--even when she herself is not sure where exactly her thoughts are taking her.
“i wanted to bring you almond tofu, but it would have melted on the way here.”
“you don’t need to worry about me.”
you know i’ll worry about you anyway.
worry about yourself.
i already do, why else do you think i’m here but for rescue?
here in huaguang, the breeze silences everything in her mind that speaks, so that all that remains is this: just her, just xiao, just liyue’s star-dotted night sky.
just good company.
no dead, no ghosts, no demons. just them.
they stay there until time seems like it stops existing.
the thing about xiao and hu tao’s relationship is that somehow they always find each other perfectly as one needs the other. it has always been like that from the beginning. from the very first time hu tao had gotten herself lost around mt. aocang, cornered by a family of geovishaps hell-bent on getting her for disturbing their nap; to when hu tao had found xiao slumped against a tree, bloodied with his mask on his face and near unable to breathe, her presence and stupid humor like exorcising the demons clinging onto him;
they find each other always, as if sensing death on the other, and they come to the rescue.
without even needing to call out each other’s names.
hu tao, leaning against him like deadweight, turns her hand around so they can interlock their fingers together. xiao does so wordlessly, and hu tao memorizes the warmth of him against her skin.
keeps it in the back of her mind for when he isn’t around.
they speak without speaking, passing each other the same old questions like they always do.
what if i die today?
you’re not dying today, hu tao.
what if i die tomorrow?
you’re not dying tomorrow, xiao.
who will take care of you when i am gone?
who will remember huaguang like these, starry nights with our hands clasped together?
who will i come to when i’m in need of aid, when i need someone who sees death as i do?
don’t go, it’s too early to do so.
hu tao only voices out one of many, many thoughts passed between their intertwined hands, when she says, “when death finally comes for me, thousands and thousands of years before yours, adeptus xiao…”
xiao hums.
“remember me?”
he scoffs just the littlest bit and hu tao knows he means always. “rest,” he says, as xiao turns and presses a kiss on the side of her face, tucking a pair of qingxin flowers with braided stalks behind her ear. one he’d made before she’d arrived, prepared to find her in this state.
“for sweet dreams,” he promises.
-
while in his arms hu tao dreams of her grandfather.
she is watching her young, 13 year old self host her grandfather’s funeral, incredibly young and small and out of place in the grandeur. her yéyé liked grandeur, and it was hu tao’s mission that day to make sure that everything about his grand goodbye went the way it was planned.
it was hard.
she was calm, and composed, and so unlike the hu tao the rest of liyue knew that day. she was solemn during the entire ceremony, not a twinge of a smile or a frown on her face, just calm and detached like it wasn’t her grandfather she was preparing to set off. like his hat wasn’t sitting on her desk at home drenched in her tears.
the present, older hu tao looks on to spot the little signs of breaking left unnoticed by everyone else, like the little ticks at the corner of her mouth, her hypercontrolled breathing, the way she squeezes the staff she’s inherited specifically for this day, under her grandfather’s request.
and while the younger hu tao does not catch him, the older hu tao spots her grandfather among the trees, standing there with his hat still on, in his usual garb, the kind that reminds her of chanting poetry in the afternoon and—
—he smiles.
at younger hu tao, then, eventually, at her, older, smarter, more mature hu tao, as if saying:
thank you.
you’ve done so well.
before he disappears into a fog of light.
hu tao does not feel the need to follow.
-
hu tao wakes up in her room in wangsheng funeral parlor smiling, feeling the clouds still on her face, qingxin still in her hair.
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“Thirteen″ Tips for Writing About Synagogues / Jewish Writing Advice / Advice for Visiting Synagogues
So your story includes a Jew (or two) and you’ve a got a scene in a synagogue. Maybe there’s a bar mitzvah, maybe your gentile protagonist is visiting their partner’s synagogue. Maybe there’s a wedding or a community meeting being held there. For whatever reason, you want a scene in a shul. I’m here as your friendly (virtual) neighborhood Jewish professional to help you not sound like a gentile who thinks a synagogue is just a church with a Star of David instead of a cross.
Quick note: The are lots of synagogues around the world, with different specific cultural, local, and denominational practices. The Jewish community is made up of roughly 14 million people worldwide with all sorts of backgrounds, practices, life circumstances, and beliefs. I’m just one American Jew, but I’ve had exposure to Jewishness in many forms after living in 3.5 states (at several different population densities/layouts), attending Jewish day school and youth groups, doing Jewish college stuff, and landing a job at a Jewish non-profit. I’m speaking specifically in an American or Americanish context, though some of this will apply elsewhere as well. I’m also writing from the view of Before Times when gatherings and food and human contact was okay.
Bear in mind as well, in this discussion, the sliding scale of traditional observance to secular/liberal observance in modern denominations: Ultraorthodox (strict tradition), Modern Orthodox (Jewish law matters but we live in a modern world), Conservative (no relation to conservative politics, brands itself middle ground Judaism), Reconstructionist (start with Jewish law and then drop/add bits to choose your own adventure), and Reform (true build your own adventure, start at basically zero and incorporate only as you actively choose).
Synagogue = shul = temple. Mikvah (ritual bath) is its own thing and usually not attached to the shul. Jewish cemeteries are also typically nowhere near the shul, because dead bodies are considered impure.
A Bar/Bat/Bnai Mitzvah is the Jewish coming of age ceremony. Bar (“son”) for boys at 13+, Bat (“daughter”) at 12+, and Bnai (“children”) for multiples (i.e. twins/triplets/siblings) or non-binary kids (although the use of the phrase “Bnai Mitzvah” this way is pretty new). 12/13 is the minimum, 12-14 the norm but very Reform will sometimes allow 11 and anybody above 12/13 can have theirs. Probably a dedicated post for another time. Generally, however, the following will happen: the kid will lead some parts of services, read from and/or carry the Torah, and make a couple of speeches.
Attire: think Sunday Best (in this case Saturday), not come as you are. Even at very liberal reconstructionist/reform synagogues you wouldn’t show up in jeans and a t-shirt or work overalls. Unless they are seriously disconnected from their culture, your Jewish character is not coming to Saturday morning services in sneakers and jeans (their gentile guest, however, might come too casual and that’d be awkward).
1a. The more traditional the denomination, the more modest the attire. Outside of orthodoxy woman may wear pants, but dresses/skirts are more common. Tights for anything above knee common for Conservative/Reform/Recon, common for even below knee for orthodox shuls. Men will typically be wearing suits or close to it, except in very Reform spaces.
1b. Really, think business casual or nice dinner is the level of dressiness here for regular services. Some minor holidays or smaller events more casual is fine. Social events and classes casual is fine too.
1c. Even in reform synagogues, modesty is a thing. Get to the knee or close to it. No shoulders (this an obsession in many Jewish religious spaces for whatever reason), midriffs, or excessive cleavage (as I imagine to be the norm in most houses of worship).
Gendered clothing:
3a. Men and boys wear kippahs (alt kippot, yarmulkes) in synagogues, regardless of whether they’re Jewish or not out of respect to the space. Outside of Jewish spaces it’s saying “I’m a Jew” but inside of Jewish spaces it’s saying “I’m a Jew or a gentile dude who respects the Jewish space.” Outside of very Reform shuls, it’s a major faux pass to be a dude not wearing one.
3b. There are little buckets of loaner kippahs if you don’t bring your own and commemorative kippahs are given away at events (bar mitzvah, weddings). Your Jewish dude character not bringing or grabbing one is basically shouting “I’m new here.”
3c. Women are permitted to wear kippahs, but the adoption of a the traditionally masculine accessory will likely be interpreted by other Jews as LGBTQ+ presentation, intense feminism, and/or intense but nontraditional devoutness. Nobody will clutch their pearls (outside of ultraorthodoxy) but your character is sending a message.
3d. Tefillin are leather boxes and wrappings with prayers inside them that some Jewish men wrap around their arms (no under bar mitzvah or gentiles). Like with the kippah, a woman doing this is sending a message of feminism and/or nontraditional religious fervor.
3e. Additionally, prayer shawls, known as tallit, are encouraged/lightly expected of Jewish males (over 13) but not as much as Kippahs are. It is more common to have a personal set of tallit than tefillin. Blue and white is traditional, but they come in all sorts of fun colors and patterns now. Mine is purple and pink. It is much more common for women to have tallit and carries much fewer implications about their relationship to Judaism than wearing a kippah does.
3f. Married woman usually cover their hair in synagogues. Orthodox women will have wigs or full hair covers, but most Jewish woman will put a token scarf or doily on their head in the synagogue that doesn’t actually cover their hair. The shul will also have a doily loaner bucket.
Jewish services are long (like 3-4 hours on a Saturday morning), but most people don’t get there until about the 1-1.5 hour mark. Your disconnected Jewish character or their gentile partner might not know that though.
Although an active and traditional synagogue will have brief prayers three times every day, Torah services thrice a week, holiday programming, and weekly Friday night and Saturday morning services, the latter is the thing your Jewish character is most likely attending on the reg. A typical Saturday morning service will start with Shacharit (morning prayers) at 8:30-9, your genre savvy not-rabbi not-Bnai mitzvah kid Jewish character will get there around 9:30-10:15. 10:15-10:30 is the Torah service, which is followed by additional prayers. Depending on the day of the Jewish year (holidays, first day of new month, special shabbats), they’ll be done by 12:30 or 1 p.m. Usually.
After that is the oneg, a communal meal. Onegs start with wine and challah, and commence with a full meal. No waiting 4-8 hours to have a covered-dish supper after services. The oneg, outside of very, very, very Reform spaces will be kosher meat or kosher dairy.
To conduct certain prayers (including the mourner’s prayers and the Torah service) you need a Minyan, which at least 10 Jewish “adults” must be present, defined as post Bar/Bat/Bnai Mitzvah. In Conservative/Reform/Recon, men and women are counted equally. In Ultraorthodox women are not counted. In Modern Orthodox it depends on the congregation, and some congregations will hold women’s-only services as well with at least ten “adult” Jewish women present.
In Conservative and Orthodox shuls, very little English is used outside of speeches and sermons. Prayers are in Hebrew, which many Jews can read the script of but not understand. Transliterations are also a thing.
In Reform synagogues, there’s heavy reliance on the lingua franca (usually English in American congregations). Reconstructionist really varies, but is generally more Hebrew-based than Reform.
We’re a very inquisitive people. If your character is new to the synagogue, there will be lots of questions at the post-services oneg (meal, typically brunch/lunch). Are you new in town? Have you been here before? Where did you come from? Are you related to my friend from there? How was parking? Do you know my cousin? Are you single? What is your mother’s name? What do you think of the oneg - was there enough cream cheese? What summer camp did you go to? Can you read Hebrew? Have you joined?
A disconnected Jew or gentile might find it overwhelming, but many connected Jews who are used to it would be like “home sweet chaos” because it’s OUR chaos.
In Orthodox synagogues, men and women have separate seating sections. There may be a balcony or back section, or there may be a divider known as a mechitzah in the middle. Children under 12/13 are permitted on either side, but over 12/13 folks have to stay one section or the other. Yes, this is a problem/challenge for trans and nonbinary Jews.
Mechitzahs are not a thing outside of orthodoxy. Some older Conservative synagogues will have women’s sections, but no longer expect or enforce this arrangement.
Money. Is. Not. Handled. On. Shabbat. Or. Holidays. Especially. Not. In. The. Synagogue. Seriously, nothing says “goy writing Jews” more than a collection plate in shul. No money plate, no checks being passed around, even over calls for money (as opposed to just talking about all the great stuff they do and upcoming projects) are tacky and forbidden on Shabbat. Synagogues rely on donations and dues, and will solicit from members, but don’t outright request money on holidays and Shabbat.
Outside of Reform and very nontraditional Conservative spaces, no instruments on Shabbat or holidays. No clapping either. Same goes for phones, cameras, and other electronics outside of microphones (which aren’t permitted in Orthodox services either).
11a. In the now-times an increasing number of shuls have set up cameras ahead of time pre-programmed to record, so they don’t have to actively “make fire” which is “work” (this is the relevant commandment/mitzvah) on Shabbat, so services can be live-streamed.
11b. After someone has completed an honor (reading from the Torah, carrying the Torah, opening the ark, etc), the appropriate response is a handshake after and the words “Yasher Koach” (again, Before-Times).
Jewish services involve a lot of movement. Get up, sit down. Look behind you, look in front of you. Twist left, twist right. A disconnected Jew or gentile visitor would be best off just trying to follow along with what an exchange student we had once termed “Jewish choreography.”
Some prayers are standing prayers (if able), some are sitting prayers. It’s just how it is, although a handful of prayers have variations on who stands.
#jumlbr#jewblr#jewish#jewish writing help#jewish writing#jewish characters#writing jewish characters#jewish representation#writing advice#writeblr#writing jewish spaces#how to write synagogues#another long one sorry not sorry
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The Winter Solstice
Fantasy Masks AU: Chapter Seven
A JSE Fanfic
Well after last week’s brief foray into writing for a different fandom, we return to the septics once again. The FM!septics to be exact. It’s the winter solstice, meaning there are holidays to celebrate! Chase, Jackie, and Henrik have a great day that totally doesn’t become suddenly serious near the end haha nope just fun times all around with some world building and character development :) Enjoy :)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The day dawned cold and snowy, but nobody at Wyvernlair cared. Not when today was the winter solstice. This was a time for celebration! And with all the people in the camp, there was bound to be a big party. Preparations had been ongoing for the past few weeks. Food was made, games were planned, and time was set aside for those honoring the various holy days. When the day itself dawned, normal duties were put on hold so that everyone could join in.
Chase woke up at sunrise. He had a quick breakfast—light, since there would be a lot of food at the feast planned for that night—and strolled about, taking in the changes. Everyone was bustling about as usual, but now they chattered with excitement. Some people had hung decorations outside their tents: replicas of snowflakes made from white-painted sticks, candles with carved designs set on the ground, pine branches and snippets of other winter-blooming plants scattered about. Combined with the white layer of snow, it was quite beautiful.
Yet, Chase felt a pang somewhere deep in his chest. Last year, he’d spent Longest Night with his family and the rest of the village. There’d been town celebrations in the square. He helped Quentin carve his first candle. And now? Now, he didn’t know where his family was.
“Chase!”
He was snapped out of his melancholy thoughts when he heard someone call his name. In the middle of turning to see who it was, that ‘someone’ barrelled straight into him. “Oof!” He was about to respond, but found he couldn’t, because he’d been wrapped in a tight bear hug.
“Sorry, did I knock the wind out of you? Sorry!” Jackie was too full of energy to notice he apologized twice. He gave Chase one last squeeze before breaking off the hug.
“It’s okay, just give me more warning next time.” Chase took a minute to catch his breath. “Well. Happy Longest Night, then?”
“Happy Longest Night, then!” Jackie repeated. He whirled his cloak around dramatically. It was still red, but slightly nicer, with a fur lining. His wolf mask was pushed back, sitting on his forehead. “You know the plan, right? We’re having games all day. War games, dice games, card games—a few strategy games, too, the ones we have the boards for in storage. Then there’s the feast later, and the Dark Vigil tonight.”
“Yea, I understand,” Chase said, a faint smile on his face. He couldn’t help it; Jackie was contagious. “How many people will be at the Vigil?”
“A fair share. Schneep won’t; he does something at moonrise instead.” Jackie shrugged. “Are you planning to do any of the games? What about archery?!”
Chase laughed. “No, no, I’m not good enough to compete in a war game. I’ll probably just drift around and join in where I can. Do you think anyone will be playing Luck of the Deal? I’m very good at that.”
Jackie rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s good at Luck of the Deal. That’s the whole thing about it, it’s luck.”
“You don’t know that. There’s skill involved, too,” Chase insisted.
Jackie patted his shoulder. “Whatever you say, Hunter. It’ll be some time before everything really gets going. Anything you want to do before that?”
“Umm...” Chase thought about it. “Well, is there anything I can do to help with the feast preparations? That’s usually a community thing, isn’t it?”
“Well we already have a lot of volunteers for cooking. They’ve already gotten started, in fact.” Jackie thought about it. “But if you want to help, you could put your hunting skills to the test in the surrounding woods. Always good to have more food than less, on these occasions. People would eat their plates, if it was possible.”
Chase laughed. “Oh, I know that. Amabel would eat us out of home on Longest Night. She must’ve gotten her appetite from Stacia’s side of the family.” Saying their names, the melancholy threatened to return.
“Honestly? I have a confession.” Jackie leaned closer. “I’m one of those types, too.”
“Oh? Somehow, that makes sense.”
“And somehow I’m offended.” Jackie gave him a playful shove. “If you want to go ahead, you know where the shortbows and arrows are. Oh!” His eyes widened as he remembered something. “But try not to shoot any pigeons. Those are important.”
“Important?” Chase put the pieces together. “You mean...messenger birds?”
Jackie nodded. “I don’t expect anyone to send messages on the solstice except for an emergency, but there might be some arriving that were sent a fews days, or even a week, ago. It takes a while to fly across the island.”
“Got it. I won’t shoot any pigeons.” Chase shook his head, a bit in awe. “Messenger birds.” He’d heard of them, but never seen them in use. Somehow, they seemed almost as magical as actual magic. Getting letters sent across the kingdom in a matter of days? That was amazing. “I’ll just head out, then.”
“Good luck, Chase!” Jackie said cheerfully, waving as he turned to leave. “Be back before noon, that’s when the fun will start!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If possible, it was even colder out in the forest, away from the magic heat of the dragon bones. Chase clutched his jacket tighter and made sure his hat was securely on his head. He doubted that he’d find any animals out here. By Longest Night, most of them were hibernating. But it was worth a shot.
Snow crunched under his feet, so he slowed down, carefully placing every step so it wouldn’t make too much noise. There wasn’t a lot of foliage to hide behind in the winter, but he had made sure to grab a white jacket from storage to help him blend in. He’d also turned his hat inside out so that the red ribbon around it didn’t show. After a while, he found what he thought was a good spot to wait. So he settled down, nocking an arrow so it would be ready to fly at any moment.
The world became very still. The only sound he heard was his breath, accompanied by the small puffs of mist that breath caused in the cold. He made sure not to move a muscle.
Until there was a sudden sound. Footsteps, very light, being pursued by much heavier ones. His eyes darted towards the sound. The bare branches of a bush rustled, and suddenly a streak of brown fur dashed out in front of him followed by something much larger—
Chase reacted, letting go of the bow string and loosing the arrow. It shot through the air and landed solidly in the brown furry something. Shocked, he laughed in the rush of actually shooting something moving that fast. But then a voice cried, “I knew it!”
“Wh...?” And Chase finally noticed what the large something pursuing the small animal actually was. He looked up from his position near the ground to see...Lukas. It took him a moment to recognize him without his usual fox mask, but once the brown-auburn hair and tall longbow registered, his heart immediately sank with dread. “What are you doing—”
Lukas took an arrow out of the quiver on his back and nocked it, aiming at Chase. “Did you think you could take me out when nobody was looking?! Claim it was an accident?!”
“What in the world?!” Chase stood up. Slowly, of course, he didn’t want to get skewered by that massive arrow. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t try to play dumb, you just tried to kill me!”
“I was shooting the rabbit!” He pointed at the small animal, which was, in fact, a rabbit.
“A likely cover story.”
All of a sudden, Chase felt hot rage rise up his throat. “I know you hate me but you don’t have to be an idiot about it!” he burst out.
That seemed to take Lukas by surprise. He blinked, and lowered his bow slightly.
“I don’t know what kind of trust issues you have or where they come from, but I’m sick of you always acting this way! I’ve been here for almost a full season now, and you still act like I’m about to stab you in the back the first opportunity I get! I know, you’re probably thinking something like ‘he’s playing a long game to get everyone to trust him,’ but let’s be honest, you’re just looking for any justification to be like this. I wouldn’t trust someone like me in your position either, but I wouldn’t be so obvious about it. You don’t have to like me, you don’t have to trust me, but elders be damned, you don’t have to stir up this much trouble for Jackie and Henrik and everyone else here!” Chase ran out of breath and was forced to stop. He waited silently for Lukas’s reaction.
For a while, there wasn’t one. Lukas just...stared at him. Then he lowered his bow fully, putting the arrow back in its quiver. “What are you doing out here?” he asked in a carefully-neutral tone.
“We have some time before the real celebrations start, so I thought I’d help out by trying to find more food for the feast,” Chase explained. He walked past Lukas and picked up the rabbit, trying not to feel sad. Something about shooting rabbits made him feel guilty. Maybe he respected how hard they worked to stay alive, running so swiftly. Or maybe he thought they were cute. “What are you doing out here?”
“The same thing,” Lukas answered.
Chase snorted. “And you decided to bring that monster of a bow for hunting?”
“It’s more powerful than yours,” Lukas retorted.
“Yes, but it’s also heavier and more cumbersome. I remember my second day here, Holly said that big bows like that were more suited for long range, while shortbows—” Chase waved his bow as an example. “—are better for mobility. Look at all these trees. Do you think you’re able to shoot long range in a forest? Not to mention if you miss, you’ll end up burying your arrow in a tree with all the force you need to fire it. That’ll just be a pain to pull out.”
“I know all this,” Lukas said irritably. “But I’m most familiar with this style of bow. I can make it work.”
“Maybe if you weren’t stomping around the woods,” Chase muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“You were running after the rabbit. Bad idea; you’ll never catch up with them. It’s better to wait and let the animals come to you. If you have to move, be quieter about it. And slow. Conserve your energy; animals get tired faster than humans.” Chase glanced downwards. “You’re wearing heavy boots, I see. Those will make a lot of sound no matter how much you try to be quiet. And your clothes stand out, too. Especially that red band on your wrist. It’s bright and you have to hide it. Like I did.” He turns his cap right-side out again, letting the red ribbon show.
“Hmm.” Lukas eyed him. He did that quite a lot, but somehow, it felt different this time. More...respectful. “Well. I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned away.
“Um...right.” Now that Lukas was leaving, Chase felt the sudden energy that had filled him starting to fade away. “I’ll...see you at the celebrations, then.”
Lukas didn’t say anything, but he raised his hand in acknowledgement, not stopping as he headed back to camp.
Well...that wasn’t too bad, all things considered. Lukas clearly didn’t think worse of him. And he had managed to shoot a rabbit, something he’d rarely done in all his years as a hunter. Though he’d only done that because the rabbit was too busy running from Lukas to notice him crouching nearby. So really, he should thank him.
Maybe later. For now, Chase headed back to camp, ready to join in on the festivities.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
By the time Chase returned to Wyvernlair, the festivities were starting to get underway. Games, mostly. People gathered in circles playing cards, or in threes playing dice, or in pairs playing board games. Others clustered around the players, watching the game and shouting encouragement. Some food was already prepared. Plates of sweet buns and meat pies were passed around. Chase grabbed a couple buns as he looked around.
But though the camp inside the circle of dragon bones was crowded, most people were out on the combat field. That was where the war games were set up. Chase decided to stop by for a moment. Even if he wasn’t going to participate, he wanted to see how things were going.
Targets were set up for archers to test their skill. People had grabbed close-quarters training weapons and were sparring, onlookers cheering on their favored winner. Someone had dragged over a rock and a large branch, setting up a makeshift see-saw that people were standing on top of, trying to knife-fight without losing their balance. Chase shook his head at that particular event. He himself had some scars on his hands from knife-fights as a young man; they really weren’t worth the bragging rights.
There was an especially large crowd gathered around one particular sparring match. Chase stopped, edging his way into the mass of people as he tried to see what was going on. Wait a minute...was that Jackie?
Indeed, Jackie was one of the sparring participants. And he was easily outclassing his opponent. He easily danced around jabs and swipes, not striking for a while, then jumped forward and hit his opponent on the side with his wooden practice sword. The crowd cheered, and the two participants backed away, shaking hands as they parted. Chase could’ve sworn he saw money change hands among the watchers.
“Anyone want to go for another round?” Jackie called to the crowd. “Doesn’t have to be to the first contact. What about to the ground?”
At that, a tall man grabbed a practice sword from a nearby rack, stepped forward, and announced, “I accept the challenge!” The crowd cheered again. “To the ground!”
Jackie grinned. “To the ground! Someone give us a count!”
In unison, the crowd started chanting, counting down from five as Jackie and his opponent started circling each other. Chase joined in. “Five!...Four!...Three!...Two!...One!...Clash!”
The two men immediately started going at each other with the practice swords, jabbing and backing up, swiping and dodging. The new opponent tried to make use of his height advantage, but Jackie was just too fast. The sparring lasted a few minutes and the crowd was enthralled for every second. Until Jackie managed to get behind his opponent and knock out his legs, making him fall to the ground. The crowd cheered. The opponent got up, looking no worse for wear and in good spirits. He shook hands with Jackie before leaving. Now Chase was sure he saw people exchanging money.
“He’s got skill, doesn’t he?”
Chase looked up, and saw Holly standing beside him. “Oh. Yea, he’s really good.”
Holly laughed. “That’s an understatement. You know he trained at Fíornear Field?” Chase nodded. “Well, so did I. But he could beat me in a fight nine times out of ten.”
“Really?” Chase asked, interested. “That many times? I thought it would’ve been closer between you two.”
“Everyone does. I say it’s the size difference. But what Jackie lacks in height, he makes up for in practice and sheer determination.” Holly watched as Jackie started sparring with another opponent. “Anyway, Chase. Come to watch or try your hand?”
Chase laughed. “No, no, just watching.”
“Well. In that case.” Holly leaned closer. “Care to try for chance?”
“You mean betting? Don’t tempt me.” Chase shook his head. “Besides, I can tell that betting against Jackie is a waste of time and money.”
“Doesn’t have to be at this spar. There’s many more war games to be had. I hear there’s axe throwing.”
“Axe throwing?” Chase perked up. “Alright, I have to see that. Lead the way.”
Holly laughed, and the two of them left, heading towards a set of targets. Indeed, some people had taken up throwing axes at these targets. Not competing against each other at the moment, only themselves, and also showing off for the passersby. Chase watched as one of the axe-throwers hit the center of her target. Then, surprisingly, he recognized the axe-thrower. “Nemet!” he called.
Nemet turned around, smiling at him. “Hello, Chase! How are you?”
“I’m doing fine. What are you...uh...I didn’t know you threw axes.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is it so unexpected?”
Chase shrugged. “Well, you’re a doctor.”
“I am. I am a doctor who likes to throw axes.” Nemet picked up a throwing axe on the ground beside her. She held it back, paused to aim, and threw. It landed right next to the last one she threw. Holly and Chase clapped, impressed.
“Wanna shoot something, Brodyson?”
Chase yelped in surprise at the voice that came from behind him. He spun around to see Tripp grinning up at him. “You did that on purpose,” he accused.
“Maybe,” Tripp said. He was tossing a rock back and forth between his hands. Getting bored of that, he threw it to the side. Magically, the rock curved around, shooting for the target, where it bounced off the handle of one of Nemet’s axes. “Ah, almost a bull’s eye. Anyway, wanna shoot something, Brodyson? We could have a triple competition, axes versus arrows versus sorcery.”
“Hmm.” Chase considered it. “You know I had only planned to watch, but...that doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Don’t let him pressure you if you don’t want to, Chase,” Nemet said.
“No, do let him pressure you, I want to see this!” Holly insisted.
Chase laughed. “Alright, fine. Just a few rounds.”
Though as the afternoon passed, those few rounds stretched out into many. Chase had never been one for war games, but somehow, he didn’t mind.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eventually, of course, came the main draw of the winter celebrations: the feast. The people who’d volunteered to cook had been preparing food all day, and shortly before sunset, declared it ready. Instantly, a good half of everyone dropped what they were doing and headed over to the cooking fires.
Chase wasn’t sure what to expect from the feast. Wyvernlair didn’t use tables for food, so would everyone be standing around with plates? But it seemed as though they’d found tables, if just for today. Probably borrowed from storage. Some of the meat stayed on the skewer, roasting over the fires to keep it hot until someone wanted it. But most food was lined up on the tables, free to take. Sweet buns and meat pies, of course, but also preserved fruits that had been kept for a special occasion like this, and tarts covered in sugar, and pumpkin pie, and roasted potatoes, and more than could be counted.
Everyone ate until they couldn’t anymore, washing down the food with water, juice, and ale. Chase savored it, mingling and talking with the other Phantoms. And for once, he didn’t feel out of place here.
Time passed. The sun set. And as the feast died down, most people began talking about the Dark Vigil, the ceremony used to honor the Elder of Dark and thank them for protecting humankind from the shadows. Chase yawned. They’d be holding that in the center of camp, where a spot had been cleared specifically for that purpose. But it would be some time before everyone was ready. So, Chase decided to slip out. He headed towards the outside of the skeleton, away from the noise and bustle.
The stars were beautiful tonight. It was clear, without any clouds fogging the view, and the moon was nearly full. Chase leaned back against the bone and stared upward. He hadn’t really had the opportunity to appreciate the world lately. It was all busy, working with the Masked Phantoms. But it was nice to slow down for a moment.
Some minutes passed in silence. Then, he heard footsteps approaching. And then, a small thud, the sound of stumbling, and a muttered “Shiesse!”
Chase looked over towards the sounds, already grinning. “You doing alright there, Henrik?”
With a huff, Henrik emerged from the darkness. “I would be better if I know no one heard that,” he muttered.
Chase laughed. “Anyway, how’re you doing? I haven’t seen you all day.”
“Ah, I am fine.” Henrik leaned against the bone next to Chase. “I have been stuck in a dice game for most of the evening. I almost missed the moonrise.”
“I see. Jackie told me you had to do something around then. Is it like the Dark Vigil?” Chase asked.
“Similar, in ways. Different, in others.” Henrik looked up at the sky. He pointed upwards, at the moon. “She is beautiful tonight, yes? I never understood why your Elders never come from the sky.”
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“Well, I understand there is the Winged Elder One, but they are for more weather, yes?” Henrik kept his eyes fixed skywards. “None of them are for the heavens.”
“Well why would they be?” Chase shrugged. “The sky’s beautiful and wonderful. But it’s so far away. We live on the earth. Shouldn’t we be more concerned with what’s down here?”
“Hmm. Perhaps.” Henrik sighed. He reached down his belt, removing his flask and taking a drink.
“Oh—” Chase started to say something, then stopped. It would probably be rude to ask, wouldn’t it?
Henrik looked over at him, and guessed what he was about to say. “Yes, I am still taking the medicine. It is...not something that goes away.”
“Sorry,” Chase mumbled. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Is okay,” Henrik said, giving him a small smile. “You are polite about it, so I do not mind.” He returned the flask to his belt. “Ah, though I am afraid I must change the subject now. I just remembered. We managed to get the materials for more plaster this week. So you can finally have a mask of your own!”
“I can?” Chase repeated.
“No need to sound so surprised,” Henrik chuckled.
“I did? I didn’t mean to. It just seems a bit...unreal.” Chase had left his borrowed mask, the hedgehog one, back in his tent. Most people had—or at least he assumed they had, since most of them were walking around without them.
“Yes, I understand.” Henrik nodded thoughtfully. “Do you want to wait?”
“Wait no, I didn’t say that—”
“I am just making sure.” Henrik playfully nudged his shoulder. “You will need to choose an animal, you know. Do you have anything in mind?”
“Oh right. I forgot about that part.” Chase thought about it for a moment. “What about...a deer?”
Henrik raised an eyebrow. “A deer?”
“Is that not allowed? I mean, Tripp’s mask has those ram horns so I figured antlers would—”
“No, is not that, I just suppose I did not expect that.”
Chase shrugged. “I like deer. They’re good animals. Um...do I have to make the mask myself, or...?”
“You can if you want, but if you’re not artistically inclined, someone else could do it easily enough. It’s not that difficult if you are...” Henrik trailed off. He was staring out into the trees, eyes fixed on a point. “Chase. Is something moving there?” And he pointed.
“Hm?” Chase peered into the darkness. Indeed, he could see the faint movement of shadows. “Oh, yea. It’s probably just an animal.” He paused. “That’s...getting closer?”
They looked at each other, but unsure what to do with this information, just turned back to watch the animal get closer. And closer. It was too small to be a threat, but Chase felt Henrik tense anyway. Eventually, the animal got close enough to make out what it was. “A...cat?” Chase asked, confused.
“A cat,” Henrik agreed.
“What’s a cat doing all the way out here?”
“I am not sure...” Henrik said slowly, brows lowered as he thought through the possibilities.
The cat continued its course, walking in a straight line up to the two of them. Chase crouched down and held out his hand. “Here, kitty.” Once it was close enough, the cat sniffed his hand. Then, satisfied, butted its head against it. Chase laughed. “Y’know I haven’t met that many cats. When I was young, maybe about twelve, Pastor Cait had a cat. We joked about that, since her name was so similar, ha. But it’s gone now. I don’t think the town had another cat since then. A couple dogs, but no cats.” He reached out and petted it. And after a few seconds of that, scooped up the cat and stood. “Does someone here have a cat?”
“No, there are no animals in camp,” Henrik said, still puzzled. “Does it have a collar?”
Chase checked. Difficult, given that the cat clearly didn’t like being held and was wriggling a bit. “Yea, right here.” He pointed to a braided leather collar around the cat’s neck. “No name, though. For the cat or its person.”
“Well. It is cold and snowy, and even with that fur, I don’t think the cat enjoys being out here,” Henrik stated. “Maybe we should take it into camp? We have that fire set up in the skull now, that could warm it up.”
“Good idea.”
The two of them headed back, passing between the dragon bones and into the main body of Wyvernlair. By now, the festivities were starting to die down. Games were ending, and a lot of people were getting ready to attend the Dark Vigil. Chase and Henrik walked quickly by, since the cat was really struggling against being held by this point. Luckily, it hadn’t used its claws yet, but Chase could already feel them digging into the fabric of his jacket.
They reached the skull soon, passing through the gap where it joined the rest of the bones and ending up inside. It was almost empty here. Except for two people and several birds. Chase blinked a bit at the surprising sight, but then remembered what Jackie had told him that morning. So these must be messenger birds, then. There were about seven of them, pigeons in a variety of colors; white, gray, brown, spotted. Actually, Jackie was here, too. Along with Ana, who Chase had figured out by now was the head of organization at Wyvernlair. They both seemed rather impatient, quickly putting away documents. Probably heading to the Vigil like most others.
Ana looked up, noticed Chase and Henrik, then turned to Jackie and said, “It’s your best friend and his best friend. They have a cat.”
“They have a what?” Jackie spun to look at them. “Oh elders, you have a cat. Where’d you get a cat?”
“It just wandered up,” Chase said. “We thought it might like to get out of the cold—ow!” The cat dug its claws into his skin, managing to pierce the jacket, and Chase instinctively opened his arms. Of course, the cat landed on its feet, and trotted over to the side of the fire, which was slowly dying but still giving off a lot of heat.
“I’ve never seen a cat like that before,” Jackie muttered. “That’s a really unique pattern, isn’t it?” The cat was mostly a brownish off-white, but its ears and tails were dark gray, almost black, and the tail had rings of lighter gray. Its legs were striped with light brown, and it had markings on its face of the same color. Big blue eyes stared up at the strange people.
“Oh!” Henrik’s eyes lit up. “I had not noticed outside! It was fairly dark. Oh, you are a pretty kitty, aren’t you?” He slowly approached the cat, and when it didn’t run away, bent over and started petting it.
Meanwhile, Ana was bored, and anxious to leave. She looked at Chase, and her eyes lit up with a strangely sly expression. “Hey, it’s Chase, isn’t it? Do you mind helping me open this?” She held out a small tube made of metal and leather. “I’ve been trying for a while, I think it’s stuck.”
“Um..sure,” Chase said warily. Was this going to be a joke of some kind? He took the small tube and turned it over in his hands. There was a door on the side of it, and after some effort, he figured out how to open it. Out fell three items. Two folded pieces of paper, made of pressed wood pulp and therefore pale brown, and a rolled-up piece of vellum tied with twine. “What’s this?”
“Messages,” Ana said, grinning. “Can you see names written on them?”
Chase looked down at the items, sorting through them. There was writing on the folded papers, but...well, it could just be his lack of reading skills, but it looked like absolute nonsense. “These are names?” he asked doubtfully.
Jackie and Henrik looked away from the cat, noticing the exchange between Chase and Ana. “What do you mean?” Jackie asked.
“These words written here, these are...names?” Chase shook his head. “I’ve just never heard names like this before. Um...here, I-I’ll try to read them. Uh...” He squinted at the writing in ink on the two papers. “This one is ‘Ee-uh-oo-koh’ and this one is...um...‘Ffssehffmuh.’ I think? The handwriting could be—”
Henrik’s eyes widened. Suddenly, he was right next to Chase, grabbing his arm and squeezing it tightly. “What is it?! The two papers?! Which one is—that one, can I see that one?”
“Whoa, hey, calm down!” Chase leaned back. “You mean this one?” He held out the paper with the ‘Fsefma’ name on it.
“Yes!” Henrik snatched it up, then retreated, unfolding it.
Jackie leaned over his shoulder, then grinned. “Oh, I see. Vsevna sent you a little letter, didn’t he? What’s it say? Is he confessing his love?”
“Shut up, Jackie,” Henrik said, holding the letter far away from him so he couldn’t read it. “Is just another report.”
Jackie laughed. “Yea, with your name on it. Come on, Henrik.”
“That does not mean anything.”
Chase, listening, raised an eyebrow. “So...I don’t know everything that’s going on, but I think I can figure out that this Fsefna person—”
“Vsevna,” Henrik corrected.
“...Vsefna—”
“Vsevna. It is important that you voice those sounds.”
“He’s the person you’re pining for, huh, Henrik?” Chase pressed on.
Henrik was slowly turning red. “I say nothing.”
“Right,” Chase said, grinning. “So, who is he?”
“He’s another one of the Phantoms,” Jackie said, sensing that Henrik wasn’t going to answer. “He and Yuko—that’s the other name on that second paper. Last we heard, they were in the Southern Moors with the rest of their crew. They said they’d scout it out for a bit more, then move on. These are probably their reports. Or...Yuko’s is a report, at least.”
“Shush,” Henrik muttered. He retreated a few steps away from the others, clutching the letter. As he passed Ana, he shot her a glare. “You make Chase open that on purpose.”
Ana just smiled. “Same results, right? Anyway, that’s the last capsule. Do you mind if I head out now?”
“No, go ahead, Ana. Send Harrison to take care of the birds,” Jackie said. She nodded, and left the skull. He then looked at Chase. “Uh...can I have the other two things?”
“Oh right.” Chase forgot he was still holding the other paper and the vellum scroll. He handed them over to Jackie, and the metal tube as well. “I’m surprised. That’s a lot for a bird to carry.”
“Well these guys are trained for it.” Jackie gestured at the pigeons, now strutting around the table. “Especially Mokin here, who had this stuff.” He patted the wings of a particular pigeon, mostly white but with brown wings, which had strangely curly feathers. “They all deserve the best seeds before we send them out again. Anyway.” Jackie unfolded the paper with Yuko’s name on it, scanning the words written there. At first, he looked excited to get a letter from this person. But the more he read, the more serious his expression became. “Henrik.”
Henrik looked away from his own letter, picking up on the tone in Jackie’s voice. “What is it?”
“I...read this while I open this scroll.” Jackie passed Henrik the letter, then began working on the twine knot holding the vellum shut.
Henrik read the letter quickly, and soon his expression matched Jackie’s. “Oh. Oh, Schwestern. Oh, no.”
Chase started to back up, feeling he shouldn’t listen to something like this. But Jackie noticed him leaving and said, “No, it’s fine, Chase. We should tell everyone this, anyway. Tomorrow, maybe.”
“What is it?” Chase asked anxiously.
“Well...you remember we told you about Marvin, right?” Jackie said slowly. “About how he went out on his own and we sometimes get reports of him?” He waited for Chase to nod before continuing. “This...was a report about him. Apparently, he was in the Moors. But...he didn’t just cause chaos and leave. He’s been...caught.”
“Caught?” Chase repeated numbly.
Jackie managed to untie the twine, and unrolled the vellum, scanning what was written there. He nodded grimly. “Yep. You know what this is?” He turned it around so Chase could see.
“That’s...a royal declaration, isn’t it?” Chase asked slowly. He recognized the format, and the royal seal in the corner. “Um...‘The King...announces a...mighty...triumph.’”
“You do not have to keep going, Chase,” Henrik said bitterly. “There are better words to read than that.” He took the declaration from Jackie, glancing at it for just a moment. “I see. Marvin is accused of attempting to kill the King and some other nobility. They caught him in the act, and now...they plan to execute him. Four weeks from now.”
Jackie looked over at the cat, now sitting and licking its paws, and gasped. “Henrik. You don’t think that’s his cat, do you?!”
“What? I suppose perhaps. But if it is, how did it get all the way up here?” Henrik sounded puzzled. “It takes a week or two to get to the Moors from here, and that is for humans on horseback. For a cat...”
“Wizardry?” Jackie guessed. “I don’t know, it was just a thought, since he likes cats so much.”
Everyone fell silent. Henrik looked back at the royal declaration, reading it slowly, taking in the information. “So...how are we going to do this?”
“Do what?” Jackie asked.
Henrik stared at him in surprise. “Well, we have to rescue him, of course.” Jackie didn’t say anything. “Do not tell me that you’re going to let your grudge stand in the way!”
“No, it’s not that!” Jackie protested. “It’s just—you read the letter, right? Yuko said that these declarations were sent everywhere. Since when has the King announced his next move like this? Everything he does, he does in secret. I mean, damn, the Phantoms are just rumors, and we’ve been taking serious action for years now. He’s hushed up so much, why wouldn’t he just make Marvin...you know, disappear? Why a public execution?”
“You think it is a trap,” Henrik stated.
“Well...yes,” Jackie admitted.
“That is fair, but if it’s a trap, who is he planning to catch? If he wants information about us, he could get it from Marvin.”
“But Marvin hasn’t been part of the group for a year now! His information would be out of date.”
“This does not change the fact that there is no guarantee it’s a trap in the first place. Perhaps he wants to strike fear into the population. Given his actions, it seems likely.”
“If it does turn out to be a trap, though, we can’t afford to lose anyone!”
Chase coughed awkwardly. Jackie and Henrik jumped, then turned to him, looking embarrassed to be fighting while he was still there. “You know...I don’t know if I have any place in this. I mean, you two are in charge, after all. But...I think you should try to get him back.”
Henrik and Jackie looked at each other, then back to Chase. “Are you trying to say something?” Jackie asked.
“I just...” Chase paused for a moment, searching for the words. “I don’t think...you should leave someone behind. He was still part of the Phantoms, right? Didn’t he help create it? A-and weren’t you three...Well. You don’t have to talk to him after we rescue him, but it just doesn’t seem right to leave someone behind in this situation. I know you had your fight and all, but maybe...this could be...you know.” He paused. “Also, I want to know if this cat is his or if some random cat just wandered by.”
Jackie laughed. “Yea, that would be good to know, wouldn’t it?” He sighed, and his expression fell, becoming serious as he was lost in thought.
Henrik leaned closer to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Jackie. Chase is right, this does not mean he is rejoining the group. You do not even have to go. But...we should do it. Marvin does not deserve this.”
After a moment, Jackie nodded. “You’re both right. Of course. Even though he was an ass last time we talked, that doesn’t mean I want Marvin dead.” He took a deep breath. “But we should prepare for the possibility of a trap. Just in case.”
“Of course we will,” Henrik assured him.
“...Hey. Chase.” Jackie gave him a smile. “Thank you. I-I don’t know what it is about you, but you know what to say. It’s really easy to talk to you about stuff like this.”
“It’s not a problem,” Chase said, returning the smile. “But, um...I think the Vigil is happening soon, so if we want to go—”
“Shit, I almost forgot about that!” Jackie gasped. “Henrik, I don’t want to leave the cat alone, can you look after it or something?”
“Don’t worry, I will take it to my tent,” Henrik said. “You two go and...is it alright to wish you fun? In a ceremony like this?”
“Come on, Schneep, you’ve lived here for over a decade, don’t talk like it’s so strange to you,” Jackie chuckled.
“I think it’s fun,” Chase said.
“Well, you two go have fun, then,” Henrik said. “I will see you later. Tomorrow, if not tonight.”
“Thanks, Schneep.” Jackie gave him a quick one-armed hug, then headed towards the skull entrance. “Let’s go, Chase. We don’t want to be late.”
They almost were. The Dark Vigil was about to start when they arrived, shuffling into the crowd. Everyone stood in a circle around a set of candles, one blue and the rest black, which were in turn set in a circle around several smooth, round pieces of black onyx. Three people stood inside, lighting the candles.
After the candles were alight, everyone sat on the ground, clashing a bit as they all tried to make room. Then once everyone was sitting with their legs crossed, the three in the center started the Vigil. They spoke the traditional lines, describing the Elder of Dark—their vague appearance, their actions, their history with the other Elders—and finished it by thanking them for their guardianship. Everyone joined in on the final part: “As you stand and watch vigil, so shall we this night.” And then silence fell.
During the silence of the Dark Vigil, each individual offered their thoughts about those who needed protection. In the past, Chase had asked for his family to be alright. For them all to stay healthy and happy. Today, he asked for that again. He wished, silently, desperately, for them to be safe. And not just them, but everyone else who had disappeared from his town, as well as all the other mountain towns that had been destroyed. He thought about Henrik and Jackie and all the other Phantoms he’d met here, and wished for them to have luck in this fight against the King. He thought about Marvin, someone who he’d never met but who was dear to his friends, and wished for them to be able to rescue him.
As Chase stared at the candle flames, he thought he saw...something. He wasn’t sure what. A shape in the smoke. The shape of a four-legged animal, with...antlers. A deer.
Then as was the tradition, the candles were extinguished, and the night was left in darkness.
#jacksepticeye#jacksepticeye fanfiction#jacksepticegos#jacksepticeye au#septic egos#septic egos au#chase brody#jackieboy man#dr schneeplestein#brigid writes fanfiction#fantasymasksau
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Qrowin Week 2021: 6/21-Childhood Friends AU
Two little snowbirds sitting in a row
They met in the garden at one of her father’s lavish parties. She’d gone outside because little girls didn’t like being told to sit still and not talk nor do anything fun, so she decided she didn’t care if the dress daddy bought her got messy, she’d go outside and spend time in the hedge maze.
They’d gotten it installed, in the shape of the Schnee family crest no less, because the Marigolds had one in the shape of their family crest and daddy could be silly about when people had things he didn’t.
The white roses that grew from the foliage walls, fragrant and delicate, were always calming to her, especially on a cool and cloudless night like this when the moonlight was at its brightest.
For Winter, to get lost in its lush corridors and marble statuary, it’s hidden gardens and fountains would be enough to get the annoyance of her father’s party out of her mind.
Most of that went out of her head when she found a grungy boy in a cape stuffing his face with what looked like a rabbit.
He stared at her, like an animal in a vehicle’s headlights, bits of his meal hanging from his mouth.
He couldn’t be older than her, gaunt with gunsmoke-colored hair stuck up at odd angles and eyes like carbuncles.
The clothes he wore were grubby and layered and obviously used long before he’d begun wearing them, especially that tattered cape.
For a moment, neither spoke, merely staring at one another in the moonlight.
Finally, Winter broke the silence.
“That’s disgusting.”
The boy dropped the rabbit from his mouth.
“Sorry if I’m not fancy enough for you, Miss Uppity.”
Winter felt her cheeks heat with indignation.
“How dare you!”
The boy threw back his head and laughed, a sound that reminded Winter of a pair of birds she’d once heard fighting in the yard.
“Is that all it takes to get under that pale skin!” he laughed, a sound which soon died in his throat when his stomach made a loud groan.
Winter huffed as he reached for the dead rabbit.
“Wait here and don’t touch that,” she said, turning on her heel.
She returned with two plates piled high with hors d'oeuvres.
“I didn’t know what you liked,” she said, handing him one, “so I got you one of everything.”
The boy said nothing, just shoveling food into his mouth in a way that probably promoted choking.
“You’re welcome,” Winter said, sitting down and spearing a piece of salmon on a toothpick to eat.
The boy coughed, pounding his chest.
“You shouldn’t eat so fast,” Winter said, “you’ll get sick.”
“Well, some of us don’t know when our next meal is gonna be,” he said.
His words brought back to Winter the memory of her father sending her to bed with no supper when he found she’d invited a faunus over to play, with threats of no breakfast if she didn’t break it off with the girl tomorrow.
“You might be surprised,” Winter said.
The boy said something through a mouthful of hummace.
“What was that?” Winter asked.
The boy swallowed.
“I’m Qrow,” he said.
Winter smiled.
“I’m Winter.”
One named Winter
She saw him on days when it wasn’t raining or snowing after that. The family he lived with (his “Tribe” as he called them) were camped out in the woods behind their house, the ones nobody would let daddy cut down.
At night, he told her, they danced and played instruments and drank until the early hours of the morning.
Winter never really cared for people who drank (her mother’s growing dependence on liquor was a factor in this) but Qrow never really showed up smelling like wine, so she supposed associating with him was no trouble.
It was also refreshing that he never stood on ceremony.
He never rolled his eyes at her when she spoke of wanting to learn fencing or told her how things were supposed to be when she complained about how someone (usually daddy) was being unfair.
He also taught her new games that were much more fun than anything that the boys and girls daddy introduced her knew.
Kick the can, stickball, and he played hide and seek and tag with her. And he’d tell her all about the places he’d been. Mistral, Vacuo, Menagerie, his tribe had traveled all over Remnant.
And while he could be crass, she still remembered seeing the way he rescued a baby bird from a stray cat and returning it to its nest with the tenderest care.
Or how when she complained of how her father was so bossy and so dumb, that he listened. Didn’t judge, didn’t criticize, just listen.
And sometimes, it was enough to know that they’d meet once a week, at night, in the hedge maze.
One named Qrow
She wasn’t what he expected.
Sure, she told him annoying things like “don’t slouch, eat slower, no burping, don’t pull up the flowers—no! I don’t need them, put them back!”
But she never called him weak. She never said he should practice more like his sister did.
Winter gave him food, and listened to his stories and ideas, and never asked if he wanted to fight. Sometimes, they would even just sit together.
She even taught him how to read; starting with big letters scratched in the dirt with a stick, before lending him books that they could read together.
Mr. Bruin is a Shoe-in was the first he read all by himself. And he was so happy when she let him keep it afterwards.
And she never told him to stop being so dumb, like his sister did.
And sometimes, it was enough to know that they’d meet once a week, at night, in the hedge maze.
Fly away, Winter!
Their shouts bring the servants running. All they saw was Winter on her knees, face in her hands as she wept piteously.
If only they’d come a few minutes earlier, then they could have seen the argument in all it’s glory. Voices rough from the volume and occasionally cracking, tears streaming down their faces, they weren’t that little boy and girl anymore.
He’d grown lanky and lean, she taller and with longer hair.
But they didn’t care right then.
She’d told him she was joining the military.
He said his tribe would be moving and asked if she wanted to join them instead of some stupid army.
She said it was a noble profession.
He said only for assholes.
She defended her position.
He reiterated his opinion.
She shouted at him, asking why couldn’t he be happy for her.
He shouted at her what would be wrong with going with him.
She said something about duty.
He told her to shut up, that he didn’t want to hear duty again in his whole life.
She told him that if he was going to act like a filthy little boy, then he could go off and sulk like one.
He said he wished he’d never met her and hoped she enjoyed killing people.
Arguments like that, they learned, ended with no winners.
Fly away, Qrow!
That was the end of the time Qrow considered himself happy. Life seemed to plan for him a long drawn out death, bracketed with disappointments and tragedy’s.
Transformation
The death of friends.
The death of family.
The horrors of war.
Secrets and betrayal.
Abandonment.
And the drink
So, so much to drink.
It didn’t fix anything. It didn’t make him feel more human. But it kept the nightmares at bay. It kept him as a predictable disappointment rather than an out-of-the-blue-never-seen-that-kind-of-train-wreck-before disappointment.
But the worst part of the drink, thought, was that no matter how many shots he took, no matter how many chasers. Black liquor, brown liquor, red wine, white wine, it didn’t matter. Melancholy brought back visions of that girl from that time he had been happy.
Come back, Winter!
First impressions had never come easy to Qrow. So really, it should be no surprise that impression number 15 the horrible sequel nobody wanted or needed.
But really, denying common sense by chucking an empty whisky bottle at James Ironwood’s head was not only pointless, it was utterly puerile. He was drunk. He was upset that his latest search for intel on Salem had turned up next to nothing, he was itching for a fight and if that pompous wannabe hero wanted to take it up with him, that was fine.
Except he hadn’t expected the woman by his side to turn out to be someone familiar. Someone he hadn’t seen since he was a dumb, romantic, fifteen-year-old kid.
Someone whose reappearance upset his stomach enough that he emptied it onto the general’s uniform and shoes. With enough force to make his eyes water.
The woman in the Atlesian uniform said she would take care of him and asked another girl, another white haired girl, where their room was.
As they walked towards Beacon, he thought he heard her say “Qrow Branwen, what has the world done to you?”
Come back, Qrow!
Qrow awoke to a cold rag on his forehead.
“Lie still,” she said, “I think you got a hold of some rockgut.”
“More like rockgut got a hold of me.”
Qrow’s attempt at humor was met with a scowl.
“Gee, you got frosty.”
“And you became an alcoholic,” she said, wringing out the cloth into a nearby basin.
Qrow looked away from her and to the wall, as if a better retort than her’s existed there.
“It eases the pain,” he said.
“No it doesn’t,” Winter said. She threw the rag into the basin, causing the water to splash.
“Qrow, my mother is an alcoholic. It doesn’t fix anything! It just makes you want more of what’s essentially fermented grass!”
“You don’t think I know that!” Qrow snapped. Tears pricked at his eyes and his heart sank when he saw the hurt in her eyes from his tone, something he hadn’t seen there since their last meeting.
“There are nights when no matter how much I drink, I still can’t forget the loss of all the people around me and how--”
He paused and swallowed.
“How everyone is just one day going to leave me!”
Tears were starting to fall as all the regrets he’d kept at bay with drink and fighting and everythng else he could find came rushing back into him and coiling around his lungs.
“I’m bad luck, Winter,” he said, “I lost my sister, my tribe, I lost the people I care about, and every day, it’s missions, missions, and missions to find an enemy I don’t even know exists.”
His shoulders were shaking and he remembered his sister, back when they were little, telling him how ‘boys don’t cry.’
God, Winter must think he’s so pathetic.
Instead, she took him by the shoulders and gently brought him into her embrace.
“It’s alright,” she said, “just let it out. Get it all out.”
Not knowing what else to do, Qrow gripped the back of her uniform and sobbed into her shoulder, years’ worth of pain and loneliness deep inside him rising to the surface and finally escaping. And the pressure went with it.
At some point, they ended up lying together on the bed (wait, were they in a bunk bed?), still in each other’s arms.
“We all have regrets,” Winter said, “things we said. Things we wish we could take back.”
Her hand tightens on his shirt and his hand closes around it.
“But, if you really want to know, if I could do it over...”
Please say it, he wanted to think, but every time he had thoughts like that, life saw fit to swat him down again.
“I would go with you. Even if after the first day, I went back home, I think I would go with you.”
Qrow felt his heart swell and suddenly, he didn’t feel so sick anymore.
“And... if you wanted to start over... I would like that too.”
“I still have Mr. Bruin,” Qrow said.
He didn’t know why he said that. She never asked about the book, never said “Qrow, what kind of literature do you normally read?”
Whatever the reason, Winter looked up at him, shocked.
“Still? I thought you would’ve thrown that away.”
Qrow looked down at her, eyes glassy.
“I tried a few times. But I just couldn’t get rid of something that reminded me of you. It’s missing the page where Mr. Bruin loses his boot, but I tried to keep it safe.”
Winter’s hand rises to his cheek and Qrow leans into it, the human contact easing the hole in his soul he’s tried to fill with booze.
“I’m sorry I didn’t turn out as someone you could be proud of.”
“The fact that you kept that book tells me everything I need to know.”
Later that night, Winter’s sister and Qrow’s niece would get the shock of their lives when they enetered their room and saw the two of them sleeping on Weiss’s bed together.
#My Writing#RWBY#qrowin week 2021#qrowinfest#qrowin#qrowinweek#Childhood friend AU#AU#Qrow Branwen#Winter Schnee
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New Series, pt. 1 - Until Now
A NEW SERIES Y’ALL. Okay, I’m so excited for this one. It’s a friends to lovers <3 I need help thinking of a title so let me know!!
Warnings: Swearing
y/n and Daryl grew up together before y/n left for college, not long after, the world ended and Daryl had already left their town. y/n finds Daryl at the bottom of the ravine on his search for Sophia. After bringing him back to his people, they welcome y/n with open arms allowing the romance between y/n and Daryl to flourish.
Word Count: 2120
You paced the woods trying to pick up on the trail of the deer you had been tracking, suddenly drawn from your thoughts by the sound of a horse and someone in pain. Without thinking, you ran towards the sound, stopping quickly as your body was almost thrown over the edge of a ravine.
“Shit” You mumbled as you tried to focus on the body that laid still down the bottom. You could see blood spilling around him and knew you had to be fast if you were going to help. You found your way down without too many injuries, a few cuts and bruises and a sprained ankle but nothing compared to this guy.
You walked closer, cautious as to if he was still alive or about to turn. Finally you were able to focus on his face. You threw yourself to the floor next to him.
“Holy shit, no fucking way. Daryl?” He didn’t respond as his body laid still. Your head flew to his chest to listen for a heart beat. You could hear one as well as feel the rise and fall of his chest. “Daryl wake up. It’s me. I need you to wake up. It’s y/n” You placed your head on his chest as he began to stir beneath you. Your head shot up as you looked down at his slowly opening eyes, they were as blue as you remembered.
“God first I’m seein’ Merle and now it’s you. How hard did I hit my damn head. Fuck.” He rubbed the back of his head and you chuckled, throwing your arms around him. His entire body went rigid at the contact. You were real.
————
Daryl lifted the last of your stuff into the back of your car. “Ya promise to call me every damn day that ya gone.”
“Yes sir. I promise. I’ll miss you D but I’ll be back by Christmas.”
“Yeah I know.”
You stood up on your toes and placed a small kiss on his cheek, turning on your heels quickly so Daryl couldn’t see the shade of red your cheeks now were but the colour of his cheeks matched yours.
“Back by Christmas.” You muttered, loud enough so he could hear.
“Ya better be.”
You and Daryl had grown up together. You did everything together, knew everything about each other, well almost everything. You never told him that you loved him. He never admitted his love for you. The fear of ruining the friendship the two of you had overpowered any ideas of a confession of love. The day you left for college was one of the hardest days of Daryl’s life, watching you drive away and towards a future quite possibly without him in it broke him that day.
You hadn’t even made it home before the world went to shit, you never got to reunite with Daryl.
Until now.
Here you were, crouched down at the bottom of a ravine, the reunion you hadn’t exactly dreamt of but wanted for so long. Daryl’s body was bruised and broken with a bolt through his left side. “Daryl, come on. I need you to sit up so we can figure out whatever is happening here.”
Daryl forced himself to sit up, his breathing was ragged as he clenched his teeth. His hands held where the bolt had pierced his side. You gently placed your hands over his to move them, he flinched at the contact and then hissed in pain at his sudden movement.
“I need you to let me see, we need to pull it out so we can bind it properly.”
Daryl moved his hands away carefully as his eyes focused on you. You were certainly a welcomed distraction. How did you even find him? You were even more beautiful than he remembered, the way the light reflected off the water and bounced off your eyes, giving off a certain light themselves, the ones that could ignite the fire in his chest so instantly. He wondered if-
His thoughts were interrupted by you ripping the bolt through his side and proceeding to shove a piece of ripped cloth over the wound to limit the amount of blood loss.
“MOTHER FUCKING SHIT BASTARD!” He yelled before his brain could even process what was happening.
“There, that was easy right? Please tell me you have a camp around here, I hope you do because you need stitches and fast.” You slipped your belt off and wrapped it around his waist securing the cloth and again, limiting the blood flow even more.
“Yeah, I’m stayin on a farm.”
You and Daryl managed to make it up the sides of the ravine and made your way towards the farm. Daryl Was stumbling along, barely able to walk but pushing himself nonetheless. You stumbled as quickly as you could with your ankle now swelling to twice its usual size. The farm was now in sight as you walked slowly behind Daryl, hobbling along at your own pace. Four men ran towards you and Daryl as you froze. Daryl was still slightly ahead of you when a man pointed a gun at his head.
“Third time ya pointed that thing at me. Ya gonna pull the trigger?” Daryl yelled.
At the sudden realisation that Daryl was not a walker, the attention was on you, the gun now aimed at your head.
“She’s with me.”
BANG
You closed your eyes, did they just shoot you? No, there was no pain. Your eyes opened to see Daryl now on the floor. The man who held the gun began yelling “NO!”
shit, shit, shit. You dove on the floor, checking where he was shot, the bullet grazed his head. Two of the men lifted Daryl up and began hurriedly walking towards the farm. Adrenaline pumped through you as your focus was now on a woman who ran towards the six of you.
“Oh my God, is he dead?” She asked.
“You the one that shot him?” Your focus quickly on her.
“I thought he was a walker.”
You walked up to the girl, your hand balled in a fist as your swung hard into her left cheek, sending her to the floor. “Fucking dumbass.” You limped away, towards the farmhouse as she remained on the floor, clutching her face.
An old man ran out of the house. “Take him up to the spare room, I’ll get my kit.”
Daryl’s surgery was quick, a few stitches and some pain killers. Then the attention was on you again as you sat on the bed next to Daryl. Close but not close enough to be touching.
“Thank you for saving him, my name is Rick Grimes.” Rick extended his hand to shake yours.
“Y/n y/l/n and it’s no problem. When I saw it was Daryl, there was no way I was leaving him there.”
“You know Daryl?”
“We grew up together” Daryl interrupted.
You smiled at him. “I left for college just before everything went to shit, by the time I made it home, Daryl was gone.”
Daryl looked solely at you know. “If I knew ya’d be comin’ back to town, I would have waited for ya.”
“Daryl, I saw the state of our town, you were right to leave as soon as you could.” Your hand brushed his slightly before he pulled his hand away and up to his mouth, succumbing to his habit of chewing on the skin around his thumb.
Rick stood up from his chair, “I’m gonna go and get you guys some food, I’ll send Hershel back to look at your ankle, y/n”
“Thanks, Rick.”
Rick left the room leaving you and Daryl in there alone. You looked at the archer who was already looking up at you sending shivers down your spine. You reached gently towards his head, pushing his hair away from his bandage that wrapped around where the girl had shot him.
“Heard ya hit Andrea pretty hard.” Daryl chuckled.
“Yeah, I don’t know what came over me, I just, seeing you hurt and knowing she was the one that did it…”
“I know what ya mean, It’s like, remember when Johnny broke up with ya, back in high school?”
“Oh my God, yes, I was heart broken.”
“Ya remember how he came to school a couple of days later, with a broken nose and he said it was a-”
“A snowboarding accident. Yeah I remember.”
“Well it wasn’t, I went to his house that night, hit him square in the face, broke his nose and busted his lip in one hit.”
“Oh my God, Daryl.” You both laughed “He was such an asshole to me, I don’t know why I liked him so much.”
“Me neither, ya deserved so much better.” Your eyes locked with his as your hand moved from his hair down to his cheek. The tips of his ears burned red as you leaned down ever so slightly. His eyes flicked between your eyes and your lips.
Rick walked in with two plates of food, startling both you and Daryl, sending you off the bed and onto your bad ankle. You yelped in pain before sitting back down on the bed, both yours and Daryl’s cheeks flushing red.
“I uh, what was happening?” A slight smirk on Rick’s face
“Nothing!” You and Daryl responded in unison.
“Uhh, alright then, here’s your food, Hershel will be here in a sec to check your ankle.” Rick looked between the two of you, the smirk on his face grew.
You and Daryl ate your dinner in silence, pausing half way through your meal when Hershel, the old man, walked in. He examined your ankle and you winced.
“It’s not broken, just sprained, should heal itself soon but you should keep it elevated for the next couple of days. Unfortunately this is our only spare bed as Carl is in our other one.”
Daryl looked between you and Hershel “S’ okay, I’ll head back to my tent tonight.”
“Daryl, no. I can sleep on the chair, I’ll use the bed as a foot rest. It’ll be the best sleep I’ve had in a while, trust me.”
“I’ll let the two of you figure it out. Just keep it elevated.” Hershel left the room, leaving you and Daryl alone again.
“Take the bed, I’ll take the chair.” Daryl said as he tried to push himself out of the bed but struggled.
“You can hardly move, you take the bed, I’ll take the chair.”
“Nah, not happenin”
“I mean, we could both take the bed. If you’re okay with that.”
Daryl froze at your words. “It’s either that or I take the chair, Daryl.”
“Nah, I’ll move over, hold up.” Daryl shifted his body as close to the edge of the bed as he could. You moved yourself from your sitting position to under the covers, lying next to Daryl, far enough apart that you weren’t touching. Daryl reached over and flicked the lamp off as you got comfortable and closed your eyes. Your attempt to stifle a yawn didn’t work as you let the comfort of the bed surround you.
“Thanks for saving me.” Daryl mumbled.
“You would have done the same for me.”
It was true, he would go to the ends of the earth for you, do anything you asked him to. After all this time, his feelings for you never changed. Neither yours for him. You both fell asleep with ease, by the middle of the night you were tangled in each others arms.
You woke up as the first light settled in the room, you were definitely not in the position you had fallen asleep in, no, now your body was pressed up against his body, his arm was draped around you. Your stomach flipped with emotions. If it were up to you, you would stay in this position for eternity but what if he didn’t feel the same way. Surely he didn’t, the way he flinched every time you touched. But what about the moment the two of you shared last night. You were pulled from your thoughts as you felt him stir behind you slightly. You carefully removed his arm and pushed yourself back to the edge of the bed before he woke up.
He was already awake. He woke before you but remained still with his arm wrapped around you like he had always dreamt of. But when he felt you push away from him, he closed his eyes quickly and pretended to be asleep. You obviously didn’t want him touching you. Maybe you didn’t feel the same way about him. But what about the moment you shared last night?
#daryl dixon#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixion imagine#daryl dixon x you#you x daryl dixon#you x daryl#daryl x you#daryl dixon x reader series#daryl x reader#reader x daryl#twd#twd fic#twd series#twd fic series#twd fanfiction#the walking dead#the walking dead fic#the walking dead imagine
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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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Fall in Azuchi
pairings : Kirishima Eijiro x (fem)reader
wordcount :5050 words
warnings : just fluff, lots of it. flirty kiri, soft kiri. Ancient japan setting ( kiri is a warlord) mentions of war and blood but not too many and nothing too descriptive.
After Kirishima, on a passing, tried the dumplings that you made, he couldn’t get the taste out of his mind. Now that it’s fall festival, it’s about time he paid you a visit.
note: this work was done as a part of a collab with the theme ‘Fall Festival’ in mind. Thanks to all the encouragement of the amazing participants, this work turned out well ! thanks to @etegomanere / @dark-and-delightful for being beta and giving constant encouragement. Please don’t hesitate to check out the work of the others in this collab, they all worked so hard and did amazing !
collab masterlist
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Fall. The season of rebirth, of crispy leaves and chilled weather.
But in Azuchi, the most prosperous city of its time in the era, famed for its magnificent castle and fearsome warlord, Bakugou Katsuki (warlord most likely to unify the nation), fall isn’t famed for its abundance of orange leaves painting the ground. No, it was famed for its most festive celebrations that took place during it. Fall festival.
In a time of war and unsettlement, instead of collectively resenting our lives and how the cycle of rebirth let us down, we instead decide to unify and bring out the best in each other. Lanterns decorated the prosperous city, coloured orange to pay homage to the season and its beauty. Each tea house and corner shop brings its bakes its best selections, which didn’t stray too far from Yokan pumpkin cake, dumplings with pumpkin, pumpkin in this and pumpkin in that, it would be appropriate to send gratitude to the Portuguese for the wonderful fruit.
It’s a time where stalls litter every corner of the region, and where musicians display their talent to the joyous masses. It's a happy time. Especially for the infamous Kirishima Eijiro, warlord and head of the Kirishima clan, who just defeated a rebellion in his region and came to celebrate the festival on his ally’s land, Bakugou Katsuki, devil king of the sixth heaven. The blunt truth was that although Kirishima loved his homeland, Azuchi was a good place to unwind in. The other truth would be that Kirishima missed his friend and wanted to make sure he’s doing well.
But there was an unavowed, untold wish in there somewhere. It's got little to do with the vicious- yet- not really warlord that Kirishima made an ally of, and not his beautiful Azuchi where the colour orange reigned over, making the land appear like a painting for the faraway eyes. But to say that it has nothing to do with the festival would be a lie, because a certain tea house that Kirishima is dying to visit would surely be participating.
It started with Kaminari buying him some dumplings from there for their journey to ambush a camp of bandits. Kirishima fell in love with the flavour.
He never got the time to visit again, despite intending to, as an upheaval of battles barged their way into his life, disturbing any momentary peace he experienced. As his life often is, not that he hates it, Kirishima learned to love the symphony of clashing swords and the red paint that coloured a battlefield, he learned to appreciate it as an artist admires a finished piece of work that took blood, sweat, and tears to finish.
He learned how to find euphoria in the quickening of his heartbeat as it feared for its host’s life.
But when Kirishima tastes those dumplings, despite him being an amazing and talented cook, he was enamored with their taste, he found pleasure in something far from war, far from anything he found ecstatic in the ring of a bloodthirsty man.
That small rush of happiness that flooded his taste buds and went straight to his heart was short-lived, and Kirishima was starting to forget the feeling itself. But tonight, he finally visits the place. Tonight he will see the cute waitress that works there that Kaminari babbled on and on about.
So, dressed in a quite seasonal Yukata that was tailored with the best seamstresses in town, Kirishima left Azuchi castle to march into the festive town.
The harmony of instruments filled the town from the direction of the shrine, giving the already festive town and even more joyous atmosphere. Laughter filled the air as people walked by, purchasing from the stalls who went the extra mile to include many pumpkin flavoured and orange sweets. And while tōrōs were lined up in every corner and on top of every place, nothing compared to the brightness on people’s faces from every corner, every tea shop, every merry couple, and all bright-eyed children. From poor workers to prosperous merchants, everyone sported a type of smile that let you know they were pleased on this day.
It’s quite different from the savage, animalistic and feral look Kirishima has whenever he stands victorious after a battle, when he relishes in the afterglow of battle now that it’s done. When his one eye surveys the after damage, tears at the corner of it but not from sadness, but not quite exhaustion either.
Kirishima continued walking, his mind plagued by thoughts, whether unwelcomed or not, until he reached his destination, stopping abruptly when he realized he was about to walk past it. He fixed his eyepatch, and grinned wolfishly, albeit slightly when he noticed you. You were everything Kaminari described and more. Down from your cute smile to your bright (e/c) eyes, that looked warm and welcoming. Even your cheeks had a healthy tint of red to them, as if you were bashful. Kirishima’s feet carried him to you, not stopping at your shocked face, who wouldn’t be shocked at seeing the one-eyed tiger? But although that expression on your face was cute, Kirishima wanted to elicit another kind of expression.
“You are the one who made dumplings here a few weeks ago, right? Your dumplings are amazing !” Kirishima praised, a lackadaisical smile on his handsome face. He saw how you flushed, not expecting him to compliment you straight off the bat.
“Uh, thank you, I don’t believe I saw you around here m’ lord.” You responded politely, already acquainted with the one-eyed lord through seeing him through your town a lot, and hearing the whispers of castle servants who visited the merchants for different tasks. You heard how powerful he is, and you observed how popular as well, from the blushes on the maidens’ cheeks as they spoke of him.
You were quite flattered at his compliment, that someone of such importance was praising you, yet even willing to talk to you unprompted.
His smile got even wider at hearing your response, his tiger-like teeth sharp and fully on display as he flashed you a heart fluttering, fan worthy smile.
“Yeah, a friend of mine bought them from here. He went on and on about you, and I have to agree. “You familiar with Kaminari Denki?” At that, you gasped in recognition, nodding your head fondly as you flushed.
“Well, give him my thanks for the good words, at least I hope they were ?”
“All good, kitten.” You raised your eyebrows at the nickname, for sure impressed and embarrassed by the warlord's forwardness. You had many responses, but were afraid to voice them, lest you overstepped your boundaries. But this warlord seemed too friendly, too approachable then the others you heard of or met to get offended by your statement.
“Kitten? M’lord, you’re the tiger, doesn’t that make you the kitten?” You snarked, relieved when you saw no sign of hostility on his face, only a smirk appreciatively as your flirty tone set in.
“A lass with snark. I like that. Please don’t scratch this lord with your claws.” He teased, a finger caressing your warmed cheeks.
“Would you like a table, lord Eijiro ?” You questioned reminding him that he was standing in the middle of a tea house conversing with a worker. He nodded, telling you to lead the way with a ‘lass’ somewhere in his statement. He ordered some of the dumplings he was so enthusiastic about, and a nice serving of kabocha pumpkin yokan with tea.
His order arrived shortly, the restaurant owner being over-excited about having a lord in his premise. He took a bite of the dumplings, the firm texture crispy, until he broke through the layer to reveal the sweetness he was enthralled with. The deliciousness spread to his mouth, the taste transferring to warmth as it reached his very own heart. It tingled, and tickled, like someone was caressing it with a feather or blanketing it after a long day of winter and rain. He could never understand how one piece of dumpling can make him so happy, even though he was an avid fan of food, his own could never make him feel this way. He blushed slightly, not used to- well- anything having this effect on him. His clean hand went to his crimson hair, running through it as he tried to regain his composure. His fingers wrapped around the teacup, lifting it to his lips and taking a sip, slowly as to not burn his tongue. Even your tea was amazing, what in God’s name?
A crispy leaf flew, fluttering until it landed next to his plate. He took hold of it with his slender and calloused fingers, not expecting it to break due to its expired state. It’s weak in nature, perhaps similar to humans, but it would be more accurate to describe them as ephemeral. They feel easily, and their destiny is so swayable by the tides of fate.
Then he saw you, fluttering about, serving from table to table with a smile, a polite one, but it nevertheless enchanted him with its beauty. He wanted to see you smile even wider, a truer smile. He wanted to see that adorable tint on your cheeks get even redder when he teases you. He found you inexplicably irresistible. He thought you were just a talented but shy lass, but then you went and teased him right back, quite a bold and unexpected move. It showed him how much he truly needs to understand a person like you.
And as the warmth of the tea soaked his heart and made it feel lukewarm on a fairly chilly day, he made a resolve to see you again. He really wants to eat your food, and maybe discover why he loves it so much. Maybe it’s a trade secret? But he has a feeling it’s something to do with its very own creator: you.
And once he finished his food, he gave you one last look, willing the image of you to imprint on his mind before he found the will to leave. And once his shadow was made scarce, you looked at his empty seat, disappointed to find its previous occupant gone.
Kirishima walked around, trying to find something entertaining, like a token that he can take home with him. Or an interesting thing that will form a memory that he can keep. To say ‘hey I did this and that’ but nothing seems to appease the young lord.
His thoughts keep straying to you, as if they were not his own.
His hand involuntarily twitched to his sword, caressing the handle gingerly. Worn and sturdy, the handle still feels somewhat warm, despite Kirishima not touching it today, he hadn’t had a reason to. He’s almost wishing for one.
Alas, not all wishes come true. Kirishima could sit all day wishing that some bandits would terrorize some alleyway to an inconspicuous teashop, where he’d stumble accidentally, finding the pretty commoner who served him dumplings being manhandled, he’d waltz in and become her samurai in shining Katana. Nah, he’d be better off becoming a Noh fanatic.
He did find a stand that served dumplings though. And he purchased one, but as the taste hit, he found himself immediately dissatisfied. Je looked around, seeing every customer eating carelessly, none sporting the frown he has, laughing as they bit down on their dessert, not finding a problem with the texture, taste, feel, and paste.
After Kirishima had a taste of ambrosia, this felt like a premature grape, plucked too early and aged like milk instead of wine.
His eyes glazed over, before a lantern-lit up over his head. Why is he huffing and puffing like a child?! If he wants excitement, if he wants answers, then he’ll get them. Why else is he Kirishima Eijirou?
Kirishima dumped the dumplings he bought, running over to the teashop he knows you work in. Luck seems to be on his side, because when he arrived, he saw you leaving, wearing a different attire that did no justice to your beauty. A carmine colored Kimono. You and his match! That must be a sign from buddha!
He could up to you, his giant figure deterring the bypassers from wanting to bump into him.
“Kitten!” He beamed at you.
You furrowed your brows for a second, turning around to gouge where the sound came from, only for your search to be cut short as your eyes met a cheerful lord’s.
“Lord Eijirou, have you been enjoying the festival?” You questioned politely, wanting to fill the silence that would ensue as you resisted the urge to question him with what you are really thinking. You didn’t want to impose, you were all too aware of his situation and yours.
“So like, how much do you get paid a month here?” He asked. He watched your brows furrow quizzically as you answered.
“And what would you say if I offered to give you more then triple that if you make me dinner, with dessert and all ?” He further interrogated, piquing your interest.
“Well then I’d say lead the way, m’ lord !” You replied cheerfully, his nature must be contagious.
His lips quirked at your reply, his canines visible giving him a mischievous look despite the innocence his smile itself radiated. He grabbed your hand, to your astonishment, and zeroed through the crowd, his long legs giving him advantage, however, you were stuck using up all your stamina to even keep up with him in a crowded street!
He kept a tight hold of your hand, not stopping once nor did his lips cease to smile. He would have looked like a feral cat, his sharp teeth on display in excitement, running with a sole destination while everyone around him appeared to be simple herbivores, insignificant and incomparable to the majestic being he is. But he honestly looked more like a carefree child, his bloody eyes like bright berries, glinting in harmless excitement.
Eventually, the crowd was dispersed, and the castle was naught but a few feet away. You suddenly felt anxious, were you really going in there? Did you really hold hands with Kirishima Eijiro? It was high, really high, and you felt intimidated looking at it. Meanwhile, the male next to you rolled his shoulders.
“Man, I just couldn’t wait to eat more of your cooking! I’m sure some people must have enjoyed this festival, but after I had your food, I think I got ruined, so you have to take responsibility! Wouldn’t want this handsome lord to starve.” He confessed excitedly, rambling as he led you to the castle, at a walking pace this time, although the exercise he did and made you do didn’t seem to deter him or have the least effect on him. He walked over the bridge, and walked you through the entry of the castle as if it’s as familiar as home to him.
Kirishima however paused when he saw a blond warlord approach him with an unimpressed look. The intimidating warlord dressed in fancy embroidered orange kimono approached. The air around him felt hot and cold at the same time, and his face was devoid of any smile, instead, his full lips were scowling, and his hellish red eyes were glaring rather grumpily. His spiky hair looked as sharp as the swords he carries, and you found yourself shrinking behind Kirishima. Who seemed unphased, if anything.
“Hey man! Looking sharp, I guess even you like celebrating fall season huh ?” He observed, and to your utter horror, clapped him in the back. You half expected the famed lord, Katsuki Bakugo, to pull his sword out and slash the hand the touched him, but he slapped it away instead, seeming ruffled.
“You’re back huh? Too soon. You may leave again, shitty hair.” He replied gruffly. As if just noticing you, the warlord's intimidating eyes looked down at your softer (e/c) ones, the flame in his red eyes never diminishing.
You bowed in respect, saying a curt ‘m’ lord’. He nodded at you in acknowledgment, making you sigh in relief. He instead turned to Lord Eijirou with raised eyebrows as if to say ‘really? This is why you came early?’
“Bro, we are just gonna have dinner! But if something did happen, I wouldn’t be opposed…”
You blushed at his bold statement, right in front of the most powerful Warlord no less! Were you supposed to reply? Feeling yourself starting to clam up as both warlords stared you down.
“I don’t do it before marriage.”
…
Bakugo stared at Kirishima somewhat triumphantly, as if he gets a twisted satisfaction out of seeing his shitty haired friend be put in awkward situations.
Kirishima however, was surprisingly red. So… you wanted to marry him?!
“Well, I mean, uhhh, well I dunno ‘is too soon.” He rambled awkwardly, making everyone’s faces blank before yours twisted into a grimace while Bakugo’s seemed somewhat similar.
“Dumbass, who’d wanna marry your shabby ass?” Bakugo asked, smacking Kirishima at the back of his head then walking away; he had enough weirdness.
Kirishima, who was still flushed from receiving a marriage proposal from the cutest girl he’d met, shuffled his feet awkwardly, before coughing and recomposing himself.
“Uh, umm, dinner ?” You remind him, snapping Kirishima out of his trance. Oh yeah! He was gonna get dinner with you and discover what sort of sorcery you used to make it taste so good.
“OH, yeah, dinner.” He reiterated, taking your hand and leading you to where the kitchens near his bedroom are. Bakugo was aware of his friend’s hobby and gave him his own personal kitchen. A very nice gesture. One of the many that led Kirishima to believe his blond friend has a very soft core.
He arrived there with you in tow, making a grand gesture as you entered.
“And this is my not very humble personal kitchen. You may use anything and everything as you please.” He proclaimed, leaning down, adding in a whisper -“kitten”.
Well, now you had to make food so good, it’ll shut his teasing mouth. His teasing, pretty mouth.
And you got to it, moving in the kitchen with practised precision, sometimes adding your own touch. You made your favourites, things you’d learned from your mum, your grandma’s recipe, the last meal your dad ate before heading to war, saying it’d provide him with the blessing of Buddha. You hope it has, you heard he fought bravely and died a death warriors are envious of. No one should envy death, but you were glad your father had honour and respect even in his death.
You resented that food for a while. And the first time you made it after his death, you ended up crying as you took the first bite of it, remembering the way he scooped up serving after serving, maybe deep down knowing that it would be his last time eating it. Still, he smiled at you adoringly as he departed, never shedding a tear.
You wished you could smile a smile devoid of sadness, but instead, it looked like broken china, with tears streaming down your face as you remembered your father’s kind (e/c) eyes shining in the sun as he bid you farewell forever, reminding you that he ate his ‘fortune food’, you shouldn’t worry about him. Sometimes you wished you didn’t take his reassurances to heart. Maybe you would have hugged him tighter, or smiled at him brighter.
Nevertheless, the more you made Oroshi soba, the fewer tears you cried, the more fond memories of it started to resurface.
You laid out a perfect dinner table, even the smell of the perfectly seasoned and simmered food had Kirishima with his sophisticated palate salivating. He watched you closely while you cooked. Sometimes you had a frown, sometimes you smiled and sometimes you grimaced. Why are you so expressive? Especially when it comes to food, shouldn’t you be stressed, frowning and fretting, trying to please him, a warlord in such a high station he can get you beheaded in a matter of minutes- no, seconds?
But you were fluttering around the kitchen, whether as a butterfly whose wings were sculpted by the finest smith, or a fall leaf, seasoned by time, only a deity would know.
He invited you to sit with him, which caused you to pause slightly, taking in his words in disbelief.
“You really want me to dine with you ?” You said cautiously. Your heartfelt like a warm blanket enveloped it when he beamed and nodded, and you’d never realized how chilled it was until now. You’d never met someone so… down to earth.
You would be a fool if you refused that.
You took a seat in front of him, still cautious that he might change his mind any second. A few minutes went past and he didn’t.
“Why are you not eating? You made too much food so it can’t be the quantity.” Kirishima asked you after swallowing his bite. His face was flushed because of how warm this food made him feel. It tasted heavenly, and he is still in the starters.
He watched you carefully, you didn’t add any weird ingredients, so it couldn’t have been sorcery, so what is it?!
So you tentatively reached out with your chopsticks towards one of the sides that your grandma taught you to make. You haven't had it in so long, the ingredients are a bit hard to find in this market. When you ate it, a fond smile took over your features. Her recipe had always been unmatched. You could never find anything that was on par with it. Unknowingly, the young lord watched you, unable to keep his curiosity to himself, asked what prompted you to smile.
“Well, I just remembered my grandma, she taught me how to make this !” You exclaimed, a bit giddy at finally telling someone why you loved that dish so much. His carmine eyes studied you, trying to discern you. A family recipe. That’s why it tasted so unique.
He decided that it’s enough with the sides, despite how delicious they tasted. He couldn’t give himself a bloated stomach with him. His chopsticks reached towards the Oroshi soba, thinking it couldn’t possibly taste better than the Oroshi soba he had in Kyoto. It couldn’t beat it, right? That soba — was… fuck.
He could feel every flavour bursting out and mixing with the other in an amazing harmony, as if everything you cooked inside it was joined through matrimony. He filled his plate with it, eating with a haste that could put shame on his statues. He couldn’t help himself!
Is that the food you always eat? He could only wish to be as gifted as you.
“How is it so good ?!” He questioned with a mouthful, prompting an amused smile from you, a smile that sent arrows straight to his heart.
You took a bite of it, humming at the taste.
“Must have been practise. This soba means a lot to me, you know. It brings back a lot of fond memories.” You replied offhandedly, piquing Kirishima’s interest.
He swallowed his food, and wasted no time asking about this— this amazing soba!
However, the answer he got back wasn’t as lighthearted as he might’ve envisioned.
By the time you were done, his iced heart, hidden behind pointy swords that chill you to the very bone, was squeezing painfully in his chest.
Kirishima enjoyed war. He enjoyed the rush of adrenaline when he’s in the field that acts as the in-between for life and death. He enjoyed how his sweat-drenched him from brow to toe, and he relished in the hollers of victory. He didn’t mind death, but somewhere along the way, he forgot that there are many, many people waiting for him to be back home.
“Then why do you still make it?” He demanded to know somberly. All the cheer he previously had dissipated seemingly out of nowhere. All he had was this pressing need to know more, to know why you went so far to keep the memory of this dish alive even though it’s very existence is a lie, it should cause you pain, yet you smiled while retelling how your father ate it before he headed off to war, never coming back.
You seemed somewhat shocked at his change in demeanor, but tried to not let it ruffle you so much. This topic is not one for cheer to most anyway, especially to seasoned warriors who are constantly out and fighting, whether they wish to or not.
“Well, whether or not my dad made it, that food was still something that brought him at least a semblance of happiness in his last moments with his family. If eating amazing food will remind a person that even though life is unstable, and it might not go on forever, everything is alright now at this moment! I hope it makes sense. I don’t talk about this a lot. I just, I want to make people feel like even though we live in somber times, we don't have to lead somber lives! “You confessed. Every word, exclamative and unsure phrase tugged at Eijiro’s heartstrings. Even in your passion, you found a way to share it and bring people the happiness you felt.
You were so ordinary looking, just a tea house worker, living and leading a mundane life. But Eijiro had never met someone so incredible, you didn’t carry a sword or fight bloody battles, but you sought to make everyone’s day a little brighter in your own way. He had never met someone so unique and intriguing, so lovesome. Nothing about you is mundane.
And that’s when it clicked. A notion so far-away, a person of his status didn’t question it anymore, nor wonder it. But it’s the reason he was so enamored with your food.
You made it with love.
You poured your passion, heart, memories into making every little thing, it’s a wonder how a person could possibly not be moved by it.
No master chief could compare to it.
And now that Eijirou is facing the possibility of never having it again, of going back and not seeing you for who knows how long, filled him with indescribable pain, like a void that you managed to fill in him is now all the more apparent. But what could he do? He had only met you today, really. With a resigned sigh, he accepted that he wouldn’t be seeing you all too soon after this.
He nodded, smiling at you slightly. Somehow, even with all the smiles he’d shown you all day, this one felt even more laced with emotion. Like the very movement was all the telling you need about how he felt.
And after that, he had dumplings.
And after, he bid you goodbye.
But not before he promised something.
“(Y/n), if I promised to be back, will you believe me ?” He asked you at the entrance of the castle just as you were about to depart.
“And if I said no, will you prove me wrong?”
“You know it, kitten. I gotta have that amazing food again and the amazing company that comes with it.”
The moonlight reflected off your eyes, making them look like gems to Eijiro. And another gem you graced him with was your smile.
Kirishima made sure that he had something tangible to remind him of the day. He decided to walk you back to town, and found a wood craft of an Autumn leaf. It was carved with a knife and coloured with colours varying from orange to yellow, also crafted with a stand. Kirishima thought it was a perfect memo of the magical fall day he had.
He kept it in his office, and looked at it every day to remind him that even though life is tough, you have to appreciate the good in it. He looked at it in the good days, the bad, and after battles.
And the next fall festival, he was back.
He stayed for longer this time, and visited a few more times throughout the year, his alliance with Bakugo still being strong.
And the one after, he brought you back with him.
……….
Bonus
Kirishima sat on the futon drowsily, having had a bit too much sake. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes looked dazed, yet they still lingered on you. You were reading a book about something Kirishima forgot. You frowned, your eyes leaving the book to look outside in contemplation.
You flipped the book, putting it aside and crawling your way to Kirishima’s side on the futon. Your eyes still seemed to be wondering with a faraway look in them.
“Eijiro, if you could do one thing right now, what would it be ?” You questioned him curiously.
Eijiro hummed in wonder, but his brain didn’t travel far.
“I could show you.”
“No, I mean like, anything-“
Eijiro cut you off by pressing his lips to your softly, stealing the words out of your mouth as they moved against yours tenderly.
“You simple fool.”
“Only for my kitten.”
Yeah, Kirishima could hypothetically do a lot of things, but at the moment, all he wanted was to enjoy the simple life with you. To cherish the little things and big.
……………
bonus 2
Bakugo walked into Kirishima’s kitchen, eyes scanning the place in search of him. He didn’t find him, but his nose found something else.
He took powerful strides towards the smell, seeing a table with some leftover food that the fool didn’t clear away yet.
He looked around, seeing no one, then took one of the chopsticks, and tried one of the dumplings you left on the table.
He nearly moaned as the sweetness hit his tongue, just the amount of sweetness he likes.
Bakugo finished the rest, a satisfied sigh leaving him. So, this is why Kirishima was so into your food, that he brought you over to make dinner.
Good for him.
Bakugo’s carmine eyes stared at the empty plate longingly, then his lips quirked down enviously. You seemed really cute too.
His eyes softened with an unfamiliar look, before hardening again, leaving the kitchen as silent as it had once been.
The End .
.......................
thanks for reading so far, hope you liked it ! don’t be afraid to comment, I always want to hear your thoughts.
coffee ?
#Kirishima Eijirou#kirishima imagine#bnha kirishima#mha kirishima#kiri#kirishima x reader#kirishima fluff#kirishima#kirishima eijiro x reader#kirishima eijiro imagine#kirishima eijiro fluff#bnha eijiro x reader#kirishima eijirou x reader#kirishima eijirou x y/n#kirishima eijiro x you#au#historical au#alternate universe#alternate history#fall vibes#fall leaves#fall festival#collab#bnha collab#writers collab
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Half-Baked Holiday | ksj | M
Granny Park’s Gossip:
That Seokjin, don’t get me started on him. He’s worked hard to open and run that bakery of his, you know, and I’m so proud that it’s so successful now. Wish he would find a nice person to settle down with, though, he deserves it, as long as he’s been on his own. Well, I guess you can’t really call it alone when he’s got that grump of a best friend always hanging around him. He really should be paying her, what with all the time she spends at the bakery with him. She’s always waking up on the wrong side of the bed, but she’s not so bad when she brings me some of those cookies of his, or just around Seokjin in general, if I’m honest. Too distracted by staring at that pretty face of his, I suppose, though who can blame her?
pairing } seokjin x reader
word count } 12.6K { also on ao3
genre } friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, bakery au, fluff, smut, literally the slightest bit of angst
warnings } fluff, fluff, fluff; jin is an idiot and so is the MC, like they’re genuinely both dumbasses but in different ways; pining; misunderstandings; masturbation, spanking, unprotected sex, oral sex - male receiving, exhibitionism a little, rolling pins are used in ways they are not intended to be used; several mentions of jins squeaky laugh and also his red ears bc they’re my favorite things in the world
{ The Snowball Effect Series Masterlist }
a/n } whaddup i finally finished this thing barely on time so yEET i yet again maintain my status as queen of last minute deadlines!!!! HBH is my Baby, I love it, it’s my perfect shiny garbage baby, and if you like it, you should DEF check out the others!! They can be read as standalones, but it’s really really really really really really highly recommended that you read them all in order, as they all end up in the same place and there are a ton of little easter eggs and references and shoutouts woven into the entire series!!! Extra special shoutout to the authors of all the other stories, @fortunexkookie (ryn), @taehyungforreal (ashley), @stutterfly (kristi, who also made the incredible banners!!!)
You're a good person. You pride yourself on being kind and giving. Every year you make donations to several charities. You help organize summer fundraisers so kids can eat. You buy the most ethically-sourced groceries possible. You leave your change in case someone else can use it. You always tip at least 20% when you go out to eat. Out of everything, though, of all the good deeds you try to do in your life, there's one thing that makes you a truly outstanding human being.
You don't lose your fucking mind every time the urge hits you.
"But how many calories are in the Holiday Donut?" The lady in front of you asks. You can feel your eye twitching and even the young guy behind the register is starting to falter in his bright grin.
"Um, I'm not-"
"Look lady," You cut in. "You have heard about nearly every thing on the fucking menu. It's a donut, stuffed with strawberry creme and coated in colored frosting and sprinkles. How many calories do you think are in it? Just order the banana nut muffin like you always do, get your coffee, and leave, so the rest of us aren't stuck in a line for another hour."
The lady looks scandalized as she turns to glare at you, but all it takes is a single cocked eyebrow to send her huffing out the door. She mutters a few choice words under her breath as she goes, but you pay them no mind.
"Your usual is almost ready, Pumpkin." You level Jin with an unamused glare as he pushes his way through the kitchen doors with a steaming tray of scones in hand.
"You know I hate that name, Spice," You remind him dryly.
"You know I hate it when you run my customers off with that dark cloud you call a personality, and yet here we both are," he responds. He just smiles at your eyeroll and you do your best to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. Instead you make yourself comfortable on one of the barstools at the counter.
Seokjin's bakery is as busy as it ever is; several of the tables are taken, either by students on their nth espresso or families doing holiday shopping or people just looking for a place to relax amidst the bustle of the streets. There's someone perched on the stool at the opposite end, close to the register, but you pay them no mind. You're too focused on the mug Jin slides in front of you - green and chipped on the handle, it's your favorite - and the steam wafting up from the cocoa inside. There's a thick layer of marshmallow on the top and a candy cane sticking out, just like you like it, and a Holiday Bagel on a small plate next to it.
"Thanks. You're still an ass, though." He has the decency to look offended at your words, and you grit your teeth against the smile that threatens to split your face. He always looks so cute when he's huffy.
"One of these days I'm going to make you start paying for your food like everyone else, and then you'll start treating me right."
"Sure," You agree in a monotone as you pull your phone out and start tapping away on it. "That'll be the same day that you stop asking me to do your books for you because you can't be bothered."
The sigh that expels itself from his lungs is almost as dramatic as the play he dragged you to the week before.
"I am perfectly capable of doing my books myself, thank you. I let you do it to keep you busy."
"Mhm, sure, I believe that," You tell him. He scoffs again and you barely register the hand he shoots forward to steal your bagel before you're slapping it away. "You don't even like strawberries and kiwi, Seokjin, and you will lose a hand."
You don't look up from the emails you're sorting through on your phone, but you don't have to in order to know that he's got both elbows braced on either side of you. You've known him long enough to know that this is his Pout Stance, and you dare not look up because there's no denying him when he looks like that.
"You're so mean to me, Pumpkin. All I do is spoil you with good food and perfect company," he whines, "And what do I get for it? Insults and mockery. You could at least give me a kiss every now and then."
You choke on your cocoa. It burns your nose as it starts to come up that way, and the dark liquid dances across your phone screen as it molds to every crack and crevice.
"Goddamn it, Seokjin," You sputter. He's already holding a cloth out to you, apology written on his face even as you glare at him. You pat your phone dry as best you can before resigning yourself to the fact that it's just going to smell like warm chocolate and peppermint until the next time your best friend flusters you.
"To be fair, I didn't expect you to be so opposed to the idea," Seokjin mutters. He continues under his breath as you wave off his attempt to help again, something about him being handsome enough, but you aren't listening. Because that's the only real problem between the two of you.
You aren't opposed to the idea. It's all you can think about most days; in work meetings, while you're doing paperwork, in team briefings, while you watch TV, when you're asleep. What his pillow lips would feel like against your own occupies nearly every waking thought you have. The others are torn between fantasies of what being his would be like and memories of him in general, neither of which you're lacking in.
You've known Seokjin for years. You don't even know how long since you insist you met when you were twelve and Jin is just as insistent that you met when you were nine. All you remember is being alone on the side of a playground playing hopscotch by yourself and then giggling at something the nice boy had said and then the two of you were inseparable. You aren't even sure how long you've felt like this towards him. It could've been high school, when he was one of the most sought after boys in school and yet still made time to comfort you every time a boy rejected you. Maybe it was college, though, when he was further away than he'd ever been and yet always answered your calls and responded to your texts and you'd cancel dates because he had randomly driven up to see you. Maybe it was after, watching him run his own bakery and do what he loves every day with the brightest grin you've ever seen on his face.
You can't be sure. All you know is one day you were washing dishes in the back after being his guinea pig for some new creation, and he told some dumb joke, and when you turned around to mock his squeaky laugh like usual, you couldn't. Because he had flour on his cheek and chocolate on his lip and you'd never wanted to kiss someone so bad in your life.
And then it just devolved from there and now the butterflies in your stomach have just set up camp. It's been too long, but you can't risk your friendship with him over some stupid crush. He means too much to you.
Your eyes don't leave his back as he disappears back into the kitchen, still complaining about something under his breath, and you suppress a sigh.
Shopping is the worst. You aren't really sure why you're here, because you hate shopping and you hate crowds and you especially hate holiday shopping because it's like Satan himself smashed the two together. You get all your gifts online or early in the year, you don't go anywhere near a mall from October to March, and it works for you. You don't have to deal with holiday crowds. Ever. So why are you on hour five at the largest mall in driving distance with no breakfast, sore feet, and full bags hanging from every possible place they can?
"Does that really seem like something Taehyung would like, though? I got that jacket for him already, I know, but this seems so much more fitting. What do you think, Pumpkin?"
Oh. Right. Seokjin had showed up at Too Damn Early For A Saturday O'Clock and demanded you accompany him for his holiday shopping.
"I think that if I don't eat something in the next ten minutes, I'm ripping your head off and eating that instead. And for dessert I'll demolish those fancy chocolates you got for Jimin." A passing mother gives you a horrified glance as she ushers her toddler along and you almost wish you gave a shit. It's the mall, she can't control what other people say in this hellhole. You probably could’ve done without the emphasis on Jimin, though; Jin knows how much you worship those chocolates, you’ve said countless times that they’re better than orgasms, and still, he got some for Jimin and not you.
You aren’t bitter. Or petty. No. You’re an adult, and you’re not going to pout just because your crush got your mutual friends some sweets instead of you.
"If you touch those chocolates, you're going to march your ass right back to that store and replace them while I return all your gifts," Seokjin quips back. You glance over at him and wrinkle your nose at the two berets he has in each hand.
"What the fuck are you doing, Spice?"
“Wondering when you’re going to listen when I talk to you,” He responds. He holds both of the berets up for you to view more clearly. “Now, which of these is more ‘Tae’ to you?” He doesn’t react to the blank glare you give him, long since immune to your powers of pessimism, and instead just wiggles the berets in each hand so you actually look at them.
Neither are to your personal taste; one is diamond-encrusted in some kind of quilted pattern, with some kind of alternating animal print as well. The other is more understated, if you can call it that, with a faux-fur trim, a feathered poof in the center, and a truly obscene pink houndstooth pattern to it. You can’t help the wrinkled nose that the two options cause in you, and you ignore Seokjin’s huff of irritation in favor of looking past him to the rest of the options. You only have to look for a minute to find something better suited, which mostly means Jin wanted to give Tae something truly gaudy on purpose.
“Here,” You say, stuffing the hat into his hands. He stops mid-rant - something about how you should be helping him more, though you aren’t sure why because he’s the one that dragged you here and is lucky you haven’t bailed yet - and focuses on what you’ve just given him. It’s not a pretty beret, by any means, and is by far the cheapest one there, but it’s got some kind of artful splatter across it in greyscale tones, with a pop of red around the rim to accent it. Seokjin just stares at it for a second before turning his gaze on you, and you shift uncomfortably.
“What?” You eventually ask.
“Nothing,” He says airily. “Just surprised.”
“At what?”
“You paying attention to people and being able to buy good gifts.” He puts the other two back into place and heads towards the registers, ignoring your indignant squawk.
“I get you perfect gifts every year!” You don’t miss his eyeroll, and it makes you want to strangle him a little.
“I don’t count,” He tells you as he settles in behind some grandmother buying entirely too many things that have to be for her grandkid. “You know me better than anyone, and you have access to my Amazon wishlist.”
“Yeah, except none of that is on your fucking wishlist,” You mutter. He turns, eyebrow arched and ready to get more backtalk, but you just make a face at him.
He drags you to five more stores after that and abandons you in the middle of Williams Sonoma. You’re on your third lap of the store, ready to disassemble the fancy grill they’ve got on display to see if he’s somehow in there, when he appears, probably from the ether or some shit. You’re still trying to figure out how he managed to phase through time and space and the massive shelf of Martha Stewart Collection Cookware without you noticing, and in the meantime he takes the massive amount of bags from your hands and deposits something in your palms instead.
It takes you a minute to register the warmth, but the smell hits instantly and makes your stomach grumble loudly. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so fucking hungry.
“Eat,” Seokjin commands. “We’ve got more shopping to do for the bakery.”
You can’t even argue because your mouth is stuffed full of pizza pretzel bites - the only real reason to come to the mall, in your opinion. You’ve inhaled one serving in record time, and Jin doesn’t even react when you bust into the second one in the middle of some tech store. Instead, he just holds out a hand and waits for you to plop a pretzel bite in his palm.
It’s hours later, long after you’ve helped Seokjin drop off all the bakery supplies at the shop and carted the presents up to his apartment, that you realize you’re still holding on to the bag from the pretzel place. You’re about to toss it into your garbage when it registers that there’s too much weight for just garbage; curious, you open the bag up and dump the content onto your kitchen counter.
Inside is a small box of chocolates, the same kind you’d threatened to eat earlier in the day, your favorite flavor and everything, with a small note atop it.
These were supposed to be part of your gift, but you looked put out when you thought I wasn’t getting you any. Thanks for today. xxSpice
You resist the urge to smile; it’s only right that he give you sweets after the frankly absurd amount of time he’d made you spend at the mall. Still, you can’t deny your lip twitches along with your heart at the knowledge that he’d been planning on including them in your gift.
And you might tuck the note away behind a postcard on your fridge, but you’re never going to admit to that.
The next day when you get to the bakery, Seokjin doesn't hesitate to shove you into his small office and push you into his desk chair before he disappears back into the kitchen. The usually cluttered space is empty, devoid of the usual invoices and order forms and whatever the fuck else your best friend keeps on his desk. Even the picture frames have been moved, placed haphazardly atop a filing cabinet. Something flutters in your chest when you notice the one directly facing his chair is one of the two of you.
Taken years and years ago, back when you were first moving into your college dorm, when you were both tired from carrying boxes up the seven flights of stairs to your room. You still remember how irritated you had been when Jin's parents insisted they get a picture of the two of you in your matching university hoodies. You don't remember what it was, but you remember Seokjin cracked some dumb joke or said something ridiculous. He must have, because in the picture, you're looking at him with a softness in your face that isn't present any other time.
Seokjin reappears with a steaming mug and a hand behind his back. The familiar scent of warm chocolate and peppermint hits you, followed closely by the warm-butter sharp-mint honey-glaze smell that you remember taste-testing for him so many times that you're almost positive it’s going to linger on your gravestone.
"That's mistledough." You narrow your eyes, and he rolls his own. His hand pulls out from behind his back to reveal the treat he'd concocted in college and perfected not long after. Shaped like a sprig of mistletoe and a warm honey brown color, the mistledough is easily the best selling product that Seokjin has.
And it's only on sale from Black Friday to the first day of January.
You don't even know what's in it. He's never told you, hasn't let you watch him make it; he'd just show up randomly and shove a weird-shaped treat under your nose and tell you to eat it. And of course you did, because you've been whipped for him since the first day he made you smile on that playground.
It's not important, really. What's important is that he's brought you cocoa and mistledough, which means he's bribing you for something important.
"No," You tell him.
"Please," He pouts. "You don't even know what it is yet." You huff and look anywhere else. His pout is dangerous for you and you know it, and you refuse to be bought for some cocoa and bread.
In an attempt to avoid the puppy dog eyes he no doubt is wearing, your eyes flit around the room. They eventually settle on the mass of shopping bags to your right. You turn, seeing the collection of various wrapping papers on the left and the collection of tape beside them.
"No," You repeat, turning your glare on him. "Wrap your own damn presents, Spice, I'm not doing it for you this year."
"But you do it so much better than I do!" He steps forward, setting his bribes in front of you so the scent wafts towards you that much more. "Your corners are always perfect, Pumpkin, and the edges are so well matched, and you get the pattern to line up perfectly, and-"
"No, Jin," You tell him, already standing. "I told you last year that it was the last time I'd be doing it for you, and that was only because you left it to the day before - again - and had to be in the bakery. I already wrapped all my presents, I'm not doing yours too."
He doesn't even say anything. He just widens his eyes a little and looks down at the scuffed tile floor, kicking his shoe dejectedly against the foot of the desk. There's utter silence in the room, only broken by the muffled chatter of customers and the beep of one of the ovens every few minutes.
You last for a solid ten minutes. You know because the smell of more mistledough fills the air, and you know Seokjin wouldn't try to bribe you with anything that wasn't the freshest batch.
"Why can't you do it?" You grumble, already sitting back down and picking through the wrapping paper.
"I've got like a hundred orders to fill today. That's not even really an exaggeration, either. Soobin's been on cake duty all day so that I can get to work on the mistledough orders and still have time to finish Tae's cake before we leave." You sigh and turn to look at him.
He looks stressed; that's not unusual for this time of year, but it still makes your chest clench. You want to pull him close, run your hands along the furrow between his brows until it's smooth again. Smother him with kisses until he's giggling and happy and remembers that he's a badass culinary god and that he can handle this and that you love him.
"I wish you would tell people no sometimes," You say instead. You slide one of the biodegradable rolls onto the desk and start looking through the drawers for the massive ruler you know is tucked away somewhere. "You can't fill every order. Let people pine for their fancy bread, they don't deserve it anyway."
"You know I can't do that, Pumpkin," He says, breaking off a piece of your bribe and leaning against the tattered desk. "We only just got to where we're steadily in the black, and the seasonal stuff brings in a lot of money. I've got to milk that for as much as I can."
"Yes, because you being overworked and stressed like this is a much better alternative. I'm pretty sure your eyebags have eyebags." You wait for the dramatic gasp, but it doesn't come.
Instead when you look up at him from where you're digging through presents, he's staring at the picture of the two of you. Whatever he's seeing is beyond that, though, invisible to anyone but himself. It's not rare that he gets introspective and quiet; it's actually fairly common when it's just the two of you. You don't know why. You don't want to know why. You just take the moments when they come and wait for him to say whatever he's going to say.
"You're my best friend," is what he eventually says. Your hand stutters where it's slicing paper, mimicking the pang of heartbreak that shoots through your veins. You love being his best friend.
You just wish you were more than that.
"Yeah," You say offhandedly, "No one else wanted the gig, so I guess I'm stuck here." You can feel his eyeroll, but he pats your shoulder as he heads back into the kitchen. When he reappears a while later with fresh cocoa and a bagel, you pretend to be mad that he steals a bite of it until he laughs at your grumbling.
When you leave his smile feels lighter, and you tell yourself you're imagining his eyes lingering on your back as you go.
You’re gonna kill him. You really are. You’re going to absolutely skin him alive, you don’t give a fuck how cute his face is or how hard he makes your heart beat. There’s not a single fucking thing he could say or do that would make up for this.
Maybe if you hadn’t been out here waiting for nearly twenty minutes. Maybe if your phone showed that he had even opened the last six texts you had sent him. Maybe if it wasn’t Seokjin who insisted on leaving at like ten in the morning to being with, even though you had plenty of time to get there because you didn’t even need to run by the bakery because he’d already put Soobin and Yeonjun through what probably counted as actual military training in order to prepare them for today. Frankly, it’s a miracle Seokjin is even leaving them on their own today, considering how hectic it gets. You’re entirely sure that it’s only because Soobin has worked there since the bakery opened and Yeonjun joined not long after so they both know the ropes as well as they possibly can. And because Seokjin was likely up until an ungodly hour preparing and baking an enormous amount of mistledough for today.
In fact, he’s probably still passed out up there, you decide as you climb out of your truck and head into your best friend’s apartment building. You’re cursing under your breath the entire way, paying no mind to the scandalized elderly gentleman that shoots you a Look. You really are gonna kill him, you decide as you shove the key he made you into the lock and jiggle the handle slightly so it’ll actually turn. You’re going to drag him out of his stupidly comfortable bed and probably try to shove him down the garbage disposal or something. His shoulders may present a challenge, but you are up for it.
Your mind is so made up that you don’t even register the bags he’s got ready by the door, or the coolers full of groceries that are packed and ready beside them. You just sidestep it all entirely and head down the hall. You don’t even register the faint sounds, muffled by the door to his room, and by the time it all finally reaches your brain, it’s too late. You’ve already thrown the door open as wide as it will go, which means you get a perfect, unobstructed view, even as Seokjin startles and yelps.
Because of course - of course - he isn’t sleeping or showering or packing. No, instead he’s got his fist wrapped around his cock and is thrusting shallowly into the warmth of his palm. The universe loves to torment you entirely too much, clearly. Why else would it offer you such an unhindered look at the love of your life’s dick?
It’s a nice dick, too. Long and the perfect thickness, a pretty dusky pink head. You can’t lie and say you’ve never imagined what Seokjin’s dick looks like - you basically grew up with him and the others, and young boys talk about their dicks. A lot. Plus, you’ve had a crush on him for several years now.
You just never could have imagined that it’s so absolutely gorgeous that you can feel your mouth water. It’s impossible to tear your eyes away from it, in fact, until Seokjin gets over his initial shock and shoves his blanket over his lap.
“What, uh,” He starts, throat rough. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh...you asked me to pick you up, remember? Because your car doesn’t have four wheel drive like the truck.” You learned a long time ago how to avoid being embarrassed around Seokjin, but even that can’t stop the burn in your cheeks as you force yourself to make eye contact with your best friend. It’s a struggle to focus on anything that isn’t the planes of his naked chest, broad and tanned despite the winter weather, but you manage.
Barely.
“Right, yeah, but...uh, weren’t you supposed to call? And aren’t you early?” The tips of his ears are as red as your face feels. The contrast between the current situation and his obvious shyness is so endearingly distracting, it takes you a full minute to focus back in on what he’s saying. “--at this point, I mean, I know that we apparently aren’t there yet, but really, I don’t mind-”
“Wait,” You interrupt, “I’m still stuck on how I called you four times, both before I left and en route and once I got here, waited another ten minutes since I got here early because I know you like to be early, and yet somehow this is my fault.”
“Well...you should have knocked! Why wouldn’t you knock when coming into someone else’s apartment or bedroom?”
“Why didn’t you hear me coming? The floor in your hallway is a million years old, it squeaks constantly, how did you miss that?”
“Well, I was a little preoccupied.”
“Clearly.”
“You still should have knocked.”
“Why did you give me a key if you wanted me to knock? And when have you ever knocked on my door when you show up randomly? Besides, I figured you were asleep and didn’t want to wake you up while I took all your shit out to the truck.” His face softens a little, and a shy smile teases at his lips.
“Thanks, Pumpkin,” he says quietly. Your stomach flips violently at the look on his face and you roll your eyes at it.
“Yeah, whatever.” You pick up the clothes he already has laid out and throw them at his chest. “Get dressed, you’re buying me breakfast on the way to the cabin.”
He doesn’t protest as you leave him and gather his bags up, balancing them atop the coolers of groceries and snacks he’s no doubt made for everyone. It only takes a little finagling, but you manage to get it all downstairs and into the backseat of your truck. Fat white flakes are falling from the grey sky by the time you’re finished, and Seokjin’s nose and ears are still pink when he eventually gets in as well. You turn the heat up, just in case it’s not residual embarrassment heating his face.
He doesn’t even say anything except a muffled thanks. After a few minutes, you’ve almost resigned yourself to an awkwardly silent car ride.
“So…” Seokjin eventually says in a too-casual tone. “About earlier-”
“No,” You hiss before he can continue. “No we are absolutely not talking about what happened.”
“Oh, come on,” He implores as you turn into the first drive-through you can find. “It was bound to happen eventually, considering-”
“We really don’t need to talk about it,” you insist.
“I’m just saying that I know you aren’t really one for...y’know, sexual activity,” He ignores your open-mouthed gape and continues, “But I have my own needs, and self-satisfaction is the best balance between the two that I’ve found. That said, I’m sorry you had to see it, I know it probably made you uncomfortable. Because. Y’know. Dicks.”
You’re still gawking as he finishes his spiel, and you feel a little like a fish. You surely must look like one, with your mouth hanging open in shock, your eyes as wide as saucers, and the general air of befuddlement that surrounds you. There are so many things you want to say, questions you have, all of them colliding in your brain.
“I like sexual activity just fine!” is what makes it out, just as the speaker beside your window crackles to life. There’s a long, pregnant pause in which you and Seokjin just stare at each other.
“So...what can I get for you today?” The worker says through the speaker. You want to die, just a little, as you rattle off your order and Seokjin’s to him; the universe hates you, obviously, that’s the only real explanation here.
“We are not talking about this,” You tell Seokjin firmly as you pull away from the speaker. Your face is still burning, but you refuse to acknowledge it. “You are paying and then we are heading to the cabin and we are not ever speaking of this again.”
He holds his hands up in defeat. You almost believe that he’s dropped the subject, but unfortunately you know him too well for that. Which is why you shoot him a warning look as you pull up to the window and he starts to say something.
“All I was going to say is that my parents asked about you the other day. They’re mad that you haven’t been by lately.”
“I’ve been busy,” You say as you hand Seokjin’s card to the kid in the window. “I haven’t had time to visit.”
“You visit Jimin’s grandma like twice a week.”
“Yeah, well, Granny Park and I are friends. Not to mention I still have to unseat her as the reigning go champion.” You don’t mention that you’re sneaking her mistledough and cookies so that she won’t blab about the fact that you’re in love with Seokjin. Or that every time you go to his parents’ house, they end up talking about weddings and asking when you’re getting married. You can’t deal with that, not when you factor in your feelings for their son.
“I’m just saying. You’re like a daughter to them. They miss you. I’m going by there after we get back from the cabin, and I think they’d like it if you tagged along.”
All you give him is a noncommittal grunt and several bags of fast food. You love his parents, you really do. You just wish they didn’t come with the constant reminder that Jin only sees you as a sister.
He lets you eat in silence, though, content to munch on your fries and pretend most of the morning never happened. He sings along to every song that plays on the radio, and it isn’t until you’re about thirty minutes away from the city and doing your best to navigate the roads in the worsening snow that you get suspicious.
“When you say you like sexual activity just fine-"
“I thought we dropped this!” He sends you a look that just says ‘really?’ and continues.
“I just want to know what you mean. Because obviously we’re on two different pages.”
“I mean that I like it just fine. I enjoy it, it’s fun, I would like to continue having it in the future. What of that is strange to you?”
“No, I just...I was under the impression that you weren’t interested in that. You never really talk about it, and you’ve never mentioned any...partners, or anything so…”
“I didn’t realize I was supposed to inform you of every person I’ve ever slept with.” You glance over at him, astounded, and are shocked to see that his lips are pursed in a frown and his brows are drawn together. You resist the urge to reach out and smooth the lines on his face. “Wait, are you actually upset about this?”
“It’s just...I’ve told you about every person I’ve slept with.” You wince a little because he’s right. You’ve heard about every single one of his sexual encounters, some of them in great detail, and you do your best not to think about them. “If I had known that you were interested, then-”
“What? You would’ve set me up with one of your friends?”
“Who was the last person?”
“What?”
“Who was the last person you had sex with?”
You look at him again, a quick glance to try to figure out if he’s being serious or not. His face is hard, an emotion you can’t place clear in the set of his jaw and the steel in his eyes.
“I’m pretty sure there’s an actual blizzard starting around us, and you want to know who I fucked recently?”
“Yeah, I do. Fair’s fair, Pumpkin.” Something in his voice raises alarms in your head. You could insist that you don’t want to talk about it; he’d respect it if you were really serious, you know he would. There’s an edge to him right now, though, one you haven’t seen in a very long time, and you don’t like it. You want to smooth it out, sand it back into the gentle lilt you love.
“Fuck, Spice, I don’t know. That guy from the bar that one night?”
“What night? What bar?”
“I don’t fucking remember, okay? It was like...fuck, years ago, I don’t even remember what he looked like, let alone his name or what bar it was. Are you happy now? For fuck’s sake, I didn’t think I had to report to you every time I wanted to get laid. You’re my best friend, not my keeper. I didn’t think it was any of your business.”
He mumbles something under his breath that you don’t catch; between the sound of the heater going full blast and the Christmas carols he’s got blaring through your truck’s sound system, it’s hard to hear anything. Still, when you glance over at him again, something dark sits in his expression, and you’ve got a gut feeling it’s your fault.
Things remain tense even after you arrive at the cabin. Seokjin doesn’t wait for you to help him, just loads all of his stuff into his arms and wobbles his way inside while you’re still slinging your overnight bag over your shoulder. The door slams behind you as you enter, caught by the wind of the growing storm outside, and you send what you hope is an apologetic wave to where Taehyung and Star - his girlfriend of forever and one of your closest friends - sit in the den.
You immediately make your way to the kitchen, swiping a tin of cookies and making hot chocolate, all while ignoring the overly aggressive chopping your best friend is doing behind you. You’re sure Star and Tae aren’t surprised when you flee to the room that you’ve unofficially claimed over the years.
You stay there for most of the day. The door stays open, just in case someone actually wants to come talk to you; you have no doubt that everyone can hear you cursing at the dog show you’re watching, and at one point you’re pretty sure you hear Namjoon’s voice steer someone away, but you can’t be sure. You don’t even want to be sure. All you really want is to know what the fuck you did to piss your best friend off and get him back to normal.
You can’t just ask him, though, because he’ll no doubt get even angrier that you don’t already know, despite the fact that you have no way of knowing unless he actually tells you.
Frustrated, you pick up your phone and flip uselessly through the chat you have with him, trying to find literally any explanation for how he’s acting. The group chat with all the boys plus Star and Cat has been quiet most of the day, only the offhanded comment about someone leaving now or going to be a little late.
Your chat with just Cat and Star is almost as quiet. There’s a featured video of Seokjin blowing up at Jeongguk a bit too harshly considering the younger had just nabbed some kimchi before dinner, but that’s essentially it. You’re tempted to ask Star to get Seokjin to tell her what’s going on, but not only do you not want to drag her into whatever this is, you also know better. He wouldn’t tell her anything. She isn’t his best friend.
As much as you’re looking forward to the rest of the night, there’s a sense of dread deep in your bones when you eventually emerge from your room. You only do so because you’re out of hot chocolate and you know that you’ll be dinner if you’re late to eat.
You wave off Star’s curious look when she sees you; you don’t need her worrying about you, not when she’s got so much else to focus on, if the crutches leaned nearby are any indication. Hobi and Cat haven’t arrived yet, which only adds to the sinking feeling in your gut, but you brush it off. They would call if they had trouble. You know they would. Besides, Cat said they’d probably be leaving late.
Seokjin doesn’t even look at you as you pass him to get to the dining table, and that hurts more than you’d like to admit. The real sucker punch comes once you sit down, however, when you see a mug of hot cocoa with your signature candy cane placed just to the right of your plate, only to realize that Seokjin’s mug of special coffee he loves so much is placed at the other end of the table.
Away from you.
Air catches in your lungs, and it sounds silly that you’re tearing up over your best friend not sitting beside you, but he always sits beside you. Always. No matter what the two of you have been fighting about, he’s always sat beside you because he likes to laugh at the faces you make about the conversations going on, and he feeds you the best bits of meat while you act annoyed about it but secretly love it.
You knew Seokjin was upset, but you hadn’t realized he was this upset.
Jimin sits beside you and introduces you to his neighbor, but you don’t even catch her name, just that he keeps calling her Snow and she looks at him like he’s the meal and that there’s a massive purple bruise along Jimin’s neck that you have a sneaking suspicion is her handiwork. She looks vaguely familiar, but you can’t be bothered to place her, not when Seokjin is laughing about something Star is saying and looks entirely too at home down there.
On your other side, Namjoon and his roommate are talking about a science something or other that they’ve been working on. They’re both so invested in the conversation that neither notice Namjoon dumping the extra spicy sauce over his rice instead of the mild that he prefers. You can’t even bear to listen as he starts complaining to Seokjin that he made the food too spicy and the resulting tirade from the eldest.
If anyone notices your sour mood, they don’t say anything. It’s not surprising, when you think about it; you’ve long been established as the grump of the group, and you don’t expect that to change, even with the girl Jeongguk brought along that seems torn between whether she actually likes him or not.
Yoongi catches your eye at one point and you just cock a brow at him.
“Where’s Jisoo?” You mouth at him across the table. He looks to Peaches, the girlfriend of his that you’ve only ever met once in passing, and looks back at you. You way your eyebrows at him halfheartedly and Yoongi rolls his eyes. It’s disappointing that Jisoo isn’t here. She always provides some sort of entertainment.
If nothing else, she usually provides some semblance of distraction.
By the time dinner ends, you’re fairly positive no one knows about your spat with Seokjin, or the strange tension between the two of you. You’re sure no one noticed how you didn’t eat much of anything; everyone was too wrapped up in their own conversations and relationships to pay much attention to little old you.
You really should know better by now.
Jimin doesn’t move from his spot beside you, even as the others begin gathering dishes and your best friend disappears into the kitchen with the promise of cookies and chocolate-covered treats in an hour or two. Snow disappears, no doubt after a silent conversation between her and Jimin, and you roll your eyes at how he watches her disappear into the room they’ve claimed.
The two of you sit in silence; it’s a game of wits, almost. You know he knows something is up, but you also know that he knows you aren’t one to just offer up your thoughts. But he knows that you know that, and he knows you know he isn’t going to let it go because he can tell something is actually bothering you this time.
“So are we going to talk about why Seokjin has been so pissy all day and how there’s been a notable lack of Pumpkin by his side, or are we going to continue to pretend that everything’s fine like we did through dinner?”
You wish you were better able to resist him. Maybe your time with his grandmother has weakened you to him, and maybe you should work on being less transparent with him, but either way, you slump in your chair and set your empty mug of hot chocolate down with a thump. You still send him a glare that he smiles through and make a mental note to tell Granny Park that there’s a reason for his sudden need for scarves that she should ask him about.
“We had a fight.” You eventually grumble, eyes darting to where Seokjin stands over in the kitchen, dipping marshmallows, pretzels, and other treats into melted chocolate. “I think.”
“You think?”
It doesn’t take very long for you to recount the day’s events to him. You even tell him about The Incident from that morning that you walked in on, because once you start talking you can’t seem to stop until he knows it all.
“And now he’s pissed, I think at me, but I can’t figure out why. I mean, it wasn’t any of his business, but you know how I am with him, so it’s not like I could just not tell him, but I don’t understand why it pissed him off.” You huff a little. The frustration with everything that rolls in your stomach collides with the hurt you feel over Seokjin snubbing you, and it’s so distracting that you almost miss Jimin’s careful whisper of your name.
“Have you ever considered just asking him?” Jimin says softly. “I’m pretty sure having an actual conversation with him would fix this whole thing.”
“But…” You hesitate, twisting a stray thread from your sweater between your fingers. “Jimin, what if he hates me?”
There’s a vulnerability to your voice that you hate, one that only Seokjin, Jimin, and Granny Park have ever seen. It’s rare, mostly because you hate feeling vulnerable, but it makes Jimin’s eyes soften ever so slightly even as he bursts into a fit of giggles so powerful that he almost falls out of his chair.
“This is not helping!” You hiss, shooting a look at where Seokjin is rolling out chocolate chip cookie dough. He doesn’t look up at Jimin’s outburst, but his lips twitch ever so slightly into a frown and the crease between his brows deepens.
You know that look, too well. It’s his ‘I Do Not Care Even Though I Actually Do But I Don’t Want You To Know I Care” look. You saw it frequently when he first went off to college, when he was constantly worrying about all the boys he left behind in that little cul-de-sac. You really hoped it wouldn’t ever come back.
“I’m sorry,” Jimin says eventually, wiping a tear away from one eye. “I really am, I promise, I’m just. Oh, I think I might lose a bet.”
“What? How is that helpful, Jimin? Y’know what, where’s that dumb dog thing Yoongi made you, I need to smush its face until I feel better--”
“What you need,” Jimin says as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder to sit you back down in your chair, “Is to stop abusing my lovingly crafted plushies and actually talk to Seokjin.”
“I can’t tell him how I feel, you know this Chim-”
“Did I say confess?” Jimin asks as he stands, eyes flickering to where his neighbor-slash-girlfriend(?) is in their room. “Just talk to him. I mean really talk to him, okay, about why he’s upset. I think you’ll be surprised.”
Jimin doesn’t give you a chance to protest; he’s gone and disappeared down the hallway before you can blink, and you don’t want to know what’s happening in that room.
Eventually you meander over to where Seokjin is sliding cookies out of the oven, each perfectly placed to allow for the perfect bake. You putter around for a minute or two, opening and closing cabinet doors at random. You aren’t finding anything interesting, certainly not the strength to have this conversation, which is why you’re startled when someone says, “It’s all the way to the left.”
You turn, and Seokjin is absently stirring leftover melted chocolate. When you fail to move, too busy staring at him in confusion, he turns and points to a cabinet beside you. “The cocoa,” He says, “It’s all the way to the left.”
“Thanks,” You mumble as you move toward it. Inside is a box of candy canes and a weathered tin that you recognize from Seokjin’s apartment. Its twin sits in the bakery, right beside the register so that it’s close at hand for when you inevitably come thundering in with a storm cloud above your head. Each holds the special cocoa recipe that Seokjin learned from his grandfather, who learned it from his grandfather.
You chance a glance at your best friend; he knows how much you love that cocoa. The people in this cabin right now are the only people he’ll make it for - save for Hoseok and Cat, who still haven’t arrived. Seokjin’s ears are burning red, and a weaker person - or at least one less accustomed to him - may have cooed at the sight. But you’ve spent too long building up the walls so that he’ll never find out just what you keep tucked away in your heart.
“I’m-”
“Sorry.” He finishes for you. “I know you are. And...I forgive you.” You nod at his words; you couldn’t even hazard a guess as to what had actually upset him, but you’re glad he’s forgiven you for it. Still, it nags at you, because what if it happens again? Unlikely, considering you haven’t been able to get laid in actual years because you’re too smitten with the man standing across from you, but still.
“Are you going to tell me why you were upset, or are you just going to play with chocolate all night?” You eventually ask. He sighs, heavy and long, and turn to lean back on the counter beside you. He’s wearing his ridiculous alpaca apron that you got him for his birthday, and that only makes him more beautiful as he considers what he wants to say.
Your heart lurches painfully in your chest. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted, and it almost feels like he’s close enough to touch, but you just can’t seem to let your hand reach out to do so. You think if you could, you might be able to grab him and hold on forever, but something deep in your gut stills you.
The fear of losing him, of losing everything that you have with him right now - late nights at the bakery, shopping for birthday presents, the quiet moments in a chaotic world where you find peace in each other. As much as it hurts to love him, as hard as it is to speak around the words that strangle in your throat that speak truth to every feeling you’ve ever locked in the recesses of your heart, you can’t risk telling him. Because this pining and loving and eventually watching him grow old with someone he loves?
That’s enough for you.
“I just got jealous, I suppose,” Seokjin eventually says. “I always thought that you weren’t interested in sex, y’know? You mentioned it once in college that you’d tried it, but your little half-frown was there, so I knew you didn’t like it, because you get the same one every time you eat gingerbread because you hate it but you don’t want me to get disappointed that you aren’t eating the houses I make. I just thought it wasn’t something you wanted in life.”
“Um.”
“Which is obviously fine, sex isn’t for everyone, asexual people exist and are valid, as are those that are sex-repulsed, y’know? And I decided a long time ago when I first looked into it all that I didn’t care about sex in a relationship. That’s not the important thing to being partners with someone. But apparently sex is a thing for you, and I just wish I had known that because all this time I could’ve-”
“What, set me up with your friends?”
“No, definitely not. It’s just that we...I could have...it just hurts to know that you’ll have sex with other people but not with me, even though I respect that it’s your decision to make.”
“What.”
“But I just...I know I’m not entitled to an explanation, but I can’t lie, I would really appreciate one if you can give it. I mean...I dunno, I know that I had sex with other people, but we had that whole conversation in college about it, and you seemed alright with it, so I did. And I always told you about them, because communication and openness is important, and I wanted you to know that I was respecting your boundaries with that while also satisfying my own needs. But it really did feel weird, because...y’know, so I stopped. And I guess I assumed that if you weren’t fucking me, you weren’t fucking anyone.”
“What.”
“I just really care about you, Pumpkin, and I know I know don’t really say it a lot because I’m more of a ‘showing it’ kind of guy, but...I just would have appreciated knowing that. Especially since I’ve always been more than willing to love you like that.”
“Spice,” You say slowly, being careful to keep your face blank. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”
Seokjin blinks at you owlishly. “What do you mean ‘what am I talking about,’ I thought I was pretty clear. I mean...yeah, I’d love it if you would have sex with me, but that’s your decision, and I’m curious as to your reasoning and logic. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter, which is why I forgave you, because as much as it stings, it’s your choice. And I love you, as you know, so-”
“How would I possibly know that?” Your voice catches a little on the words, probably because you’re having a little trouble actually breathing. Everything is fuzzy and the words ‘I’d love it if you would have sex with me’ and ‘I love you’ are playing on a loop in your brain. Your entire world has just shifted on its axis, and yet Seokjin looks completely unbothered.
“Maybe because I’ve put up with you so long?” He teases with a fond smile. “I mean, I know we aren’t the type to say the words very often, but c’mon Pumpkin. We’ve been dating since you were twelve, not many would last that long without even a kiss.”
“We haven’t been together since I was twelve, though.” He raises a brow at your confused tone.
“Okay, thirteen, then.” He says. The confusion on your face must be apparent, because it begins to bleed into his, the beautiful features morphing to mirror your own.
“Seokjin, I don’t know what you’re talking about. We aren’t dating.”
His expression only gets more confused.
“Uh, yes we are?”
“Uh, no we aren’t? When the fuck did that happen?”
“When you were twelve, as I said. I asked you to be my girlfriend.”
“I feel like I would have remembered that happening.”
“Then you should go to a doctor, because it definitely did. It was the best day of my life. We were sitting on the playground, it was recess, you were upset.”
“I remember none of that.”
“You cannot possibly have forgotten this!” Seokjin exclaims. “I cheered you up and offered you my cookie, which you ate in like two bites even though I had made it with salt instead of sugar and it had to be disgusting, because some girl had knocked your cupcake into the dirt-”
“Park Sooyoung, that bitch, I remember that-”
“And then,” Seokjin continues, ignoring your outburst, “I was so deeply honored that you ate that disgusting thing that I offered you the equal honor of being my girlfriend. And you nodded and I kissed your cheek and then you punched me in the arm - which hurt, I might add, for days - and then I watched you play Pokemon Sapphire on your Gameboy Advance.”
The memory rushes in, though not exactly how he remembers it. Park Sooyoung had knocked your cupcake out of your hands and into the dirt, and you had been so mad about it that you’d started to cry. Seokjin found you, curled under a tree away from everyone else, and when he eventually learned what upset you, he’d told Sooyoung off like no one had ever seen. And then he’d handed you the best cookie you’ve ever eaten.
You think maybe that was when you first started falling for Seokjin. With the salty cookie that masked the taste of your own tears, and the angry tirade he had gone on despite the two of you not having known each other for very long, with the wide smile and squeaky laugh and ears so red and cute that you couldn’t focus on whatever he was saying and just nodded along to it.
“Well...why didn’t you say anything since then?” A thought crosses your mind, and it so horror-filled that you have to ask. “Do the guys know?”
“If they do, it’s not because I told them,” Seokjin answers easily. “When you introduced yourself as my friend, I figured you were just a very private person and didn’t want to rub it in their faces or something.”
“Is that why you always drag me along when you, Hobi, Tae, Cat, and Star go out for karaoke?”
“Obviously,” He scoffs. “What could be better than a triple date with your two best friends?”
“Literally anything! Hobi and Cat sing each other the most raunchy things I’ve ever heard, and Tae does all those weepy ballads or indie songs nobody recognizes, and Star’s got those dopey love eyes all night, it’s revolting.”
“You mean like those faces you make at me when you think I won’t notice?”
“I-” You huff, at a loss. “Well what about the other day, with that girl at Mistledough you were flirting with, who was flirting back and-” Realization hits you. “And she’s Jimin’s neighbor girlfriend lady!”
“Pumpkin. Are you serious right now?” He gives you a dry look, but there’s amusement written all over it. “You’ve heard my sales pitch a hundred times. You’ve given my sales pitch a hundred times, albeit with a little more of a monotone and general ‘I’ll kill you’ vibe to it. It was just so she’d buy all the treats I could possibly sell her.”
You make a small ‘hmph’ noise that you aren’t exactly proud of, but makes Seokjin laugh. He pulls you into a warm hug, wrapping his arms around your waist to keep you there. It’s a little awkward, because your arms are still crossed over your chest, but he doesn’t seem to mind and despite all the muttered complaints you give him, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.
“So…” Jin says in a too-casual tone after a few minutes. You muffle a groan into his chest, already preparing for the worst. “What kind of sex are you into?”
“Oh my god,” You mumble.
“Wait, you’re right, I’m getting ahead of myself.” He clears his throat and stands to his full height. When he looks at you again, his eyes are full of something you can’t place exactly, but it makes your heart skip nonetheless when he says your full name. “Will you do me the honor of officially becoming my girlfriend? Again?”
You resist the urge to roll your eyes and nod. The grin takes over his face is blinding, worth all the trouble from the day, as is the soft kiss he presses to your cheek. You can’t help but huff when he pulls away from it, even, and he raises an amused brow at it.
“Does this mean I can finally kiss you the way I’ve been dreaming of forever?”
You do roll your eyes this time, but you let your fingers dance over his jaw and pull him into a gentle kiss. His lips are softer than they look, which you truly didn’t think was possible, and the way they mold and move with yours is warm and tender. You don’t even know how long you spend kissing Seokjin. Time isn’t real, not now, not with him pulling you closer and pressing warm against you like every single daydream you’ve let yourself have.
Years of repressed urges and desire come out before you can stop them, though. Your hands move down to rest on Seokjin’s impossibly tiny waist, slipping behind his apron to tease at the waistband of his slacks. Why he insists everyone wear nice clothes to dinner, you couldn’t possibly say, but they make his ass look phenomenal so you never complain.
The kisses become more heated, his tongue dipping out to taste your lips for a moment. Hands find their way to your ass and palm it greedily, and he tugs you flush against him. A hard length is pressing into you, and you don’t have to guess to know it's not the rolling pin.
Images - memories - flash through your mind of that morning. Your mouth waters and you pull back from Seokjin. Panting, lips swollen from kisses, and half-lidded eyes, he's never looked better.
"Can I suck your dick?"
He groans low in his throat and his eyes fall closed. "Fuck, Pumpkin, right here? Anyone could walk by." You drop to your knees as your hands undo the clasp on the pants.
"Doubtful, they're probably having that post-dinner nap, or playing some game." Anxiety pools in your gut; you know quite a bit about what Seokjin likes in bed, but you've never been sure if exhibitionism is on that list. "Does it make you uncomfortable? I don't have to. I've just been thinking about it all day."
Seokjin barks out a quick laugh and shakes his head. "No," He says, "I definitely would love for you to suck my dick in this kitchen if you want to."
"Good." You flip his apron to the side and tug his cock out of its confines. You don't bother dropping his pants all the way; there's no time, you're too impatient. "Let me know if anyone shows up."
Whatever he's about to say gets cut off by a sharp intake of breath as you warp your lips around the head of him. One of his hands moves to grip the counter behind him and the other rests lightly on your crown; he doesn't pull or tug, just keeps his hand as a gentle pressure as you sink him deeper into your mouth.
As much as you've never been one for sucking dick, you're in heaven. There's no other explanation for why it feels this good to have him sitting heavy against your tongue as he hits the back of your throat. There are still two inches left so you wrap your hand around it and hollow your cheeks as you pull back.
A strangled moan escapes him, and his fingers tighten ever so slightly in your hair. Heat floods to your core and you kick yourself internally because you could have been doing this for years. Your tongue darts out to slide teasingly along the underside of his cock and he reflexively thrusts into your mouth.
You cough a little and pull back, wiping spit from your lips as you catch your breath, and Seokjin is already spewing apologies.
“I’m fine,” You say as you sit back against the cabinet, tugging him to stand in front of you. His back is to most of the kitchen and your head rests against the hard wood behind you while you eye the hard wood in front of you. “I can take a little bit of roughness, Spice, don’t worry.”
He looks hesitant so you ghost your fingers along his length to tease him. His jaw clenches at the same time his eyes close and you resist the urge to smile. Tension bleeds out of his shoulders and when he opens his eyes again, he quirks a brow in a silent question and you nod.
In seconds, he’s in your throat once more, thrusting himself in and out at a slow pace that makes you clench with the desire to feel it elsewhere. You hollow your cheeks and suck properly as he fucks your throat, and he muffles another moan.
“Fuck, Pumpkin, please don’t stop,” Seokjin whines quietly. You smile, just a little, and take him back into your throat for a few seconds before pulling back and repeating the process. Each time he hits the back of your throat, he lets out a muffled groan that only makes you wetter. His cock is thick and your jaw aches and you’re struggling to breathe just a little bit, but the fucked out expression on his face is more than worth it.
Something clatters in the hallway and you freeze, Seokjin’s cock sheathed to the hilt in your throat. His ears turn red and he starts to pull back, but you stop him with a hand on his thigh. He looks down at you, surprised, and you chance a wink that makes him chuckle.
Footsteps make their way past, giggles following close behind, and you hear the door leading to the hot tub open and close. After a few seconds of silence, Seokjin relaxes, pulling out of your throat. You take a few deep breaths and glance over to the door, curious.
“Jimin and Snow,” He tells you, one hand absently stroking along your cheek. “We probably shouldn’t use the hot tub tonight.”
You wrinkle your nose. “Why would I want to anyway? Have you heard Namjoon’s lecture on what could potentially grow in a hot tub if it isn’t sanitized regularly? It’s not a fun lecture.” Seokjin laughs, squeaky and adorable, and helps you to your feet. He doesn’t hesitate to pepper kisses along your cheeks, and you wrinkle your nose even as tilt your head so he can get the places he missed.
“Now when you said that you can handle a little roughness…” Seokjin says, voice a soft murmur in your ear. You make a small hum of affirmation, encouraging him to continue. “Does that mean I can spank you for not finishing blowing me, or is that something you’d rather not do?”
“Fuck, Seokjin,” You hiss, rubbing your thighs together. “Now you have to do it.”
He’s got you turned around in an instant, your fancy dress pants on the ground a few seconds later. His hands mold to your ass, cupping the flesh briefly through your underwear before letting his hands fall away.
It’s methodical and slow and torturous, how he peels away that last layer keeping him from your wetness. You know that the fabric is soaked through, it has been since you first got his dick in your mouth, and Seokjin groans at the sight.
“Even better than I imagined,” He mutters. Your cheeks heat in a rare blush, and you drop your head down between where your forearms are braced against the countertop. His hand smacks against your ass, lightly, and you choke back a laugh. Is that really what he thinks a spank is?
Another slap hits you, no real force behind it, and you scoff under your breath.
“What?” Seokjin asks. When you look back at him, he’s expectant, like he knows what you’re about to say.
“Is that what you call a slap?” You ask. He rolls his eyes and pulls his hand back for another. It already looks unsatisfying, and you can’t help but push him a little further. “I always wondered why your dough doesn’t rise high enough. Guess I know now.”
His eyes darken and a chill comes over you.
“Oh, is that how this is gonna be?” He asks. He gestures for you to face forward again and you do, curious as to the dark look in his eyes.
Something hard and cold smacks into your ass, and you yelp in surprise. There’s a little more force behind it, enough to sting pleasantly but not enough to hurt.
“Is that better, Pumpkin?” He asks. There’s a mocking tone to his voice, but when you look back, you can see the slant of his lips and tension in his jaw that shows he’s concerned. The rolling pin from earlier rests in his hands, and it flares something in your gut.
“Much,” You tell him as you turn back around. He spanks you with it again, and again, and again, and it isn’t until you feel something wet drip down the back of your leg that you remember the chocolate he was fucking around with earlier.
“If you get that on my nice clothes, I will destroy you,” You warn him. He laughs a little and there’s a thump as the rolling pin hits the countertop.
“Is that code for get me naked?” He asks, a laugh in his voice.
“No, that’s code for lick it up and then fuck my brains out.”
The laugh in his throat quickly becomes a growl and he sets to work doing just that. His tongue runs over your skin, gently lapping at the chocolate there, and several times he gets distracted leaving purple marks in his wake. He even slides tongue along your slit, long and thorough and quick, and you almost come just from the obscene moan he lets out.
"Fuck, please, I need you," You gasp out. Seokjin slides a hand under your shirt, massaging the muscles in your back as he does, and stands to his full height.
"Let me know if it hurts," He says softly. His voice is a whisper against your ear and it's never sounded quite so wrecked or beautiful. "I'll stop, okay?"
"If you don't get inside me in the next five seconds, I will go ask Jimin and Snow if I can join them in their kinky hot tub," you growl.
He curses quietly and thrusts his length inside you. Neither of you are quite prepared for what it feels like, and the moment he gets buried to the hilt, he stills.
"Shit, Pumpkin, I'm not gonna last long," He mutters. You can't even manage words. The stretch is absolutely blissful, just on the right side of painful when paired with the sting of your still-tender ass. He's the perfect height for this, too; perfectly lined up without either of you having to try very hard.
He pulls almost entirely out, leaving just the dusty pink head you remember inside. There's not even a chance to whine at the loss, because before you know it, he's slamming back in.
Seokjin's pace is erratic and harried; there's no smooth strokes here. You're both in too much of a rush, too drunk on the pleasure to want anything but release.
Hands move along your skin, one lifting your shirt so he can pepper kisses along your spine while the other reaches down to gently tweak your clit.
It takes three swipes of his finger to have your knees shaking with the power of your orgasm. You clench around him and he stills. You can't think, your brain is absolutely fried at this point; all you know is the feeling of him inside you and the disappointing emptiness when he pulls out.
Warmth hits your back and Seokjin's moans echo in your ears. You're almost afraid to turn around, afraid this is some hyper-realistic dream.
"Shit, hold on, let me clean this up," he says, panting. You can hear him moving through the kitchen and when he comes back, something cold and wet slides along your back.
You wait patiently as he cleans you up. He wipes away every instance of cum and chocolate from your skin - though he looks a little disappointed to be doing so, which you file away for later.
"God, that's so much fucking cum," You say, wrinkling your nose at the mass of wet wipes he tosses in the trash while you fasten your pants once more.
It's just in time, too, as Jimin and Snow come in from the hot tub, smiling and giggly with each other.
"Ah," Jimin says, looking between you and Seokjin. "I did lose a bet. Damn, she's gonna be so pleased with herself."
You glare at him, but there's no real heat behind it. The two of them disappear to get dressed in actual clothes, and you and Seokjin set to work plating the cookies and treats he'd made.
You can't stop the fond look at the rolling pin every few minutes.
Later, after you discover Cat and Hobi have arrived safely and you make sure they actually eat the plates set aside for them, you're on the hunt for Seokjin. He's disappeared somewhere and it's almost time for the countdown.
You finally find him - where else - in the kitchen, making a horrified face at Namjoon.
"What? It was good," Namjoon says with a frown. Seokjin just waves him off and Namjoon shrugs, grabbing a couple glasses of champagne and heading back to Slick.
You sidle up to him as close as you can get and he wraps an arm around your waist like it's second nature. It's surreal, that the man you love is pressing a kiss to your temple and handing you a mug of cocoa.
"I'm glad we talked," He says eventually. You hum your agreement; you aren't looking at him, just staring down into your cocoa as you absently stir it with a candy cane, but you do lean into him ever so slightly. "Remind me to bake Jimin a cake."
"Why? What's he done to deserve a cake?"
"He helped me out earlier, while I was cooking dinner. Helped me figure out how to say what I needed to, that sort of thing."
Your face shoots up as your heart clenches in your chest. "Jimin," You echo. "Jimin is why you decided to talk about your feelings." Seokjin just nods, eyes wide and not understanding why you have murder in your eyes.
"I'm gonna kill him so hard-" You say, already setting your mug down and turning to go find that short gremlin and skin him alive. You don't get two steps before a hand comes to rest on your shoulder, heavy but gentle.
Seokjin pulls you closer to him, a smile playing on his lips as he does. "Why would you want to kill Jimin for that, Pumpkin?"
"Because!" You exclaim. "Jimin's the only one that knows that I-"
The words tangle in your throat, cloying together into a ball you can't seem to unwind. You're too used to choking it down. You don't know how to say it.
"That you love me?" Seokjin finishes. You can't bear to look at him, huffing slightly as you turn to stare out the kitchen window at the snow-covered trees beyond.
Seokjin's hand glides down your arm to wrap around your own, tangling his fingers with yours. With a grace you tend to forget he has, he brings them both upwards until he can press a soft kiss in the center of your palm.
"Jimin isn't the only one that knows that, Pumpkin," He says quietly. You can feel your ears burning, a pleasant contrast from how it's usually him embarrassed and red.
"Whatever," you grumble, giving up on your mission to brutally murder one of your best friends. Seokjin laughs, loud and squeaky and wonderful, and pulls you into another hug.
"I love you too," He whispers. "Now, let's go join the others. I believe you owe me several years of kisses."
"You wish," You mutter half-heartedly. He hands you your cocoa and pats your still-sore ass with a wink.
"That's a great move."
"Really?"
"Yes." There's a pause as she waits for you to remove your fingers from the piece. "If you want to lose."
You offer her a weak glare that she ignores as she studies the board.
"I'm glad that you and Seokjinnie finally got things figured out. It was very cute to watch, but it was getting a little ridiculous, you know."
She moves a piece, and you squint to try to help you figure out her strategy.
"Right, it had nothing to do with your bet with Jimin," You say sarcastically as you move another piece. You eye her, one finger still remaining on it, to try to figure out if it's what she expected.
"Of course not," She says as you remove your hand. "That was merely a bonus." She immediately lays a piece, gaining even more of an advantage than she already had.
"Well then," You start as you lay another piece, "I'm sure you know all about Jimin and his neighbor, and Star and Tae I don't need to tell you anything about Yoongi or Cat or Jeongguk, either, probably."
Her fingers hesitate over the piece she's picking up, and her eyes narrow at you.
"Ah, don't be so cruel. You're supposed to respect your elders, you know."
"Alright, Granny Park," You say with a rare grin as you glance to where Seokjin is baking a ‘sorry we fucked in your kitchen’ cake and decoration some sugar-free cookies for her. "What exactly do you want to know?
#moonchildnet#ficswithluv#smutcentralnet#btswriterscollective#ksmutclub#magicshopnet#seokjin fanfic#jin fanfic#seokjin smut#jin smut#seokjin fluff#jin fluff#bts fanfic#bts fluff#bts smut#reader insert#jin x reader#seokjin x reader#the snowball effect collab#ddaenggtan
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