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hero-deserves-to-be-happy · 3 months

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Tell Me Where It Hurts (Hero and Kel Brotherly Hurt/Comfort and Angst Fic)

"What Hero wanted more than anything else in the world was to protect his little brother—to take care of him, to help him whenever he was hurting. Nothing hurt Hero more than to see his brother in pain, especially a pain he couldn’t fix."

When seven-year-old Kel falls off his bike, Hero immediately steps in to help him care for his wounds. All he has ever wanted is to take care of his little brother, but what will happen when he can't protect him anymore?

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Pre-Canon, Family Feels, Hero & Kel's Fight, Hero & Kel's Brotherly Love, and Sad Ending

Characters: Hero (POV Character) and Kel

Relationships: Hero & Kel as brothers (A/N: Love them! They deserve the world 💙🧡)

Word Count: 2089

Rating: T (for canon-typical heavy themes such as grief and depression)

Warnings: Mentioned Minor Injuries from a bike accident (Non-graphically depicted), Mentioned Blood, Canon-Typical Heavy Themes (i.e. grief and depression). Emotional Hurt and Heavy Angst. OMORI SPOILERS.

Link to work on AO3. Full text below the cut.

Thank you for reading!

“I’m fine,” Kel insisted, but he groaned—tottering on his scraped and bloodied knees as he pulled himself up off the ground.

Hero sighed. “Kel…” He held out his hand, patting his brother on the shoulder, but Kel just frowned at him then at his crashed bicycle—rolling his eyes in that annoyed yet affectionate way it seemed only seven-year-old little brothers could manage.

Hero’s chest ached. Despite his insistence that he was fine, Hero could see the way Kel’s eyes shimmered in the corners, the way he bit down hard on his quivering lip. Hero sunk to his knees beside him in the grass—something visceral, instinctive aching in him as he reached out his hands to Kel, begging without words: tell me where it hurts.

Kel shrugged him off, squirming away from him. “Hero,” he began to protest again, but he sniffled—wiping his hand across his nose then his eyes and leaving a streak of dirt on his cheek.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hero gently interrupted, rubbing his hand comfortingly across his brother’s back.

“My bike—”

“It’s okay. I’ve got it.” With a reassuring nod, Hero grabbed the orange handlebars and set the bike upright again. It was in much better shape than Kel who had been flung off of it when he had hit that uneven spot in the sidewalk outside their house. Despite Hero’s gentle warnings that Kel should slow down and look out for that infamous crack in the pavement, Kel had slammed into it at rapid speed, losing his balance and skidding across the sidewalk into the dirt with a painful scraping sound. Hero could only imagine how much that had had hurt. The thought made something twist in his chest. He couldn’t stand to see the tears caught in Kel’s long eyelashes, to watch his bottom lip trembling as he tried not to cry. He wished it had been him who had crashed the bicycle rather than his brother. It probably would have hurt less.

As they carefully made their way back into the house, Hero shifted—pushing Kel’s bike with one hand as he reached out the other to try to support his brother, but Kel, stubborn and resilient as ever, just shrugged him off, hobbling along on his injured legs. When they finally made their way inside the house, Kel, thankfully, let Hero support him up the stairs to the bathroom—leaning almost imperceptibly on his elder brother’s side until they reached the landing. Bounding through the bathroom door, Kel plopped down on the side of the bathtub as Hero thoughtfully scanned the hutch of shelves for a first aid kit or bandages. His parents had been pretty insistent that since he was only ten years old, he wasn’t allowed to rifle through the medicine cabinet, but they usually kept bandages and antibiotic ointment where he and Kel could reach them. It was a good thing too seeing as his little brother’s impulsive recklessness often led to lots of scrapes, cuts, and bruises. Thankfully, it was never anything too serious—only usual childhood injuries, but Hero still worried. He had quickly become pretty talented at wound care and his brother’s “little doctor” as his parents sometimes affectionately teased him.

“Ow!” exclaimed Kel, pulling Hero out of his thoughts. He turned to his brother with a start to find him frowning at his leg as he rubbed a faded, worn washcloth across the scrapes and scratches.

“You should get that wet first,” Hero gently suggested, as he turned on the bathtub’s faucet. He grabbed a clean washcloth off of the hutch, then ran it under water when it reached a comfortable, lukewarm temperature. After ringing it out, he began to wipe the mess of dirt, blood, and grime off of Kel’s legs and arms. Kel’s knees and elbows were especially beat up, and—Hero sighed—the massive, scabby scrape on Kel’s forearm from a scooter accident a week ago had just reopened. Kel was lucky it was all just superficial scratches, and he didn’t need stitches. He really should be more careful.

Kel squirmed and fidgeted. “Ouch! That hurts!” He yelped, jerking away from him as Hero cleaned the nasty gash on his knee as gently as he could.

“Sorry,” mumbled Hero. “But we really need to clean these off. You’ve got dirt in them.”

“So what?” Kel huffed.

“So…you can’t put bandages on them until they’re cleaned off.”

Kel huffed again, crossing his arms. “I don’t need any bandages.”

With a sigh, Hero shook his head slightly. His brother really could be so stubborn sometimes. Truthfully, he kind of admired that, especially since Hero, himself, had always kind of struggled to speak his mind and stick up for himself, often finding himself exhausted by arguments and desperately trying keep the peace. In times like these, however, Kel’s stubbornness tended to get him into trouble.

Hero sighed again, but his expression softened as he gently encouraged, “But mom got those new Captain Spaceboy ones and everything.”

Kel’s brow furrowed, and he hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I guess that’s okay.”

Carefully, Hero got up from his place on the side of the bathtub and washed his hands in the sink. Then, he grabbed the tube of antibiotic ointment and several boxes of bandages of various sizes. Kneeling down on the bath mat in front of the tub, Hero put the antibiotic ointment on Kel’s knees and wrapped them up in large, square bandages. Then he did the same to the scrapes on Kel’s legs, arms, and elbows. To Kel’s disappointment, most of his wounds were too big for the Captain Spaceboy Band-Aids, but he had a few small scrapes on his hands that could use them. Hero hoped Kel wouldn’t mind that too much, especially since putting them there would make it easier for Kel to show off the bandages to his friends when he saw them next.

Sure enough, as soon as Hero had placed the Captain Spaceboy bandage on the back of Kel’s hand, he had held it up and exclaimed, “This is so cool! I can’t wait to show Sunny!”

As Kel excitedly scrambled to his feet, Hero chuckled lightly to himself. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah, thanks, Hero! You’re the best.” Kel’s face lit up into a wide smile—bright and beaming even despite his couple of missing baby teeth. “If you weren’t gonna be a chef, you’d be a really good doctor.”

Hero’s face flushed, but he smiled. “Thank you, Kel.” He patted his brother on the head, ruffling his thick hair. Kel frowned as he absentmindedly fidgeted with the bandage on his arm, and Hero's brow furrowed. “Don’t pick at those. You have to leave them alone so they’ll heal.”

“Yeah…yeah...” mumbled Kel, rolling his eyes.

“Also, try to be a little more careful, okay?”

Kel shrugged. “I guess I can try, but it’s okay because I’ll always have you to take care of me if I get scraped up and stuff.” Laughing, Kel paused, turning to him with wide, smiling eyes. “Like a hero, just like your name.”

Hero’s face softened, and his heart ached. What he wanted more than anything else in the world was to protect his little brother—to take care of him, to help him whenever he was hurting. Nothing hurt Hero more than to see his brother in pain, especially a pain he couldn’t fix. He couldn’t save him from that—couldn’t save him from falling off of his bike, from losing his favorite toy, from scraping his knees, and from getting his feelings hurt, but he knew he would do anything he could to make things better and to fix him up anytime he needed him. He didn’t have the words for how much it meant to him to know that Kel saw him as someone he could always depend on, someone who would always be there to help and support him—a real hero.

Sniffling just a little, he pulled Kel into a quick hug and quietly reassured him, “That’s right, Kel. I’ll always be here.”

*-*-*

6 Years Later…

Something caught Hero before his knees slammed into the hardwood floor of his room. He could barely see anything through his blurred, weeping eyes in the dark. The frantic but hushed voices of his parents talked over each other as they held onto him, but his head was spinning, throbbing. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. Everything around him shook. No, he was shaking, trembling as he gasped for breath. Hot tears cascaded down his cheeks. Somehow he hadn’t even noticed. Hadn’t noticed anything. How could he when he was drowning—desperately struggling to stay afloat in a dark, endless void of dark water. It spilled out into the room—filling every corner, every crevice until it swallowed him whole. In truth, he barely even knew where he was, who he was. It didn’t feel real. It was just another part of this horrible, never ending nightmare he had been living ever since Mari had died, leaving him numb, empty—a void of feeling. A shell of a person.

But then he caught sight of something over his dad’s shoulder. Kel... with tears caught in his eyelashes, struggling in the corners of his eyes, and streaming down his cheeks. The sight was so overwhelmingly heartbreaking that he wanted to cry out, but his throat was raw, hoarse from the painful, thoughtless words that had just lashed out of him.

As Kel met his eyes in the dark, something shattered inside Hero. His chest panged and twisted at this image of Kel utterly broken down and torn apart—trembling, cowering against the wall as tears spilled down his face. It would be permanently seared into his mind, would haunt his thoughts, his waking dreams, his nightmares. For the rest of his life, whenever he would think of his brother, he would see this moment, and the regret would destroy him.

For the first time in months, he felt something riveting through the numbness in his heart—something visceral, instinctive aching in him as he lurched forward, desperately reaching out his hands to Kel, begging without words: tell me where it hurts, even though he already knew the answer.

Tears pooling in his eyes, Hero wrapped his arms around him, pulling him tightly against his chest as it panged and twisted. He sobbed, bitterly, choking on his anguished apologies. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Kel’s chin pressed into his shoulder. Hero could feel him trembling, could hear his whispered assurances that all was forgiven and that he was fine.But he wasn’t fine. And Hero knew it.

He felt the words ache in his heart, desperately begging again and again: tell me where it hurts until the truth clawed at him, tearing him apart in guilty anguish so great Hero could feel it crushing him until he couldn’t breathe—like the world was caving in around him.

The truth was Kel didn’t have to tell him where it hurt. Didn’t have to tell him that the pain he felt now was worse than any cut, any scrape, any bruise he had ever gotten. He didn’t have to tell him that there was no bandage, no ointment, and no first aid that could fix it. And he didn’t have to tell him that it was all his fault.

Hero knew that the wounds we couldn’t see hurt the most, especially when they were given to us by someone we loved, and he wept—writhing in pain as he clutched onto his brother, screaming apologies into the night as if they could somehow drown out the ghosts of his thoughtless, painful words. But he knew they couldn’t.

Something was broken now, and it could never be fixed. They could never go back to the way things were before, back when Kel knew he could always turn to him for help, when he knew he would always be there to fix him up and support him. Hero could never again ask Kel to tell him where it hurt and expect a straight answer. He could never again patch his wounds or hold him while he cried without the dark, heavy weight of this moment, of their one and only fight, hanging over them. Doubt would always set in, and even now, even as he held his brother so tightly, so desperately—it made no difference. He could feel the distance between them.

He wasn’t Kel’s hero anymore.

#guess who finally wrote about hero & kel’s fight…#omori hero #omori kel #kel omori #hero omori #omori fanfic #omori spoilers #hero and kel's brotherly bond #it's the brothers 💙🧡#tw blo0d #tw blood #tw injury #major spoilers for OMORI #hero fic #hero ficlet collection #hero month 💙#thank you for reading

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makebelievegrilledcheese · 27 days

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Which percabeth do you prefer?

#percabeth #percy jackson fic #percy jackson headcanon #percy and annabeth #percy jackson #percy pjo #pjo #heroes of olympus #hereos of olympus #pjo hoo toa #jason grace #piper mclean #leo valdez #annabeth chase #percy jackson oneshot #percy x annabeth #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #percy jackson art

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charlotlie · 9 months

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bitches be like “this is the best piece of literature i have ever read” and it’s either a book that took them six weeks to finish or a fanfic they read at 3 AM

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arggghhhsstuff · 5 months

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forever obsessed with percy being weird. off-putting. strange even. a cryptid maybe. an urban legend if I may. my boy is the son of one of the oldest, most powerful gods, has been in FBI's records since the age of twelve, fought and won two wars against immortal beings, went to hell and back. I think he's allowed to be a little odd.

#percy jackson #cryptid percy jackson #<- there are only 3 fics under this tag on ao3 it's making me so sad #because i have THOUGHTS and HEADCANONS and IDEAS but i don't know how to write #demigods being less humans than they are in canon is a favorite headcanon of mine #they get to be WEIRD and SCARY and POWERFUL #!!!!#percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #pjo #pjo hoo toa #demigods #percy jackson fandom #percy jackson tv show #pjo show #yeah

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helpallthenamesaretakenblog · 18 days

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percy, aged 15: ....annabeth.....is sitting.....right next to me 😧 illegal😳😳 but.... i like it🤭??

percy, aged 16: OHMYGOD 😱😱 ANNABETH WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM 🤯 ????😨 MOM PICK ME UP I SMELL SCANDALOUS😳😳 IM NOT EVEN LOOKING GOOD EITHER😭😭😭 lord forgive ME😭........yeah im having fun 😁

percy, aged 17: *sound of lock breaking at 3am*.......hey girlfriend✌️ yeah no worries come in 🥱 next time, knock maybe? ill open the window for you myself, just dont wake me up....yep ly👍.......k this is slightly annoying by now but i still love it 🥰

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movedtodykedvonte · 10 months

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*Spidey and the Sinister Six having their usual fight*

Doc Ock, landing a hit: You’re getting slow Spider-Man! Age finally catching up to you?

Spider-Man: You wish! I haven’t even hit my 30s! From those costumes I can already tell I failed to save you guys from those midlife crises! Sorry by the way.

Vulture: Watch it wallcr- wait… Did you just say your not in your thirties yet?

Spider-Man: Surprised that this spiders so young and spry? Well-

Electro: Dude I’ve been fighting you for at least 5 fucking years! How old even are you?

Shocker, joking cause he’s the only one who picked up no grown adult acts likes Spidey: Don’t swear in-front of the boy you don’t want him to pick it up.

Rhino: Christ! You’re tellin me I almost crushed some 12-year-olds skull all those years ago?

Spider-Man, regretting his quipping: I was not that young! Like just starting freshman year but-

Sandman, horrified as he’s the only one with a kid and dad instincts(as of my iteration): I could’ve killed a kid…

Shocker, genuinely curious: Are you even old enough to drink? Cruel to kill a man who ain’t had his first drink yet.

Electro: Please tell us you’re at least over 25 as of this fight. Hell, I’ll take over 21!

Spider-Man:….

Sandman, realizing just how young he really is: Oh my god.

Spider-Man: My birthday’s coming up soon so I guess it counts?

Doc Ock, exacerbated: It. Does. Not!

Vulture: What would your mother think if she knew her son was out here risking his life telling poorly constructed jokes?

Spider-Man, offended cause it quips slap: 1. My jokes are great 2. She and my dad are dead so-

Sandman, hysterical cause holy shit he almost killed a kid orphan: OH MY GOD!

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supercutszns · 3 months

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Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo

Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶

true colours; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader

synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending

notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈

You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky.

This year, there were two.

As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls.

You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.

Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love.

It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day.

It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen.

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility.

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him.

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away.

“You alright there, sunshine?”

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile.

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you.

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes.

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls.

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does.

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him.

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice.

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you.

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer.

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun.

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt.

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh.

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on.

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear.

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.”

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is.

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink.

You haven’t talked to him since.

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too.

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale.

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you.

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next.

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek.

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin.

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?”

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both.

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers.

He will not. Stop. Looking at you.

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there.

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way.

Luke, calling your name.

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him.

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear.

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks.

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.”

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it.

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!”

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm.

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly.

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.”

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty.

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in.

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth.

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

She's given you two more rainbows.

#perrie’s fics #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan #charlie bushnell #perrie's requests #pjo #pjo x reader #pjo fic #luke castellan fic #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan fluff #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo tv show #heroes of olympus #percy jackson

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dyinggirldied · 4 months

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Danny, burnout and exhausted of being the basically only one who can fight ghosts but still gets villainized and hated by the people he saved, decides he's done.

Because he's 14 he runs to another city, one where his parents and GIW cannot willy dilly do whatever they want. Yes, he runs to Gotham. Without telling anyone.

At Gotham, he ultilizes his intelligence in making fake ID and studies at a normal if a bit run down Gotham high school, not the fancy one where Tim or Damian is studying because 1) he's trying to lay low and 2) he hates the rich. He uses an old abadoned fire station as his home.

It's all fine and dandy. He doesn't need to intervene much since there are plenty of vigilantes in this city and he's free to just...focus. On himself, his education.

Meanwhile, Amity Park is literally and metaphorically under fire with his absence.

#why not more fics of danny going not my prob anymore #he retires from being a hero and a fenton #and his mental health improves somewhat #while at amity park vlad is regretting since he is the mayor and ghost attack complaints are getting longer #eventually this somehow gets the justice league's attention #and social media explodes #danny looks up from his coke and goes eh you poor unfortunate souls #and goes back to his homework #dpxdc #dcxdp

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waitingonher · 4 months

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because i love you — [hoo boys headcanons]

summary: your "thing" with the hoo boys!

author's note: in honor of the pjo series coming out today,,have this rlly rlly short draft from earlier this year! xoxo

percy jackson — doodling on him

“give me your hand.”

“yes ma’am.”

minutes pass as you doodle gods know what onto percy’s hand. you always resort to this whenever the camp head counselor's meeting begins late—which seems to be every meeting—and giving percy "tattoos" certainly kills time. last meeting, you drew a can of beans and the time before that, was a bouquet of tulips. so honestly his guess being a pair of socks this time isn’t too far of a reach.

“okay, done,” you release his hand, a proud smile gracing your features, “cute right?”

he quirks a brow upon seeing the drawing, “is that…” percy turns his head to the side, gaining better perspective, “is that a flying fish?”

“wow, you’re good,” you say, giving him a nod of approval, “although, last time you did say that my can of beans looked like a roll of toilet paper…”

your boyfriend throws his hands in the air, “in my defense, you used a shitty pen so it was hard to tell.”

“whatever.”

jason grace — sewing your initials on his clothes

“hi love,” jason says, plopping down beside you on the couch. you give him a bright smile as he places a gentle kiss on your head, “almost done?”

nodding proudly, you hold up his pair of jeans to show him your work: your initials sewn onto a corner of his back pocket, “yup, just finished actually! what do you think of the color? i think you bought the thread for me on our second date. but i totally forgot i had it until i went digging in my supply box.”

a grin plasters itself on jason’s face as he nods his head in realization, “i knew the color seemed familiar. i remember wondering why a tiny spool of thread was so expensive. but it’s perfect, i love it,” he kisses your cheek, “all my friends are gonna be so jealous that they don’t have their girlfriends’ initials sewn onto their clothes.”

you laugh as you imagine jason vehemently bragging about his jeans to all his friends, “tell them i’m charging $50 if they want me to do theirs,” you wink.

“we’d make more than the stolls’ and their smuggling business if we did that,” he laughs, admiring your work once more. who knew that having your initials on his pants would have such an affect on him, “also, can you do my sweaters and my other jeans?"

you raise a brow, "i might have to start charging you at this point."

leo valdez — impromptu fashion shows

“wow!” you clap enthusiastically, “your outfit even puts paris fashion week outfits to shame!” yes, because a rainbow checkered crop top with a humongous green tutu and a pink boa paired with insanely skinny stilettos beats any and all high fashion runway outfits, “now, leo valdez, can you give us a few words about your new clothing line? and possibly a bit about what it’s like to be so amazingly talented?” you inquire, raising an invisible microphone to his mouth.

leo oh-so humbly bows and rises with a proud grin, “thank you, thank you, but i honestly must give all credit towards my beautiful muse, y/n, she’s the inspiration behind my new line. and about being so talented, it really is such hard work to be this naturally gifted.”

“ooh, do tell about this ‘y/n.’ i’ve never heard of her but she does sound absolutely gorgeous!” you exclaim, keeping up with the act.

your boyfriend nods firmly, “oh yes, she’s very, very, very beautiful,” adding a playful wink, “but i must say, she has the worst morning breath i’ve ever encountered!”

your smile drops and you squint your eyes, “i’m going to choke you with that stupid ugly boa if you don’t take that back right now.”

“uh ma’am,” leo backs up nervously, clutching his boa, “i’m going to have to call security if you threaten me again.”

"i'm seriously going to kill you."

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somnimagus · 5 months

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My page for @sheikahzine; about Impaz's duty to her village, empty of people and full of memories.

[id in alt text]

#legend of zelda #loz #twilight princess #loz tp #i'm still reeling that someone sent me an ask about this one.. that they took the time to find my tumblr and tell me they liked it #it really meant a lot; thank you to anyone that stops to leave comments like that. they make me happy #but yeah! here's the usual symbolism ramble:#i thought it'd be cool to have the 'spirits' flowing one way and the cats walking through them the other way #to kinda show the difference in life inhabiting the village in the past and present #link's face is covered because impaz was just waiting for 'the hero' so his clothes are what matters; not his face #and it (hopefully) gives a surreal and intangible sense to 'the hero' she could only hope would actually show up #you can feel free to interpret the glowy blue sheikah as ghosts or just as memories of the past! i couldn't decide either way #the one on the bottom left is oot impa since she's implied to be the village founder. so i guess she would be a ghost actually?#fan art #my art #project stuff #and ahhh the book-- everyone's stuff is so beautiful!!#especially the writing. some of the fics made me really tear up and some were so fun and clever. i really love them #a lot of them captured the sheer burden of the role of the sheikah; all of the time and grief and doubt #i know i always say this stuff about every project but. the people i get to work with in these are truly so skilled every time

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mallowsweetmiri · 24 days

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Headcannon:

Percy started calling Annabeth his wife long before they ever got married. It started at some point in New Rome, they’d been living together for a few months in college, and some girl at a party had been getting a little too closer for Percys comfort. She’d asked him something along the lines of “what are you doing later tonight?” to which he replied “going home with my wife.” At first, Percy had shocked himself with his own words, but it only took a few seconds of thinking for him to relish in the idea. He’d known he was going to marry Annabeth for a while, but calling her his wife out loud made him feel some type of way. Annabeth of course found out, but she only scolded Percy once, because secretly she loved the label. After that, he just started referring to Annabeth as “my wife” to other people, and it gave him a feeling of euphoria which he knew would be nothing compared to the day when she would really be his bride.

#percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percy jackson headcanon #percy x annabeth #pjo hoo toa #piper mclean #percy series #percy pjo #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson fic #percy and annabeth #percy jackon and the olympians #house of hades #jason grace #leo valdez #heroes of olympus #hereos of olympus

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hero-deserves-to-be-happy · 3 months

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300 Profiteroles [A Hero, Bowen, & Daphne Friendship Fic]

While visiting Faraway Town for a long weekend to work on his medical school applications, Hero runs into a frazzled Daphne and Bowen at the Other Mart bakery. Their unexpectedly request for his help brings up bittersweet memories, but it just might remind him of some important truths he had forgotten. After all, new dreams don't have to erase old ones.

Genre: Friendship Fluff, Slice of Life with the tiniest hint of Hurt/Comfort (because it's OMORI)

Characters: Hero (POV Character), Bowen, and Daphne. Mari is mentioned.

Relationships: Hero, Bowen, and Daphne Friendship. Past Hero, Bowen, Daphne, and Mari friendship. Past Hero/Mari is briefly implied.

Word Count: 4070

Rating: G

Warnings: Some very minor hurt/comfort. Some mild mentions of grief. Mentioned knee injury. Referenced Canonical Character Death. OMORI SPOILERS.

Link to work on AO3. Full text below the cut.

Thank you for reading! 🍞🍞🧡🧡

Hero tilted his head at the rows of aisles in the local Other Mart which was nearly empty this close to closing time. He wracked his brain—trying to remember if he or his family had needed anything besides the razor and can of shaving cream that had gotten him to finally leave his room where he had been holed up for the last few days frantically working on his secondary medical school applications. He felt somewhat guilty for coming home to work on them rather than to spend time with his family, but with a slew of parties being hosted at the fraternity house where he lived on campus, he knew he would never find a moment of quiet focus in order to work on them as long as he stayed at school, so he had driven home for a long weekend.

His family was thrilled to see him, even if they hadn’t really seen much of him at all. He felt particularly sorry for Kel who had wanted to talk his ear off about everything he had missed in Faraway Town since the last time he had visited and Sally who kept toddling into his room with a few of her favorite toys, a set of colorful plastic animals Hero had gotten her for her birthday, begging him to play “zoo” with her. He couldn’t say no to either of them for very long, so he had, instead, ended up staying up most of the night working by desk lamp light which even he could admit wasn’t very effective and had left him feeling groggy and tired.

With a yawn, Hero sighed. He should have known he wouldn’t get much work done at home either. Maybe he should have taken his roommate up on his offer to go study at his family’s remote ski lodge for the weekend. But he supposed it didn’t matter now, and he had plenty of time to finish his applications. He was thankful to have gotten any secondary applications at all and would rather just get them over and done with so he wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore. As it was now, the anxiety he was beginning to feel about actually getting into medical school was starting to become an all-consuming cloud that hovered over him making him forget important things like sleeping, eating, and shaving apparently.

Somewhat sheepishly, Hero rubbed his hand across his jaw—rough and scruffy. He had never felt stubble suited him and tried his best to stay clean-shaven, whenever he remembered and carved out time for it, that is—a difficult task given how consumed he had been recently with his heavy courseload, volunteer hours at the hospital, and, of course, trying to get into med school while trying not to worry about what would happen to him if he didn’t.

Hero swallowed hard, a queasy coiling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want to think about that. No, he couldn’t think about that—couldn’t even imagine returning to a directionless life again. He’d finish shopping, shave his face, and then get back to work on his applications.

With a sigh, he turned to head towards the checkout counter when he caught a waft of something sweet emanating from the bakery. Hero sighed. He had always had a weakness for pastries. He supposed it wouldn’t be too much trouble to stop and buy one for himself, even if it was a luxury. If Kel was here, he’d likely say he deserved it for working so hard and rarely ever treating himself. Perhaps his brother was right.

Humming thoughtfully, Hero tilted his head towards the glass bakery case underneath the counter. There were so many delicious choices, Hero wasn’t sure how he would decide, but luckily Bowen and Daphne seemed busy so he’d likely have plenty of time to figure out what to order without them having to wait on him.

“This is ridiculous,” Hero heard a somewhat frazzled Daphne muttering under her breath. “There’s no way we’re going to get this done.”

Her brother nodded, running his hand through his hair. “It’s too much for two people in such a short amount of time.”

“Ugh! Mikhael,” Daphne groaned, pressing her palm to her forehead, but her eyes widened as she turned and seemingly took notice of Hero. She nudged Bowen in the elbow, until he waved at him with half a smile and a quiet, “Hey” which was mostly drowned out by his sister’s greeting.

“Hero, I didn’t realize you were back in town.”

“Yeah, just for a little while,” he replied with a breathy chuckle, a little embarrassed at having been caught unintentionally eavesdropping on their conversation.

Daphne, however, didn’t seem to mind and instead just playfully teased. “Did you break your razor? You’re looking a little scruffy.”

“Daphne…” Bowen scolded under his breath before offering Hero an apologetic smile, but Hero just laughed lightly, somewhat self-deprecatingly.

“No, I just forgot it back at school.” He paused, holding up his shopping basket. “I’m buying another one though so don’t worry.”

Daphne chuckled, but her brother quietly cut her off in a low voice, “How can we help you? Do you want something out of the bakery case?”

“Bowen just made a whole batch of peach tarts. They’re very tasty!”

Bowen’s face flushed, but he sighed. “I’m not sure if they’re that great…Daphne is the real pastry chef. And heck, Bebe is better than I am these days.”

“Don’t say that,” Daphne insisted, patting her brother on the head. “You’re great. We’ve had no complaints, and in fact we keep getting tons of orders so you must be doing something right.”

Bowen sighed again, but before he could say anything more, Hero gently interrupted. “A peach tart sounds wonderful. I’ll take two please—one is for Kel,” he added quickly so they wouldn’t think he was some kind of glutton.

With a chuckle behind her hand, Daphne reached into the bakery case, took out two peach tarts, then wrapped them up carefully in a box for Hero as she asked, “So how have you been? How’s life in the big city?”

Hero shrugged. “I’m doing okay. I’ve been pretty busy with school, but it’s good.” He sighed. The response was automatic at this point. “How are you? How’s everything at the bakery?”

Bowen wearily shook his head, and Daphne huffed. “We’re hanging in there. Our grandma broke her hip earlier this week and our parents left to go help her, so we’ve had to run things by ourselves.” Daphne shook her head with a sigh. “It’s a lot for just the two of us, and Mikhael has been no help at all.”

Bowen scoffed—a barely audible snort under his breath as he mumbled, “He’s been more trouble than help.”

Daphne rolled her eyes but threw up her hands. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with him. You know he took an order for 300 profiteroles and didn’t tell us. The customer just called and said he wants to pick them up first thing tomorrow, and we had no idea!”

“We’re going to be here all night…” muttered Bowen despondently shaking his head. “I don’t know how we’re going to get it all done.”

“It’s too much work for just the two of us on such short notice,” huffed Daphne. “And Mikahel has completely disappeared so he can’t help us.”

Hero’s brow furrowed, but he nodded sympathetically. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Daphne paused—her dark eyes widening at him. “Really? You’d help us?”

Hero fidgeted, but he nodded. “Yeah…I mean…if you need someone to go look for Mikhael, maybe I can ask Aubrey…She might know—”

“Can you still make a croquembouche?” interrupted Daphne before Bowen quietly scolded her under his breath.

Hero’s face flushed. He honestly didn’t know. It had been so long since he had worked in the bakery, and he had been so busy with school and preparing for his future that he didn’t find much time to cook or bake anything anymore. “Um…” he stumbled, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck. “I…honestly haven’t made choux pastry in a really long time. I’m not even sure I know how anymore.”

“That’s okay. You wouldn’t have to bake anything. You could just fill the profiteroles or make the caramel or stack them”—Daphne smiled—“You used to be really good at that.”

Hero chuckled lightly, somewhat awkwardly. “Thank you, but…I really don’t think I’ll be of much help. I’m out of practice…”

“Don’t worry! Just having an extra set of hands would be a huge help,” Daphne explained, before she sighed again, pushing a long piece of dark hair out of her face. “We wouldn’t have asked if we weren’t desperate. And you really wouldn’t have to stay very long, and we would pay you.”

“Daphne,” Bowen quietly interjected, frowning pointedly at his sister. “I’m sure he’s very busy, and he’s visiting his family. He probably just wants to get home.” He paused then turned to Hero with the slightest twitch of a smile in the corners of his mouth. “Don’t worry. We’ll be okay.”

Hero sighed. He might regret this later, but he couldn’t say no to someone who needed him. With a conceding shrug of his shoulders, he replied, “You know what…I need a break anyway. Let me pay for this, and I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you!” exclaimed Daphne with a bright smile.

Bowen nodded at him gratefully, holding up the box of peach tarts. “These are on the house.”

“Oh no. I couldn’t—” Hero began to protest, but Daphne and Bowen wouldn’t hear of it.

After he had paid for his groceries, he returned to the bakery. It felt strange to be back in the kitchen again. Something twisted in his chest as he remembered the last time he had been back there—back when Mari had been alive and they had taken part-time jobs there to help pay for Sunny’s violin. The kitchen felt somehow different without her in it. Hero pushed the thought away as Daphne and Bowen led him to a clean counter where they set a tray of unfilled profiteroles and a bowl of pastry cream.

“You do remember how to pipe don’t you?” asked Daphne dryly, a twitch of a smile in her mouth. Hero nodded.

“I think so. It’s been a while…”

Daphne tilted her head. “Not much time for baking in college, huh?”

“Don’t worry,” Bowen reassured him quietly, handing him a filled piping bag. “It’s just like riding a bike.”

Luckily, Bowen was right. Everything came back to him as if he had never left the bakery at all. Within no time, he had filled all the profiteroles with pastry cream and started stacking them with caramel.

As he put the final touches on his very first tower, he heard a light chuckle behind him and Daphne quietly tease, “The Croquembouche King has returned.”

Hero’s face flushed. He wouldn’t have gone so far as to say that, especially given the way his tower of cream puffs was currently leaning. With a furrowed brow, Hero frowned, then sighed apologetically. “Sorry it’s a little lopsided.”

“It’s done, and it’s standing,” Bowen quietly interrupted. “That’s more than enough.”

“Bowen’s right,” agreed Daphne as she set another tray of unfilled choux pastry on the counter beside him. “We have to make six of these. They don’t have to be perfect.”

Hero froze. His hands began to tremble around the piping bag, and something ached in his chest as he remembered Daphne’s quiet but encouraging voice reassuring Mari of the same thing. Mari was always such a perfectionist. She needed those reassurances that her best was good enough. When they had worked in the bakery all those years ago, Daphne, Bowen, and their parents had been so encouraging and reassuring in that way—grateful to have the extra help and impressed by his and Mari’s baking skills, even if neither of them had thought they were particularly talented themselves. Hero knew Mari had deserved the praise, even if she couldn’t see it. She was so talented at so many things, baking included. Something panged and twisted inside him. He wished he had told her that more often—wished he had told her so many things he would never get the chance to say.

Hero shivered. The bakery suddenly felt cold, felt empty without her in it.

“Are you okay?” mumbled Bowen in a gentle concern, and Daphne tilted her head.

“You’re looking kind of pale. Do you need to sit down for a while? You can take a break.” She opened one of the blast chillers in the kitchen and pulled out a poppyseed muffin. “Here, why don’t you eat something?”

Wearily, Hero rubbed his hand across his forehead before he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. He fidgeted, feeling suddenly guilty. He wished people wouldn’t worry about him. “Yeah…uh…sorry,” he apologized quickly. “I was so busy working on my med school applications that I forgot to eat dinner.”

Daphne gasped, and Bowen’s eyes widened in horror. They shared a sympathetic look with each other before Daphne suggested, “Let’s get you a sandwich.”

A slight smile twitched in the corners of Bowen’s mouth. “You still like hero sandwiches, right?”

Hero nodded, but he insisted, “It’s okay. I’m sure this muffin will be enough to hold me over until I get home. I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“Don’t be silly,” Daphne cut him off with a shake of her head. “We’re in a grocery store. It’s no trouble at all.”

“We make sandwiches all the time,” added Bowen as he took some lunch meat, cheese, lettuce, tomato, dressing, and a jar of mayonnaise out of a small refrigerator. Grabbing one of their freshly baked baguettes, he quickly assembled the ingredients into a sandwich and handed it to him before Hero could even begin to protest. It was honestly kind of impressive how quickly he had managed it.

“Thank you,” he said. “But um…you really didn’t have to—”

Daphne cut him off with a wave of her hand. “We won’t let you starve.” She chuckled lightly before she handed him a bottle of iced tea. “You still a tea drinker?”

“Yes,” answered Hero, though his face grew warm. He was surprised Bowen and Daphne remembered so much about him. It was very thoughtful.

The sandwich was excellent—and not just because it was his favorite and not just because he was, truthfully, extremely hungry. Hero hummed and thanked the twins again for their kindness and generosity. “I’ll have to make sandwiches for you next time. Though I’m not sure they’ll be as good as this.” He chuckled lightly, self-depreciatingly. “I do have a little more practice with that than the croquembouche though. I still make sandwiches sometimes at school, especially when we have parties.”

Daphne chuckled, and Bowen mumbled, “Can’t really imagine you at a college party.”

Hero laughed, scratching the nape of his neck again. He supposed he had a point. Truthfully, wild partying wasn’t really his scene, but he did enjoy getting to spend time with his friends and getting to cook for everyone while they were there. He had so few opportunities for that these days. “I’m not really…that much of a partier. I mostly just cook for people and clean up afterwards—make sure things don’t get too rowdy.” He chuckled lightly. “I spend most of my time studying.”

“You said you were trying to get into medical school…?” asked Daphne, and Hero nodded.

“Yeah. I thankfully had a couple interviews already, and they wanted my secondary applications so…” His voice trailed, and he stopped completely as he caught sight of Bowen and Daphne blinking at him curiously.

“When did you decide you wanted to be a doctor?” Instead of a chef…, is what Hero was certain Daphne meant, even though she didn’t say that part aloud.

He sighed heavily. He supposed everyone knew it hadn’t always been his dream. The truth was after he had lost Mari, there wasn’t a lot he wanted out of life or enjoyed anymore, as if all of the dreams he had had for himself and his future had died with her. He had felt lost, listless, directionless, but the idea of becoming a physician had become a real lifeline for him.

He could admit, somewhat embarrassedly, that in the beginning he had latched onto the idea mostly because it would make his family happy and was a way he could be useful, helpful to the world. He wanted that, of course—had always wanted to help people, but, he was sorry to say, he mostly saw becoming a doctor as lifelong built-in distraction and busyness. It was meaningful lifelong built-in distraction and busyness, but the end result was the same: years of difficult classes and constant studying, followed by years of unreasonably long hours of work as a medical resident, followed by a lifetime of doing practically nothing but work: essentially living at the hospital and constantly taking calls from patients all through the night when he couldn’t legally be there anymore. Nothing terrified Hero more than being idle, than being alone with his thoughts and feelings. He chose this path in the hopes that he would stay so busy for the rest of his life he would never have to face that again. Somewhere inside him he supposed he believed that there was a certain level of busyness that he could someday reach where he would be so consumed with all the work he had to do that he just wouldn’t feel anything anymore.

But then his roommate, an aspiring future physical therapist, and Sunny who had always encouraged him and believed he could do anything, had helped him to find a sense of purpose in it, until ultimately it was something he wanted: a new dream.

“I’ve been a pre-med major all along, but I guess, I got really serious about it in my sophomore year…” After learning the truth… he finished, but he didn’t say that out loud. “And then there was the MCAT and my volunteer hours and all the applications so it’s a little too late to turn back now, I guess.” He laughed quietly, lightly behind his hand. “My mom’s pretty happy about it. She always wanted me to be a doctor.”

Chuckling, Bowen and Daphne shared a look with each other, before Daphne nudged her brother and teased, “We can understand that. Our mom’s been bothering me about taking over the bakery and Bowen becoming a priest since we were like five.”

Bowen’s face flushed, and he buried his head in his hands. “I really don’t think it’s for me, but she’s very insistent.”

Hero nodded sympathetically, but before he could say anything in response, Daphne asked, “Do you know what kind of doctor you want to be?”

Hero hummed, he could feel his face lighting up as he answered, “Um…well…it could change, but I’m really interested in PM&R.” He paused, then clarified, “That’s physical medicine and rehabilitation or physiatry—helping people to recover from injuries and to manage their long-term effects, but you don’t have to do surgeries like an orthopedist. I’d be really nervous about that—really don’t want to be a surgeon. But I am really interest in rehabilitative medicine.”

“Because of Mari’s knee?”

Hero froze. Had it really been so obvious?

“Daphne,” scolded Bowen under his breath, and Hero swallowed hard.

Daphne’s eyes were wide, sincere, but she stared down at her hands, twisting them. “She was on crutches for such a long time…” she quietly continued. “And even after that, it just never really healed right. She had that brace and…it still bothered her.”

Hero sighed. His chest ached just thinking about it, especially knowing the role in had ultimately played in her death, but his expression softened at the kindness and sympathy in Daphne’s face. He hadn’t ever realized how observant she was or how concerned. He supposed it really was true that everyone had loved Mari. She was just that kind of person.

“Yeah uh…” his voice hitched. “I thought maybe I could stop that from happening to someone else or…at least help a little. Sometimes there’s not anything you can do about that. My roommate has a bad knee too—got injured playing football and will never be able to play again, but PM&R helped him to walk again. He wants to be a physical therapist now—to give back. I guess I just started thinking that maybe I could do something like that too.” Hero stopped, feeling a bit flushed. He hadn’t meant to say all of that, but Daphne met his eyes with a gentle smile and nodded.

“That would be really nice, Hero.” Pausing, she sighed, then shrugged her shoulders and twisted her mouth to one side. “And hey, if the whole doctor thing doesn’t work out, you can always come work in the bakery. We’d love to have you.”

Bowen nodded in agreement. “You can come any time. It’s nice to have you back.”

A smile tugged at Hero’s mouth. It was nice to be back.

*-*-*

2 Weeks Later…

Hero sighed in relief as he put the finishing touches on his final secondary medical school application. It was almost surreal to think that after several weeks of work, he had finally finished all of them. He could only hope that would be enough.

He sighed again—absent-mindedly scratching his cheek and rubbing his palm across his jaw. It was prickly, scruffy again. He really needed to remember to shave.

Before he could gather up his razor and shaving cream and take off towards the bathroom, however, his roommate burst into the room with a large box and a teasingly exuberant, “Special Delivery!” as he plopped the package on Hero’s desk.

Curiously, Hero tilted his head at the box. His mouth twitched in the corners as he read the return address.

“Who’s it from?” asked his roommate, poking him in the arm.

“Just some friends from back home,” Hero answered with a shrug though his smile widened. As he cut through the packing tape with scissors and opened the cardboard flaps, he couldn’t hold back a chuckle. As he would have expected, it was filled with tons of carefully wrapped baked goods. There was also a card in a bright yellow envelope. It read:

Dear Hero,

Thank you so much for all of your help with the profiteroles. We know how busy you are so it really meant a lot to us that you took the time to help us while you were visiting from out of town. The client loved your croquembouche and had no idea they had all been made in the very last second (please don’t tell).

We know it’s not enough but please accept these pastries as a symbol of our thanks. We hope you will enjoy them.

Hope everything is going well for you at college and that you’re finding plenty of time to make sandwiches even though you’re so busy with your classes and medical school applications. We know you’ll be a great doctor, but we hope you won’t give up on your love of cooking either. New dreams don’t have to erase old ones. You might not want to work in a restaurant or bakery anymore, but we think that anyone who cooks is a chef, especially if they’re as talented as you.

You’re welcome at the bakery anytime. Please come see us when you’re in town again.

Your Friends,

Bowen and Daphne

P.S. Treat yourself to a pastry every once and awhile. You deserve it!

Laughing, Hero’s face lit up in a bright smile. He supposed Daphne and Bowen were right—about a lot of things. And as he reached for one of the peach tarts his friends had carefully packaged into the box, he knew they were definitely right about this: he deserved a treat every now and again.

He was so grateful for their kind and thoughtful care-package, and he couldn’t wait until he was back in Faraway Town again so he could return the favor. His smile widened. He’d have to start practicing his croquembouche recipe.

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