and i always wondered why i didnt have that flat brush

Millard falling in love with a normal

(Author’s Note: request by @cra-zy-mi-nd //sorry i didnt really exactly follow what you wanted cause it was pretty hard but i tried, love//enjoy tho!//)

Your POV

I wonder how my heart took how broken it already is.

I head to the beach. My grandfather had always been so much like me. I put up the bookstore he had always loved to have. I pet every animal I passed by, unless driving. Now, I go to the beach alone.

He always did this because he was thinking. And I think my heart needed a break after he passed away, just to let go from all the strength I’ve been trying to have, and maybe just sit down… and think.

⚫ ⚫ ⚫

The sand kissed my feet as I crouched down my mat. The mat was thin enough for me to feel the slight scratching of nature; as if it needs attention. I lay down, bathing in the calming sun’s light as land breeze approached.

I loved places like this. They seemed to connect me with my grandfather and somehow make me forget about whatever worries I have. They’re not something new, not extraordinary… but they are something altogether.

The shore was beginning to empty as families and couples or maybe people who just wanted to think left and I remained, to talk with my grandfather. I couldn’t help but allow my heart to fall apart all over again.

“Grandpa… I-… know you’re listening.”, I muttered to myself. I almost sounded crazy. But crazy was worth way less than what he meant to me. “I miss you so much.”, I say, my voice wavering a little as I squeezed a tiny tear out of my eye.

The wind blew as if he really was there. I wrapped the mat around me.

“The world seems just so lonelier
Without you in it… and I’ll never, ever forget
How you taught me to
Laugh at the people who
Laughed at me
And made me feel…
So invisible.”, I weeped, my knees and forehead meeting. The wind’s moans chorused with my whimpers.

I felt a presence behind me, instantly assuming it was him, but of course it wasn’t. I turned around to see a very, very white boy, a powdered boy in a hoodie over a shirt and tight jeans he never seemed to have worn before.

Instead of asking who he was, or what he was doing here, I asked, “Why are you powdered?”. He crouched beside me and threw a flat rock through the calming waters as it skidded to a sink.

“So people could see me.”, he said. “Oh… I feel invisible, too, sometimes.”, I shrug, looking at him. The powder on his face was so thin, it revealed a rare face, something that wasn’t of this generation. He had long lashes and messy hair, his eyes were light brown and he had little freckles strewn around his cheeks and across his nose. He sighs after looking back at me.

“Is that why you’re here?”, he asks. I sigh. “Yes. That’s right. How’d you know?”, I ask, throwing a flat rock as well and watching it skip. I wondered how many rocks it would take or how strong I should throw for it to skip as far as the horizon. “I go to places alone to forget that nobody sees me.”, he smiles to himself, blinking away a little powder that fell from his eyelashes. He looked so innocent, so fragile, I couldn’t believe someone would break him.

“You don’t have to powder yourself, though, I can see you enough.”, I say. He looks at me, smiles, looks to the ground and his smile fades away. He had a gentle smile. One that reminded me of my grandfather. “But you don’t know what you’ll see once I wipe this powder away.”, he says and it’s just now I noticed his accent. He was broken. I felt pity.

“See?”, he says, lending me his hands for me to wipe. I hold them, rough. I squeeze them and his breath hitches, like he’s not used to any of these. I wipe a stripe away. Nothing. I blinked twice. Nothing. I wiped more. Nothing. I could see through him. I felt woozy until I saw his face again. “Y-you’re literally invisible, I… h-how?”, I stuttered, clutching his invisible hand. He looked away, ruffled his frost-white hair and peeled something off his eyes. They were contacts. “My friends tried their best to make me feel normal.”, he mutters, burying the contacts under the sand. “I just can’t ever be.”, he continues, exhaling heavily. I saddened. But that didn’t mean I felt this was anything less new.

“You don’t have to change to feel like you belong.”, I say, realizing I didn’t know his name yet. I wipe away powder off his face until I couldn’t see anything. I brushed the powder off his neck and hair and other hand until there was nothing. But it calmed me down. That I saw him as he is. “I’ll make you feel normal enough, I guess. It’s something someone special had let me learn. I’ll do it to you.”, I nod, looking at wherever his eyes may be. I wondered if they really were light brown. But I felt them look back at me intently, like he was mesmerizing the view of me. “Thank you.”, was all he uttered.

⚫ ⚫ ⚫

Days after, we met again and he finally told me his name as I told him mine. He was Millard and he stops by my bookstore at night to see me. I felt like he walked to me with a very slight grin and I was somehow excited to have seen him again.

I flipped the sign and turned down the lights so it was only Millard and I, sitting across each other from high chairs propped behind a marble counter. I settled my chin on my palm, listening to him as he talked so brilliantly about what being peculiar was, how peculiar his friends were, their motherly bird moms and monsters. He mentioned monsters only once and I didn’t bring it up. I could close my eyes and listen to his voice. It was so calming. Gentle.

“Y/N? Are you sleeping?”, he said softly and I laughed and shook my head no. “Oh, I reckoned you were. Closing your pretty eyes and all.”, he chuckled and I was already starting to grow an attachment to him. “Come closer, Mill.”, I say and he leaned in. I placed my hands and cupped his cheeks and felt his nose. Felt his brows and lashes. Felt his ears and hair. Felt his lips. I made our foreheads meet. I feel his breath meet my face. It calmed me down for some reason. I closed my eyes but still felt his open, looking at me.

“Wow, you’re really… really pretty.”, he says and I felt his fingers fiddling. I laugh a little. Millard was probably the only one after my grandfather who had made me feel human, who made me feel visible. I wish I made him feel the same.

I felt his hands this time, parting our foreheads. His breath hitched again like last time. I started sketching the little patterns and creases I felt from his hand to the paper I was scribbling on. My eyes transferred from the paper to my hand feeling his but I felt his eyes burning on me. Blood rushed to my face.

“Look.”, I say, pointing my sketch. “That’s your hand.”, I smiled and he chuckled, looking at the piece of paper. “I think this is right enough. Better even than I could do it.”, he laughs, pocketing the paper. This time, his fingers laced around mine and he slightly squeezed. We stayed silent, just knowing each others’ presence was good enough. I walked around the counter and sat on a chair next to him, so I could lean my head on his shoulder. He felt a little startled at first.

His arm snaked around me, combing and feeling my hair a little, traveling down, outlining my collarbones to my shoulders down my arm. He squeezed my arm and breathed then his hand rested around my waist. I felt his nose and lips meet the top of my head. He sniffed my hair and pecked me. I look at him, searching his eyes. I wanted to kiss him.

So I did and softly, passionately, just enough to take his breath away as much as he took away mine. It was love right away, true love that was pretty scarce.


working on all my prompts but here have this lil thing

“Every ounce of Thalia believes that she was meant to kiss Annabeth Chase.”

thaliabeth. thalia is a transgender woman.


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