#Luke was right

[jellybellyblimp]

I was 100% a Percy Jackson kid, but I refuse to read the new PJO books on principle because at some point in my teenage years over the course of reading Heroes of Olympus I came to the startling conclusion that the only story I wanted from Rick anymore was Percy defeating the gods.

People compare the Harry Potter and Percy Jackson series in order to criticize JKR for offering no systemic changes to the problems in wizarding society that her series emphasized. Whereas Percy forces the gods to acknowledge some of Luke’s very real grievances and do better. And this is an excellent comparison if the books had ended there. But they didn’t. Rick wrote HoO and gave us a whole new list of even more awful reasons the Gods suck. And then he resolved none of them.

Which to be clear this isn’t really a critique of Rick. I don’t think this makes him a bad writer, but it did slowly radicalize me to the belief that Luke had been right. Maybe not in his methods, but certainly in his cause.

And now every Percy story rings hollow because the only story I feel is worth telling is them overcoming their parents (just as Kronos did Uranus and Zeus did Kronos). The new generation is here and the gods have made it clear that they have no interest in changing for the better. Worse we have to keep watching them foist their bullshit onto Percy over and over again. Which I appreciate is true to Greek Mythology, but this is not Greek Mythology. This is a middle grade book series written in the 21st century and Percy deserves to kill the Gods.

(Also I’m not twelve anymore so maybe the series just isn’t for me anymore lmao)

[madelynfilms]

and dont even get me started on luke's appearance as sam's hallucination of guilt. luke is my favorite ever, he is my bf and i would treat him so much better than cate did. anyways! i think luke is personifying sam's guilt bc sam feels guilty and blames himself for not being there for luke; for not being able to stop him and help him out. also i need a luke in my life. i need luke in my life. the way he was so calming and also really good at making his point. i am not apologizing for the person i'm turning into rn

[that1nerd-20]

When a fanfic writer puts a nickname you think Is icky in their smut fic

[mizukananan]

Something interesting i found out today

Im no plane/aircraft model expert but ive bought star wars lego model kits so...

Caleb is a canon star wars fan?

Instead of him kidnapping us why dont we kidnap him instead scratches head

[dearestgentlereaders]

and he wonders why his wife would question whether he was ever punished as a child as if he isn’t the most dramatic bitch around

[naiad-r]

“None of you has any obligation—” "The hell we don't."

@plokoonweek Day 1: Wolfpack || Accidental Child Acquisition

(The blond clone, Tenie, belongs to @vytels!💕 He's a sweetheart.)

[stealingpotatoes]

do you think luke and leia know who’s older??? like what if “the force told him” or something

I don't think Luke is bothered about who's older, but Leia...

(commission info // tip jar!)

[deimosatellite]

as of 4/16, here is everyone confirmed in the hbo harry potter cast: in light of literally everything going on in the world at the moment, especially surrounding jk rowlings extremely violent rhetoric toward the trans community and trans women especially, as well as her other nazi views, these actors knowingly signed themselves over to a series that sends money directly to her to directly fund these violent and disgusting organizations.

remember these names, boycott their works, do not engage positively with them whatsoever, MAKE THEM LISTEN. shame on them until the end of time.

[sashketter]

Star Wars finally using the twin trope to its fullest advantage: mistaken identity, one good one evil, full-bodied telepathy, one impersonating the other, and having the same actor play both.

[galactic-rhea]

I'm forever obsessed by the big contrast that is that Anakin is universally percieved like a dog or a dragon (for obvious reasons, it fits him!), obviously I mostly mean by the fandom, but in-universe there's lots of dragon comparisons.

But Padmé is the only character ever to compare him to an animal (a feline) that's universally considered as very independent, stealthy and regal, and like it is so jarring and out of the blue after being sold into the dragon-dog agenda that at first it doesn't make sense, but then again Padmé's the character that knew Anakin the most and it was Anakin's only relationship with not strange power dynamics attached to it and I think there's some beautiful and a very interesting comment to make about it.

something something in a world where everyone sees you as a weapon something something even you see yourself as a monster under a leash something something i see you as a dangerous beautiful creature forever hunted and misunderstood something something

[degradingnostalgia]

do you think yoda heard luke scream "r2!!" while on dagobah and thought "oh lord here we go again"

[martianlukeart]

a print i made in 2023 that feels more and more relevant each day. we will always be here.

[just-1other-nerd]

I also thought that it was so smart of the Romans to make cabins that don't belong to one god and instead mixing up the descendants of the gods.

But Camp Jupiter literally has war games where children die on a regular basis, this so fucked up and just one of the instances where Camp Jupiter is just so much more brutal than Camp Half-blood.

ok i know we all find out about camp jupiter later on and i know the books (son of neptune and mark of athena specifically) discuss this a little bit, but i can’t get over how unfair the greek camp is compared to the roman camp. it’s all i can think of when watching the show and thinking back to the original pjo series

the romans can grow old! they have legacies! they have a university, coffee shops, homes, a whole city to live in and fall in love and raise children and grow old!

on the other hand, camp half blood is for children. it’s a summer camp! some campers go home for the school year and just never come back because they have to choose between being “normal” and being safe - while the romans have schools. they have a life after their time in the legion! while greek demigods EXPECT to die young. you so very rarely seen anyone older than 22 that it’s even remarked upon in the books! and when you grow up and you want to live a life that is not in a summer camp, your only option is to join the human world and fear monster attacks. the romans have a city, a place you can live safely. the chances of a greek demigod living a long life are so minuscule, bc to be strong enough to defend yourself outside of camp and life that long, you need to be powerful and that immediately means you attract more monsters. the greek demigods were doomed from the start (it’s the narrative).

and yes ok i know that romans are child soldiers and pay for these “luxuries” through all their years of service - plus the gods are more involved with the greek demigods for sure - but i still find it so heartbreaking for the greek demigods. as i’m watching the show and i’m older and no longer the same age as these children, i’m just horrified by all these details i thought were cool. a summer camp is fun but you can’t live forever there, you’ll have to leave at some point in an effort to have a life and that’s most likely going to be what kills you. i feel like if the greeks knew of the romans earlier, then luke would have had so much more demigods joining his cause - and understandably so!

i wish there would have been more discussion of how ANGRY the greek demigods were that they had to live like that while the romans could grow old. i know they must have been tired at that point, even of being angry at the gods for yet another thing in the endless list, but i would have wanted to see more of that realisation. “they don’t really care about us.”

[paranormal-intercourse]

Luke are you fucking kidding me

[sunsburns]

summer road trip with luke castellan (16+, implied sex)

it starts with a promise.

made late at night, in the kind of hazy space between sleep and dreaming, when the world feels quiet and nothing’s quite real yet. you’re lying side by side on a roof somewhere—one of those abandoned places luke likes to sneak into. the stars are barely visible, city lights bleeding up into the sky, but you’re not really looking at the stars anyway.

“we should do it,” he says, breathless from laughter after a dumb joke he barely managed to get out. “just take off one day. no plans. no schedules. just you, me, and the open road.”

you laugh into the sleeve of your hoodie. “okay, cowboy.”

“i’m serious.” he props himself up on his elbows. “we’ll make playlists. stay in janky motels. get gas station snacks that’ll probably kill us. it’ll be perfect.”

you hum, eyes fluttering shut. “we’re always saying ‘one day.’ you ever think about making it this day?”

he doesn’t say anything for a long second.

then, “i’ll steal a car.”

you snort. “please don’t steal a car.”

“fine. borrow one.” he nudges your arm. “c’mon. you know you want this.”

you do. gods, you really do.

and maybe that’s why two weeks later you’re throwing a duffel bag in the backseat of an old car luke somehow managed to “legally” obtain (you don’t ask too many questions), a worn paper map stuffed into the glove compartment, and three half-charged burner phones just in case.

you don’t even pick a destination. that’s the point.

it’s about the drive.

the first few days are the best kind of disorganized. you get hopelessly turned around trying to get out of the city, miss your turn like, four times, and end up on some weird detour through a town that seems stuck in the 1950s. you eat breakfast-for-dinner at a diner with cracked red booths and a waitress who calls you both “sweethearts.” luke leaves a doodle on a napkin and tucks it into the jukebox.

the road stretches ahead like a ribbon of possibility, glittering under the sun. the heat blurs the horizon, making everything shimmer like a mirage, and the sky is that kind of obnoxiously perfect blue that feels more like a postcard than real life.

the a.c. in the car gave up somewhere around three days ago, so the windows are rolled down, warm air rushing in and tangling your hair, sticking your shirt to your back. it doesn’t help much, but it’s better than nothing.

you've got one foot propped on the dash and a half-melted slushie wedged into the cupholder, condensation dripping down the sides. the map—the one you swore you didn’t need, and luke insisted you bring anyway—flutters against your knee every time the wind hits just right. it’s already creased and stained, with corners starting to curl. neither of you are really using it.

a cd clicks softly in the stereo, and a hazy guitar riff spills out—something easy, something old. the kind of music that makes you feel like you’re in a movie.

you hum to the songs you know, watching the scenery blur past in golden smears of light and heat.

luke’s driving one-handed, the other resting lazily out the window, fingers tapping against the door in time with the beat. sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose, and there’s a sunburn blooming along the edge of his jaw that he keeps forgetting to take care of. he looks over at you, grinning.

“you’re gonna fly out the window if you lean any further.”

“worth it,” you say, hair whipping across your face. “this breeze is all that’s keeping me alive right now.”

he chuckles, reaching over to tug the map from your lap. “you’re the one who said we didn’t need to stop for sunscreen. or, y’know, ice.”

“and you’re the one who didn’t want to stop for directions,” you shoot back, watching him squint at the map like it personally offended him. “so now we’re two thirsty idiots lost somewhere between nowhere and hell.”

“romantic,” he says, tossing the map into the backseat. “just the way i like it.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s affectionate. always is with him.

the wind smells like dust and wildflowers, and every few miles, you pass a road sign faded by time and sun. one of them promises a lake in twenty minutes which probably is not true. the next, a diner with the “best pie in the state.” you don’t stop for either. maybe the next one.

you were supposed to take turns driving. that was the deal—fifty-fifty, no arguments. but luke, being luke, never sticks to the plan. he always insists he’s fine, even when you catch his eyes fluttering shut at a red light, head tilting slightly like he’s about to nod off right then and there.

“i literally saw you close your eyes for five seconds,” you say when he pulls into a gas station, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as he parks.

“it was just five seconds,” he groans.

“five seconds away from crashing,” you mutter, already unbuckling your seatbelt. “move over.”

he sighs, dragging himself out from behind the wheel with all the theatrics of someone who’s definitely not fine, even if he still insists otherwise. he grumbles under his breath as he slides into the passenger seat—and is completely passed out the second his head hits the window. no “i’m not even tired,” no “just resting my eyes.” just out cold. mouth open, snoring, even drooling a little.

you drive comfortably after that. there’s less tension on your shoulders now that you’re the one in control, and luke’s quiet snoring is oddly comforting.

he stirs sometime later, sleep-warm and rumpled, his voice still thick with it when he reaches across the console. his hand finds yours with ease, like it’s muscle memory. his fingers slot between yours and, without a word, he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. soft. slow. like a thank-you.

somewhere between a cracked-out diner with the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had and a pit stop at a quiet national park, you start feeling it—that warm, slow burn that only summer with luke castellan can bring.

it’s in the way he looks at you when you’re not looking, eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. it’s in the casual brush of his thumb over the back of your hand. it’s in the way he steals bites of your food, complains about the heat, and still tucks a cold bottle of water into your hands without being asked.

he’s quiet during the hikes, but he always slows down so you don’t fall behind, even when you insist you’re fine. he keeps snacks in his pockets for you, things he knows you like, things you didn’t even notice him buying. and when you sit beside him on the edge of a cliff, watching the sun drip like honey into the horizon, he kisses your shoulder so gently it sends goosebumps across your skin.

he takes so many pictures of you. most of the time you don’t even notice until he shows you later—sun-drenched, wind-tousled, blurry with motion but sharp with love. he says he wants to remember you like this. you laugh and roll your eyes, but still smile a little too hard when you see them.

you two stop at a few motels every now and then. they were nothing special. peeling paint, flickering neon sign half-buzzed out, and a questionable stain or two on the carpet—but it’s cheap, and it’s got just enough charm to feel like part of the story. luke leans against the counter while you check in, tapping the bell repeatedly until you swat at him.

the old woman behind the desk gives you a room key and a knowing smirk like she’s seen a thousand versions of you two before: sunburnt, road-weary, eyes too bright to be anything but in love.

sometimes, impulses get the best of the two of you. like when one day luke spots a faded little hand-painted sign pointing down an overgrown path off the side of the highway. beach access. there’s no one around. no cars. just the sound of cicadas and wind through tall grass.

you both follow it on instinct, barefoot and laughing, racing toward the sound of crashing waves.

and then there it is: a hidden stretch of shoreline tucked between two cliffs, like a secret carved out just for you. no footprints, no noise except for the ocean. the sand’s hot and soft under your feet, the sun dipping low on the horizon and casting everything in amber.

you run straight into the water, still half-dressed, splashing and shrieking when luke dunks you under and then pulls you back up, breathless and dripping. he kisses you then, water-slicked and grinning, hands on your waist like he’s never going to let go.

and later, after you’ve both sprinted back to the car, giddy and dripping wet, after the sand’s stuck to every inch of your skin and the sun’s painted you gold, you end up tangled in the back seat. skin sticky with sweat, your bodies pressed close in the heat of the car, breathing in tandem.

the windows fog up, the air thick with salt and sun and something heavier. the radio hums low, some lazy summer song playing beneath the sounds of your bodies shifting, touching, needing. his hands roam like he’s mapping you out all over again, rough in the way he holds you but gentle in the way he touches, like he knows exactly where to press to make you shiver.

he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the taste of salt on your lips, like he wants to bottle this exact moment and keep it somewhere safe. and you, half-laughing between gasps, fingers twisted in his curls, mumble against his mouth, “i told you the backseat would get too hot.”

“guess we’ll have to open the door,” he says, voice low and teasing. “get a breeze in here.”

you roll your eyes, breathless and flushed. “fuck off, if we get caught by some poor park ranger—”

“worth it,” he grins, before kissing you again. deeper, slower this time.

and when you’re breathless and half-dressed, your back pressed to the warm seat and your body aching in all the best ways, you lie there with your head on his chest. his heartbeat is loud in your ear, steady and real.

you tilt your face up toward him, the fading light painting him in gold. “same time next summer?”

his arm tightens around you, his voice soft and full of something you don’t have a name for yet. “you’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

[sophsun1]

Interview With The Vampire – 2.05: Don't Be Afraid, Just Start the Tape