#for you i’m no longer

[supercutszns]

a place with you; luke castellan

wc: 2.8k (got a little carried away whoops)

pairing: luke castellan x f! reader

synopsis: luke is used to people coming in and out of hermes’ cabin without a second thought. so when you’re having a hard time adjusting to camp life, he doesn’t expect you to stick by his side, even after you’re claimed.

warnings/notes: shy reader going through a tough time, hurt/comfort, pining, kisses, fluff, potential ooc luke i don’t know what i’m doing, most of this is prob inaccurate lol, i got wayyy too attatched to this i am sorry, title inspired by dragon eyes by adrianne lenker

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s used to delivering, passing things along, letting them enter his life and leave him. Sometimes it makes him angry. At his father, at the world, at himself.

So when you passed through the Hermes cabin for the inevitable few weeks before getting claimed by your Godly parent, the last thing Luke expected was for you to stay.

When you first got to camp you were terrified. Luke remembers that much. He can still picture you in Chiron’s towering shadow as he led you up to Hermes cabin. He gave you the usual spiel about the cabin, the land of the unclaimed, but it clearly hadn’t quelled your nerves. You were wringing your fingers together when Luke first spotted you, your eyes blown wide in what he knew as shock and a sort of . . . grief. For a life you’d left for what Luke knows as a life you’d never really have. He’d seen it in so many campers before you. He’d see it many times after.

“This is Luke, Hermes’ head counsellor and one of Camp Half-Blood’s finest,” Chiron pointed him out to you at the entrance. After Chiron introduced you, Luke held your name in his memory. Not because there was anything particularly intriguing about you at first, to be honest, because he’d seen a lot of people like you that needed help settling in (although maybe not many his age). It was harder for some people to adjust than most. He knew that better than anyone.

“Nice to meet you,” he stuck out his hand for you to shake after Chiron left. “I’m Luke.”

You sniffed, shaking it without looking at him. You were so, so embarrassed. This whole time you’d been too stupidly overwhelmed to process anything. Why was this so hard for you? Was it this hard for everyone? “Hi,” you managed, and that was it.

Now, weeks after your first meeting, you’ve concluded that it was not, in fact, this hard for everyone. The camp is crowded but full of life. You’ve never seen more happy kids in your life. There’s a sense of community on the wind.

So why can’t you feel it? Why is it so hard to connect with people? To participate in the fun? Everywhere you look there’s people but it’s all just so . . . lonely. You don’t fit. You’re lost.

Luke wakes up at night when the cabin door creaks open. He’s already tossing, so it’s no surprise he catches it. Unfortunately, he’s supposed to be a good counsellor—sneaking out at night is against the rules, and you’ve gotta reign the strays back in before they cause a ruckus. Sure, Luke’s not exactly a stickler for the law, but the least he owes is to make sure everyone’s safe.

Groaning, he draws himself out of the comfort of his bunk but doesn’t get far when he spots a familiar silhouette slipping out the door. He knows it’s you. He’s been hearing crying at night, and this is confirming his suspicions. It makes him ache in a million different places. Every time he thought about approaching you he shut himself down almost instantly, because who the hell wants some random guy coming up to them in the middle of the night and drawing attention?

This time, though, he’s a little worried.

It’s chilly tonight but not too bad, especially when you’re huddled up in a ball on a hill in front of the lake, grass tickling your ankles. Your tears keep you warm.

It’s a sorrow that feels bottomless. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. You don’t know why everything’s so hard.

There’s a scuffling of shoes, and your name is carried to you on the heels of a breeze. Oh God. There’s someone else here.

You sniff and smear your tears on the palms of your hands the best you can but a little part of you only wants to cry more now that you’re all anxious, and you only have a few seconds to collect yourself before you turn around and see Luke, your cabin leader, with furrowed brows. “Oh, h-hi, Luke.” It’s hard to ignore the splinter in your voice. You curse yourself a thousand times.

“Hey,” he says hesitantly, eyeing you in a way that makes you feel entirely exposed. “You, uh, you know you’re not technically supposed to be out here, right?”

You start to scramble to your feet with an apology on your tongue but surprisingly he laughs, a gentle sound, and beckons you to sit back down. “No, no, I’m not gonna get you in trouble or anything, just . . . letting you know.”

It’s uncertain if you should keep sitting, but you decide to because well, you’re already down here, and things can’t go lower than this. Luke comes to sit next to you and you stare out into the sea like your life depends on it. “Wanna talk about why you’re out here?”

“Wh-what do you mean?”

“I mean,” Luke sighs, scooting a little closer to you. “Most people don’t up and leave in the middle of the night because they’re having a great time.”

The answer is too hard to say so you don’t reply.

Again, Luke sighs, and you try not to look at the shadow the moon casts on his admittedly handsome face. “It’s hard settling in, I know. It happens to a lot of people. I’ve . . . I’ve seen a lot of them, and it doesn’t get any easier.”

“Well it sure seems easier,” you snap, and your self-control flies away before you can stop it. “I have no idea why I can’t just suck it up and fit in here. Everyone seems so happy and it’s driving me nuts because I’m just so confused on why I can’t—why I can’t—process any of it.” Tears burn your eyes. “I’m just miserable. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

In the corner of your view, Luke’s face falls. “I’m your guide, you know that, right? I can help you.”

You sniff, embarrassingly pathetic. “I know.”

He comes even closer. “So why didn’t you ask?”

“Because I—I don’t know, you’re busy all the time with all the people in there, so I’m sure your job’s already stressful as is, so—”

“My job is to help you,” he says, a hand on your shoulder. “That’s what I signed up for. If you need something, I’m the one to ask.”

“I’m not sure you signed up for me crying like a baby,” you swallow, the ripples of the lake blurring together. “I mean, I’m like, older than half the kids here, and they’re all so much better than me. I’m not good at a—anything, and I’ve tried it all, and nobody’s claimed me yet, and I feel so weird and old and alone and . . .” It’s too much to think about so you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, hoping the sting wards off the thoughts. “What if I’m nothing? Why am I here?”

You’re crying again, hiccuping into your hands. Shame sears into you. Luke’s arm curls around your shoulders and you realize how cold you are when he’s warm, so warm, and you want to cry even harder. You don’t even know him, but it’s the most tenderness you’ve received in what feels like years. “Hey, deep breaths,” he murmurs, rubbing your arm with his other hand. “It’s okay. Look at me.”

It takes a ridiculous amount of strength to heed him. His hand catches your cheek and you can’t bear to pull away. Something strange rustles in your stomach.

Luke’s taught instinct when faced with situations like these is to reassure that the Gods always have a plan. But he doesn’t feel like much of a liar tonight. Both his hands steady your face towards his, your skin damp and cold beneath his thumb. “It's not your fault. It always takes a little bit of time for people to get claimed, it’s never . . . well, you can never tell.”

“What if I don’t get claimed?” You say it so quiet you can pretend it was imaginary.

His eyes crinkle at the sides when he says, “Well, Hermes’ll always have a place for you.”

I’ll, Luke wants to say, I’ll. His father is not responsible for his cabin’s kindness.

“No one really prepares you for how overwhelming this is,” he continues, thumb rubbing the apple of your cheek. Your vision is clearer now, and Gods, he is handsome, isn’t he? Even when his eyes are forlorn. “It’s harder in a way when you’re older. More to leave behind. Less to look forward to. It’s easier when you have a friend. Or a great cabin head.” He tilts his head with a faint smile, “Lucky for you, I’m both.”

It almost makes you laugh, and that’s enough. “It’ll get easier,” he promises softly. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Your cheeks burn. It’s hard to keep his gaze, so you blot at your eyes with your hands as Luke gently slides his off your face. “Thank you. Sorry for, um, all that. And the crying.”

He chuckles, “Don’t even worry about it.” You watch him rise in the throes of starlight. He offers you a hand. “Aren’t you cold?” He asks after pulling you up, and you sheepishly nod your head. He tosses you a sweater he’s been wearing, and it smells like firewood. Nostalgic, in a way. “I’m gonna poke around for some tea. Wait for me back at the cabin.”

Before he leaves, he squeezes your arm and that thing happens again in your stomach. “No need to be embarrassed, by the way. You can come to me anytime. I’m probably less busy than I look.” As he walked away, he added, “And don’t worry about the crying. You’re pretty either way.”

Either way. The tea doesn’t seem important anymore because your face is on fire.

Time reveals that Luke is right. He is a great cabin leader and a friend, and it’s hard to tell which he’s better at. You fall in with him right away. Soon enough, you’re drawn into your new life, so slowly you barely realize it’s happening. The days get shorter and you start wishing they were longer. The nights get easier. And when they’re not, Luke tucks you into his bunk and folds you in his arms until you drift off. You pick up a bow. A sword. Luke tells you to straighten your shoulders with a hand on the small of your back, and you swear it always lingers. You braid garlands of carnations for your cabin mates and they wear them with pride. It’s warm, your cheeks hurt from smiling, and things start to feel like home.

Until you’re claimed.

Now you’re a ghost in Hermes cabin, another empty bunk to be filled, and Luke stares at it until he can remember every last detail of what it looked like when it was yours. A beautiful, gentle daughter of Demeter, no longer in arms’ reach. He should’ve seen it coming.

He sees you with your siblings all the time. You’re so happy and he envies it. You belong there, he knows that, the way your face lights up at the dinner table and how you giggle when your half-sister presents you a flower. But sometimes your eyes wander, and something inside them dulls, until you look at him, too.

Luke’s place at camp is to be nothing but a funnel for lost campers to find their home. He’s a temporary stop in everybody’s journey. He’d made peace with it a long time ago. But here you are, messing it all up, because you still don’t leave him.

You beg him to give you another sword-fighting lesson. You sit next to him at bonfires. You pick him for partner camp activities. It doesn’t matter how many younger boys want to latch onto him for guidance—he sees you heading towards him, and he can’t imagine choosing anyone else.

But you’re always whisked away by your siblings, separated at meals and in sleep and in activities so it’s never, ever enough. Why did he delude himself into thinking you’d stay forever?

After weeks of distance from you, he’s elated when you have even a fraction of a conversation. “Hey, Luke!” You call out to him, and he finds you instantly. You’ve broken away from your siblings to get to him.

“Hey,” he smiles, and hopes he doesn’t look too pleased.

You lean a little towards his ear, and you smell like every wonderful thing in the world. “Can we hang out tonight? On the hill?” You’re a little bashful when you say it and it’s entirely endearing. Even now, you’re still so unsure. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he says almost instantly, and it makes you look less nervous. “Yes. Absolutely. But don’t get caught breaking curfew now, you hooligan.”

Someone calls your name and you give a curt, playful nod. “Yes sir, camp counsellor sir!” He carries your laugh close to his heart until night falls.

You’re already there when he arrives, a vision in the moonlight before he even sees your face. “Hey, angel.”

When you turn around you look flustered. He won’t pretend like it doesn’t flatter him. “H—hi, uh, hello.”

There’s a moment where the world is still. The two of you, alone, for the first time in ages.

He sits down next to you, and it’s like the first time all over again. You get to talking, about your days, your anecdotes, your cabins. The strangeness of it all. “It’s so weird waking up in the morning and not having you yapping in my ear,” you remark, and he teasingly pushes your shoulder.

“Well, one of us has to be the talker, and it’s clearly not you,” he retorts.

You fiddle with blades of grass between your fingertips, weaving them together. “I’ll have you know I had a cabin-wide conversation about Capture The Flag yesterday, and I contributed greatly.”

“Oh, really?” He grins, knocking your elbow to steal your attention. “Look at you, coming out of your shell. I’m so proud.”

It’s hard to hold his gaze for more than a second. You’re afraid you’ll do something stupid if he keeps looking at you like that, but you almost want to. “Oh, shut up.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder. “No, I’m serious. I’m proud.” His eyes rake over your face. “You’re flourishing. You found your place.”

You can’t stop yourself from saying, “I kind of miss my old one.”

There’s a way he studies your expression that makes you feel utterly helpless. You wish you could dish it back to him, but you know you just look awestruck whenever you stare at him for so long. He’s quieter when he replies, “I miss it, too. A lot. Sometimes, I—” His face scrunches up like he just tasted something sour. “Nevermind.”

Frowning, you prod, “What? What is it?”

He sighs and turns to the horizon. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him struggle. “Sometimes, I wish you hadn’t been claimed. Sorry, that’s . . . that’s awful, I know.”

His surprise is evident when you say, “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t either.”

He turns back to you. “Really?”

“Really,” you nod, staring at the beads on his necklace. “You’re the only reason I’ve adjusted here at all.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.”

“It’s true. And I miss you.” A few months ago you would’ve kicked yourself for saying this. But Luke has a way of inspiring confidence in people.

“I miss you, too. So much.” He gently prys the grass you’ve been weaving out of your hands, now a small necklace. “But look at how talented you are. I’ll tell you, I’m lucky you’re still sticking around. For most people, Hermes is touch-and-go.”

Luke leans forward to tie the garland around your neck, and your pulse picks up. “This isn’t about Hermes, Luke,” you try to be firm but it comes out soft. “It’s about you.”

His hands stop fiddling and rest on your neck. When he speaks, you can feel his breath on you. And you have no idea that he’s been waiting to hear that his whole life. “What’s about me?”

It’s not fair, your inability to string sentences together only worsens right when a beautiful boy is this close to you. “Hermes isn’t—it’s not special because of your father, it’s special because of you.”

There is nothing else you can possibly think of saying with the way his fingers trace up your neck and hold your jaw. “Yeah, well,” he murmurs, “The only reason anything in my life is special is because of you.”

You don’t know if it’s a lie or not; you don’t care. His nose nudges yours. There’s a moment where you wonder if this is as close to Elysium you’ll ever get. Then he slips a hand to the back of your neck and pulls you to his mouth.

He kisses you in a near fury, then when he knows you’re not going anywhere, it’s the gentlest thing you know. It’s hard to believe this is even happening. Your hands weave through his curls but he holds you steady, and thank the Gods for that because you’re pretty sure you’re melting. You kiss again, and again, and again, until you genuinely think you’re going to pass out and you have to pull away.

“Aw, look at you,” he murmurs when you can’t meet his eyes, a playful lilt in his voice. “Still so nervous.”

“Would you shut up?” You press your face into the crook of his neck with a huge smile.

He kisses the top of your head. “Love to, angel.”

Luke Castellan is the son of a messenger. He’s supposed to believe he’s bringing the best of humanity to the Gods and glory above.

But screw the Gods. He’s keeping this one for himself.

[chrollohearttags]

meg baby, I promise we’ll all look the other way if you decide to strangle that chimera ant built bitch. I promise we won’t say nothing.

[housewifebuck]

yeah cause you already have one

[mmmairon]

Home was the only place left.

Prints

[scootkiddo]

what was more culturally significant. the renaissance. or seatbelt.

[romansmartini]

ideal ship dynamic: guy who’s the most mentally unstable person you’ve ever heard of in your entire life x guy who wants to bang them so bad it has them saying things like “nothing wrong with that guy. they’re completely normal and sane”

[fanficmemes]

FUCK ppl who make fun of those who excitedly reblog posts multiple times!!! Sorry I’m passionate and love the world!!! Maybe if you cared about things you could join me in this beautiful world of having fun

[queer-reader-07]

if i see one more person try to claim aziraphale doesn’t love crowley as much as crowley loves aziraphale i will throw hands.

say it with me: just because they show & express their love for each other differently doesn’t mean one of them loves the other more

[caelanglang]

Living Longer

a message for someone on the edge…

from the waters of the sea, to the sands of the beach, to the concrete of the city, to the floorboards of your home — i hope you’ll be proud of yourself for living longer.

[rahabs]

current mood: eternally annoyed by people who refer to the variation of English spoken in the medieval era as “Old English.”

[daisysmalia]

Reasons Tommy/Buck&Tommy aren’t going away (yet);

- The 911 insta followed Lou, and they only follow mains and people who are reoccurring (and reoccur a lot)

- They also have posted two BuckTommy posts recently, showcasing them as an official couple of the show

-Both the things above have happened in the past week, whilst they’re filming ep 8 and finishing writing 9&10 which to me suggests Tommy will be in at least one of those eps.

- Tim keeps calling it a love story and a romcom, I highly doubt he’d end that after three and a bit eps. Especially after how it’s been built up.

-Oliver said that Buck and Tommy have some getting to know each other but he also said him and Lou do too. That they need to build these relationships- doesn’t sound like it’s going anytime soon.

- Lou said he was pitched an initial arc, which is normally 4 eps, but that doesn’t mean the arc can’t be extended. Especially when the reception is as good as it has been- and also they needed the wiggle room incase it was received poorly.

- Oliver also said he’d like Tommy to stay around, regardless of what happens but also said he’d like to continue their story in a similar thread to Tarlos.

-Tim and Oliver talk a lot about getting Buck off the hamster wheel, and I think him staying in a LTR would be the final part of that. Otherwise he’s still kind of on it, where he gets in and out of relationships without settling for a bit.

-This one is half joking, but Lou keeps mentioning the fact 9-1-1 has a s8 totally unprovoked 😂

[khytal]

apollo makes a devastating typo in the wrong chat

[keyotos]

the only exception

summary ⎯ where blade thinks there is no more hope for love, but you may be the only exception.

tags ⎯ soft blade. mentions of blade's past. reader uses his real name (yingxing) like once on accident. emotional rollercoaster. blade goes through the 5 stages of grief except its not grief it's love. blade is bad at feelings.

tana's thoughts ⎯ gave into the voices and i starting writing this.

the xianzhou is not like it used to be, yet it has not changed that much either. at least, that's what blade noticed as he stood by one of the railings at starskiff haven. he watched the starskiffs come and go as he stood there, motionless.

he had a cup of tea from the tea parlor nearby. some customers wanted him to engage in tea discourse with them because he was an "outworlder," but with one glare from him, they knew better than to press on. so now, he was alone in the dark with sunglasses on.

starskiffs seemed to improve throughout the years. his favorite snack stand was gone, one he used to visit with you. blade tried to ignore the burning sensation in the middle of his chest at the thought. but the stupid mungbean soda vending machines were still there. damn them, he thought.

blade took off his sunglasses momentarily as he rubbed his eyes. sunglasses were obviously meant to be worn in the sun, not in the dark: they were causing him eye strain. he tried to be as subtle as possible, not trying to attract any cloud knights or realm-keeping employees. his face was still on a wanted poster, after all.

"ahem."

blade turned back to find a cloud knight with a mung bean soda in their hand. his mind instantly turned to you, given that you were also a cloud knight who loved mung bean soda (unless that changed as well), but he snapped back to the current situation. he was about to be arrested. the cloud knight cornered him, spear in hand as they slightly lifted up their helmet to take a sip out of their drink.

have cloud knights gotten sloppier? why are they drinking soda when they were about to arrest someone? blade furrowed his eyebrows, but still got into a defensive position.

he was about to swing at the cloud knight until they held their hands up in surrender, "woah, dude," they slowly said, raising their hands up, "i'm not gonna arrest you," they placed their mung bean soda on the railing, and removed their hat.

and it was you. he was just thinking about you, and you appeared. the sight felt surreal. you, who he had been so close with all those years ago. you, who became his first friend on the luofu. you, who still lingered in his mind after all these years, who he thought about even when the mara was affecting him.

you've changed. though you haven't exactly aged, you look older. you look exhausted; your face didn't glow as it used to. blade thinks he is partial to blame for that. your posture is profoundly straight and no longer slouched⎯something you used to struggle with.

the wind blows through your hair, scattering some leaves around with it. your expression is neutral as you throw all your armor on the ground and dust yourself off. there is no smile adorning your face. everything feels so identical, but so different.

his stance softened, but he didn't let up. when you saw that, you only sighed in response. after kicking some stray pieces of armor to the side, you lean your back on the rail as you sipped your soda. the sound of the armor colliding together on the floor made blade cringe.

"i don't actually wear armor, by the way," you swung the drink in his vicinity, offering him a sip using a hand gesture. when he didn't respond, you took another swig. "i have my own uniform. pretty cool, isn't it?" you tilt your head down towards your outfit.

blade doesn't understand. why were you speaking to him as if you two were still friends? could you recognize him under the glasses? it has been so long, he'd be surprised if you recognized him at all.

blade tries to maintain his cover. he is silent while you raise an eyebrow inquisitively, wondering why this stranger wasn't responding to you. you're waiting for him to speak, blade notices. he doesn't say anything. you tilt your head to the side, and blade tilts his head the other way.

you sigh, "you know, not many people are out here so late," you sip out of your soda can, looking at blade while he looks at the starskiffs. you continue, "an old friend of mine used to do this. we'd go out every night and create elaborate stories about strangers, and then stare at starskiffs."

you're telling blade about himself. or, his past self anyway. there's a present ache in his heart, hearing how you speak about him. blade feels like an imposter, standing here with sunglasses on while you talk about him. you sound melancholic, like you miss him. a stupid thing for you, blade thought.

"he's gone now," you turned and leaned forward, now watching the starskiffs with blade. he gets a sense of deja vu, and the feeling sends chills all over his body. you rest your head on your arms on the rail, "i miss him though. he was a little awkward, but he was kind."

"and sometimes," you turn your head towards blade, "he was a little annoying. like he would keep hating on my soda," you hold your soda up to blade, but all he could think about was how you just called him annoying, "or he'd force me to go to bed early. coddle me. nag at me to do my laundry⎯that was very annoying. like, hello? i'm an adult, i could totally do my own laundry," you ranted as you watched the starskiffs.

"maybe you should've done your laundry earlier," he mumbled to himself. he made sure it was low enough that only he would be able to hear it. if you noticed, you didn't say anything; you were still focused on the starskiffs passing by.

blade takes the time to look at you. to study you. it felt like everything about you was so different, but you were still the same. you still chatted about anything to strangers (something he always chided you about). you still drank mung bean soda. you didn't have that growth spurt you dreamed about.

but you were quieter. ironic, because you just jabbered about the annoyances blade had caused you years ago. but you didn't give out too many details. you didn't mouth off about what tea parlor was best, or recent gossip from earlier. you kept things to yourself. blade doesn't know if he should be happy or not.

something was off. there was a wall between you now. and it felt so wrong. blade knows he isn't entitled to anything⎯not anymore, at least. but the feeling of disconnect between two people who were once rooted together physically pained him. even with everything that has happened, he did not want to see you like this.

"i hope he visits soon," you look at him with eyes that glitter among the stars. you're still hopeful; that has not changed. you speak like the sun is shining in your body, and your words are laced with warmth that eases enough for blade to let his guard down. that's when he realized that you're still glowing, and you never stopped.

but your words also bring a stabbing pain into his heart. why are you still longing for him? you should have moved on. you should have found someone better for you. someone who will not harm you at any given moment. but here you are, missing him. hoping he comes back.

"seriously? i just told you that i missed you and hoped you came back, and you say nothing??" you grimaced, looking exasperated. there's a slight crack in the wall now, but blade doesn't notice.

he had other things to concentrate on. like what you just said.

blade did not find this very amusing. his eyes widened underneath his sunglasses and he took a few steps back. after all these years, you could still find him in a crowd full of people. it was love he did not deserve, yet still begrudgingly craved.

"how did you know it was me?" was all blade could utter. he was too alarmed to ask any other questions, or press on your story. or to ask more about you.

you glower and huff, "so he does speak," you cross your arms over the railing as you turn to make eye contact with your past ally.

"how did you know?" blade snarled. he didn't intend for his words to come out as harsh as they did, and the moment they left his mouth, he wanted to shove the words back in and eat them. he had forgotten how you made him feel like an idiot sometimes just by doing absolutely nothing.

your eyes widen and your eyebrows slightly jump up; blade wishes he could erase that expression from his head permanently. however, instead of reacting to it, your composure remains calm. it unsettles blade; he has never seen you so calm before. when you two were young, you got into arguments with those who barely picked a fight with you. you were straightforward and aggressive: blade shouldn't have admired that about you, but nevertheless, he did.

you're less temperamental, and blade doesn't know if he likes it or not. he was worried. after a lifetime of emptiness and recklessness, blade worries. he worries about you: your life, your job, your wellbeing. he worries if you got promoted or not, or if you're living happily.

do you have a partner? blade tries to ignore the flames surrounding his heart as he thinks about your love life.

"oh please. after all the years we've spent together, you'd think i wouldn't be able to spot you in a crowd?" you let out a dry and curt laugh, "just because your hair got darker and you changed your outfit, does not mean you are unrecognizable."

"not to me, anyway," you quietly add, turning your gaze away from him and back to the starskiffs. there's an overwhelming feeling that was welling up in blade's body. it wasn't mara, because it felt more peaceful. but the urge was still strong. he wanted to grab your chin and turn you back towards him; he wanted you to look at him again and explain. to tell him about everything. he doesn't care about the topic, but he will listen no matter what.

blade feels foolish. how could one conversation (if you could even call this a conversation) make him feel so lovestruck? every single feeling for you⎯that he thought he had discarded a long time ago⎯reappeared out of thin air. it all came rushing back at him: your personality, your terrible jokes, and every single thing he grew to love about you. blade tried so hard to dismiss those feelings in the past century, and in the midst of a few minutes, all his past work crumbled.

when blade doesn't say anything, you take a sip out of your drink. the silence is tense; it is opposed to the once comfortable silences you two shared while watching starskiffs. blade thinks that, in another life, nothing would have changed: he would not have become mara-struck, and you two would watch starskiffs fly for hours on end.

but everything has changed now. and there's no going back to fix it. blade will shove down every morsel of affection he feels for you again. and this time, they won't come back up. starting tonight.

you give him a small smile, "so, wanna tell me what you've been up to?"

he will shove down every morsel of affection. starting tomorrow night. another crack in the wall between the both of you.

the feeling of wanting to capture someone's smile is maddening. you drive him crazy, and you make him more insane than mara ever could. all of this because of one smile? blade pictures your small smile once again. it's incomparable to your true smile, though. one where you're showing all your teeth and your eyes crinkle with such bemusement it drives him amuck.

once he pictures your toothy smile, he sinks deeper into the talons of endearment.

"aren't you supposed to arrest me?" he deflects, trying to stem away from his previous lovesick thoughts. maybe, if you arrest him now, he could flee from the luofu forever. maybe then, he'd have a reason to avoid you for life.

you make a 'pfft' noise with your mouth, and the sound is familiar and stupid. it has no reason to make his heart flutter the way it just did.

"if i wanted to arrest you, then you'd be in the hall of karma ages ago," you boast, "luckily for you though, i'm on a break."

"didn't know cloud knights slacked off now," blade rolls his eyes under his sunglasses. he thinks that if he's rude enough towards you, then you'd get the message that he's changed, and you would leave. he's not the same person he was before. if he didn't deserve you back then, he most definitely did not deserve you now.

"well, i'm not a cloud knight anymore," you step closer to him, "i'm a lieutenant."

so you got promoted. blade deeply tries to ignore how his breaths get more shallow after the mention of your promotion.

instead of congratulating you, blade instead replies with, "so you're the same rank as that kid that follows the general around?"

your face falls, and dread swarms throughout his body, spreading through every vein and artery and organ. every regret blade has does not compare with whatever he just said. blade finds that, whenever he thinks about regret, your face has always remained through his sea of remorse. you are the one thing he regrets in many different ways.

blade regrets meeting you. he regrets indulging in your offers for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. he regrets spending his nights with you. he regrets every time his heart leapt multiple beats whenever you were near. he regrets letting his guard down around you, because even now⎯whenever he is with you⎯he feels incredibly relaxed, despite not having to see you in centuries.

he regrets you. he regrets not being able to say goodbye to you. he regrets leaving you with so many qualms. he regrets not being able to see you change. he regrets the fact that he never got to confess to you. he regrets the fact that he still loves you, because why else would he be feeling this way?

the idiot keeps his mouth shut, even though he wants to apologize. "i didn't mean it," he wanted to say, "i'm sure you are very capable now. you stand up more straighter and you look more put together. not that you didn't look put together before. well, actually you didn't, but that's not the point."

it occured to blade that he was rambling about you in his mind. he was describing you in his mind. he was going crazy. nobody else notices these things about you. but blade physically could not tear his eyes away from you. the more he stared, the more he noticed more: such as the way your shoulders were more upright, your breathing was slow and even, and you surprisingly didn't look like you wanted to kill him. the you from centuries ago would have thrown him off the ledge.

you sigh, pressing your fingers to the bridge of your nose, "i see you've met yanqing."

blade says nothing, which simply prompts you to keep talking. a tiny slither of comfort enter's blade's body: it was refreshing to see that after years, some things will never change.

"he's jing yuan's retainer," blade internally (and bitterly) revels in the fact that you don't use any formalities with jing yuan anymore, "he can be a bit... much. but it makes sense. he's only a kid, you know? i like him," you move your soda can to the side to make room for your arms. you're leaning on the railing again, and you were not looking at blade anymore. it should not scatter uneasiness around his nerves.

he wants to share an anecdote of his own. blade yearns for connection with you for just once more. when he is around you, there's an ache in his heart. it was always there; past and present. he thought it would be subtle, like a symptom of a short-term illness. but soon he realized, the symptom he shrugged off was a manifestation of something bigger. and blade never truly recognized how long his sickness would last. because here he is right now, sick as a dog in your presence.

if wanting to fuel your everlasting fire was a sickness, blade decided that he would be diagnosed as terminal.

blade tsks at your statement. you are not impressed; your face looking slack and skeptical. there have been many times where he has been on the receiving end of that look, yet he feels the air swirl all around in his stomach every time you look at him that way. he also tries to slow his heart rate down: there should be no reason why he should be elated at the fact that you're looking at him.

"don't give me that," you cross your arms, "he reminds me of you," you pause, letting the silence overtake the both of you. there are so many unsaid things that the silence feels full, yet still too quiet. you know that the past is a sensitive topic for blade (and you as well, but you choose to dwell on that another night).

"back when we were kids, anyway," you quickly add on.

blade scoffs. scoffs. he does not see himself in yanqing, and he also does not know how you came up to that conclusion. it was ridiculous and strange. blade had to fight a scowl off his face: yanqing and him were nothing alike. if anything, the child was the spitting image of the general.

at least time hasn't changed your terrible analogies.

"terrible?" you point a finger at him, nearing his sunglasses. oh. he said that out loud. "i'll have you know, my analogies are great!"

"you compared me to yanqing, who resembles jing yuan the most," blade shifts his head to the side as he crosses his arms. your finger made his glasses shift down slightly. he could see you a lot better now without the dark obstructing his view, and he internally curses at the wanted posters for being the (indirect) reason he has to wear the glasses.

you let out a sound of disbelief, which resembled blade's scoff and your huff from earlier, "first of all, i was describing temperament. second, terrible?!?"

"if you were describing temperament, then that child would be your twin," he says, trying to fight off the feeling of his lips turning up. this feels familiar. it feels homely, almost. the world melts away when he is around you. every person, place, worry: disintegrated away by your warmth. did you know that? how do you do that? how do you make all the problems in the world disappear so easily?

you let out a breathy laugh, turning away from blade one more time. except, this time, you turn back, a grin evident on your face. it's dark in starskiff haven at the moment, but blade is sure that he just saw the sun in your smile. out of his peripheral vision, he looks to see if anyone else has noticed. have they noticed the light coming from you? how do they notice notice it?

the world continues to move, but with you, it seems that everything is perfectly still.

"i'll have you know, i worked on that whole temperament thing," you held up a hand to his face, "i'm chill now."

"oh really?" blade skeptically raises an eyebrow. you can see it through the crack in his facade left by the sunglasses. you can see his eyes a little bit more clearer.

"oh yeah," you drag out, taking a long sip of your soda. you turn on your back and spread your arms across the railings, mimicking a tired soldier, "i'm chill."

and this feels so normal, like if it was a typical night on the luofu. you and him spending time together once again. everything fell back into place so easily, as if the events of all those years ago never happened. why was it so easy?

various emotions coarse through his body, each feeling worse than the last. he can't stay. he can't live. he knows that the longer he stays here with you, the harder leaving you gets. but things have changed, even if you have not. you probably couldn't even love him the same either, logistically speaking. there were too many obstacles standing between the both of you: loving him was impossible.

he still does not understand why you still speak to him.

greeted by his silence, you choose to continue the conversation further, "this soda really helped," you slide the drink over to him again, "it's been a few years. you should try it again."

"a few years, huh?" blade eyes the drink. biggest understatement of the year.

"yeah," you eye him. your eyes are telling him to say something. blade, in all of his fearlessness, is scared. he has not been scared in a long time. the feelings of fear rushing back into him leave him stranded to his own devices, and he has no clue how to react. he used to turn to you for these things, but now, you are the reason for his fear.

you step closer to him. you are close enough that your shoulders are now touching. when you speak, blade tries to control the agitation growing in the pit of his stomach. destructive thoughts impede and pervase through his mind.

"they hate you."

"things will never be the same."

"whatever you had once, it has all gone down the drain now."

"please try the mung bean soda."

what?

blade snapped out of his head to see you holding up your drink right next to his face. he leaned his head backwards as he was met with your pleading eyes.

you took him out of his trance like it was nothing. you didn't have abilities like kafka did, yet you were able to take him out of his spiral using only six words. how was it that everything surrounding you became so easy?

"i'm not drinking that," blade says with a stern voice. he hopes that his glasses hide the panic that was once apparent in his eyes.

"c'mon," you begged, "just one sip⎯"

"why are you even doing this?" blade irritatedly snapped.

you raise an eyebrow and pretend to not know what he was talking about, "because i want you to try new things...?"

"you know what i mean."

you set down the soda can again and let out a long sigh. you run your hands through your hair, and blade thinks this is it. this is the moment where you snap back like you usually would. this is the part where you tell him that he should leave. he's too difficult, too hard to love.

"did you think i was lying back when i said i missed you?" your entire face softened. there was no light-heartened smirk or grin. you look sad. there are no other words to describe how else you look except sad. blade could not think of any other words. all he could focus on was you.

"i wasn't lying," you say, sounding more desperate than before, "i miss you so much, yin⎯blade." your tone turns sharp when you say his name now. this is it, blade tells himself, this is the part where you leave.

"you matter to me," you eunicate, "i still believe in you. i don't care about the past; i'm not letting it hold me back. which, i know is probably wrong on some level, but i don't care. because i miss you a lot."

"it's not even the fact that i miss us from before," you're rambling now. blade does not have the heart to stop you, "but i just miss you. blade or yingxing, i couldn't care less. i miss our late night talks, so when i saw you here tonight, i jumped at the opportunity to talk to you," you threw your hands up in the air, and then ran another hand through your hair, "and when we spoke⎯even with everything that happened⎯everything felt so easy while talking to you. and everything was okay. and i just wanted that so badly," your voice trailed off. blade swore he could hear it crack a little.

you had felt the same way he did. blade does not know if he was just consumed by an overwhelming sense of air flowing through his chest, or feeling something drop in his chest after you said what you said.

"sorry," you had nothing to apologize for, "i just word-dumped on you," you were using another one of your weird terms again, "i just wanted to let you know that i've always missed you. i've missed everything about you. and i don't want to let you go."

i still love you.

you don't say that. you finish your tangent with a long sigh and another swig of your soda can. it's almost empty. mentally, you feel like that soda can right now. you just dumped years worth of feelings on blade, and he responds with silence.

this is it, you think, this is where he leaves.

but he doesn't. he brings you closer. blade grabs your wrist before you can put the drink back down, and he brings the can to his lips. he faces the fact that he just put his lips where yours were. for a brief second, he imagines that he was pressing his lips onto yours⎯not the soda can.

blade takes back everything he said earlier. he does not regret you whatsoever. he yearns for you. he needs you to function. he wants you: all the time.

he does not regret meeting you. he is not a believer of gods, but he wants to praise whichever higher power that allowed your fate to intertwine with his. he does not regret spending every moment of his time with you; those have been some of the happiest memories in his life.

most of all, he does not regret loving you, because who would regret the warmth of an everlasting flame?

love has been something blade has lived without for many years. but it all comes back so effortlessly with you. and now he realizes why: he loves you like air fans flames. he will keep on giving into your love, so long as you are still there. it doesn't matter when or where: it just matters if you are there.

"i thought you didn't like mung bean soda," you look at his ear rather than his face, not ready for rejection.

"you wanted me to try something new, didn't you?" blade only looked at you, wrist still in hand. he ponders how he was ever scared of your love.

“i didn’t think you would try it so soon,” you pathetically laughed.

“sooner than you’d think,” he quietly mumbled, only so the two of you could hear it. his fingers were grasping the top of your hands as he still held onto your wrist.

“look,” you place the drink down, slinking your hand out of blade’s hold, “i know you’re probably going to be gone soon. that’s fine. couldn’t really expect you to stay because of your… you know. job,” you awkwardly explain, tucking your hands behind your back.

“but,” you sounded more optimistic, and it seemed as though the street lights all lit up, “you know that friend i was telling you about? the annoying one?” blade rolls his eyes, you only laugh at his reaction, “i hope that he visits more often.”

hope. you hope for him to come back. you hope for more. blade hopes for more too. he wants more, actually. craves it.

but he plays hard to get, “well, if you keep calling your friend ‘annoying’ i doubt he’ll visit as often as you’d like,” and he smirks. you have to bite your lip, hard, to restrain your giddy smile.

“well, i was just telling it as it is,” and it’s easy again. and you want this as much as blade does. and this is hope. this is hope that, even after everything, you’re still here and love is still alive. the wall is broken so easily.

“mhm, okay.”

“yup!”

“i’ll see if i can sort something out,” blade tells you, taking another drink of your soda. he’s emptied at this point. he’s only taking the “drink” so he could try to hide his (growing) blush from you.

“i thought you ‘weren’t going to visit’ as often,” you pouted, rolling your eyes.

“well, i never said that. i said your friend was going to do that. just giving you some advice, that’s all,” he teased. you felt your heart swell up: everything was going to be fine.

“your advice is shit.”

“you’re shit.”

yeah. everything will be okay.

if this looks familiar it’s bc this is an expanded ver of the xianzhou men hcs i did like a week ago. this was from blades part and i liked it sm i wrote more. wish i could have done the end a little bit more justice but i am TIREDDDD it was 4:30 in the morning.

but if u made it all the way down here i hope u enjoyed!! i put my tanussy in this and i wrote for like 5 hrs so pls enjoy LMAO

[stuckinapril]

Well it may seem like the end of the world but tomorrow’s a new day & the sun will shine just a little brighter with each moment that spring inches closer & you will find the people who cocoon you like a warm wool blanket & you won’t have to cling so hard to those who strip you bare anymore

[swampthingking]

andrew’s definitely gotten in trouble with his pr manager for tweeting things along the lines of:

“no mania inducing medication will compare to the euphoria i will feel the day donald trump drops dead”

[turtleblogatlast]

[ cw: death mention / family death mention / ]

Mhmm I sure love thinking of the reality where we did get more time to really know Karai and her dynamics with the bros. Losing her hit hard in the finale, but it would’ve hit much, much harder had we known Karai longer and really saw her relationships develop with everyone.

I especially would have been interested in her dynamic with Leo, as past iterations often have the two of them clash in ideals and the like while still sharing many characteristics. Two sides of the same coin, and all that. Her specifically being the bros’ Gram-Gram also adds a whole new dynamic as well.

Imagine how interesting it would be, to have Karai start off on Leo’s side for once, showing wholly just how alike the two are at their cores and bonding as family without the worry of betrayal or animosity that other iterations suffer through, only to have Karai die anyway. Their parting hug and the desperate look of horror Leo wears later on would have hit that much harder, I feel.