#with their lives’ part of the tragedy? that sort of thing

[deus-and-the-machina]

one of my absolute least favorite ways to view a story is “wow something sad and pointlessly horrible happened to this character that was so unfair. This is BAD WRITING” like yeah sometimes it can be but also maybe that was…the writers point…to write a tragedy…famously not stories that make you feel good. And there’s meaning in that too and I wish people would try to interact with that more instead of assuming bad faith on the writers part

[ilynpilled]

is there fr discourse over hyle hunt man u all r bored as hell

[canisonicscrewyou]

my eye-spy sitcom best friendcore ass apartment. btw. just thought you should know. I kind of recommend zooming in if you want to.

Constant Visual Stimulation. No Escape.

bonus: the newest addition that we stole rescued from my place of work yesterday after taking these pics. a lovely lady.

[arolesbianism]

Crafting a Sliver of straw that is soooo not at all what Id want any canon Sliver to look like

[cerastes]

I saw there are a lot of forest fire in chile right now. are you gonna be okay?

Three days after the fact, yeah, I'll be fine, personally and physically, but it's dire, I'm not going to lie. I've never seen so much fire in my life. When you think about a big fire, your impression might be two or three buildings on fire with some firefighter trucks spraying water at it. This was kilometers upon kilometers of raging blazes. Kilometers. Heads up if you are sensitive to these kinds of posts, this isn't a happy one.

Entire hills on fire. Lush green hills reduced to ash and smoke.

Not to mention the urban parts that got hit badly

The official death toll keeps increasing each passing hour as they clear up the rubble and ruins and find more corpses. People I know lost everything. Some people I know lost their loved ones. Dogs are eating corpses on the street because they haven't picked them up yet, so you have neighbors warding off said dogs. Bodies get picked up too badly burned, eaten, decomposed, or a mix thereof to be identified.

It's a tragedy. It all reeks of smoke, there's ash everywhere.

It was sudden, it was brutal. Seeing elderly survivors wondering "what's next for me? I don't have enough years left among the living to rebuild all I lost, all I worked for throughout my life, gone like that" breaks my heart. The government is offering all sorts of aid, but there's also people whose documents, like ID and other identifying documentation, was lost in the fire, so they have to get re-issued an ID before they can actually start filing for aid. The SML (Servicio Médico Legal) is oversaturated with all that's suddenly on their plate and can't return the bodies of people to their families yet, and these are all people that still need food, shelter, hygiene, and so on after the fact. Seeing the logistical nightmare that becomes life after you lose everything firsthand from other people is sobering and painful. Yeah, they survived, but what comes next? It's a sense of uncertainty that is smothering and asphyxiating, it's hopelessness.

I apologize if I come across as dramatic, especially so as someone who was luckily not affected, but it really, really has been heartbreaking to witness, especially from very up close, as I was there, and it's one thing to know of a tragedy that happened elsewhere, maybe even in your own country, but elsewhere, and it's a whole other beast to have seen it directly as it unfolded.

Keep Chile in your thoughts. If you are able to, please consider donating to Desafío Levantemos Chile, to my knowledge the only drive that accepts Paypal, thus, foreign donations, to help the various efforts to rebuild and aid those affected. Desafío Levantemos Chile dates back to 2010, when Chile got hit by a devastating earthquake, and is an NGO that bases its continued existence in being able to provide aid during catastrophes such as this one.

[cripplecharacters]

Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?

[large text: Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?]

(TLDR: no. literally no.)

A frequent topic that shows up around facial differences is the self-hatred, self-disgust, self-insert-negative-emotion that we must surely experience. I want to ask* writers without FDs - why? Why do you feel about us in such a way that that's the most common way of depicting us?

*- rhetorical question. I promise I know the answers, but I'm not sure if writers do.

It's frankly worrying to me. Is it really that common to assume that disabled people have this internal, never-ending hatred for themselves? The overwhelming majority of us don't. We hate inaccessibility, when people stare, or some symptoms when they get in the way, or how expensive being disabled is, but I find the concept of us being so completely disturbed by our own disabilities extremely strange. It’s “tragedy porn” intersecting “most basic ableism”.

“But trauma!”

[large text: “But trauma!”]

Trauma of what! People with facial differences don't have some sort of default trauma that we come with like it’s a factory setting. We are a group of people with tens of thousands of stories and experiences!

“Trauma of experiencing ableism/disfiguremisia” - that's better, at least this means something. If you're writing a story about this, please get a sensitivity reader with a facial difference. You can assume how we feel all you want, but in my experience these assumptions are often bizarre and unrealistic. Or just end up writing the same “disability so sad” sob story that everyone has seen a billion times. If you want to write about disfiguremisia, you need to understand the nuance and have more than just the basic level knowledge (which 99% of people don’t have either). If you can’t do that, don’t write about it. Simple as that.

“Trauma of the accident” - thankfully, the accident is an event and a facial difference is a disability. If you want to connect these two like they're one and the same, you're almost surely going to demonize disability. People with traumatic spinal cord injuries, acquired amputees, people with TBI, people with acquired facial differences - we participate in our communities, we have hobbies, we date, we play with our dogs. Disability isn't a death sentence. Media who make it feel like it is certainly don't help people who do suddenly become disabled, don't you think?

Here's a post by @blindbeta about blind characters becoming blind through trauma that’s better made than anything I could hope to write here. I heavily recommend giving it a read.

And, I can't stress this enough - most of us didn't have “the accident”, most of us are born like this! "Traumatic scars" isn't the only facial difference that exists, far from it, it's only one of thousands. It's 99% of our representation and "representation". If you want to make a character with FD - please consider that we aren't a monolith. Just like not all physical disabilities are "wheelchair user with paralysis", not all facial differences are "traumatic scar with somehow no nerve damage".

The overrepresentation of it is incredibly telling, and sometimes - or very frequently - feels like the writer doesn’t actually even want to deal with us. They want to use our disability as a way to cheap drama, moral metaphors, tragic backstories. Not to represent us as living people who are much more similar to you than you apparently think.

Now, I do have enough awareness to know that that's a big part of the appeal. “Horrific Thing #2456 happens” and boom, instant drama! Of course, it's a reasonable response that they would hide their disability for years, avoid talking about it in any way, and magically change their personality to be mean and reclusive, or at least be constantly soooo sad about how much it sucks to be disabled, right?

Do I really need to say that having your character becoming disabled be the worst thing ever is ableism 101? We have been talking about this for so long at this point. Writing about the process of adapting to a specific disability is better left to people who have actual experience in it.

To give an example that will hopefully resonate more with Tumblr users, I will use the fact that I'm also gay. It's not perfect by any means but probably much more familiar territory.

Imagine, let's say, a character. He's gay. The story he's in is supposedly progressive, certainly not trying to be homophobic. The character has experienced an incident, maybe an act of aggression or a hate crime, that happened because he’s gay, which was traumatic. Happens IRL, sure. So of course the character starts hating being gay. He talks about how gross and disgusting it is, he never lets anyone know that he could be “one of them”, certainly not take a stance against homophobia. You can't mention him without mentioning the accident, they're seemingly fused together. No gay love, joy, even basic happiness, he would actually choose to be straight in a heartbeat if given the option to and complains that he can't. This is shown as a neutral, obvious thing that a gay man would do, no one comments on it. He stays like this the whole time, unless there’s a plot twist in the last 10 pages where the world is now magically perfect ("we fixed discrimination, yay!"). This is the only LGBT character in the story.

Keep in mind that there are people similar to this in real life, living with extreme internalized homophobia.

Is this, in your opinion, realistic and thoughtful representation? How does it feel when written by a cishet writer, versus a gay writer who is recalling his experiences? Do you think that it's reasonable for the majority of media representation to be like this, or very close to it? How would it affect younger gay people who might already be uncomfortable with being queer? Are gay men the target audience, or are they not even considered as a group of people who read books? Is this helping or damaging the general public's idea of how it is to be gay? Why or why not?

The Masterpiece

[large text: The Masterpiece]

From 13 to 19 of May, we are celebrating Face Equality week (what a coincidence!). It’s important to me in general - and I wish it was more important to abled people, but I digress - especially its theme for this year.

“My Face is a Masterpiece”

Great statement, it represents the community well, I do enjoy how bold it is. Very cool stuff, I love the work our advocates are doing!

But why do I bring this up?

Well, to very non-subtly show that we aren’t a self-hating group of people. We are a community, a community saying “our faces are beautiful, look!”, we are saying “treat us equally, and do it now!”. Our activism isn’t about self-disgust. It’s about fighting your-disgust. 

Why can’t writers keep up? Why are you still stuck decades behind?

Is this the only reason I bring it up?

The Call to Celebration

[large text: The Call to Celebration]

FEI, the org behind organizing it, asks a very simple question (emphasis mine):

“Why do we so often see stories about facial difference as a ‘tragedy’, when they should be about triumph?” “Calling all artists, allies, creatives, galleries.  You can rewrite the story to bring about #FaceEquality and celebrate the unique artistry found in every face. Your participation this #FaceEqualityWeek will help to tell the real story, that there is a masterpiece in every face.”

Here. We are calling for you to stop. Directly from the biggest international advocacy alliance group that's out there. If you create, this is for you.

The last argument to not have your character with a facial difference hate themselves? Because we don’t want this. We are tired and frustrated. For me personally, I’m also offended by this kind of assumption. We aren’t tragedies or cheap entertainment for abled people to pity or be horrified by. We are people, and if you can’t internalize that, you have no reason to write about us.

For once, celebrate us. Happy Face Equality Week!

mod Sasza

[fenkko]

one who had dreams of being a hero

This comic is based on Story 3, which speaks of his hobby of ice fishing originating from the days he'd go out with his father on the ice, 'accompanied by his father's unending tales of adventure,' and dream of being the protagonist.

Nowadays, he keeps up the hobby, though only as a method of training... and it seems he fishes alone.

I thought a lot about fairytales and stories told to children -- how they are used to impart lessons and shape a child's growing sense of morality.

I think these stories were Childe's father telling him what kind of man he hoped his son would become.

In Story 5, 'his father had no choice but to hand his beloved son over for conscription into the Fatui' in an attempt to discipline his temper, but was disappointed when Childe continued ascending the ranks, further and further from the gentle boy he was..

His father named him after the hero Ajax. Is he still disappointed in the path Childe has taken? Does he still see his son in the man he sees before him? Does Childe feel in himself the chasm between who he dreamed of becoming and who he is now?

It's interesting, that fairytales should often have a very strict good/evil morality. Childe professes he has no use for such things, and will gladly become a mindless weapon so long as he can continue honing himself for battle. And yet, has he truly given up on being human?

For a Harbinger, Childe is oddly principled, preferring straightforward battles without deceit. He retains a sort of moral code, reluctant to involve those who are defenseless in his plans.

And of course, he deeply cherishes his family. What sort of weapon has a family? Why does he cling so desperately to this identity as a defender of childhood dreams, of being his sister Tonia's knight?

Perhaps his own dream of being a hero died long ago, but a part of him still recognizes the tragedy of it and maybe... in some way, is still trying.

This is somewhat of a companion piece to my Scara comic "one who has given up on being saved". Childe, unable to live up to his childhood ideals of heroism, and Scara, whose pleas for help went unanswered.

A failed hero, and someone who never had one.

ARGHH yknow it drives me nuts. I haven't known peace since I started thinking about it.

[blackkatmagic]

I am fully in support of all of those posts that critique fandom's obsession with making the clones completely Mandalorian in every way curse you Traviss, and I think it's valid to take a second look at the impulse, but I also take umbrage with the idea that the clones have nothing to do with Mandalorian culture at all. Literally the most visible clone in the whole of TCW wears jaig eyes, used the same way the Mandalorians use them, and so do multiple other clones. Multiple clones also picked Mando'a names for themselves, or wear traditional Mandalorian hairstyles, and Boil isn't the only clone who wears some sort of Death Watch insignia (which is fascinating in its own right).

There's just - nuance to all of it, I think. The clones aren't wholly Mandalorian, but they aren't not Mandalorian either. Whatever canon you want to take re: Jango and the trainers he picked, the clones clearly picked up bits of the culture from them, whether because of or despite them. Especially considering Mandalorian culture was largely spread through conquest originally, and adoption, the clones have as much of a right to it as anyone, and writing that off or ignoring the fact that at least some of them clearly do consider themselves part of the culture in some way removes a lot of the grey area from them as their own thing, imo.

The clones are a grey area, as a whole. I think that's part of the tragedy of them. They don't have one people who are their own except other clones. They don't have one specific homeworld or culture. They were created literally to die as cannon fodder, and they made themselves into a people despite that. Taking away one of the major pieces they incorporated into their lives (in strict canon, even if you want to ignore everything Traviss ever touched) is weird and overlooks a lot of what's presented about the clones in TCW.

They don't have to be perfectly Mandalorian in every way. That's just as much of an injustice to them. But removing the Mandalorian bits entirely strips away a lot of how they clearly see themselves, too.

[kamaluhkhan]

COMPLICATED

LUST — part iv of we'll write sins not tragedies

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab) word count: 8.9k summary: the lives of demigods are never simple. why would your relationship with luke be any different? or: four moments of tension + one moment of release. featuring a trip to montauk with percy, grover, and annabeth warnings: a decent amount of reader backstory (mention of dad having cancer); multiple POVs (percy, grover, annabeth, luke, reader - obv nothing suggestive/smutty until luke and reader POV); luke + reader get into arguments and are v stressed so their relationship is a bit strained; reader has tattoos; reader is on birth control; rough smut (protected + unprotected p in v, oral f+m receiving, biting, scratching, slight choking, slight breeding kink, etc...); also slight dark + possessive luke! (18 + MDNI); major angst — we all know how this story ends ;( author's note: this was meant to be a blurb but...here we are! this is basically another chapter of my spill ur guts series lol. i've been gone for much longer than i planned to, but hope u enjoy possibly the angstiest, smuttiest thing i've written so far ♡

♪ "complicated" by avril lavigne

i. 

in the span of a few minutes, percy went from pure joy — being greeted with cheers from all the campers was great, sure, but truthfully the hug from annabeth alone sent him to elysium — to feeling like his heart dropped all the way to tartarus.

which is definitely not a place percy ever wants to visit again. he was happy to be back at camp with his friends, knowing that his quest was completed, his mom was safe in new york, and a war between the gods was prevented.

it should be over….but there’s something in the back of percy’s mind that’s telling him it isn’t. seeing a certain someone in the crowd earlier didn’t do anything to ease that feeling.

"can someone explain to me why clarisse is still here?" 

you raise an eyebrow at luke, and he shrugs in response.  it seems neither of you had decided who should break the news, and neither of you seem particularly excited to do so, even after dragging percy, along with annabeth and grover, into the empty hermes cabin for some privacy.

after another beat of silence, you take the lead.

“look, kid, i know you and clarisse got off to a rocky start —”

“she tried to drown me, and then basically kill me during capture the flag,” percy points out. he hears an ocean roaring at the memory, but that could have also been from his duel with clarisse’s dad, the god of war, more recently.

a duel that percy had won, for the record. luke trained him well.

“and i’m not defending that,” you clarify. “i’m just saying that we’ve known clarisse for much longer. she’s not perfect, maybe a bit aggressive sometimes — trust me, she and i have had some major disagreements, too — but i can’t see her doing something like this.”

“why would anyone at camp want to steal the bolt? to join kronos’ army against the gods?” annabeth wonders. to herself or to the group, percy isn’t sure, but he has a feeling that the wheels in her mind are turning.

“revenge, maybe?” grover suggests. 

almost instinctively, grover glances at you, and so does annabeth. percy wants to kick himself for doing the same. 

with you being the daughter of nemesis, he imagines that it's not the first time you’d been blamed for something just because of who you are. it’s a feeling percy knows all too well. and, for better or for worse, like percy, it seems like you’re not one to accept these things without a fight.

you straighten your shoulders, ready to snap back, but before you can, luke declares:

“it’s not her.”

he then knocks the toe of his shoe against your combat boot. you smile and return the gesture. the tension eases out of the room.

for a second, percy wonders if he’ll ever have someone like that: someone to defend like it’s second nature, to share that sort of secret language with, to smile at him like nothing else in the world matters. 

according to annabeth, the two of you weren’t technically dating — but percy is pretty sure that aphrodite is swooning over you. 

“see, grove? if camp half-blood’s golden boy can vouch for me, then i’m in the clear.” your tone is playful enough — no hard feelings — but the tips of grover’s ears still turn red. “i didn’t steal the bolt. sure, the gods and titans can tear each other apart for all i care — " 

annabeth stiffens at your bold statement, and grover starts to nervously chew on an empty diet coke can he had stashed in his pocket. luke watches you with the hint of a smile on his face, and percy —

well, percy can’t help but admire you even more. 

"— but it's everything else that i have an issue with.”

“everything else?”

you look at percy like the answer is obvious. 

“when have the gods ever fought their battles without us as collateral damage? doesn’t seem worth it to me, to betray my friends.” 

that itch in the back of percy’s brain gets harder to ignore.

“the oracle warned me, betrayed by a friend.” 

“prophecies don't always come true,” annabeth reminds him. “at least not in the way we expect them to.” 

“annie is right,” luke adds, nodding at his sister. “mine didn't. the oracle said i would die a hero.” 

you turn to luke then, your eyebrows furrowed. 

“what? you never told me that.” 

“it doesn’t matter,” luke insists. “my point is that i came back from my joke of a quest, alive and a definitely not a hero —”

“fuck what the oracle said.” you roll your eyes. “dead or alive, you are a hero, tiger.”

you move to place a hand on luke’s arm. to percy’s surprise, though, luke brushes you off.

“i’m not a hero. at least not the one my dad expects me to be.”

again, percy is taken aback by how luke snapped, at you of all people. you huff, and percy can tell that you’re a bit agitated now, too. 

“okay, but that doesn’t mean —”

“my point is.” luke turns to percy, effectively blocking your presence for the time being. “you completed your quest, fought a god, and stalled kronos’ plan. you’ve been through it — all three of you have — but now you’re back. let’s just enjoy the rest of our summer, yeah? whatever happened out there, whatever the oracle said, it’s in the past.”

percy wants to believe luke, he really does. one glance in your direction, and it seems like you do, too.

deep down, though, percy isn’t entirely convinced. there’s that dread in the pit of his stomach, that voice in the back of his head. something in him, warning that this isn’t quite over. the worst has yet to come.

he wonders if — or maybe just hopes — you feel the same.

—

ii.

if you of all people can’t get luke’s attention, grover is pretty sure that the world is ending.

“luke,” you try again, foregoing your usual nickname for him. your arms are crossed and you tap your foot against the floor. it makes grover slightly anxious, feeling your frustration threaten to boil over.

“i’m busy,” he grunts, and flips over another page, scribbling something on the other side. 

“grover wanted to talk to us about something.”

“i-it’s fine, we don’t have to —”

“no, it’s a good idea, grove,” you insist. you smile at grover then. he remembers that, despite the deadly glares you can deliver, like the one you were just giving luke, you have a gentle core. you just guard it behind sharp edges. 

“tell him that i’ll talk to him later.”

“or, you could tell him yourself,” you huff. grover waves awkwardly, even though luke doesn’t realize what’s happening. “he’s right next to me.”

luke looks up briefly, and then back down at the pages in front of him just as quick. he looks tired, exhausted even. 

“sorry, man. didn’t see you there. i gotta finish these reports.”

“no worries. i tend to be quiet on my hooves.”

in the moment of silence that follows, and with luke still not giving you the attention you’re asking for, you walk over to the desk where luke is working. what you see seems to make you even more annoyed than before.

“these reports are for september. why in the name of nemesis are you filling them out now?”

“i just want to be prepared.”

“prepared for what?”

luke hesitates. “just….the future.”

“oh!” you laugh, sharp and sarcastic. “i didn’t realize that the future required you to neglect your friends.”

“i’m trying to help my friends,” luke huffs. he taps his pen impatiently against the desk. “if you didn’t keep interrupting me —”

“oh my fucking gods — ”

grover watches the two of you argue. it had been easier to step in whenever something bubbled up between annabeth and percy, because they were just kids. but you and luke — you were adults. 

when grover met luke for the first time, he was already taking on way too much responsibility for a kid — keeping thalia and annabeth alive, protecting them from monsters, taking care of them. in a lot of ways, those responsibilities didn’t go away: as a senior counselor and resident older brother, a hero for the older campers to admire and the younger kids to aspire to be. camp half-blood’s golden boy, as you liked to call him. 

and, like you, luke is good at hiding. for him, its heavy burdens behind easy-going smiles. 

lately, though, those smiles seem to be strained, his shoulders slowly bending under the weight of it all. the other day, grover asked you if everything was okay with luke. you had looked back at him sadly, shrugged, and said you didn’t know.

that’s when grover decided that everyone just needs a break — an escape. he had been sensing that things weren’t quite right with the others, too. percy seems a little on edge, and so does annabeth.

then, of course, there was you and luke. finding out that the two of you had actually started dating was huge news for someone like grover who had painstakingly watched the two of you dance around your feelings for years. so, it was more than a little weird that you’d barely been speaking this past week. the rare occasion you did was tense at best, and explosive at worst. 

like now, when you pick up one of the reports luke was working on, and threaten to burn it. luke dares you to do so, even suggests, albeit sarcastically, that you use it as your next offering to the gods. 

“oh, a handwritten document from luke castellan himself? they would love that,” you snort. “admit it: you’re doing all of mr. d’s work just to suck up to some gods who don’t even give a shit about any of this. you’re practically olympus’ lapdog.”

luke, blushing a furious shade of red, gets up and yanks the paper from your hand.

“at least my parent is important enough to actually have a seat on olympus and an actual cabin for his kids to stay in.”

you look like you could just about throw luke into a fire, and vice versa. grover had never seen the two of you like this, but it made sense: each of you knowing just where, and how, to hurt the other.

and, he thinks it’s about time to step in before the damage is irreversible. so, grover starts slowly clapping. the clapping gets faster, and he manages to get through the first few lines of the consensus song before you stop him.

“alright, alright,” you sigh. you push past luke, steal his chair, and put your feet up on the desk. luke scowls at you, but you put your hands up in surrender and jut your chin out towards grover. “just listen to what grover has to say and then we’ll let you get back to your precious reports.”

grover tells luke his idea. luke actually agrees, and grover can’t help but feel a little bit of a victory. 

he’s a protector, after all. it’s his job to make sure you’re all alive and happy and thriving. and not burnt to a crisp over some petty argument.

—

iii. 

annabeth had missed home when she was away on their quest, but being back and seeing everyone being taught to worship the gods without question, to believe that the only things that matter are power and glory….well, after everything that happened, after percy, annabeth can’t just go back to doing the same. at least not entirely. 

all this to say, she was totally on board with grover’s idea: the five of you, renting a cabin in montauk to get away from camp for a bit.

unfortunately, the trip starts off less than ideally. you and luke bicker the entire way here — and not the playful jabs you usually throw at each other. 

annabeth remembers the first time she saw you together. it was during breakfast, their first morning at camp half-blood. annabeth had spent the night trying not to cry over thalia, and already missing luke even though he was only a few cabins away. she was still a kid, surrounded by strangers, told that she was safe now, but didn’t quite believe it yet. one look to luke at the hermes table, and annabeth could tell he felt the same way, too — not quite settled in this new place that was supposed to be home, and with these people who were supposed to be family.

she watched as the hermes table went to burn offerings to the gods. when they sat down again, luke looked even more unsettled than before.

but then, you leaned in and whispered something in luke’s ear, and he actually laughed, just a bit, which was a nice change of pace. luke was always the one making annabeth and thalia laugh when they were running from monsters, always the one trying to keep everything together with a smile or a joke.

as she devoured her breakfast, annabeth couldn’t help but keep glancing at the two of you. she heard warnings from her half-siblings, about your mother being the goddess of revenge, and you living up to that name. 

luke either didn't know, or didn't care about whatever reputation you had. sitting there, next to you, annabeth didn’t think she’d ever seen luke so, genuinely happy, so at ease.

all these years later, neither you nor luke seemed particularly happy. you’re obviously avoiding each other, and annabeth doesn’t understand why.

you and luke are a new puzzle that she can’t wait to solve. 

annabeth had finished constructing the most elaborate sandcastle in history, just for percy to accidentally splash it when he was trying to surf a wave; so she decides that playtime is over. it’s time to figure out what exactly is going on between you and luke.

luke is in the cabin doing gods know what. you're on the deck painting your nails, so annabeth decides to start gathering information from you, first. 

“hey." you finish painting your pinky a dark purple, and set the bottle down next to you. "having fun?”

annabeth nods once and sits next to you. she asks if you could paint her nails, and you pull out a bottle of silver polish you said you thought she might like. 

as you work, careful with each stroke of polish, annabeth surveys the tattoos on your skin. you’re wearing a bikini top, so there are some that she’s seeing for the first time. there's one of a knife on your sternum, and annabeth distinctly remembers seeing a similar one peeking from underneath the collar of luke’s shirt. she wonders when you got it, if you had to travel to a tattoo parlour in the city, how many other adventures you'd gone on without having to consult the oracle beforehand. 

maybe that’s a good place to start. 

“have you ever thought about leaving camp? like, long term?" 

"sometimes," you admit. "it would be nice to have some normal early-twenties experiences."

"would you go to school?"

you smile as you keep painting annabeth’s nails. “maybe. i might have seen legally blonde too many times, but i think about law school sometimes.” 

“what about luke?”

your smile fades at the question. “i...i don’t know." your once precise nail-painting falters, and you mumble a curse when a drop of silver lands on annabeth's skin. you swipe it away before continuing. "luke's one of those people i can't really see away from camp half-blood for too long; pretty sure it would burn down without him. there's a reason he feels responsible for everyone there...in a way i respect, obviously, but, it's not the same for me. nobody needs me."

"luke needs you."

you sigh, and annabeth wonders if you even realize how you shake your head slightly. she thinks you're about to disagree with her, but instead you ask: 

“what's this about, annie? are you thinking about your dad’s offer?”

and annabeth’s completely thrown off her line of inquiry. 

“how did you —”

“perce told me that you’ve been talking about staying with him for the year,” you explain. you gesture at annabeth to give you her other hand, and she complies. the silver polish on the hand you just finished glitters in the sun. 

“well, nothing’s confirmed.”

you look up at annabeth, one eyebrow raised. “it's okay, you know — if you just wanna….be a kid for a bit.”

annabeth is silent, prompting you to ask another question.

"what's holding you back?"

“well….at first, i thought it would be a definite no,” annabeth admits. “obviously, it didn’t work out last time. i don’t know if i want to risk it again — if i can trust him, you know? how do i know he actually cares —  that he’ll be there for me when i need him?”

“you don’t.” you pause for a second. “but i’m gonna tell you a story that i think might help.”

you're done painting her nails, so you put everything away. you sit cross-legged next to annabeth, looking out at the ocean.

“my dad never wanted me to go to camp. he wanted to raise me in the city, just like he’d grown up. he’d take me to rock concerts all the time. i was so young, he’d make me wear earmuffs and carry me on his shoulders so that i could still see the band.” you smile softly at the memory. “and then….my dad got sick, he couldn’t take care of me, and monsters started to show up, so he brought me to camp for safe keeping." 

"you've told me all this," annabeth remarks. 

you start fiddling with your camp necklace. annabeth isn't used to seeing you so unsure, so nervous; it throws her off even more. 

"what i haven't told you is that even when my dad got better, he….he didn’t give me a choice of where to stay.”

"oh," is all annabeth can say. 

“yeah, oh," you scoff, but there’s not really any malice behind it. you seem…sad. defeated, almost. your fingers move to play with the hem of your shorts, which causes the fresh nail polish to smudge. you don’t seem too concerned about that at the moment, though. "i told everyone that i chose to stay. the truth is that i stayed because my dad didn't want me anymore. he said that the universe gave him a second chance, so he wanted to live his life without having to worry about monster attacks or taking care of his teenage daughter."

annabeth wonders if luke knows the truth about this; though, considering how difficult it seems for you to admit, she doubts it. 

before, annabeth had a theory that you decided to stay at camp because of luke.

luke was away when you got the news that your dad was in remission. annabeth remembers how happy you were, how excited you were to be back in the city and living with your dad again. you started packing right away.

when luke came back from his failed quest, you had just gone into the city the day before, having promised to visit in the summer and stay in touch. someone – chris maybe, or beckendorf — must have called you, told you what happened, because you came back to camp right away, your bag still fully packed. you never left again. 

"that sucks."

“yeah.” you let out a hollow, breathy laugh. “and, i was angry at first. of course i was. but now, i don’t know. i think that maybe my dad does care about me. like, he still sends me mixtapes with old punk rock songs he thinks i’d like. he actually calls me on my birthday, and we have a 3 minute conversation about nothing important." 

"right…" annabeth furrows her brows. this conversation had definitely not gone as planned. "no offense, but what's —"

"i'm getting to the point," you tell her, bumping your shoulder against hers.  "i realized that sometimes people can only love us in a way that works for them — and it sucks. it really, really sucks. but then sometimes…. sometimes people do actually try. and, i don’t know, it seems like maybe your dad is willing to try.”

“so you think i should take him up on his offer.”

the sun starts to set. you get up, brush sand off your legs. 

“i think it's time for a swim. i also think that you’re smart enough to know what’s best for you, and who deserves a second chance. just know that whatever you decide — we’ll be there for you.”

you leave without another word, but with the return of your usual confident smile, off to the shore to take advantage of the last bits of daylight. 

"she's right, annabeth." luke appears a few seconds later, takes the spot next to annabeth you had just occupied.

annabeth hums.

"how much of that did you hear?" 

luke doesn't answer. he just stares at your form, disappearing in the distance and diving under the waves.

—

iv.

you clear your throat and luke turns around to see you freshly showered. you’re wearing a pair of shorts and one of the oversized band tees the two of you constantly exchange. you've lost track of whose is whose at this point.

luke resists the urge to shamelessly check out your legs, and turns his back towards you once again. that bikini top you were wearing earlier was bad enough. thankfully, the heat from the stove was enough to cover up his blushing cheeks at the sight of your exposed skin. 

“i thought we were ordering pizza,” you say, moving to peer over his shoulder, chin hovering just above. luke had the sense that you were avoiding physical contact, and as much as it drives him crazy, he knows that he’s the one who’d dug his own grave. pushing you away and whatnot. 

“didn’t know that you knew how to cook.”

“not much,” luke shrugs. he keeps stirring the vegetables — broccoli and carrots and baby corn. he’ll add the red peppers once the broccoli turns green so that they don’t become too soft. he’s pretty sure that’s how he remembers it going.

“i could have helped you.” you reach over and hand him the peppers right on time. you shift to lean your back against the counter next to the stove, arms crossed over your chest and eyes following luke. 

luke throws in the chicken he cooked earlier, and then the sauce he had also mixed. he waits a few seconds, lets the sound of everything sizzling fill the space between you. 

“it’s an easy recipe.” luke turns off the stove to punctuate his point. 

and it had to be. something quick he’d make with his mom after she had one of her episodes, before waking up and realizing that she had a son to feed. the sounds, the colors, the smells — it all, overwhelmingly, reminds him of a childhood he once had. one that was never as simple as the food he just made.

none of the bitterness in his throat is caused by his mom, of course. just his father who calls himself a god, and left them both alone to fend for themselves. 

you start getting out plates from the cupboards as you ask: “where are the kids?”

luke checks the pot on the stove to see if the rice is cooked. “told them to go rent something from the video store.” 

“they went alone?”

“they’ve literally been to hell and back,” he replies and sits down at the table. “i think they can handle a blockbuster.”

“i don’t care if they get attacked by monsters,” you state, setting down the last plate in front of him. “i know they can handle themselves. they just better choose a good movie.” 

luke doesn’t mean to snort, but he can’t help but remember all the arguments you’d gotten in with chris over your tastes in movies. 

 “don’t laugh, castellan. i’ve saved movie night on more than one occasion and i’ve never gotten so much as a thank you.” you roll your eyes, but luke notices the ghost of a smile.

it fades just as quickly as it appeared, and luke already misses the small moment of levity that’s passed. 

“what’s been going on with you, tiger?”

you hold his gaze, and luke knows that you’re hoping for a real answer, for the truth he can’t give you. 

“nothing,” he answers instinctively. 

“don’t give me that,” you sigh and turn away from him, returning to your position against the counter. 

“i said it’s nothing,” luke insists, a bit more assertively. “why can’t you just believe me?”

“because you’ve been distant, moody.” your tone is sharper now, too. “you’ve been avoiding me. you’ve barely been eating. the side of your bunk has been empty, which means you haven’t been sleeping, either. gods, i can’t even remember the last time you kissed me —”

“you’re really mad at me because we haven’t fucked?” 

it’s a low blow, and he delivers it as if he hadn’t missed seeing you underneath him. or on top, or beside. luke isn’t picky. 

“you’re impossible!” you groan, and cover your face with your hands. you take a deep breath  before returning to glare at luke. “do….do you not want to be together, anymore? because if that’s what’s happening, i’ll survive. we can go back to being friends.” you clench your jaw to make up for the tremble behind your question. always a tough face, even in the face of potential heartbreak.

of course, luke knows you’ll be fine without him. he’s the one who might have difficulty surviving when you part ways.

“that’s not —” luke sighs and runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze. “that’s not it.”

“then what is it?”

“noth—”

“i will send you to elysium if you tell me it’s nothing one more time, because i know it’s not!” you’re shouting now. “i might not know what it is, but i know you well enough to tell that something is bothering you. so i’m asking you, one more time, what is going on?”

the thing is, luke can’t tell you — about what he’s done, about who he’s aligned himself with. he can’t lie to you, either, at least not to save his life.

so, he’s basically stuck in whatever the greek mythology version of limbo is. 

for now, he’s saved by percy, annabeth, and grover, who walk in with a stack of DVDs and armfuls of movie snacks. 

dinner is fine, especially with the kids providing a good enough buffer. luke even catches you smiling and laughing along with them a few times. you approve of their choice in movies, starting with mulan. it’s one of luke’s favorites, too, but he can’t help but let his attention wander. 

the two of you have known each other for a long time. luke has felt your anger. he’s felt your frustration. you’ve been on opposing sides of explosive arguments, of brutal sparring matches. 

but, despite everything, luke’s never been hated by you. it’s unavoidable, given what he’s done and the path he’s on; it's just not something he's particularly eager to feel.

working for kronos….luke won't pretend he regrets it. something had to be done, to take back the poisonous world the gods created. 

he did it for you, even if you won't understand.

he'd do anything for you.

so, for now, he’s willing to endure the daggers you stare at him from the other side of the couch. 

—

v. 

in another life, you might have taken advantage of the queen bed and private room. both hard to come by at camp half-blood, if you’re not willing to risk zeus’ wrath for the latter.

gods, it feels like forever since you and luke snuck into cabin one because couldn’t keep your hands off each other, curses and lighting strikes be damned. 

you almost wish lightning would strike — at least then the bed would be warm. 

“i can feel you being mad at me,” luke whispers. 

“sorry, thought you’d already be gone by now,” you respond, sarcasm dripping through your words. “off to see whoever else you’d rather sleep with.”

“so, you are mad because we haven’t fucked in a while.”

a stupid slip of the tongue. you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and your entire body feels on fire for giving him any leverage on you. that was definitely not the warmth you were hoping for. 

“whatever,” you mumble, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed, your back still towards luke. 

for the record, you’re mad because of whatever distance luke was forcing between you, or whatever wall he was putting up, for a reason you don’t understand. you’d always known luke well, but lately you haven’t been able to read him. 

and, sure. maybe you are…. frustrated. the two of you hadn’t been intimate in a while, yes, and your fingers are nothing compared to luke’s, but more than that: you just miss actually feeling him close to you. in any sense. 

you’re not sure how much time passes, and there’s nothing but silence. then, you hear his voice again, gentler than before, no cocky attitude laced through. 

“you never told me about your dad.”

ugh. of course, luke had overheard your conversation with annabeth earlier. damn those sly hermes’ genes.

you stay silent to give off the illusion that you’d fallen asleep, but luke doesn't fall for it. 

“we’ve shared a bunk for years, karma. i can tell when you’re not sleeping.” 

you pause for a few more seconds, but you know that luke is persistent.

“it didn’t matter,” is all you offer before he asks again.

“it did,” luke insists. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“it’s not like we tell each other everything,” you scoff. “like, why didn’t you tell me about that prophecy? and why won’t you tell me whatever’s going on with you now?”

“that’s….that’s different.” 

“not really. i bet that it’s all for the same reason.”

“which is?”

 you debate telling luke the truth. 

it was no surprise that you had a certain reputation around camp: cunning, hot-tempered, brash. you were fine being the angry girl whose mother wasn’t enough of a god to warrant a cabin, but enough of a threat to be wary of. you didn’t want to be the one who was also dropped by her father, unwanted and too much of a burden. so, you swallowed the reality of the situation; pretended that nothing broke your heart, and that nothing ever would.

“i didn’t want you to look at me differently,” you admit. 

another pause, this time from the other side of the bed. 

“if it makes you feel better, i was glad that you stayed.”

you can’t help it; you let out a sardonic laugh.

“that’s not much of a comfort, since you haven’t seemed very thrilled with me lately.”

“that’s not….” luke falters. “i just mean that i don't know who i’d be if you left.”

in spite of the situation, the ongoing tension between you, you find yourself smiling. 

“always so dramatic,” you tease.

deep down, you know you’re not much better.

luke was part of the reason you might have stayed at camp, anyways. he was the reason why you didn’t fight harder to get back to your old life, and you always did like a good fight.

it was scary though, that one person had so much power over you and didn’t even know it. you tried to convince yourself that you stayed because luke had needed you, after his quest and everything. but, once you’d known how it felt to have luke in your life, you didn’t want to go back to a time you didn’t. 

truthfully, it still scares you.

“i don’t like fighting with you,” you admit softly, swallowing a lump in your throat. “especially when i don’t even know why we’re fighting in the first place.”

you wonder if you’d just thought that instead of saying it out loud because luke doesn’t respond, until you hear the sheets behind you shuffle, and feel luke position himself behind you.

"i'm sorry that we're fighting. it's my fault."

he settles a tentative hand on your exposed hip, where your shirt had ridden up. luke starts to trace circles onto your skin with his thumb, the way he sometimes does when he's nervous or having a bad dream.

"i’ve just been so….in my head. i don't want you to worry about what's going on with me, okay?

"luke —"

"i have to sort it out on my own.”

"you don’t, though,” you insist. “if you just tell me what’s going on, instead of pushing me away.”

another pause. you can feel him breathing down your neck, and in turn you inhale the spicy citrus of his body wash. it’s all so excruciatingly familiar as you wait for him to say something, anything. 

eventually, luke sighs, deeply, and confesses:

"it's just….we've known each other for so long, but this — us? so much of it is new. i don't want to fuck it up." 

"well, congratulations," you quip. "you're one step closer to getting there."

you meant it as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but you feel luke stiffen at your words, his grip on your hip becoming almost painfully tight as if he's worried you'll slip away.

"i'm kidding, tiger." you weave your fingers through his to loosen his hold on you, and reassure him even more that you're not going anywhere, any time soon. "for better or for worse: you’re mine, and i'm yours. no matter how much either of us might fuck it up."

luke shuffles closer, and you melt into him even more. 

"do you really mean that?"

his voice is soft, surprisingly timid. you crane your neck back to look at him; luke stares at you, his gaze heavy enough to take your breath away. 

“of course.” 

you're so close, and you hadn't been in so long. luke's leg is somehow lodged in between your thighs, and you bite back a whimper as he brushes against you. you feel him behind you, already half-hard, and you rub your ass against him slightly, causing a groan to vibrate through his body. 

neither of you have to do much to crash your lips together.

you can sense how luke’s been unraveling, from the kiss alone. his lips are chapped, rough against yours and already bleeding from the pressure; his stubble scrapes against your cheek, and you’re dizzy with anticipation, imagining how it will leave a stinging sensation on other areas of your skin when luke has his way with you later. 

for now, you focus on your mouth on his: teeth clacking together, your tongue laving over the cut on luke’s bottom lip and tasting copper. luke brings a hand up to your jaw, pushing you into his mouth even more. 

it’s like the first time you kissed. all consuming. messy. urgent — like you've already run out of time. 

eventually, you have to pull yourself away from his grasp, your neck straining at the uncomfortable angle. luke takes the opportunity to suck bruises onto your neck while he presses his thigh harder against your cunt. he slips his other hand further underneath your shirt, cupping your breast and pinching your nipple between his fingers.  instinctively, you start rutting against him. 

“f-fuck,” you groan, relishing in the muscles of his naked thigh underneath you, defined and strong. 

luke chuckles, and you feel his breath warm against your skin. 

“you missed me that much, hm?” he taunts, encouraging you to go faster, harder. “you’re gonna cum before i even have a chance to undress you. doesn’t seem fair to me.”

“who —” your breath catches when luke’s hand settles around your throat, pulling you impossibly closer to him. you feel the outline of his abs against your lower back, and his length, hard and waiting. it’s difficult to finish your thought, but you try your best. “who says i only have to cum once?”

“that sounds like a challenge,” luke decides. “what’s our record — three? think we can beat that tonight?”

you laugh, already out of breath. “i think we can do it.”

“good girl.”

your thighs clench at the nickname, and it's one down, a few more to go. 

you maneuver luke so that he lays flat on the bed, your legs on either side of his hips. your hands fumble with the edge of his shirt, and he lets you remove it without any more hassle.

it's a little ironic, really, how much you and luke hate the gods — because looking at him underneath you, you're sure that something divine must have created him, and you have to thank them for it. sharp jaw, deep scar, flushed cheeks; curls slightly askew, and skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat; that cocky smile — you'd worship luke castellan over any of the olympians. 

secretly, of course, you pretty much already do.

"like what you see?" luke smirks up at you, hands firmly on your ass.

you roll your eyes to save face. "come on, tiger, like you're not seconds away from tearing through your boxers." 

luke clicks his tongue, locks his calf around yours to switch your positions. you grunt as your back hits the mattress, but you very much appreciate the force and weight of luke above you. he practically rips off your shirt, then starts to nip and suck down your body. he kisses the fabric still covering your cunt, and you can feel his chuckle vibrate through your body when he encounters the wetness there. 

"i'm not the one who already ruined their underwear," luke teases as he finishes undressing you. he pauses at the sight of you, bottom half completely exposed. you're about to tell him to hurry the fuck up, but then luke spits onto your already soaked cunt and says: 

“i need to clean you up, baby.” he gives you another cheeky grin, teeth glowing like the cheshire cat, before diving in.

luke is skilled at everything he does, so of course he's quick to unravel you once more, this time with a persistent combination of tongue and teeth, lapping at your cunt like it's his last meal. 

as soon as you're done riding out your high, you yank luke by the leather cord around his neck to collide your lips with his again. 

you reach down to return the favor, snake your hand underneath the fabric of his underwear, and you're deeply satisfied to find him already sticky with his release.

“you already finished,” you tease, stroking his v-line. "and ruined your underwear without me even touching you." 

in the dim light of the moon, you can barely make out luke blushing. he hides his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder. 

“guess we’re both desperate, huh.” luke’s teeth graze your skin, his curls tickling your neck. “i need to be inside you, now, so how about you get on your hands and knees for me? i’ll get the condom.”

sometimes, luke tries to be gentle — but not this time. 

this time, he fucks you, hard and fast and deep. 

you love it, even if you might not be able to walk properly tomorrow.

with so much power behind each thrust, and the overwhelming pleasure, your arms threaten to give out, but luke catches you before you fall. he wraps a hand around your neck, bringing you flush against his chest as he continues to plunge his length into you. 

"listen to me," luke growls. he snakes a hand down to rub harsh circles on your clit. "the one thing the gods did right is make this perfect, tight little pussy of yours. you were fucking made for me, weren't you?" 

all you can do is whimper, closing your eyes at his filthy, sinful words. 

you aren't used to luke being so possessive, and certainly not in these past few weeks. it's making your head spin in the best way. you can feel your orgasm build in the pit of your abdomen.

"were you made for me?" luke asks again. he squeezes your neck slightly, and you gasp at the pressure. "answer me, or i'll stop." 

you don’t think it’s likely he’ll stop; you’re sure he’s just as lost in the sound of your cunt squelching and the feeling of you sucking him in. but, he does slow down, only a little bit, and it's enough for you to start whining.

"y-yes, luke."

"are you mine?"

you don't answer fast enough. luke stills his hips completely and you almost burst into tears.

you moan, trying to move against him in vain. luke keeps a firm grip on you, making it hard to cause any sort of friction between your bodies.

"i'm yours," you promise.

luke plants a firm kiss behind your ear. “that’s my girl,” he whispers darkly.

satisfied, luke resumes his pace. he moves the hand around your neck to your chin, angling you accordingly so he can crash his lips onto yours. 

it doesn't take long to feel the tension in your abdomen snap, wetness gushing out of you. exhausted, you collapse onto the mattress. luke slips out of you.

the next few seconds consist of you trying to bring yourself back down to reality after such a high. 

luke turns you around just to face him as he hovers over you. he lodges his hand behind your ear and taps your cheek to get your attention. your eyes flutter open.

“did you just —” 

the dampness between your legs, and on the sheets underneath you, is enough evidence: you just squirted.

"i….” you gulp, feeling yourself flush. “i’ve never done that before."

luke stares at your glistening cunt. you wonder if you should be embarrassed, but then he locks eyes with you. you've never seen them so dark, pupils almost fully blown, just a sliver of brown showing through.

"you’re so fucking hot."

your heart flutters. 

“you’re not too bad yourself, tiger, or i wouldn’t be in this mess.” you wink at him, still trying to catch your breath. your eyes wander lower. you note luke in the current state he’s in; you realize that the scales are nowhere near balanced. “that’s three for me, and only one for you. let me taste you.” 

he doesn't need to be told twice. you get on your knees once more, this time facing him as he kneels in front of you. luke rips off the condom, something to deal with later, and you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowed and tears brimming your eyes feeling him fuck your throat. when he finishes, you swallow him whole, savoring every drop. he pulls you up for a kiss; you can still taste yourself on him, and it mixes with his new release, a combination that is more than a little intoxicating. 

“fuck,” luke mumbles as he pulls away. he swipes his thumb over the corner of your mouth where some of his cum dribbled out. “i know that was intense, but would you be up for another round? "

"yeah," you reply without a second thought, reaching up to thread your fingers through his curls to ground yourself. 

maybe you should thank artemis for the full moon tonight, giving you just the right amount of silver light to illuminate the sculpted curves and edges of luke's body. his skin is also littered with bruises and bites of your design, chaotic and beautiful. luke looks like a mess, just as you're sure you do. 

you want more. you need more.

"we gotta go for four, remember? but...maybe we, uh…"

"....slow it down this time?" luke finishes your thought. 

you nod, grateful that you and luke are on the same page. he scrambles off the bed to get another condom.

"shit. i don't have another one.”

"check my bag, too," you tell him. luke complies, but comes up short once more.  

you’re sitting up against the headboard now, and luke returns to kneel in front of you. 

"i can use my fingers,” luke offers. “or eat you out again —"

“or we could just do without a condom this time?” you suggest. luke raises an eyebrow at you, so you think through the possibilities out loud. "we both got tested before our first time together and haven’t been with anyone since.” you find yourself pausing for confirmation on that, and luke nods once. “i’m on birth control. obviously there’s still a risk that something happens, but maybe just this one time? you can just pull out whenever you’re ready….if you're okay with that."

luke waits, almost like he thinks you might change your mind, before finally answering:

“yeah, i’m okay with it if you are. i’ve always wanted to fuck you raw. i just didn’t think you’d be into it — and didn’t want you to feel pressured.”

you have to kiss him then. because how is it that the boy who just gave you three jaw clenching, toe curling, heart pounding orgasms be so sweet and considerate?

before you know it, you’re flat on your back, sheets slightly scratchy with stray sand. you don't care much because luke hovers above you; he presses his forehead to yours, curls falling in front of his face. 

"just so you know," luke starts, just as you feel him enter you once more. "i must have been made for you, too. i'm just as much yours as you are mine."

you smirk, bite your lip to keep from moaning so that you can keep up the arrogance, just a bit longer. 

"always so dramatic," you mock, as if your cunt isn’t squeezing around him at his sweet nothings. 

luke grins at you sheepishly, his cheeks flushed. 

"guess that means the gods did two things right," you joke, exhaling when you feel luke brush against that gummy spot deep within you. "maybe we've taken them for granted. maybe we should - " he hits that spot again, and your breath hitches. you dig your nails into his shoulders as he rocks back and forth. “maybe we should thank them.”

luke clicks his tongue, grips your hip firmly. "not a chance, sweetheart. the gods’ll get what they deserve."

you don’t care enough to ask luke what he means. you care more about him going faster. you’re about to tell him to do so, and to throw your legs over his shoulders, but he does it himself before you get the chance. you feel him slipping deeper within you, the force and passion behind each movement, his body molding to every curve and crevice of yours. 

made for each other.

you’re so sensitive that your orgasm approaches quickly. as he helps you ride it out, his thrusts get sloppier, and you know he’s almost reached his peak, too. 

“fuck,” he grunts. “i’m close.” luke starts to pull out, but then you lock your ankles behind his neck. 

“don’t,” you command. 

“a-are you sure?” he looks at you, wide-eyed.

“i just want to feel you this once.”

he nods and brings you in for one more bruising kiss. he finishes inside you, warm and wet. 

luke leaves once he catches his breath, and comes back with a damp towel to clean you up. he knows your body, recognizes how sensitive you are, and presses kisses on the inside of your thighs, where the same lips had made bruises before. 

even completely fucked out, your mind starts to unpack everything that’s wrong in your life. like how luke has always been a little too good at pretending, with everyone else at least, and something serious must be going on if he's trying to fool you, too.  

this luke with you now, the one who gently wipes his cum from between your legs after fucking you so relentlessly, is your luke. it feels like your luke is slipping right through your fingers, and you’re wracking your brain trying to figure out how this can stop before losing him completely.

wait….did luke say something about getting revenge on the gods? your mind is still a bit cloudy, but you could’ve sworn —

 “are you okay?” 

his question puts pause on your spiraling. he’s done cleaning you up, throws the towel on the floor and settles back on the bed, next to you. you’re close enough for the softest whisper, your limbs intertwined beneath tangled sheets.

you watch luke carefully as he waits for an answer and surveys your body, tracing his fingers over the marks he'd left underneath your jaw, across your shoulders, over your collarbones and down your stomach. 

"i didn't hurt you, did i?"

“i’m okay,” you assure him. luke’s hand stops to gently rest on your cheek. your other worries are pushed to the side for the time being: for now, it's just you and luke. “do you think we could pick up a plan b pill tomorrow though, just in case? i love you, but i’m not ready to have your babies.”

luke widens his eyes like a minotaur in headlights. he drops his hand.

 “you’ve never said that before.”

“that i want to have your babies?” you jest, slightly amused at how panicked luke seems.

luke blushes and clears his throat. “well, that too. i meant the whole ‘i love you’ thing, though.” 

your amusement evaporates. you swear your heart stops beating momentarily.

“oh, shit.…” 

you’re not quite sure what to say; you’ve felt this way for a while, truthfully. 

of course you love luke. you can't remember exactly when you realized it, but you just….know.

because if what you felt for luke wasn’t love, then you were foolish to have secretly bought into what silena beauregard had been on about for years, and aphrodite herself might just be out of a job. 

“i know we’re kind of in a weird place, but, yeah, i mean it. you don’t have to say it back —”

luke leans forward to kiss you. gentler this time, but just as firm. “i love you."

"you do?" your heart resumes its beating. 

"of course i do. i have ever since my first morning at camp.”

“yeah right,” you chuckle in disbelief, feeling your cheeks heat up. “it’s not a competition, you know, over who loved who first.”

“karma, i’m serious,” he insists. “someone taught me to burn offerings, and with everything that happened with thalia, i obviously wasn't in the worshiping mood, but then you leaned over and whispered —"

"they like the smell of begging." 

luke grins at you, and you reach up to brush your thumb against the dimple in his cheek. 

"exactly. somehow, that was what i needed to hear. it was nice to know that i wasn't the only one who didn’t want to just accept things the way they were….” he loses his train of thought. luke grabs your hand in his. “i wish i had told you earlier. after all this, i don’t want to lose you.”

“you won’t —”

“whatever happens,” luke continues, somewhat ominously. “i love you, y/n.”

you hadn't heard luke use your real name in a while. you fall asleep, heart full with the memory of him weaving it together with those three magic words. 

the next morning, you wake up — you actually sleep in, for the first time in years — and decide that if you could stay here forever, you would. 

the morning sun stings your eyes through the sheer curtains. the sticky heat of summer sits heavy in the room, and stray grains of sand tickle your skin underneath the sheets. waves wash gently on the shore outside, and an ocean breeze mixes with the smell of burnt cinnamon. you can hear annabeth, grover, and percy crashing dishes and bickering and causing chaos in the kitchen as, you imagine, they scramble to surprise you with breakfast. 

luke is next to you, on his stomach. his curls are a mess, covering most of his face. 

evidence from last night: scratches from your nails prominent on his back, his neck decorated with purple bruises in the shape of your lips. you shift slightly and feel a dull ache between your legs, so you'd call it even.

outside, something clatters on the floor, and you hear percy swear.

luke's eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, and he starts to move. "we should get up before they burn down the place." 

you press your hand to luke's shoulder blade, barely, but in his half-asleep state, it's enough to keep him in bed. luke moves to his side, facing you. you bring your hand up to brush curls away from luke's eyes, even if they're still closed.

"they've literally been to hell and back," you recall his sarcastic words from last night. "i think they can handle pancakes." 

the corners of luke's mouth curl upwards. 

"you're such a smart ass," he mumbles.

you lean forward, plant a kiss underneath luke's chin. his stubble scratches against your lips. 

"don't pretend you don't love it, tiger."

luke breathes steadily. you think he might've fallen asleep once more until he presses his lips to your forehead, pulls you towards him, and quips:

"i love you."

your heart quickens as you echo his words. something churns in your stomach, too.

because this peace isn't something that feels permanent.

you're the children of gods, and there's always a catch. some inevitable plot twist where lovers end up separated, where heroes end up dead or cursed. 

it's nauseating — dangerous, even — that you want a happy ending, a desire buried in you deeply like a knife to the gut. it's cruel that the fates keep twisting, taunting you with what can never be.

no monsters; no gods or titans; no prophecies.

just this.

[thequiet-chaos]

I don't think people realise how 'cinemantic' and 'match made in heaven' the Ferrari team was. I hated how Charles spoke about Carlos after Spanish GP, but then after the Williams announcement, after weeks of settling into it - I can't imagine how Charles' processing. I'm assuming they were called the dream team - I'm assuing Carlos assumed this was it. He was home. He loved the team, and the team loved him. And it was family. He bought a home in Maranello. He gave up Monaco and his friends and luxury and tax benefits to make sure his team gets back on top. And then carpet pulled, dreams shattered. The first thing he did was move to Monaco. And I think Charles doesn't know how to process that he's leaving. That Carlos won't be there next season. Their girlfriends (exes or current) won't be hanging out - a family of sorts.

He hopes it can be like Carlando. That even after their team mate era they'll be close friends, but I think he knows its different. Mclaren to Carlos was different. Ferrari might have been the dream team to Carlos, but Mclaren was family. Fred isn't Zac, Mclaren isn't Ferrari, and Charles won't ever be to Carlos what Lando is. So he tries with his future teammate - dog dates and parade ride convos. But you can feel he's sick to his stomach thinking about Carlos not being his teammate. You can tell from the first set of interviews. And you can also tell Carlos doesn't try anymore. He doesn't/isn't supposed to help develop the car or strategy. He's moving on. And the magic is dissappearing - we can tell. You can tell. I can tell. Hell, puma motorospot commenting the same on instagram can tell. So maybe he's pushing Carlos away a little. Trying to get that magic to shine on him. But it's disappearing, and people can see Carlos. Bright-eyed. Wronged. And everyone's rooting for him and everyones rallying for him. And anyone who isn't part of the Tifosi, want Carlos to shine. And even a few Tifosi are shedding their red for blue for Carlos, the man from Spain who tried and tried and loved. There's a deep rooted loyalty to him now. Because he's relatable or his situation is relatable - we can do everything right and still be wronged. Carlos doing well means hope - hope we can rise in our lives, hope we can get out of bad situations, hope that not getting what we wanted so desperately still means better opportunity. So people will root for him - deeper and more loyal and more intense. A story about tragedy, betrayal and redemption - and we know how much we love that arc.

So we hope Carlos Sainz shines where he goes. We collectively hope for dream come trues and epic retribution for him.

But sadly we also know that, that means-

When Carlos leaves Ferrari - the magic and glory and hope is going to follow with him.

[the-crooked-library]

Alright so it seems that I'm not quite done beating the horse that is the Bacon triptych - because the potential layers in its presence have me absolutely enthralled. As a visual element, it illustrates the "currently unfolding" part of the drama, but also appears to allude to a story that's yet to come; and, granted, that may be the brainrot speaking, but my art history fixation is insisting that there's gold in them hills, so bear with me here.

As tenuous as it may seem at first glance, I firmly believe that the writing itself supports my fascination with this piece. It demands to be noticed. It is a vivid splash of red in a box of brutalist grey; and, furthermore, unlike the other paintings in the Dubai penthouse, it's written into the dialogue. The camera lingers there - hence, the series wants us to pay attention; and, while its subject-level significance is not to be discarded, I cannot help but see another, similarly emotional allusion within the same frames.

Instead of drawing from the painting, this story layer connects more to the artist himself. One of the most notable periods of Francis Bacon's personal life was his relationship with George Dyer, which lasted from the 1960s to the early 1970s. Unlike his previous paramours - who were largely older (and, in the case of the last, abusive) men, Dyer was a young addict. Described as someone who could "throw a decisive punch," he was nevertheless vulnerable and trusting; as such, Bacon took on a dominant role, and Dyer became his muse. Among Bacon's portraits, he was ever-present; and though the relationship was tumultuous, often overwhelmed by their shared addictions, those paintings are uncharacteristically tender.

The story ended with tragedy - it's an account of drugs, alcoholism, neediness, dependence, classism, friction, and Dyer's eventual suicide; and within the context of IWTV, this framework is undeniably thematically relevant.

From the beginning - a decade-long involvement, addiction, an uncharacteristic tenderness - beat for beat, the book version of Devil's Minion is the same story, happening only a few years off. The presence of the Bacon painting within the Dubai penthouse is, in my opinion, an indicator to it having happened in the show as well. Just like Dyer, the TV version Daniel met Armand in a pub (or bar); just like Dyer, he is compact, athletic, pale, working-class - and, when under the influence, boisterous and active.

There is, naturally, one key difference; unlike Dyer, Daniel survives.

In the Doylist sense, the painting, therefore, acts as a visual cue - almost as evidence, of sorts. The memory of their entanglement may be effaced, but the blood-red stain of it is impossible to ignore, as is this placement:

I don't believe it is accidental that the painting is sold almost as soon as Daniel arrives in Dubai. It is an indication that the Devil and his Minion are no longer locked within a determined ending; their story continues, and memories are replaced with the real, living thing.

Edit: it bears pointing out that, while I had this post hanging in my drafts, convinced that I was reading far too much into something that already had another reason to exist, it's been announced that the relationship between Daniel and Armand is, in fact, going to be explored within the series. My every wish has been granted, and I can hardly wait.

[monochromatic-heartzz]

There's a part of Sampo's character that is easily overlooked. And that part is easily summed up with this one line

"Epsilon? What fun can you get out of a giant vanity fair like that? True happiness always entails the dignity of mankind. Now that's a quote i live by."

I get why more people don't talk about it, we're more focused on other aspects of his character, and that's alright.

However. It's a very important line.

To give a little bit of a "context". Epsilon, from all we've seen, is a star system of "easy pleasures". Entertainment industry, if you will. Many actors, movies, music, etc, comes from there. It's sort of like a hollywood.

Add on to this that the World's End Tavern is in Epsilon, aka, Masked Fools gather in Epsilon due to its easy ways to obtain Elation. Even the concept of the Tavern itself is an easy joy card. Getting drunk and watching fights could be many people's cheap way to obtain Elation.

And Sampo doesn't like that.

He believes Elation should be obtained after hard work. Through endurance and hope, not by cheapishly making whatever and hoping that is your reason for happiness.

Having small pleasures isn't wrong, but pretending it's the key to happiness is. Because it's not true happiness. It's a temporary substitute.

Elation needs to have purpose.

This. Is mainly why he loves Belobog so much. They've persisted so long. 700 years of hoping for a better tomorrow. And when they do finally get it, it's the best payoff they could've gotten. A nice "happy ending" to this story full of tragedy.

Now. This is a strange thing. Because, despite being a (probably retired) Masked Fool, his ideas of Elation align quite a bit with that of the Mourning Actors.

I think Sampo sees value in both sides of the coin. But he doesn't completely agree with both of their views of Elation. His path of Elation is his alone, he walks it by himself. Actually, everyone sees Elation differently. This is just his way of expressing his own ideas.

I love Sampo Koski can we get more lore on him please

[vivwritesfics]

POV: Oscar saves reader

An NNTA AU

Just before she is due to marry Carlos, Oscar takes her away

For this, i'm pretending all the US immigration stuff doesn't exist, like, I know its seriously difficult to get a visa to live and work in the US, but i've ignored that here

Series Masterlist

It was the night before the wedding and Y/N was crying into her pillow

You know how the story goes, what happens when she marries Carlos

And, in a way, she knew it too

She knew what was going to happen to her, the impending tragedy she could feel coming

No amount of consoling from Oscar had any effect

In our original story, Oscar disappears to get some beers and let her have one last fun night

But, in this story, Oscar didn't do that

While she had been sleeping, Oscar was wide awake, putting things in place to get her away from Carlos's house

The hardest part had been getting a car and stashing it outside of the gates

If it was still there when they went to escape, he would have been incredibly surprised

"Pack your bags," said Oscar as he gently pulled her away from the pillow and wiped the tears from beneath her eyes

"Osc," she began, but he threw a bag onto the bed and pulled an already packed one from beneath it

Wordlessly, she got on with it, packing her things into the bag

The bag was tiny, not nearly big enough to pack all of her things

But she did what she could

"What're we doing?"

Oscar took her hand and kissed the back of it

He pulled open her bedroom door, keeping his hand on his gun as she looked up and down the corridor

When he saw nothing, he walked out, Y/N trailing behind him

He went to the stairs, kept his gun pointed down as he looked for any of Carlos's men

They had a clear run to the stairs

Oscar kept a tight hold of Y/N as they ran towards the front door

Outside would be a different story - there would be cameras everywhere and probably some men too

"When we're out there, run like hell," he said and waited for Y/N to nod before he opened the door

They did just like that, ran like hell

The gates weren't the most sophisticated and Oscar easily got them open

He took Y/N's hand and pulled her towards the car that was still stashed away

Within seconds they were driving towards the airport, and nobody even knew they had left

"Where are we going, Osc?" Y/N asked as she leaned her head against the window

Finally, he answered her, "The Sargeants have offered us a place to stay in the United States," he said as they drove on the highway

The flight from Spain to the US was long and Y/N slept through most of it

Oscar didn't, though

He kept his arms wrapped around her, alert and protective

When they touched down in Florida, Logan and two other men in suits were there to greet them

"I'm putting my ass on the line for you, mate," (because I love the way logan says mate) he said as he pulled Oscar in close

Oscar looked at the girl behind him

"She's worth it," he said

The Sargeants had multiple safehouses

That was where Oscar and Y/N found themselves, in one of the Sargeant's safehouses

It was their perfect little haven

It was hard for Y/N not to fall in love with Oscar

If she wasn't already in love with him when she lived in Carlos's house, she certainly was now

The safehouse had one bed (because I love that trope)

At first Oscar refused to sleep in the same bed as her

He took a couple of pillows and slept on the floor

But then Y/N insisted that he sleep in the bed with her

They fell into a domestic sort of bliss, and that was how they got together

They didn't think about it the first time they kissed, laying in the bed they now shared

It had become normal for Oscar to hold her close while they slept, still protective

For a full year, their life was normal

Y/N wanted to get a job, she wanted that sort of normality, so she did

She went by her middle name, calling herself Piastri instead of Norris

That made Oscar wear his polite cat smile

Oscar got a job too, working for the Sargeant family

It was really nice, working with his best friend

They went karting together, taking Oscar back to the days before he began working for Webber, when his Formula One dreams were close to being a reality

After a year of peace, Lando found them

It had been a solo mission, something he hadn't told anybody about

His men didn't know, the man that should have been his brother in law didn't know

Lando made the trip to Florida alone, letting Sargeant know that he was on his way

The Sargeants pulled Y/N and Oscar in

Oscar was immediately protective when Lando walked into the room, but the Brit held his hands up defensively

"Relax, nobody knows I'm here," he said, looking at his sister (who had been pushed behind Oscar)

"I'm proud of you," he said, "both of you"

"Both of us?" Asked Oscar, unable to stop the face he was pulling

Lando nodded his head

"You got my little sister away from a marriage that i never wanted to happen"

Y/N stepped forward. "Why are you here, Lando?"

Truth was that Lando wasn't going to come, not until he found out that she was going by Piastri

That gave a certain idea (that they were together) and Lando couldn't not check it out

He was right, it seemed

The way Oscar was protectively in front of her told Lando everything he needed to know

The way Y/N was holding the back of Oscars white button up shirt told him

"I'm here giving my blessing"

"I don't need it," Y/N replied quickly

"I don't care, you've got it"

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @multi-universe21 @formulas-bitch @gills-lounge @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @carlossainzwho @f1lov3r @samaib11 @charli123456789 @queenofmanydreams @ironmaiden1313 @vellicora @glitterf1 @80sloverry @lightdragonrayne @moonayu @bellsalabanccini @topguncultleader @handsupforamiracle @cmleitora @jenniferrvsesi @barcelonaloverf1life @sbella13 @nicolettecallednikki @darleneslane @thehufflepuffavenger1 @champagneproblems17 @aespie @yukheizcigarettes @rewmuslupin @hollie911 @ashy-kit @ririgy @stqrgir1 @zaynzierulez @minkyungseokie @rafaaoli @carolinesainz @ashies-ln4op81aa22 @measimp @mizelophsun11 @eviethetheatrefreak @andydrysdalerogers @chonkybonky @shobaes @celesteblack08 @watermelonworries @gracielukey @cassie0sstuff @goldenharrysworld @venusesworld @sparklyperfectionstranger @evans-dejong @graciewrote @formulaal

[nightcolorz]

Could you tell me your interpretation of why the Devil's minion split up after qotd? I only read up to that book and i've been learning through spoilers

omg I love this question! I personally think it was sort of an inevitability. Armand and Daniel were super unstable, on and off again-y while Daniel was human, and the binding factor that kept them together was that Armand was a vampire and Daniel was a human. Daniel can’t stay away from Armand for long because he’s obsessed and enthralled with everything monstrous and other about him (he’s also quite literally addicted to his blood). Daniel is so attached to Armand partly I think because he desperately wants to experience vampirism and after the affair with Louis he can’t see a reality for himself without vampirism in his life—whenever he tries to live normally he has that nagging reminder that their r supernatural wonderful things he will never be a part of and it drives him crazy.

Armand is in love with Daniel because he’s fascinated by all the things that make Daniel human. He considers him his link to the “modern age” and the thing that connects him to what he craves the most (humanity). Armand finds it very difficult to connect with people and by extension the world after how isolated he’s been for a good chunk of his immortality, and connection is very important to him. Daniel is how he experiences that. Armand also I think very much envies humans and wishes in a way to return to his humanity, and in this he finds experiencing humanity through daniel and seeing it in him very enthralling and special. Also Armand considers Daniel a mirror to how he was as a human (immature, lustful, brave, obsessed with the supernatural, doomed to failure), and Armand is very very frightened of seeing someone who he considers an embodiment of all he loves about humanity and a representative of the naivety he once had fall down his same path and loose it all to madness and immortal hell.

and obviously this is a huge issue!! Because Daniel loves Armand for his vampirism and Armand loves Daniel for his humanity, and both of them fundamentally want to abandon the thing the other prizes them for. But the tragedy there is that it’s not so superficial!! They also just love each other in a simpler, more personal sense. Daniel feels free with Armand, he feels like he can be the insane person he rlly is when they’re together. Armand gives Daniel access to the type of unhinged freedom and intense connection that he wants from life. He’s a walking subject Daniel can study, someone who never stops being fascinating (perfect for a journalist). And he loves his layers and his complexity, all the gross and horrible parts of him. Daniel first falls for Armand when he hears him genuinely laugh. <3, For armand, Daniel basically the only person who’s rlly ever seen him for who he is and loved him for it. Armand has a pattern of being shaped by people into something else, or misperceived and loved for that false image, and Daniel is in love with all the worst parts of armand. He loves him for everything he is, Daniel even says he’s an Armand expert lol. He sees it all and he loves it. And Armand is experiencing this type of unconditionality for the first time. There’s real connection there! The issue is that despite this so much of their relationship is built upon the vampire and human dynamic and it’s super hard to move past that.

The choice that Armand makes when he turns Daniel is “do I value Daniel more then I value his humanity and what that represents” and of course, Armand chooses Daniel, even tho it breaks him to do what he considers to be unforgivable to this person he loves so deeply. Armand vowed very early on that he would never turn a person into a vampire. And it’s cuz Armand rlly doesn’t like being a vampire 😭 He knows he wasn’t supposed to be a vampire, his maker goes around talking all the time about how armand was a mistake he should have never made and he’s fucked up bcus of how vampirism has affected him. And Armand knows that bcus of this he is a distortion of whatever person he could have been, and he’s always longing to understand part of what he’s missing. it’s rlly pretty sad. And so it makes sense that Armand would hate to take on the responsibility of, as he sees it, potentially ruining someone he loves. But he’d rather have Daniel alive than dead, so he turns him. Already this is hard on Armand bcus he considers it a selfish defeat to turn Daniel, choosing his own feelings over what he knows would be best for him. Daniel meanwhile is thrilled. Not off to a great start already

so Daniel was turned under insane circumstances and Armand and him have very little time to process any of it. Daniel is afraid to take life which isn’t abnormal in itself, but it freaks them both out. Once the insanity of queen of the damned settles down and Daniel and Armand r living together as a vampire x vampire couple at night island the issues begin to set in. There’s a huge disconnect now, Daniel is thrilled to be experiencing vampirism as he’s always wanted, Armand is grieving daniels humanity, neither of them r talking about it. Also, Daniel still has his addictive personality and his mental health issues which r exasperated by being a new vampire, so ofc he’s kind of loopy and kind of unstable. And Armand is realizing this and he’s thinking oh my god I’ve ruined Daniel I’ve destroyed the person I love the most, I’ve taken this person who I consider just like myself when I was a human and I’ve repeated the cycle of destruction, I destroy everything I touch oh my god. And I imagine this thought pattern led to Armand distancing himself from Daniel and being agitated and off putting, and I can say that being rlly excited about a change that ur partner is passive aggressively hostile about is like actual hell.

And the kicker!!! Armand’s primary mode of communication with his loved ones is the mind gift. It’s basically his safety net, in tvl it’s explained that Armand rarely ever talks out loud because he finds speaking through his mind much more comfortable. He uses the mind gift to express his feelings when he can’t with words, which is a pretty handy tool in a relationship when ur someone who struggles with verbal communication. But when Armand turns Daniel!! He can not communicate through the mind gift with him anymore!! So basically all these issues Armand is having and all this grief and stress and resentment is being left unsaid, and therefore unresolved. A couple can nottt get over an issue they aren’t talking about.

I imagine Armand felt like daniels vampirism was a huge barrier blocking him from ever connecting with him as he did ever again. Which!! Obviously Daniel will notice that Armand is giving up on him, and old patterns begin to resurface. They don’t have the “Daniel wants to be a vampire but Armand doesn’t want to turn him” argument anymore, but they do have a tension that is being left both unresolved and not understood by either party. All they know is the spark is fading and there’s resentment and there’s pain. And that tension, with these crazies, results in big blow out yelling matches and crying and “I’m leaving u for good this time I mean it!!”

so in conclusion, what I think happened with Daniel and Armand after qotd is that combined with his preexisting issues and his vampirism inflicted overstimulation, Armand’s bitterness and his distance drives Daniel to a mental break, and after some fight or another he leaves night island and vows to never return. Daniel is in a very vulnerable mental state as an already mentally ill new vampire. Vampirism has a very overwhelming effect on some people where the change to sensory processing makes it hard for some vampires to function fully on their on because of how difficult it is for them to process information. And daniels got that. I feel like he could have possibly made it through well with a strong support system, open communication, and guidance on how to navigate this new life, but obviously he didn’t have that.

When Daniel was a human he’d do this often, leaving, but then he’d realize he couldn’t live without Armand and come back. But when Daniel is so out of his mind he gets distracted by a light bulb or smth, he doesn’t come back. Maybe he would have if he was in his right mind, but he’s lost it and there’s not the safety net of Armand’s mind gift to come and locate him. So Marius finds him, decides that Armand is too broken and immature to ever care for his own fledgling, and he takes him in. And I figure that Armand’s guilt becomes unbearable after this, and he internalizes the assumption that he isn’t fit to have his own functioning relationships bcus of his issues, and he gives up on Daniel completely. Of course until the pl trilogy when they r able to re connect!

so yeah!! That’s my interpretation, loved this ask thank u for letting me yap. I hope this was coherent lol. Thank u sm!

[tornado1992]

The world does not deserve some things.

It doesn’t deserve destruction, hate or cruelty.

Sonic has known this for quite a while, being some sort of fighter for nature or a so called “protector” of it by a lot of people, he’s not so sure about that though.

Just as the world can be beautiful it can become dreadful, the world gives origin to everything in it, and that everything is part of the world itself.

The people that live in it are the part that shows the contrast the most clearly, just as some inhabitants are kind, take care of each other and enjoy the wonders it has to offer, there was a few of them that seemed to spite everything that wasn’t like them, everything they didn’t like, and everything that wasn’t theirs. Sonic knows that, he’s been fighting that enough time to be named a protector.

All things considered, to him the world still meant kindness, endless opportunities, adventure… and it meant freedom.

Then it meant something else.

Between all his fighting and running, he met and befriended a lot of the ones that called him a hero before he could even process the title, some of them energetic, some hotheaded, and some unbothered, they reminded him that even if there was despair or tragedy, the world he knew and loved was still there.

At least it was there to him.

Getting to know all the world meant getting almost as much deception and anger as happiness, every new place meant new sceneries, new ways, and new people, and he wouldn’t want it any other way. Even if it meant taking all the damage himself, getting to know everything personally was better than blindly trusting anything he was told, he knew it was worth it; he confirmed it when he went through one of the worst parts to find the absolute best one.

The place wasn’t even bad looking, the nature growing harmoniously beside the artificial work, it gave a peaceful kind of vibe, the people seemed kind and respectful, kids playing and chasing each other while adults looked out for them from afar, even welcoming him with open arms not caring if he was a stranger, “a united and caring community”, no sight of conflict or cruelty came to view, they didn’t seemed to have any hate in them. Only kind words and even warm chilli dogs greeted him. He thought this was the kind of place he would fight for.

That thought lasted less than an hour.

It really doesn’t take much longer than 10 minutes to completely change your perspective of a so called perfect community when after thirty minutes of an apparent peaceful environment you notice the sick looking child they suddenly chase down the woods so he doesn’t “steal their food and gives them bad fortune”. Sonic gives them a full minute of doubt, doubt to himself as what he’s hearing and seeing, because that can’t be right, because it must be a mistake. What reason could there be for a kid to “give bad luck”? Why would a kid need to “steal” food? And why would he be called a “curse”?

Some villager takes a long four minutes to explain the reason for all that, falling down to “that mutant was born with two tails”.

Sonic spends the next five minutes looking for the kid, and restraining himself from committing several crimes.

He had to focus, ending a full village’s whole career can wait, what cannot wait is the fox kit that just ran away from a group of kids leaving a trail of blood behind him. Even in the thick forest tundra it’s easy to see the big droplets of blood on the tree branches, the ground, and the tiny bush that kept trembling.

That’s where he found him.

A fox kit, didn’t looked any older than two, but by what he heard he could even be four. He looked way too tiny to be around four.

Big baby blue eyes greet him, a glassy sight, sorrow, confusion and sadness behind them.

The moment the fox noticed the speedster he tried to run, but the bush was too thick around him, and his back was facing a big tree log, he was trapped, the kid flinched every time he moved towards him, whined whenever Sonic rose to stand, and even started silently tearing up while curling around his tiny bruised body when he tried to reach for him. This kid thought Sonic wanted to hurt him.

How much does a kid has to suffer for his first reaction to some one approaching him being to cry, tremble and try to protect themselves?

Sonic can’t decide what enrages him more, the matted brown fur that surely must mean a long time without proper care for it, the bruised skinny body that trembled every few seconds as if it couldn’t stand by itself, the obviously recent bleeding nose that made the fox kit whimper every time he breathed, or the so clear loud sound of an empty stomach.

This was the result of long period of abuse and neglect, and by the way the kid hugged his twin tails while crying, Sonic would even call it torture.

Sonic couldn’t help him without getting close to him, but the kit wouldn’t let him near him without flinching. Putting the kid through more distress was not an option, but leaving him alone wasn’t one either, and the kid needed help, so he stayed. Sitting beside the trembling bush, taking watch in case some of those hollow hearted villagers came back while thinking of a way of helping the kid.

This is not the kind of help Sonic is used to offer, but he cannot just leave the kit alone. Even if he didn’t know anything about taking care of younger kids, even if his first aid kit was almost empty in his plane far away from him, even if the fox cried at the very sight of him, Sonic won’t leave him alone.

He doesn’t remember feeling like this before. Frustrating, he remembers some adults calling it, a feeling of helplessness, anger, and even sadness that consumes one self through the impossibility of effective action, in his case, the impossibility of helping.

And so he found himself, frustrated, sitting on the forest ground while rubbing his eyes with his hand, who knew, frustration is stressful; he kept at that for a few long minutes, until he felt a slight touch in his back. Finding those big blue eyes when he turned his head, a tiny gloveless paw patting him gently, careful with his quills but yet touching them, trying to comfort him.

This kid could barely stand, was obviously scared, at the verge of tears, and hurting from the beating the other kids gave him; and he was trying to make Sonic feel better.

It was clear now, they didn’t seemed to have any hate in them because they put all the cruelty and hatred in a kid, an innocent, tiny, and so kind hearted kid. The same village that greeted Sonic with kind words and offered him warm food was willing to let a literal toddler starve, if he wasn’t killed by the village’s youngest inhabitants first. All over something that wasn’t even bad, it wasn’t even his fault.

That won’t do.

Looking less distressed than before but still trembling wasn’t an ideal state to approach the twin tailed kit, but again, the kid needed help, the most urgent now being probably first aid, but Sonic sadly knew that the thing that would calm down the kid more would be something to eat.

Sonic offered him a smile, an attempt to soothe him, standing as slowly as he could not to scare the kid, and running as fast as his legs allowed him to return with four chili dogs was the game plan, managing to startle the kid a little bit with his rushed return, with the most difficult part of the plan being convincing the kid that the food was for him, that he could eat, that it wouldn’t hurt him, that Sonic wouldn’t hurt him.

Words might be useful to communicate that, but they just might, this kid was obviously casted away from society, who knew since when, he might not even understand him, well, if he used words that is, for now he hopes his smile would do (that and him eating a chili dog himself so the kit would know it’s safe).

It took a while, but it seemed like the fox’s empty stomach finally convinced him to eat, his hands trembling as he grabbed the supper, eyes getting a different kind of teary as he took his first bite, his twin tails wagging as he devoured his second chili dog.

Sonic wasn’t much of a baby person, sure they were cute and all he didn’t saw the big deal, all babies were the same. But seeing this little kid, a hurt toddler, starting to smile and wet his eyes over something as simple as warm food.. while a part of him was burning with rage, another part of him couldn’t help but think that he wanted to see this kid truly smile.

He wonders how could anyone see this kid with anything but love.

So he stayed around him, always with a smile, but even bandages, chili dogs, and big smiles couldn’t help much with the kids perspective of the word, much less the perception of himself.

The only world the fox knew before Sonic was a merciless one, rejection, hate and cruelty being its main traits, with bad people who would hunt him down, hit him and hurt him because he was the bad one, just for existing in the same time and place as all of them, but not being the same as them. He believed he really was the bad one for some time.

Sonic wouldn’t allow that for any longer, so he took the best part of the world with him and never planned to return it.

His life wasn’t the ideal deal for a toddler, he couldn’t give him a traditional family structure, a roof over his head, or a warm bed, but he also didn’t trusted anyone else to take care of him, he didn’t trusted the world to take care of him. So he would take the job himself, this kid wouldn’t go a day without warm food, he would never lack shelter, and as long as Sonic was around, he would always protect him.

But Sonic still was a hero.

Sonic fought and ran, ran and fought, and when the running and fighting from him alone seemed like not enough, the kit didn’t even doubted risking his own life to help him.

After a life of suffering, as little and scared as he was, at barely four years old, he still wanted to protect the world that wronged him.

The world doesn’t deserve this kid.

But it was the world itself that gave Sonic the title of protector, guardian, and hero; he knows there are things worth fighting for, far more than the things that wouldn’t deserve any kind of protection.

He won’t deny the title, ever.

Because even if some day everything around him comes down, everyone gets mad and bad, and his own hope is questioned, he’ll still have a reason to fight.

After all, this kid is his world.

[091400]

UPGRADE.

PAIRING: yang jeongin x fem!reader (ft han jisung)

CONTAINS: power play (?), face riding, masturbation, biting, lowkey sub/dom dynamics, voyeurism, exhibitionism, perv!jisung, switch!afab!reader, switch!jeongin.

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

AUTHORS NOTE: this is originally an old work of mine! i fixed a lot of mistakes because i wrote it two years ago 😭. i wrote this as a self birthday present for my 21 birthday and it’s based on a dream i had ;) went exactly like this and holy shit reading it back made me FEEL things.. so yeah! please enjoy and let me know what you think!

A screaming match in the kitchen woke you up.

You sighed as you put on a shirt that wasn’t yours and went to see what was happening outside your very comfortable room. It was very common for you and your roommates to share clothes, after all, you washed them together and sometimes they got mixed up, so it wasn’t a problem at all to use someone else’s clothes.

The Han Jisung vs Yang Jeongin live-action was happening right in the middle of your kitchen.

Your classmate Kim Seungmin, who was also majoring in Photography like you, subtly mentioned that two of his close friends were looking for a place to live, so after some interrogation on your part, you found Jeongin and Jisung to be a good fit for the place you called home.

And here they were, a whole year later, fighting for their lives in the middle of the kitchen. Jeongin was holding Jisung’s arm against his back in some sort of wrestling position, the older struggling against the kitchen counter with Jeongin laughing as he held him effortlessly.

“When are you going to behave, Hyung?” Jisung groaned, getting more and more frustrated with every passing second. You watched it all from the door, snickering.

“Why are you bullying your hyung, Innie?” Both of them snapped their heads toward your voice, watching you lean against the door with a grin.

Jisung didn't waste a second, instantly freeing himself from Jeongin’s grasp when he was distracted by your presence, hopping away from him with a fighting stance. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“Then don’t steal my food when I have repeatedly asked you if you wanted some and you said no three times.” Jisung raised his eyebrows in annoyance, and then he turned his head towards you like he was expecting you to say something.

“What are you looking at, Jisungie? He was very clear.” Jeongin winked at you as he grabbed his food, and quickly disappeared into his room without saying anything else, brushing his arm with yours as he walked past you.

Jisung scoffed, begrudgingly starting to make some breakfast for himself after the whole tragedy he had just suffered. You walked to the refrigerator and got yourself some cereal and milk, watching how the man was fuming while making himself a sandwich.

“Stop frowning, you look ugly.” That was a lie.

His eye twitched at your words, “Shut up, you didn’t say anything to defend my honor.”

You scoffed at him, eating your cereal unbothered. “It was none of my business, chill out.” He rolled his eyes and took a seat in front of you on the kitchen table.

Both of you ate in silence for a few minutes, occasionally glancing over to watch the other, until you broke the silence.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something with me in my room?” Jisung choked on his sandwich, making you laugh, “Are you okay?”

“No thanks, I have other important things to do now.” He looked away, and your jaw dropped for a few seconds, then you quickly regained composure. Was he still mad about you not defending his honor?

“Sure, don't worry about it.” You stood up from the table looking at him one last time, leaving your plate in the kitchen sink. “Have fun then, I’ll ask Innie.”

Smirking on your way to Jeongin’s room your thoughts drifted to Jisung, he never rejected the chance to spend time with you, even to the point of canceling his own plans to hang out, you shrugged it off and knocked on Jeongin’s door.

“Come in.”

You opened the door to see him sitting with his legs crossed, still eating his food and watching some anime on his laptop. “Hi.”

He nodded at you, cheeks full of food, he paused the anime and put the bowl of food on his nightstand. “Hey, what’s up?”

Jeongin was wearing an oversized graphic tee, with a pair of shorts that left almost nothing to the imagination, his marked thighs from working out daily fighting against the fabric, showing off more because of the way he was seated on his bed.

“Hannie rejected my invitation to watch a movie, y'know, I have an actual TV.” You grinned wiggling your eyebrows, you were set on watching a movie with someone, it didn’t matter if it was Jisung or Jeongin.

“Is this an invitation to fuck?”

Huh?

You smirked, “I mean if we are in the middle of the movie and you get hard I’ll think about it.” Jeongin chuckled.

“That depends on the movie.” He raised his eyebrows with a playful smile.

“You think we are watching Fifty Shades or what?”

He shook his head as he stood up, getting closer to you. You noticed his wet hair and his bangs sticking to his forehead, he had showered before the breakfast incident probably. He smelled good, and he was looking extraordinarily handsome today.

“Well, are we going or not?”

You rolled your eyes as you followed him to your room. He quickly got himself comfortable on your bed and took the lead to pick the movie, you went to see if Jisung was still in the kitchen, but he wasn’t there, so on your way back to the room you clashed with him who was just leaving the bathroom.

“Ouch, sorry,” You glared at him, he looked at you weirdly and peeked at your open door, seeing Jeongin getting comfortable on your bed, covering himself with your blankets. “Oh… you went to him instead?”

You scoffed, getting annoyed, “Of course, I want to watch a movie, weren’t you busy?”

Jisung looked away, “Yes, sorry.”

“Then see you later, hm.” You entered your room and closed the door on him, leaving him speechless.

Jeongin looked amused by the whole situation, “I’m still winning after all.”

“Don’t.”

You jumped on the bed and took your spot beside him, who was looking very cozy with your blankets covering him. Jeongin had already put a movie on, it was a horror movie and you were happy.

“We’ll watch the movie adaptation of the book It by Stephen King,” Jeongin murmured, getting comfier and putting his head on your shoulder. You nodded and rested your head against his soft hair.

You could count with two hands the actual time the both of you watched the movie. The protagonist’s little brother was about to die to the ugly ass clown hiding in the sewer when Jeongin’s hand grazed your thigh, at first you shrugged it off but the second time you felt his fingers against your skin, you knew it wasn’t an accident.

“Are you truly getting horny with this scene?” You chucked, caressing Jeongin’s hair with your hand.

He grabbed your thigh and stroked it gently with his long and slender fingers. “To be honest, you’re not wearing pants.”

“I’m wearing underwear and a shirt, that’s how I sleep, that’s not an excuse.”

“You literally invited me here to fuck?” Your jaw dropped.

“I did not,” You pushed his head off your shoulder making him frown at you. “Bro, I just wanted to see a movie in peace but you horny gremlin and the other angry gremlin cannot do this to me.”

Jeongin smirked, quickly pausing the movie and looking back at you as he sat on your lap, trapping you between his thighs. “What are you-” He took off his shirt and looked down at you, a lazy grin plastered on his face.

“What the fuck Yang Jeongin.”

“At least are you thinking about it?” Of course you were thinking about it, he was literally shirtless in front of you, his toned chest from working out and his biceps at your mercy.

You traced your hand around his chest, playing with his nipples as he shivered, his grin faltering at your touch. He wrapped his arms around your neck as you played with his chest, scratching his pecs with your nails.

“You’re so thinking about it.”

You nodded, tilting your head to the side and watching him stare at your lips, his chest slowly expanding with each breath he took and licking his lips more times than he could count. You pouted, your doe eyes working hard and fast on him.

“So are you going to kiss me or not?” He grinned as he leaned on capturing your lips in a kiss. He was good, slowly sucking on your lower lip making it a hundred percent hotter than it should be.

Still sitting in your lap with his arms around your head, holding you up to keep you in place, kissing him. His hips started working against your lower belly, the bulge on his shorts growing hard with each thrust. “Oh?” He giggled like he got caught doing something bad.

“Was this your plan all along?” You asked, after a long kiss. Jeongin was breathless, so he just nodded sharply.

He was kissing you again, one hand caressing your cheek and the other holding your head. His tongue made expert movements inside your mouth, wanting more and more from you.

Your hands were still on his chest, making him tremble against you every time your hands caressed his torso. You could feel his already hard cock against your belly, taking the initiative, your hand wandered down to his shorts making him jump slightly, he smiled against your mouth when he realized what you were doing.

“Take them off?” He rolled his eyes as he struggled with letting your lips go.

He got up from your lap, quickly taking all of his remaining clothes off and smirking when your eyes went down to stare at his hard leaking cock shining with precum on the tip, he made a mocking sound.

“I mean, it’s a pretty dick, why are you laughing?” You clapped back, he shook his head as he got closer to you, kissing you deeply leaving no room between the both of you as he got on your lap again.

You wasted no time getting your hands and mouth on him, watching him gasp at the feeling of your hand wrapping around cock and the other playing gently with his ballsack. Your mouth attacking his neck while leaving crimson marks, the sounds he made encouraging you to continue, his hands traveled to your hair, pulling it as you jerked him off.

Between the sweet sounds of Jeongin’s moans on top of you, grinding his hips against your hand to gain more friction, you heard some shuffling on your door, it was now a little bit open but you didn’t pay it any attention, your lock was broken anyways.

Jeongin’s breath got erratic and your head snapped in his direction, feeling yourself getting wetter just by his looks, sweaty hair, and gaping mouth. “I’m going to-” He gasped, closing his eyes shut, his whole body shaking on top of you. He came hard in your hand, with a few last pumps he began to whine result of the overstimulation.

He moved himself to the side so you could step out of the bed and get yourself cleaned, you had fluids all over your arm and hand, and some on your shirt too.

But before you could go too far he spoke again.

“Come back here,” He muttered darkly, “You’re going to sit on my face.” As you were wiping your arm with a wet cloth Jeongin made himself comfortable again on your bed.

“Is that so?” He nodded sharply, sticking his tongue out teasingly.

You teased him back, slowly removing your underwear that was soaking wet after the exchange, and throwing it near the door. Jeongin licked his lips as you walked closer to him until you were towering over him only wearing your shirt.

“C’mon, sit.” He didn’t had to ask you twice, you got yourself on top of his head, getting yourself comfortable on the bed and with his head between your thighs. The moment you lowered yourself into his mouth he did a long lick on your folds, taking it all in.

You moaned loudly, damn he was good.

He traced his tongue all around your folds, alternating between your core and clit, making you jump when he pressed his tongue in the spot you liked so much. Your hand flew to his hair, pulling it hard to make him keep doing what he was doing perfectly fine under you.

Jeongin puffed air on your folds as he separated his mouth from your core, you exhaled shakily as you looked down to see him smirking at you. “You look so pretty on top of me,” He murmured, eyes glazed as you rolled your eyes.

“That’s why you stopped?” He quickly grabbed your thighs to pull you down on him, sucking harshly on your clit with a mission on his mind.

Jeongin was good with his mouth, in every way that could sound. He was an excellent singer, the best student in his university debate club, and of course, a god giving head.

Your hands on his hair, keeping him in place to continue his kitten licks on your cunt. Jeongin didn’t fight you and accepted it happily. His hands were gripping your thighs to keep you in place on his face, after a few seconds he started to move you the best he could to make you ride his face, and you were happy to comply with it.

The sounds coming out of your mouth were music to Jeongin’s ears, he speeded up his movements on your clit making you whine, riding his face harder. He was grateful if his death was between your legs, giving you head.

With a few last movements on your part, you came on his face with a loud whine, your legs quivering as he held you up in place to keep you from falling, licking all of the fluids that came from you gladly. When he finished, he slowly removed himself from under your body while you were still recuperating from the orgasm now laying on the bed.

“Round two?” He proposed from the other side of the bed, you exhaled deeply, preparing yourself mentally as you nodded.

“Get yourself hard, my hand is sore.” You joked, totally willing to suck him off and then fuck.

“Don’t worry, I’m ready if you are.” With a confused look you glanced at his cock, happily discovering he was rock hard, probably from eating you out.

Okay, that was hot.

“Do you have condoms here? or should I go to my room for one?” He teased you with a wink, and you suppressed a laugh.

“Maybe you should ask your hyung for one, hm?” He looked at you incredulously, you snickered and pointed to your bedside table. 

Jeongin got to work, and quickly got the condom from your drawer looking at you funny because you had a LOT of them in your drawer, you shrugged. Your mouth watered at the sight of his cock, ready to wreck you. You were still wearing just the shirt, you got ready on the bed as Jeongin jumped on you, accommodating himself between your legs with the condom on, as he should. 

He took his time teasing the head of his cock between your slick folds, grinning devilishly every time you complained, he played like that for at least a minute, between kissing you and putting just the tip inside of you, taunting.

“Such a big cock and no use for it?” You pouted mockingly, already wanting to get fucked dumb and stop being teased.

“Shut the fuck up.” It wasn’t just the tip now, it was the full package inside you.

“Shit, that’s it.” You whined.

He grinned as he pistoned his hips hard and fast, his hands went directly to hold your waist and the other to keep himself steady against the bed frame. It was impressive how he fucked you swiftly without losing balance, your cries made him go vigorously faster, it was like you were cheering him on to make you come again.

"Fuck, I’m close,” He panted, going absolutely feral while growling at your sounds and reactions from his cock.

He was pounding into you like there was no tomorrow, his face buried in your neck and not putting any of his weight on top of you so you could bounce on his cock freely. Your hand went to your swollen clit and the other to his hair, pulling it hard making him moan, it was obvious that he was into it.

The sound of skin slapping, your cries, and Jeongin’s grunts almost made you not notice the door opening a little, making your head turn that way. 

What you didn’t (or you did?) expect, was seeing Jisung jerking off with your soaked panties on the doorframe, the door was a few centimeters open but you could see him clearly as a day touching himself with your underwear standing there, gawking at Jeongin’s cock entering your pussy quickly.

Jisung hadn’t realized that you had caught him looking at you, he was stuck watching Jeongin fuck you. The hand movements on his cock were painfully slow, your panties probably burning his skin as he jerked off with them, his precum drenching your panties more than they were before.

You were in a trance watching how Jisung enjoyed the situation just like you, and how probably he was standing there for a long time before you realized. As his movements were getting faster, his sight flew to your face and you saw how the blood left his face just as fast his hand was pumping his cock.

“Hi, Jisungie,” You said cheerfully as you could while getting fucked. Jeongin raised his head and turned it towards the door while continuing to fuck you, smiling wickedly when he saw the situation his hyung was caught in.

“I told you hyung was a pervert.” Jeongin said groaning, psyching himself up to continue without being interrupted again.

“I-” Jisung stuttered, frozen in site.

You threw your head back, getting yourself back in the mood with Jeongin biting your neck. Ignoring how Jisung tried to explain himself as you enjoyed your second flawless orgasm of the day, your whole body shaking with Jeongin holding you tight seeking his own release.

“Fill me up, please.” At your words he came with a cry, falling on top of you breathless.

Jeongin snuggled into your neck, hugging you with his cock still inside you getting softer with every passing second. You embraced him back ruffling his hair and chuckling.

“You’re wearing hyung’s shirt, you know that right?” Jeongin whispered, caressing your arm softly.

“Tsk, do you think I’m dumb, baby?” You looked back at the door, which was now closed and Jisung nowhere to be seen.

You met Jeongin’s gaze and snickered alongside him.

091400 © do not copy / plagiarize / repost or translate my work on any other platforms.