#writing tragic

[chloesimaginationthings]

The tragedy of David Murray and the Mimic in SOTM..

[baeshijima]

thoughts on being engaged to duke!sunday, the head of the oak family, an incredibly influential figurehead within society, the close subordinate of emperor gopher wood who brought him and his sister in and raised him like his own, and the villain who faces a tragic ending in a novel you recently finished — the very same one you just so happen to find yourself transmigrated into. he is as cunning as he is blinded, a trait which brought ruin to many in the empire, and one which ultimately brought ruin to himself at the hands of the protagonists.

as luck would have it, you became a barely mentioned side character from a marquis family, whose role was to be the villain's wife stuck in a one-sided love who, too, would get caught up in the tragedy alongside him. however, now that it's you who is stuck in this position, you're determined to try any means necessary to deter him from going down that path, all in an effort to escape your predestined doomed fate!

of course, you didn't expect it to be easy. the day of your arrival in this world was already the night before your wedding, so you had little time to prepare yourself for the nonchalance of your supposed family, how they viewed you as but a means — a tool — to boost their influence and prosperity, the dismissive mannerisms of the household servants, and the absolute beauty of a man you will be married to.

(seriously. the novel descriptions did not do him justice. he was like... like... like he was handcrafted by god himself! and not to mention his sister, robin, was the very epitome of an angel! perhaps you're destined to perish by the god-tier visuals instead...)

to say the least, the wedding ceremony went by quickly. safe to say you didn't spend the night; he was cordial and gentlemanly upon letting you know that he won't do anything until you're ready, that you can take this relationship slow, but somehow you ended up feeling a tad insulted. like, who leaves their newly wedded alone in a big cold bed as they walk out on their own? a sick bastard that's who!

well, whatever. it's not like you need nor want to consummate with him! besides, you have bigger things to worry about — things such as your impending death. and, of course, the only way to stop sunday that you can imagine working is by chipping away at his resolve bit by bit, and opening his eyes to reality.

he is a tragic character, one who cares more about the well-being of penacony and its people than anyone else, but was manipulated into getting his hands dirty in the emperor's stead. you knew this. you sobbed over his story, cursed out the protagonists, and even fought internet randos on novel forums about sunday's motivation and how,

no, he is not just a stupid villain. he is a complex character with flaws and humanity and was cruelly taken advantage of by someone he considered family. he was deceived through the suffering the emperor wanted him to see to make him easily manipulated, creating a rift between him and robin to have that prominent separation. you know what? maybe you're just a !%#@ who can't even #@?"% read properly!

and yet you still find yourself at a loss when faced with the walls he has in place. your initial efforts went as well as it possibly could have; you trying to earnestly help him, while he "kindly" dismisses your offers! well, "kindly" being more condescending since you could read between the lines of his mannerisms and amiable demeanour, but that's fine! you expected this! that just means you have to double down on your sincerity, get through to his heart (somehow), and help him realise humanity isn't as weak as he's led to believe!

you have three years until the novel's plot officially starts, and another year after that until your demise. that's plenty of time to get him to warm up to you!

it was easier said than done, but after your valiant effort and abundance of time put into this relationship, which admittedly you could do with some of that lost time back, you could give yourself a pat on the back with the progress you made! while you definitely could have done without a lot of the headaches, it's safe to say sunday has significantly warmed up to you in comparison to your wedding day. he now willingly eats all his meals with you with some real conversation, takes garden strolls with you in the early evenings, invites you out for dinner at a restaurant at least four times a week, hell he's even joked and laughed with you more frequently! but most importantly, he has begun asking for your opinion before finalising any decisions he is required to make. and he actually listens and considers your side! now, that certainly is the best outcome you could hope for after all this time, and it most definitely will help in your endeavour to save you both from the protagonists!

however, you've noticed he's been more... affectionate? well, at the very least he now willingly holds your hand when in private (not just in moments when you're in the public eye and he has to make sure the family's reputation is spotless), sometimes he will hug you out of the blue ("i just need to... recharge. you have a way of calming me down. i hope you don't mind." ...how could you say no to his supreme god-tier face card? that's just a losing battle you won't even bother fighting against.), oftentimes he opts to just gaze wordlessly at you (robin had mentioned over one of your tea times how it almost appears as though there is no one but you in the world when sunday gazes at you with, in her words, "the eyes of a man so deeply in love!" ...whatever that's supposed to mean...), but a more recent development has been his sudden interest in kissing you; well, more specifically giving you a kiss to the back of your hand or on your forehead — certainly not anywhere near the lips! (besides, he's probably just gotten comfortable with you, enough where he can freely act without judgement. nothing more, nothing less.)

well, either way, development is development! soon enough, the time for the main plot to start has arrived. it of course follows what you remember, from the organised balls to the protagonists meeting to the political aspects of it all. the only difference is sunday's less active involvement in all the schemes and the emperor's ploy. rather, he seems more focused on you and the future of your marriage and even displayed a sudden interest in your practically non-existent relationship with one of the foreign diplomats, aventurine— wait...

"[name]," he calls your name out so sweetly you nearly disregarded it as someone else he was talking to. well, perhaps you would have done had he not suddenly appeared before you, a tight-lipped smile tugging the corners of his lips as he steadily approaches you.

oh. he doesn't seem very happy, if his tense figure is anything to go by. you wonder if one of the nobles grated his nerves a little too much this time?

sunday comes to a halt a step away from you. "i don't like that... gambler being so close to you. it... it brings me a rather unpleasant feeling." there's a slight, trembling pause. not a moment later does he close the gap between you, one knee on the ground as he matches your seated height on the fountain rim, your hands gently enclosed in both of his.

you idly wonder if this is what robin meant by the so-called "eyes of a man so deeply in love" she constantly gushed about, for the way in which he gazes up at you is enough to render you breathless.

"tell me, [name]," he begins once more. there is an underlying desperation woven within his tone, one which has your head spinning and heart thumping wildly as his trembling gaze holds you in place. "tell me, what am i to do with this fervent love and overwhelming adoration i hold for you?"

oh.

...oh.

perhaps your impending doom should be the least of your concerns when you now find yourself in the arms of a clingy husband...

(though, it's safe to say you did, in fact, manage to prevent him from succumbing to his tragic fate! you just gained a loving, yet slight slightly emotionally challenged husband along the way.

well, you can help him work through it; you have the rest of your lives now to figure it out, after all.)

[k1d1c4rus]

thinking about how armand was turned bc he was dying from being stabbed by a scorned grown man who was in love with him. he nearly died from rejecting unwanted advances. its such a key explicit detail of his origin that teaches him yet again that what he wants is utterly unimportant and even deadly in the face of survival. everything about his character is informed by the fact that he adapts entirely to the situation he is forced into because that's the only way he can survive. he adopts the satanic doctrine for 200 years not because he believes in it but because he knows that is the only way he'll survive and as soon as lestat arrives he knows he can abandon it. for half a millenium he believes he can't get what he wants and also survive, he has to choose one or the other. God.

[chaewberry]

twitter in shambles, bakudeku found shot behind a parking lot, ochako STILL a closeted lesbian with a dead ass girlfriend, bakugou rejected, deku straightmaxxing, todoroki listened to the devil and cut his hair, hawks looking like the plucked chicken i have in my fridge, mirio's no.1 but his wig's a FLOP, touya dead for NOTHING, shigaraki's fine ass dead for NOTHING,

[thefallenangel2008]

Ok, so we know that Stan makes really silly and cartoonish doodles but what if he could also draw really fucking good? Like, yeah, sure, he was discouraged from making comics, but maybe he still sketched stuff he saw from time to time. Stan was definitely the type of kid to sketch the girl he's crushing on on his notebook during class.

Anyway, cut to post Gravity Falls. They're in the Stan o' War II, and ig Ford is looking for something and he goes to his and Stan's shared room. He sees scattered papers and pencils on Stan's desk and he assumes it's another Lil Stanley comic. Curious, Ford moves aside some papers to get a better look at the his brother's drawing, only to be met with a really impressive and detailed drawing of the Stanleymobile. And he just goes "holy fuck".

[ofswordsandpens]

thinking about a world in which RR actually committed to the path he set Percy on in hoo (wherein Percy has become jaded, angry, and resentful at the gods for breaking their sworn promises, is frequently sympathizing with Luke, is getting more and more powerful, and frequently losing himself to wrath) and instead of the subsequent Percy Jackson books being about getting recommendation letters, we could have gotten a trilogy exploring a fallen hero arc for Percy (that would ultimately have a positive resolution to it.)

[kamaluhkhan]

THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

read part two GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you want revenge on luke castellan)

pairing: luke castellan x child of nemesis!reader (gender not specified)

word count: 8.5k

summary: luke hated your guts. he really did. he just hoped that no one could tell how, even after all this, you're still everything to him.

warnings/disclaimer: luke's POV. spoilers for the lightning thief and season 1 of pjo. some heated make-out sessions but no actual smut - MDNI / 18+. mentions of blood + death + alcohol. luke is 19 during tlt but i wrote this with him + reader being 21 by the end of this (this is important for the next part lol). anyways, luke + reader share clothes and lots of intense emotions they maybe possibly don't process in the best way. lots of ANGST - it's a greek tragedy fr!

author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation! this fic is LONG but i hope she's worth it ♡

♪: the grudge by olivia rodrigo

(i. you have a sharp tongue)

fourteen year old luke was overwhelmed when he first stepped into the hermes cabin. it was loud and overcrowded and no one really seemed to care that they had a new cabinmate. the head counselor showed luke to an empty bed at the back, told him to get settled in, and left without another word. luke dropped his backpack before collapsing on the mattress. it was so thin that he could feel the springs dig into his back.

"you'll get used to it."

luke sat up to see you climbing through the window. 

you had a band-aid stuck on your chin, chipped nail polish the color of blackberries, and leather combat boots that looked way too heavy to be wearing in the heat of summer. 

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.” 

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous. 

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?” 

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in. 

“what? n-no!” 

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you. 

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

 so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp. 

it just didn't seem fair. 

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods. 

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest. 

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest. 

every  demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they  didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself. 

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?” 

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching. 

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.” 

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.” 

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze. 

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too. 

“she deserved more.” 

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there. 

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do. 

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise. 

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.” 

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm. 

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.  

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day. 

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.” 

luke bristled at your nickname for him. 

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go. 

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.  

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in. 

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly. 

 the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again. 

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down. 

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse. 

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled. 

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” 

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.  

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning. 

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone? 

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one. 

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward." 

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you. 

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp. 

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.  

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready. 

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him. 

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through. 

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him. 

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood. 

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased. 

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess. 

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson. 

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?” 

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken. 

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.” 

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer. 

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.  

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too. 

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time. 

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more. 

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips. 

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die. 

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy. 

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away. 

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze. 

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse. 

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse. 

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.” 

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality. 

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie. 

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat. 

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him. 

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for. 

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did. 

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it. 

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair. 

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates. 

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes. 

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.” 

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes. 

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that. 

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you. 

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?” 

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush. 

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….” 

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right. 

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for. 

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached. 

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?” 

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?” 

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him. 

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.” 

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said. 

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow. 

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air. 

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch. 

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion. 

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp. 

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him. 

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment. 

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door. 

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire. 

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.  

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god. 

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy. 

everything was falling into place. 

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.  

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you. 

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles. 

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist. 

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him. 

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey. 

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy. 

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?” 

 “they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true. 

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him. 

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it. 

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down. 

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet. 

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog. 

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more. 

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously. 

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated. 

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind. 

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated. 

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well. 

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.” 

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe! 

would you hate him, if you knew? 

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage. 

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?” 

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns. 

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.” 

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment. 

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips. 

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe. 

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his. 

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath. 

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time. 

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted. 

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor. 

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock. 

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.” 

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being. 

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.” 

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.  

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone.  we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance. 

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor. 

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape. 

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice. 

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head. 

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life. 

there was a small, pathetic part of luke that wanted you to choose him, even if it meant you would have plunged the knife into his chest.

[angelic-petty]

clearly someone on the overwatch team understands the true beating heart behind magical girl content: lesbians

[humbuns]

clair de lune

[vyyper]

a little too shy to ask this off anon but mydei with a scholarly wife hcs please 🥺🥺

Mydei with a Scholarly S/O

a/n: hi anon! i know you said wife but i just went along with the flow as i wrote and it ended up gn, i hope that's still alright! i enjoyed this request a lot :)

mostly fluff, written with the pre 3.1 setting in mind

-i think a scholarly partner is just so so perfect for mydei. he values knowledge highly and knowing that you are in constant pursuit of it makes him so happy for you!! definitely your #1 supporter.

-he'd tell you about kremnoan history and culture, if you show interest. he tries not to let it slip too much but it excites him. it's important to him that people know, that this information doesn't fade, and he'll be reassured knowing someone like you has this knowledge

-he'd love to let you use his library, read all the books within together, nothing but the pages and each other to pass the time. perhaps in a kinder life, but he's still more than content reading with you now. if he has the time, one of his favorite things to do with you is read in silence. perhaps he'll cook some warm stew, and you'll sit together, reading, occasionally sipping from your bowls in comfortable, affectionate silence.

-will let you ramble about anything and everything! he's always willing to lend an ear and try and help you out with whatever research you may be doing, as much as he can. he's definitely a good listener, quiet unless you ask for input and what input he gives is helpful and to the point. it's one of his favorite things to do, listens to you with the fondest look in his eyes, like you're the center of the universe. people whisper about the cold glare mydeimos has on his face before he strikes down and enemy, but they've never seen how mydei's eyes burn with warmth as he listens to his beloved.

-additonally, after bringing up a new subject you notice him with a book about it in his hand sometimes...wants to learn about it with you so he can supply help if you need any. and the fact that you make anything interesting to him, you make him want to learn even more than before.

-refuses to let you overwork though, don't even try you'll break his heart...his duties already keep him away from you, the last thing he'd want is for you to let your health spiral in what time he gets with you. if you're losing sleep and forgetting meals, he'll cook you a whole feast and let you rant out all your stress before dragging you to bed. he'll rub your shoulders and tell you not to do something like that again, not to worry him, hold you as you sleep. if he's away he'll reluctantly get your friends to check on him regularly. he understands the importance of privacy and trusts you can be responsible...but he does worry, and he wants to make sure.

also on the topic of him wanting to read because of you...he knows how to interpret poetry, so i think he'd read romance poems and be reminded of you, feel the emotions they describe, maybe even pick up ways to show affection towards you from them since kremnoans don't even have a word for love.

wait i have this vision of him carrying you. you joke that you're too tired to get up from where you're working at in hopes it'll sway him and he blinks before picking you up like you weigh nothing and setting you down on the couch or bed. you're too shocked to say anything. he watches your expression with a faint and teasing smile, both at your shock and at the fact that he's gotten you away from your work.

-adding onto how he likes hearing you talk, i think after a very long day or so he'll return home, slump into bed. he doesn't mean to wake you up but if he does, he'll apologize before reluctantly asking you just talk to him, about any developments in your studies or anything else you want to talk about. your voice calms him and he'll listen to you until he feels you starting to drift off, the soft pattern of your breaths in sleep calming him further.

-early on in your relationship, before you're married, he tells you one day that there is no word for love in the kremnoan language. you think you see hints of regret on his face, guilt in his tone. so you smile and tell him the word for "love" in yours. i love you.

you don't expect him to use it often, at first. although he's warmed up around you, you assume that saying such a thing must be difficult for him. but tell him how to say it and he'll repeat it everyday. "i love you," he says back after you tell him, once to test the sound on his tongue, and then again to affirm the words you . his tone is unwavering, unlike your slightly nervous one, like the words are something already deeply engraved in his mind he's just recovered. "i love you," he murmurs as you drift off, on a rare night where he gets to rest with you in his arms. "i love you," he declares, kissing your knuckles before ending his show of affection with a press lips to your ring, holding your wrist gently.

he wants you to remember it always. he'll be bound to you forever and always; he never wants to let go, and he'll be sure to remind you of it.

[luminique]

kissing harumasa means keeping your hands on his face and never letting them go down to his neck. he’d even hold them there with his own hands, a silent plea to not touch the mark left by the serum.

he didn’t lash out at you the first (and only) time you unintentionally touched it. instead, he pulled away immediately, the fear in his eyes mixed with his shaky breaths as he’s trying to control himself. he could see his own reflection in your worried eyes, seeing hallucinations of him turning into an ethereal. your hands went to hold his, you could feel him quivering as he shook his head at you. he didn’t mean to ruin the mood, he didn’t want to become a monster. he isn’t a monster but this irrational fear was eating him up whole that it even put your relationship on the line.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t realize what i had done,” your voice was clear as always, guiding him back to the current moment. the reflection of him in your eyes returned to normal but you had a regretful look in your gaze. your thumb rubbed over the back of his hand, reminding him that you were still there. “i love you,” you mumbled out to him, so soft, so quiet. that was all he needed to hear. he knew it was an honest mistake and not intentional on your end, maybe he overreacted. he brought your hands up to his mouth, placing soft kisses on your knuckles. the hands that unknowingly triggered his fight or flight mode, were the same hands that caressed him so gently every time. in between his kisses, he’d say his own ‘i love you’ and ‘i’m sorry’s to try and reassure you of his sudden reaction. he wasn’t deserving of your love, you shouldn’t be the victim of his past, but you stay with him regardless. overcoming it all while holding hands, one kiss at a time.

[itsalmostavengers]

Steve’s idea of love means fighting tooth and nail for it and Tony’s idea of love means sacrificing everything for it. So all Steve sees is Tony giving up and all Tony sees is Steve’s affection turn to hatred

[aniimoni]

A Mirage

We’re out here writing sins AND tragedies.

Bonus:

Anyways, everyone say thank you to Haggz for the song recommendations for my AU, best thing ever. I always use the songs to draw stuff out 😋

[charbroiledchicken]

it's not writers block, it's my characters' vacation days. they deserve a few breaks between The Horrors.

[floertoer]

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?

I am having feelings about that episode, so please enjoy 3k words of fic about it. I told myself yesterday I wasn't going to write anything about it because I didn't think I had much to say, and then this hit me like a truck at like midnight. Exceptional timing, brain, no notes.

Title is from You're Losing Me by Taylor Swift. (The other line I considered was "I know my pain is such an imposition," for obvious reasons, but I made a different call. Hopefully this one is pointed enough. 😂)

Tommy thinks about reaching out. Tommy thinks about reaching out a lot, but he doesn’t do it. The footage from the cameras in the tunnel plays on a loop in his mind, but Evan had been red-eyed but composed by the time he and Athena came out of there, and the last thing Tommy was going to do was blurt it out in front of everyone. That he’d seen something no one else had. That he knew, and the knowledge was lodged in his chest like a knife. 

Evan kept it together that night, but Tommy can’t imagine that persisted for long. He was subdued at the funeral—and Tommy was focused on doing his own part as respectfully as possible—but there were times when Evan had seemed…lost. Unmoored somehow. It was understandable given where they were, but it had made Tommy wonder, a little bit, who Evan was leaning on to get through this. He had banished the thought as soon as it had surfaced. The 118 was Evan’s family; of course they were seeing what was going on with him, probably more clearly than Tommy could. No doubt they had it under control. They would never let Evan suffer through a loss like this alone.

So Tommy doesn’t call after the funeral.  

He doesn’t call, and he doesn’t call, and he doesn’t call, and he falls asleep almost every night to a vivid memory of the way Evan’s legs had just given out under him. He doesn’t call and the impulse to hold Evan—just briefly, just because he couldn’t then—is almost overwhelming. But that’s not what they are anymore. He’s not sure if they're anything, honestly, and he’s not going to ask. Evan has more important things to worry about right now, and Tommy’s not going to barge in demanding anything at all. 

And then a building goes down, of course with half the 118 inside, and Tommy’s still on ground ops until Melton forgives him. Evan and Ravi are finally pulled out—dusty and scraped up, but whole—and Tommy sees them making their slow way toward the 118 engine and Gerrard.

Evan brightens a little and waves when he looks up and sees Tommy, and Tommy really hopes he’s got a handle on his expression, because Evan looks awful. His smile is brittle and the hollowness in his eyes is concerning. Tommy almost looks around for the rest of the 118 because what the fuck are they thinking? They wouldn’t let Evan walk around like this, looking like an open wound. Right? They would do something about it.

For the first time, Tommy considers the possibility that he’s made a few too many assumptions about what the 118 would and wouldn’t do. 

He jogs over to where Evan and Ravi have stopped. Ravi is chatting with a firefighter from the 133, but Evan is just…standing. His eyes are blank and unfocused, and Tommy is starting to get a little pissed at all the people who are supposed to have Evan’s back because what are they doing?

“Hey,” he says quietly, but Evan startles anyway.

“Oh! Uh, hey Tommy.” He dredges up a smile that goes nowhere near his eyes. “Ground ops, huh?”

“Yeah, Melton’s still pissed, so…”

Evan frowns. “I’m so—Tommy I’m so sorry.”

Tommy frowns back at him. “For what?”

“I shouldn’t have asked…I didn’t think,” Evan says, his shoulders slumping, and Tommy doesn’t like that reaction at all. 

“Sure you did. You thought ‘The team is in trouble; I wonder if Tommy can help,’ and the answer was yes.” 

Evan gives him a wan smile. “But you love flying.”

“I do,” Tommy says slowly, “and I’ll be doing it again in no time. It’s really not a big deal.” He catches Evan’s eye and says firmly, “Hey, I’m a grown-up. I have a mortgage and everything—I can absolutely deal with the consequences of my own actions.” 

Evan stares for a second and then starts blinking faster. His hand starts to come up, like he’s going to wipe his eyes, but stops halfway. He looks around at the clusters of firefighters around them. 

“I have to—” he says, and gestures vaguely in a direction, and then he’s gone. Tommy frowns after him, wondering where exactly he went wrong. 

He thinks maybe he should call this time. 

He doesn’t get the chance. 

The day after the building collapse, Tommy drives home from his 48—which was a bitch and a half, and not just because a building came down—and finds a very familiar jeep parked in his driveway. He stares at it for a while, failing to make sense of its presence, and then realizes he’s been sitting there for too long. He gets out of his truck and lets himself into his house. He can hear water running in the kitchen, and the house smells like red sauce, similar to the one his mom used to simmer on the stove on Sunday afternoons. It smells like home, and he buries that thought as soon as it surfaces.

Tommy drifts into the kitchen, uncertain what he’ll find there. Evan has his back to the door, rinsing a cutting board in the sink. He looks over his shoulder as Tommy comes in. 

“One sec,” he says, and Tommy nods. He takes the time to go set his bag down in his bedroom, kicking off his shoes and changing into sweatpants. When he makes it back to the kitchen, the board is in the drying rack and Evan is standing at the kitchen island, staring down at his hands on the countertop. 

“Hi,” Tommy says as he comes back in. He skirts carefully around Evan to grab a beer from the fridge and opens it, and then he goes back to the other side of the island. Whatever Evan is doing here, Tommy has no desire to spook him. His kitchen is Evan’s kitchen. Hell, if he’s being really honest with himself, his everything is Evan’s everything, to a probably concerning degree. 

Whatever. Not the point right now. 

“Hey,” Evan says, and takes a swig from the bottle of water in front of him. “Your spare key is still in the same spot.”

“Sure is,” Tommy agrees. There’s a brief silence. “What are you making?” Tommy asks. 

“Meat sauce,” Evan says. “I was going to make fresh pasta, but I wasn’t sure when you’d be home and I didn’t know if I’d have time.” 

Tommy nods. “It smells great,” he says. 

Evan glances at him, and then away. “Sorry for invading your kitchen,” he says, but it sounds likes something he thinks he should say rather than something he really means. Tommy can work with that. 

“Don’t be,” Tommy says. “You’re always welcome here.” His tone is warm and probably too fond, but there’s not much he can do about it. He’s just really happy Evan is in his kitchen, looking tentative, but maybe a little less hollow than he looked yesterday. 

Evan looks up at that, faint surprise and…something else flitting over his face before he smiles. “Yeah?” he asks, like that’s a real question. 

“Of course,” Tommy says, and he’s probably giving himself all the way away, but he’s finding it hard to care. He’s tired. Tired of pretending he didn’t see what he saw, tired of pretending he doesn’t desperately want to hug Evan, just to do it. Because he couldn’t then, but maybe he can now. 

As soon as he has the thought, the words come out without him ever deciding to say them. “Could I—do you mind if I hug you?”

Evan glances over his shoulder at the sauce, and then the kitchen timer. There’s a lot of time left on it, and Tommy briefly wonders what it means that Evan came over and let himself into his house to make a dish that has to simmer for hours. 

Evan turns back to Tommy, his expression a little rueful. He’s twisting his hands together in front of him. “I think, uh. There—there’s a solid chance I’m going to cry all over you if that happens,” he says, eyes downcast. 

“I can live with that,” Tommy says immediately.   

Evan’s head comes up, eyes huge in his face, and he drinks in Tommy’s expression. Tommy doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but he seems to find it. He moves, and then Tommy moves, and they crash into each other halfway around the island. Tommy clings because Jesus Christ, he’s been desperate to ever since he watched Evan sink to the ground, face twisted in anguish. He’s so focused on Evan, solid and real in his arms, that it takes a second for him to realize that Evan is clinging just as tightly, his face buried in Tommy’s shoulder. And—yep, there are the tears. 

Tommy feels himself tearing up too, for Bobby, for Evan, for Athena--for all of them. For this awful, overwhelming loss, and the horror of how it happened. 

Evan’s breaths start to hitch, and he slumps further into Tommy’s hold. Suddenly he’s choking out deep, gasping sobs, sorrow pulled up from so deep it sound like it it’s physically painful. Tommy just tightens his grip, trying to ignore the part of his brain that is loudly demanding to know why, exactly, Evan seems to need this so badly. He can pull on that thread later. For now, he can do this. He can stand here and be as solid as possible so Evan has something to hang onto while he falls apart.

Later, they end up on the couch. They each have a glass of that stupid passion-orange-guava juice Tommy just keeps adding to his cart at the grocery store, even though Evan hasn’t been around to drink it for a while now. Tommy keeps nudging the plate of cookies toward Evan. 

“Eddie’s crashing at my—at his—on the couch at the house,” Evan says, and his tone is all wrong. It’s stilted and a little wobbly, and Evan’s eyes stay fixed on his hands. He sighs. “He’s probably wondering where I am.” 

Tommy tries to keep the surprise off his face, but something must get through. 

Evan grimaces. “We had a disagreement the other night. I know he’s trying to make up for it, in his own way, but…I. I just wanted to be somewhere else for a while.”

Tommy’s not sure what to say to that. “Well,” he finally gets out, “like I said, you’re always welcome here.”

Evan nods a little, but it’s clear his mind is elsewhere. “Do you—” he starts, and then stops. Tommy cocks an encouraging eyebrow. “Do you think…that is…”

Tommy waits. Evan will decide how he wants to say whatever it is—or decide not to—in his own time. 

Evan looks back down at his hands. “We did everything we could to save Bobby,” he says. It’s a statement, kind of. He looks up at Tommy. “Right?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed, and his expression is full of such naked vulnerability that Tommy is tempted to look away. He doesn’t, because Evan Buckley deserves all the courage Tommy can muster, even if he’s never had quite enough. 

Tommy takes a slow breath in, and lets it out, and reminds himself that giving in to the rage igniting in his chest would be neither helpful nor productive. But what the fuck, Eddie?

“Evan,” he says firmly, “of course you did. You all did.”

Evan looks up at that. “We did,”he corrects, and shoots Tommy a tentative little smile. 

“Of course we did,” Tommy agrees, unwilling to quibble about his own minor role when there are much more important things he needs to say. “It was an impossible situation, and everyone did their absolute best.” He starts to reach out for Evan’s hand, and then stops himself, and then Evan reaches out and takes his hand anyway. “Unless there was a secret second vial we didn’t account for—which there wasn’t—there was nothing more anyone could have done.” He pauses and thinks about how he wants to say this. “It was horrible, and tragic, and I know that every single person there would have done absolutely anything to prevent it. Which is how I know no one could have.” He smiles, but it’s small and sad. “If the folks who were there that day couldn’t find a way, then there just wasn’t a way to find,” he finishes. 

Evan slumps a little in his seat. “Yeah, that’s—” he stops and swallows. “That’s what I thought too, but then Eddie said—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. His shoulders are curled in, making him look small. Tommy hates it.

“Hey,” Tommy says, squeezing Evan’s hand, and Evan looks up at him. “I know everyone is hurting”—he was going to be diplomatic about this if it killed him—“but that is some Grade A bullshit.” Evan blinks at him. “That’s a fucked up thing to say, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry someone said it to you.” The endearment just slips out, and he doesn’t overthink it. He kept himself from saying What the fuck is wrong with your best friend? and I don’t think grief is a good enough explanation for that level of cruelty, so he gives himself a little mental high-five for his restraint.  

Evan blinks a little faster and lets go of Tommy’s hand to wipe at his eyes. He laughs a little. “God, I don’t know why I can’t stop crying.”

Tommy’s got a few hunches, but he doesn’t voice any of them. He shrugs. “Grief is a bitch like that.” He smiles at Evan and gestures at the box of Kleenex on the end table. “I buy tissues at Costco, so, you know—cry as much as you need to.” 

Evan laughs again, and relaxes back into the couch. Tears continue to slip down his face, and he periodically wipes them away. They sit there for a while, and the silence is comfortable. Tommy doesn’t take his hand back, and Evan makes no move to let it go.  

After a while, Tommy gets up to take a real shower, and Evan gets up to stir the sauce. He’s asleep on the couch when Tommy comes back, and Tommy pulls the afghan down from the back of the couch and carefully pulls it over him. He checks on the sauce and then settles into the armchair with his book. The house is quiet, and it smells amazing, and something in Tommy’s chest is settled for the first time in weeks. 

Evan wakes up when the kitchen timer goes off. He blinks a few times, and smiles a little when he sees Tommy in the armchair. Tommy smiles back.  

They eat pasta—the meat sauce is fantastic—and then Tommy serves them bowls of ice cream drizzled with caramel sauce. They eat it on the couch while while they watch some nature documentary, and Tommy follows almost none of it because he keeps glancing over at Evan’s profile. He looks soft and relaxed, and that terrible brittleness seems to be gone. He’s still marked by sorrow—he always will be, to some extent—but he doesn’t look empty anymore. 

Eventually the ice cream is gone, and the documentary is over. Evan shifts on the couch and glances at the clock in the kitchen. 

“I should get back,” he says, with visible reluctance, and Tommy doesn’t hesitate. 

“You could stay,” he says. 

“You mean for the night?” Evan asks, tentative again the way he was when Tommy first walked in to find him in his kitchen. 

“Sure,” Tommy says, “that.” He does not sell it, at all, and a slow smile starts to spread on Evan’s face. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and they both know what he’s asking. 

“Of course,” Tommy says, soft and sincere. He straightens a little. “I have a guest room,” he says, and Evan’s smile dims. “Not like that,” he says quickly. “Just—you’ve been through a lot, and if you just need a safe place to be for a while…”

Evan’s nodding as he talks, and he shifts closer to Tommy on the couch, meeting Tommy’s eyes. “I do need that,” he says. “I do need a safe place to be right now. And that’s you, Tommy.”

It sits there for a second because Tommy doesn’t know what to say, and Evan’s smile falters. Tommy reaches out for his hand. 

“Oh,” he says, and it’s soft and a little awed. “I didn’t”—he clears his throat—“I didn’t know that.”

Evan nods gravely. “I’ll do better this time. At making sure you know.”

Tommy grips his hand tighter. “I—me too. I’ll do better.”

Evan smiles at him, sweet and pleased. “We both will. We’ll do it right this time.”

Tommy can’t argue with that. God knows they have a laundry list of stuff to talk about, to figure out, but…

“We will,” he agrees, and for the first time, he lets himself truly believe it.