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ma1dita · 2 months

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play pretend

a ‘partners in crime’ installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 5.1k (holy shit)

summary: (established relationship…at the end of it lol) suggestive in nature but sfw , underage drinking what do you expect from a dionysus!kid, mentions of vomit The one where Mr. D catches you two in the act, but you and him aren't exactly together yet. Everyone knows you two are together except the both of you, apparently. It’s hard to not run away from something good. (luke castellan x dionysus!reader)

a/n: happy first i love you to you and luke! yall are together now! crazy! thanks for being patient during my lil vacay :)) its been a little over a month since i started the trouble!verse!! ilysm

(posted 2/23 betad by my one and only @mrsaluado )

—

There’s something you’ve always loved about mornings.

Waking up with the first rays of light peeking through your window, the sun’s arms stretched around your sleepy frame pressing warm, featherlike kisses across the expanse of your back.

It almost feels real.

Apollo must be feeling generous today, the heat of a warm breath brushing against your neck, and your alarm sounding an awful lot like soft snores. You ought to get up and close the blinds; it’s too damn bright. But your weighted blanket feels immensely heavier this morning as it envelopes your senses—smelling of citrus, musk, and a tangible dream of last night that seems to have stayed in bed with you. As soon as you try to untangle your legs from below the covers, warmth presses you deeper into the mattress with a…familiar sigh.

Your eyes pop open.

Quick and calculated, your eyes survey the surroundings of your room—the mop of licorice tresses nestled against the crook of your neck, both of your clothes scattered on the floor, as well as the alarm clock and a few other things knocked off your nightstand from Luke’s enthusiasm. The quiet of the morning is quickly disrupted when you hear two pairs of little hands pounding on your door, and for a moment you wonder if this is one of those hyper-realistic dreams that you don’t want to wake up from.

“Sissy! You missed breakfast,” Pollux bellows as Castor continues to slap his palms on the wood like a bongo drum.

The sheets start rustling as you squirm out of Luke’s grasp, bumping against the muscular ridges of his torso which brings him back to consciousness.

“Be out in a minute!” you slur against his shoulder, and he opens his eyes blearily at the sight of you sprawled over him to try to reach the alarm clock on the ground. As his eyes focus he can’t help but admire the planes of your body, soft and pretty in the morning light like a painting come to life. Waking up in one’s company has never felt more right, even with the usual chatter of campers wafting through the open window. Here in the swaddle of pink and purple sheets, you two are something singular—not camp counselors with jobs to do, not demigods wanting to achieve glory, just your angelface and his trouble.

It’s intimate, even if it doesn’t have a label, him and you.

His large hand catches you at the plush of your tummy when you almost topple off the bed.

“Shit. Shit! They’re not kidding—Luke, it’s 9:30!”

You fling yourself upwards and off of him, clambering to find clothes from your dresser and tossing him his from the day prior. His belt buckle almost hits him in the eye and he groans, flinching as it smacks him in the cheek.

“Gods, woman. You think camp will crumble because you slept in for once?”

The glare you throw in his direction is his answer, so Luke slowly tugs his pants on–though he quickly gets distracted by a half-dressed vision of you rummaging around your room.

“Castellan.”

He grins like a little kid in a candy store, and to that, you throw his shoe at him.

Idiot.

Too bad you’re in deep shit for sleeping in.

“SISSY!!!”

“IN A FUCKING MINUTE, THING ONE AND TWO!”

Screaming at the closed door as you throw some shorts on, you spin around and bump into Luke who’s already got his hands around your waist as his nose nudges the space between your jaw and your neck.

“You were supposed to leave before daybreak,” you sigh, a smile creeping onto your lips, “if you did as you were told, I wouldn’t have slept in.” Fake annoyance leaks through your voice though he knows it not to be true, he wouldn’t be able to latch onto you like this if you were. His nose continues to graze up towards your ear as he presses a kiss behind it—like how you both deal with your feelings and the truth nowadays, a hidden secret kept for both of your eyes only.

“Dunno trouble…I can get used to waking up next to you,” he mumbles. You can feel the imprint of his smile searing into your skin.

Is this what going into cardiac arrest feels like? Genuine question.

You’ve both been sneaking around for the past few weeks, but neither of you has made anything official. They say it’s easier to fall for a friend rather than a stranger—to know someone so intimately (and now in more ways than one) should make falling the easy part.

But that’s kind of the problem.

Luke is your best friend—both knowing how the other feels from a single glance, so pray tell to all the gods on Olympus, why has this boy not asked you out yet? Whether this is all for fun or anything resembling a four-letter word that makes your brain go fuzzy, you think you’d rather swim in the Styx instead of putting yourself at a disadvantage. Love is scary, even if it’s Luke.

Especially since it’s Luke.

His words make you stop in your tracks and you can hear your heart pounding in your ears, so you’re not dead… But the noise turns out to be one of the twins banging on the door again, and now you look like an asshole for taking too long to respond. Luke’s awkwardly looking at you now, tongue in cheek.

“Last warning,” one of your brothers teasingly croons, before the other continues, “Dad’s almost at the door! Your boyfriend’s gotta go or he’s dead…”

Your eyes widen in fear and Luke loosens his grip on your waist, unsure if you look like you’ve seen a ghost at the thought of him being called your boyfriend or the very real possibility of getting caught by your dad.

What a way to go, you two.

“Get out. You gotta go now, out the window!”

You start pushing him towards the windowpane, your palms pressing against his marked-up and very bare back.

Holy shit, he still doesn’t have a shirt and he looks like he got mauled by a hellhound.

You can practically see the grapevines start to flourish outside your window.

He’s too close for comfort, way too damn close, you think, but can’t reason if you mean Luke or your dad.

“Seriously?”

He straddles the open window, and Luke doesn’t know what to feel about you pushing him away—it’s a feeling that’s foreign to him since he’s always by your side.

“Sorry. I’ll make it up to you later angelface,” you mumble, pulling him in for a mind-numbing kiss that almost makes him slip off the rain gutter, and by the time you’ve already closed the window he realizes he’s shirtless in broad daylight, feet hopping off the siding of the cabin.

This couldn’t get any worse (oh but it does in a second), and you’re definitely the asshole this time around.

Your dad barges into your room by the time you throw a shirt on.

“Kid, what the hell? You sick?”

Mr. D furrows his brows at the sight of you, face flushed as you simper up a lie about your head hurting. It’s weak for an excuse and even if you usually don’t have a tell—he’s the master of this game, so he pretends to not notice you chuck a shirt out the window when you open it to make it less stuffy.

He raises an eyebrow in disapproval when you both notice your shirt is too big on you.

Oh, he’s onto you, applying heat like a brand to make his only daughter squirm; Mr. D peeks out the window to see a certain Luke Castellan stomping across the path wearing your cropped camp tee—and concludes that if there’s anyone in hot water right now, Luke must be drowning in it.

—

Acting natural is a bit harder for you today, and it feels like a cruel and unusual punishment worth the deepest pit of the Underworld as you scribble words onto a page that won’t even be comprehensible once you read them after this meeting is over. You’ve been catching up on work all day (also known as the impossible task of avoiding Luke) to show your dad you haven’t been slacking off. But a late start meant you fumbled through your day and it was obvious to everyone that you were off your game. Archery ran into javelin throwing, capture the flag teams weren’t ready and had to be made on the spot, there were no new shipments delivered to the camp store, and the infirmary ran out of ambrosia— which were all things that you were expected to coordinate.

Gods, you’re getting too old for this shit.

And if you, the head counselor everyone depends on, is off her game, well—everyone’s on edge. The Stolls even dared to ask you if the world was ending today and you were less than impressed.

Being in love sure feels like it is.

The only thing left to get through is this counselor’s meeting before the party tonight at Fireworks Beach, and you’ll damn yourself to Tartarus if you can’t even get that right. You’re a Dionysus kid, so partying is in your blood. Party planning is your favorite hobby, and to be real, you deserve a drink after today.

Speaking of your father, he’s jabbering on about something you find yourself not particularly interested in, but well…someone’s gotta listen. Charles is dozing off at the table, and Lee jabs him in the side. You see Silena braiding Clarisse’s hair out of the corner of your periphery. And of course, out of all of them, there’s Luke who’s been trying to steal your attention for the past 30 minutes. Black ink smears across the page as you find yourself having every thought that ends supplemented with the memory of how Luke looked at you as he climbed out of your window this morning.

Could he actually want more?

The all-star camper, Luke Castellan— camp’s best soldier who’s envied by many and admired by all…wants to wake up next to you. You, the camp director’s daughter who keeps everyone in line and is seen more as authority instead of a person with feelings. You’re not always feared, but in a camp for demigod kids who’d rather hone their powers instead of lose special privileges for skipping class, you’re not exactly their favorite either. Once, someone said they’d rather face Mr. D instead of you.

“That doesn’t make sense, we’re supposed to send in the next progress report to Olympus before the last day of the month. That’s Wednesday, D. So it should be by the Sunday before,” you butt in after a statement your dad makes about scheduling.

All eyes are on you now— it’s the first time you’ve spoken up during tonight’s meeting which was out of character in itself, but your father catches you off guard when the sound of his booming laughter spreads across the room like dynamite tearing through a battlefield.

“Says who? We’ve got enough time,” The god remarks, a strange sheen in his eyes that reflects into yours. He’s on your ass a bit more today, pointing out your flaws from the day and making it his mission to get on your nerves. Few mortals would undermine a god, and though you do it daily to spite him for your existence, your confidence is lower today than it usually is—the reason being a boy with amber eyes boring into your soul from across the table. Everything else pales in comparison now, almost fading into the background, and even here in the hot seat you can’t help but think about if Luke could ever fall for someone like you.

You’re venturing into dangerous territory, you tell yourself, you’ve been hurt before.

It hurts less somehow when you’re cautious. To prepare oneself to be hurt is a defense mechanism ingrained in you—your mom raised you to always be ready for anything. Your self-identity has always been skewed by others’ perceptions. Mirroring the memory of your late mother’s ideals, exemplifying your actions through your immortal father’s personality, you find that fighting your bloodline is one of the most difficult things to come to terms with. A thought passes in your brain that you’ve taken after the worst of them—your mother’s ambition and your father’s unpredictability.

And who would want to love someone so difficult?

Tough love is the only way you know how to love. Perhaps someone as good as Luke deserves better than this.

“It’ll be less to worry about that way,” you swallow, and the other counselors sit back in their seats as tension fills the air, signaling another disagreement about to start between your father and you.

“Good thing you don’t have to worry about it since it’s my job, right, kid? Just because you woke up on the wrong side of the bed today doesn’t mean you can change things to better fit your schedule instead of the rest of ours.”

Mr. D scowls, and then again maybe you’re too much like your father—too brash, too mouthy, and self-serving, and your eyes meet Luke’s again as your mouth pulls into a bitter smile.

“It’s the first and last time it’ll ever happen. Gods know I don’t get sick days around here picking up after you,” you spit out harshly, words coming out like acid.

“Just saying kid. Haven’t seen you this careless in years— Maybe check yourself before telling us what to do, yeah?”

Your father’s words have a double meaning as he stares into your soul, glancing between you and Luke, who is none the wiser, still focused on you. Annabeth is holding his hand under the table as you watch his jaw flex. He can see right through the shoddy performance you put on of having it all together.

Does everyone know?

Your lips pucker as you roll your neck from locking, and a humorless laugh slips from you. Everyone else’s eyes are on Luke, who looks like he’s about to jump across the table and wring a god’s neck.

Fuck.

“Whatever. I’m not doing this today,” you grumble, feeling overwhelmed. The chair screeches against the wood of the floor as you push yourself up, fists stained with ink and clenched in teenage angst as you walk to the door to make a quick escape.

Your father crosses his arms smugly at the success of getting under your skin, and the last words you hear as you leave are, “You never want to hear the truth, kid. Must you always be so…. you?”

Your steps falter for a moment, feeling heavier knowing he’s right so you let go of the door to let it slam it behind you. There’s a commotion inside after you leave but you couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. It’s time to party and you’re sure as hell getting drunk, high, or both tonight.

—

It takes about two cups of wine for the inebriation to start kicking into Luke’s system. He’d never been much of a drinker, but with the way you’re throwing your head back at Lee’s jokes as he plays the guitar, he thinks he should drink a bit more to forget the fear in your eyes this morning and how Lee keeps touching your waist.

He’s been suspended from counselor duties for the rest of the month for mouthing off at Mr. D in your defense, and even if Annabeth tells him he’s lucky to have not met a worse fate, the way things played out today makes him feel like the most unlucky guy at camp. Fuck the gods, or at least…fuck your dads (that doesn’t sound right, but he’s too busy watching the moonlight glint against your skin that whatever his ex is whispering next to him goes in one ear and out the other).

“Lukey?” Skye mumbles against his neck, “I miss you…you’re always busy doing who knows what!”

Well… she has a name, Luke thinks, taking a big gulp of whatever’s left in his cup as his eyes follow you across the beach. You’re dancing around the bonfire spinning a tipsy Clarisse who laughs without a care in the world. He thinks you’re the best of your parents—determined to achieve your goals, selfless when it comes to others’ needs, and passionate about what you want. Mr. D will never get to see this side of you—the one you show your friends and this place you all call home. He’ll never be deserving of the work you put into Camp Half-Blood (and to some extent, Luke knows he doesn’t deserve you either).

A dejected sigh brushes warm air against his shoulder.

“You know, Castellan. I wish I met you first,” the blond daughter of Athena slurs with tears forming in her eyes.

“What are you talking about?”

“The two of you have always… it’s always been you and her. Even if you both don’t want to admit it. It’s not fair,” she hiccups. Luke pulls the cup out of his ex-lover’s hand and she shakes her head.

“Skye, you’re drunk. I’ll take you back to 6.”

“You really don’t see it do you?” Her hands grapple onto Luke’s shirt like she’s pulling him down and pleading for him to understand.

“That girl is in love with you. The both of you are meant for each other—and you’re both spending too much time trying to fight fate. The rest of us aren’t as lucky, but we sure as hell aren’t stupid.”

There’s a moment of clarity that hits as he looks into Skye’s eyes, and he scratches the back of his neck.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I meant what I said when we broke up a few years ago. You’re both always looking for each other, even if you don’t know it. Just meet in the middle already, for gods’ sake…I’ll be okay,” she sighs, sitting up on the log they were resting on.

“Your girlfriend is sure as hell to give me a hangover worth her title of being Dionysus’ kid in the morning anyways,” she mutters, kissing Luke on his cheek as a farewell. But out of all of the things to catch your attention that night, Luke’s blush glows in the light of the fire, and he watches you frown and stomp off toward the forest.

For being the son of the god of luck, his dad really won’t give him a break.

It didn’t help that Skye suddenly started projectile vomiting seconds after you left (off of her only cup of wine; wonder how that happened).

—

Luke fights through his growing intoxication on the walk back towards the cabins, but boy are you difficult when you’re angry—you’ve always had a profound effect on his being, even more so with your powers. He makes a wrong turn somewhere through the woods, completely missing the cabins, which he doesn’t realize until he stumbles across the path leading to the Big House. When his eyes focus, he spots Mr. D sipping on a glass as he leans on the railing of the front porch. Be calm and don’t act drunk, Luke tells himself, but all of his concentration goes into not swaying in front of the god of wine that he can’t stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

“Good evening, um…sir.”

“Kid, it’s 3 in the morning. What the hell are you doing here? Gods know it’s not my window you’re trying to climb up. You’re a bit of a ways off.”

Now what the fuck was he supposed to say to that?

Luke freezes in his spot (in reality he bumps into the first wooden step and sticks a hand out to steady himself against the railing).

“Are you drunk?”

Mr. D looks at him knowingly like it’s almost funny to him, eyebrows furrowed and head quirked like he can sniff it off of him. He probably can, now that Luke thinks really hard about it.

“I’m not gonna answer that because I think you know the answer already,” the son of Hermes words carefully, but nothing smart can come of this. It’s like playing chess with checkers, and Dionysus of all gods would know—no breathalyzer needed.

There’s a beat of silence, before Mr. D says, “I’m gonna give you another chance to–”

“Yes, I’m drunk, but it’s not trouble’s fault—it’s mine!” he blabbers, walking closer to your father.

“She’s mad at me for defending her from you earlier besides the fact I act stupid around her and I only had a few cups, I swear, but she’s…your daughter is…extraordinary.”

“What?”

“Your daughter makes me feel drunk, sir. Even without the wine. I don’t know what to do with myself, just please don’t get mad at her. She has a lot more to lose…” He feels pathetic in all sense of the word, rubbing at his eyes until Mr. D snaps his fingers and the alcohol blanket lifts from his senses. Like a bucket of cold water splashed onto his spine, Luke is suddenly very awake, and all too embarrassed for the waterfall of words he’s told your father.

“Oh.”

“I didn’t know she knew how to do that yet. She’s learning quickly.” Mr. D looks out into the distance, the dim light of the cabins acting like a beacon of light in the middle of the campgrounds.

Luke wrings his hands, picking at his thumbs and he’s sure he’s about to get kicked out of camp for his behavior, much less the fact that he’s been fraternizing with the director’s daughter.

“Sometimes I think she knows too much.” He licks his lips, awkwardly standing next to the god and wondering if the dark liquid in his cup is wine.

“Do you think I don’t know that, Luke? Do you really think I don’t know about the parties? I let her have her fun too you know— I'm the one that keeps Chiron asleep. She doesn’t ask for much. I know I give her a hard time. I’m just….”

There are a few things about Mr. D’s statement that surprise Luke: the fact that he actually knows his name, how he safeguards his daughter’s interests, and the possibility of a god actually knowing how to be a good parent.

It still doesn’t take away from the countless times he’s seen you put yourself down because of your father, the inadequacy you feel from the responsibilities you take on, and how you’d do anything for simple applause. Tough love is still love with a heavy hand. And it leaves bruises, whether he meant it or not.

“Is that why you’ve never sent her on an actual quest? We all know picking up the twins doesn’t count in the grand scheme of things.”

“For what? To achieve glory? Recognition? I never understood why we Olympians do that. Send children off to their deaths to deserve a moment of their godrent’s time, or a gift to shut them up. I don’t need her to be a hero, she doesn’t have anything she needs to prove to me. I need her to be my daughter, and preferably alive. That’s enough for me.”

Luke takes a step back in disbelief. There’s something in his being that yearns to be loved like that, without having to prove it or needing to deserve it. It hurts almost, the way he wants to be loved like your family loves you. Your father, an Olympian, standing in front of him telling him that your existence is enough to be worthy of his presence. In the silence that follows, Luke wonders if he’ll ever have that.

“You should tell her that more often, sir.”

“Listen. She’s a good kid, I just give her a hard time because it’s hard to get attached to you mortals. Your lives are so short compared to the infinite timeline I live. I can do everything in my power to try to keep her safe, but I can’t stop her from leaving. So don’t blame me if I act like an asshole if it’ll keep her here for a bit longer. I’ll take all the time I can get.”

“Then how do I tell her I love her with without either of us running away?”

Mr. D laughs loudly now, his wrinkles crinkling as liquid sloshes out of his cup. It turns out to be grape juice you left out for him before the party.

“Mortals always busy themselves with trivial things, like pride and sorrow. Pandora’s box left you humans with nothing but hope. I say you swallow the negative and just say it how it is. You’ll have a lot more time being happier together that way. I already lost my bet against some of the counselors anyway.”

“What bet?”

Your dad swats at Luke like he’s a dog to kick, and tosses his glass over his shoulder where it disappears in the night air.

“Get off my porch Castellan, and just know if you hurt her…”

“I’d die before that happens, sir.”

“That would hurt her most of all. Think about what that means. For gods’ sake she’s left her light on for you, so go on before I set the harpies on you. And don’t call me sir, it freaks me out. You’re still not special to me.” Mr. D stalks back inside the Big House, and Luke takes that as his cue to leave. The cold night air pushes him back towards the cabins, the light in your window luring him in like a ship lost at sea.

—

“I know you’re still awake, trouble.”

You hear him move closer to the bed as you keep your eyes shut, evening out your breaths, but you’re never able to hide anything from Luke anymore.

“I thought I closed that window,” you mumble, turning your face more towards your pillow.

“You didn’t.”

Of course, you didn’t. You were hoping he’d chase after you this time around, even if you made him drunk in more ways than one.

“Skye keep you busy?” you say nonchalantly, and you hear Luke laugh as he tugs your duvet off of you.

“Your dad did, actually,” he says grinning, watching your eyes pop open in confusion as you turn and face him, propping yourself up on your knees.

“What the fuck?”

“You could’ve gotten me kicked out y’know? Stumbled onto his porch telling him about how drunk you make me feel even without a drop of alcohol and how I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself when I’m around you.”

“You shouldn’t be so brave to fight gods like that for me. Even if it’s my dad, Castellan,” you whisper, and he kneels next to your bed so he can look at you in the eyes from an equal standpoint. Because that’s what the two of you are— equal, singular, one and the same. And he’s never made you feel less than, even if your brain tries to convince you of it.

“Stop that,” he scoffs, shaking his head as he grabs your hands, “stop calling me my last name like it detaches you from how you feel about me. I want you to stop pretending when it's just you and me,” he pleads, whispering your name so softly that the sound of it brushes against your lips.

There’s something more intimate in the way he looks at you now compared to when you were naked and nestled against him this past morning. The act of knowing that it’s you and him, no matter how hard you try to fight it.

His knuckle brushes against your jaw, pushing your eyes to look back into his, and you can’t deny him any longer.

“Hey. I love you, and I know you feel the same; I'm tired of you acting like you're not and I’m going crazy he—”

His words are halted by your lips surging forward to meet him in the middle. The culmination of years of friendship has brought you to this special moment frozen in time, and sure, demigods die young but this must be what he’ll see in Elysium. If there’s a single memory he can bring with him to his next life, he hopes it’s this one—the taste of you and how it feels to be loved like this, without question or reason. You pull away with a sweet smile and he feels drunk again.

“You’re my best friend, angelface,” you mumble.

Okay, now that sobered him up faster than it should have.

Luke stiffens, his hands falling to your thighs as he starts to ramble, “If you’re actually friendzoning me right now I might just roll out of your window and feed myself to a harpy.”

The laugh that comes out of you booms across the room as you wrap your arms around him with a radiant smile. You always have so much to say, but right now only three words come to mind. Five vowels, three consonants, and the gravity of it pushes out of your mouth like there’s no better truth to tell.

“I love you. I think I’ve been in love with you even before I liked you and I’m sorry I’ve been too scared to say it. I’m not used to…”

Luke sighs in relief, as he presses his scarred cheek against your shoulder.

“You think I’m not scared of us either, trouble? I worship the ground you walk on, and everyone can see that.”

“Well I’m not a god, Luke,” you say tugging him up by his mop of curls as your legs wrap around him.

“Sometimes when I’m with you, I think you’re the closest thing to it,” he whispers, pulling your chin down for another kiss until you both get your fill. He thinks he can kiss you forever until the end of your short lives, until it’s senseless and maddening, like falling into a drunken stupor. Loving you is an experience he’ll never be able to rid himself of, heart stained with the best of you until both your fingertips are red and raw with the feeling.

You pull him back into your bed as your giggles fill the early morning air. He’s quickly becoming what you love most about waking up in the morning.

—

Chris Rodriguez wakes up to the sound of the morning birds and chattering children in the busy cabin 11. As he rubs at his eyes, ready to take on the day as an interim cabin counselor for the rest of the month because of Luke’s suspension, sunlight falls onto the one empty bunk in the corner of the room (Fact: There is never an empty bed in the Hermes cabin. Also a fact: he and Chiron will be able to cash in against the other counselors as fast as his feet can take him to the Big House).

—

“To love someone is firstly to confess; I’m prepared to be devastated by you.” Billy Ray Belcourt

ask to be added to luke/general taglists!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x dionysus!reader #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan angst #made by ma1dita ♥︎#🪽#percy series #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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cowgirlcherrie · 8 months

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whenever i think about loser! ellie in highschool my mind always goes to that one tiktoker called ellawillstv that does the unbearable lesbian povs…

feel like Ellie would have a ridiculous phase and act like that, only to threaten to murder anyone/everyone when someone brings in up years later.

🪴🪴

STOPP OMG I have the silliest thoughts about this!!

she 100% would of been a top bun/ponytail nike headband lesbian in high school and had the cringiest videos on her stories.

Like when someone is like “remember when!” Ellie immediately starts shouting “shut up! shut up! shut up!” because she literally doesn’t want to remember anythingg

there’s definitely a video of her with the snapchat doggy filter on, braces, hair in the messiest ponytail and she is lip singing the lyrics to don’t by bryson tiller

good luck to whoever brings up her musically era she gets violent!!

#cher 💌 answers #🪽 *+:｡.｡ cher speaks #💭ᜊ cher thinks #ʚ☆ɞ cher’s babis and nonnies #cher’s 🪴 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ nonnie #hehe #silly #loser! ellie

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princessofkpops-blog · 7 months

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#jennie #jenniepp #kpop moodboard #kpopbio #soft bios #kpop bios #kpop imagines #kpop packs #kpop smut #kpop wallpaper #pink bios #pinkcore #💖💝🤍💗#✩ 🎀°｡🎧⋆⸜ 🌷✧˖°⋆⑅˚₊🪽🎀꒰ 💗⊹ ˚ . age ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰🍥꒱ ♡ ･ ✧🍧˚˖ / 🌸 ꒰ pro/nouns ꒱ ᘏ (🌷) . ˚◞🧁꒱𖥦 ✧ ˚ ࿔ @username.!! · ˚ * ୨୧ ✧ ˚🎀#⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚🩰 ๋๋࣭࣭ 𓏲 🩰 ๋๋ ˶ . 🎀 𖥔 ˖♡₊˚ 🦢・₊✧˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚🩹🧸🎀🌸🎀👛🌷👙🩰✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚🩰🎀🌸🍧🌸💕ʚ🌸ɞ₊˚ʚ ᗢ₊˚✧ ﾟ.☁

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enochianprayerbook · 1 year

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#milk carton angel #ੈ ⋆.ೃ ʚ 𓆩♡𓆪 ɞ ུ۪۪ ⋆｡˚. ◞#🤍🪽

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str6ngled · 2 months

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#haunted doll #🤎୭ 🍰 ✧ ˚. ᵎᵎ 🍰🤎#˚ʚ♡ɞ˚#🪽#🐌#decomposed gf #dead bf

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iqmmir · 11 months

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Mona for bingo :33

#ʚ 🪽 ɞ ᴍᴏɴᴀ #.asks ❜

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k-n0-x · 2 months

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🪽🦢!NSFW Lucifer Headcanons!🦢🪽

ˏˋ°•⁀➷🐈‍⬛✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡🐈‍⬛ˏˋ°•⁀➷

His oral game is peak, he believes in the craft of it and it’s his favourite position. Lucifer knows how to get in all the good places too, making you scream his name in ecstasy.

He absolutely loves it when you sit on his face, when he’s face ridden and short of breath, he finds it ridiculously hot.

Whenever he reaches his climax, his wings poof out stiff, and he loses some feathers in the process

Though he doesn’t admit it, he has a praise kink. When you say “good boy, pretty boy, well done,” etc. he goes ecstatic, wanting to prove himself to you and get the validation he deserves (give my poor boy a hug)

When it comes to aftercare, you and Luci take care of each other, making each other’s comfort food/drink and watching your guys’ mutual favourite TV show <3

ˏˋ°•⁀➷🐈‍⬛✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡🐈‍⬛ˏˋ°•⁀➷

#fanfiction #smut #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #headcanon #hazbin hotel fandom

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clemnchai · 1 year

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my baby.

🪽in which your friend ellie realizes she’s in love with you.

you two were laying face to face in ellie’s bed, the conversation at hand suddenly becoming more and more vulnerable as the night passed by with the discussion of insecurities being brought up. “uhh… i dont think i have any insecurities?” she said as a question almost, as if she were unsure about her answer. “i’m scared of ending up alone though. y’know, if that counts for anything..” she says with a shrug. “you?” “i dunno…” you look away from her eyes. “cmonnn. y’know i wouldn’t judge you. now tell me.. please.” she says as she scans your face. you got quiet and the room became stagnant as you search for the words you wanted to express. “ i dunno, i think—fuck.” you shut your eyes as you feel the burning tears well up. “sometimes i feel so…. unlovable..” you open your eyes to look at ellie. you didn’t mean to get choked up like this, blaming it on the weed provided by ellie but u knew there was more to it. her forest green eyes stared back at you, searching your eyes, scanning your face. you felt pliant and soft under her gaze — like an egg yolk threatening to break. you felt… translucent. it’s as if her eyes looked beyond your body and through your soul. she slowly lifted her hand and gently put it on your cheek. slowly rubbing your tear stained cheeks with her thumb and hummed softly under her breath.

“i’ve always thought you were the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen.” she whispered— as if it were a secret. as if it could get her in trouble. ellie looks at you like you hung the stars and moon. like you placed each individual star in the sky one by one. this is when ellie realized how hard shes fallen for you, because all she thought in that moment was how perfect you are.

- ˚ʚ♡a ɞ˚

#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #tlou 2 ellie #ellie williams headcanons #els <3 #this is vvvvvv self indulgent:(( for the insecure girlies!!#ellie williams angst #SoundCloud

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huihuiyi · 5 months

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tips for studying —! from d’s to a’s 🪽 🧠

not doing so well in school lately? having some focusing issues? getting super distracted yet upset at your grades? yeah me to ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡

because of this i’ve been getting some pretty bad grades, but they’ve gone up tremendously and here’s how i did it ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢt꒱₊˚⊹

- focus focus focus !

turn off your phone, notifications put all distractions away! if you have a really hard time focusing try this:

time yourself and see how long it takes for you to get distracted when studying, then when you start to drift off see how long it took. for example i got distracted after twenty minutes then study twenty minutes and take five minute breaks in between and slowly increase the time! works like magic ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

- blurting !

this truly saved me life, after studying your content try blurting! get a piece of paper and write every single thing you know related to the topic or what you’ve learnt then look back at your notes and see what you’ve missed and focus on those topics more. do this as many times as you need to until you understand and remember everything!!

- understand the content !!

remember, studying isn’t just about remembering the content and implementing it onto your test it’s about understanding! that’s what tests are really for , so when you’re studying please don’t rush and just remember key words or diagrams without understanding it. even if it isn’t interesting try and find it interesting it really helps !

- answer and ask questions in class !!

i’m going to be honest this is really hard for me haha but i’ve been starting to ask my teachers for help and answering my friends questions to. this seems really silly but it’s so helpful and even if you get something wrong you’ll be corrected in the end so ask some questions and answer some to <3!

- sleep 💤 !!

this is also related to focus. make sure to get enough sleep, eat healthy and start taking care of yourself. drink lots of water! you hear this everywhere but once i started caring i started to have all this energy and it helped me so much in class so take care of yourself !

- be active in class !!

this is so hard for me omg but still write notes ask questions and stay focused and do really well!

i hope these helped, if they don’t then please ask me and tell me!! i hope everyone who reads this gets amazing grades and as we enter the new year i hope everyone is extremely lucky and happy <33

reblogs are appreciated and please like if you found this helpful 🎀🪽 part 2 coming soon…!

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fanyyy444 · 16 days

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Symbols 4U🩷

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˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚.🎀༘⋆

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚♡

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

-`♡´-

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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→⁠_⁠→

←⁠_⁠←

(⁠´⁠⊙⁠ω⁠⊙⁠`⁠)⁠→

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(⁠ ⁠≧⁠Д⁠≦⁠)

(⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)

(⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠)

「 ✦ 𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞 ✦ 」

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

( ´ཀ` )

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

𓇢𓆸

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⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

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୨ৎ

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(⑅˶ᵔ ▿ ᵔ˶) ~♡

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖

૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

༘⋆₊ ⊹★🔭๋࣭ ⭑⋆｡˚

↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺

≽^•༚• ྀི≼

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

≽^- ˕ -^≼

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

BLɅϽKPIИK

+×+

𝗘𝗡╸

𐒡𝛫𝛧

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

🍙♡‹𝟹㊗🎧"

⩇⩇:⩇⩇

ᦓꪻ᥅ꪖꪗ ᛕ꠸ᦔᦓ

*¬°𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐙°¬²

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✰

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˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

G(ι)- dλε

𖧵✶✜❆✙✘

LOOΠΔ

𖧵

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡ ⋆

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

⋆˚✿˖°

-`♡´-itzy -`♡´-

╰┈➤

☆.𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𓍊𓋼𓍊.☆

༘˚ 𝟕 ₊˙

⟭⟬⁷

🫶🫶🏻🫶🏼🫶🏽🫶🏾🫶🏿

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❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜🤎🖤🩶🤍🩷💘💝💖💗💓💞💕💌💟♥️❣️❤️‍🩹💔❤️‍🔥

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🍄🍁🌻🪻🍂🪵🪹🪺🪨🫧🌈🌬️🌊🌩️⛈️🌧️💧☀️🌞🌙🌝🌚🌜🌛💫☄️🪐🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

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♥️♦️♣️♠️

💭🗯️💬🗨️❕❗❔❓⁉️‼️⭕❌🚫🔞🔕🔇🆘#️⃣*️⃣0️⃣1️⃣2️⃣3️⃣4️⃣5️⃣6️⃣7️⃣8️⃣9️⃣🔟

♈♉♊♋♌♍♎♏♐♑♒♓

🎵🎶🎼🔈🔉🔊

🔶🔸🔆🔅✴️🆚🛑⛔📛♨️💢🔻🔺🚭🔷🔹👁️‍🗨️◽▫️◻️🔲▪️◾◼️🔳🔘✖️➕➖➗🟰〰️™️®️©️🌐🚹🚺☯️🛐

⬆️↗️➡️↘️⬇️↙️⬅️↖️↕️↔️↩️↪️⤴️⤵️🔃🔄

🔁🔂🔀▶️⏩⏭️⏯️◀️⏪⏮️🔼⏫🔽⏬⏸️⏹️⏺️⏏️

🔙🔛🔝🔚🔜

🆕🆓🆙🆗🆒🆖ℹ️🅿️🈁🈂️🈳🔣🔤🔠🔡🔢

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚

ཐི ♱ ཋྀ

🎧⋆°｡𖦹๋࣭ ⭑🎱

♱

★

†

‡

∞

•

«≤‹⟨

›≥»⟩

—

–

←↑↓→

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ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

.𖥔 ݁ ˖

⋆⋆⋆

¹¹¹ ²²² ³³³ ⁴⁴⁴ ⁵⁵⁵ ⁶⁶⁶ ⁷⁷⁷ ⁸⁸⁸ ⁹⁹⁹ ⁰⁰⁰

∅

⌖

⋆｡‧₊°♱༺𓆩❦︎𓆪༻♱༉‧₊˚.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

༺☆༻

⌞ ⌝

ཐིཋྀ

𖤐

❦.

🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

⛦

⛧

<𝟑

✪

✶

⋮

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

𖠋

⩩

✟

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

✧༺┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦┆༻✩

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

ㅇ

ㅁ

ㅅ

ㅜ

ㅗ

ㅡ

✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

🦴🦷🌹🥀🌷❄️🌫️☁️🕳️🌽🥦🍅🍎🍉🍑🍒🥭🍗🍖🥪🍟🥡🍣🍘🍰

🛞🛟⚓🚨🚥🚦🩼🛸🚀🛝🎡🎠🎪🗼🗽🏠🏚️🛖🎂🛷🧩🎰🕹️🎮🧱🚪🪞🪟🧦💊🚬🎭

Bye

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torturedpoetera · 5 months

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🪽 ❀ ⑅ ( ˘˘

—ʚ taylor ɞ icons

Like or reblog if u save/use

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ma1dita · 2 months

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somebody's angel

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 4.4k

summary: (pre-established relationship) descriptions of gore/injury The one where you convince him he’s pretty, even with a scar. The aftermath of helping Luke heal from Hesperides. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: lyrics from ‘die alone’ by finneas <3 this was originally titled angel face, devilish smile in the masterpost but much has changed since then! lil reminder Mr. D’s kids have violet eyes and god this has heavy foreshadowing; as usual, scream at me in the comments and feel free to reblog :)

(posted 2/25/24, edited!)

—

[ i wasn't lookin' for you || but you found me, you found me || just as the smoke filled the room in the valley ]

Isn’t it funny that when your dreams finally come true it's never in the way you want?

You’ve decided that if you ever make it out of here alive you’re never stepping another foot in San Francisco. There are so many other places to vacation, ones closer to home and without hundred-headed dragons. Granted, the city is beautiful with its winding roads, bustling crowds and oh, Annabeth would love the architecture—but you weren’t really able to admire much as you ran down the marble stepping stones leading to Luke’s body splayed across the grass.

Holy shit, he better not be dead.

He’s always had a habit of running off without telling you, and well, this was the farthest thing from a vacation. Luke was so sure he’d make his father proud by getting sent off on a solo quest by Hermes—his ultimate test for glory. Everyone revered him and applauded his charisma and confidence in getting these damn golden apples, but staring at them now from afar didn’t convince you of the appeal. Putrid smoke fills your lungs as you cough, the sensation like acid rain grappling your senses as you watch Luke slash his sword toward Ladon one final time before toppling over like a shot bird. You’re crawling to reach him, using your jacket to wipe at your watering eyes and the monster’s shadow envelops both of your hunched forms as you shake him awake. It can’t end like this for him, you won’t let it happen.

This is not a hero’s death, but an idiot’s.

“Luke!” you scream, “if you’re dead, I’ll fucking kill you!”

There’s so much blood covering him that you wonder if he has any left in his body. It pools around his slashed back, making the grass around him dark with his life force. For a moment, you worry you’re too late. Ladon roars above you, piercing your eardrums as you stifle a whimper and bury your face in his chest—but if you stay here with him and accept your fate, the both of you will be dead in minutes. You’ve never been one to give up, and neither has he.

As his vision darkens, he realizes you’re holding onto him for dear life, Luke's sword in your dominant hand and his dead weight against the other. It’s almost as if you need him more than he needs you, and the thought is comforting in comparison to the molten hot pain running through his body. The wafting aroma of the golden apples continues to permeate the air, reflecting his deepest desires. Desperation lured him to the dragon and its protected fruit, and for it, he almost met his death. Luke was so close to glory that he could smell it–he imagined it smelling like burnt cookies and the clothes of an ancient traveler. Salvation was supposed to be crisp and light in his mouth, but now it feels like biting into shards of glass. Through the garden’s miasma, his legs wobble in your embrace as you try to inch away from certain doom.

“Trouble? You’re not supposed to be here,” he croaks, “can’t see me like this…Gotta..”

Luke’s words come out in a wheeze as the bloodied hand he lays on your shoulder sticks to your shirt.

“I’m here, I’m here…”

Fire licks at your heels, your blood almost boiling in your veins as you try to pull him to look at you, but still he’s determined, almost knocking you off balance as his arms reach towards the tree in visions of glimmering gold and glory. Through his one good eye, he can see you lunge at the dragon, swinging the bronze like it’s an extension of yourself, and then you scream, dropping the weapon as the sizzle of singed flesh echoes through the air.

You’re hurt, and it’s because of him.

Steadily losing control over his body, he decides to make one last move as life seeps out of him in steps: first his hearing–he watches you say something he can’t make out; what’s left of his blood spills out of his mouth until he chokes it out in a gurgle.

“Luke, we have to leave! We’re going to die here!”

Luke sways closer to the dragon even as you try your hardest to pull him away from the tree but by the gods, he’s stubborn, wrath emanating from his injured body like an unwelcome friend. If this is his last action on Earth, it will be to protect you. Once he finds it again, he’s convinced his fingertips are soldered onto the hilt of his sword---losing the sensation of his burnt fingertips as he slashes at the one thing between him and his father’s love. Ladon recoils, sharp claws scrambling back to the tree as your hands meld into his wounded form like clay. Luke easily misses the bloodied claw that remains at your feet.

Please, he prays to anyone who will listen, I’m right fucking here! Don’t let me fail, PLEASE. Luke’s brain is still muddled with the magic, but for some reason, his mind has never been clearer. The scent of the air shifts into that of raspberries and soft linen as his body staggers back into the grass. His vision darkens in a vignette, encircling him as he looks away from the golden fruit and into your violet irises, and then, nothing.

[ you asked me, "do you wanna die alone, or watch it all burn down together?” || I said I'd rather try to hold on to you forever ]

Luke wakes up before you, though by the looks of his bandaged body and the pounding in his head, he must have been out for a while. You’re asleep on the floor of the sleeper train facing away from him using your backpack as a pillow and your legs curled underneath you like a purring cat. The purple zippo lighter your dad gave you is nestled against your foot and he uses it to ward off the cabin you’re in, in hopes of continuing whatever illusion you put on to get his mangled body onto public transportation without any questions. The perks of being children of mischief. He flicks the lighter on and off, blood seeping through his bandaged fingers. If this is what he looks like after your stock of ambrosia… he can’t help but be scared to see what’s underneath.

His eyes blink to adjust to the darkness of the carriage, pupils unfocused from an obvious concussion. The water canister falls over with a loud clang, jolting you awake.

“Fuck…” you mumble, turning over to look at him drenched in melancholy and moonlight, “Are you okay? I think I have a bit more ambrosia, let me—”

He grabs your hands tightly, so much that it hurts him.

“You shouldn’t have been there.”

Shaking your head, you sigh. This was never going to be easy, what comes after. He’d been knocked out for two days, screaming in his sleep. He’ll never know what you’ve been through together to get on this train, and you’re not sure of what he remembers.

“But I was. And we’re alive.”

Tossing his hands aside, you rummage through your pack for the little ambrosia you have left, giving him a piece and almost forcing it into his mouth. If he doesn’t want you to be gentle, he can take you tough. There’s no way out of this where you let him hurt himself more, after that.

“You used my sword. I’ve never seen you use a sword before,” he scoffs, swaying in his seat. Luke’s confused above all his other emotions right now, trying to rub at his eyes until you pull his hand away. There’s a bandage that spans across the right side of his face.

That’s why it’s so dark.

“I usually don’t, but we were up against a dragon, dumbass. We’re lucky we’re not dead. I’m grateful that you’re not dead,” you say in a strained voice, holding both of his hands. He wonders why you sound like you’re hurting too, until his good eye falls upon your open rucksack.

“Are the apples in there? We gotta meet my dad,” Luke slurs, and you bite your lip in frustration, “he’s gonna be proud of me. I know it.”

“There’s no apples, Luke. We’re going home.”

He cringes, his back hitting the wall as he looks at you like you’ve told him you've eaten them or something.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he sneers, his voice getting louder now as he says your name. Luke pushes your hands away, kicking his feet up to his chest, and you know the actions have reopened some of his wounds. He’s burning up again, from both the fever and your touch, and you take a deep breath to hold back a sob. Your emotions will only amplify his, you remind yourself.

“Luke, you failed your quest. There was no way you would have succeeded.”

Your words hit him like bullets, and he shakes his head, clawing his way through his bandages like he wants to escape from his own skin. To escape from the fate of being the pride and joy of Hermes. You wrap yourself around him through his pain and yours as he thrashes, though these wounds transcend the physical, and the scars will forever run deep.

“I fucking hate you!” he sobs, “you weren't supposed to be there! You were only going to get hurt.”

Tears mix with blood as you hold him, hands clenched in the shirt on his back at his misplaced anger.

“So fucking stupid!”

His body shakes with rage as he pounds at whatever he can touch, and you take the blows until finally, you yell exasperatedly, “It was a suicide mission, Luke! Get it through your fucking head!”

You push him away to grab his face and make him look at you. He realizes your hand is bandaged when it touches the smooth side of his face. It’s about as wide as a hilt and covers your palm.

“ Your dad sent you there to die. I wasn’t gonna let that happen,” you grit, and he won’t stop crying until he mutters something under his breath.

“I’m so stupid. Why didn’t you just leave me there?”

A fat tear rolls down your cheek mimicking the ripped skin on his newly exposed face. You haven’t had much practice with emotions this strong and only the gods know how desperate you feel right now as you pull out more bandages from the bag and will away his hysteria as best as you can. Until finally, his eyes flutter closed and you help him lay on his side.

You never pray, especially to your dad and especially not fucking Hermes, but you’re already in enough trouble for leaving without telling anyone—so perhaps they’re listening extra carefully. Perhaps D will answer your Iris message too and get you out of this mess. Perhaps Hermes, the god of travelers will at least get you both home safely. It's the least he can do after everything you and Luke have been through. Pulling out a drachma from your coin purse, you realize two things: your fingers are glued together with Luke’s blood, and he hasn’t let go of your other hand.

“The only person I’d get bloody for is you, Castellan,” you sigh, gently leaning against the bed he made and now lies in.

Only your dad answered.

[ this was the place i grew up, now it's ashes to ashes || memories fillin' my cup, it comes in flashes || but when it passes and i see your eyes || i know there's nothin' i'll ever find better ]

You’ve been roommates in the basement of the Big House for about a week and a half now, and cabin fever was making the both of you a bit stir-crazy. At first, he wouldn’t talk to you, simmering in his personal pool of misery, until he ripped his stitches open one night and you had to tend to them since your father was dead asleep. The slashes on his back looked like slots for angel wings. Chiron and Mr. D tended to the both of you since Luke insisted on not having anyone else see what’s become of him. You’re certain everyone thinks you’re dead. Peeking through the window, you wish you could see the blaze left behind in your absence. With Luke on his quest, you were down a counselor in charge of the busiest cabin; with you missing—well you’re surprised everything hasn’t gone up in flames. You ask your dad to bring Annabeth to come see you, and when Luke argues, you clarify that she’s your guest.

He’s still not talking to you, even as Annabeth speaks loudly through the privacy curtain that Chiron set up so you both don’t fight. Your bickering kept your dad up one too many times and he was about to send the both of you into induced comas.

“It’s like the two of you came back and something’s different,” Annie says inquisitively, eyes flickering to the dusty curtain between your beds. She’s made herself comfortable at your feet and stolen your pillow to rest over her lap.

“This doesn’t feel any different. Your brother’s still an asshole, we’re just trauma bonded now,” you say with a lazy grin, and you think you hear him curse you to Tartarus under his breath. You shrug when she rolls her eyes, dark braided hair splaying over her shoulders.

“You came back friends, then,” she hypothesizes, and Annabeth is always right, but you hesitate now, rubbing the thick skin on your palm.

“Are you saying we weren’t? What a surprise…” you mumble, before you nudge her to try again.

“You saved his life,” Annabeth whispers, leaning in closer like that was a secret to keep, and even if Luke can’t hear it, you shake your head.

“Honestly, he saved mine.”

The silence hangs between you two, the both of your eyes falling upon the dragon claw sitting on the side table partially covered by the curtain.

“I’m glad you two are back,” she says softly, reaching for your hand and tracing your scarred palm.

“We’re glad to be back, even if it doesn’t seem like it,” you giggle, pulling her into a hug before you joke, “Can’t believe I left a 10-year-old in charge. Bet the other counselors hated that.”

The curtain rips open, grating against the pole, and with one look from Luke, Annabeth gets up to give you two privacy.

“We? Since when were you two a we?” she mutters, and with the little strength he has, he softly ruffles her head and shoves her to the doorway. After she leaves, he looks at you tentatively, bandaged hands fidgeting with his blanket until you take the hint and make your way over to his bed. Slotting yourself underneath his arm, you settle against him with a sigh and the weight of you against his ribs is comforting despite the ache. Most of your wounds are healed on the surface level now, and soon it’ll be time to get back to your normal routines. That’s the difficult part about all of this, Luke thinks—hoping everyone just brushes his blunder under the rug and wishing that everything stays the same.

But Annabeth is always right, and there are a lot of things that have changed since he left for San Francisco. He can feel it even if his fingerprints won’t ever completely heal, he can see it even through his scarred eye, and he just knows by the way you press a soft kiss to his healing cheek, breathing hot air that gives him goosebumps. This is his reality, a blessing to have after his brush with death even if it wasn’t exactly what he expected. Though it wasn’t your intention, there’s glory in the quirk of your smile as you murmur, “Honestly? Between me and you, I hate this place.”

[ i think i'd rather die alone, together || ‘cause i know that i will love you, and i'm not letting go ]

Luke thought it was bad enough for everyone to coddle him after you both emerged from the darkness of the basement, but to be honest—it’s worse that everyone’s being fake about it. At least with pity, they aren’t trying to hide away what they truly feel. He’s been hiding away in the armory for several days now, trying to tinker away at random things though it’s not his expertise, and the Hephaestus kids are too polite to push him out. Anything to make his weapon swifter and precise—but deep down he knows there’s nothing wrong with the damn sword. It doesn’t feel the same in his hands anymore, badly scarred and out of practice. He actually struggled sparring with Chris, though his brother was kind enough to act like it was a draw.

A groan escapes him as he almost hammers his thumb. Flexing his fingers, he looks at Ladon’s scale in the light of the little fires surrounding him. Its copper gleam was forever forged into a pendant that shouldn’t have taken him that long to fashion. Previously good at everything, Luke was suddenly down to limited talents.

For fuck’s sake.

“Luke? Hey, I've been trying to find you everywhere!”

Your head pops in through the doorway, holding a box of miscellaneous things as you skirt around the armory, trying to not bump into other campers’ work.

“Hey…”

You nod your head and place the box in his lap, the necklace still clenched in his grasp as he stands up to help you carry it wherever you want to go. You’ve been asking him for help with a lot of things lately, and though it’s mostly menial tasks he knows you can be done with in a snap, he often uses you as a chance to escape from prying eyes and hushed whispers. With you, there are no false pretenses or bluffs to save his ego.

It’s just you.

He helps you carry the box across the camp and to the attic of the Big House, the wooden stairs creaking under your heavy footsteps as you pick things out of the box and organize them to be placed around the room. Hundreds of memorabilia and war spoils decorate the walls as you hum a tune under your breath. This time it’s a song from Wicked, you tell him and he gets so lost in your story about two witches being changed for good that he almost misses you placing Ladon’s claw out for display. His hand reaches out for yours and you both stand there in the dust of completed quests and found glory.

“That doesn’t belong here,” he sighs, and you let him run his rough fingers over the obsidian.

“It’s a feat of strength. Whether you recognize it or not, you should be proud of it. Even Heracles couldn’t—”

He interrupts you, “Why? Why did you follow me there?”

You lick your lips and his eyes trace the movement because he’s scared to look up and see the truth. You’d never lie to him. The both of you are too good at lying to even try it with each other.

“Tell me why. Did you think I couldn't do it?”

You tilt his chin up with your dominant hand, and for the first time in a while, your eyes truly meet. You speak slowly as if begging him to understand the words that come from your mouth. He needs to understand that this was not his fault. Fate dealt him with bad cards, and he did his best.

“What I thought was that it was unfair…what your dad was asking of you. You and I both know that it was,” you explain, “ I was worried about you. You might not agree with me but that’s how I felt.”

Luke tries to argue, you can feel it in the way he quirks his brow and your finger covers his lips to hush him.

“Nuh-uh. You can’t take that away from me so shut it. I’m already grounded and shoveling horse shit for the next few months, angelface.”

Still, you’re smiling, and he wonders why.

“What did you just call me?"

“Come on, you know you’re still pretty, right? Everyone at camp thinks the whole rugged hero thing is kind of hot,” you giggle, poking his stomach. He rolls his eyes, shoving you away from him until your hip hits the corner of the table.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Ouch, that hurt, asshole!”

Holding your hip with your hand, you lurch towards him, dominant hand pressing against his torso— and you can feel his laughter rumble from underneath your fingers like static shocks. You’ve missed the sound like you’ve missed breathing easily.

“I thought it was angelf— what’s this?”

Luke finally notices the thick raised skin on your palm in the shape of the hilt of his sword. It’s seared onto you forever.

“You’re thinking too hard again. I’m okay,” you mumble, closing your hand around his, “we’re okay. These scars are just souvenirs. They’re a part of us now, but they don’t define us.”

His hands drop to his pocket with a sigh as he looks to the floor.

“Hey. Bold question, but do you think I’m ugly because of it?”

Luke’s head whips up and his eyebrows furrow in disbelief—that’s the stupidest thing you’ve said all day, and he usually likes to keep count to piss you off.

“Trouble, of course no—”

“Then you better believe me when I say you’re pretty. Not perfect, thankfully, your ego needed to get knocked down a peg but you still have the face of an ang—”

He shoves the necklace he tinkered into your scarred hand and your eyes glitter with admiration.

“Not perfect, but pretty,” he swallows, as the both of you look at the dented copper scale, shining in the sunlight. Your hand reaches out to cup his scarred cheek, smiling in silent thanks because there’s nothing either of you can say sufficient and fitting for the worth you see in each other--- even if the gods beg to differ. Luke turns his head gently, pressing his lips against your rough palm and the warmth it brings simmers down to where your spirit meets your bones.

[ if the sky darkens above you, i'll stay by your side in the afterglow || i wasn't lookin' for you, but you found me ]

“I thought we were out here for sword training,” he mumbles, following you closely through the dirt path. It was after dinner and you dragged him by the hand towards the camp boundaries. You’re both skipping out on the bonfire and sing-a-long, but well… they can all fend for themselves for a few hours.

“Like I'd dare teach an old dog new tricks. Ladon or not you’re still the best of us. No one would dare wield a sword against you, oh mighty Luke Castellan!” you say mockingly.

Being out here alone and so close to curfew is a risk you’re willing to take, and you know your dad’s running out of so-called punishments so literally who cares? So you stole the car too. You both stand in front of it now as you unlock it and toss him the keys. Luke fumbles and almost drops them as he looks at you bemusedly.

“Shouldn’t we be back before sundown?”

He settles into the driver’s seat easily, testing the different functions as you watch his eyes move quickly with wonder. The car rolls forward a few inches before nestling against a grassy patch and it makes you raise an eyebrow.

“You scared? If a hellhound comes to get us, maybe you’ll be brave enough to hit the gas. You drive like my grandpa and he’s long dead.”

He scoffs, tapping the gas pedal almost reluctantly before you reach out and fix his rearview mirror. Apollo’s job is almost over for the day, light fading into pinks and purples and though he’s meant to figure out how to get the car onto the road smoothly, Luke can’t help but be transfixed by the image of you framed in the soft light. You are almost one with the sky, sun-kissed and as real as a dream come true. He wonders why people always wish for things they can’t have when everything they need is often right in front of them. Maybe things have changed indeed.

“You can’t say stuff like that.”

He flicks the radio on to something he thinks you like, and he grins when in between your laughter you start vocalizing with the strum of the guitar.

“Why not?” you ask, with a gleam of mischief in your eye. It catches him off guard at how natural you seem when you’re breaking rules. He finds himself wishing you did it more often, then realizes you’ve broken a lot of rules for him lately. Mental reminder to apologize to Mr. D eventually.

“It’s bad luck,” he says stupidly, and it makes you laugh. You’re both bobbing your head to the sound of Radiohead playing softly on the speakers.

“Okay son of Hermes, bestowed with the greatest luck in the world, how’s that going for you?”

You speak before you think, as you often do—and for a split second, you’re afraid you’ve overstepped an unspoken boundary. Luke’s face is frozen as he thinks, but he ends up just rolling his eyes. With a deep breath, you continue.

“Besides, I’m sure with the shit we pull up here, Hades is keeping our spots warm for when we decide we need it. I’ll just pray harder I guess.”

There you go saying we again.

“You never fucking pray,” he laughs, pushing your face back towards the window and you swat at his arms playfully. You think he’d make fun of you forever if you told him about how you cried to both your dads that night in the sleeper train. A tight smile crosses your face as you tease, “That’s why I let you do it for me, kiss ass. Now drive.”

He hesitates, bandaged hands flexing over what to do next before you grab his hand over the console and gently rest it on the gear shift.

“We’ll get there, angelface,” you smile softly. The light from the waning sunset makes your eyes sparkle in the dim light of your dad’s old car. Luke tightens his hand over the lever and shifts the gear to drive, steadily moving forward.

“We’ll get there,” he repeats, nodding his head like he’s trying to convince himself.

Healing isn’t a process that feels like flying down the I-95 with the wind in your hair and no speed limit to abide by. Your hand drops toward the leather console but he grabs it again with the intention of not letting go, because quite frankly, he can’t do this without you. And you’ll ride with him through Farm Road and any other thing that comes your way, even if he hits another pothole or his eyes stray from the road—because you said you’d do it together.

With everything in him, he believes you.

—

Let me look at your face and see a heaven worth having. -Ruth Awad

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