#saf writes
Text
COMPLICATED
LUST — part iv of we'll write sins like tragedies
pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab)
word count: 8.9k
summary: the lives of demigods are never simple. why would your relationship with luke be any different? or: four moments of tension + one moment of release. featuring a trip to montauk with percy, grover, and annabeth
warnings: a decent amount of reader backstory (mention of dad having cancer); multiple POVs (percy, grover, annabeth, luke, reader - obv nothing suggestive/smutty until luke and reader POV); luke + reader get into arguments and are v stressed so their relationship is a bit strained; reader has tattoos; reader is on birth control; rough smut (protected + unprotected p in v, oral f+m receiving, biting, scratching, slight choking, slight breeding kink, etc...); also slight dark + possessive luke! (18 + MDNI); major angst — we all know how this story ends ;(
author's note: this was meant to be a blurb but...here we are! this is basically another chapter of my spill ur guts series lol. i've been gone for much longer than i planned to, but hope u enjoy possibly the angstiest, smuttiest thing i've written so far ♡
♪ "complicated" by avril lavigne
i.
in the span of a few minutes, percy went from pure joy — being greeted with cheers from all the campers was great, sure, but truthfully the hug from annabeth alone sent him to elysium — to feeling like his heart dropped all the way to tartarus.
which is definitely not a place percy ever wants to visit again. he was happy to be back at camp with his friends, knowing that his quest was completed, his mom was safe in new york, and a war between the gods was prevented.
it should be over….but there’s something in the back of percy’s mind that’s telling him it isn’t. seeing a certain someone in the crowd earlier didn’t do anything to ease that feeling.
"can someone explain to me why clarisse is still here?"
you raise an eyebrow at luke, and he shrugs in response. it seems neither of you had decided who should break the news, and neither of you seem particularly excited to do so, even after dragging percy, along with annabeth and grover, into the empty hermes cabin for some privacy.
after another beat of silence, you take the lead.
“look, kid, i know you and clarisse got off to a rocky start —”
“she tried to drown me, and then basically kill me during capture the flag,” percy points out. he hears an ocean roaring at the memory, but that could have also been from his duel with clarisse’s dad, the god of war, more recently.
a duel that percy had won, for the record. luke trained him well.
“and i’m not defending that,” you clarify. “i’m just saying that we’ve known clarisse for much longer. she’s not perfect, maybe a bit aggressive sometimes — trust me, she and i have had some major disagreements, too — but i can’t see her doing something like this.”
“why would anyone at camp want to steal the bolt? to join kronos’ army against the gods?” annabeth wonders. to herself or to the group, percy isn’t sure, but he has a feeling that the wheels in her mind are turning.
“revenge, maybe?” grover suggests.
almost instinctively, grover glances at you, and so does annabeth. percy wants to kick himself for doing the same.
with you being the daughter of nemesis, he imagines that it's not the first time you’d been blamed for something just because of who you are. it’s a feeling percy knows all too well. and, for better or for worse, like percy, it seems like you’re not one to accept these things without a fight.
you straighten your shoulders, ready to snap back, but before you can, luke declares:
“it’s not her.”
he then knocks the toe of his shoe against your combat boot. you smile and return the gesture. the tension eases out of the room.
for a second, percy wonders if he’ll ever have someone like that: someone to defend like it’s second nature, to share that sort of secret language with, to smile at him like nothing else in the world matters.
according to annabeth, the two of you weren’t technically dating — but percy is pretty sure that aphrodite is swooning over you.
“see, grove? if camp half-blood’s golden boy can vouch for me, then i’m in the clear.” your tone is playful enough — no hard feelings — but the tips of grover’s ears still turn red. “i didn’t steal the bolt. sure, the gods and titans can tear each other apart for all i care — "
annabeth stiffens at your bold statement, and grover starts to nervously chew on an empty diet coke can he had stashed in his pocket. luke watches you with the hint of a smile on his face, and percy —
well, percy can’t help but admire you even more.
"— but it's everything else that i have an issue with.”
“everything else?”
you look at percy like the answer is obvious.
“when have the gods ever fought their battles without us as collateral damage? doesn’t seem worth it to me, to betray my friends.”
that itch in the back of percy’s brain gets harder to ignore.
“the oracle warned me, betrayed by a friend.”
“prophecies don't always come true,” annabeth reminds him. “at least not in the way we expect them to.”
“annie is right,” luke adds, nodding at his sister. “mine didn't. the oracle said i would die a hero.”
you turn to luke then, your eyebrows furrowed.
“what? you never told me that.”
“it doesn’t matter,” luke insists. “my point is that i came back from my joke of a quest, alive and a definitely not a hero —”
“fuck what the oracle said.” you roll your eyes. “dead or alive, you are a hero, tiger.”
you move to place a hand on luke’s arm. to percy’s surprise, though, luke brushes you off.
“i’m not a hero. at least not the one my dad expects me to be.”
again, percy is taken aback by how luke snapped, at you of all people. you huff, and percy can tell that you’re a bit agitated now, too.
“okay, but that doesn’t mean —”
“my point is.” luke turns to percy, effectively blocking your presence for the time being. “you completed your quest, fought a god, and stalled kronos’ plan. you’ve been through it — all three of you have — but now you’re back. let’s just enjoy the rest of our summer, yeah? whatever happened out there, whatever the oracle said, it’s in the past.”
percy wants to believe luke, he really does. one glance in your direction, and it seems like you do, too.
deep down, though, percy isn’t entirely convinced. there’s that dread in the pit of his stomach, that voice in the back of his head. something in him, warning that this isn’t quite over. the worst has yet to come.
he wonders if — or maybe just hopes — you feel the same.
—
ii.
if you of all people can’t get luke’s attention, grover is pretty sure that the world is ending.
“luke,” you try again, foregoing your usual nickname for him. your arms are crossed and you tap your foot against the floor. it makes grover slightly anxious, feeling your frustration threaten to boil over.
“i’m busy,” he grunts, and flips over another page, scribbling something on the other side.
“grover wanted to talk to us about something.”
“i-it’s fine, we don’t have to —”
“no, it’s a good idea, grove,” you insist. you smile at grover then. he remembers that, despite the deadly glares you can deliver, like the one you were just giving luke, you have a gentle core. you just guard it behind sharp edges.
“tell him that i’ll talk to him later.”
“or, you could tell him yourself,” you huff. grover waves awkwardly, even though luke doesn’t realize what’s happening. “he’s right next to me.”
luke looks up briefly, and then back down at the pages in front of him just as quick. he looks tired, exhausted even.
“sorry, man. didn’t see you there. i gotta finish these reports.”
“no worries. i tend to be quiet on my hooves.”
in the moment of silence that follows, and with luke still not giving you the attention you’re asking for, you walk over to the desk where luke is working. what you see seems to make you even more annoyed than before.
“these reports are for september. why in the name of nemesis are you filling them out now?”
“i just want to be prepared.”
“prepared for what?”
luke hesitates. “just….the future.”
“oh!” you laugh, sharp and sarcastic. “i didn’t realize that the future required you to neglect your friends.”
“i’m trying to help my friends,” luke huffs. he taps his pen impatiently against the desk. “if you didn’t keep interrupting me —”
“oh my fucking gods — ”
grover watches the two of you argue. it had been easier to step in whenever something bubbled up between annabeth and percy, because they were just kids. but you and luke — you were adults.
when grover met luke for the first time, he was already taking on way too much responsibility for a kid — keeping thalia and annabeth alive, protecting them from monsters, taking care of them. in a lot of ways, those responsibilities didn’t go away: as a senior counselor and resident older brother, a hero for the older campers to admire and the younger kids to aspire to be. camp half-blood’s golden boy, as you liked to call him.
and, like you, luke is good at hiding. for him, its heavy burdens behind easy-going smiles.
lately, though, those smiles seem to be strained, his shoulders slowly bending under the weight of it all. the other day, grover asked you if everything was okay with luke. you had looked back at him sadly, shrugged, and said you didn’t know.
that’s when grover decided that everyone just needs a break — an escape. he had been sensing that things weren’t quite right with the others, too. percy seems a little on edge, and so does annabeth.
then, of course, there was you and luke. finding out that the two of you had actually started dating was huge news for someone like grover who had painstakingly watched the two of you dance around your feelings for years. so, it was more than a little weird that you’d barely been speaking this past week. the rare occasion you did was tense at best, and explosive at worst.
like now, when you pick up one of the reports luke was working on, and threaten to burn it. luke dares you to do so, even suggests, albeit sarcastically, that you use it as your next offering to the gods.
“oh, a handwritten document from luke castellan himself? they would love that,” you snort. “admit it: you’re doing all of mr. d’s work just to suck up to some gods who don’t even give a shit about any of this. you’re practically olympus’ lapdog.”
luke, blushing a furious shade of red, gets up and yanks the paper from your hand.
“at least my parent is important enough to actually have a seat on olympus and an actual cabin for his kids to stay in.”
you look like you could just about throw luke into a fire, and vice versa. grover had never seen the two of you like this, but it made sense: each of you knowing just where, and how, to hurt the other.
and, he thinks it’s about time to step in before the damage is irreversible. so, grover starts slowly clapping. the clapping gets faster, and he manages to get through the first few lines of the consensus song before you stop him.
“alright, alright,” you sigh. you push past luke, steal his chair, and put your feet up on the desk. luke scowls at you, but you put your hands up in surrender and jut your chin out towards grover. “just listen to what grover has to say and then we’ll let you get back to your precious reports.”
grover tells luke his idea. luke actually agrees, and grover can’t help but feel a little bit of a victory.
he’s a protector, after all. it’s his job to make sure you’re all alive and happy and thriving. and not burnt to a crisp over some petty argument.
—
iii.
annabeth had missed home when she was away on their quest, but being back and seeing everyone being taught to worship the gods without question, to believe that the only things that matter are power and glory….well, after everything that happened, after percy, annabeth can’t just go back to doing the same. at least not entirely.
all this to say, she was totally on board with grover’s idea: the five of you, renting a cabin in montauk to get away from camp for a bit.
unfortunately, the trip starts off less than ideally. you and luke bicker the entire way here — and not the playful jabs you usually throw at each other.
annabeth remembers the first time she saw you together. it was during breakfast, their first morning at camp half-blood. annabeth had spent the night trying not to cry over thalia, and already missing luke even though he was only a few cabins away. she was still a kid, surrounded by strangers, told that she was safe now, but didn’t quite believe it yet. one look to luke at the hermes table, and annabeth could tell he felt the same way, too — not quite settled in this new place that was supposed to be home, and with these people who were supposed to be family.
she watched as the hermes table went to burn offerings to the gods. when they sat down again, luke looked even more unsettled than before.
but then, you leaned in and whispered something in luke’s ear, and he actually laughed, just a bit, which was a nice change of pace. luke was always the one making annabeth and thalia laugh when they were running from monsters, always the one trying to keep everything together with a smile or a joke.
as she devoured her breakfast, annabeth couldn’t help but keep glancing at the two of you. she heard warnings from her half-siblings, about your mother being the goddess of revenge, and you living up to that name.
luke either didn't know, or didn't care about whatever reputation you had. sitting there, next to you, annabeth didn’t think she’d ever seen luke so, genuinely happy, so at ease.
all these years later, neither you nor luke seemed particularly happy. you’re obviously avoiding each other, and annabeth doesn’t understand why.
you and luke are a new puzzle that she can’t wait to solve.
annabeth had finished constructing the most elaborate sandcastle in history, just for percy to accidentally splash it when he was trying to surf a wave; so she decides that playtime is over. it’s time to figure out what exactly is going on between you and luke.
luke is in the cabin doing gods know what. you're on the deck painting your nails, so annabeth decides to start gathering information from you, first.
“hey." you finish painting your pinky a dark purple, and set the bottle down next to you. "having fun?”
annabeth nods once and sits next to you. she asks if you could paint her nails, and you pull out a bottle of silver polish you said you thought she might like.
as you work, careful with each stroke of polish, annabeth surveys the tattoos on your skin. you’re wearing a bikini top, so there are some that she’s seeing for the first time. there's one of a knife on your sternum, and annabeth distinctly remembers seeing a similar one peeking from underneath the collar of luke’s shirt. she wonders when you got it, if you had to travel to a tattoo parlour in the city, how many other adventures you'd gone on without having to consult the oracle beforehand.
maybe that’s a good place to start.
“have you ever thought about leaving camp? like, long term?"
"sometimes," you admit. "it would be nice to have some normal early-twenties experiences."
"would you go to school?"
you smile as you keep painting annabeth’s nails. “maybe. i might have seen legally blonde too many times, but i think about law school sometimes.”
“what about luke?”
your smile fades at the question. “i...i don’t know." your once precise nail-painting falters, and you mumble a curse when a drop of silver lands on annabeth's skin. you swipe it away before continuing. "luke's one of those people i can't really see away from camp half-blood for too long; pretty sure it would burn down without him. there's a reason he feels responsible for everyone there...in a way i respect, obviously, but, it's not the same for me. nobody needs me."
"luke needs you."
you sigh, and annabeth wonders if you even realize how you shake your head slightly. she thinks you're about to disagree with her, but instead you ask:
“what's this about, annie? are you thinking about your dad’s offer?”
and annabeth’s completely thrown off her line of inquiry.
“how did you —”
“perce told me that you’ve been talking about staying with him for the year,” you explain. you gesture at annabeth to give you her other hand, and she complies. the silver polish on the hand you just finished glitters in the sun.
“well, nothing’s confirmed.”
you look up at annabeth, one eyebrow raised. “it's okay, you know — if you just wanna….be a kid for a bit.”
annabeth is silent, prompting you to ask another question.
"what's holding you back?"
“well….at first, i thought it would be a definite no,” annabeth admits. “obviously, it didn’t work out last time. i don’t know if i want to risk it again — if i can trust him, you know? how do i know he actually cares — that he’ll be there for me when i need him?”
“you don’t.” you pause for a second. “but i’m gonna tell you a story that i think might help.”
you're done painting her nails, so you put everything away. you sit cross-legged next to annabeth, looking out at the ocean.
“my dad never wanted me to go to camp. he wanted to raise me in the city, just like he’d grown up. he’d take me to rock concerts all the time. i was so young, he’d make me wear earmuffs and carry me on his shoulders so that i could still see the band.” you smile softly at the memory. “and then….my dad got sick, he couldn’t take care of me, and monsters started to show up, so he brought me to camp for safe keeping."
"you've told me all this," annabeth remarks.
you start fiddling with your camp necklace. annabeth isn't used to seeing you so unsure, so nervous; it throws her off even more.
"what i haven't told you is that even when my dad got better, he….he didn’t give me a choice of where to stay.”
"oh," is all annabeth can say.
“yeah, oh," you scoff, but there’s not really any malice behind it. you seem…sad. defeated, almost. your fingers move to play with the hem of your shorts, which causes the fresh nail polish to smudge. you don’t seem too concerned about that at the moment, though. "i told everyone that i chose to stay. the truth is that i stayed because my dad didn't want me anymore. he said that the universe gave him a second chance, so he wanted to live his life without having to worry about monster attacks or taking care of his teenage daughter."
annabeth wonders if luke knows the truth about this; though, considering how difficult it seems for you to admit, she doubts it.
before, annabeth had a theory that you decided to stay at camp because of luke.
luke was away when you got the news that your dad was in remission. annabeth remembers how happy you were, how excited you were to be back in the city and living with your dad again. you started packing right away.
when luke came back from his failed quest, you had just gone into the city the day before, having promised to visit in the summer and stay in touch. someone – chris maybe, or beckendorf — must have called you, told you what happened, because you came back to camp right away, your bag still fully packed. you never left again.
"that sucks."
“yeah.” you let out a hollow, breathy laugh. “and, i was angry at first. of course i was. but now, i don’t know. i think that maybe my dad does care about me. like, he still sends me mixtapes with old punk rock songs he thinks i’d like. he actually calls me on my birthday, and we have a 3 minute conversation about nothing important."
"right…" annabeth furrows her brows. this conversation had definitely not gone as planned. "no offense, but what's —"
"i'm getting to the point," you tell her, bumping your shoulder against hers. "i realized that sometimes people can only love us in a way that works for them — and it sucks. it really, really sucks. but then sometimes…. sometimes people do actually try. and, i don’t know, it seems like maybe your dad is willing to try.”
“so you think i should take him up on his offer.”
the sun starts to set. you get up, brush sand off your legs.
“i think it's time for a swim. i also think that you’re smart enough to know what’s best for you, and who deserves a second chance. just know that whatever you decide — we’ll be there for you.”
you leave without another word, but with the return of your usual confident smile, off to the shore to take advantage of the last bits of daylight.
"she's right, annabeth." luke appears a few seconds later, takes the spot next to annabeth you had just occupied.
annabeth hums.
"how much of that did you hear?"
luke doesn't answer. he just stares at your form, disappearing in the distance and diving under the waves.
—
iv.
you clear your throat and luke turns around to see you freshly showered. you’re wearing a pair of shorts and one of the oversized band tees the two of you constantly exchange. you've lost track of whose is whose at this point.
luke resists the urge to shamelessly check out your legs, and turns his back towards you once again. that bikini top you were wearing earlier was bad enough. thankfully, the heat from the stove was enough to cover up his blushing cheeks at the sight of your exposed skin.
“i thought we were ordering pizza,” you say, moving to peer over his shoulder, chin hovering just above. luke had the sense that you were avoiding physical contact, and as much as it drives him crazy, he knows that he’s the one who’d dug his own grave. pushing you away and whatnot.
“didn’t know that you knew how to cook.”
“not much,” luke shrugs. he keeps stirring the vegetables — broccoli and carrots and baby corn. he’ll add the red peppers once the broccoli turns green so that they don’t become too soft. he’s pretty sure that’s how he remembers it going.
“i could have helped you.” you reach over and hand him the peppers right on time. you shift to lean your back against the counter next to the stove, arms crossed over your chest and eyes following luke.
luke throws in the chicken he cooked earlier, and then the sauce he had also mixed. he waits a few seconds, lets the sound of everything sizzling fill the space between you.
“it’s an easy recipe.” luke turns off the stove to punctuate his point.
and it had to be. something quick he’d make with his mom after she had one of her episodes, before waking up and realizing that she had a son to feed. the sounds, the colors, the smells — it all, overwhelmingly, reminds him of a childhood he once had. one that was never as simple as the food he just made.
none of the bitterness in his throat is caused by his mom, of course. just his father who calls himself a god, and left them both alone to fend for themselves.
you start getting out plates from the cupboards as you ask: “where are the kids?”
luke checks the pot on the stove to see if the rice is cooked. “told them to go rent something from the video store.”
“they went alone?”
“they’ve literally been to hell and back,” he replies and sits down at the table. “i think they can handle a blockbuster.”
“i don’t care if they get attacked by monsters,” you state, setting down the last plate in front of him. “i know they can handle themselves. they just better choose a good movie.”
luke doesn’t mean to snort, but he can’t help but remember all the arguments you’d gotten in with chris over your tastes in movies.
“don’t laugh, castellan. i’ve saved movie night on more than one occasion and i’ve never gotten so much as a thank you.” you roll your eyes, but luke notices the ghost of a smile.
it fades just as quickly as it appeared, and luke already misses the small moment of levity that’s passed.
“what’s been going on with you, tiger?”
you hold his gaze, and luke knows that you’re hoping for a real answer, for the truth he can’t give you.
“nothing,” he answers instinctively.
“don’t give me that,” you sigh and turn away from him, returning to your position against the counter.
“i said it’s nothing,” luke insists, a bit more assertively. “why can’t you just believe me?”
“because you’ve been distant, moody.” your tone is sharper now, too. “you’ve been avoiding me. you’ve barely been eating. the side of your bunk has been empty, which means you haven’t been sleeping, either. gods, i can’t even remember the last time you kissed me —”
“you’re really mad at me because we haven’t fucked?”
it’s a low blow, and he delivers it as if he hadn’t missed seeing you underneath him. or on top, or beside. luke isn’t picky.
“you’re impossible!” you groan, and cover your face with your hands. you take a deep breath before returning to glare at luke. “do….do you not want to be together, anymore? because if that’s what’s happening, i’ll survive. we can go back to being friends.” you clench your jaw to make up for the tremble behind your question. always a tough face, even in the face of potential heartbreak.
of course, luke knows you’ll be fine without him. he’s the one who might have difficulty surviving when you part ways.
“that’s not —” luke sighs and runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze. “that’s not it.”
“then what is it?”
“noth—”
“i will send you to elysium if you tell me it’s nothing one more time, because i know it’s not!” you’re shouting now. “i might not know what it is, but i know you well enough to tell that something is bothering you. so i’m asking you, one more time, what is going on?”
the thing is, luke can’t tell you — about what he’s done, about who he’s aligned himself with. he can’t lie to you, either, at least not to save his life.
so, he’s basically stuck in whatever the greek mythology version of limbo is.
for now, he’s saved by percy, annabeth, and grover, who walk in with a stack of DVDs and armfuls of movie snacks.
dinner is fine, especially with the kids providing a good enough buffer. luke even catches you smiling and laughing along with them a few times. you approve of their choice in movies, starting with mulan. it’s one of luke’s favorites, too, but he can’t help but let his attention wander.
the two of you have known each other for a long time. luke has felt your anger. he’s felt your frustration. you’ve been on opposing sides of explosive arguments, of brutal sparring matches.
but, despite everything, luke’s never been hated by you. it’s unavoidable, given what he’s done and the path he’s on; it's just not something he's particularly eager to feel.
working for kronos….luke won't pretend he regrets it. something had to be done, to take back the poisonous world the gods created.
he did it for you, even if you won't understand.
he'd do anything for you.
so, for now, he’s willing to endure the daggers you stare at him from the other side of the couch.
—
v.
in another life, you might have taken advantage of the queen bed and private room. both hard to come by at camp half-blood, if you’re not willing to risk zeus’ wrath for the latter.
gods, it feels like forever since you and luke snuck into cabin one because couldn’t keep your hands off each other, curses and lighting strikes be damned.
you almost wish lightning would strike — at least then the bed would be warm.
“i can feel you being mad at me,” luke whispers.
“sorry, thought you’d already be gone by now,” you respond, sarcasm dripping through your words. “off to see whoever else you’d rather sleep with.”
“so, you are mad because we haven’t fucked in a while.”
a stupid slip of the tongue. you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, and your entire body feels on fire for giving him any leverage on you. that was definitely not the warmth you were hoping for.
“whatever,” you mumble, shuffling closer to the edge of the bed, your back still towards luke.
for the record, you’re mad because of whatever distance luke was forcing between you, or whatever wall he was putting up, for a reason you don’t understand. you’d always known luke well, but lately you haven’t been able to read him.
and, sure. maybe you are…. frustrated. the two of you hadn’t been intimate in a while, yes, and your fingers are nothing compared to luke’s, but more than that: you just miss actually feeling him close to you. in any sense.
you’re not sure how much time passes, and there’s nothing but silence. then, you hear his voice again, gentler than before, no cocky attitude laced through.
“you never told me about your dad.”
ugh. of course, luke had overheard your conversation with annabeth earlier. damn those sly hermes’ genes.
you stay silent to give off the illusion that you’d fallen asleep, but luke doesn't fall for it.
“we’ve shared a bunk for years, karma. i can tell when you’re not sleeping.”
you pause for a few more seconds, but you know that luke is persistent.
“it didn’t matter,” is all you offer before he asks again.
“it did,” luke insists. “why didn’t you tell me?”
“it’s not like we tell each other everything,” you scoff. “like, why didn’t you tell me about that prophecy? and why won’t you tell me whatever’s going on with you now?”
“that’s….that’s different.”
“not really. i bet that it’s all for the same reason.”
“which is?”
you debate telling luke the truth.
it was no surprise that you had a certain reputation around camp: cunning, hot-tempered, brash. you were fine being the angry girl whose mother wasn’t enough of a god to warrant a cabin, but enough of a threat to be wary of. you didn’t want to be the one who was also dropped by her father, unwanted and too much of a burden. so, you swallowed the reality of the situation; pretended that nothing broke your heart, and that nothing ever would.
“i didn’t want you to look at me differently,” you admit.
another pause, this time from the other side of the bed.
“if it makes you feel better, i was glad that you stayed.”
you can’t help it; you let out a sardonic laugh.
“that’s not much of a comfort, since you haven’t seemed very thrilled with me lately.”
“that’s not….” luke falters. “i just mean that i don't know who i’d be if you left.”
in spite of the situation, the ongoing tension between you, you find yourself smiling.
“always so dramatic,” you tease.
deep down, you know you’re not much better.
luke was part of the reason you might have stayed at camp, anyways. he was the reason why you didn’t fight harder to get back to your old life, and you always did like a good fight.
it was scary though, that one person had so much power over you and didn’t even know it. you tried to convince yourself that you stayed because luke had needed you, after his quest and everything. but, once you’d known how it felt to have luke in your life, you didn’t want to go back to a time you didn’t.
truthfully, it still scares you.
“i don’t like fighting with you,” you admit softly, swallowing a lump in your throat. “especially when i don’t even know why we’re fighting in the first place.”
you wonder if you’d just thought that instead of saying it out loud because luke doesn’t respond, until you hear the sheets behind you shuffle, and feel luke position himself behind you.
"i'm sorry that we're fighting. it's my fault."
he settles a tentative hand on your exposed hip, where your shirt had ridden up. luke starts to trace circles onto your skin with his thumb, the way he sometimes does when he's nervous or having a bad dream.
"i’ve just been so….in my head. i don't want you to worry about what's going on with me, okay?
"luke —"
"i have to sort it out on my own.”
"you don’t, though,” you insist. “if you just tell me what’s going on, instead of pushing me away.”
another pause. you can feel him breathing down your neck, and in turn you inhale the spicy citrus of his body wash. it’s all so excruciatingly familiar as you wait for him to say something, anything.
eventually, luke sighs, deeply, and confesses:
"it's just….we've known each other for so long, but this — us? so much of it is new. i don't want to fuck it up."
"well, congratulations," you quip. "you're one step closer to getting there."
you meant it as a joke, something to lighten the mood, but you feel luke stiffen at your words, his grip on your hip becoming almost painfully tight as if he's worried you'll slip away.
"i'm kidding, tiger." you weave your fingers through his to loosen his hold on you, and reassure him even more that you're not going anywhere, any time soon. "for better or for worse: you’re mine, and i'm yours. no matter how much either of us might fuck it up."
luke shuffles closer, and you melt into him even more.
"do you really mean that?"
his voice is soft, surprisingly timid. you crane your neck back to look at him; luke stares at you, his gaze heavy enough to take your breath away.
“of course.”
you're so close, and you hadn't been in so long. luke's leg is somehow lodged in between your thighs, and you bite back a whimper as he brushes against you. you feel him behind you, already half-hard, and you rub your ass against him slightly, causing a groan to vibrate through his body.
neither of you have to do much to crash your lips together.
you can sense how luke’s been unraveling, from the kiss alone. his lips are chapped, rough against yours and already bleeding from the pressure; his stubble scrapes against your cheek, and you’re dizzy with anticipation, imagining how it will leave a stinging sensation on other areas of your skin when luke has his way with you later.
for now, you focus on your mouth on his: teeth clacking together, your tongue laving over the cut on luke’s bottom lip and tasting copper. luke brings a hand up to your jaw, pushing you into his mouth even more.
it’s like the first time you kissed. all consuming. messy. urgent — like you've already run out of time.
eventually, you have to pull yourself away from his grasp, your neck straining at the uncomfortable angle. luke takes the opportunity to suck bruises onto your neck while he presses his thigh harder against your cunt. he slips his other hand further underneath your shirt, cupping your breast and pinching your nipple between his fingers. instinctively, you start rutting against him.
“f-fuck,” you groan, relishing in the muscles of his naked thigh underneath you, defined and strong.
luke chuckles, and you feel his breath warm against your skin.
“you missed me that much, hm?” he taunts, encouraging you to go faster, harder. “you’re gonna cum before i even have a chance to undress you. doesn’t seem fair to me.”
“who —” your breath catches when luke’s hand settles around your throat, pulling you impossibly closer to him. you feel the outline of his abs against your lower back, and his length, hard and waiting. it’s difficult to finish your thought, but you try your best. “who says i only have to cum once?”
“that sounds like a challenge,” luke decides. “what’s our record — three? think we can beat that tonight?”
you laugh, already out of breath. “i think we can do it.”
“good girl.”
your thighs clench at the nickname, and it's one down, a few more to go.
you maneuver luke so that he lays flat on the bed, your legs on either side of his hips. your hands fumble with the edge of his shirt, and he lets you remove it without any more hassle.
it's a little ironic, really, how much you and luke hate the gods — because looking at him underneath you, you're sure that something divine must have created him, and you have to thank them for it. sharp jaw, deep scar, flushed cheeks; curls slightly askew, and skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat; that cocky smile — you'd worship luke castellan over any of the olympians.
secretly, of course, you pretty much already do.
"like what you see?" luke smirks up at you, hands firmly on your ass.
you roll your eyes to save face. "come on, tiger, like you're not seconds away from tearing through your boxers."
luke clicks his tongue, locks his calf around yours to switch your positions. you grunt as your back hits the mattress, but you very much appreciate the force and weight of luke above you. he practically rips off your shirt, then starts to nip and suck down your body. he kisses the fabric still covering your cunt, and you can feel his chuckle vibrate through your body when he encounters the wetness there.
"i'm not the one who already ruined their underwear," luke teases as he finishes undressing you. he pauses at the sight of you, bottom half completely exposed. you're about to tell him to hurry the fuck up, but then luke spits onto your already soaked cunt and says:
“i need to clean you up, baby.” he gives you another cheeky grin, teeth glowing like the cheshire cat, before diving in.
luke is skilled at everything he does, so of course he's quick to unravel you once more, this time with a persistent combination of tongue and teeth, lapping at your cunt like it's his last meal.
as soon as you're done riding out your high, you yank luke by the leather cord around his neck to collide your lips with his again.
you reach down to return the favor, snake your hand underneath the fabric of his underwear, and you're deeply satisfied to find him already sticky with his release.
“you already finished,” you tease, stroking his v-line. "and ruined your underwear without me even touching you."
in the dim light of the moon, you can barely make out luke blushing. he hides his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder.
“guess we’re both desperate, huh.” luke’s teeth graze your skin, his curls tickling your neck. “i need to be inside you, now, so how about you get on your hands and knees for me? i’ll get the condom.”
sometimes, luke tries to be gentle — but not this time.
this time, he fucks you, hard and fast and deep.
you love it, even if you might not be able to walk properly tomorrow.
with so much power behind each thrust, and the overwhelming pleasure, your arms threaten to give out, but luke catches you before you fall. he wraps a hand around your neck, bringing you flush against his chest as he continues to plunge his length into you.
"listen to me," luke growls. he snakes a hand down to rub harsh circles on your clit. "the one thing the gods did right is make this perfect, tight little pussy of yours. you were fucking made for me, weren't you?"
all you can do is whimper, closing your eyes at his filthy, sinful words.
you aren't used to luke being so possessive, and certainly not in these past few weeks. it's making your head spin in the best way. you can feel your orgasm build in the pit of your abdomen.
"were you made for me?" luke asks again. he squeezes your neck slightly, and you gasp at the pressure. "answer me, or i'll stop."
you don’t think it’s likely he’ll stop; you’re sure he’s just as lost in the sound of your cunt squelching and the feeling of you sucking him in. but, he does slow down, only a little bit, and it's enough for you to start whining.
"y-yes, luke."
"are you mine?"
you don't answer fast enough. luke stills his hips completely and you almost burst into tears.
you moan, trying to move against him in vain. luke keeps a firm grip on you, making it hard to cause any sort of friction between your bodies.
"i'm yours," you promise.
luke plants a firm kiss behind your ear. “that’s my girl,” he whispers darkly.
satisfied, luke resumes his pace. he moves the hand around your neck to your chin, angling you accordingly so he can crash his lips onto yours.
it doesn't take long to feel the tension in your abdomen snap, wetness gushing out of you. exhausted, you collapse onto the mattress. luke slips out of you.
the next few seconds consist of you trying to bring yourself back down to reality after such a high.
luke turns you around just to face him as he hovers over you. he lodges his hand behind your ear and taps your cheek to get your attention. your eyes flutter open.
“did you just —”
the dampness between your legs, and on the sheets underneath you, is enough evidence: you just squirted.
"i….” you gulp, feeling yourself flush. “i’ve never done that before."
luke stares at your glistening cunt. you wonder if you should be embarrassed, but then he locks eyes with you. you've never seen them so dark, pupils almost fully blown, just a sliver of brown showing through.
"you’re so fucking hot."
your heart flutters.
“you’re not too bad yourself, tiger, or i wouldn’t be in this mess.” you wink at him, still trying to catch your breath. your eyes wander lower. you note luke in the current state he’s in; you realize that the scales are nowhere near balanced. “that’s three for me, and only one for you. let me taste you.”
he doesn't need to be told twice. you get on your knees once more, this time facing him as he kneels in front of you. luke rips off the condom, something to deal with later, and you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowed and tears brimming your eyes feeling him fuck your throat. when he finishes, you swallow him whole, savoring every drop. he pulls you up for a kiss; you can still taste yourself on him, and it mixes with his new release, a combination that is more than a little intoxicating.
“fuck,” luke mumbles as he pulls away. he swipes his thumb over the corner of your mouth where some of his cum dribbled out. “i know that was intense, but would you be up for another round? "
"yeah," you reply without a second thought, reaching up to thread your fingers through his curls to ground yourself.
maybe you should thank artemis for the full moon tonight, giving you just the right amount of silver light to illuminate the sculpted curves and edges of luke's body. his skin is also littered with bruises and bites of your design, chaotic and beautiful. luke looks like a mess, just as you're sure you do.
you want more. you need more.
"we gotta go for four, remember? but...maybe we, uh…"
"....slow it down this time?" luke finishes your thought.
you nod, grateful that you and luke are on the same page. he scrambles off the bed to get another condom.
"shit. i don't have another one.”
"check my bag, too," you tell him. luke complies, but comes up short once more.
you’re sitting up against the headboard now, and luke returns to kneel in front of you.
"i can use my fingers,” luke offers. “or eat you out again —"
“or we could just do without a condom this time?” you suggest. luke raises an eyebrow at you, so you think through the possibilities out loud. "we both got tested before our first time together and haven’t been with anyone since.” you find yourself pausing for confirmation on that, and luke nods once. “i’m on birth control. obviously there’s still a risk that something happens, but maybe just this one time? you can just pull out whenever you’re ready….if you're okay with that."
luke waits, almost like he thinks you might change your mind, before finally answering:
“yeah, i’m okay with it if you are. i’ve always wanted to fuck you raw. i just didn’t think you’d be into it — and didn’t want you to feel pressured.”
you have to kiss him then. because how is it that the boy who just gave you three jaw clenching, toe curling, heart pounding orgasms be so sweet and considerate?
before you know it, you’re flat on your back, sheets slightly scratchy with stray sand. you don't care much because luke hovers above you; he presses his forehead to yours, curls falling in front of his face.
"just so you know," luke starts, just as you feel him enter you once more. "i must have been made for you, too. i'm just as much yours as you are mine."
you smirk, bite your lip to keep from moaning so that you can keep up the arrogance, just a bit longer.
"always so dramatic," you mock, as if your cunt isn’t squeezing around him at his sweet nothings.
luke grins at you sheepishly, his cheeks flushed.
"guess that means the gods did two things right," you joke, exhaling when you feel luke brush against that gummy spot deep within you. "maybe we've taken them for granted. maybe we should - " he hits that spot again, and your breath hitches. you dig your nails into his shoulders as he rocks back and forth. “maybe we should thank them.”
luke clicks his tongue, grips your hip firmly. "not a chance, sweetheart. the gods’ll get what they deserve."
you don’t care enough to ask luke what he means. you care more about him going faster. you’re about to tell him to do so, and to throw your legs over his shoulders, but he does it himself before you get the chance. you feel him slipping deeper within you, the force and passion behind each movement, his body molding to every curve and crevice of yours.
made for each other.
you’re so sensitive that your orgasm approaches quickly. as he helps you ride it out, his thrusts get sloppier, and you know he’s almost reached his peak, too.
“fuck,” he grunts. “i’m close.” luke starts to pull out, but then you lock your ankles behind his neck.
“don’t,” you command.
“a-are you sure?” he looks at you, wide-eyed.
“i just want to feel you this once.”
he nods and brings you in for one more bruising kiss. he finishes inside you, warm and wet.
luke leaves once he catches his breath, and comes back with a damp towel to clean you up. he knows your body, recognizes how sensitive you are, and presses kisses on the inside of your thighs, where the same lips had made bruises before.
even completely fucked out, your mind starts to unpack everything that’s wrong in your life. like how luke has always been a little too good at pretending, with everyone else at least, and something serious must be going on if he's trying to fool you, too.
this luke with you now, the one who gently wipes his cum from between your legs after fucking you so relentlessly, is your luke. it feels like your luke is slipping right through your fingers, and you’re wracking your brain trying to figure out how this can stop before losing him completely.
wait….did luke say something about getting revenge on the gods? your mind is still a bit cloudy, but you could’ve sworn —
“are you okay?”
his question puts pause on your spiraling. he’s done cleaning you up, throws the towel on the floor and settles back on the bed, next to you. you’re close enough for the softest whisper, your limbs intertwined beneath tangled sheets.
you watch luke carefully as he waits for an answer and surveys your body, tracing his fingers over the marks he'd left underneath your jaw, across your shoulders, over your collarbones and down your stomach.
"i didn't hurt you, did i?"
“i’m okay,” you assure him. luke’s hand stops to gently rest on your cheek. your other worries are pushed to the side for the time being: for now, it's just you and luke. “do you think we could pick up a plan b pill tomorrow though, just in case? i love you, but i’m not ready to have your babies.”
luke widens his eyes like a minotaur in headlights. he drops his hand.
“you’ve never said that before.”
“that i want to have your babies?” you jest, slightly amused at how panicked luke seems.
luke blushes and clears his throat. “well, that too. i meant the whole ‘i love you’ thing, though.”
your amusement evaporates. you swear your heart stops beating momentarily.
“oh, shit.…”
you’re not quite sure what to say; you’ve felt this way for a while, truthfully.
of course you love luke. you can't remember exactly when you realized it, but you just….know.
because if what you felt for luke wasn’t love, then you were foolish to have secretly bought into what silena beauregard had been on about for years, and aphrodite herself might just be out of a job.
“i know we’re kind of in a weird place, but, yeah, i mean it. you don’t have to say it back —”
luke leans forward to kiss you. gentler this time, but just as firm. “i love you."
"you do?" your heart resumes its beating.
"of course i do. i have ever since my first morning at camp.”
“yeah right,” you chuckle in disbelief, feeling your cheeks heat up. “it’s not a competition, you know, over who loved who first.”
“karma, i’m serious,” he insists. “someone taught me to burn offerings, and with everything that happened with thalia, i obviously wasn't in the worshiping mood, but then you leaned over and whispered —"
"they like the smell of begging."
luke grins at you, and you reach up to brush your thumb against the dimple in his cheek.
"exactly. somehow, that was what i needed to hear. it was nice to know that i wasn't the only one who didn’t want to just accept things the way they were….” he loses his train of thought. luke grabs your hand in his. “i wish i had told you earlier. after all this, i don’t want to lose you.”
“you won’t —”
“whatever happens,” luke continues, somewhat ominously. “i love you, y/n.”
you hadn't heard luke use your real name in a while. you fall asleep, heart full with the memory of him weaving it together with those three magic words.
the next morning, you wake up — you actually sleep in, for the first time in years — and decide that if you could stay here forever, you would.
the morning sun stings your eyes through the sheer curtains. the sticky heat of summer sits heavy in the room, and stray grains of sand tickle your skin underneath the sheets. waves wash gently on the shore outside, and an ocean breeze mixes with the smell of burnt cinnamon. you can hear annabeth, grover, and percy crashing dishes and bickering and causing chaos in the kitchen as, you imagine, they scramble to surprise you with breakfast.
luke is next to you, on his stomach. his curls are a mess, covering most of his face.
evidence from last night: scratches from your nails prominent on his back, his neck decorated with purple bruises in the shape of your lips. you shift slightly and feel a dull ache between your legs, so you'd call it even.
outside, something clatters on the floor, and you hear percy swear.
luke's eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, and he starts to move. "we should get up before they burn down the place."
you press your hand to luke's shoulder blade, barely, but in his half-asleep state, it's enough to keep him in bed. luke moves to his side, facing you. you bring your hand up to brush curls away from luke's eyes, even if they're still closed.
"they've literally been to hell and back," you recall his sarcastic words from last night. "i think they can handle pancakes."
the corners of luke's mouth curl upwards.
"you're such a smart ass," he mumbles.
you lean forward, plant a kiss underneath luke's chin. his stubble scratches against your lips.
"don't pretend you don't love it, tiger."
luke breathes steadily. you think he might've fallen asleep once more until he presses his lips to your forehead, pulls you towards him, and quips:
"i love you."
your heart quickens as you echo his words. something churns in your stomach, too.
because this peace isn't something that feels permanent.
you're the children of gods, and there's always a catch. some inevitable plot twist where lovers end up separated, where heroes end up dead or cursed.
it's nauseating — dangerous, even — that you want a happy ending, a desire buried in you deeply like a knife to the gut. it's cruel that the fates keep twisting, taunting you with what can never be.
no monsters; no gods or titans; no prophecies.
just this.
#the way this became a whole chapter....i've got wayyy too much to say i guess#i really wanted to incorporate the trio into this series a bit more and how others see luke + karma's relationship#also i forget who said it but smut as a character study....yeah <3#luke castellan fic#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan angst#luke castellan smut#luke castellan x nemesis!reader#luke castellan x you#pjo fanfic#pjo#luke castellan fanfic#saf writes
183 notes
·
View notes
Text
Newsies JatP AU Drabble (Flying Solo)
I randomly wrote this instead of literally anything else that I needed to or wanted to but it's fun so we deal. This would be a part of the "Flying Solo" chapter of my Julie and the Phantoms AU (click the first tag for all related posts) and would be right after Jack tells Spot about the ghosts and decides to perform a song for him to prove it. There is no telling when or if the rest of this chapter will ever be written so I decided to just post it now. There are indeed references and callbacks to previous chapters that either Do Not Exist or Are Not Posted Yet and I just need everyone to politely ignore those.
Jack turned away from the bickering ghosts with an eye-roll and moved to take his seat at the keyboard when a too-familiar sight froze him in place. Race’s beloved guitar was shining like new, the year of dust wiped away like nothing, as if his brother had just finished cleaning it himself and would bounce through the door at any moment to show Jack the newest chord progression he’d dreamt up in history class. Jack’s heart raced faster and faster as his breath caught in his throat and a million different thoughts flew through his mind in a single moment.
Someone cleaned Race’s guitar.
Someone touched Race’s guitar.
Race hadn’t done it.
Race was dead.
Ma and Charlie never came out here.
Jack hadn’t done it.
Race was dead.
Someone touched Race’s guitar.
“Jack, you ready?” Davey’s voice was a mile away and deafening in his eardrums. The ghost followed his frozen eye line to the beautiful instrument that sat ready for a concert never to come. “Oh.”
Davey cleaned Race’s guitar.
It looked nice, Race would like it.
Race was dead.
“I’m sorry, I should have asked,” a quick, nervous apology came before Jack could finish spiraling. “We got so excited that we could move things but we didn’t want to keep touching stuff in your room so Albert suggested cleaning our mess up and we got carried away and started doing the whole room and the guitar just looked so well-loved I wanted to see what it looked like clean but I- I should have asked. I’m sorry.”
Jack said nothing, voice still stuck in his throat. He didn’t walk to his brother’s guitar so much as he did float towards it. His fingers ghosted over the freshly-changed strings and he tentatively plucked out a few perfectly-tuned notes. Jack shot Davey a questioning glance and the suddenly-awkward ghost offered a sheepish shrug, “Sorry.”
A deep breath.
“It’s okay,” Jack managed to choke out, hoping he didn’t sound as close to a breakdown as he felt. “You uh… you didn’t know. Just… I uh… yeah just ask next time.”
“I will,” There was a tone in Davey’s voice that Jack had never heard before. An odd thing to notice considering they had known each other for about 48 hours if he was being generous, but all the (false, Jack was almost certain) confidence was gone and replaced by soft apprehension. Different than the desperate pleading from before, more of a nervous prayer. No, a promise. A promise that went far beyond the surface vow being shared.
Race’s guitar stared at him expectantly and Jack couldn’t help but pick it up, the familiar instrument a weighted blanket on his soul. The first few chords of their old favorite song rang out clear as ever and one of the thorny vines wrapped around Jack’s chest finally began to loosen its death-grip.
“You play guitar too?” Albert joked cautiously. “Got any other hidden talents you wanna share with the class?”
“Nah, I mean. I know how to play but I don’t know how to play.”
Race knew how to play. Jack could strum the right notes and find a complimenting chord but Race knew his guitar better than he knew how to breathe. He could make the strings sing like any room was Carnegie Hall, he could give the instrument its very own soul with the simplest of melodies. It was a wonder he hadn’t figured out how to become a ghost himself just to wipe away the blasphemous layer of dust Jack had allowed to accumulate.
Something like a smile found its way to his lips as Jack imagined his terror of a little brother cracking the secrets of parting the veil between worlds just to dust off his guitar and whack Jack upside the head for being an idiot.
“It looks really good,” Jack found his voice easily this time as he set the guitar back on its stand. “Thanks.”
Davey nodded, still looking uncharacteristically nervous, “No problem.”
Jack’s fingers remained loosely curled around the neck of the guitar, the gentlest sparks of reassurance reaching him through time. Davey’s grip tightened around his own instrument, so subtly he might’ve imagined it. The gaze lingered longer than was probably necessary but Jack couldn’t help but be drawn into the puzzle that was David Jacobs. The smooth, easy confidence that crumbled to insecurity in less than a second. The deliberately carefree attitude until music came into the picture and suddenly he became a wild tornado of passion and near-mania. Jack wondered why he had noticed so much in so little time.
A few agitated thumps of the bass drum pulled the room’s attention to Sarah restlessly twirling a drumstick from her stool, “If I remember correctly, Jack, you’re the one who burst in here saying we have thirty minutes to turn this poem of yours into a song so mind-blowingly epic your bestie doesn’t immediately call the psych ward on you for claiming to see ghosts.”
“Please don’t call him my bestie, he will beat you up,” Jack groaned.
“He can certainly try but one of us learned how to throw things today and it was not him.”
Send an ask if you have questions and/or drabble requests! I may write 500 words, I may write 50, I may write 5,000 who even knows but I will do my best. I have a deadline and thus my brain is ready to do anything other than the fic with the deadline.
#saf's jatp au#i may just finish the wake up scene i've had in my drafts for over a year#the possibilities are endless when you're procrastinating for no reason#also i have so much homework that i have not started#i'm a responsible adult and am definitly not becoming increasingly concerned about my own work ethic#saf writes#newsies fanfiction#jack kelly#davey jacobs#racetrack higgins#cw death#cw major character death
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Space Sickness | Chapter 1 | 4.7k words
How long is a year? As the hit musical Rent suggests it is Five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes.
And how long is 15 years? It’s 5475 days. And 131,487.3 Hours. And 7,889,238 Minutes.
Mike had a long long time to think about all that.
Or:
William Byers got stuck in the Upside Down in 1989 and Mike Wheeler became a physicist, spending 15 years getting him out.
——
Me? Posting? Impossible.
Thank you @aer-serpens for betaing and drawing one of the characters, which is Mike’s gremlin cat:
Enjoy! :D
#stranger things#byler#stranger things au#fanfic#mike wheeler#byler is endgame#stranger things 5#stranger things fanfiction#saf writes#sometimes#byler fanfic#byler tumblr#byler nation#stranger gays#3:33am#mogwai the cat
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
nearly 2 years on, i’ve started to reexamine my relationship with a beloved little visual novel
(aka this is my breakup letter to the fandom im known for loving and processing my complex feelings lmao)
read here
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
i want to kiss you until i lose my breath
i cannot thank @harumeau beloved enough for this gorgeous art!! based on a scene from a fic of mine (x)
#ffxiv#y'shtola rhul#oc: corisande ymir#ffxiv art#corishtola#corishtola art#i have never in my life been more that gif of a cat biting someone's arm alkjdfldjlskajf#TOO STUNNED TO SPEAK !!!!#the lighting...their hands...their hair!!!!!!!!!!#shtola's expression and the glimmer of cori's eye#AND SHTOLA'S DRESS!!!!!! PERFECT!!!#ough i had such a specific image of this scene that drove me to write the fic and this is SO perfect. even better than i imagined#im so sorry friend that her dress is so complicated kdsjfsl#i need time to recover from this im unwell ldf;saf#this is all im gonna think about forever. shtola's tail curled around their leg included.#ty for indulging me when i asked you to do a shtola t*ts out piece friend kladsfjdksdsf#and she looks so good 😳😌
113 notes
·
View notes
Text
Do you think Curt has scars from getting tortured by DMA/Owen? Do you think he fixates on them on bad days? Do you think anyone, whether it’s his mom or a friend, or someone he’s sleeping with, notices and asks about them? Do you think sometimes they cause flashbacks and panic attacks?
#sorry i’m having a moment#what if what Iif#what if I got back into writing fanfic cause of spies#saf#spies are forever#saf took over my brain again#spies are forever hcs#agent curt mega#torture tango
64 notes
·
View notes
Text
i think the reason writing saf comic scripts with curtwen turns 3 pages into 20 is because i have a vague idea for a small comic but as i write it down i have to backtrack and go "owen would manipulate curt here" "curt would not tell owen how he feels" "they would not communicate that clearly" "neither of them would want to bring this up because they both know, deep-down that it would lead to the discovery that their relationship is just not meant to work" so instead of a little page comic where they banter over something it turns into a fucking odyssey of lying, attempted murder, regret and repeat
#shocker it's hard to write about a relationship that fundamentally doesnt work#if you could see all the comic scripts i have lying around...#man#there was one i really wanted to do but 1. it was long 2. it was kind of heavy 3. idk how the fandom feels about curt being a shitty guy#not like owen where he has 1000 mental illnesses but just like an ordinarily shitty guy#he's a super self centered stubborn asshole who's proficient in ruining his relationships and pushing people away bc he hates himself#but i feel that kind of gets pushed aside bc owen is just so. owen.#spies are forever#owen carvour#agent curt mega#saf#tin can bros#szolposting
63 notes
·
View notes
Text
Reason #1147 that Curtwen being canon becomes blatantly obvious on the SAF rewatch
(text post source)
#spies are forever#agent curt mega#owen carvour#curtwen#curtwen angst#tin can bros#tin can brothers#tcb#SAF#text post meme#i write shitposts not tragedies
371 notes
·
View notes
Text
Do you ever be sitting in peace and then cod men pop in your mind and you start rolling and biting the pillow because why they do not exist. Or then you are daydreaming about your perfect life with them and realize later this won't happen.
Yes. Every. Darn. Day.
masterpost
#i felt bad so i am making y'all saf too#anyway#𓆩♡𓆪 faith writes#call of duty#cod headcanons#cod thoughts#ghost simon riley#john soap mactavish#captain john price#alejandro vargas#rudy parra#kyle gaz garrick#phillip graves#call of duty fanfic#task force 141#call of duty headcanons#ghost cod#help me i love them#bro 😭😭😭
76 notes
·
View notes
Text
the coldest goodbye
#im never going to stop crying#god this scene is so good#the acting is so good#the writing is so good#the direction is so good#the coldest reprise is so good#spies are forever#tin can bros#agent curt mega#curtwen#owen carvour#tcb#saf
35 notes
·
View notes
Text
"This song is so Owen coded this" or "That song is so Owen coded that" NO ONE IS TALKING ABOUT HOW OWEN CODED "How I'd Kill" BY COWBOY MALFOY IS OMG.
This song is so Owen post banana incident coded. The opening being darker and slower relating to him rising from the rubble after being abandoned by his lover, the blaming Curt for all of it and feeling like he was a fool for trusting him.
The build up to the time change is him getting recruited by Chimera and seeing a new dawn for himself.
The more upbeat part of the song is him thriving through Chimera working his way up in the organization. Him creating the character of DMA and killing all those people, thinking of Curt as something from his past that he needs to destroy
The ending being more mellow signifying him missing/seeing Curt again and falling back into old mentalities. AUGH ITS JUST SO HIM.
#as u can tell i am completely normal about the silly little gay spies#my sweet sweet boys you were doomed by the narrative#owen my poor poor owen#i want someone to write a post banana fic about Owens time at Chimera#i think it would be neat :D#owen carvour#spies are forever#tcb#tin can bros#tin can brothers#tinlightenment#saf#agent curt mega#curtwen
31 notes
·
View notes
Text
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.
#this is my baby fr#really feeling the tragic hero vibe down to my core#will prob do a part 2 from reader's POV!#ofc inspired by get him back! bc nemesis!reader....#percy jackson#pjo fanfic#pjo series#luke castellan#luke castellan x you#luke castellan x reader#pjo x reader#luke castellan angst#luke castellan imagine#percy jackson and the olympians#luke castellan smut#saf writes#Spotify
5K notes
·
View notes
Note
🥚
Yes. Yes, I do have an inbox full of asks from the game the other day. However, why would I be a normal person and answer them when I could finish this response from literally ten months ago? (Other than this paragraph and the bit near the end, everything here was written back in June. I cannot even begin to tell you why it never got finished but enjoy I guess)
Okay, perfect so let me tell you guys about a little story called Pearchwood Hollow! It was a mystery/horror original story I wrote in 2019 that I repurposed into a Newsies AU. Obligatory "I have a very loose mental roadmap of how this plot goes at best, and nothing but general vibes and random scenes in mind at worst". This AU is an absolute mess and I have no idea how at least 50% of it goes, which is the exact reason it has never seen the light of day. You can read the concept chapter I wrote if you want; it's not that great but it'll help you get an idea of what this is going to be. (Don't bully me for the characters' names I was 16 and thought I was being quirky) It's formatted kinda weirdly because of the application it was originally written on but luckily I saved a copy to my computer after I deleted the original file.
Anyways, the basic idea:
It's a small town au and our main character is Davey Jacobs, an 18-year-old high school graduate/rising college freshman who lives with his parents and brother, is best friends with Charlie Morris-Larkin and Katherine Pulitzer, and was dating Jack Kelly-Larkin for most of high school. Jack and Charlie are brothers and Charlie is older by like four months because I said so. Davey and Jack broke up a few weeks after graduation because they made plans to go to colleges on opposite sides of the country. They're still friends and it's totally not awkward at all. Nope. Besties for life, those two.
Anywho, if you read the chapter I linked, you already know the mystery that's being set up, but just as a little TLDR: the town Davey and the gang live in is completely and totally normal. Really, it is. (this is not me being sarcastic again, it really is just a regular, boring town in middle-of-nowhere New York)
THE TOWN RIGHT NEXT TO THEM, HOWEVER-
It's called Pearchwood Hollow and it seems perfect, almost too perfect. Davey's been there a few times and everyone he met was super friendly and helpful. The lady at the gas station gave him a free candy bar, the mechanic who helped them out when they got stuck on the side of the road taught Davey how to change a flat tire, and the nice old couple who own the local sandwich shop snuck an extra cookie in his bag. It's a perfect town, full of perfect people who live in perfect houses and go to perfect schools and play in perfect parks and have perfect everything lives.
So why does every single person within a 100-mile radius know the exact same rule: Never, under any circumstances, stay in Pearchwood Hollow overnight
Davey liked to think his parents trusted him. He didn't have a curfew because they know he isn't interested in staying out late and getting into trouble. He was allowed to go anywhere in town as long as he gave them a general idea of when he would be home. He had his own job and his parents allowed him to do whatever he wanted with his salary, knowing that he always puts half into his savings account and made sure his phone bill was paid before spending anything on himself.
Yes, Esther and Mayer Jacobs trusted their oldest son, he had never given them any reason not to, after all. But Davey had never in his life gone longer than a week without being strictly reminded "never go to the Hollow".
No one knew where the rule came from, not even the oldest people in town. As far as Davey could tell, the fear of Pearchwood Hollow went back at least six generations and for seemingly no reason. Every once in a while, a couple of local kids would go to the Hollow with the intention of staying the night, but they always chickened out before sunset. No one had ever spent the night except for the people who lived there, all of whom usually laughed off the rumors or seemed genuinely clueless about them.
Davey was curious of course, everyone was, but he figured if so many people were afraid of the Hollow there must be a good reason. He would not be known as the fool who went poking around in places he shouldn't have and ended up becoming the answer to the mystery.
Which brings us to the beginning of the Actual Plot:
The opening scene is Davey packing for college while Les helps him and whines the whole time about being left behind. He's fine, just dramatic. Davey insists that he'll love being the only kid in the house and getting all of their parents' attention. Just in case though, Davey promises to leave his favorite denim jacket for Les to wear while he's gone and Les gives Davey his favorite friendship bracelet that he made at camp.
Anyways, Les has to leave the room for something, and, while Davey's shifting boxes around and trying to figure out how to pack his whole life into one tiny little dorm room, he finds an envelope behind his desk. It's covered in a thin layer of dust, a bit crumpled, still sealed shut, and reads "To Davey" on the front in neat, loopy handwriting.
Of course, he opens it and finds a letter from someone telling him that they've always wanted to know what was wrong with the Hollow. That they couldn't take it anymore and were going to find out what the rumors were about, once and for all. They told Davey they were planning on staying for one hour past sundown and to expect them home before dinner if all went well.
That much was already weird enough, but there were details in the letter than didn't make sense. First of all, there was the fact that Davey doesn't know anyone named "Sarah", and she kept speaking about him, Les, and their parents as if she were close to their family. Extremely close. Then she asked him not to tell Katherine where she'd gone until she got back, again, as if she were close with Davey's best friend. She called him D, an old nickname his family used when he was a little kid. Other small things like that.
Davey is completely and utterly confused, so, naturally, he goes to his two best friends to make them confused with him (one of which is his ex's brother and the other of which is his ex's ex. This is normal.)
Davey, Kath, and Charlie are, individually, incredibly smart individuals, so you would think that between the three of them, they could figure out a reasonable plan of action. However, their first working plan is to just. Go to the Hollow and see what happens. They don't stay overnight, they go during the middle of the day just to see if anything about it has changed since the last time any of them went.
There's a chapter or two of the gang driving around, looking at the old, decrepit town, a far cry from what they all remember. All of the buildings are falling apart and overgrown with plants. The road is full of potholes and cracks and looks as if it hasn't been tended to in decades, maybe even centuries. Davey's pretty sure he doesn't see a single animal in the entire town. It's only been six months since one of them was here, so they have no idea how it looked so bad.
They ask around a bit to try and learn what happened, or even if anyone knows a girl named Sarah, but every person they try to talk to just yells at them to get out before they get "claimed", whatever that means. Even the nice little sandwich shop that Davey remembers has basically crumbled into a giant pile of rubble and the man at the counter glares so harshly as they enter that they turn right around and go back to the car.
It's weird and creepy, nothing like they remember about the Hollow, so they leave a lot sooner than they originally planned. This chapter(s) ends with the three of them encountering Jack on the road out of the Hollow.
He's absolutely furious for a few reasons. First for going to the Hollow without telling anyone (Katherine could have sworn she sent Darcy a text right as they crossed into the town limits). Second for not answering their phones when literally everyone has been trying to find them (Davey couldn't remember his phone going off at all while they were in the Hollow, but when he checks he does in fact have several missed calls and texts from his parents and his friends). Third for turning off their location-sharing so that Medda and Jack couldn't even figure out where Charlie was (Charlie had barely touched his phone all day, but when he pulls it out to prove it, sure enough, his location-sharing is off.) I also think that it's been at least an hour longer than the trio thought, but I'm not sure if they would realize that now.
And so they have no choice but to tell Jack what's going on, to show him the letter and explain their "plan". He understands, he probably would have done the same thing, but he's hurt that they couldn't bother to tell him. He knows that things have been a bit awkward since the breakup but they're still his best friends and Charlie should have had the sense to at least tell his family what he was up to instead of scaring them half to death by practically falling off the face of the earth for four hours.
I have no idea how long this confrontation lasts, but by the end of it everyone has more or less made up, and now Jack is in on the goal to figure out the mystery. I told you there is no plan for this, I barely know what's going on at this point.
Here's the kicker: when Jack asks if they at least learned anything useful on their little field trip, Davey, Kath, and Charlie all say "no". They tell him that everything was just as perfect and idyllic as always, everyone was nice and welcoming and nothing weird was going on. They're not lying. The reader knows all of Davey's thoughts and memories in this moment and, as he recalls them, they are drastically different from what the reader knows to be true.
This is when we discover what the characters won't for a long time: the Hollow affects your memories. As long as you leave before sunset, the memories you made during your time in the Hollow are replaced by new ones. Fake ones. Memories of colorful houses with blossoming front gardens, of cheerful diners and mom-and-pop shops, of friendly townsfolk with genuine smiles and happy lives. Our narrator has forgotten four whole hours of his life and doesn't even realize it. What else don't we know about this story?
Wasn't sure where to add this, but I think something would happen in the Hollow that left a physical mark. Like, the car got scratched, someone skins their knee or gets a small cut on their arm, or someone drops a book in a puddle of water which leaves the ink bleeding and the pages warped. Something physical that can't easily be fixed, but could easily be forgotten for a little while. Jack asks what happened and the trio realizes that none of them knows. It's a big enough mark that they definitely should have noticed as soon as it happened, but none of them did. Or, at least, none of them remember if they did.
Also, at some point, we would meet Finch, Albert, and Spot, three best friends in the grade below our main characters who sometimes just kinda show up and are Also There. If Davey and the gang thought really hard about it, they wouldn't be able to remember where or how they met the three younger kids. And if Finch, Albert, and Spot thought really hard about it, they wouldn't be able to remember where or how they met each other.
Here's where the plot gets a little muddy and I start to lose my grip on the steering wheel. Or maybe my navigation system just shorted out idk it's less of an outline and more of a wishlist after this point:
So our new Buzzfeed Unsolved gang consists of Jack Kelly, his older brother of four months, his ex-girlfriend, and his ex-boyfriend. Someone book them a weekly timeslot on the History Channel.
They eventually decided that the best thing they can do is just research the Hollow and see if they can figure out why there are so many warnings about a seemingly-normal place. They don't find much, people have been searching for answers about the Hollow for over a century and never found anything. Finally, Katherine manages to find one newspaper article from the late 1800s, early 1900s. (It might be a little on-the-nose to say it's from 1899, but that's around the time period, I didn't even do that on purpose). According to the article, there was some kind of tragedy that killed every person in Pearchwood Hollow. I haven't 100% decided what happened, but my top 3 options are: blizzard, massive flood/tropical storm, or mysterious illness. I think I'm leaning towards blizzard just for simplicity's sake, but the illness one would be easy to explain why it didn't affect any of the surrounding towns. It's really not important, all you need to know is that everyone in town died, and the article states that no one has any plans to rebuild or repopulate.
Then the exact same newspaper released another article a week later, talking about a new school opening in Pearchwood Hollow to help with the large population increase over the past few years.
This is when the gang starts to revisit the weird stuff that happened when they went into the Hollow. Their phones seemingly not working, time moving differently, and the physical mark that I mentioned earlier. With this, in addition to the news articles and the letter from Sarah, there's only one logical conclusion to come to: the Hollow affects your memories.
Okay so maybe it's not exactly a logical conclusion and they definitely argue about it for a while, but it's the best explanation anyone has. But if the theory is true, that means there's no way of learning what's going on. Not unless they stay in the Hollow overnight.
Again, I have absolutely how the plot progresses to this, it just Does, alright? So yeah, the gang decides to just stick it out and stay in the Hollow overnight. How do they decide on this? Absolutely no idea but it happens and we're going with it, it's important to the plot.
Now this is really where I have no idea what happens beyond really vague ideas so just bear with me:
The gang goes to the Hollow and it's the same as the last time (the time the reader remembers), the run-down buildings, the horrible roads, the weird townsfolk, everything. Except this time, as soon as the sun sets, it's like a switch flips in everyone's heads and they suddenly remember that this is how Pearchwood Hollow has always been. Every single time, they had had the same awful experience, their memories were just replaced after they left. It's fascinating and terrifying all the same, but they move on to the next part of the plan, which is to find Sarah.
Which they do. Somehow. Don't ask questions, I don't have answers. They find Sarah and, again, a switch flips and suddenly they all remember her. She's Davey's twin sister, Jack's best friend, and Katherine's girlfriend of two years. It's very emotional, very sad, many tears. I'm so good at descriptions.
This is when the pieces all start to fall into place for both the reader and the characters. Sarah left the note for Davey about a week or two before the story started, went into the Hollow, stayed after dark, got trapped, and everyone in the outside world forgot she existed. Every physical and digital trace of her disappeared, except for the letter. As Sarah keeps explaining, they learn dozens, if not hundreds of people get stuck in the Hollow every single year. And then the world just... forgets them. People they knew, people they were friends with, maybe even people they loved. All gone.
Sarah doesn't know why, no one in the Hollow does. They still age and die as normal, so this has been going on for over six generations just like in the outside world. The town is pretty run down after a century of not being able to call for outside help or materials, but they don't really need to sleep or eat or drink like they should, so the lack of safe housing or good food or clean water isn't really a problem. The Hollow is basically a weird little pocket dimension and the people inside are somewhere between dead and alive. They just live out the rest of their lives wandering aimlessly in their odd little prison, making tentative friendships that don't mean all that much, and scaring off any visitors so they don't get trapped as well.
Davey, Katherine, Charlie, and Jack aren't technically stuck yet. They could still leave, but they'd forget everything again. They aren't really trapped until they get "claimed", which, according to Sarah, should be happening any minute so they really needed to get going. They argue this, of course, saying they won't leave without her and she insists that she can't leave, that she's tried and everyone else in Pearchwood has tried, but there's no way out after you get claimed.
They're arguing about this for a few minutes and then they hear a voice calling out from the other room. Asking Sarah who she was talking to. Then the final switch flips and they remember Race. And Davey can't feel any emotion besides horror as the boy freezes in the doorway. This is Jack and Charlie's little brother and, if Davey's memory isn't failing him again, he's been gone for over a year. And all that time, while he was stuck in this horrible limbo, they were just living their lives as if nothing had happened
Okay, so this is where I stopped writing back in June because couldn't think of an ending. We're picking this up about ten months later so apologies if there's any continuity errors after this
For the sake of getting this finished so it doesn't sit in my drafts for another ten months, we're gonna speedrun our way through what is technically the climax of the entire story, just deal with it. In case you haven't noticed I love creating situations for my little guys but I'm so bad at getting them out of said situations
Basically, Pearchwood Hollow is the way that it is because back in 1899, when the whole town was destroyed, there actually was one survivor. It doesn't really matter who it was. Maybe the mayor, maybe a poor farmer, maybe a small child. Who they are isn't important. What's important is that they were scared, lonely, and so very desperate.
Desperation is a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands. It makes you vulnerable.
They made a deal with something. Maybe they thought it was an angel. Maybe they knew it was a demon. Maybe they didn't care either way.
The demon couldn't bring everyone back, but it could bring others in. It promised that if the person could get people to stay in the town just until sunset, the demon would make sure they were never lonely again. It could give them a community, a family again.
Desperation is a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands. It makes you vulnerable. It makes you irrational. It prevents you from remembering all the warnings passed down from generation to generation about reading the fine print before accepting a deal from a demon. They never give you what you think you're asking for in the first draft.
At the time of our story, the original person who made the deal is long dead. But the demon will never break its oath, not as long as there are still people in the Hollow.
Demons gain their power from soul sacrifices. Technically, there's a specific ritual a human must complete of their own volition before the demon can stake their claim, but every rule has a loophole. Willingly entering a demon's earthly domain past nightfall despite warnings to keep away? Close enough to a ritual sacrifice for a demon to claim your soul and keep you trapped for the rest of your life.
Anyways, long story short but Davey and Co meet the demon and somehow don't ask questions Davey convinces it to take only his soul in exchange for letting the rest of his friends go, including Sarah and Race. I'm thinking the reasoning is because souls that are willingly sacrificed by someone who fully and completely understands the meaning of said sacrifice are ten times more powerful than souls that are forcibly stolen using a shaky-at-best loophole.
Desperation is a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands. It makes you vulnerable. It makes you irrational. It makes you impulsive. It tricks you into thinking you've outsmarted your opponent when both of you know the game was over before it even started.
Jack and the others try to talk him out of it. Davey insists that this is the only way and at least most of them should be able to go home. They won't remember him anyways so they won't have to mourn. Before any of the others can try to offer themselves up instead, the demon snaps its fingers and suddenly the reader is sent back to the opening scene.
Davey is in his room packing for college. Sarah comes in to try and steal some of his sweaters to take with her to her own university just two hours away from Davey's. They bicker like all siblings do, like they always have.
They meet Charlie, Katherine, and Jack for lunch at Jacobi's later that day. Sarah greets her girlfriend with a sweet kiss and Davey slips under Jack's arm like it was the only place in the world he belonged. None of them mention the Hollow. The thought of the place doesn't even cross Davey's mind.
Jack leaves early to pick Race up from work, grumbling lightheartedly about how his annoying kid brother should hitch a ride with his friends instead of bugging him all the time. Davey rolls his eyes, knowing his boyfriend is eager to soak up every second left at home with Race before Jack and Davey move across the country to go to college together.
Davey does not find a dusty envelope behind his desk.
Esther and Meyer shed several tears the day they drop Davey and Sarah off at college, mentioning how quiet the house will be with only the two of them living in it
If he thought long and hard about it, Davey wouldn't be able to remember why he left his favorite denim jacket at home.
If anyone asked, Davey wouldn't be able to recall who gave him the handmade friendship bracelet he always had on his wrist.
And if anyone asked, David Jacobs would say he has only one sibling, his twin sister Sarah.
Always read the fine print before making a deal with a demon. They never give you what you think you're asking for.
#my goodness this au is such a mess#but it's super fun! and i would love to do something with it one day!#however i need it to Exist in some capacity first so here we go#the original story version of this has actually been developed a lot since i first started writing this au#like it is completely unrecognizable from that concept chapter i love it so much#might post about it some day who knows#until then enjoy your regularly scheduled half-baked newsies angst#cam i meant to answer your song ask today but i got sidetracked mb#hope this makes up for it :D#newsies#livesies#newsies live#newsies au#newsies fanfiction#david jacobs#thank you thank you for the ask#milk and ilk#saf writes#saf's fic concepts
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
to the people who were so nice about my curtwen fic:
currently writing a second part to a helping hand.
it's going great :))
#curtwen#spies are forever#owen carvour#curt mega#saf fanfic#yes i write everything i post by hand :)
37 notes
·
View notes
Text
Spies are forever Malevolent au (made with @z3n1g4t4)
Curt Mega is a free-lance private eye investigator in the early 50s. He works with his partner, Owen Carvour, and both of them are one of the best of Arkham.
One day, Curt wakes up with no vision and no memory of what has happened. He soon discovers that there's something, or someone, in his head. The entity doesn't recall their own name, but they seem to be in control of Curt's eyes.
Although wary at first, Curt accepts to work with the entity. They quickly find each other working great together: the entity is throughout in their descriptions, and Curt is good thinking on his feet. They quickly get out of the building they were in (one from Curt's cases) and try to recap what has happened.
Curt remembers working on a case about occultism and superstition, but he didn't take it very seriously. His partner and him had to find some missing girl, and that had taken them to a house. The last thing Curt remembers was finding some books with strange symbols on them and letters he couldn't read. The entity, or the man, as he insisted he was, had some vague memories about himself, but couldn't remember much about his identity.
Given that they couldn't go their separate ways, the couple decide to work together to discover what's going on. Their goals are to separate their bodies (and get rid of Curt's eyes curse) as well as finding Owen. The entity finds him fascinating, as it is one of the few moments were Curt lets his guard down and is in touch with himself. He tells him about the cases they worked together, their achievements as partners. As more time passes, the entity notices how there are some gaps in his stories about Owen, as if there were things he didn't want to say. Curt also seems to be more on edge when the topic comes up.
The entity and Curt have some fights during the investigation. The entity is frustrated with Curt, as he often ignores him to follow his impulses (that usually get them in more trouble). On his hand, Curt resents the entity, as he blames him on his partner's dissapearence. Their egos clash, sometimes ending delaying the case by a lot or even putting their lives in danger just to fuck with the other one over. The dance seems familiar to the entity, but he doesn't know why.
After some setbacks and different leads, Curt and the entity arrive to an occult society that seems to worship the same creature that the books belong to. There, they finally give it a name: Chimera. This Old One is created by pieces of many creatures, taking their abilities and making new amalgamates with them (the greek mythology beast is loosely based on it). It thanks Curt for taking Owen to him. Curt doesn't understand.
Chimera reveals that in their last investigation together, Owen and Curt got in trouble. Although they thought they were alone at the house, they were not, and Owen got shot .As a last resource, Owen reached for the book and summoned Chimera, trying to stay alive. The god then offers him a choice: he would keep living, in a way, but he'd have to give up the memories of Curt and their work together. Clinging to his life, Owen accepts.
Curt can't believe what he hears, he can't accept that the man he loves gave him up to become some sort of monster. He faces Chimera and asks them if that's why he can't remember anything about Owen. It laughs at him. Chimera tells him that it wasn't them that made him forget, but Curt. It makes Curt remember nevertheless, and he relives their last moments together. He remembers how he had carelessly made noise all around the house, and he had left a banana peel laying around in the entry. That banana peel hadn't allowed Owen to flee.
Curt's head is filled with images, and memories, and he's hurting, but he can't still remember about his time with Owen, who he was. It doesn't make sense to him. Chimera tells him that it wasn't their fault, he just simply didn't know Owen. He thought he did, with all their cases, but he never asked him about his life. About who he really was. He didn't have to worry much about it, now Owen didn't remember either.
Chimera thus wants to take Owen back to make him one of his subjects, but Owen declines. His new form has made him think about who he is or what his purpose is, and he's not ready to give it up. And although conflicted, Curt doesn't want Owen to join Chimera. So they run away from Chimera.
Their next big step is to face each other.
#spies are forever#saf#curtwen#agent curt mega#owen carvour#saf au#malevolent saf au#hyl rambles#hyl writes#it's been some time since i listened to the first season of malevolent hope I didn't get details too off#but i hope you see the vision. they're so divorced. both of them#also i think beign an eldritch horror would fix owen#saf fic#if you're interested i (we) have so many thoughts about this au. owen would construct his identity like john. what are other chs up to...#feel free to comment and talk about it!!!!#also owen has the role of John And Parker And lowkey Faroe
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
@scripted-downfall a continuation? To the Curt falls au? You bet! You know how much of a freak I am for good quality angst, especially when it involves these two!
"Cynthia, there's an MI6 agent waiting for you outside."
It wasn't often that anyone caught Cynthia at a good time. She was an incredibly busy woman, and that often meant that everything she did was held up in some kind of queue.
Owen had been told this in brief when he'd quietly requested to see her, but he'd insisted that he could wait. He had to. He owed Curt this much.
Barb had insisted he come back with her, since he was so desperate to give Cynthia the news himself. He was very much fine with the idea of calling her, especially since seeing her in person would be such a difficult ordeal, but Barb had suggested talking to her in person until the idea became vaguely imprinted in his mind. Then he couldn't let it go, even though he knew it was the wrong direction to take this in.
He'd been trying to hold himself together for hours. His heart had broken when the facility had fallen, and he felt like he'd been left with a tiny bucket, trying to get it all into shape again before he cracked in front of Curt's goddamn boss of all people.
He was close enough that he could hear the conversation in Cynthia's office, and he leaned in a little closer to catch it, absently running a hand through his hair to make himself look more presentable. God, he really hoped he wasn't still covered in brick dust...
"MI6? What the hell do they want?" Cynthia asked, and then paused in her tracks. "Who even is it?"
"He called himself Carvour?"
"Oh..." she hummed like that was in some way surprising, her expression softening. MI6 never wanted anything good, and the fact that most of them travelled in to give their official business made most of them worse. Knowing it was Owen changed things a little. Not a lot, he could still have been sent by his superiors just because he was in the area, but enough to make her reconsider how snappy she was going to be...
Then, she remembered that he had been on that mission with Curt, so he couldn't possibly have come with anything like that. Her expression softened ever so slightly. "Let him in."
Owen heard that and just about managed to stand and straighten himself up before Susan opened the door and stood aside to let him in. "Agent..."
"Thank you..." He wandered in through the open door, looking to his best ability like he was here for a purpose that hadn't already caused him that much heartbreak. All semblances of professionalism had been completely eradicated when he'd come out of there bleeding and broken but very much still alive.
Why? It had been a string of convneiences that had gotten him to where he was right now. Luck, or chance, or something else he didn't fully believe in. He was the only one left, out of dozens of agents working the facility. There were razor blades in his throat, dust clogging his airways, and a deep, inescapable feeling of emptiness pitted up in his chest, but he was alive, wasn't he?
Getting out had never felt like such a curse before.
"Owen? What happened to you, you look like shit..."
Hearing Cynthia's voice again brought him out of his thoughts, and hearing the door close behind him brought him back to the present. He was trying to keep a sturdy grip on reality, so he could stay here, in this conversation he was about to have with Cynthia. He didn't care if he faded out later, but right now, it was imperative that he was as present as he could be.
"Hello, Miss Houston..." He managed. His throat was still dry, but at least speaking didn't hurt as much as it had a few hours ago. He watched Cynthia frown, her brow drawing together.
"God, you sound like shit too... Need something strong? Whiskey?"
"Please..."
Susan brought the decanter, and Cynthia pulled two glasses from a tray behind her, filling them both with the amber liquid, and the air with the fiery scent of it.
Owen took his glass with a grateful nod, and almost relished in the way the first sip burned all the way down his throat. It didn't make that particular situation any better, but he'd already lost the comfortable facade; he supposed it couldn't exactly get much worse.
"Okay, so what's the deal?" Cynthia asked, leaning back in her chair. "What brings you all the way out to Washington?" Her voice was surprisingly soft, for her standards. She'd registered the change in accent, realised she'd never heard Owen sounding quite like that before, and came to the conclusion that something particularly awful had to have happened.
"I've come to make a report." Owen answered simply, hoping for all it was worth that she hadn't picked up on his breath starting to run short. At the end of the day, did it really matter if she blamed him for Curt's death? He was already there, what was one more person?
And it wasn't like it was untrue, as far as these things went...
She raised an eyebrow. "You do realise this isn't your agency, right, Carvour?"
"I know. But I'd rather you heard this from me than anyone else. It's about Curt..."
"What did he do this time?"
"No, it's... Not about what he did... I lost him. He's dead." Best to be out with it quickly, he supposed. He sighed, just waiting for her reaction. Every passing second was one more where the deep pit of residing anxiety got worse. Where he felt more and more hot pricks at his eyes. Where his guilt started to rack up on itself and morph into real, genuine grief. Hearing himself say those words wasn't right. Curt should be here right now. The two of them should be returning the blueprints together.
Cynthia fell silent for a little longer than Owen cared to admit was comfortable. "What happened?"
"There was... A miscalculation on the explosives timers. We were cornered by a group of agents, but when they went off, we had a chance to escape. One of them- the explosives, that is- went off while we were running. Curt fell. I couldn't reach him in time."
Had that come out faster than he'd intended? Did any of that even make sense? He held his breath, hoping that she had at least grasped part of it.
She nodded slowly, seemingly understanding. He knew she'd never really had the greatest affinity for Curt. Sometimes she could be unnecessarily hard on him, but she'd also seen how much of a wreck he was over his death, so he thought the least she could do was try and show a little sympathy.
Her gaze dropped into her glass and she sighed. That was... A start, at least.
"Oh god..."
"Like I said, I'd rather you heard it from me than someone else..."
"I fucking knew Mega's recklessness was gonna get him killed one of these days. I just... Didn't think it'd actually happen. Thanks for... Coming, Agent Carvour. Where are you going from here?"
"I don't know," Owen frowned, drawing himself back a little. There was an uncompromised location in Chicago that was still a good bet, but he didn't know whether he'd be able to face it without Curt. They'd shared that space for so long that it would seem entirely alien to go there alone, to wait for a man who would never turn up late again.
"I don't know what I'm gonna do."
--
Somewhere off the North American continent, a man woke up in a cell. His face and chest were tight with fresh stitches and new scars, his every breath seemed to heave, and he could feel new bites of pain flooding through him every time he tried to move.
From where he was, he could just about make out a large, dramatic burn mark spread across one of his biceps, that he could feel spreading across his shoulder blades and partway down his back. His memory was a patchwork of fire and rubble, but he remembered someone stepping away from him. Watching him fall. Running the other way. That someone had a face, and a name, and a history. With him.
Owen Carvour.
His face twisted. The memory of the name was enough to sting. Owen had left him there to die. Where was he now? Had he gotten away? Some could be so lucky...
Owen was a free man. Where did that leave him? A prisoner. Captured and broken and alone. No end in sight, nothing beyond these four walls.
The door in front of him opened and a man walked in. Perfectly polished, looking down on him like he was a fly on the wall.
"Good to see you made it through, Agent Mega..."
#spies are forever#saf#agent curt mega#owen carvour#void offering#nova's tags →#i'm back! depressed owen ftw!!!#well... not really but this au is fun as hell to write#you get me. curt falls first and owen is still a methodical bastard with a need for detail#he makes sure the right people know. then he goes insane#trust me he is barely making it out of cynthia's office in one piece
13 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
kissedmeinsane
mad girl’s love song
nocturneequuis
Nocturneequuis' Corner
birdcanart
art, man
virge-of-breaking
Logan can you stop? Please?
nonsensegnomes
colourless green ideas sleep furiously