#writing cabin
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The Story of my Off-Grid Writing Cabin
Before my grandpa got too sick, he purchased a small patch of land from a friend. It is right in the middle of farm country, but had been untouched (apart from cows) for many years. The property was once site of a (now gone) mining town, it is right alongside train tracks, and the only way to it is by a dirt road that sometimes floods, so it is not particularly valuable land. Perhaps that was why the friend who inherited it had no interest in it.
This lack of interest greatly benefited the property, by letting the forest (and ecosystem) spread and thrive.
It has moose, porcupines, cougars, and more, so going there often feels like entering the wilds, despite the fact that a short walk will lead you to a neighbors farmland.
The pre-mentioned town has long since disappeared, but one of its inhabitants (who was a young boy at the time, and is now elderly) sometimes comes to wander the land and remember how it was. It turns out the spot I chose for my cabin was right near where the town was, but there is little physical evidence of how it was when he was a boy. I have found the wheel impressions of an old path through the forest, as well as the occasional glass bottle, ceramics, or other small trinkets.
While scaling the cliffside, I did once find something I believe is related to the mine(perhaps an air vent?) but I have yet to find more.
My grandpa was determined to have land to pass down to his two kids, so he did what he could to clear a small space in overgrown brush in an open patch of the forest to give his kids a place to start building on.
He also gave me permission to start building my very tiny 8×12 cabin, and dropped by every now and then to give suggestions on the build.
I am pretty proud to say that he quite liked my idea with the jacks and the cinder blocks to lift it from the ground. I picked this setup that way if the earth shifts, I can re-level the shed. Also, if it is ever decided that the land should be sold, it would technically be possible for me to lift and load it onto a flat-bed(though where I would bring it is a mystery hahaha).
For my cabin, despite how small it is, construction is a slow process. I am low income, so building it has been a mix of waiting for enough money, and hunting at the salvage center at my local dump. For example, my sink and cabinets cost me $5. Of course, there were some repairs to do on them, but nothing drastic.
With the help of a solar panel and a 12 volt battery, I have enough power for my tiny fridge, lights, and laptop, and I have yet to run out of power.
I do have to bring water in, but I set up my sink so that it drains into a bucket that — thanks to biodegradable soap — I can dump outside later.
There are still some small things to be done as I hunt down prices I can afford — such as for window trim, curtains that actually block light, and some sort of heat source — but it is usable as it is.
Unfortunately, because of my slow progress, my grandpa never got to see my cabin as close to finished as it is now. He passed away a few years ago. I would like to think my grandpa would like how my writing cabin turned out.
I do not know what the future of the land will look like, but for now, my grandpa provided me with a quiet escape that has been tremendously helpful with my mental health.
If you follow my website or other social media, you might have noticed I haven't been active, and the reason for it is that a recent blip of depression has made it hard for me to do anything. I apologize for dropping off the map, especially if there are any comments I have forgotten to reply to.
I am currently working on improving my mental health in any way I can, and the land has played a part in it. When I visit the land, there is little to no cell-service, so the disconnect and surrounding nature creates a barrier to me and my stresses, and I do feel much better. Thanks, grandpa!
#writing shed#writingshed#sheshed#she shed#writing cabin#tiny cabin#off grid cabin#offgridcabin#writer#author#MyNews#WritingCabin
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lovelorn
luke castellan x daughter of apollo!reader
word count: 7004 words
summary: you and luke have been friends since the day the two of you met. you've had a crush on him since the two of you were fourteen; needless to say, he doesn't know about your feelings.
warnings?: unrequited love, oblivious luke, jealousy, falling for your best friend, reader writes songs and plays guitar, reader lowkey hating the girl luke likes, faking, heartbreak, reader is friends with everyone and juniper the dryad, use of nicknames between reader and luke (melody and charming), swearing, will loves his sister!!, platonic chris rodriguez x reader, platonic clarisse la rue x reader, and platonic silena beauregard x reader (chris calls her sunshine, clar calls reader sunny, while silena calls her love), mention of fainting and dehydration.
a/n: take note of every little thing in this first part, because i laid clues for what's gonna happen in part two.
August by Taylor Swift is the song she sings during the camp fire.
ONE. TWO. THREE. FOUR.
You smiled as you watched your best friend teach your younger siblings how to wield swords, which was futile, as children of Apollo tend to be better at archery than sword fighting.
But Luke was patient with your siblings, which always made you smile. Maybe it was from experience. Having a cabin full of mischievous kids tends to give experience in being patient with hyperactive children.
You were sure you could stare at him forever. Bright brown eyes full of mischief paired with a contagious, kind smile.
“Y/n, are you listening?” Dawn snapped her fingers in front of your face, pulling you out of your daze. “You’re staring at Luke again, gods, you are hopeless.”
“I wasn’t staring, Dawn,” You rolled your eyes, turning your full attention to your younger sister. “Now, what were you saying?”
“You were, you ain’t fooling me,” Dawn teased, a smirk on her lips as she leaned back against the hard stone walls of the arena. “Anyway, are we singing at the campfire tonight?”
You scowled at your younger sister, your gaze landing back onto Luke. “You’re annoying, you know that?”
“I know, but I’m still the best sibling you got,” Dawn grinned cheekily. “So, are we singing or not? Or are you just going to ogle at Luke the whole day?”
Your cheeks started to heat up, like being kissed by the sun in the early morning. “We’re going to sing, happy now?” you grumbled, averting your eyes away from the senior counselor of the Hermes cabin.
Dawn smiled triumphantly, rising to her feet. “I think I’m going to join Lee and Michael,”
You raised a brow at her. “You’re shit with a sword.”
“Yeah, but it’s better than watching you hopelessly be in love with him,” Dawn jerked her head in Luke's direction. “Frankly, it’s nauseating.”
“Shut up,” you grumbled, rolling your eyes.
Dawn snickered, starting to walk away. “I’ll leave you alone to daydream of Luke sweeping you off of your feet, leading you up the stairwell-”
“Shut up!” You snapped at your sister, who was still snickering.
“Is everything okay?” A voice you know oh so well spoke behind Dawn.
“Oh, it's nothing,” You quickly said before Dawn got another idea to embarrass you. “Dawn was just going to train with Lee and Michael. Right, Dawn?” You say through gritted teeth, making your sister chuckle.
“Yeah, I’ll leave the two of you to talk.” And with that, Dawn finally left, golden hair dancing in the wind.
“You okay, melody?” Luke asks, sitting beside you, concern etched on his handsome face.
“Yeah, I’m alright.” You smiled, trying to look genuine despite wanting to kiss him and run your fingers through his curls like it’s the end of the world.
You never wanted to be in love with your best friend. You knew the consequences of it—thanks to your friends from cabin ten's constant reminders, but your stupid heart just wouldn't listen.
You've known Luke since the night he and Annabeth arrived at camp when you were fourteen. You'd been assigned by Chiron and Mr. D to tend to Luke and Annabeth’s wounds and bruises, being the head of cabin seven and the best healer camp has to offer and all.
Luke was charming, you had to give him that, charmed you into letting him attend training one first day despite not being healed properly yet. And then, half an hour later after he left the infirmary, one of your siblings brought him in—one of his wounds that you patched up, bleeding and was unconscious after insisting that he was okay minutes ago. Annoyed, you put him on bed rest. When he woke up hours later, he insisted to be let go—wanting to prove he can be better than that Ares kid he sparred with.
“Come on, doc, I’m okay now!” Luke raised his arm, but winced at the pain beneath his underarm. “See?”
“You are going to lay in that bed and you are going to rest. Doctor’s orders.” You simply said, humming a song as you checked his wounds for any infection.
“But-”
“One more word out of you, and I’ll curse you with bubonic plague.” You said, stuffing a cube of ambrosia in his mouth, smiling sweetly at him.
Luke chuckled, raising his hands up—wincing through it—in defeat. “Alright, doctor melody.”
“What?” you asked, brow raised in confusion. “Melody?”
“You’ve been humming, you know, while fixing me and Annabeth up last night. And you did it again, just seconds ago.” Luke explained with a small smile. “Aren't the children of Apollo good at music too? Like, singing? Since he’s the god of music and all.”
“Yeah, he is,” You smiled, reaching to hold the sun shaped locket dangling from your neck. “Apollo, god of the sun, archery, art, music, poetry and a shit ton more.”
“Can you sing for me, melody?” Luke grinned, sitting up. “C’mon, it’ll make me feel better, promise.”
“I’m not gonna get out of this, am I?” You ask, laughing softly.
Luke shook his head. “I’m stubborn, I’ll just ask you again and again, so you might as well do it now, melody.”
You rolled your eyes, chuckling. “Aren’t you just charming,”
“I’m waiting, doc,” Luke teased. “I can’t wait for an eternity like the gods.”
You shook your head, a giggle escaping your lips. “Fine, fine, but do you promise to rest your stubborn ass for the night?”
Luke nodded. “Yes, ma’am!”
“Okay, here goes nothing,” You muttered, taking a deep breath. “And they called it puppy love. Oh I guess they'll never know.
How a young heart really feels and why I love him so…”
Luke started clapping his hands. “Damn, melody, that was amazing!”
“Oh, shush,” You waved a hand dismissively, feeling your cheeks heat up like the sun, as if your dad kissed you on the cheek. “I’m not that good.”
Luke raised a brow. “And I thought Apollo was the god of truth,”
“I am telling the truth,” You insisted, folding your arms over your chest.
“Whatever you say, melody.”
From then on, you and Luke have been friends. Never one without the other, the two of you made it a pact.
“Michael and Lee are getting better with swords,” Luke commented as the two of you watched your younger siblings.
“Better?” You snorted, tying your hair up in a ponytail. “They are far from getting better, charming.”
Luke reached up to mess your hair. “You saying my methods aren’t great, miss melody?” he asked, feigning annoyance.
You hit him playfully on the shoulder. “All I’m saying is those kids,” you jerked your head to Michael and Lee, who were getting ready to duel like medieval princes as Dawn laughed her ass off. “Are shit with a sword.”
“Fair point,” Luke chuckled. “Let’s just hope they learned a thing or two from me.”
“If not?” You asked with a raised brow, passing him a bottle of strawberry flavored energy drink. Your hand grazed with his, sending shivers down your spine, better than any cold could.
“At least they have you,” Luke gave you a lopsided grin, opening the bottle of red sugary liquid and bringing it to his lips to quench his thirst. You could see his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he downed the energy drink, the beads of sweat on his forehead and neck made him even—if possible—more handsome, making you gulp and look away.
“Yeah,” You squeaked out, your eyes widening at the tone of your voice, mentally slapping yourself for it. “They’ve got the best sister.”
“Damn right, they do,” Luke agreed, capping the now empty bottle. “You are the best sister Lee, Michael, Dawn, and the rest of your siblings could have, melody.”
You smiled, pushing out a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. “Thanks, charming,”
“No need to thank me, melody. I mean, it is the truth. That you are the best sister to your siblings and bestest friend to me.”
You felt your heart break a little. You wanted to be more than just being best friends with Luke. You wanted to be his muse, the girl he loves until his final breath. Maybe Aphrodite had cursed you or something, because Luke never saw you more than a friend or a sister.
“I’m the best,” You agreed, trying your best not to sound sad or anything about your feelings for him slip out.
“You hungry? I think it’s lunch time.”
You nodded, fixing your hair back up in a ponytail. “Yeah, you?”
“Starving, like I could eat a pegasus. Come on, let’s get some lunch and eat by the docks.” Luke stood up, stretching his arms and legs. “You comin’?” He asked, offering his hand to help you stand.
“Of course,” You beamed, reaching for his hand. “Let’s.”
You followed Luke out of the arena, before yelling over your shoulder. “Dawn, you’re in charge of the boys! Don’t let them die!”
“Yeah, Dawn! Don’t let ‘em die!” Luke yelled over to Dawn with a laugh as the two of you strolled away, leaving your siblings and a few other campers at the arena.
“Race you to the mess?” You challenged, a teasing grin on your face.
“Not fair, Y/n!” Luke scowled as you started to run ahead. “I just trained kids!”
“Too bad, Lukey,” You stuck out your tongue at him. “Last one there cleans the stables!”
“Oh no, you don’t!” Luke scoffed as you ran ahead of him, laughing as he easily caught up to you. “I’m not cleaning the stables!” He said, lifting you up with his strong arms and placing you on his shoulder, making you yelp.
“Put me down!” You giggled, playfully hitting his toned back.
“I don’t think so, Miss L/n,” Luke then ran towards the dining pavilion, with you still on his shoulder, screaming like an enraged harpy.
“Luke Castellan!” You shrieked, gripping his shirt for dear life, earning the amused looks of other campers. “Put me down, put me down!”
“Your voice sounds better when you aren’t screaming, you know that?” Luke commented, his pace slowing to a brisk walk.
You hit him hard on his back, again and again. “Put me down, Castellan! Now!”
“Ouch, woman, that hurt!” Luke grumbled, finally relenting and putting you down on the ground, just a meter away from the pavilion.
You pinched him on the side. “You son of a bitch!”
“Ouch!” Luke yelped, jumping slightly. “Violence is never the answer, woman!”
“Violence is never the answer,” You mocked him, rolling your eyes. “I’ll do whatever the hell I want, thank you very much.”
“Fine, fine, let’s just get food,” Luke placed his hands on his hips, catching his breath for a minute. “All that running with you on my shoulder got me extra hungry.”
“You’re the one who lifted me like I don’t weigh a thing!” You retorted, pushed him slightly. “I literally weigh like a minotaur!”
“Nah,” Luke dismissed, slinging his arm over your shoulders. “You don’t weigh that much. Stop thinking that you are.”
“Whatever,” you grumbled, making your way to the long table where all the food the dryads made for the day are served.
An array of food greets you as soon as you arrive at the table, Luke two steps behind you. There were bowls of fruit—strawberries, apples, and grapes—bread in all sorts of shapes and sizes, a container of mac and cheese (which you know has broccoli and carrots blended in to sneak vegetables in picky eaters’ food), and some other options.
“Look, there’s some waffles and pancakes,” Luke pointed to a platter of said breakfast items beside some yogurt parfaits and (tofu) sausage.
“You go get the waffles and pancakes along with some yogurt and ask Lily for some extra,” You pointed to the yellow haired dryad, Lily. “I'll go get the fruit and bread. You want some mac?”
“Nope.” Luke said, already making his way to the waffles and pancakes.
You chuckled, shaking your head before heading over to Juniper, a red haired dryad in charge of the fruit and bread.
“Hey, Junie,” You greeted, smiling at the dryad. “Got something for me?”
“Just these,” Juniper pointed to the array of pastries and bread. “Mr. D allowed the Demeter kids to get some croissants and tarts from a bakery in Manhattan.”
“Oooh,” Your mouth was already watering as you eyed the lemon and blueberry tart and those flaky croissants. “Can you put some in a picnic basket? Luke and I are going on a picnic by the docks.”
Juniper smiled brightly. “Are you and Luke going out on a date?”
You choked on your own saliva. “What?”
“You know, have you told him about your feelings yet? Are you boyfriend and girlfriend now? That’s what boyfriend and girlfriend do, right? Dates?”
“Shh!” You quickly shushed your friend. “No, I haven’t told him yet! He doesn’t know!”
Juniper frowned. “It’s so obvious you like him,”
“He’s stupid, I know.” You sighed, picking up a strawberry.
“Your siblings and those Aphrodite kids figured out you liked him years ago.” Juniper said as she filled up a picnic basket with tarts and croissants along with strawberries, grapes, and apples.
“Maybe one day,” You smiled, a hopeful look in your eyes. “When Aphrodite decides to reward me with a perfect love life.”
“I’ll pray to Aphrodite for you,” Juniper smiled, boosting your confidence up. “You deserve to be loved.”
“Thanks, Junie.”
“No worries, your secret is safe with me.” Juniper chuckled, she then passed you the picnic basket filled with food, looking almost like a cornucopia. “Here you go, packed and loaded for a picnic.”
You gave Juniper a grateful nod, mouthing a quick thank you before turning to go and find Luke, the picnic basket locked in both of your hands.
You walk towards Lily the dryad’s station, but Luke wasn’t there anymore. Instead, you walked around the large dining area, eyes scanning the place for your curly haired best friend.
When you finally spot him, your heart sinks.
Luke was talking and laughing with a girl. A girl you know to be a child of Athena, a sister of Annabeth Chase.
You felt the picnic basket in your hands grow heavy, along with your heart feeling like it’s slowly sinking into a bottomless pit.
Lacy Matthews—pretty, smart, beautiful, kind, stunning, intelligent.
Nothing like me.
Luke leaned on one of the pillars of the pavilion, eyes steady on Lacy as she discussed with him about something—probably architecture, like Annabeth would always ramble to you.
Hair gold as the sun, eyes gray as stormy clouds, skin like puff pastry, and a mind sharp as blade, no wonder Luke would like her.
You contemplate, whether you walk to Luke and disturb his talk with Lacy, or just walk to the docks alone and eat the food Juniper packed as you cry your heart out. Maybe pray to Aphrodite while you’re at it.
You sigh, taking a very deep breath, before making your way to them with shaking hands.
“Luke?” You ask as soon as you’re in earshot. “You ready for the docks?”
Lacy looks at you first, smiling sweetly at you. “Oh, hi Y/n! How are you?”
You stood there, silent for a minute. Feeling a myriad of feelings all at once, taking you over like a spirit. “I’m….okay.” you answer after what felt like eons.
“Your skin hair looks amazing,” Lacy compliments you, but it feels more like bullets on skin. “I wish I had your hair.”
You give her a tight smile, turning your attention to Luke. “Docks?” you ask, hoping he’d get the gist of it.
“Oh, Y/n,” Luke scratches the back of his head, your heart breaking another of its pieces at the mention of your name. He always calls you melody, your name feels like poison out of his lips. “Can we take a rain check? Lacy and Annabeth need help with cleaning cabin six, you know, books.”
“Tonight, then?” You ask with a shaky breath. “After the bonfire?”
“Tomorrow, l guess?”
“Uh, yeah, sure. No problem. I’ll see you? I guess.”
You quickly turned around, the basket of fruits and pastries still in your shaking hands as you made a beeline towards the nearest exit, your heart beating fast like pegasi galloping in the wind. Your eyes stinging like a fresh cut you wanted to just drown in antiseptic.
“Y/n?” You heard a small voice from behind, you whipped your head to see your little brother, Will Solace. “I cut my hand on a sword.” he mumbles, lower lip shaking like yours.
You kneel to his level, the basket still in your hands like they had their own minds, refusing to let it go—maybe hoping that Luke would reconsider and go with you to the docks instead, but you knew deep inside that it was a long shot.
“Okay,” your voice was hoarse, as if there were thorns blocking the back of your throat. “Let’s get you fixed, is that alright?”
Will nodded, blonde hair falling into his face, blue eyes hiding underneath them, making you chuckle. At least I have something else to think about for the meantime.
“Come on,” You reach your hand out for Will to take. “Let’s get some cute band aids for that cut.”
Crying on the docks would have to wait.
Will takes your hand as the two of you head to cabin seven where you keep a box of medical supplies just in case. You didn’t feel like going to the Infirmary, you were just too tired to do so.
“Why are you sad, sissy?” Will asks, big innocent blue eyes looking up at you.
“It’s nothing, I just have dry eyes. Think I need some eye drops.” You answered the younger boy, trying not to be, well, sad.
“I can feel that you’re sad, you don’t have to lie to me, sissy.” You look at your brother, how in Apollo’s name did he know? He was only seven, and wasn't even trained properly yet.
You sighed, pushing out the hair from Will’s face. “I’m just bummed.” you answered honestly, at least you tried to.
“Why?” He asks further. “Maybe I can help.”
You took a deep breath. How do you explain to a child that you are sad and hurt because the boy you like chose a girl over you, his best friend. “I’ll tell you when we get to our cabin, alright?”
“Okay,” Will agreed. “I’m gonna do my best to help you sissy!”
You tried suppressing a laugh, but failed miserably. Will was like a literal ball of sunshine. Since he arrived at camp a little over a year ago, he’d become a beacon of hope for you. You’d cling to your little brother when shit goes wrong for comfort, and he did the same, it was like you had an empathy link with him.
As soon as the two of you stepped onto cabin seven’s premises, you let Will run to his bed—he wanted to get the macaroni bracelet he made you—while you went to get your medical supplies.
“Look, sissy! I made this for you! I made one for Dawn too, and Lee and Michael!” Will excitedly showed you a blue and yellow colored macaroni bracelet. “Do you like it?”
You smiled, kissing the top of his head. “I love it,” You slipped the bracelet onto your wrist. “I’ll never take it off.” you promised the little boy—who was smiling from ear to ear.
“Okay, so are you gonna tell me now why you’re sad?” Will asked, straight to the point like an arrow through a bullseye.
You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully as you dug through your medical kit for some bandaids. “Luke and I planned earlier that we’d head to the docks to have a little picnic, but last minute…he, uh…”
“He what?” Will pushes further, peeking as you went through looking for your medical kit.
“He kinda ditched me? I don’t know if that’s the appropriate word, but instead of going with the original plan, he asked for a raincheck to go and help Lacy from cabin six clean out their cabin.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Will looked up at you as you poured antiseptic on a cotton ball, wiping it on his cut. “He’s helping others.”
“Oh, sweet baby boy,” You sighed, remembering that Will was still a child. “I like Luke—no, maybe I love him at this point. And I’m sad because I’m jealous and he chose to be with her after he asked me to a picnic that I was looking forward to, because I wanted to spend time with him.” You took a deep breath. “Even if I didn’t have romantic feelings for him, it still hurt because he picked her over me, he was my best friend first before everything.”
“What do you want to do?”
“What do you mean?” You ask, brow raised as you placed a bandaid on the cut.
“Are you mad at Luke? Do you wanna prank him because you are? Or curse him to be sick for a week?”
“William Andrew Solace!” You chastised, shocked at what he had suggested.
“What? He hurt you, he deserves it.”
“He hurt me, yes, but he does not deserve any of what you suggested, William.”
“He hurt my best big sissy, so he deserves it.” Will muttered under his breath.
“William,” You sighed, tucking behind a strand of your hair behind your ear. “What he did was wrong, as a friend. But I don’t have any right to be angry at him for liking Lacy, I’m just his friend, nothing more.”
Will’s face softened. “You deserve everything, sissy,” he then reached up, placing each of his hands on both of your cheeks. “You are the best sister in the whole world. You deserve to be loved, like the way you love me and everyone else.”
You smiled, tears stinging the corner of your eyes, your heart swelling with love from your little brother. You may not have the love of the boy you loved, at least you had your brother’s making up for it, masking up the heartbreak, even just for a little while.
“Alright,” You wiped away a single tear. “You’re all fixed.” you pat him on the cheek, wiping the sweat away on his forehead.
“I love you, sissy!” Will says as he wrapped his arms around you.
“I love you too, kiddo,” You chuckle, ruffling his blonde curls, kissing his forehead. “Go find Dawn, she’s at the arena. Watch Lee and Michael duel like idiots. Don’t tell them I told you that.”
Will nodded enthusiastically, before sprinting out of cabin seven. “See you later, sissy!”
You let out a shaky laugh, feeling the loneliness eat you up as quick as it left. Your eyes landed onto the basket with food still packed for two.
Luke still wasn’t going with you down to the docks.
You choked back a sob, grabbing the basket and your guitar and notebook from your bed before heading out to the docks. You might as well kill time until the bonfire, alone with your breaking heart.
You didn’t stop at anyone, walking straight to the beach with your guitar strapped onto your back and the basket wrapped between your arms. You just didn’t have the will to talk to anyone, even your friends and siblings.
The salty smell of the sea breeze infiltrated your senses as you approached the beach, the docks that you and Luke always hung out at nearing your view. You took a deep breath, letting the soft breeze take over you as you stepped onto the wooden platform, the waves crashing beneath it. You set down the basket, sitting beside it as you pulled your guitar to the front, your fingers lightly strumming a little tune—one you knew like the back of your hand, the song Luke always asked you to play.
“'Cause if one day you wake up and find that you're missing me and your heart starts to wonder where on this earth I could be,” You sang, trying your hardest not to just break down despite the tears you had been pushing back were threatening to spill. “Thinking maybe you'll come back here to the place that we'd meet and you'll see me waiting for you on the corner of the street,” you sniffled softly. “So I'm not moving, I'm not moving.”
You can’t help but wonder what would Luke do when you leave camp for good. Would he be sad? That you, his best friend, gone with the wind? Or would he ask you to stay?
You wished that you didn’t know the answers to your own questions your own damn mind plagues you with. You wished that he knew he was all that you think about every goddamn night, that he was the reason for those teardrops on your guitar, that he was the only thing that kept you wishing on a wishing star.
You sighed, grabbing your blue notebook that you had slid inside the basket and the pen you had packed alongside it. You needed to let it out, even just on another tear streaked paper.
You hummed a little melody as you continued to write what you felt, your chest burning with untold stories.
“Hey, sunshine,” You heard a voice call from behind you, whipping your head around almost immediately, nearly dropping your notebook into the sea.
“Chris,” You gave him a small smile, adjusting the strap of your guitar.
“Mind if I join you?” Chris asks, walking closer to you but stops a few steps from you with a grin plastered on his face.
You quickly closed your notebook, stuffing it in the picnic basket. “I don’t mind,” You scooted to the side to give him some space to sit, your hair blowing in the gentle sea breeze.
Chris nods at you, making his way to the vacant spot beside you. “So, what are you up to?” he asks, leaning slightly back. “You weren’t at archery practice earlier.”
You shrugged your shoulders slightly. “Just wanted some time alone, I guess.” you turn to look at the basket sitting unopened beside you, wondering if you should offer Chris one of the pastries. “What about you?”
“Luke,” Chris chuckles, he rolls his eyes with a shake of his head. “Can’t stand him making out with Lacy in cabin eleven.”
“Oh.” You say, the pain and sadness slipping out in your voice, your heart, now broken completely as another fresh set of tears threatens to spill. “Well, good…good for him.”
Chris raises a brow at you, noticing the tremble in your voice. “You okay?”
“I’m okay,” You lied, wiping away the tears that spilled from your eyes, hoping Chris wouldn’t notice. “Do…do you want, uh, a croissant?”
“You are not okay,” Chris says, pulling your hand away from your face. “You’re crying, what’s wrong?”
“No, no, it’s nothing,” You sniffled, trying to assure him that you were alright, but he wasn’t believing any of your attempts to cover up what you were feeling.
“C’mon, you can tell me,” Chris tells you with a soft smile. “I won’t tell anyone, promise.”
You turn to look at him, your eyes now red and puffy, tears still streaming down. You felt numb, broken, and empty. You didn’t have the words to try and tell what was happening inside your heart and mind. All you could see, against your will, was the image of Luke kissing Lacy.
You wanted to scream, you wanted to jump onto your feet and storm over to Luke and hit him for hurting you this much, and you even wanted to just jump into the ocean and let the salty water fill up your lungs so you couldn’t breathe the same air as them.
“You like him, don’t you?” Chris asks, his smile fading.
You blink back your tears, Chris’ words echoing in your head. “I love him.” you whimper, wiping your tears away.
Chris sighs, scooting closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “I knew it, I figured you liked him years ago. I’ve known you and Luke long enough to know how different your looks at each other are.”
You lay your head onto his shoulder, your tears spilling still as you silently sobbed. “It’s not fair,” you mumble out. “It’s not fucking fair.”
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, let it all out, it’s okay.” Chris soothes, rubbing your shoulder to comfort you. “You’re hurt, you deserve to cry.”
“Am I ugly? Unlovable?” You ask with a shaky breath.
“Hey, hey, hey, look at me,” Chris cups your tear streaked face in his hands. “You are not unlovable. You’re the kindest, most selfless, and loving person out there. You help everyone in need, you make people smile, and don’t get me started with how your music makes everyone feel. How would that make you unlovable? You are very lovable. You are loved, your siblings, your friends, everyone.”
Chris pushes strands of your hair away from your face. “And you are most certainly not ugly. You are beautiful. You are beautiful like the sun, like a sunflower, especially when you smile—radiating beauty like rays of sunshine. Luke is too fucking stupid to not realize how lucky he is to have you loving him.”
“The boy who I love is now in love with someone else,” You murmur, moving your head out of Chris’ hand, closing your eyes. “He’s the only one who's got enough of me to break my heart.”
“It’s his loss, not yours.” Chris says, rubbing circles around your back. “He’s a fucking idiot, for hurting you. Even if he doesn’t know.”
“She’s pretty, I’m n-”
“Stop it, stop,” Chris cuts you off. “You are beautiful, pretty, stunning, dazzling, whatever the hell you want to call it. Don’t you dare compare yourself to her, you are far better than her. She’s beauty and brains, but you? Beauty, brains, talent, and a big heart.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” You hiccup, wiping your tears away.
Chris scoffs playfully, shoving you slightly. “I’m trying to comfort you, woman.”
“Thanks,” You chuckle, moving your hand to the basket beside you. “Want a croissant?”
“Eating your sorrows away, huh?”
You rolled your still red and puffy eyes at him. “I’ve got a basket full of it,” You explained, bringing the basket onto your lap and opening it, the smell of the pastries mixing with the salty ocean breeze. “Luke and I planned to eat these here, but bailed on me to help Lacy.”
“That son of a bitch,” Chris grumbles, reaching for a croissant. “Wasting food and bailing on his best friend.”
“I mean, Hermes is a bitch,” You snort, picking a blueberry tart up. “So, technically…”
“Yeah, well,” Chris bites into his croissant, crumbles falling into his lap. “I’m not one to dump my best friend for a girl.”
“Not even for Clarisse?” You ask, a teasing smirk on your lips.
“Clarisse would beat me into a pulp if I did.”
You smile at Chris. “Thanks for being here, even by chance.”
“I’ll always be here for you, sunshine,” Chris ruffles your hair, making you laugh. “That’s what friends are for.”
“Thank you for making me feel important,” You took a deep breath. “I needed that.”
“You are important, never think that you aren’t.” Chris gives you an assuring smile. “So, is the tart good?”
You let out a giggle, your eyes going to the tart in your hands. “I think so,” You raise the blueberry tart to your lips for a bite, your eyes lighting up. “Mmm, gods this is good!”
Chris laughs at your reaction. “Good, huh?”
You nod, licking your lips. “It’s divine, better than cookies!” You say, taking another bite. “This is my new favorite dessert!”
“There’s the sunshine I know,” Chris chuckles, an amused look in his eyes. “The light in everyone’s lives.”
“Now you’re just fueling my ego,” You giggle, reaching for another tart.
“It’s true,” Chris insists. “Ask anyone—except Luke, ‘cause he’s an idiot—and they’ll say the same things I told you.”
You roll your eyes playfully, raising your hands in defeat. “Fine, fine,” You say through a bite of your tart. “You win.”
“I’m amazing,” Chris says with a cocky smile. “The best, even.”
You groaned playfully. “Note to self, never tell Chris Rodriguez he’s right.”
“Hey!”
You burst out laughing, nearly falling off of the dock as you leaned forward if Chris hadn’t grabbed your arm. “Sorry,” You say through fits of laughter, the sadness and hurt you felt just moments ago, fluttering away. “You get…wait,” you wheeze out, clutching your stomach. “So cocky when someone tells you you’re right, but you end up looking constipated!”
Chris gasped, feigning offense. “Take that back!”
You shook your head, laughter still coming out of your lips. “Never!”
“I hate you,“ Chris fake grumbles, an amused look twinkling in his eyes. “You’re a meanie!”
You burst out laughing, again
“Yeah, go ahead and laugh your ass off, sunshine,” Chris shoves you playfully. “It’s the best medicine out there!”
Out of breath, cheeks flushed, you leaned flat against the wood platform. “Chest hurts,” You wheezed, though still smiling.
“Well, you did laugh like a fuckin’ lunatic, sunshine.”
“How am I going to sing at the bonfire tonight?” You say through breaths, mentally kicking yourself for not bringing any water—despite being surrounded by it.
“You can do it,” Chris assured you as he laid beside you, leaving enough space that you’re not uncomfortable. “I know you can. You’re camp’s best singer, you can’t fuck up the best thing you’re good at.”
“You think so?”
“You’ve been singing for as long as we’ve been friends, sunshine,” Chris yawns, stretching his arms up. “Pretty sure, you’re gonna nail this, like you always do.
You were regretting your decision to come to the bonfire.
Here you were, sitting beside your siblings, across Luke and Lacy—arms linked together like they’d perish if they didn’t.
The mere sight of them shamelessly flirting made you want to vomit everything you ate, and maybe even your brains out. It was sickening, how Luke smiles as Lacy whispers something into his ear, her delicate fingers around his biceps.
You wanted to walk up to him and drag him by the ribbon on his left arm—which was one of Lacy’s probably, watch him burn into ashes, but decided against it. Because, one) Hestia wouldn’t approve of it, two) well, he’s still the love of your life and best friend.
It was torture for you, watching them be happy. It makes you wonder, how the hell did they get that close. They had started talking just hours ago, but now? They looked like lovers reunited after the war.
What was so special about her? You ask yourself again, even though you knew the goddamn answer. Smart, sexy, Lacy. God, she was making you crazy. Dazzling starlet, like a Bardot reincarnate. And then there you were—messy hair, paint stains everywhere, guitar string marks, flab on your belly and arms, band aids in your pockets, basically nothing like her.
Luke looks at her as if she was the sweetest thing on this side of hell, like she was the greatest thing to ever exist in this world.
Like ribbons in her blonde hair, your stomach was all in knots. She’s got the one thing that you ever wanted, wrapped around her finger without even trying.
The fire continued to burn golden-orange flames as your siblings led the song Down by the Aegean, everyone was happy and content, except for you.
Jealousy lingered around you like a moth drawn to the flame. Making it hard for you to concentrate on anything else aside from Lacy laying her head on Luke’s shoulder as he toasted marshmallows for both of them. The thought of them plagued your mind, despite trying everything to keep it away from your thoughts.
Stupid brain, stupid heart, stupid Luke, stupid Lacy, stupid love.
“Hey, sis?” A voice snapped you out of your insecure thoughts. You looked up to see Lee standing just a few inches to your right, looking at you with concern. “You okay?” He asks, his voice laced with worry. You then realized that everyone had stopped singing, and all eyes were on you—except those lovebirds who were making googly eyes at each other, as if they were the only person left on this damned world.
“Uh, yeah, I’m okay.” You say through gritted teeth, hoping no one would notice.
“It’s time for your special song, sissy.” Will nudges you from your left side.
Oh. You thought. They were waiting for you.
“Oh, right,” You chuckled nervously, reaching for your guitar from Dawn.
You didn’t know what to sing. All the thoughts and memories in your head seem to have faded into dust.
You shakily strum a chord on your guitar, your fingers gliding over the metal strings. The guitar was a gift from your dad, enchanted to play whatever you had in mind with just a few strums of your fingers.
You sigh, letting your fingers do all the work, hoping you could give the people around you your best.
I can see us lost in the memory,
August slipped away into a moment in time
‘Cause it was never mine.
And I can see us twisted in bed sheets,
August sipped away.
Like a bottle of wine 'cause you were never mine,
You sang, the words coming out of your lips so naturally, all of what you felt pouring out like water. You saw the sympathetic eyes of your friends from the other cabins—the ones who knew about your feelings for Luke.
Your siblings were trying their best not to give you the biggest hug in the whole world, especially Will, who was sitting beside you.
Some were confused as to why you were singing about some boy because you’ve never done it before. They hadn’t thought that you had feelings, too.
Back when we were still changing for the better
Wanting was enough
For me, it was enough
“Shit,” You heard someone curse from cabin nine. “The fire’s blue!”
You look up, blazing blue, meeting your eyes. Hestia’s fire had never burned blue before.
“Beckendorf, this isn’t funny!” Someone yells in the background, amongst the whispers.
“We’re not doing…..anything,” Beckendorf trails off, as if he had been silenced all of a sudden.
To everyone’s surprise, the blue—almost black—flames burning in the firepit started to get bigger and bigger, as if they were swaying to the tune as you played.
To live for the hope of it all
Cancel plans just in case you'd call
And say "Meet me behind the mall"
And finally, as you finished up the song, from the corner of your eyes, a sore sight to behold. Luke and Lacy were making out, and they couldn’t have waited to even be out of sight—barely a meter away—before devouring each other’s faces.
So much for summer love and saying "us"
'Cause you weren't mine to lose
You weren't mine to lose, no
You weren't mine to lose.
Luke grabs Lacy’s waist, pulling her closer. They looked happy, and it was tearing you apart. They were killing you slowly, like a dagger was lodged in your throat, and they were twisting it.
Cause you were never mine, never mine…
You felt tears filling your eyes like a dam, and anytime was ready to explode. But, forced them back down—at least, you tried to—hoping to save a little more dignity for your name.
Lacy has everything that you have to live without. She should hold him tight, and give him all her love. Look at him straight in those beautiful brown eyes and know she's lucky because Luke was your everything—your life, your world, everything.
As the image of them faded from your peripheral view, you stared into the blazing fire in front of you. Now, red, blue, and black flames were dancing together, almost as if Hestia could feel what you were feeling.
You sigh, placing the guitar down, feeling arms wrap around you. You look up, seeing Chris, camp necklace dangling from his neck. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he murmurs, rubbing both of your shoulders.
“You want me to put his head on my spear, Sunny?” Clarisse asks, sitting opposite of Will. “One word from you, and I’ll skewer him.”
“You’re overwhelming her, Clar,” Chris says. “You don’t deserve this, sunshine. Yet, he doesn’t deserve you.”
“Do you want to spend the night with us, love?” Silena asks from beside Clarisse. “A little girls' night could help.”
You shake your head, the tears you’ve pushed aside spilling like an opened dam. “I’m okay,” you say, clearly lying. You knew your friends could always see through your lies.
“Come on, let’s take her to seven. She needs rest.” Your brother, Lee, interrupts. “She looks dehydrated; why the fuck is she dehydrated?”
“Language,” you weakly say, the view of the fire blurring. “Swearing, s’bad.”
“And delirious,” Dawn mutters beside Lee, holding Will close to her.
Before you could retort a reply, your vision slowly went dark, and faint voices were screaming before you completely passed out.
Luke was immediately jolted awake from his honeymoon daze by the sounds of frantic screams and yells, just a few steps away from him and Lacy.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Lacy asks, her delicate hands cupping his face, lips swollen from kissing just a few seconds ago.
“You heard that?” Luke asks, pushing her slightly to the side. “I heard screami-”
Luke cuts himself off at what he sees.
Chris is sprinting to the Big House with you, unconscious in his arms. Luke’s heart starts to beat rapidly—faster than ever before—as his legs subconsciously take him in your direction.
“Melody.”
Lacy stands there as Luke makes his way to you, huffing and arms crossed in annoyance. “What the hell, Luke!?” She yells after him, but it’s like he hears nothing.
taglist:
@lilmaymayy @mischiefmoons @m00ng4z3r @woodlandwrites @sflame15-blog @the-sylver-dragon @ceruleansx @evsolostheuniverse @patitotodd @jennapancake @kur0m1sblog @emryb @onecojg @caramelandvenus @y0urm0m12 @hottiewifeyyyy @7s3ven @atashiboba
#luke castellan pjo#luke castellan fanfic#luke castellan fanfiction#pjo luke#luke castellan#luke castellan x fem!reader#luke castellan x reader fanfic#luke castellan x you#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan x fem!apollo reader#luke castellan x fem!daughter of apollo#cabin seven#cabin eleven#pjo fandom#pjo#pjo series#camp half blood#unrequited love#best friends not to lovers#heartbreak#fanfiction#luke castellan x y/n#luke castellan x yn#charlie bushnell#x reader#angst#fanfic#pjo fanfic#percy jackson#el's writing 💘
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it's getting hot in here - c. la rue
warnings: reader is like half-naked? just no shirt on is all but reader is wearing a sports bra, nothing sexual just like a tad suggestive?, clarisse is a gay mess, kinda ooc clarisse, i know next to nothing about blacksmithing please hang in there with me, fem reader, no use of y/n, self-conscious reader, not beta read
summary: clarisse goes to pick up a custom order dagger from the forge when she's met with an unexpected sight.
hephaestus!daughter!reader x clarisse la rue
word count: 1.3k
taglist: @lvrue @azrielsdiary @b0ok-lover @star-girl69 @petitegavotte
from this post !
a/n: tbh might make this a multi part thing, at least a second part. also, so sorry this took so long to finish- i got sidetracked with a couple other things irl. hope you enjoy!
men, nsfw, non-sapphics, 16- / 19+ dni
It was no secret the kids of Cabin 9 ran a side business to make some extra cash. It was pretty lucrative, given that there would always be a line of demigods waiting to have their weapon(s) of choice customized. Custom engravings, patterns cast into handles, ergonomic handpiece add-ons, and so much more. Name it, and it would be done for the right price, forged with impeccable quality.
And that was how Clarisse La Rue found herself heading to the forge just east of the strawberry fields with a thin paper in one hand and a small bag of golden drachmas in the other. The edges of the slip were just barely singed, and the writing on it looked nearly incomprehensible to many eyes, scribbled notes of her order confirmation and gods only knew what else. It didn’t matter to her, she just needed it to get her dagger and go.
Crowds parted for her like the Red Sea, once-lively conversations coming to a grinding halt as she walked straight through crowds and groups with nothing more than a glare and a sharp look in any general direction.
In no time at all, the familiar sounds of machinery clanking, fire hissing and crackling, and hammers striking metal filled the air. It was the forge, the singular place where one could guarantee there would be at least one child of Hephaestus in there at all hours of the day.
She pushed open the heavy metal door, swinging it wide open soundlessly despite its obvious weight. And what a sight she was greeted with. You were there alone, hunched over a piece of blisteringly hot metal, pounding away at it with a hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other.
Something about you entranced her.
She didn’t know if it was the way your hair was pulled into a low ponytail, some loose strands clinging to the sides of your face, the way you subconsciously bit your lip as you focused completely on the red-hot metal in front of you. Or perhaps, it was the way your muscles rippled in the dim firelight as you struck the metal again and again, a thin sheen of sweat covering the exposed portions of your skin from both the heat and the exertion.
Maybe it was a combination or something else entirely.
As she gazed at you, a light blush dusted her cheeks as she came to the realization that you weren’t wearing much while working. The heat of the forge had led you to forgo wearing a shirt entirely, said shirt reduced to a tiny, crumpled gray bundle of fabric in the corner of the room. You were left wearing a sports bra, dusted with ash and soot and a pair of baggy sweatpants resting just above your hips.
It wasn’t as if Clarisse had never seen people dressed in less before. Hell, she’d seen her own fair amount of skin for various reasons. But this time, it seemed different. The slip of paper and bag of coins in her hands were forgotten momentarily as she simply stared at you from the doorway.
The way the dim light of the roaring furnace illuminated you from behind gave you an almost ethereal glow, the edges of the flames flickering around your moving silhouette.
She could see the muscles in your arm and shoulder tensing and relaxing with every ever-so-precise swing of the hammer, and she found herself silently watching you work from the doorway.
Ultimately, it was the soft clinking coming from the bag of drachmas Clarisse held in her hand that drew your attention away from the project in front of you. Your head snapped up, tense and a tad startled from the sudden sound, having been so zoned into your work that you hadn’t noticed her presence.
The hammer in your hand dropped to the metal workbench with a loud clang, the sound reverberating throughout the forge, ripping Clarisse from the glossed-over, hazy look in her eyes as she watched you move just moments ago, having been completely and utterly under your spell.
“Shit-!” you exclaimed, jumping slightly and wincing at the harsh sound, eyes widening further as you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed far too casual compared to how she normally treated campers, especially given her outward distaste towards children of Hephaestus.
And all of a sudden, you’re all too aware of your lack of a shirt and your cheeks flare with an embarrassed bright red flush.
Flushed the same color as the heated metal in front of you, Clarisse noted absentmindedly. It wasn’t a look she didn’t like. But of course, she would never admit that. The big, bad Clarisse La Rue flustered over something as insignificant as muscles on a girl? Impossible.
Her attention is drawn back to you, observing as you scurry to the other side of the room to grab your stashed-away shirt, slipping the loose grey fabric over your body, any and all views of the muscles she had seen just moments prior completely disappearing in a matter of seconds.
After having taken a few calming breaths, you steeled yourself for a barrage of snarky remarks that you were sure would come spewing out of the Ares cabin counselor’s mouth like acid out of the myrmeke’s mouths, but they never came.
Instead, you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed to be a bit flustered? Her eyes didn’t meet yours for a moment before she straightened herself out. Before your very eyes, you watched her cool and collected facade slip over her like a mask, and that trademark smirk of hers tugged at the corners of her lips.
“I’m here to pick up an order, under my name,” she remarks, holding up the bag of drachmas and thin slip of paper in an outstretched hand. Her gaze seemed like it was scrutinizing everything about your appearance from the baggy grey shirt that hung loosely over your frame to the soot just barely smudged on your forehead. Whether it was a good or bad look you had no idea, subconsciously shrinking into the shadows of the dimly lit forge.
“Right, right, La Rue…” you trail off nervously, scanning the room for the rack that held completed orders and leafing through the tags attached to each object. “La Rue, La Rue, La Rue, where is it-?” you muse to yourself, repeating her last name in a hushed tone until the sight of it comes into view. The dagger she had ordered was at the edge of the table, with the request for a heavyweight handle and an etching of her initials into the butt of it.
Normally, Clarisse would have found your behavior annoying if it were coming from anyone else, but oddly enough, she quite liked the way her last name rolled off your tongue. It felt almost natural, too natural. Quickly, she brushed away the lingering thoughts about how you had looked almost god-like with the flame from the roaring furnace glowing behind you, the thoughts of what your skin would feel like under her hands.
After a beat of silence, you grabbed said dagger, placed a little ball of clay over its razor-sharp tip, and slipped it into a small drawstring bag, pulling it closed.
“That’ll be five golden drachmas, La Rue, or fifteen silver ones. Whatever works for you” you say as you hand her the bag, other hand outstretched for the paper she held and to take the coins. She dropped the five golden coins in your palm and grabbed the bag to turn on her heel and walk out without another word.
Or so you thought.
“Thanks for the weapon. I’ll see you around, pretty girl.”
#🖋️ nvir writes#clarisse la rue#clarisse la rue x reader#clarisse la rue x fem reader#clarisse la rue x you#clarisse la rue x fem!reader#clarisse la rue x y/n#clarisse la rue pjo#clarisse pjo#cabin 9#daughter of hephaestus#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo tv
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[ nsfw 17+ ]
i’ve been thinking about frat boy!luke who tries to throw the biggest party the world has ever seen at least once a month. he's one of those guys who is actually convinced he can throw a party exactly like project x. but maybe even better (his words i swearr).
he’d even be corny enough to print out a bunch of invites and just throw them around the school so whoever’s interested can just show up.
and that's where you met him, at his biggest party yet. the party was already at full swing when you got there; music blaring through the speakers, colourful lights glowing from the open windows. students and crashers alike jumping to the music and holding red cups in their hands.
and then you catch his eye. he’s standing near the backyard, just walking back into the house to get more drinks when he spots you.
and yeah, you’ve had a class or two with him before, he might have asked you for a pencil once. you doubt he remembers you though.
but then one look turned into three, and the lingering stares from across the room, and knowing smiles, and nudges from friends continue.
you eventually bump into him on the dance floor, both tipsy. a drunk smile crosses your face as you wordlessly start to dance together.
what starts off innocent quickly turns into something more, your hands brush his arms, his hands find themselves comfortable on your sides, and they start to crawl to your waist, then your hips, and if you were a little braver, you might’ve grabbed his collar and kissed him then.
but instead, luke took your hand in his, and he leaned closer, close enough for him to ask you if you wanted to go somewhere a little more private. somewhere quieter, he said, so you could talk.
and you would’ve loved to talk to him, to get to know who the real luke castellan was, his interests, what he studies, where he’s from. but all those questions start to blur the moment you find yourself climbing up the stairs, turning corners and giggling behind him when he walks in on a couple fucking in the bathroom.
you barely remember what you want to ask him when he pushes you against a wall at the end of the hallway, music a little muffled, breaths a lot louder. and now you’re gasping into his mouth, your teeth crashing against his because there’s no coordination in your movements. one hand at the back of your neck to hold you while his tongue slips into your mouth.
and you’re both touching each other, hands wandering over clothes, fingers twitching to touch the warmth of skin, squeezing whatever there was to squeeze frantically.
your head spinning as his other hand pulls your leg up, up and up until you can wrap it around his hips, and he presses his crotch against yours. he tastes like cheap liquor and bad mistakes, and you try to ignore the way your stomach twists whenever he says your name (or at least something that sounds like it, maybe off by a syllable or two).
you bite his lower lip, tugging on it with your teeth and you let go to stare at him for just a second. he's a lot prettier up close. his big pouty lips, the scruff hair on his face. the way he smirks at you before pulling his cap off and placing it over your hair. “fit’s like a charm.”
you roll your eyes, “shut up.”
his hands find themselves under your shirt, cupping your boob and squeezing them gently as he sucks a bruise to your neck. you decide to take a leap and reach for his crotch, glancing down the hallway to make sure you’re away from peering eyes before you unbuckle his belt and grope him over his boxers.
it's all wreckless, and messy, where he tries to undo the buttons of your shorts but his fingers are trembling from you touching him. and while you’re not actually sure of what you’re doing, you love the noises luke is making, so you keep going.
he’s huffing into your neck, your ear, then back into your mouth, little whines that urge you to move faster, his black cap nearly slipping off your head.
“fuck- wait wait,” he sputters, pulling away from you.
you need to suck in a deep breath to clear your head. “what-?”
“you're in my calc class, right?”
“seriously?”
#made myself giggle#i have a daydreaming problem actually#gonna have to write a frat!luke fic now…#me when lol#luke’s cabin#frat boy!luke#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan smut#pjo series#luke castellan x you#luke castellan fanfic#luke castellan drabble#luke castellan fanfiction#luke castellan fluff#charlie bushnell
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PAYDAY
aka a valentine for the lovely @itsnotmystic / @corvids-calling - fanart for stars fic of the same name, which you can read here !!! i really enjoyed this concept and wanted to do some art for it :3 hope you like it because i REALLY loved your work & i hope this shows that !!! HAPPY VALENTINES DAY !!!!
this is also a loose love-letter to the wonderful @arginnit 's crazy background-drawing-ability and style/skill at portraying environments . wadds your stuff is insane and i love it
happy @mcyt-valentines exchange !!!!
#mcyt-valentines#things i make#c!wilbur#wilbur soot#wilbur soot fanart#dsmp wilbur#blah blah blah WHO CARES. I LOVE YOUR WRITING#i read your little um um superhero slash las nevadas Theft fic as well it was so fun :3#AND I okay maybe this is creepy idk i backscrolled ur blog to hell and back lmfao#UR PAINTING OF TECHNOS CABIN IS SO SWEET AND CALM AND PRETTY i was originally going to do something with ctechno but the art just wouldnt c#come to me#i did get one (1) ctechno design/doodle out of it though its my most recent post before this one in my things i make tag#idk i hope youre having a good day you seem super cool and. ya#AND TO WADDS. idk i love your art so much . i think about some of your pieces literally all the time#your um. backrooms drawing with tommy & charlie & ranboo i love the warped perspective i tried to reflect that in this#your painting style anddddd yeah. your composition your everything its so good#happy valentines dayyyy
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omg what’s cabin!konig? new koooonnnyyy unlocked
Yes, König comes in many forms and he always wants to knock you up. But!
Cabin!König is particularly designed to breed, and he’s very vehement about doing just so.
Hauls you deep into the Alps and shoves you inside this cute cabin that looks minimalistic and weather-beaten on the outside but insanely adorable on the inside. There’s a fireplace and a broad, sturdy hardwood bed (for the purpose of you know perfectly well what...), indoor plumbing for your convenience, an electric oven for you to bake him cookies and pastries (traditional Austrian ones if you wish to pamper and spoil him) and a lot of authentic 19th-century art on the walls, next to the ropes and traps and cast iron pans and pots and wicker baskets that hold woollen blankets in case you get cold.
But you really don’t get a chance to get cold, do you? Because König is on and in you every chance he gets. Man's got a plan, and he has always implemented his strategies and completed his projects with a frightening amount of energy, commitment and willpower. You wake up in the morning to his heated cuddles and soft whines, knowing that you’re about to get taken from behind – again. He’s soft and slow at first, cuddlefucking and spooning you like you’re the best thing in his entire world... but you know it’s all just a warm-up. The thrusts get deeper and more intense as the morning session goes on, until both of you are fully awake and König gets into his full breeding mood. It’s the same thing in the evening, but this time, he’s on top and looks you deep in the eyes as he makes love to you while your toes curl and point to the ceiling. Nothing but the fireplace and some candles lighting the cabin with flickering, warm tones: he’s a romantic soul underneath all that callous soldier’s discipline.
During the day, König has many responsibilites outside: he has to fix the roof of some shed and walk the perimeter to check that no one has found their way here, that no one is disturbing his mating season that lasts from May till August. You know nothing about his hikes, but he has even set bear traps all over the place, and not for the purpose of catching bears…
He of course tempted you here by saying you deserve a holiday and that the mountains would be a good, non-stressful environment to finally try and get you pregnant. He has been talking about wanting to have babies ever since you met: actually, he brought the subject up on your first date - to your horror and intrigue - wanting to know if you would ever want kids and if you were in it for the long haul because he was sick of dating just for some shallow, casual fun.
You could never have known that you would get folded into a mating press every day after only a few months of your acquintance, but here you are: getting stuffed full of potent cum every day, multiple times per day, because König has decided that you are the perfect wife material and the perfect mother for his kids.
He can come off as a little too intense, even rough at times, but he is in fact a very gentle lover and offers impeccable aftercare. His hormones are through the roof here in this sweet little cabin with his sweet little future wife-to-be. König is fully in his element when he gets to walk in the brisk mountain air and then come “home” to the delicious scent of warm buns or apple pie, to the sweet scent and feel of you.
Cuddles you after sex like it’s equally as important as the deed of getting you pregnant. He’s not just trying to apologize for being so needy and urgent with you, he’s actually bonding with you everytime you have sex. It’s like a ritual for him to hold you close and take in your soft panting and warm cheeks after he just made you cum no less than two or three times. You’re still not sure if this is a good idea, and you’re not sure if this man is even completely sane… But he sure as hell is adamant in making you feel good, providing for you and giving you the best sex of your entire life ❤️
#sorry i'm in my “write whatever the fuck you want ^^” era#you all have to just suffer!#also this is not a könig blog#nope#no#no...#könig smut#könig fluff#cabin!könig
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In the Riordanverse I know there’s vague ancient laws about the gods not interfering too much with mortal affairs. I just feel like after ToA Apollo really pushes that with being around Camp Half-Blood more but also with demigod quests. His favorite way to do so becomes apparent pretty quickly. Demigods come back from quests and random monster encounters with similar stories.
“The monster almost caught us but then, the sunlight reflected off of a broken piece of glass on the street at just the right angle. It temporarily blinded the slimy beast! Gave me just enough time to retrieve my weapon!”
“Oh really? That’s wild! A month ago on my quest there were several basilisks after me. I raised my sword and the sun glinted off of it. It seemed to disorient them. I took the opportunity to slash them to pieces.”
“Huh.” Percy chimes in. “Kind of reminds me of the other day. I was forming a wave to unleash on this giant, hairy, whatever that monster was and the sunlight bounced off of the water. Like you two said, it hit the monster right in the eyes. Not that I didn’t have it handled, but it did let me catch my breath and focus more on the attack and less on getting slashed again.”
Annabeth laughs. “And here I thought you made the water reflect the sunlight on purpose.”
Percy drags his hand across his face. “Is it too late to pretend I totally planned that because I’m just so smart?”
She elbows him and laughs. “Afraid so, Seaweed Brain.”
“Pretty sure I heard someone else talk about something like that happening too.” One of the other demigods remembers. “A random old mirror in the woods of all places. A bunch of crows flew through the trees, it moved a branch and beam of sunlight shined down through the opening. It hit the mirror and reflected right in the eyes of a monster. Gave the girl a couple of seconds, enough time to jab her spear into the monster’s head.”
Annabeth looks to Percy with wide eyes of realization. He meets her gaze. A few seconds later, he comes to the same conclusion that she did.
They see Apollo visiting with his children the following day.
“There’s been some interesting coincidences lately.” Annabeth starts slyly.
Percy joins in. “Yeah, don’t know if you’ve heard but monsters seem to keep getting the sun in their eyes during battles.”
“Oh is that so?” Apollo smiles mischievously. “How unfortunate for the monsters!”
Will hears the conversation and turns to them.
“Yeah Dad, most of the quest related injuries have been more minor lately. Seems campers have been getting just the distraction they need.” He smiles in a way that looks very similar to his dad and crosses his arms. “Almost like the sun is on our side.”
“Now, what would give you that idea?” The god winks and picks up a nearby guitar to join in with his other kids as they play.
#Apollo#Percy Jackson#Annabeth Chase#Will Solace#Trials of Apollo#ToA#Riordanverse#lester papadopoulos#Father what do you mean interfering with quests too much? these are obvious coincidences#Percabeth#cabin 7#dadpollo#ordonpumpkin writes#this became a mini fic I’m not sorry
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Stuck in the middle of a forest made of
Flesh and bones and they're all scared of
A lost little boy who has lost his heart
Fear's not enough, they have to
Tear him apart
—-------
There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well:
He’s adopted.
He can’t remember anything else before that.
‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents.
What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill.
When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.
(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.)
The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.
It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one.
The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself.
His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.
(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.)
(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.)
They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.
(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)
Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe.
He turned back around and went inside.
—-------
Where do we go
When the river's running slow
Where do we run
When the cats kill one by one
—------
One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.
He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal.
It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking.
He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter.
Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind.
(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)
After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous.
He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.
—------
Hazel beneath our claws
While we wait for cerulean to cry
Unsettled ticks run through time
Enough for the hunt to go awry
—-----
There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own.
He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t.
Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward.
(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”)
(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)
He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell.
A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his.
He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it.
His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.
Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.
—-------
Harpy hare
Where have you buried all your children?
Tell me so I say
—-------
When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now.
Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.
He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.
Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own.
(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)
(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)
(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)
—--------------
It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders
And they will never
Hear me here listen to croons and a calling
I'll tell them all the
Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow
Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare
—-------
More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother.
Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten.
His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands.
They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely.
It is a fast dream.
His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.
His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods.
The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him.
The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal.
His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train.
(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.)
—---
She can't keep them all safe
They will die and be afraid
Mother, tell me so I say
(Mother, tell me so I say)
—-------
When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again.
The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person.
(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.)
(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)
Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird.
(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)
—------
Seeker, do you ever come to wonder
If what you're looking for is within where you hold
Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path
You'll soon forget
Home
—---------
When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is.
When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.
‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off.
He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.
He ends up calling himself Phantom.
(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.)
----------
Home is where we are
Home is where you are
Home is where I am
-----------------
Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.
#dpxdc#dp x dc#danny fenton is not the ghost king#dp x dc crossover#dpxdc crossover#dpdc#danyal al ghul au#amnesiac danyal al ghul au#songs in order of the album: the hartebeest / harpy hare / and the hound / neath the grove is a heart#musician danny has my heart and soul#yes this danyal IS an alternative danny from the other au. an au where things were a little better :) but still sucks#implied good mom talia al ghul#danyal is a momma's boy send tweet#dpxdc ficlet#dpxdc prompts#dp x dc au#dp x dc fanfic#danyal is sTILL five years older than damian in this au#no beta no edits we die like danny fenton#poc danny fentons#i didnt know where to end this :(( i was gonna go on but i blanked. i thought about going into his relationships with his rogues and so on.#but that felt too much like trying to just increase the word count rather than actually writing?? if that makes sense#ugh im gonna have forgotten to include things and im gonna be kicking myself later#morally ambiguous danny whoo! we love to see it#since this was just for fun it doesnt really go into it all that much other than like. it happens. and that danny realizes he's dangerous#phantom in a hazmat suit? nah phantom looking like an assassin >:].#danyal al ghul with damian and his mom: 🥰🌸✨#danyal al ghul with everyone else: 👹🔪#am i heavily implying that clockwork had smth to do with Danyal’s amnesia and appearance by the cabin? 👀 maybe#not enough danyal al ghul aus where him being an assassin actually. has some kind of affect on him
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I wanna be part of a big harem of tgirls all serving a powerful mistress.
Every day we all wake up at the same time and have tasks assigned to use by mistress. Maybe one day you will water the plants I'm her lovely garden, the smell of each flower reminding you of the perfume she used last week when she railed you. Maybe you get the clean the paintings of her mansion and admire her boundless beauty on the canvas, each stroke pain perfectly placed to enhance her figure.
After your task is completed you and all the other servants have lunch together. You get to watch them move across the cafeteria in those revealing out fits and can't help but imagine wearing them for mistress. Then the final group of servants arrive, the ones whose task was to please mistress this morning. They are still leaking cum all over the floor and stumbling everywhere, eyes glazed over, mouth agape and drooling and you can't help but feel jealous of them.
You return to your room, feeling a little jealous, and put your work outfit away. You go to check your activies for the evening.
"Velvet Room - 14:00 (indefinite duration)"
The Velvet Room. Where servants go to serve their misstress. Your last time in there was only a few days ago but everytime you see it in your tasklist you get so eager, so exicited, so... needy.
...
I mean, that would be nice i think
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part two
———
Getting outrun for seven miles by an eight year old is a uniquely humbling experience. Compactly humiliating, coincidentally, is being outrun by an eight year old while dragging along a bouquet large enough that it cannot be adequately contained with two hands and must therefore be carried between two people.
Lee is having something of an afternoon.
“It starts in seven minutes!” shouts Will, at least twelve solid yards ahead of them and running backwards. He does not appear even to be sweating. “Hurry!”
“Could not be hurrying more if I tried,” Lee wheezes.
(It’s not that Lee isn’t a good runner. He is. It’s that Will is freakishly fast, because he has dimples when he smiles and has endeared himself to the dryads, who have been teaching him how to sprint like the hopped up little Energizer Bunny he is. Michael has been calling him Soda Boy for ages, on account of how he so closely resembles a can of pop that has been vigorously shaken, which he hates. Remembering it brings Lee some peace.)
“Let’s go let’s go let’s go!”
Clamping his mouth shut in a desperate attempt to preserve energy, Lee surges forward. Michael matches him, having to run significantly faster to keep up with his long legs. Their panting forms a discordant melody of despair. Poetic.
When they stumble through the door, chests heaving, Lee considers collapsing to the ground and weeping for joy. He will never run again. If a monster chases him, he will simply fight or accept his fate. He has reached his quota.
But, for perhaps the first time in his life, there is no time for dramatics. The lobby is devoid of the massive crowds it held earlier, shadows eerie in their absence, and only the final tail end of a line shuffles through the stage doors.
Despite his internal vow, Lee sprints forward to catch up with them.
“Hold it,” says a man in a venue volunteer! vest, holding up a hand. He glances at them, resting his gaze on Will’s messy hair, Michael’s scuffed shoes, Lee’s wrinkled shirt, and pausing for quite a while on the giant bouquet. The narrowed eyes and thinned lips are familiar. Lee stiffens.
“Go on in,” the man says to the middle aged couple in front of them, who’s crease-free jackets read ‘Dance Mom’ and ‘Prop Team Dad’ respectively. He shoos them inside, complimenting the honest-to-Apollo corsage in the woman’s hand, chortling along to the man’s joke. The laughter drops from his face the second the couple is guided through the doors, and the man turns back to the three of them.
“The show,” he says, nose upturned, “has begun. I can’t let anyone else in lest they cause any…disturbances.”
“The show starts on three minutes and forty-seven seconds!” Will protests, sticking his watch in the man’s face. Completely oblivious to his murderous look, he continues, “Forty-six seconds! Forty-five! Time’s-a-tickin’, let us in!”
The man bares his teeth in a smile. “Regrettably, you are too late. You’ll have to wait for the intermission.”
Will blinks at him. He looks at Lee, at the doors, then back at the man.
“But…we’re on time. And if we come back later, we’ll miss my sister’s dance!”
The man shrugs. “This will be a valuable lesson, then.” He purses his lips, glancing again at the bouquet. “Perhaps be more prepared, next time.”
Will turns back to Lee and Michael, crestfallen. He swipes quickly under his eyes, squeezing his thumb into fists, but the tears well up anyway. “We’re going to miss it?”
Michael snarls. In one quick move he shoves the massive bouquet entirely into Lee’s arms, yanks Will by the shoulders to stand behind him, and gets right in the man’s face.
“You listen here, you slimy ratbag, you had no fuckin’ trouble letting those last scragglers in so you better clean up your act quick before I —”
A loud crashing noise makes them all jump, interrupting him. Nearly crushing the flowers, Lee whips towards the source of the sound. One of the competition banners has been yanked down, metal frame collapsing on the tile floor. Fastening screws rattle to a slow stop beside it.
“What the —”
Another banner crashes to the floor. This time, the little hands that tore it down are a touch too slow to dart away, a blonde head not quick enough to duck behind a corner.
“Hey!” the man shouts. Shoving Michael aside, and moving quicker than Lee can think to stop him, he sprints towards the corner Will disappeared behind. “Get back here! You can’t do that!”
Lee curses, trying to manoeuvre the flowers to see and run at the same time. Michael runs ahead of him, on the man’s heels, chanting shit shit shit shit under his breath. Lee’s brain takes the initiative to alternate, chanting fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck every time he takes a breath.
They’re going to get kicked out for sure. Diana is going to kill them and it’s going to be justified, because Lee is going to have to live with the noble look he knows Cass will have on when she realises they’re not there to watch. The shakey, practiced smile she’ll slap over the disappointment in her dark eyes.
Shit shit shit shit indeed.
“Lee! Michael! Over here!” whispers a voice. Lee whirls around to face it — boy does he ever feel like a puppet on a stick right now — and, for the second time in as many minutes, feels his head pound at the disorienting frenzy of emotions that bubble up when he sees his baby brother’s face. Will stands half inside a doorway Lee hadn’t noticed on the way in, tucked in the shadow of a corner.
He is fast, holy shit.
“What the hell are you doing,” hisses Michael.
“Getting us inside! Hurry up!”
Lee doesn’t need further prompting, clock ticking in his brain. Gods, how long do they have left? Thirty seconds? Less?
“Most big theatres have sideline entrances,” Will explains after Michael helps shove the giant bouquet through the tiny door. He guides them, upright to their hunching, down a tight corridor. “They’re for performers to pop up in the audience without being seen. Mama and I race each other to find ‘em when she did shows.”
Lee had forgotten, for a moment, how much of his life Will has spent in and out of theatres, bars, stages. Naomi Solace has been growing more and more famous since…half of his life, at least. Lee remembers hearing about her four years ago, when she’d done a smaller show in Queens. A friend of his had gone.
Michael reaches out and tugs the mostly-undone ponytail he’d wrestled Will’s hair into that morning. “Good job, kid.”
He grins over his shoulder. “Thanks.”
They stumble into the darkened audience in the nick of time. The second Lee steps out of the cramped little corridor, dragging the stupid flowers (he is, in fact, regretting his choices at this point in time; when he has a free moment he will add this to the list of reasons he will be kicking his past self’s ass if the Hephaestus cabin successfully recreates DeLorean time machine) along with him, the stage lights come on. An announcer’s voice calls out, “Entry 109, Competitive Open Solo: Cass Hasapi.”
“Fuck,” Michael mutters. A quaint family of four gasps. He sneers at them. “Fuck, you see Diana?”
“No, is she maybe —”
“I think that’s her hair —”
“That person is way too tall, what are you —”
“I swear to the gods, I am going to kill you both,” whispers a beautifully familiar voice, and then Lee is being dragged. “Sit the hell down and shut the hell up. Will, baby, c’mere.”
Will climbs happily over the two empty seats, settling onto Diana’s lap and curling under her chin. He sticks his tongue out when Lee and Michael follow in behind him, struggling with the bouquet, muttering about favouritism.
“I’ve literally known you for six times longer than you’ve known him,” Michael mutters, sticking his tongue out right back. A grandmother with a severe bob whirls back and hushes him.
“Yeah, I’ve had all that time to get tired of your bullshit. Shut up.”
Before Michael can retort — Lee is sure he has an eloquent and devastating response, Lee has been helping him practice — soft piano drifts out from the speakers. A light turns on, pointed at the stage.
All four of them snap their mouths shut.
In the centre of the stage, Cass stands, poised. Her back is turned to the audience, arms extended above her and tilted to the right, as if reaching for the setting sun. Her hair, braided loosely back, brushes the edge of her thickly draping purple costume. Her knees are bent and locked and one bare foot sticks out like she’s trying to balance herself, like she’s mid fall.
A gravelly, male voice sings lowly along to the piano. How do you know which time might be the last? She moves along the dip of his voice, dragging her limbs through the rigid air. What I would give just to see you again? She moves with a swooping twist of her heels, twisting at the waist. Under the heat of the stage lights, her face contorts, forehead deeply wrinkled, mouth parted, breathing quickly. I’d walk to the depths of a world down below and demand to get back what some circumstance stole. She holds herself with such tension that Lee finds his own shoulders hiking up to his ears. Her chest moves rapidly, hands shaking, knees buckling. His breath goes stale in his lungs.
When the chorus starts, hard and heavy and sudden, I turned back one last time just to prove you were there, Cass hits the floor. He gasps with the rest of the audience, clutching the plush armrest, but it’s intentional, part of the dance. ‘Cause the last ray of sun made Eurydice cold. Collapsed on the floor, limbs bent, dress askew, she crawls, begging, towards the audience. Did she know? Did she know? Did she know? Did she know?
Cass does not move gracefully. She moves like a beached, gasping siren dragging herself back to the depths, like someone climbing out of a pit. Every movement looks heavy and painful. She looks at the audience and Lee is surging forward before he can stop himself, breath hitching, brain screaming: help her! help her! help her!
If I knew how it’d feel back then, I wouldn’t take another step.
Her body twists again, hair escaping her loose braid and sticking to her neck, her forehead. She claws at her throat like she’s suffocating, eyes accusing everyone watching like they’re holding her under. Each movement of her arms swell and sway on the beat, bare feet slapping the ground with every hit of the kettle drum. If you can see me it’s all in your head, but it feels real to me now, it felt real to me then.
Everything ends.
The piano fades out, the drums hit their last beat. All that’s left is the wretched guitar, taught like strings snapping, taught like the tense pull of her suspended muscles.
But I opened the door and went down the stairs; I turned back one last time to prove you were there.
As the last word fades, she drops. Not slowly, not evenly, but like whatever was holding her up crumbled to dust. Like she was shot. Her purple dress pools out around her like dark Hyacinth. She lays completely, entirely still.
The lights cut. The air in the audience goes heavy.
They come back on and no one says a word. Lee realises, as it drips onto his hands, that he is crying. Diana is, too, tear tracks too fresh to dry on her face, and Will is leaned forward so far he sways precariously. Michael’s hands are pressed harshly to his eyes.
Trancelike, Lee stands. All eyes snap, abruptly, towards him, but he ignores them. He looks straight across the rows of chairs and locks eyes with his sister, upright now, heaving, standing hesitant. She looks at him, and then beside him at Michael, and then at Will in Diana’s lap. They scramble quickly up next to him, and without any of them saying anything, they begin to cheer.
Cass’s face lights up.
With permission, much of the audience claps. No one stands as they do and as they continue hooting and hollering the claps fade quickly, replaced with stares and murmurs, but Cass still stands there, beaming, looking away and looking back like she can’t believe they’re there. That someone is there, that someone watched her, her, from beginning to end. A hand tugs on his sleeve.
“Can I sonic?” Will asks, raising his voice to be heard.
“Level four,” Lee allows.
He needs no further permission, grinning. He lets out a piercing whistle that makes everyone around them shout in alarm and Lee’s ears ring. But Cass laughs, loud and bright, so it’s worth it, and when Will looks at him in question he nods. The second whistle is definitely beyond a level four, but Lee doesn’t care. Cass looks the happiest he’s seen in a long time.
———
None of them care too much about staying for the other performances. But Cass has two more dances with her studio classes, spread out as they are, so Lee remains doomed to two hours of an aching ass and performances that come nowhere near Cass’s masterpiece. Will seems intrigued, though, by some of the pieces, so he grits his teeth and bares it. Besides, the rolled eyes he shares with Diana and Michael every time someone does something exceedingly cliche or tries and fails at depth (someone, often, being one of Cass’s teammates, shocker) makes it somewhat worth it.
By the time the judges call the last entry, though, Lee is ready to book it out of there.
The lights come back on and pop music plays through the speakers as dancers, in track suits over their costumes, congregate on the stage. Lee stands and stretches, letting Will stand on his shoulders and jump off into Michael’s arms to get some of his energy out. (And, also, ‘cause tossing a small child between them is fun. Diana jogs into the aisle so they can throw farther, but they all decide against it when a security guard glances over.)
After what feels like eight million years, the judges finally lumber over to the stage. The building voices hush as they climb the steps, standing in front of the gathered studios with cabled mics and stacks of foreboding envelopes.
“Welcome, dancers and families,” starts one judge.
She blabs on for several minutes about what an honour it was to judge and how wonderful everyone was. Blah, blah, blah. Lee spaces out about the time Diana’s eyes glaze over, and he looks instead to the gathered stage, observing. There are five different studios that he can see, each with about forty to fifty dancers. Mostly young women. They sit tangled together, legs on legs, arms around shoulders, feet tucked under thighs. Cass, he notices, sits on her own, at the very back of the stage. She sits straight-backed and proud, though. Chin lifted, braid resting over her shoulder.
Impossible to miss.
Two of her group dances win Diamond (Diana explains to them that this is Very Good. She thinks). Most others do not get this honour. Lee notices especially the older couple to their left looking quite sour. The glee he feels is indescribable.
“The winner for our open solo, for all age groups, was actually unanimous. It’s been a while since that happened!”
A girl near the front of the stage, who Lee recognises as the one to make a cruel joke about Cass’ mother, preens. Her solo was boring as hell. He’s not sure what she’s so smug about.
“With a score of 97.6, congratulations to Entry 109, Cass Hasapi!”
The four of them scream like lunatics.
They don’t even wait for scattered applause. Each one of them clambers up on the pristine chairs, covering them with scuff marks, and yell at the top of their lungs, jumping and cheering like chimps in a cage. Cass goes red, but she can’t hide her smile as she stands and accepts her award, grinning over at them. Michael holds up his camera and snaps a photo of her, pink-cheeked and wild-haired, glowing.
———
“Cass!”
Will sees her before the rest of them, sprinting towards the changeroom doors at top speeds and leaping up into her arms. She catches him easily, spinning them both around, pressing a thousand kisses to his hair and face.
“Hello, my darling! Hello hello hello!” Every word is punctuations with a kiss, or rather a press of her wide smile to anywhere she can reach. In seconds his cheeks are stained with her lipstick. “Oh, it has been weeks, darling boy, I missed you!”
Will clings to her sweater, face buried in the crook of her neck. She holds him just as tightly.
(Will has seen Cass more than Lee, in the past few months. He knows she’s made a few sudden trips to camp. But he also knows that she was the first one to welcome him into camp, the day his mother dropped him off, and when he was claimed she was the first to bring him home. She loves to tote him around, too, to have him trail after her for cabin inspections, holding the clipboard, or paint his nails when she’s bored. He misses her something fierce in the winters. She holds on tightly when she comes back home.)
Squeezing him one last time, she turns to the rest of them. Despite her wide smile, her mascara runs.
“You came,” she says, voice wobbling.
Michael clears his throat. “No shit.”
His voice wobbles, too.
“Come here, you goober.”
He’s the next to cling to her, inserting himself under her arm. She presses a kiss to his temple and he pinches her ribs, complaining, getting louder when she digs a knuckle into his hair. Diana jogs up and separates them, as she always does, flicking Michael on the forehead and pressing a kiss to her sister’s cheek.
“I’m so proud of you,” she whispers, squeezing her hand.
Cass’s tears spill over again. “Thank you.”
Lee clears his throat. He feels, suddenly, like a doofus, holding a bouquet of flowers the size of him, but Cass looks at them and grins again, chuckling.
“You sell your kidney for that or what?”
Lee snorts. “No, we exchanged Will. This is a clone.”
“Did not!”
Lee blows a raspberry. “Did too. Clone.”
“I’m not a clone! I’m me!”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Ya-huh!”
“Alright,” Cass interrupts, rolling her eyes fondly. She kisses the tip of Will’s nose again and sets him down, turning towards Lee, hands outstretched dramatically. “Hand me my dues.”
Because she is, at the core of her, a true daughter of Apollo, even though the amount of poise and grace that bleeds from her at any given time contradicts almost directly with the guy who beams Pocketful of Sunshine directly into their brains at five in the morning every single day without fail, she kneels with a flourish. Because Lee is, at the core of him, also a child of Apollo, he goes unquestioningly along with the bit, pulling out one of the flowers to knight her before resting the entire bouquet in her arms. She has to hold it with both hands.
“You guys are ridiculous,” she says, grinning.
“They are ridiculous,” Diana stresses. “Dumbasses were damn near late getting this for you. They already had flowers, mind you. They’re just dumb.”
Will holds up his hand with his watch. “I kept us from being late!”
Diana squishes his cheek. “Thank you, sweetpea. You’re already smarter than your brothers combined.”
“Stick out your tongue again and I’ll grab it, you little snitch,” Lee warns.
Will, darting to hide behind Diana, does not heed his warning. Because he’s a little shit. bc
The walk out of the building in a gaggle of movement. As other dancers and their families walk by, glowering at Cass’ flowers and at Cass in general, Lee makes a point to catch their eyes. To smirk. To let them know, without saying a word — you were wrong. Of course you were wrong. Look at how she’s better than your bitter ass without even trying.
It warms him inside, truly.
“I’m thinking,” Diana says, walking back to the car, “that we stop at Dairy Queen on the way home. On Michael’s dollar. Will, look real excited so Michael can’t say no.”
“I am excited,” Will says, turning to face him, “so that’s real easy.”
Michael sighs. He taps his foot on the pavement, glaring. He sighs again. “You’re getting s plain cone and that’s that. You understand me?”
Will takes that as code for ‘begin negotiating’. Diana joins him, the two of them chasing Michael to the car, yelling about Blizzards and sundaes. Cass falls into step next to Lee, adjusting the flowers.
“So,” she says, shooting him a small smile.
“So,” he intones.
“Diana told me you snuck the boys out of camp.”
“…Yes.”
“Organised the whole trip, basically.”
“It wasn’t hard. I just told Michael to pack his shit and he listened, for once. So.”
“Lee.” She waits for him to open the trunk, letting him stuff the ridiculous flowers inside before facing him, grabbing his hands and squeezing. “Thank you.”
“I don’t —”
He swallows past the lump in his throat. How can he say it? How can he tell her about being fourteen and older than half the unclaimed kids in Hermes, still reeling over camp as a whole, and the fear that had dissipated from his chest when she stood in front of camp and said, firmly, he’s ours? About the hours she spent listening to him ramble about Pokémon, learning the game for him, mailing him cards she finds around? About the letters she sends him every week without fail, even though she’s swamped with her own shit, because she remembers the night he cried, months and years of being weird and lonely and unlike anyone else he knew? How can he explain the bubbling in his chest, the ache for her, because of her?
“Of course, Cass.”
She opens her arms and he falls into them, forehead on her shoulder, arms tight around her waist. She grips around his back, pressing a kiss to his hair. His throat is dry, choking back the thickness of his tears.
“I love you.”
“Love you too, Lee.”
#AND WERE DONE#AND ITS FIVE THIRTY IN THE MORNING FUCK#percy jackson and the olympians#pjo#hoo#heroes of olympus#lee fletcher#will solace#michael yew#diana mckinney#cass hasapi#cabin seven#my writing#fic#longpost#song is orpheus by vincent lima btw#pjo hoo toa
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The (Scottish) Cabin in the Woods
Chapter 4
Consequences don't just fall to the perpetrators.
You learn a new name.
Phew! I was sweating over this one, I hope you all enjoy it. One more chapter to go before this story is wrapped up. All my love, appreciation, gratitude, and smooches to my two lovely betas, Soleil and SentientCave.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/49842430/chapters/139337776
#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#dark fic#scitw#scottish cabin in the woods#serial killer ghost#kidnapper ghost#john mactavish x reader#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x john soap mactavish#throuple#unhealthy polyamory
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I fucking love Kelvin. My cute malewife
He's doing honest work.
#sons of the forest#kelvin#my bbg#I want to cuddle and smooch by the fire with him#Nothing like 2 dudes alone in a forest#my art#he destroys our little cabin but I forgive him we can just put him back to work#'kelvin build me a 3 story mansion"#COD character treatment might happen to him#Someone please write a fic of him I need go read him being loved and cared for
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little snippet of the clarisse x daughter of hephaestus thing that blew up a couple days ago in the works!
title (wip): it's getting hot in here
unedited rough draft!
lmk if you wanna be on the taglist for this and/or future clarisse pieces!
It was no secret the kids of Cabin 9 ran a side business to make some extra cash. It was pretty lucrative, given that there would always be a line of demigods waiting to have their weapon(s) of choice customized. Custom engravings, patterns cast into handles, ergonomic handpiece add-ons, and so much more. Name it, and it would be done for the right price, forged with impeccable quality.
And that was how Clarisse La Rue found herself heading to the forge just east of the strawberry fields with a thin paper in one hand and a small bag of golden drachmas in the other. The edges of the slip were just barely singed, and the writing on it looked nearly incomprehensible to many eyes, scribbled notes of her order confirmation and gods only knew what else. It didn’t matter to her, she just needed it to get her dagger and go.
Crowds parted for her like the Red Sea, once-lively conversations coming to a grinding halt as she walked straight through crowds and groups with nothing more than a glare and a sharp look in any general direction.
In no time at all, the familiar sounds of machinery clanking, fire hissing and crackling, and hammers striking metal filled the air. The forge, the singular place where one could guarantee there would be at least one child of Hephaestus in there at all hours of the day.
She pushed open the heavy metal door, swinging it wide open soundlessly despite its obvious weight. And what a sight she was greeted with. You were there alone, hunched over a piece of blisteringly hot metal, pounding away at it with a hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other.
Something about you entranced her.
#🗡️ nvirspeaks#🖋️ nvir writes#clarisse la rue#clarisse la rue x fem reader#clarisse la rue x reader#clarisse la rue x fem!reader#clarisse la rue x y/n#clarisse la rue pjo#clarisse la rue x you#clarisse pjo#clarisse larue#cabin 9#daughter of hephaestus#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo tv#percy jackson and the olympians
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au where the stanely parable narrator and the slay the princess narrator have swapped places, and are very confused but still trying very hard to adapt to their new situation
#slay the princess#the stanley parable#“Stanley walked out of his office and into the cabin in the- wait hold on. This isn't right. [papers rustling] you aren’t Stanley!#You aren’t Stanley at all! This isn't my story I didn't write a love story! What is the meaning of this!“#I cannot write the stp narrator but I can do tsp#god those acronyms are so close-#wallace says shit
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🗝️ — forging the crucible
the hands who created the sword carefully watches the man who wields the sword...
_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ daughter of hephaestus x luke castellan
blurbs, asks, etc under the cut... 𝜗𝜚
awkwardly flirting w/ luke ...
#♡; dally writes!#FORGING THE CRUCIBLE.#luke castellan#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan x you#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan fanfiction#luke castellan smut#percy jackon and the olympians#pjo#pjo tv show#daughter of hephaestus#cabin 9#x reader#x reader fanfiction
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non-exhaustive list of canon powers Nico di Angelo either has shown or is heavily implied to have:
Shadow-travel
Manipulation of shadows/darkness (also possibly use of shadows as a pocket-dimension a la Magicians using the Duat in The Kane Chronicles)
Becoming intangible/shadows
Complete control over skeletons/bones (dead or alive, including summoning, reanimation, and/or changing shape of them) and being able to sense their presence
Summoning, reanimating, commanding, and dispelling the dead/undead (Skeletons, zombies, ghosts, etc & varieties) and being able to sense their presence
Ability to understand/communicate with the dead/undead and potentially other beings of the Underworld
Inherent complete comprehension of Latin
Ability to perceive the usually unperceivable/possibly look upon a deity’s true form without repercussion (at least moreso than the average demigod, though possibly is restricted to chthonic beings) (ex: Tartarus, potentially also interacting with his parents, etc)
Interacting tangibly with ghosts (implied to be a Ghost King thing rather than a Hades/Pluto thing)
Partial or complete immunity to different effects of the Underworld/things within (can consume food/drink of or in the Underworld without repercussions, effects from the Lethe wear off over time instead of being permanent like usual for mortals, etc)
Astral projection/”Walking in dreams”
Dream manipulation and projection (Sending dreams to others, etc.) (presumably includes sharing/projecting dreams with others) alongside inflicting sleep upon others even from a distance.
Illusions
Manipulation of emotions/aura that inflicts specific emotions on others (ex.: radiating fear/death onto enemies)
Projection of emotions and memories onto others (can be so forceful it causes physical damage like a shockwave)
Geokinesis (all forms but also specifically generating black marble) (presumably also specialized control over precious gemstones & non-paper currency)
Temperature manipulation (seemingly only lowering temperature)/creating frost)
Control/manipulation of souls, including living beings (ex: ripping out Bryce Lawrence’s soul)
Perceiving/reading/judging of souls (most likely also a Ghost King thing over Hades/Pluto thing, but possibly both)
Converting living into dead/undead, aka instakill (ex: disintegrating monsters to bone with one touch)
Lowering or manipulation of own vitals (breathing, heart rate, etc)
Death Trance/pseudo-hibernation (possibly also general control over states of consciousness at least for self, in combo with control over vitals & dreams)
Sensing death (impending or when it occurs, sometimes receiving dreams/visions of it occurring)
Able to sense other children of Hades/Pluto (potentially also other chthonic beings in general/able to identify based on sense alone) and also just living beings in general, such as mortals (possibly via souls).
Improved navigation underground/in the Underworld and ability to traverse restricted or normally unnavigable parts of the Underworld
Enhanced strength/abilities when in the Underworld
Inherently unnaturally quiet (possibly able to silence sound on a designated target)
Hiding/shielding self from being perceived (seemingly related to shadows/silence)
#pjo#riordanverse#nico di angelo#long post //#MY BOY IS OP AS FUCK and i love this about him#so many of these are so underutilized#when will Nico get to use his geokinesis again#we only see him make marble once in BoTL and then never again#based on that he should theoretically be able to do everything Hazel can do. which also implies Hazel can do everything he can do#let Hazel summon a skeleton for once and Nico hits somebody with a rock cmon#also i still firmly believe Nico should get to turn invisible#we've seen him become intangible. his dad's notable item is a helm that makes you invisible. let him turn invisible.#but yeah big 3 kids are op. look at nico go. and this is just physical abilities not including stuff like Annabeth being smart#or cabin 7 kids being good at music or whatever#presumably for Nico/Hazel it'd be like a penchant for diplomacy and legality-related things presumably#and i like to hc he has a personal inherent knowledge bank of everyone who has ever died in his lifetime - just details about their deaths#mostly anyways and then like basic facts about who they were/next of kin/etc#so they can tap into that at any time and be like ''hold on lemme look this person/their relatives up real quick''#i usually like to write that as how Nico confirmed what was up with Jason when they first met#he just kind of squinted at Jason and went ''okay. hm. who are you next of kin of? Beryl - OH YOU'RE THALIA'S BROTHER''
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