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aidanchaser · 3 days

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Read Confessions on Ao3 Rating: G for General Audiences Word Count: 1.4K

An Adrinette Post-Reveal fic, where someone brings up Catwalker

Her fingers slide through his hair like she’s untangling silk threads. She thinks she should have made the Adrien-is-Chat-Noir connection sooner, given how many times she’s slid her hands through his hair both in and out of costume. She’s never quite gotten over how smooth it is. She’d told herself that with Chat it was just the magic, and with Adrien, she’d imagined copious bottles of product—only come to find out, it was both.

His head rests in her lap, and his eyes hidden behind his forearm. His fingers fidget absentmindedly with one of her hair ties, and his lanky legs are propped up against her wall, jeans sliding off to show just a bit of bare ankle. She’s pressed back into her own mountain of pillows, and she thinks how nice it is to have afternoons like this together. No more chasing down villains, no more battles, no more secrets.

“Kim as the monkey was an inspired choice,” Adrien says. “He’s about as chaotic as Plagg.”

Marinette laughs softly. “I think that was Master Fu’s choice, not mine.”

“How do you decide who the right choice is?” Adrien pulls his arm from his face and looks up at her. Pensive curiosity flits through his determined green gaze. “Like, Nino’s really protective, so Carapace makes sense, but Alya’s all about truth and justice, right? Lies and illusion don’t make a lot of sense for her.”

Marinette tips her head back and stares at the trapdoor above her bed. “I didn’t think Ladybug made sense for me. She’s so brave and cunning and determined… I’ve always been a coward and pretty hapless and helpless.”

“I think you’re brave and determined.”

“You’ve only known me since becoming Ladybug. I’ve grown a lot.”

“Chat Noir made perfect sense for me.”

Marinette laughs, jostling Adrien, and when she looks back down at him he’s glaring up at her.

“You don’t think so?” he says flatly.

“It’s not that,” she laughs again. “I mean, it does make sense—now anyway. But not how you used to be, you know, around other people.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“Just that you’ve changed, too.”

“I was always like this,” he protests. “I just pretended to be someone else for a long time.”

“So you weren’t a handsome, charming, polite and kind friend all those years?”

“Chat Noir is all of those things.”

“Charming is stretching it.”

Adrien wrinkles his nose, and it only makes Marinette laugh more.

“Who was Scarabella, anyway?” Adrien asks, unsubtly changing the subject.

Marinette has to take a moment to compose her giggles. “That was Alya.”

“Ah, of course. She did a good job, but she certainly was no replacement for you.”

Marinette bites her cheek, hoping he can’t see her blush. The hardest thing about dating Adrien after the reveal has been listening to him praise her as Ladybug. She had never quite felt comfortable hearing him praise Ladybug before, and now that he knows the truth, it’s worse, as if knowing both of her identities has somehow doubled the intensity of the compliments.

She unsubtly reaches for a subject change of her own. “And what about Catwalker? You picked him, didn’t you? Or was that Plagg?”

Adrien glances away, tipping his head back for a better gaze of her pinboard that is no longer just Gabriel ads, but has grown to include photos with friends and pictures from several of their date nights, and a few even of Ladybug and Chat Noir.

“Catwalker was—well…” His brow furrows as he searches for the answer. She can’t fathom why it’s so hard for him to explain if he knows, but finally he says, “I was Catwalker.”

Marinette laughs again. “What do you mean you were Catwalker?”

“Well—you didn’t need Chat Noir around, and Plagg didn’t want another holder, so we… we figured something else out.”

Her hands go still in his hair. “You know I always need you, right, minou?”

His eyes are still on her corkboard. “You didn’t need Catwalker.”

“It was more like I couldn’t function with Catwalker. I… I liked you too much. You were so careful, so polite, so put together and charming… I couldn’t even think straight, just like all those times I couldn’t talk to you at school. You just made my brain stop working! I couldn’t be Ladybug if I was too busy thinking about kissing you.”

She hopes he’ll sit up for a kiss, but he still doesn’t move. His gaze remains distant.

“Catwalker was based on the person I would always pretend to be. The person my father wanted me to be.”

Marinette understands rather suddenly where she misstepped. She bites down on her tongue, holding back a stuttered apology. She can’t say she didn’t mean it, or it wasn’t true, because it all was and still is. She loves Adrien, and a lot of “Adrien” has been made to please his father. She understands now why he had pouted when she’d said he was so different from Chat Noir.

She runs her fingers through his hair again with a bit more intention to the contact between them than her lazy strokes earlier. “Shortly before we started dating, I got obsessed with dating Chat Noir.”

“Oh, I remember,” he says, and a small smirk flashes across his face. Despite how insulting it ought to feel, it relaxes her. She knows he’s still here, listening, and not lost in his own head.

“I love all of you, Adrien. You are still kind and polite, and not just to make others happy. You do it because you care. And you’re silly and sometimes charming, but maybe not as often as you’d like to be. You’re Adrien and Chat Noir, you know, and I love all of it. Because I love all of you.”

His eyes finally slide back up to meet hers. “You’re Marinette and Ladybug, you know.”

Heat creeps up her neck and into her cheeks. “O-of course.”

He swings his legs down and pushes himself up to her level. “You are brave and determined and cunning and creative and honest and thoughtful and a hero.” He leans in until his face is inches from hers.

Her cheeks must be fully red now.

“Adrien, I’m not—”

“If I can be Adrien and Chat Noir, why can’t you be Ladybug and Marinette?”

“I-I am, I just—”

“Am I allowed to love all of you?”

Her tongue tingles as her anxiety mounts. Her brain sparks with all the same misfires it used to around Adrien and Catwalker alike, which is unfair since he’s being particularly impolite and invasive in this moment.

“Adrien, I—”

“You’re my lady and my purrincess,” he says, voice low like Chat Noir’s as he brushes her hair away from her face.

Marinette isn’t sure if her heart or her lungs are going to give out first, but one of them is surely about to clock out for the day and leave her high and dry.

And then he kisses her, and all of her parts call it quits—except her mouth, which seems to find its way around his just fine.

His hand slides through her hair, and his other hand finds its way to her waist. Marinette wants to stop, but she also doesn’t want to stop—ever. It occurs to her, distantly, that Adrien has once again changed the subject away from himself, but that thought is too far from this moment, from the heat of this kiss to do any good.

When he finally does pull away, there’s such a Chat-like mischief in his eyes that only makes Marinette’s blush worse.

“I love you,” he says.

She forces herself—with a fair amount of effort—to remember where they had left off their conversation. “I love all of you,” she says.

He hesitates for only a moment, long enough for her to know the weight of her promise reaches where it ought to. He answers, “Only if you’ll let me love all of you, too.”

It’s a fair trade, at least. Maybe someday Ladybug will stop feeling like a costume, like an act she puts on. Maybe someday she’ll feel worth of all of those grand adjectives. But at least today, at least for now, she’ll feel worthy of Adrien, and she hopes that someday he’ll feel worthy of himself, too.

She twists her hands into the collar of his black T-shirt and pulls him in for another kiss.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfic #ml fic #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #i think i actually sat down to read fanfic but found myself writing it before i had quite realized what i was doing #if you hold this one up to regardless of perfection and put on the magic decorder glasses #you might be able to catch a glimpse of my imposter syndrome

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theshipperqueenisnotdone · 2 days

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Hazbin Hotel Swap AU

This is one of the post I hate

Context: Adam is still Angel/The Leader Of Exterminator and has Chlorokinesis/Plant Manipulation (I just really love the idea of Adam having Chlorokinesis/Plant Manipulation, okay!?) While Charlie Morningstar is still The Princess Of Hell and daughter of Lilith and Lucifer. Lilith and Adam have more of a twin relationship than ex-lover. And remember... DON'T TRUST VAGGIE!!! SHE IS BASICALLY JUDAS ISCARIOT in this AU!! Anyway, I might provide more information later if I have time, but feel free to ask me anything about this AU.)

Previous + Next

[Scene cuts to Lilith's house, showing framed photos of her family and a badly drawing of her in a dark spooky room. Lilith can be heard making snarling noise as she was working on something. As the scene goes, her room is revealed to be filled with a lot of Stuffed Owl, and stacks of them filled the boxes and tubs.]

Lilith: That's it… Almost there… Now presenting… the magic-tastical back flipping Stuffed Owl! Haha! That spits fire! [Stuffed Owl eyes glow red as its shoots flamethrower from its mouth] Hoot hoot hoot! Hold the applause please, okay. Oh, thank you, thank you. Oh god, who am I kidding? This sucks!

[She throws the Stuffed Owl at her family portrait and the badly drawing of her, lilith looks sad as she look at her family portrait and the badly drawing of her. Suddenly her ringtone plays. she picks up her phone, and was shocked who was calling her.]

Lilith: Adam? Adam! Brother calling?! HOOT! Uhm uh, uh hello, adam. He-ey, hey, hey Ada-ada. No, no! That's not good. Oh, this is the first time he's called you in years. This has to be perfect. [takes a deep breath before she picks up phone] Hey~ Whore!

[Intercut conversation between Lilith and Adam during the phone call from the hotel to her house.]

Adam: Hi, lilith…

Lilith: Hey! How are you? Oh hoot. Where-where are you these days?

Adam: You know where I am lilith. I've told you before. Remember?

Lilith: You have? Oh, yeah uh, well, you know, I um uh-

Adam: I told you when you called me five years ago, or did you not listen?

Lilith: No, no, no, no. Just, you know, just forgot. You know, I've just been really busy, you know…

[She look at her the boxes and tubs that filled with Stuffed Owl.]

Lilith: with, um, important things. [kicks Stuffed Owl]

Adam: Well, I'm actually running a hotel to rehabilitate my descendants. Maybe you saw our commercial?

Lilith: Oh, sadly, I missed it. heh heh. You know, I haven't been watching much TV lately. Scrambles the brain. [makes silly noises]. But hey! A hotel, fun.

Adam: (Sighs) Listen Lilith, I've got kind of a big ask.

Lilith: [coughs and sets down her tea] Yeah, of course. Anything in my power is yours for the asking. You just name it~

Adam: I need to speak to Heaven and one of the deadly sinner. Well, whoever's in charge up and down there, I don't care if it's Satan or mammon, just anyone who is above your daughter, above anybody. I need to go to the top.

Lilith: Oh, no. No~ No, no, no, no, Adam, no, no, no. That's, uh hah, sorry but that is BIG no.

Adam: [angrily as vine with thorn grow around his neck] Look Lilith! Just… [He sigh, the vines has calm down and slowly disappearing.] I don't ask you for much, I never have, but this, this is really important to me. It's the most important thing I've ever done. And I…need you. I need your help.

Lilith: I don't know, Adam.

Adam: Please! Just come see what I'm trying to do. You'll see why it's a really good idea. And Heaven is bound to agree if I get the chance to talk to them… Please, Lilith…

Lilith: Wait, you're…inviting me over?! After all I did? Absolutely! Uh, I'll be there in an hour. [hangs up] ♪ My Brother wants to see me~! ♪ [points at the Stuffed Owl below her] Take that, depression! HA!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel au #hazbin hotel spoilers #fanfic #au idea #writing prompt #hazbin hotel swap au #swap au #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin adam #adam hazbin #adam hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lilith #lilith morningstar #scriptwriting #why did i make this

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comfort-character-central · 1 month

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I want to hold my f/o, I want to hug my f/o, I want to scream into the void about how much I adore my f/o, and I want to show my f/o how much they mean to me, I want to protect my f/o at all costs, I want to giggle because of my f/o, and I want to show my f/o the love they deserve.

#FUN FACT I AM YEARNING EVERYONE DONT MIND ME #I really need to make more posts about this kind of thing where I show who I am #I need to left the internal urge to go silly about my f/o free from my soul cage #anywho I love this blog I love my followers I love my f/os and I love it here right now and always actually #f/o community #f/o positivity #f/o x s/i #self ship #fictional other #comfort character

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makotonaegiunderstander · 1 month

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something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”

#makoto naegi #Danganronpa character analysis #Danganronpa #danganronpa thh #danganronpa future arc #I fucking love Makoto Naegi man.#I think there’s a fine line of nuance to Makoto that’s easy to miss bc he doesn’t really make it known #he’s not a pushover and he’s not overpowered. he’s a people pleaser but he will say what needs to be said #he’s an immovable object and the exact opposite of Junko but he’s also just a normal guy who’s optimistic and (un)lucky #he isn’t invincible but he has immense power to his words the same way Junko did #if anything his superpower is being kind above all else. he’s compassionate to some of the worst people in the world.#he was even conpassionatr to an extent to Junko. he didnt want her to kill herself despite everything she’s done #and he still acknowledges that for years she was a classmate and friend.#I do think the more he learned abt what she did the more he’s come to actually hate her though #post the first game he always refers to her without a suffix to her name which is one of the most subtle rude things you can do #it means you have zero respect for the person you’re referring to #and he speaks about her with some venom he doesn’t use for anyone else in the future arc #he’s not incapable of feeling negative emotions #I really liked the future arc scene bc it showed that Makoto DID experience enough despair to have overcome him if he didn’t refuse #and that it still affects him deeply. people treat him like he’s either this perfect ideal Chad or this baby chick who’s so delicate #and no one really focuses on how makoto shoulders so much and yet is still vulnerable.#honestly that guy was DUE for a mental breakdown even without the tape. it would have happened eventually #I actually wrote one based on him finally hitting a breaking point after giving so much of himself away and keeping nothing for himself #that his issues that he shoves down constantly finally can’t be held down anymore. Hajime helps him bc he knows how that feels #it was a LONG time ago that I wrote that but honestly if I can remember where i was going w it I might finish it #it was initially an rp but I could make it a fic #anyway. the point is Makoto is SO much more complex than people give him credit for #the most fundamental thing about him is that he’s normal and that’s ok! that’s what helps him rise!

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gamebunny-advance · 1 year

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Huwah~

I don't like that it's so difficult to find out who exactly has retweeted my posts.

I don't even get a notif if someone leaves a reply. I feel like that website is basically useless to me.

Edit: Resolved. I'm just a moron, but I'll keep this post up in case I forget how to do this again.

#am i too used to tumblr?#i just found out incidentally that a certain person retweeted my flirt comic #is there really not an easy way that I can find out who exactly is interacting with my posts??#is twitter just not the kind of site where people care about that kinda thing??#or do i just not know where to find it.#'cus i don't see it in the analytics #like it's fine if I can't find out every person who *sees* the post #i don't need granular info like that #but i'd at least like to know who likes them enough to share them #i only get notifs when mutuals do it #(Thanks Lex >3<)#and even then i'm not sure if it shows me all of them~#the only real upside i have is that twitter has a more global audience #so my reach is theoretically a little broader #especially since I actually take the time to add alt text to my comics #so they can be machine translated into any language #because at the end of the day the purpose of my work #(for the most part)#is to bring joy #so if more people can see it and it can make those people happy the better #but what i want in return is to at least know who was 'moved' by my silly drawings #ya know?#it means nothing to me if i don't know who is being affected by my work #even if it's just something small like 'that made me smile for 2 seconds'#the number by itself is meaningless to me #i feel like this isn't the first time i've made a post like this #if there's a way to find this info #someone PLEASE tell me

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too-deviant · 2 months

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The three weeks it took for Luke Castellan’s wounds to heal.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Apollo!Reader

Summary: Luke comes back from his quest defeated and angry, and refuses to let anyone see him. But he still needs tending to. You are the lucky sucker who gets to do so.

Content: post-quest angsty luke, reader is awkward, i use the word under’t at one point because i think im shakespeare or some shit

Word Count: 7.6k

Notes: Pushing the agenda that lukes scar is gnarrly like it’s nasty !! not just some faint lil line. the boy was attacked by an actual dragon, like pls. also this hasn’t been proofread so sorry if it doesn’t make sense

part two

꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷

The spring that Luke Castellan spent on his quest was a strange one for the residents of Camp Half-Blood.

For years, campers knew who to go to whenever they needed advice. When they needed help. They knew who to direct the new campers to when they stumbled over the boundary line — and knew they were in good hands. Luke’s hands. He was the big brother the whole camp needed, and not just because he was older than most of them. He just had that aura — and he was undoubtedly kind to everyone he came across. Not to mention the guy was insane with a sword, and had this boyish charm that anyone would fall for. Most campers, if not all of them, looked up to Luke Castellan.

So when he left, nobody knew what to do.

It was pretty tame at first, mostly just awkward. Especially in the Hermes cabin, with Chris Rodriguez in charge in his brother's absence. A Hephaestus kid had taken over the sword fighting classes Luke usually ran, which proved to do more harm than good because he wasn’t all that great at using a sword than he was at forging them, and most of Luke’s students were already better than him.

But nothing went wrong — at least for the first week.

But after the initial awkwardness wore off, chaos ensued.

Chris couldn’t keep the Hermes kids in check — once they realised he wasn’t as authoritative as Luke, they began to use it to their advantage. Everyone got pranked, the camp store was raided three times before Chiron decided to close it down for the meantime and dishwashing duty every night was not slowing them down.

You hadn’t realised just how much the camp relied on Luke until he wasn’t there to keep things under control. Fights broke out with nobody to step in between them, and more and more kids were showing up to the infirmary with injuries that they could take care of themselves — something Luke would’ve told them to do instead of bothering you and your siblings. It was actually unbelievable how much a group of about a hundred half-gods relied on the steady hand of one seventeen year old boy.

You couldn’t wait until he got back so you could finally get some peace and quiet.

Luke didn’t return to camp for two and a half weeks, and as the days went by, campers began to get uneasy. Nobody knew what his quest had entailed, or where he had to go, so the longer they went without news the more antsy people got. You didn’t speak to Luke much — maybe a few shared sentences to be polite — but you knew what he was capable of. You tried your best to reassure the campers, as did your brother Lee and the rest of the Cabin Counsellors.

You knew Luke would come back. You knew he would stumble down that hill with his head held high and meet the group of campers waiting for him at the bottom. You knew there would be a celebration, a party, and a lot of kids out past curfew. But you knew Chiron would let it off, because Luke Castellan was back.

Except that’s not what happened. At all.

It was a warm day, and you were helping some of your younger siblings make friendship bracelets by the lake. Your camp shirt clung to the sweat on your back and you peeled it off with a grimace whenever you stood, straightening out your shorts and checking on the next kid. They seemed happy enough to be in the sun — really, you should’ve been too. Child of Apollo and all. But apparently your father wasn’t feeling the love for you today, because while the rest of your siblings were thriving, you were seconds away from jumping into the lake just to cool down — even if it pissed off the Naiads.

Thankfully, when you stood up once more and looked over the horizon, you saw your brother Aden jogging towards you. You took the opportunity to hide under the shade of the trees by meeting him halfway, and greeted him with a breathless, “Hey.”

He spoke your name with a nod and a smile, throwing a thumb over his shoulder, “Chiron needs you in the Big House. Looked serious. I’ll take over here.”

“Oh, Okay.” You nodded, turning to the kids and telling them you’d be back as soon as you could, before marching your worn converse through the grass and up to where the house sat on the edge of the hill.

Chiron was in the doorway when you reached the porch, sat in wheelchair form and wearing a grim look. You paused, worried. He nodded at you, “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Usually I wouldn’t do this, but…desperate times. Follow me.”

You followed as he led you down the hall, brows furrowing, “What's going on? Is everything okay?”

He looked at you with a serious expression, saying your name lowly, “I need you to ensure that what I am about to tell you will never leave the walls of this house. Nobody needs to know about this until we have deemed it appropriate.”

“Of course.” You said immediately, folding your arms. You weren’t so warm anymore. “What happened?”

He straightened up, and stared, “Luke Castellan is back from his quest.”

That was not what you expected him to say. Dropping your arms to your side and stepping forward slightly, “What? Since when?”

“Ten minutes ago, give or take.” He replied, brows in a concerned furrow, “Mr D has taken him upstairs. He is injured.”

“Right.” You nodded, “I’ll go and—“

“Wait, child.” You stopped, one foot on the bottom step of the stairs, looking back at him, “You must know something.”

Chiron took in a deep breath, eyes glossed over like whatever he was about to say weighed heavily on him, “He is…not in good condition. On top of his injuries, Luke is unfortunately…not in a good state of mind. His quest has affected him, and he requested quite adamantly that nobody should see him until he is ready to see them. I will respect his wishes, of course, but he will still need someone to tend to his wounds. That will be you.”

“Me?” You’d never shared a full conversation with the guy. Maybe some small talk, a polite smile here and there, but you were hardly acquainted, let alone friendly. You told him this.

“Exactly my point.” Was his reply, head held high, “Luke does not want to talk to anyone at the moment, and I’m sure if any of his friends were to be up there, they would simply coddle him. You, on the other hand…”

“I’m a stranger.” You nodded, “Of course. Right. I get that. So, you just want me to patch him up, act like it never happened? I can do that.”

“Not exactly, my child.”

You raised a brow.

“Luke’s injuries are quite extensive. He will need around the clock care until he is healed enough. He will also need someone to bring him food, clean clothes.”

“Oh, so you want me to nanny him.”

He chuckled, but it faded just as quickly as it came, “Unfortunately, he needs it.”

You pursed your lips. It didn’t seem all that hard — it was just like having any other camper in the infirmary. Only this one, everyone was on the edge of their seats waiting for, and you weren’t allowed to tell anyone he was a mere fifty feet away from them, curled up in a bed in the Big House.

No biggie.

i. WEEK ONE

Chiron had ushered you up the steps as soon as your conversation was over, and given you directions to the room Luke was in. Your steps were slow and unsure — you’d never been this far into the Big House before, but Mr D stood idly outside one of the doors lining the second floor hallway, arms crossed and face taut. The floorboards creaked under the weight of your foot when you reached the landing, and he looked up at you.

“He’s in there.” He pointed to the door in front of him, “Careful, he’s a short fuse right now. All the medical thingamabobs you need are in there already. Keep your mouth shut about this.”

Then he slid past you and down the stairs without another word, and you were left alone in the empty hall. Blinking hard to clear your head, you stood a few measly steps toward the door, stopping just outside of it and leaning your ear against the wood.

Nothing tangible. Mostly just the scraping of wood against the skin of your ear, and once you had stopped moving, there was nothing. No mutters, no bed creaks, not even a sniffle. It unnerves you, but you wrapped a hand around the cold metal of the handle and turned it anyway.

Maybe it was because he had been gone for a while, or maybe it was because you never saw him that much when he was around, but you had to blink away the shock at Luke’s appearance. Minus the obvious injuries, he just looked different. His skin was tanned and rough, his jaw taut and his hair hanging messily over his forehead, longer bits curling around his ears after going uncut for so long.

He was sitting on the edge of a bed that had been tucked into the corner of the room. There was a window just above it, but a thin curtain had been pulled over it and blocked out the sunlight that was begging to shine on you. The room was dark, but light enough that you could see what you were doing when you walked over to the desk in the other corner and started shuffling through the medical supplies Chiron had left there for you. Not much, but enough for now. You could always get more later.

Turning, you finally made your way over to where Luke was hunched over, staring at nothing. When you entered his line of vision, his dark eyes slid up to yours, and he blinked. Then he sighed, straightened his back and gave you a look that said do what you have to do and then get out.

But you didn’t move, not for at least ten seconds. Because while Chiron had told you he was injured extensively, he didn’t mention the five inch long scar that ran down the side of his face, cutting through his eye. It was jagged and gnarly, sharp edges carving a path through his skin. It was red all around, and just from looking at it you could tell it needed work. It was fairly new, but he had left it long enough for it to heal over — a thin layer of skin stopping it from bleeding.

He raised his eyebrows at you impatiently, and you nodded, scooting back to the desk and grabbing what you needed before going back to where he sat.

“I, uh…I need to get closer.” You were afraid to speak, to break the silence of the room, but you did need to get closer to his face. You waited for him to turn slightly to his left, hitch a leg up on the mattress and face his scar in your direction. Instead, he just slid his legs apart, inviting you to step between them.

And so you did, albeit a little shakily. You didn’t know Luke well enough to consider him a friend, but you’d seen enough of him to know that he never acted like this. He was never this quiet — all eyes, slow movements. He was charming, always grinning, always offering a hand. His battle instincts and ADHD made him fidgety like the rest of them, but from where you stood between his thighs, he was as still as a picture. It unnerved you more than the scar on his face did. You’d seen nasty injuries before, you’d never seen this.

You picked up a gauze, doused it in rubbing alcohol, and started wiping the area. You started on the outskirts, but when you pressed over the edge of the injury, his brows twitched and you let out a weak apology before lessening the grip. You kept your breaths thin and your eyes on your hand, but he wasn’t looking at you anyway. He had drifted off again, staring at nothing, and you were scared to break him out of his stupor again.

“He’s a short fuse.” Mr D had said. But he didn’t seem that way right now, sitting back silently and letting you do your work on his face. He wasn’t much of anything, if you had to make an assessment. You really wanted to know what happened on his quest, and why he was gone for so long, but you also didn’t want to test Mr D’s words by asking.

“What happened?” He didn’t say anything, again. You pressed on, “I sort of need to know before I reopen it…just in case something—“

“A dragon.” He murmured at once. His voice was rough, like he’d just been screaming. Maybe he had been, and that’s why Mr D had warned you. But it seemed all his anger had dissipated in the time it took for Chiron to get you and explain the situation. Maybe. “Ladon. Poisonous bites.”

So he had been to the Garden of the Hesperides. Presumably to collect some Golden Apples. What for, you didn’t know. You weren’t going to ask. You just grabbed a scalpel, muttered a quiet, “This is going to hurt.”, and started cutting down the scar, following its path across his cheek.

Luke hissed hard, not expecting you to dive in so suddenly, and his hand reached out for something to grab. That ended up being your camp shirt, bunching at your waist from where he gripped it between his knuckles. You didn’t mind it, but when you put the scalpel down and started to clean the inside of his wound, he adjusted his hand so he was holding the side of your waist instead, eyes clamped shut and feet tapping the wooden floor. You paused momentarily, but you couldn’t let him breathe or else it would just hurt more when you went back to work, so you brushed it off and continued your rampage down his face until the whole wound was free of the dirt and grime he had let accumulate inside it while he travelled back to Long Island.

“Sorry.” You finally built up the courage to say.

“S’Okay.” He breathed, “My fault.”

You wiped it over one last time before taping a bandage over the top. You cut it into two bits so he could still see out of his left eye, before stepping back from between his legs and assessing your work. Once you had deemed it good enough, you picked up your supplies and headed back to the desk, feeling Luke’s hand fall from your side.

“Uh—“ You really wanted to leave the room now, “I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but how long did you leave—“

“Three days.” He answered quickly. Chiron had probably already asked him that, and you felt stupid for making him repeat it.

You turned to leave, but then remembered what Chiron had said to you before sending you up to Luke’s room. You looked at him.

“Do you need anything from your cabin?” You asked, “It’s, uh, kind of my job to get that, if you do.” You turned to face him fully, “Oh, and are you hungry? Because I have to—“

“Just some clean clothes, thanks.” He quipped. It wasn’t looking like he wanted you around for much longer.

You were quick to leave.

It was hard coming up with an excuse as to why you were stealing clothes from Luke Castellan’s bunk, but you just told them there was a new camper in the Big House and Chiron had run out of spares that morning. They brushed it off, and you ran back up to Luke with the clothes bunched in your arms, and were breathless by the time you dropped them on the bed beside him.

“Did anyone see you?” He asked just as you were about to give him the privacy he needed to change.

You were facing the door when he asked, and turned to answer, but he was already pulling off the marred camp shirt he’d arrived in, revealing his very toned torso. You paused, eyes drifting, but quickly snapped them back up to his awaiting gaze. He didn’t seem to care that he was shirtless in front of you, but neither did most boys.

“No.” You weren’t sure how he would react if you’d told him the truth, even though it was harmless. He nodded and started to unbutton his cargos, and you were quick to turn back to the door and yank it open, “Okay, I’ll…uh, probably be back at…later. Bye.”

The rest of your week was rough to say the least. You had a lot on your plate, and it didn’t help when your siblings kept wondering why you were at the Big House three times a day and why you always made a second plate of food at mealtimes. Eventually, it got around that a new camper had arrived, and you were taking care of them. That's when the rumour mill started running.

“I heard they were older, like twenty or something. Apparently they’re super embarrassed.”

“Well, I heard they were injured super badly on their way into camp, and that’s why nobody’s seen them yet.”

“I heard they got violent when Chiron explained the demigod thing and now they have him locked away in the basement!”

So yeah, lots on your plate. You did little to dispel the rumours, not wanting to allude to the truth accidentally, but when you were the only one who knew the truth, it was difficult to hide from those who wanted it too.

But after a few days, you had developed a routine. Wake up, get breakfast, take food to Luke. Check his dressings while he ate and restock your med supplies if needed. Go to whatever task you were running that day, ignore anyone who asked about the new camper, go for lunch. Take lunch to Luke. Check his dressings. Dismiss curious campers. Go to dinner. Take dinner to Luke. Check his dressings. Dismiss curious campers. Lead the campfire sing-along. Check on Luke one more time. Go to bed.

It was a lot, to say the least. But you didn’t complain — if you did this top secret doctor work right, Chiron might make you cabin counsellor when your older sister Alina leaves after this summer.

And just as you had, Luke eased into the routine too. Every time you entered his room, with a polite knock, he would be perched on the side of his bed, legs open and inviting.

You wondered if he actually did this for you, or if he just never moved from that position.

Sunday morning was slightly different — as camp activities were more relaxed and you had more time on your hands. You strolled slowly to the Big House after breakfast — rather than your usual sprint so you weren’t late to Archery — and knocked politely on the door before cracking it open and heading for the desk. With a plate of food in one hand and a fresh bandage in the other, you made your way over to where Luke sat, readying yourself for another quiet twenty minutes of work. It was quite peaceful, now that you’d gotten used to it. More comfortable, less awkward.

“Hi.”

You blinked, almost dropping what you held, but Luke was there to grab the bandage from your hand as your grip loosened in your shock. He attempted a smile, but winced when it pulled at his scar, and chose to nod at you instead.

“Uh…” You put the plate down into the bedside table, straightening your shirt, “Hi.”

He’d never said hi before.

He didn’t say anything else after that, just let you do what you did, but your mind remained a whirlwind. He said hi. That’s a completely normal thing for him to do, and yet you were reeling from it.

Once you had changed his dressings, you headed for the door and allowed him to eat his breakfast. Your hand wrapped around the metal of the handle and turned it, pulling open the wooden door and stepping one foot into the hall before the voice sounded again.

“Bye.”

You chuckled this time, not looking back, “Bye.”

ii. WEEK TWO

It was an average morning, the blistering sun from last week finally fading and allowing you to walk comfortably outside. You never knew what your dad’s problem with you was last week, but you suspected that it had something to do with the cabin counsellor who slept on the second floor of the Big House with a bandage across his eye.

Like usual, you were heading up the stairs, breakfast plate in hand, ready to give your first checkup of the day. If Luke was healing like he should’ve been, you wouldn’t have to change his dressing at lunch, and you were crossing your fingers that he was.

Pushing the door open with your back, you walked in slowly and headed towards the desk like usual. You grabbed the bandage, made your way over to Luke and put the plate down next to his small lamp. Then you straightened up and put the new bandage under your arm, holding it in place while you moved to unwrap his eye.

Before you could, however, Luke was pulling the bandage from where it was trapped against your ribcage and held it in his own hands. You looked at him, and he gave you a weak smile, “Thought it’d be easier if I held it for you.”

You murmured out a thanks and smiled at him, keeping it there even as you peeled back the old dressings and revealed his still healing scar. Usually, it wouldn’t take this long for a demigod wound to heal itself, but because Luke had gone so long without nectar or ambrosia — or any form of medical help, that is — it was in worse condition. You had to scrape out the infected skin from it a few days back, and it left Luke blinking hard to try and hide the tears.

Nowadays he seemed to be better — not as broody as he seemed last week. But you always caught him drifting off, staring at nothing. You wondered if he was reliving it, asking himself what would’ve changed had he done it differently. Your guess? Not much — you’d read up on Ladon the dragon after finding out it was he who caused Luke’s pain, just in case there was something you needed to know before starting the healing process. He was vicious, not even Hercules could get past him. And while Luke was the best swordsman camp had seen in three centuries, even he would struggle going at Ladon alone.

Once you had redressed his face, you stepped back like you always did, your footfalls sounding out the same metronome as they did three times a day. You wondered if you would wear a mark into the floor from your constant repeating path — door to the desk, desk to the bed, bed to the door. You briefly thought that wouldn’t be possible, something like that would take years to indent, but then you looked back at Luke — his forlorn expression, the bandage across his eye and the bags under’t — and wondered how long it would be before he could build the courage to stand up from the bed, return to a camp that relied so heavily on his skill set, and take the weight of his failure with him.

He pulled the plate onto his lap and you don’t think you’ve ever seen someone look so sad while stuffing their face with bacon.

“Hey, uh —“ You started, hand on the doorframe in an attempt to look casual. You couldn’t just leave him like that, right? “Do you…know — uh, know where the spare practising swords are kept?” A measly excuse, but it had him looking at you again.

He swallowed his food before speaking, “The wooden ones are in these old boxes in the back of weapon storage, but I think the celestial bronze ones are kept in the Hephaestus cabin now.”

You nodded, tapping your hand against the wood. That didn’t work in the way you wanted it to, but you weren’t going to force it. So you turned, went to open the door and leave —

“Why?”

Nevermind!

You whirled around — not too eagerly! You didn’t want to scare him off, now — “Oh! Uh, some Ares kid snapped one in half the other day, we needed a replacement.”

Luke nodded. Shit, say something else. Get him talking!

“Odd weather we’ve been having.”

What?

His lips parted, and he had the gall to look amused, “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Oh, yeah.” You breathed, humiliated. You pressed your lips together, ready to give up, until a thought came to you, “Hey, you haven’t been outside in, like, a week.”

Luke nodded, shadows falling across his face like the mere mention of the fact that he hadn’t been outside was a painful reminder of his circumstances, “Yeah, I, uh, don’t think I want anyone to know that I’m back yet. Not until I’m healed, y’know?”

You knew. You also knew that probably wasn’t the only reason he refused to let anyone know he was safe in the Big House, but you didn’t say that.

“Right, but —“ A breathy chuckle, “You need, like, sunlight. Fresh air.”

“I don’t wanna risk it.”

“Ok.” And that was that. You said goodbye, left him to his own devices, and didn’t mention the sun thing again for two days.

It was on Wednesday that you finally gave in. Now that you’d put the thought in your own head, you kept noticing the effects that being cooped indoors was having on Luke. His skin, once tanned and glistening under the sun, was paling by the hour. He winced whenever he had to straighten his back, and even though his scar was healing nicely, he seemed to be more sensitive to the pain of it than he was a week earlier.

So on Tuesday night you formed a plan, and on Wednesday morning at breakfast you put it into action. It started with asking Lee — ever so casually, of course — what the activities schedule was looking like. He started yapping about their cabin, and you waited patiently for him to bring up the Amphitheatre. Then, when he said the Apollo kids were training at two, you said —

“I thought we trained at twelve on Wednesdays?”

“No, that’s Ares and Hephaestus.”

“Oh, but don’t they train at four?”

“No, Hermes and Athena train at four.”

“Then who trains at ten?”

“Nobody.”

Bingo.

Luke was halfway through pulling on a pair of shorts when you burst into the room. He jumped, yanking them up the rest of the way before turning to look at you — his face was a mix of shock and unbridled anger until he realised it was you, then it softened into something calmer. But you saw him, even for just a split second, and the animosity in his gaze made you take a quiet step back. It was fearful almost — you’d seen him annoyed, irritated. You’d even bore witness to the Carden Cross Hot Cross Bun Incident of 2002,

(Carden Cross was this fifteen year old Ares kid. He threw one too many hot cross buns at the Aphrodite table and a then-sixteen-year-old Luke had wrung him out in front of everyone.

Nobody had ever heard Luke raise his voice like that, and Carden avoided everyone for a week straight).

but you had never seen such indignation in his gaze. It was gone in a flash, and you could’ve told yourself it was never there, but it was. You were hit with the humbling realisation that whatever Luke had gone through on his quest was more damaging than you could ever imagine, and no amount of fresh air would change him back to who he was before.

That saddened you, but then you realised he was shirtless again and all morbid thoughts went straight out the window. You grinned at him, “Sorry. But we don’t have a lot of time.”

He stared at you, then at your hands that were empty of breakfast food or bandages, and asked, “Time for what?”

“For some fresh air!” You sang, throwing in some jazz hands as if they would wipe the hesitant frown that had graced his features, “Put some shoes on, let’s go!”

He said your name softly, “I can’t go outside.”

You straightened up from where you had leaned dramatically into the room and sent him a blank look, eyes still sparkling, “You can. I checked the schedule, the Amphitheatre is free from ten till twelve and it is currently…nine forty-five. If we hurry, we’ll miss the post-breakfast rush.”

Luke looked a little more at ease now, but he made no move to put his shoes on. His body twitched like he was thinking about it, but when he couldn’t come up with a valid excuse to get out of it, he sighed and nodded, “Alright. Doctors orders, I guess.”

“Awesome.” You smiled, “I’ll let you get ready.”

It took some convincing, even after you’d gotten him to follow you down the stairs, to get him out the door. But a few firm words (and a couple of threats) and he was basking in the morning sunlight just as you’d planned.

Well — more like squinting painfully. Turns out, after a week and a half in a dark room, it takes a minute to get used to the sunlight again. You ensured nobody was around and took the long way to the Ampitheatre, letting out a content sigh when you knew you were away from prying eyes. Luke seemed more relaxed already, and you could practically see his muscles getting looser.

“Damn.” He muttered, hand over his eyes, “I needed this.”

“Yeah.” You spoke over an unattractive snort, “I’m an Apollo kid, I know a Vitamin D deficiency when I’m looking at one.”

“Alright.” He rolled his eyes at you, amused, and moved towards the steps. He climbed up two before turning and sitting, leaning back on his elbows and blinking at the sky, “Think your dad made it extra sunny just for me?”

“Probably.” You smiled, standing in front of him — but still making sure you weren’t blocking the sun from his face. “After some convincing from your dad.”

Luke’s smile faded. His eyes remained closed but his hands tightened into loose fists, “I don’t think so.”

Now you were desperate to change the subject. Your eyes darted to the wall, and the rack of swords sitting in its usual spot, “Hey, wanna swing some bronze?”

“Gods.” He let out a rough laugh, and you grinned in satisfaction, “Swinging Bronze. Haven’t heard that in a while.”

You nodded, glad he was back to being somewhat happy, “We thought we were so cool.”

“We thought it’d catch on.”

You shared a laugh, and Luke peeked an eye open, looking at you, “How come we were never friends back then?”

A meek shrug, “We weren’t really friends until a couple of days ago. That's if you even count us as that now.”

He just kept looking at you, and his gaze burned into your skin. You stepped back, closer to the middle of the arena space, “We never really spoke.”

He looked at you as if he was thinking hard about what you said, and what he was gonna say next. Apparently he came up short, because seconds later he was clicking his tongue and pushing himself up, joining you in the middle of the arena, “Alright. Let’s swing some bronze.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. This was going well. He was outside, he was laughing, he was about to pick up a sword for the first time since he’d angrily thrown his own at the porch of the Big House when he got back a week and a half ago.

He handed you a wooden practice sword, and you raised a brow. Usually the wooden ones were for first-timers, or younger kids. He shrugged, you let it go.

Despite the fact that you and Luke had been at camp together for five years, you’d never actually gone one-on-one in a sword fight with him. It was rare that Apollo and Hermes were paired together for activities, since they were the two highest populated cabins, but even when Luke was running the practice he always picked the people he knew the best for demonstrations. You lingered at the back, watching.

So you were slightly nervous, but you also didn’t want to show it. Sure, on any normal day Luke would reassure you with kind eyes and that Luke Castellan Smile, but he wasn’t exactly himself right now. You swallowed down your nerves, matched his stance, and swung.

Best Sword Fighter in Three Hundred Years — not an exaggeration. His moves were swift, calculated, and he stayed calm the entire time. It was as if he knew everything you were going to do before you did it, and had three counterattacks on the back burner for when you would strike. Your swords clashed every time you made a move and suddenly you realised why he wanted you to use wooden swords — the clang of wood was a lot quieter than the clang of bronze, it was less likely anyone would hear you fighting. It made sense, but you couldn’t focus on that when he was practically parrying your thoughts with sweat dripping down his temple.

You held your own, though. You were quite impressed with yourself when you blocked his swipes and sidestepped his jabs. It was making him groan in frustration, and the edges of your mouth perked up. You didn’t realise how good you were at this.

Then Luke stumbled. He grunted, righted himself, and swung again. You blocked it, and he steadied his shoulders. You slowed, focusing on the way he heaved for breath, taking in gulps of air, while you were hardly breaking a sweat. The way he kept readjusting his grip on the hilt of his sword, and how his fingers shook on his free hand. He went for you again and you sidestepped him, making him trip up. He didn’t fall, but he did let out a long angry groan at his mistake, throwing the sword to the ground in frustration.

You flinched, “Luke.”

“This was a bad idea.” He snapped. He wasn’t looking at you, pacing up and down with his hands in his hair. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“You’re still recovering —“ You tried to reason, but he wasn’t listening to you.

“I’m the best damn swordsman this camp has ever seen. What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can’t I do this? Why —“

“Luke.” You stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. He looked at you, “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not.” He gritted through his teeth, “I fail one quest and suddenly I can’t do anything anymore? Yeah, that’s typical.”

You shook your head, “You just need time to get better.”

“I was better! Better than everyone else here, I —“ He paused, a faraway look in his eyes that unnerved you for a second before he was looking at you again, “I can hear people.”

You perked your ears up. He was right, you could hear the chatter of camp if you listened carefully enough — but it wasn’t anything to worry about. They were all doing their own tasks, far away from where they were. If someone was coming, it would be more clear. You told him that, but he shook his head.

“I need to go back. This was a bad idea.”

“Hey, it’s okay, we can go —“

“No, not we. Me.” He said firmly, a hard look in his gaze that he didn’t have before, “I’m going back. You’re staying here. And I’m never going anywhere with you again.”

iii. WEEK THREE

You hadn’t seen him in five days.

Chiron had pulled you out of Archery to ask about Luke — and why he had seen him storm angrily back into his room and lock the door. You just told him you thought it was best for him to find someone else to take care of him for the time being. You didn’t think Luke would want to see you again, ever.

All you wanted was for him to be his old self again. The guy you always saw helping out someone else with a smile on his face, the one who made others laugh and laughed with them. The one who waved at anyone who waved at him. The one who was completely oblivious to the flirting and just thought they were being friendly. The Luke Castellan who everyone gushed about, who everyone loved.

That man up there, with the scar on his face and the look in his eye, wasn't Luke Castellan. And maybe he never would be again, not completely. But he could come close — he could still smile, he could still laugh.

But you’d fucked all that up just by bringing him outside.

You didn’t know who Chiron had asked to replace you, because you never saw anyone else get up after breakfast with an extra plate. You didn’t see anyone sneaking out of the Hermes cabin with a pile of clothes. You stood in the fields for hours a day, watching those thin curtains stand stiff at the window, never to open. You thought you’d seen a shadow, but maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you.

The weekend came and went, and you spent the whole time worrying about Luke. Did this new person know that he preferred fatty bacon? Did they know that he liked keeping the curtains closed? Or would they just bring him a plate of pancakes? Ask him too many questions about his quest? Your mind whirred — would they make him worse?

No. That’s not what you were scared of.

Would they make him better?

Would they understand him more than you did? Would they coerce more words out of him? Would they even need to coerce him, or would he be comfortable holding a conversation with them no problem? What if he was better now than he ever had been with you?

You flinched when your name was called. Looking up from the bracelet you were crafting with some younger kids and meeting the eyes of Dionysus, “Sir.”

“Our, uh, special guest is requesting your presence.” He said with a stupid look on his face, “So get off your ass and get up there, I can’t stand his whining any longer.”

You did as asked with a slight roll of your eyes that made the six year old who was next to you giggle into their hands. It brought a grin to your otherwise down expression, unsure of what Luke wanted to say to you.

The room was dark when you cracked the door open — there was no response after you knocked, but you could hear him shuffling inside, so you went ahead and opened it an inch. It was a lot darker than it used to be — or maybe you too had gotten used to the shade after spending so much time there.

You pushed it open more, and there he was, in his usual spot on the edge of the bed. Head down, hands fiddling with something by his eye. He was muttering in frustration, and you stepped into the room in concern. The floor creaked, he looked up, and you gasped.

The side of his face where his scar sat was red with blood — you almost missed the bandage he was attempting to tie around it because it had been stained pink. His fingers were shaking and he pursed his trembling lips at you, “I can’t do it.”

You surged forward, immediately taking the fabric from his hands. He let them drop into his lap as you peeled it back and looked at the damage. You winced — not as bad as the blood had made it seem, but bad enough. The wound had reopened at the top, and the blood was dripping into his eye and along the curve of his jaw.

It took a few panicky minutes, but eventually the bleeding had stopped, Luke’s face was clean of blood, and you were staring at him in shock, your own fingers still red from the damage. He was avoiding your eyes, the only other thing he’d said to you being a strained thank you when you had stepped back.

“What —“ You were at a loss.

“I tried to change them myself.” He shrugged, picking at his fingernails, still not looking at you. “I’d watched you do it so many times, I figured I had it handled. Apparently I didn’t, because I woke up and it was freakin’ bleeding everywhere.”

“Oh, Luke.” You breathed, “Why didn’t you wait for someone to help you?”

“You never came back.” He said like it was obvious.

“What — so you’ve been doing this yourself for five days?” You asked, a shocked exclamation, “Chiron never sent someone else to help you?”

“He asked me who I wanted,” He shrugged, “I said you. You weren’t an option, so I did it myself.”

“You said —“

“I know what I said, alright?” He stressed, head in his hands now, “It was stupid. I was angry, hurt, whatever. It was at myself, but I took it out on you. I’m sorry. I don’t — “ His voice cracked, “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Luke.” You murmured. You took a step closer, kneeled before him, and gently pried his hands away from his eyes so he would look at you. His expression was so…sad. So distraught. “What happened on your quest?”

And he told you everything.

iv. THE AFTER

Luke was ashamed to admit it — but he had no idea what your name was when you started looking after him.

Sure, he’d seen you around. You were one of the Apollo kids who spent more time in the infirmary than on the archery fields, but he was too good at his job to get injured. Hence why he didn’t know your name. He knew your face, he smiled at you and you would smile back. He was friendly with your brother, Lee. But that was about it.

That’s what made it so perfect.

You wouldn’t ask him about his quest. You wouldn’t try your hardest to get him to open up. You would do your job, and leave him to mope. That was all he wanted.

Until he learned your name.

And just from glancing at your smile — all awkward and nervous as you introduced yourself — he knew he wanted to be near you. He knew you were the type of person he could sit in silence with and walk away from it with a happy memory.

He thought he knew enough about you to determine who you were to him (a stranger). But he didn’t know your name, your voice, he didn’t know your touch or your smile — the real one you give when someone truly makes you laugh. Not the one he thought he knew.

He stood stiffly on the porch of the Big House — three weeks was all it took before Mr D was kicking him out, telling him to get a grip and face the music. Luke was ready; physically. His scar was nothing but that — a memory, faded into his skin forever. There was no other reason for him to keep himself hidden other than the fact that he wanted to. If it was up to him, nobody would ever bear the burden of seeing him ever again.

For weeks he told himself that his quest was pointless. He screamed it at the gods, at Chiron, at you. He cursed his dad every night for sending him on a path to failure and not even acknowledging it. He cursed himself for ruining the first chance he had at gaining his fathers pride in seventeen years — he sat in the dark, fists clenched, and asked himself what it was all for.

The five years on the run, the endless monster attacks, the relentless training, the offerings, the prayers. Would his life be any better had he just let that first monster kill him?

No. Because he wouldn’t have met Thalia, or Annabeth. He wouldn’t have seen the brighter side of being a halfblood — he wouldn’t have met his siblings, he wouldn’t have found his calling. He wouldn’t have experienced the joy of helping a new camper, of being the guiding hand he never got to hold.

But what of his quest? His mission for his father brought nothing but pain — a pointless trip, a humiliating failure, a deep jagged scar. For weeks he asked himself why he was given the quest in the first place, and for years to come he will question himself each and every day.

But each and every day he asks himself what the gods had ever given him, he would be reminded of the day he learnt your name. And he would tell himself had he not taken that trip, had he not fallen to Ladon, he never would have felt the searing touch of your fingertips on his skin.

So maybe it was worth it after all.

He stepped off the porch.

#the title is a play on words #cos it wasn’t just the physical wounds #get it?#i’ll shut up #luke castellan #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #percy jackson

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mockerycrow · 10 months

Text

Emergency Contact (1/2) (Ghost x GN!Reader)

>> emergency contact concept here << PART TWO HERE!!

Summary: Simon is your roommate, and you haven’t seen each other in months, considering Simon’s job. An unfamiliar number pops up on Simon’s phone, and answering it makes his world turn upside down.

A/N: How you two moved in together is very vaguely inspired this ghost fic right here. please give it a read! If you finish the song above, I highly recommend listening to the entire album while reading. i’m not the happiest with this, but i’m happy enough to post!

[WARNINGS: Blood and injury, traumatic events/trauma brought up, gore, little comfort, medical inaccuracies, tbh ooc simon but it’s ok.]

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since he’s been home, since he’s seen you. That’s how long he’s been stuck on base, or thrown into a foreign country to complete some mission, or to gather some intel, or to kill someone, just somewhere, anywhere but with you.

Eight months, thirteen days, and nine hours. That’s how long it’s been since you softly asked him to stay as safe as he can, and to come back alive, and to come back with at least eight fingers. It was a running joke between you two, a way to relieve the terrifying reality of his job; as long as Simon came home alive and with majority of his fingers, he could consider it a job well done. You didn’t know much of his job, of course—only that he’s military, and he’s gone a lot. You already guessed it was a lot of classified stuff, probably down top secret government type of things. That did make you scared, though. You didn’t want the day to come, the day where people in fancy uniforms show up at your doorstep like you’re some widow. The thought of someone informing you of Simon’s death makes your stomach twist.

Eight months is admittedly a long time. Simon.. he missed you, but he’s rather die that verbally admit it, but he sure as hell felt it. He missed the way he could hear you walk through the house, the weight of the floorboards creaking up your feet. Simon missed walking by the bathroom and the air vaguely smelled your shampoo and body wash, a clear indicator you had just taken a shower. Simon missed the way you carelessly have your shoes next to the shoe rack, not even on it, and despite his annoyance of your laziness? He misses it every single time he’s away. He never really realizes the difference of living on base versus being home with you, and he’s comfortable in both environments for completely different reasons. Simon is comfortable with you because you’re safe, you aren’t associated with anyone he has to deal with on a near daily basis. You don’t scan the kitchen to see which household items could be potential bombs in the vicinity like he does. On base, Simon finds comfort in the familiarity of being constantly on alert, the need for a gun to be against his hip—it’s not the best, considering he’s in fight mode majority of the time, but it’s comforting. It’s familiar. It’s.. home, in a way.

You and Simon call at least once every three weeks—it’s not more because you’re both busy, you have your life to tend to while he has to do something like protecting an American Embassy, or sneaking into a compound to retrieve some vital information. You two talk about all kinds of things; you complain about the neighbors for the nth time, or you talk about your job, just something that he hasn’t heard about in a while. Simon.. he’s limited on what he can talk about—what he wants to talk about. It’s a bit difficult, keeping details of his job hidden away from you. He also keeps you hidden away from them; his team. Price vaguely is aware of your existence, but all he knows is your name and your phone number—someone to alert when he eventually would pass away.

It surprised Price when he requested access to his own file to make a change. Simon went for years without anyone in that section, leaving it blank—and then suddenly ‘[Name] [Last Name]’ is written down, along with your phone number. Simon doesn’t want to die somewhere and then you sit at home, dreading the fact that you haven’t received a call from him for over six months. Other than that, no one is aware of your existence and he wants to keep it that way. It keeps you safe, and he doesn’t want the one thing he has going in his life to be taken away from him—not like everything else has been.

No, you and Simon aren’t together. You just are the one constant he cannot allow to die. How you and Simon became close was rather funny, really—before you were roommates, you bumped into each other at the local stores, the bank, even several public spaces like parks and such. You didn’t see him too often and you weren’t aware on why, but you didn’t really wonder why either. By this point, you knew each other for a couple of months. He introduced himself as SR—not Ghost or Simon, but as SR. You didn’t bother to question it because this tall, bulky man seemed like he was trying keep himself as anonymous as possible. Without fail, you always saw him wear dark colored clothing that hid any identifiable markings—tattoos and scars, that kind of thing. He usually has his hood up with a black face mask covering his nose down, but you do know one thing—he has to have bright blonde hair. Why else would his beautiful eyelashes and eyebrows be that bright? It would catch your eye every time you’d see them. Sometimes you would see him with a beanie on and the mask, with his hood down. This wasn’t too often, as it exposed some scarring he has on the back of his neck, as well as his forehead. This also silently lead you to believe he has a tough past of some sort, which is confirmed when you run into him somewhere you never expected to—your therapist’s building. You bumped into him right outside, and you apologized profusely before looking and going silent as you made eye contact.

A silent agreement was made between you two that day, one that you could never put into words. Something in that moment that dragged you two closer together. You had been through some shit in your life, shit that had permanent effect on you, shit that you wanted to work through. It was horribly tiring, but you knew you needed to work through it—so you could live a life you felt was worth living. Simon, was on the other side of the spectrum. He didn’t want this. He never wanted to tell anyone about anything, but Price, Price fucking made him. Simon spends his days and nights plagued with nightmares and memories—he’s woken up in the middle of the night enough times to know that he needs help, but he was so adamant about not talking to anyone about it. But seeing you there? Someone who he hasn’t known for long, someone who had always greeted him with a smile on your face, laughter spilling from your beautiful vocal cords, and someone who doesn’t touch him without permission? It made him so angry and hopeless about this world. Not even you, a stranger who he sees as the best human being he’s known in a while—despite not knowing you for long—could escape from the cruel and sharp jaws of the world. You found out you two accidentally scheduled the same days, so it became an unspoken agreement to wait for the other outside of the building so you can both go in. Even when you weren’t sure when his next appointment would be, you’d be right outside of that building, waiting for him. You would always be right there, and that’s something he quickly learned.

You lost your house to a fire, everything went with the burning embers that raged inside of the 4 walls of your previous home, the structure collapsing in on itself. You had gotten out in time, and you numbly watched the fire roar, the crackling burning it’s memory in your ears. The piercing sound of different sirens were approaching, but all you could do is stand there with your phone in your hand, watching the home you worked so hard for burn to the foundation built years ago. You felt a hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t bother to turn to see who it was. Everything was going so slow, almost like a movie scene in the worst way possible. Your nostrils burned from the smell of burning wood, drywall, and installation. The hand squeezed your shoulder and you slowly looked at who it was—and was him. Simon. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes ever so slightly panicked and it was obvious he was asking you something, but you didn’t hear him. All you could focus on was that he was here. You blinked rapidly as your eyes began to burn from the smoke and from that choked feeling going from your chest to your throat. “I..” You croak ever so slightly. You couldn’t hold it back—you quickly grabbed onto Simon desperately, letting out a heart-wrenching sob because you just lost everything you owned, every memory, every piece of furniture, everything.. but he was here. He was the only thing was wasn’t crumbling away from your grasp, the only constant. Once you clung to him, Simon’s senses were flooded with you. Fuck, your touch burned, just like everyone’s else’s but he liked—no, loved how it felt. Despite the image of a burning house in his wake making dread bubble in his gut, your sobs and touch were the only thing he could focus on. Simon hesitates for only a second before pulling you into his personal space, his arms wrapping around you and weighing heavily on your body. Neither of you spoke, he just let you scream into his chest and sob, your fists gently banging against his chest—the anger, the sadness, everything was too much. Simon knew exactly how you were feeling, so he didn’t mind the twinges of pain your hands produced. Simon was the one who helped you while you chatted with the paramedics and the police. He was the one who helped you find your words when you had none left to share, the smell of the smoke imprinted on your clothes.

Without question, Simon took you to his house. He did not have another bed set up, so he had you sleep in his room while he slept on his couch. He hated the hollow look your eyes held, the way you were delayed with your answers, the ways your hands shook. Your everlasting smile had dissipated into a wobbly frown and he.. Simon couldn’t handle it. He grabbed you some of his clothes and helped you into his bathroom, quietly telling you to take a shower. He’ll take care of your clothes. Simon left you alone, and you showered for a long time. He didn’t count, but it was over an hour and a half. Simon didn’t say anything about you possibly racking up his bill, how could he when you had just lost everything? He wanted to.. to help you, and he wasn’t sure why. Even when he found himself scrubbing your smoke and tar covered clothes in his kitchen sink, he couldn’t find an exact reason why he wanted to help you. Maybe it’s because you made him feel human when he needed to be, maybe you were the one thing that kept him coming back to this town, the one thing that kept him from completely pulling away from the civilian world. You had found him in a corner like a dog, lips curled back and snarling—sharp teeth clashing together, and without a word, you gave him reasons to trust you. Although they may not be.. normal reasons to the regular eye, but they were enough for Simon.

You’re enough for Simon. He scrubbed your clothes until his arms burned, and then some.

That’s when he found out that you too, were also someone who could not stay asleep for long. When Simon awoke with his adrenaline pumping from the muffled sound of vomiting, he had to calm himself down because he’s safe, and you’re safe, most of all. Simon isn’t sure when he began to think that way, but it’s one of the many things he’s decided to not question—which also new for him. Simon is man who demands answers, yet with you? it’s like everything naturally falls into place, which is why he doesn’t complain when your stay at his house—which you swore would only be until you gathered enough money for an apartment—turned from a two week stay, to Simon carrying in an IKEA bed frame to put and assemble in one of his empty rooms. Many sleepless nights came and went, and each and every one you spent them with each other, sitting by a windowsill together, other times spending it in the backyard and looking at the sky. Sometimes you would wake up first, sometimes it would be him. You somehow always knew when he had woken up from a nightmare, his heart pounding in his ears—until your hands grab his and squeeze, to ground him. You burn him, and he welcomes the tickle of your ever-glowing flame. A year into this arrangement, Simon finally shows you his face and he appreciates that you don’t look at him any different. He usually hates the searching eyes, trying to memorize every inch of his face—but he’s greedy when you do it. When your eyes roam over every scar and acne scar, when you point out his messily cut hair and half-assed shaven stubble, he doesnt get angry. Simon doesn’t feel suffocated by your glances. He doesn’t wear his mask at home anymore, not when you’re there.

Then Simon gets the notice about his three month leave ending soon; and he knows that you need to know about his job. Or at least, the bare minimum you need to know. In reality, it’s how much he wants you to know, but he doesn’t want to admit that. He sits you down one morning, a cup of tea in his hand and he had a mug of your favorite morning drink on the other side of the table he had bought a few weeks you started staying here. Simon explains that he has a job in the military, that he can’t tell you much, but it means he’s going to be gone for weeks, even months at a time. You’re at a loss at first, because who is going to have an extremely positive reaction to “by the way, I work an extremely dangerous job and I can’t tell you anything and I’ll be gone for a while.. Oh yeah, you likely won’t know if I die!”? Despite your initial reaction, you grow to be okay with this situation. Or, we’ll, as okay as you can be with it. You also find out that he was here for way longer than he originally is, due to his boss demanding him to take a break—AKA, “go to therapy you dafty”.

For a little over two years, you two fell into a good rhythm. A call every three weeks, him coming home and you becoming the safest space he’s ever had in his life.

Which is why when his personal cell phone begins to vibrate in his pocket during some fuck-all meeting, his eyebrows furrow. The number is unfamiliar, but the area code is not. Simon quietly excuses himself from the extended round table, taking his call outside of the meeting room. Price’s eyes follow his figure as he exits, noticing it’s his personal cell phone in his hand. Simon answers the call and presses his phone against his masked ear, muttering a low, “Hello?”

A high-pitched, soft yet serious voice filters through the speaker, a woman. “Hi, is this Mr. Riley?”

Simon pauses, and so does his heart. “Who’s asking?”

He honestly regrets asking that in the moment—one part of him genuinely wishes he never answered this call, and the other part of him is glad he did. “I’m a nurse from Northern Manchester Community Hospital, you’re written down as [Name]’s emergency contact. They’ve been a victim of a hit and run situation, sir. They’re alive, but they’re in the ICU.” The nausea that suddenly bubbles inside of his guys, the stomach acid mixed with whatever he had eaten previously, threatening to travel up his esophagus, burn every inch and then exit with a horrific sound. Simon’s head began to spin—he’s your emergency contact? A hit and run, you were fucking hit?? By what, a car? A pick-up? A semi? God, Simon has seen the most horrible, gruesome, fucked up shit you would ever see in his entire life, yet he isn’t sure if he can handle the image of you spread out in a hospital bed, with one too many tubes circulating around you. His mind plagues him with intrusive images, ones he never wants to actually see played out. Fuck, his head hurts. It feels like someone is physically shoving a knife into his chest and twisting it, like God is laughing at him and playing with Simon’s pain for his own gain. How could he not think that, especially with everything that has happened to him? His friends, his family? His old CO? The fucking abuse he endured??

It’s like Simon lost his hearing for a moment, because he cannot bare fucking losing you, too. There’s a vague ringing in his ears, almost like there was an explosion and he stood too close. And then suddenly every sound comes rushing back to his eardrums, and everything suddenly everything is so fucking overwhelming. “Mr. Riley?” The nurse calls over the phone, her tone laced with worry. He clears his throat and when he speaks, he sounds wrecked, which he fucking hates. “I.. I’ll come as soon as I can.” Simon hangs up, not giving the nurse a moment to speak. He drops his phone and if he doesn’t sit down, he’s going to fall over like a tree that’s been cut down. Simon lets out a shaky breath, trying to ignore the way his stomach is screaming and twisting as he puts a hand on the wall, and he crouches down. It’s the first time he doesn’t look around to see if anyone is watching his sudden display of emotion. When he’s suddenly rocked with the feeling of home at work, especially with the news that you’re fucking injured—he’s overwhelmed and twisted all over the place. Simon finds himself stumbling back to his barracks.

Price finds his way to him after Simon never returns to the meeting. He knocks on the door, but his knuckles pause before they can knock against the door for the third time as he discovers the door is open—which is very, very, odd. He slowly opens the door while calling for Ghost, and is met with the sight of Simon shoving some of his clothes and belongings into a duffle bag, as well as his military travel documents. “Ghost?” Price questions, who stopped in his doorway to watch Simon lose his mind while packing. Simon doesn’t respond as he practically rips his phone charger out of the wall and stuffs it into the bag, zipping it up. He slings it over his shoulder and he turns around, pausing when he sees Price. Simon’s eyes tell everything he’s feeling—that something’s happened, something bad, and he needs to leave. Price bites his lip and quietly exhales, his fingers rubbing at his chin. “I’ll approve your leave. Just shoot me a text of how long it needs to be, yeah?”

Simon makes sure to note to send Price a thank you of some sort, because within the next two hours, Simon is boarding a plane, heading for Manchester, wearing some black clothing, a jacket, a black face mask, gloves, and his beanie. The entire time, he could not stop thinking about you—and how you could possibly die before he got there to send off his final goodbyes. Is that something he would actually want to do, though? See you in the hospital, knowing it’ll be the last place you’d ever be alive in? Go home, see how you left the house exactly as you left it? A house, but without his home in it? Simon stares out the airplane window blankly, his hands curled into fists, and his nails would be digging into his palms if he didn’t have gloves on.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this.

The next part for Simon, it’s a blur again. Got off the plane, got his luggage, provided documentation, blah blah blah—he didn’t give a fuck about any of it. His focus was you. He didn’t bother to stop home to drop his stuff off, he took an Uber straight to the hospital from the airport. It was a fairly expensive Uber too, but he could worry about the costs of everything later. It took another half hour to get there.

His heart began to hammer in his chest as the sight of the hospital’s signs began to pop up on the road, the anxiety taking hold in his stomach and his head begins to hurt again. Simon quietly thanks the driver, tips them, and exits the car with a swiftness once they pull up. Simon walks through the main entrance’s sliding doors, going up to the desk. A woman behind the counter hangs up the phone, murmuring a goodbye, and then she looks at Simon with her pretty blue eyes. “How can I help you, sir?” She murmurs sweetly, noting how anxious he is. She can see the sweat on his brow line. Simon clears his throat, his voice rumbling in his chest when he speaks. It takes everything in him to not yell at this innocent woman and get thrown out. “My.. My name is Mr. Riley, I was called ‘cause my friend is here,” Simon manages to push out. “[Name] [Last Name].” The woman turns to her computer and clicks the couple of buttons and types a couple of words and holy fuck, Simon just wants to go to your wing already—“Ah, yes, I see you’re listed as their emergency contact,” The woman grabs a sticky note and writes with a pink pen your room number and elevator floor, handing it to Simon. He barely gets a “thank you” out before he nearly jogs to the nearby elevator. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283. Fourth floor, room 283—it’s the longest minute long elevator ride in his entire fucking life.

Simon changes face masks whilst facing the wall, and then he finds your room number—and his heart is beating out of his chest. There’s cops standing outside of your room who stop him from entering. Simon’s anger flares up so quickly, he nearly makes a scene until a doctor exits your room. She’s wearing her usual blue scrubs, her coat, and she’s dawning a N95 and some sterile gloves. She’s holding a clipboard. “Mr. Riley?” She questions, holding the clipboard close to her chest. Simon nods without hesitation, and she responds, “I’m sorry, but due to the nature of this case, you’ll have to provide some identification for me and these officers.”

Usually, Simon would hesitate—he gives anyone outside of his team the bare minimum, hell, he only introduced himself as SR until he knew you for a while. This time, he takes out his military ID and shows it to the officers. He ignores their looks of surprise, and ignores the murmurs that come from them. Simon puts his ID away and he holds back the urge to shove them out of the way as he glares down at the doctor on accident. “Come in,” The doctor opens the sliding door and steps into the hospital ICU room with him. Simon follows behind her and he immediately smells the sickening smell only the ICU gives off. There’s a small wall blocking his view from you that he hasn’t past, and he can already hear the machines working. A heart monitor, a ventilator, combined with other machines he doesn’t know too well. The doctor flips through the papers pinned to her clipboard. “They were hit by a vehicle of some sort, the scene suggested they were walking home from the local corner store. [Name] has multiple broken bones and fractures, a punctured lung, a fractured jaw and internal bleeding. They lost a lot of blood at the scene.” Simon doesn’t respond as he slowly walks forward, and he finally lays his eyes on you. It’s.. traumatizing, to say the least. You were never supposed to be in a hospital bed like this, hooked up to machines he can’t even name. He slowly walks over to you, dropping his duffel bag somewhere on the floor. He doesn’t care to look where. Simon barely pays attention to what the doctor is saying—his hands tremble as he stands by your side, his heart thumping harshly in his chest. Fuck.

He drags over one of the chairs next to your bed. Simon takes off one of his gloves slowly, and then he tears the other one off in a frenzy. He feels so unlike himself, so.. different.. human. He reaches over to your hand and his fingers grab your wrist, so gentle as if you’re glass. Simon presses his fingers against your pulse point, counting your heartbeats despite the monitor. The thumping under your skin makes it more.. real. Feeling you, your heartbeat, your warmth and your skin—it’s comforting. Simon clears his throat and fights the urge to vomit once a gain, watching your chest rise and fall, produced by the ventilator.

He moves his hand to intertwine with your fingers and he uses his other hand to feel your pulse. Simon closes his eyes, muttering the beats per minute under his breath.

At least you’re alive—you’re here, you’re alive, and you’re with him. And that’s all he asks for.

tags;; @alwaystired--neversleeping @handsomeunderwear-art @indefenseofkara @kaysav608 @1-is-loneliest-number @rosee-sensuelle @kitty-satan1 @k4marina @rahmown @royalty-purple @bowtruckleninja — if you are not tagged, it’s not allowing me :-)

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mirohlayo · 11 days

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Hi, can I request a Reader x F1 grid story where reader breaks her arm/leg and she can't race because of it, but she still attends the races to watch with her team? And then the drivers start to draw on her cast as a feel better soon gesture.

Maybe she also posts it on her social media throughout the day to show fans the progress of the drawings.

Thank you so much xxx

P.S. Love you writing

Hi !! So as you requested I used the F1 grid, but only the drivers who I write for originally (+ Albon). I also wrote reader as a F1 Academy driver to make it more easy to write and more realistic. It's the first time I write something like this, so hope you'll enjoy it girll !! ᥫ᭡

DRAWINGS ON MY BROKEN ARM

( because maybe you just need some love from your handsome friends. )

warning : none just a broken arm, a cast and fluff

note : I really struggled a lot to find some good cast pictures, these ones are a bit awful lmaoo sorry

word count : 1.3k

It was not planned. This was absolutely not what was planned.

As you get out of the car with difficulty, greeting pleasantly the driver who kindly accompanied you to the Suzuka circuit, you try as best you can not to move your arm too much. If you make unnecessary efforts you will tire yourself out for nothing.

You absolutely did not choose to break your arm. It was due to a mistake, a very big mistake indeed. While you were testing your car during free practice, during a session where the falling rain flooded the track with water, your tires did not grip effectively and you found yourself thrown against the wall, in a fairly serious crash. surprising.

The teams immediately helped you, and while everyone was asking you if you were okay after this crash, that's when you realized a big problem: yes, you were okay, but not your arm. . And after a short stay in the hospital, you now find yourself - or rather your arm - stuck in an amazing cast.

You obviously cannot participate in the next F1 Academy races. But you can, however, do something else that is much more energetic and beneficial for you in the state you are in: attend the F1 race which is currently taking place in Japan.

After all, being locked up for almost a week in your apartment was totally boring and you really need a little fresh air, and above all the passion for this sport to stimulate. Being a very close friend of certain drivers, you did not hesitate for a single second to accept your team's proposal when they offered to accompany you to the Suzuka GP.

Now there you are in the paddock, trying to slip through the others to get to the Mercedes garage. There where you find Georges, who smiles with all his teeth at the sight of you.

“Hello you” He walks over to you and starts to wrap his arms around you in order to give you a hug, but a reflex immediately makes him step back. “Oh sorry, I forgot you have a... little problem” He struggles to finish his sentence, grimacing at the sight of your wrapped arm in a cast.

You giggle before patting his shoulder. "Are you better since your crash? I saw that a few days ago and I was really scared for you." His eyes scan you, he is worried about you. You smile softly at him to reassure him. "Don't worry. I may have a broken arm but that won't stop me from supporting you in this race."

“Oh, Y/n!” Lewis' voice calls out to you, and you turn to face him, Charles next to him. They both smile at you, taking care not to touch your arm so as not to hurt you further. "I'm so sorry about your crash. You must definitely be disappointed." Lewis affectionately caresses your shoulder, a show of affection and support.

"At least you're alive, that's the main thing. It's good to see you here, the other guys miss you you know." Charles explains the situation, telling you how worried and scared the pilots were following your accident. You also received several messages from them on instagram, in which they supported you and showered you with kind words.

“Y/NNN!!” Daniel screams your name from afar, a big smile on his face as he almost throws himself at you. “Hey watch out for his arm.” Lewis alerts Daniel so he doesn't hurt you, but he doesn't seem to hear anything and comes to take you in his arms. “Daniel, I’ll go back to the hospital if you continue.” He finally pulls away, carefully observing your cast.

“Maybe I should call the others, they’ll be happy to see you.” Charles volunteers to bring the other drivers back, while you chat with your friends. They are all very respectful and very attentive, they are sincerely empathetic towards you.

In the distance, you finally see the rest of the boys arriving.

“Here’s my girl.” Lando comes to wrap his arm around your shoulders, a smirk present on his lips. You push him away, grimacing to tease him, and he holds his heart as if you had just broken it into a thousand pieces. "I know I shouldn't have sent you that 'get well soon' with a red heart on Instagram, hypocrite." He pretends to roll his eyes but his smile betrays him.

"Indeed, you shouldn't have. Your teammate was the first to message me and that's why he's my favorite boy today." Oscar tssk while crossing his arms, however amused by the situation. Max, Carlos and Alex are discreetly added to the group that has just formed around you.

“Even with a broken arm, you can do a lot of things you know.” Max told you in a confident manner. “Like Lance last year.” Carlos chuckled at Lando, both nodding at the same time because they thought the same thing. You can't help but feel alive again.

It's true that the last few days were difficult. Alone, injured and locked in your apartment, you no longer had much of a taste for life. You kept asking yourself questions about your future, about the rest of the races of the year. You were also worried. But you knew that coming here, being surrounded by your closest friends again, laughing and talking with them, was all you needed. You can only be grateful to them.

“I have an idea guys!” Alex then exclaims, drawing attention to himself. “Since Y/n is injured, and her cast is… white and bland, we should draw to give her courage.” He said while pointing at your cast. The other drivers nod, agreeing with the Williams driver's idea.

“I will have the honor of drawing first!” Then begins George, who is already ready to fight to have his drawing on your cast. "She wants a drawing of her favorite driver which is me. Too bad for you, George." Lando, and his sassy attitude, is ahead of the Mercedes driver. “I bet I draw better than all of you so let me do it.” Carlos steps forward to assert himself.

They seem to be on the verge of fighting over who will have the honor of drawing best, or who will draw first. You laugh while calming the situation. "Look, you're all going to be able to draw. We just need some markers." You remark, as you wave to your team in the distance to help you.

It doesn't take long before they arrive with a small pencil case filled with different colored markers. You then sit on a chair in a corner of the garage, the nine drivers around you. Oscar is the first to draw on your cast, while the others are still fighting over who will go second.

In the end, after a good session of laughter and slightly failed drawings, the result is there. Your plaster is decorated with designs, each one as extravagant as the last, but that doesn't matter, because their intention comes from the heart. This sincere gesture will certainly give you courage for the rest of your adventure, you are sure of it.

And as they all give you one last smile, one last hug, they leave to prepare for the approaching race. You end up joining your team further in the VIP stands, ready for the start of the race. “What a beautiful cast” Your engineer nods at the magnificent designs on your arm, and you smile. “Beautiful may not be the word, but it’s very precious to me for sure.”

And as you share a laugh, the red lights go out, as the din of cars echoes throughout the circuit. For a moment, everything seems wonderful. It's crazy how a simple little attention like drawings can brighten up your day a little more. And can also brighten up the day of others, like those of your fans for example...

yourusername just posted !

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and others...

yourusername: maybe no more arm but at least I have my handsome boyys ❤️

view comments

danielricciardo: if anyone wonders who drew the beautiful star, it’s me ✌️😁

⤷ landonorris: you wrote on her arm instead of her cast you dickhead

⤷ danielricciardo: I was feeling different 😜

user: Alex just writing his name makes absolutely sense

user: no cuz they're literally the SWEETEST ahww

⤷ yourusername: only oscar cuz he's the one who drew the best

⤷ danielricciardo: but you said it was me earlier

⤷ yourusername: i lied plus you literally drew on my SKIN instead of my cast 😠

landonorris: my girl not giving any credits to my amazing beautiful drawing 💔

⤷ yourusername: yeah cuz you have no talent, keep it up it's awful mate 🔥🔥

⤷ landonorris: hypocrite I hate you

charles_leclerc: take care of yourself y/n ❤️

georgerussell63: I slayed, my drawing is lit

⤷ yourusername: no 🙄🥱

user: i need friends as precious as them, love their friendship !!

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 grid x reader #f1 x you #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #charles leclerc x reader #carlos sainz x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #george russel x reader #daniel riccardo x reader #max verstappen x reader #alex albon x reader

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strawberrysturniolo · 4 months

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fic reqqq

can you pretty pretty please write a fluffy kind of sleep aid fic w chris where yall cuddle in bed tgth and u start snoozing and he tucks u in and everything🫶 np if not your writing is actually so bomb like everytime i see a new post from u i start foaming @ the mouth like a rabid dog and gnawing on my enclosure 😭

sleepy // bf!chris

soft chris

summary: you spend the day filming with your boyfriend and his brothers and can't wait to go home and snuggle in bed with him.

The entirety of my day has been spent following my boyfriend, Chris, and his brothers around while they film.

We started our day by getting lunch at a local diner, did some shopping afterwards at a flea market, then finished the night off with a few rounds at Top Golf.

“Good job, babe!” I cheer my boyfriend on as he makes a perfect swing.

He turns around grinning before handing his club to his brother, Matt. “That was pretty good, right?!” He sits down next to me and tosses his arm around my shoulder. I tilt my head to the left so it lays perfectly on him, and he pulls me closer, kissing the top of my head. When his other brother, Nick, leaves the table to film Matt’s turn, Chris leans into me, whispering, “I really appreciate you coming out with us today.”

My exhaustion is evident. I thoroughly enjoy spending time with them on days where they are filming, and while I’m usually hidden somewhere off-camera to maintain privacy, it’s still fun to watch my boyfriend do something he loves, and interesting to see him at work. I have to say, walking around all day so they can get content in, and now sitting down watching them golf only reminds me of how tired I am.

“Sleepy, baby?” he asks, nudging me lightly when he sees my eyes falling shut.

“Mhm,” I hum into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s been a long day.”

He uses his left hand to carefully push my hair out of my face, using his other hand to pull me closer to him, falling asleep right at the table.

“Alright Chris,” Nick calls out. “It’s your turn, come on.”

I can feel Chris’ head turn a few times, looking between me and his brothers. “Can you go for me? I don’t really want to get up.”

I struggle to push myself up because of how tired I am, but I manage. “No, go play. We’re almost done anyway. I just need to stick it out until we get home and I’ll sleep well tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod, not wanting to kill the mood for them.

He delicately kisses my forehead before tossing his arms around his brothers, his energy back to 100% when the camera is on him.

One thing about Chris is, no matter how private he wants our relationship to be, he will always find a way to show some sort of PDA when we’re around people. Whether it’s holding my hand, putting an arm around me, having me wear his clothes. He may not fully makeout with me in a public setting, but he’ll still kiss my forehead and hold me in his arms so everyone can see how much he loves me without losing an element of our intimacy.

The boys finish up their game, and when we head back to Matt’s car, he suggests we go to get a late breakfast tonight. I of course am mid-yawn when this comes up.

“Why don’t we head home?” Chris counters. “We already have a lot of footage from today, and if we need more we still have tomorrow.”

Matt groans, but when Nick sees me half-asleep in the backseat next to him, he sides with Chris. “He’s right. Let me work through this footage tonight and see if we need to go back out tomorrow before we end up with an hour long vlog that will take me an extra day to edit.”

I end up passing out asleep on the drive back despite it only being 15 minutes. I’m lightly shaken awake and greeted by my boyfriend’s hushed whisper.

“Baby, let’s get you inside okay? We’re home and you can sleep in bed.” He unbuckles my seatbelt and carefully leads me out of the car and inside the house, guiding me downstairs with his arm around me. “Go change into your pajamas.”

I pull out a Fresh Love set from his closet and toss my clothes from today into the hamper while Chris is in the bathroom. He comes out with makeup wipes and pulls one from the package.

“I can do that,” I say quietly.

“No, I want to.” He flattens out the makeup wipe and gently rubs my face with it, checking it every few seconds to make sure the product is coming off on it. “You’ve had a long day and it’s partly my fault. Let me do this and then you can brush your teeth and wash your face.”

Another minute passes before Chris discards the now used makeup wipe into the trash. I then head into the bathroom and wash off any remaining makeup and brush my teeth, climbing into bed once I’m done.

Chris follows me through all those steps, laying in bed next to me and smirking at my choice of pajamas. “I love when you wear these.” I have no energy left in me to speak. I simply nod and hope he can read my mind. His fingers trace my face as I doze off, slowly going in and out of my slumber. His arms wrap around me and pull me into him, and my face nuzzles into his chest. He uses one hand to push the covers into our bodies, tucking us in and keeping us warm while the ceiling fan balances the temperature out.

He places one more kiss on my head as he rubs his hands over my back.

“I love you so much,” he whispers into my hair.

I mumble a muffled, “I love you,” back to him before falling asleep for the night, the last thing I remember being him holding me tight and feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader

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sorrelchestnut · 8 months

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I've seen a fair number of posts both here and on reddit that question why Tav (or the Dark Urge) would end up as a group leader for any other reason that "game mechanics say so." There's the requisite "okay, well if you play a high charisma character I guess it makes sense," or on the other end of the spectrum, "if you're playing Durge and murder someone right off the bat everyone would be too scared to tell you no." And I get where people are going with this! I really do. But it also fundamentally misunderstands a facet of human nature, which is that the vast majority of people do not actually want to be in charge, because that means being held responsible for the outcome. Accordingly, most people will dither when a group consensus is needed: have none of you ever tried to get a group of friends to agree where to go for dinner? Yeah, it's like that, but waaaay worse.

A lot of times "leadership" is just the willingness to say, "fuck it, y'all do what you want, but I'm doing this." I see it all the time in a corporate environment, where people will go back and forth on group meetings without anyone making a decision until finally one brave soul goes "in my opinion the clear answer is x" and then everyone gratefully goes along with it. Because now it's not their responsibility when something goes wrong! They're just following along with someone else's suggestion, and maybe it works or maybe it doesn't, but at the end of the day they don't have to worry about the consequences unless they're personally affected. In which case they might step up and argue back, and then they're stuck being a leader, too. Welcome to adulthood!

Lae'zel is the only one who ever even tries to exert some kind of control, when she tells you to follow her lead on the ship, or calls you her subordinate in the Grove. But, crucially, she doesn't ever make any serious attempt to take control: you can just tell her, "lol, no," and she sort of confusedly gives way, because she doesn't know how to handle this scenario. In her world there are commanders and subordinates, and everyone knows where they stand and falls in line. She's never actually had to take control of a situation and so at the first sign of resistance she falls back on the dynamic that's familiar to her, which is executing the commands of someone older and more experienced. She goes through a lot of growth over the game, to the point that she can take over as a resistance leader in her own right by the end, but at the beginning she's a wet-behind-her-ears private with some decent combat chops and it shows.

Otherwise, your party consists of:

Shadowheart, who's trained in infiltration and assassination and does NOT want a lot of attention brought to her or her mission for a variety of reasons;

Astarion, who has literally been a slave for two centuries and canonically takes a while to realize that he can exert an opinion beyond complaining about it;

Gale, whose only friend is his cat and couldn't project-manage his way out of a wet paper bag;

Wyll, who was probably trained for command at one point but has been doing the lone-hero thing for a decade and has a very large secret that he's trying to conceal; and,

Karlach, who's only ever been a bodyguard and a soldier and is genuinely just happy to be here.

Honestly, it would be more a surprise if Tav/Durge didn't end up as their unofficial leader, given the general power dynamics at play. The first time Tav/Durge says something like, "fuck it, we need to do something instead of stand around arguing about it, let's go check out those ruins over there," it's a done deal. They're The Captain Now! As long as they don't make decisions that fundamentally oppose something dear and important to the other group members, they're not even going to get any argument. Because at the end of the day, not one of these walking disasters has enough trust in themselves and their decision-making skills to feel any kind of certainty that they can choose the right path forward. If someone else is going to take that decision out of their hands? They're going to follow, no questions asked, right up until the moment they can't.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #meta #some of you people have never suffered through group projects and it shows

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dotster001 · 9 months

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What kind of parents are they?

Requested by @stygianoir

A/N: as per usual with these long ones, staff and non NRC will be a separate post that I someday make

CW:raising kids, but gn. No talk of whether birthed or adopted

3k follower masterlist

Riddle Rosehearts

1 kid

Riddle is a learn as you go kind of parent. Breaking the chain is hard. It takes generations. He knows that, so was always hesitant to ever raise kids. But with you he thinks he can speed up the process. He is a little strict, you can't win every battle, but he's much more understanding. And that's the difference between him and his mother. If he makes a mistake, or upsets your child, he takes the time to understand and grow from it.

Trey Clover

3-8 kids

He's a jovial father. He's calm but everyone can see he's just so happy to have this life. He's the kind who will quietly sit with the kids to help them with homework, boop their noses with chocolate frosting, tell the worst dad jokes ever that make them laugh so hard they pee, and tucks them in snuggly so "the monsters can't reach them". A soft man, who when he passes, the kids will always remember dad as someone who had a smile for everyone.

Cater Diamond

0-2 kids

Honestly, Cay Cay is one of the ones who if you wanted to have kids, you'd have to try hard to convince him. But for the sake of these HC's, we'll ignore the 0. In all honestly, he starts out incredibly scared and tense. He's worry he'll break the kids. But he slowly gets over it, and becomes the cool dad. The dilf at pta meetings His holiday cards are always the best, he sets up a haunted house for the neighborhood during Halloween, puts on a light show during the winter, dresses the kids in modern fashion…a lot of parents are so jealous. They wouldn't be so jealous if they knew the literal blood sweat and tears he puts into it all though. You need to tell him to calm down from time to time.

Ace Trappolla

2-5 kids

Hybrid of cool dad, and concerning dad. He'll let the kids do pretty much whatever they want, as long as they don't disrespect you. Sure you and your friends can go snowboarding, but your room better be fucking spotless, or you'll be praying to the seven for your soul. Yeah you're friends can- what the fuck do you just say about Y/N? No more friends. You're grounded. You'll have to try your darndest to get him to watch his language. Spoiler alert, he never will.

Deuce Spade

3 kids

Deuce is the kind of dad where, when people asks if he wants to raise a boy or a girl, he says boy. Not because he doesn't want a girl, he's just scared he'll fuck her up on accident with some of his behavioral tendencies. But in the end…he's a girl dad. He raises three girls, whether by birth or adoption, that's just how his luck turns out. And he's the best goddamn girl dad ever. By kid three, he only wants girls, cause how the fuck do you boy dad? Even as the girls get older, he isn't scared of some of the things that come with women. He always carries pads and pain killers. Anytime they need advice on relationships, and societal problems, they know they can go to dad.

Leona Kingscholar

1 kid

The one is a struggle for him. He doesn't want to have a second born who will go through what he did. So only one kid. That's it. He…to his surprise…turns out to be exactly the way Mufasa raises Simba. Stern when necessary, but totally down to rough house and play. He never even thought he had the energy for a kid…turns out he does. He loves his little rat more than life itself, and will do anything to prep him for life so that he can have the things Leona never did.

Ruggie Bucchi

5-8 kids

Teaches his kids early on to be light fingered. Imagine a bunch of hooligans running through the street, and when they're gone, you realize you're wallet is gone too. That's your kids. But only when you're not looking. He's raised them to understand not to snitch on dad. 😒 Otherwise no one can have fun. Other than that, he's a really soft dad. Playing with the kids, good for hugs, cooking meals that get them all their nutrients, but also provide comfort. The moment he can afford it, Ruggie is becoming your perfect little househusband.

Jack Howl

5 kids

He's the kind of dad that outsiders worry is a little cold and distant. But that's not the case. They just don't know how to read him. He has his own language that his kids perfectly understand. Left eyebrow quirked=what do you think you're doing? Right side of mouth quirked up=I'm so proud of you. Left side quirked down=that's not funny. Etc etc. The kids can always count in dad for snuggles if they are sad or have a bad dream. Even if he doesn't always remember to verbalize it, they always know they are loved.

Azul Ashengrotto

He's the one who has every step of his parenting and finances planned, to flawless perfection. And then immediately panics when he realizes you can't plan for everything, children are unpredictable. The first kid that breaks a bone, he's just wanting to go back to his octopus pot. Not to mention if your kids are birthed, he's not prepared for half octomer, half human, kids. He's unprepared, and very scared, but he's a loving dad…even if he seems too tense sometimes.

Jade Leech

1-3

He's the Gomez Adams, raising little Wednesdays. Female and male Wednesdays, but Wednesdays nonetheless. So excited, big smile, happy to be alive with you, and with your kids! Meanwhile the kids are all dark and brooding. It always looks so professional when you all walk up in business attire, Jade smiling, as the kids, also in business attire, have the darkest expressions on their faces.

Floyd Leech

2-15

Rough housing dad. He raises a bunch of chaotic rascals. They're all sweet kids, but damn some of them have so much energy it scares the neighbor parents. Then they'll look over and see eel merman wrestling three of them and laughing like a mad man. He'll bandage them up, and give them kisses on their boo boos, but he won't calm down. Not that he needs to, they don't want him to calm down. Dad's fun!

Kalim al Asim

8-whenever you say to stop 😁

Party dad! He's a, "we rather you tried it at home than with strangers" kinda guy. By the time he is parenting, he's a little better at self control though, so he's willing to be that buffer, and help kid's stop before their limits. Also, he's the kind that pouts if his kids don't say, "I love you" when he drops them somewhere.

Jamil Viper

1-2

Strict dad. Old habits die hard. Or don't at all. You'll have to be self aware if he's too hard on the kids. The thing is, he has only had his freedom for so long, and his kids. The reason he's like this is because he's scared. His kids have a freedom that previous generations of Vipers never had. He doesn't want them to throw it away. He's terrified one misstep and they'll lose everything. You'll have to calm him down sometimes. But the kids, especially the older they get, will understand that this is how dad protects them. He also gives out expensive gifts if he thinks he's taken things a step too far… the kids love that.

Vil Schoenheit

There's no way this man doesn't raise a high achieving, future ex gifted child. So at first, he'll beam with pride as his child produces the best results, grades, magic, appearances, etc. It'll be a bit of a learning curve when the crash hits, and won't understand right away. But once he does, he becomes the biggest advocate for mental health services,and getting kids the care and enrichment they need. He does speeches, runs rallies, becomes the face of any movement that has to do with his kid.

Rook Hunt

Teaches his kids to hunt like wild animals. He's the kind of dad that says, "I'm gonna take the kids out!" And later you find them in the middle of the woods, hiding in the bushes, waiting to jump you in a tickle pile that is inescapable. He's raising wild animals. And yet…somehow…the kids seem normal as they age? At least that's what you see…

Epel Felmier

5-7

Another one who raises hooligans. You have a bunch of freckled, sunburned kids, all who live outdoors and climb trees. But the kids are never alone when they are hooligans. Dad is always in the tree with them.

Idia Shroud

Scared shitless. He's a gentle parent, but, God, is he terrified. Everyone knows it. Anytime the kids get sick, or hurt, or sad, he's always worried it's cause he fucked up in some way. But once he calms down, he's always good at calming them down. He's gentle and understanding…once he gets out of his own head.

Malleus Draconia

1-15

He has to raise the future heir. So on the one hand, he has to be strict. But he makes it clear early on, that there's separation from work and home. Aka, sometimes he is father, king of darkness, and sometimes he is dad, server of applesauce. The kids are smart enough to know the difference, and figure out which Malleus they are talking to.

Lilia Vanrouge

When you and Lilia discuss raising a family together, you aren't expecting Silver to come to you with stories of how he was left in the middle of the woods for training…and if you don't say anything, you're destined to be raising kids with Lilia Vanrouge, delightful scamp, and general to Malleus Draconia's armies. If you have that conversation, you'll be raising kids with Lilia Vanerouge, delightful scamp, and nothing else. Usually. Make sure if he's giggling, and you can't find the kids anywhere, you know exactly where they are.

Silver

1-2

Quiet dad. A lot like Trey. He's soft and gentle, and the kids can count on him for snuggles, whether he's awake or not. A man of few words, but perfect for a lullaby, deep life advice, and snuggles.

Sebek Zigvolt

3-6

Soccer dad. Angrily yelling at his kids when they are subpar, and angrily yelling at other kids when they come for his kids. Fiercely loyal to the end, and to a fault, he will protect his family at all costs, even if he does grump and groan about it the whole time.

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