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fawnindawn · 1 month

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the line between thieves and healers (Luke Castellan x apollo fem! reader)

Summary: Luke Castellan returns from his quest as a ghost of his old self with a bleeding scar to prove it. With his golden boy exterior all but shattered, no one in camp has tried to approach him since his return. This changes when you stumble upon the son of Hermes when he decides to go back to his old roots, stealing from your infirmary at midnight.

pairing: luke castellan x apollo fem! reader

Content: forced proximity, tending to wounds, luke develops a little crush, set after Luke's failed quest in the Garden of Hesperides, mentions of injuries and scars, Luke tries and fails at being mean, hurt-comfort, fluff

masterlist for this series (everything in between) every part in this series can be read as a stand alone!

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"Come on." One of the campers prodded despite your obvious discomfort. "I'm sure you've squeezed something out of Castellan by now. He's been silent about what happened during his quest for days."

"I told you, I know nothing, and even if I did, patient confidentiality exists." You repeated for the ninth time in a week. Ever since people found out Luke had come personally to you to tend to his wounds, they had lost all decency over the hope of digging for some good gossip. If you were asked one more time, you were sure you would tell them to stick their noses right back up their asses and leave.

Even after his return, Luke Castellan remained a constant in word of mouth around camp over his sudden change in persona. His usual grin and charm was replaced with a dark gloom unfitting for the son of Hermes, who used to light up any room he entered. The scar that permanently rests on his face didn't make it easier for him to avoid watching eyes either. After refusing to play in Capture the Flag for the first time in history, whatever patience the camp was trying to uphold dissipated into chaos.

Sure, you could see why it was a big deal. If you're a person with a sane enough mind (of course, not guaranteed in the premises of Camp Half-Blood), you’d understand why the fellow camp counsellor of the Hermes Cabin was popular. With his constant presence around camp as the cool, attractive camp counsellor helping other campers with that small quirk up his lips, or through word of mouth of how talented and kind he was, it wasn't a huge surprise that he attracted as much attention as he did.

Once the ninth camper in a row finally gave up and left with a huff, your eyes lingered over the bed where you first tended to Luke.

It was the dead of night when you were woken by the sound of creaking wooden floorboards and the cold chill of the wind that had snuck into the infirmary. Somehow, you had overslept again on your shift and no one had bothered to wake you up or even check for your missing presence.

Groaning at the awkward shift of your bones from your horrible sleeping posture on the desk, you were halfway through your stretch to crack your stiff neck when you heard the sound of footsteps. Freezing in place, you paused to listen in once more only to heard the soft thud once again. Peering to the left side of the infirmary, your heart stopped.

"Hey, listen." You spoke with that awkward crack in your voice whenever you go too long without speaking, causing the large shadow to flinch, pausing in its pursuit through your medicine cabinet. "I may not seem like it, but I am the best in combat in my cabin so whoever you are, step away from the cabinet and put your hands up."

Gee, that's convincing, you sound like an unnamed extra from the first few minutes of a horror movie before they end up six feet under. Cursing yourself internally, you watched the shadow raise to full height from its bent position. Gulping at the height that seemed to be at least six feet, you wonder if you should have just left this cabinet thief be and go to sleep for the night.

Why would anyone even want to ransack an infirmary at midnight?

You quickly grabbed for your oil lamp situated beside you, still flickering with the smallest of flames and you stood from your chair, causing it to creak back and scratch at the wooden floors as you made your way around the table to approach the thief.

The light was dim, but you spotted the familiar outline of a broad back and curls before he even fully turned.

"Castellan?" You gasped in half-asleep shock, disbelief obvious in your tone as you moved the oil lamp nearer to prove your eyesight wasn't playing tricks on you.

He didn't respond verbally to the call of his name, but when he turned around, his eyes narrowed on you as if you were the intruder. You barely had the chance to form words, questions- before you spotted the dripping crimson liquid near his eye.

"Oh gods." You muttered, grabbing at his arm and tugging him towards the nearest bed. "Why didn't you wake me up? It's not like you could wrap this up yourself."

With some struggle, he finally gave in, plopping down the edge of the bed and watched you scour through the medicine cabinet for bandages and other supplies, muted and stiff.

"I seriously don't understand why you didn't wake me up. Would you rather bleed to death or get an infection?" You scolded, your inner concern bleeding through your usual sense of politeness for injured visitors.

"Maybe." You thought you heard him mumble, but when you turned to look at him, he was facing the window right beside the bed and staring out into the shadows of the forest, the glow of the moonlight illuminating his features like a haunted painting, blood dripping down his cheekbones like fallen tears. You waited longer for an elaboration but there was none. You assumed you heard wrong, or at least you hoped you did.

You got off your knees, splaying out the supplies on the surface of the bed beside him, and pulled up a stool for you to sit at. He was still facing away from you, and your irritation combined with your lack of sleep made you more reckless than you'd usually be with an injured patient.

You gripped at his chin, forcing him to look at you, watching with satisfaction as his eyes widened at the sudden force. He looked more alive when he was caught off guard, his face devoid of the usual disinterest and distance it had ever since he arrived back from his quest.

"How do you expect me to treat you if you keep looking away from me, Castellan?" You challenged, gazing back into his eyes with fire you hoped was fierce enough to break down the coldness in his gaze.

After seconds of nothing but two stubbornheads trying to win a useless battle of eye contact, he sighed. "..Fine."

You were more gentle after that, letting go of his chin and reaching for the cloth. Your hands remained delicate on his skin that seemed to have pulled at the edge of the scar, where it was now bleeding again through its previous stitches. You mumbled a warning before dapping a wet handkerchief on top of the wound to soak in the blood, and he unintentionally grabbed at your thigh as he tried not to hiss out in pain.

You froze at the sudden tight grip, moving the cloth away from his skin and he was quick to retract his hand, positioning it awkwardly on top of the bedsheets instead.

"It's okay if you grab me." You reassured. "It'd be easier for me to gauge if you need me to stop when it gets too painful. You could give me a squeeze if you need a breather?"

You waited, watching his thoughts flicker through his narrowed eyes before slowly, his hand went to rest around your thigh again.

Ignoring the warmth of his palm on your skin, you cleared your throat. "Ready?"

He nodded stiffly, and you went back to work. After the cut had stopped bleeding, you were quick to grab the gauze and bandages. Tenderly, you placed the gauze above his wound, then wrapped the bandages around his face, from the top of his head to below his chin. This was the closest you had ever been to him, and you could feel and hear both his and your breathing in the quiet silence of the infirmary, with no living signs of life aside from the two of you on the infirmary bed and the dim orange hue of the oil lamp.

You could feel his intense gaze on you from his one good eye, while you concentrated on tying a secure knot so it wouldn't fall loose. The moment felt oddly intimate, knowing how sensitive his temper had been ever since he arrived back at camp, scarred in ways not even ambrosia could heal fully.

His hand resting around your thigh felt hot, and you tried to ignore how it your mind subconsciously kept track of every time his thumb would brush over the material of your pants.

"Next time.." You hinted, hopefully not crossing his boundaries. "If this happens again, you come straight here, got it? I don't care if I'm sleeping or attending someone else. You are not allowed to take care of a wound like this yourself, especially since I remember how reckless you can be."

Luke Castellan may be an excellent swordsman, but his cockiness was one weakness that he failed to keep controlled, and on days where it won over, he would always end up at the infirmary with a bashful smile as he tried to explain to you on how he ended up with a dislocated shoulder. That felt like eons ago, when that cheeky smile would always be present on his face, his signature move in getting away with any chaos he caused.

Staring at him now, you caught sight of that smile for such a split second you could've sworn you mistook it.

You couldn't stop the teasing smile that slipped past your stern attitude. "Was that a smile I saw, Castellan?"

He cleared his throat, his face falling back into practiced nonchalance, wearing a frown too forced to be real. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I may be sleep-deprived because a certain someone decided midnight was the best time to ransack an infirmary, but I'm not blind. For making me work overtime, I at least deserve to know what you found so amusing."

He made a face, and you were sure if his face wasn't tightly bandaged, he would roll his eyes in exasperation. "I wasn't amused. Just don't remember you being this.. unhospitable with someone that's injured. And I am not reckless."

You scoffed, causing him to look over at you. "I'd say trying to steal from an infirmary is pretty reckless. I thought Hermes kids were supposed to be good in stealing?"

You realised all too late that you may have touched on a sensitive topic, with the mention of his father, but he didn't seem to notice over the frank insult of being called a bad thief.

"I am excellent in stealing." He bit back so quickly, you choked on a snort. Hermes kids and their egos. "I was just going easy on you because you were knocked out at your desk. Oh, and you snore, you know that?"

"I do not."

"Do too."

"You're a liar and a thief. Don't get why your reputation is as marvelled upon as it is, Castellan. You don't live up to the hype at all."

"Oh, and what about you, Miss Sunshine?" He retorted. "Aren't you suppose to be the famous sweetheart who sings all injuries away with a smile on your face?"

"Don't call me that ever again." You must have looked extremely repulsed because he let out a laugh so genuine, it wiped any disgust off your face at the sound of pure heaven flooding into your ears. God, you forgot he could laugh like that.

"Yeah, I suppose it doesn't suit you, does it?" He murmured. "Maybe Apollo kids are only nice when others are around to see it."

"You've only come back meaner, Castellan." You scoffed. "I almost regret helping you. Would much rather see you stumble over trying to deal with this yourself if I knew you'd be so ungrateful."

"Sounds righteous of you." He nodded with a sarcastic hum. "Leaving me to bleed out to death while you watch. I understand why the camp has such high stakes when it comes to survival now. Never knew there was a sadist hiding in you, sunshine."

"I told you not to call me that." You reminded. "And I'm doing the best I can to keep everyone here alive so don't come to my infirmary talking about stakes when I've just saved your ass from blood loss."

Your response triggered something in him and he grew silent, his gaze locked on you as if analyzing you. That was when you're really reminded of how awful you must've looked. With your bed hair, sunken-in dark circles and sunken shoulders from the lack of sleep, you did not exactly feel the most confident. You didn't know what happened to make the casual atmosphere disappear as fast as it did, but you were anxious that somehow, you had shut him up again and you'd never get the chance to see him that way again, with his playful banter and light-heartedness of a teenage boy that he should have.

"You shouldn't have to." He muttered, almost to himself rather than to you. A seriousness unlike the previous few quips he'd thrown at you took ahold of him, and you had a feeling this was a slither of who he had really become through his rapid transformation, hidden under the jokes and sarcasm.

"What?"

"You shouldn't have to." He repeated a little louder, trying to get you to see his point. A point he'd been trying to tell Chiron, his friends even- ever since he came back here, only to be meet with pitying looks like he was a madman who spoke nonsense to try and make sense of his failure. "Lives should not be your responsibility. You're younger than me, and yet, you're dealing with kids that are near death's door every time they make it past that barrier. I barely made it back here. Some don't even.."

Luke tried to breathe, remembering how he got to camp in the first place. The unnecessary sacrifice that had to be made, the tree that now rests at the barrier of camp, the sound of thunder and pouring rain beating at his face.

"Now, I'm stuck with this disgusting scar of my face for the rest of my life, a stupid reminder every single time I look at myself, that I failed my only chance at proving I was something more than just wasted potential. Now I've gone and screwed it up for everyone because I couldn't do some easy quest someone else already accomplished-" He winced suddenly, grabbing onto the bandaged part of his face that seemed to grow more irritated and inflamed as he spoke.

You were quick to reach for his hand, knowing his aggression may harm the wound more. "It is not disgusting." You answered for him, and slowly, your hand rested over his, removing it from his face so he wouldn't accidentally cause the wound to start bleeding again. "You are not a failure, Luke."

"Don't take pity on me by saying words you don't mean." He muttered. "Everyone expected me to succeed, I could feel it in their gaze when they looked at me. I was supposed to be the best, and just because everyone told me that, I believed it. Now, I'm nothing but a disappointment to everyone."

He didn't know why he was saying all this to you. Maybe because you were the only person to treat him normally in the past two weeks, to really listen instead of trying to get him to move on, and maybe because his heart felt like it was growing too heavy to carry on his own. The insecurity and vulnerability made him feel sick, and he found himself trying to tear his hands away from you out of the need to run, which only made him feel more disgusted with himself. Like a coward, his mind taunted.

You remained stubborn, holding onto his cold palms because you know he has had no warmth, no real genuine words spoken to him since he returned. No one to see him when it was clear he was suffering, that he needed all the time in the world and more to heal, and that he deserved more than self-loathing and an absent father who sentenced him to this fate.

"I am not pitying you." You insisted, and you leaned closer so he couldn't look away from you. "Your scar does not make you ugly or less valuable to anyone. It is not pity, it is a fact. You are a person who has survived a fate so close to death, and any feat to survive death is strength. You are strong, and you made it back here alive with a scar to prove it. It is not a sign of weakness."

"Anyone who tells you different has no right or say in your situation because they did not go through what you did." You said with a stern voice, your anger not towards him, but for him. "Not your father, not anyone."

Luke finally looked at you, like looked. His eyes were scanning all over your face as if not quite believing you were real, but the fire in your eyes was so magnetic, he couldn't look away. The pinch between your brows, the addictive warmth of your hands in his, and the close distance between the two of you, and yet, it didn't make his skin itch with the need to pull away. To hide in his corner and wallow over the heavy weight of knowing his world had ended in the Garden of the Hesperides. Or had it?

Your eyes looked right through him, and for once, he felt like there was someone there for him.

"I suppose I can see where your reputation comes from now, sunshine." He responded weakly, and his heart gave a thump when you smiled back at him.

"Healing's what I understand best." You shrugged casually, as if you didn't just silence his thoughts for a moment of peace, or that you have somehow dulled the internal blades that bled with self-hatred and world-consuming anger pointed at himself, and at the injustice of the gods who could not give a damn about their children. “If I can help you even a little, why shouldn’t I?”

He could feel time ticking again in the back of his mind, the night slowly passing into a new one, and he thinks as he holds your gaze, that maybe this world wouldn't be so painful to live in if he had someone to look at him the way you did.

"I don't know how I'm going to go back to normal. Or if I'll ever be normal again." He admitted, softer in his voice now that his mind didn't deem you as a threat.

"Normal can be lots of things." You said with a comforting smile. "It's normal to have a breakdown when you've nearly faced death. Multiple even. It's normal to feel fine one moment then not in the next. Healing isn't linear, and when you come to terms that you have a right to feel upset and a right to exist without being held to any expectations of others or what you think others want from you, it'll feel easier to just allow yourself to exist throughout the day. Not the perfect camp counsellor or a hero with no faults. Just as yourself."

He let your words sink in, his thumbs subconsciously rubbing over your knuckles, feeling the healed scars of your own from what he assumed must be from previous combat training. "I'm not that great as myself. You might find me disappointing."

You quirked your lips at that, and shook your head. "I don't believe in that one bit. You're already great just as you are now."

He raised a brow. "Even after trying to steal from your infirmary and having a mental breakdown past curfew?"

"Well, just be glad I was around because I'm much more understanding than Will would be with four hours of sleep."

"I am glad." He insisted. "That it's you."

"I'm glad it was me too." You reassured. "It is midnight though and there's Capture the Flag tomorrow, meaning someone's going to end up whining and moping in here in about eight hours so why don't you let me close shop and come by tomorrow, Castellan?"

"Luke." He corrected, giving you a smile you're sure must be the one the other campers rave about all the time. The charming one that made your heart stutter, even with half his face bandaged and eyebags resting below his caramel eyes.

"Luke." You tested it on your tongue tentatively, and it only seemed to spark an electricity between the two of you that you were sure he must've felt too. In the dark corner of the infirmary, with nothing but crickets and your hushed voice, you spoke again with a heavy heart when you needed to tell him to leave. "I have to close this place up or someone else might try and steal from the medicine cabinet, not that I thought it was possible before but.."

"Fine." He complied, getting off the bed and rising to his full height, towering over you and blocking the moonlight from your view. "I'll wait outside and walk you back to your cabin. It's the least I could do."

You tried not to seem too elated over the idea that you could spend a little more time with Luke, though you're sure your glowing smile must've shown. "Sure you're not just trying to improve your image around me, thief?"

He smirked, following you out to the front door while you wrestled for the keys in your pocket to lock up for the night. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"What are you smiling about?"

You looked up from your daze to see Luke leaning over the door frame, watching you with a smirk over his face.

"Can't a girl smile just for the sake of it?" You bit back, cheeks flushing at the idea that he could've possibly seen your focus lingering a little too long on the bed he had sat on. "Why'd you drop out of Capture the Flag? You know your cabin's going to lose their streak to Ares at this point."

"Wanted to see someone." He replied with a shrug, pushing off the door frame to walk towards where you sat, leaning over your desk and watching you compile the latest stock of ambrosia into a box. "Plus, Athena and Hermes are joining for today so Annabeth's got it handled."

He shuffled his fingers along the edge of the table, outlining the curve before clearing his throat. "I heard you covering up for me just now, and I wanted to say thank you."

You looked up at him then, and his eyes seemed to convey that he was thanking you for more than just that. He looked like he wanted to say more, but didn’t know how to.

"Eavesdropping on me now?” You teased. “Careful or you might end up becoming obsessed with a poor, overworked healer."

He scoffed exaggeratedly. "You wish. Just take the thank you. Should've known not to show my gratitude to an Apollo kid."

You stuck your tongue out at him before going on about how mind-blowing it can be that some kids really did not have emotional intelligence when it came to basic decency. Listening to you ramble on as you went on to arrange your first aid kits, Luke realised for all the disappointment he has experienced in his life, maybe there was one good thing his father led him to.

a/n: Couldn't resist writing how this duo met because I live and die for banter. inspired by 'my reputation's never been worse so you must like me for me' trope which is what i live and breathe for. His reputation as the perfect golden boy is in shambles, and sunshine couldn't care less.

taglist: @stars4birdie @elysiandumbash @kehlanislefttoe @mqg125 @madzlovez @0revna0 @auroraofthesun1 @idli-dosa @buubsii @kaylasficrecs @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @itsdragonius @moonlightfoxs-cantina

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan x apollo!reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fic #luke castellan x y/n

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junipers-archive · 1 year

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Music Moods

Word Count: 604

Includes: FLUFF, Spencer explaining how he can tell readers mood off what music she's listening to (Prompt from this challenge from @imagining-in-the-margins)

You were on the jet with the rest of the team, reading one of the many novels you packed in your go-bag while listening to the Smiths with your headphones.

Or at least thats what they saw, what you were actually contemplating was giving up on your book and staring out the window for the rest of the flight. Usually you'd use Spencer as your personal pillow but he looked busy so you tried your best not to interrupt him.

In fact, you dutifully turned your head towards him, just to enjoy how he talked, which was always using hand gestures.

He however was talking about you, though you'd never be the wiser with your music blasting so loud everyone could hear it slightly.

It wasn't anything bad of course he was only discussing what he found helped to determine your moods.

It had been Derek that asked initially, "Spence why aren't you sitting with Y/n? Trouble in paradise?"

To which spencer responded, "Actually, I find that by paying attention to what artist y/n listens to I can easily determine in what radius to her she'd like me."

"That can't be real." Emily was suspicious.

Rossi however...was familiar with how relationships went about.

"I believe it may have been...my first wife, she had this thing about how she wore here hair, up meant she was going to be more extroverted and down meant not to talk to her too much...or was it the other way around?"

"Gee I wonder what went wrong there." Derek grinned,

You tried your best to follow who was talking, but it was all reading lips and you were too lazy to reach your phone across the table to pause your music.

Spencer continued to explain and your gaze landed on him, "No, he's right, whether or not we realize it, many of us do things out habit, its our subconcious essentially communicating with the rest of the world, for instance, Y/n will listen to more 80's groups or artists like The Smiths, David Bowie and Queen when she's feeling more introverted and independent. As when we go out together she's more likely to put on more recent artists like Lana Del Rey and Lizzo because she's feeling extroverted."

Even Hotch was invested now, "But how do you know she just doesn't want to hear a specific song, written by one or the other?"

"Well I also like to take into account the beat and message of the songs, one of her favorite songs is 'Losing My Religion' by R.E.M and though the group was founded in the late 80's this specific song is more up-beat and has, like most 80's songs more of an 'all or nothing' message."

JJ spoke up now, "But what if its her favorite song? I mean like you said it is, so how do you know she doesn't just want to hear it, bad or good mood?"

Your eyes followed back to him as He smiled at the challenge, "People will gravitate more to songs that express their emotions, and often will shy away from playing a favorite of theirs as to not ruin the euphoric feeling they get when hearing the song with that of a gloomy memory."

The last question you did hear though, as you finally paused your music and could hear Emily try one last time, raising an eyebrow at what you could only assume was Spencer's consistent rants.

"And when you can't hear her music, how do you determine her mood?"

He looked to you then, catching your gaze and wiggling his fingers like a magician.

"Boyfriend instincts."

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hbdttg · 1 year

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“Hold the elevator!”

The elevator doors are mere inches from closing, but Steve dutifully shoots a hand out to stop them. They slide back open, revealing a flustered-looking man about Steve’s age on the other side.

He’s dressed head to toe in black, decked out in a simple black pullover with a modest V-neck, snug black jeans, and all-black leather Chucks with a messenger bag slung across his chest. The messenger bag is, unsurprisingly, also black, but covered in a collection of tough-looking patches and pins in varying shades of—well, it’s mostly red, dark red, white, and some yellows, but the pops of color still stand out against his otherwise monochrome ensemble.

His dark, curly hair reaches a little past his shoulders and he’s got this frankly outdated fringe that, despite its very 80’s vibe, frames his face perfectly. His eyes are large and expressive, and he’s got this frantic energy about him that reminds Steve of a live wire. He’s nothing like the buttoned-up suits Steve usually shares his elevator rides with each morning, and it’s a refreshing change of pace.

The man gives Steve a thankful look before stepping into the elevator and leaning against the side wall. “Thanks,” he says, a little distractedly. He’s got a pair big of headphones on and Steve realizes he’s in the middle of a phone call when he adds, “No, not you, Gare, I was thanking the guy who held the elevator for me. Yeah, this building’s crazy. There’s a whole-ass sixtieth floor—guess I’m kind of a big deal now.” He lets out a small, self-deprecating chuckle, reaching for the panel beside him.

As the doors close and the elevator starts to slowly ascend, Steve notices the man pressed the button for the floor above his. Both the fifty-second and fifty-third floor buttons are lit in a halo of green.

“You know I didn’t want to leave you guys,” the man continues, a bit more quietly now that he and Steve are sharing the same small space, “but shit, I couldn’t turn down the pay.” He scoffs. “Ugh, listen to me, just another cog in the capitalist machine. Man, if high school me could see me now. High school Eddie used to talk big about forced conformity and rising up against the man, and now here I am—”

Steve tries not to listen to the one-sided conversation going on beside him, but it’s difficult when a moment later, he hears his own name.

“—clocking in for my first day at fuckin’ Harrington Hargrove Hagan. The pretentious bastards can’t even shorten it to an acronym or something. God forbid they have to miss out on the sound of their own names.”

Steve manages to hold in the obnoxious snort that threatens to escape him. He’s starting to think he might like this guy—Eddie, his mind supplies helpfully—but Eddie’s next words have him freezing in place.

“And it’s nepo baby central. Yeah, pretty sure all the H kiddies are hotshot brokers with the company. All the biggest accounts—gee, I wonder why.”

Steve can feel the back of his neck burning hot with a mixture of annoyance and shame as Eddie cracks a caustic joke about silver spoons and trust funds.

“You’re kidding, one of them works at this branch? Damn, I guess I’ll just keep an eye out for the guy who most looks like he’s got a giant stick up his ass.”

This is quickly becoming the longest elevator ride of Steve’s life. He grits his teeth and stares fixedly at the floor display panel above the elevator doors, watching the numbers climb higher and higher. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.

“Listen, I should go, but let’s grab a drink at the Hideout later. Cool, see you then. Bye.”

Forty-one. Forty-two.

Eddie removes his headphones and shoves them into his bag, angling slightly toward Steve. “Sorry about that, man.”

“You’re good,” Steve says shortly, not looking away from the changing numbers. They reach the forty-seventh floor, and all the while, he feels Eddie’s gaze on him.

It’s not like he’s openly staring, but there’s a certain weight to his furtive glances that completely counteracts his attempts at subtlety. It’s the type of gaze Steve’s familiar with, one that he’s been on the receiving end of since his sophomore year of high school when he hit a growth spurt and actually learned how to style his hair. Assessing. Appreciative. Interested.

And in any other situation, Steve would gladly engage. He’d turn on the charm, quirk the corner of his lip up in that way Robin always rolls her eyes at but reluctantly acknowledges as ‘passably effective’, and maybe even make up an excuse to sidle a bit closer.

But he’s not giving this guy his A-game.

Instead, Steve waits in stifling silence until the fifty-second floor is announced and the doors slide open. He steps forward to exit, but at the very last moment stops in the doorway.

He initially wasn’t going to say anything—though, a past version of himself would have definitely spat something biting and bitchy to Eddie about his snark, would have snootily told him to take his little assumptions and shove them where the sun don’t shine—but sooner or later Eddie’s going to realize he and Steve are colleagues, and he’s going to remember shit-talking him in an elevator on his first day of work, and it’s going to be awkward and uncomfortable.

Steve’s just speeding up the timeline, pushing for the sooner rather than the later, when he decides to spin around and fully face Eddie.

“I think you pressed the wrong button,” he says, all sweet and helpful like he’s talking to Dustin’s mom over a sink full of soapy dishes. “Couldn’t help but overhear that you work at Harrington Hargrove Hagan. It’s on the fifty-second floor, not the fifty-third.” Then he takes a small step backward, moving out into the carpeted hallway.

“Oh.” Eddie scrambles for his phone, unlocking it and scrolling quickly until he finds something that has him straightening up and smiling gratefully at Steve. “I guess I remembered it wrong. Thank you.” He pushes away from the wall, takes a step forward to follow Steve out, but then stops dead in his tracks.

Steve gleefully notes the line of Eddie’s gaze, how it lingers at the breast pocket of his shirt, where, clipped to a retractable badge reel, his building keycard hangs. Eddie evidently hadn’t noticed it during the elevator ride up, but he’s certainly fixated on it now.

Perhaps on the abstract yet easily recognizable Harrington Hargrove Hagan logo in the top right corner.

But more likely, based on the positively mortified look growing on Eddie’s face, on the name clearly printed underneath Steve’s photo in bold, black lettering: STEVE HARRINGTON.

Slowly, Eddie drags his eyes back up to Steve’s face. He stares in silence, eyes bugging nearly out of his head, face turning a concerning shade of pink, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and his reaction is extreme enough that a small part of Steve is almost inclined to take pity on the guy and laugh it all off.

Unfortunately for Eddie, a bigger part of Steve thinks Eddie looks kind of cute all red-faced and embarrassed like this. So he glances down at himself thoughtfully before turning his attention back on Eddie. “Wow,” he says with exaggerated astonishment, “now that you mention it, I guess I do look like I’ve got a giant stick up my ass.”

As if on cue, the elevator chimes in warning. The doors begin to close, but Eddie just remains rooted in place with that same wide-eyed, horrified expression.

When it becomes clear he has no intentions of actually exiting the elevator, Steve chuckles and wiggles his fingers in a cheeky little wave. “Welcome to the team,” he says airily, before Eddie’s still-blushing face disappears behind the elevator doors.

/ Now with a Part 2!

#stranger things #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #modern office au #corporate steddie au #eddie's in IT #HHH is a commercial real estate firm #but steve's not a hotshot broker he's literally just a guy who makes copies all day or some shit #i personally just want to see all of eddie's baseless assumptions shattered as he gets to know steve #fic writing #hbd #actually i've never read a corporate steddie fic before so if anyone has any recs i'd love to hear them

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twobluejeans · 10 months

Text

HEARTBREAK ON TOUR!

charles leclerc x famous!reader

summary: in which the lavender haze has been lifted. or in which america’s it couple splits.

part 8: you’re losing me, part 7: revenge dress, series masterlist

faceclaim: madison beer

ally’s radio 📻: PART 8! taylor swift deserves jail time for creating you’re losing me. taylor swift also deserves jail time for not officially releasing it. def recommend listening to it reading the chapter! (might have to stream illegally bc mother is being stingy 🙄.)

INSTAGRAM, july 17 (midnight)

liked by paulwesley, ninadobrev, and 13,333,112 others

yourinstagram and just like that, the final chapter of Midnights, is out now. this is my most personal body of work that i'm putting out into the universe, and i'm so scared yet excited to share her with u. thank u to my team, my producer jackantonoff turned dearest friend of almost 7 years (woah!!!) we spent many noons & midnights on this album and i'm forever in debt n grateful. thank u to all my other friends who i didn't mention, yk who u are. to everyone else, thank u for your persistent patience and support. it does not go unnoticed. from my heart to yours, midnights (till dawn edition), is available on all streaming platforms. i love u. thank u 💗.

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leclerccharl ain’t that the teddy bear charles won for her at the fair forever ago??!

y/nsfeverdreamhigh leclerccharl o em gee yeah..

fernandoalonso_offical Proud of you cariño

barbie 🥹🥹💗💗

landonoriss screaming crying shaking throwing up

danielricciardo gagging choking ascending to god

authur_leclerc Love you always, Proud of you always ❤️

INSTAGRAM STORIES, july 17

zendaya 30m

viewed by alexademie, tomholland2013, and 64,134 others

badgalriri 2h

viewed by harrystyles, bellahadid, and 3,262,128 others

sabrinacarpenter 5h

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TWITTER, july 17

The song’s big question: “Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?”

BY: ALLY PUBLISHED: JULY 17, 2023

Y/n L/n’s lyrical candidness is what has always made her standout as a songwriter. Whether she was writing about young love, relationships, or breakups, her songs never flinched from trying to paint a full picture, even if it was one that was hard to look at.

It’s been a while since the super star has released a breakup song, but it was only a matter of time; since the singer split with Charles Leclerc, fans have already began anticipating the inevitable breakup album. But it turns out they didn’t have to wait long. At Midnight (July 17), L/n released a second deluxe edition of her 2022 album Midnights, which included four new songs, among them the release of “You’re Losing Me,” a song fans have deciphered as ostensibly about her split with Leclerc.

via @yourinstagram on instagram

The nearly 5-minute track is a devastating relationship ender if we’ve ever heard one, as it details the hopeless and tragic dissolution of a relationship. Though L/n doesn’t include any names or details, it’s not hard to see why fans are interpreting it as being about her and Leclerc.

When Entertainment Weekly first broke the news of their split in April, sources for both parties diplomatically described the breakup as amicable, and that “it was not dramatic.” “The relationship had just run its course,” one source told ET. However, that story was debunked as L/n herself, stated Leclerc had an affair with Australian Youtuber Lola Ransdell, in one of her Eras Tour Shows. With the release of “You’re Losing Me,” L/n seems to offer a window into her perspective of how things ended while also releasing one of the most devastating songs she’s ever written.

Its lyrics don’t waste any time getting into the tragic heart of the matter. “You say, ‘I don't understand,’ and I say, ‘I know you don’t’/ We thought a cure would come through in time, now, I fear it won’t/ Remember looking at this room, we loved it ‘cause of the light/ Now I just sit in the dark and wonder if it's time,” she sings in the first verse, painting a portrait of two people who are unaligned and have seemingly grown apart in their relationship.

The pre-chorus lays out the song’s big question: “Do I throw out everything we built or keep it?” But waiting for resolution feels like something L/n doesn’t want to do anymore: “I'm getting tired, even for a phoenix/ Always rising from the ashes/ Mending all her gashes/ You might just have dealt the final blow,” she sings.

The most heart-wrenching part of the song comes in on the chorus, as she warns her other half, “Stop, you're losing me/ Stop, you’re losing me/ Stop, you’re losing me I can't find a pulse/ My heart won't start anymore/ For you/ ‘Cause you're losing me.” The lyrics mirror the song’s production which sounds like a quietly pulsing heartbeat, driving the knife’s blade of the song in even deeper.

Perhaps L/n’s biggest skill on this song is being able to convey all the heartbreak and roiling emotion without actually providing any specifics into the breakup.

“You’re Losing Me” is rife with frank, confessional lyrics, but still keeps many of the exact contours of the split obscure. There are no accusations or fingers pointed at who’s at fault. There are no mic drop moments or explosive gossip; The closest L/n gets to revealing any details is on the second verse, when she seems to suggest that the relationship hadn’t been OK for a while now.

“Every morning, I glared at you with storms in my eyes/ How can you say that you love someone you can't tell is dying?/ I sent you signals and bit my nails down to the quick/ My face was gray, but you wouldn't admit that we were sick,” she sings.

On the bridge, L/n reveals that she “wouldn’t marry me either,” perhaps offering the tiniest, sliver of hints into one of the other reasons why they ultimately fell apart: “And I wouldn't marry me either/ A pathological people pleaser/ Who only wanted you to see her/ And I'm fading, thinking/ Do something, babe, say something (say something)/ Lose something, babe, risk something (risk something)/ Choose something, babe, I got nothing (I got nothing)/ To believe, unless you’re choosing me.”

It’s the lack of details, the palpable restraint despite L/n’s clear heartbreak behind its lyrics, that makes “You’re Losing Me” perhaps the most devastating song in her catalog (yes, even more so than “All Too Well.”) Amid the grief and sadness of the song, there’s also a feeling of inevitability, of sorrow that nothing more could be done, of pointlessly waiting for action when you know nothing is coming.

In some regards, it’s one of L/n’s most mature breakup songs in her catalog, regardless of whoever it’s about. And if this is just a “from the vault” track, it makes one wonder what an albums-worth of these songs would sound like.

SEE MORE RELATED POSTS:

• Lola Ransdell Cancelled over resurfaced racism tweets

• Lola Ransdell loses brand deals over Y/n L/n drama

• Charles Leclerc finally breaks his silence over Y/n L/n Breakup

ally’s radio 📻:a filler chapter im sorry😞 but anyways, the related stories r a sneak peak of the next chapter🤫 if u asked me to tag u and i didn’t, pls send me a message or inbox me bc it might’ve gotten lost 😭 i try to stay up-to-date but sometimes i miss people so pls lmk!!!

taglist 🦢🪩: @incoherenciass@dakotali@405rry@topaz125@sassyheroneckgiant@hevburn@itsmytimetoodream@ivegotparticulartaste@crowdedimagines @asterianax @haydee5010@scenesofobx@christinabae@magical-spit@dessxoxsworld@myareadsbooks@honethatty12@hopefulinlove@diasnohibng@gentlemonsterjennie1@hummusxx@eugene-emt-roe@taestrwbrry @perjarma @cxcewg@chimchimjiminie16@glow-ish@allywthsr @millyswife @mrsmaybank13 @black-swan-blog27 @stargaryenx @lilsiz @ohthemisssery @leclerclvr @slytherinjimin3nthusiast @shessthunderstoms @cool-ultra-nerd @ncentic @playboykenz @canvashearts @tinyhrry @xeliaaaa @ifionlywould @gaviypedrisbride @callsignwindow @dhhdhsiavdhaj @chasing-liberosis @laneyspaulding19 @a-daydreamers-day @saikikusouswife @motorsp0rt @lifesuckslife @shessthunderstoms @drewsandsebastianswife @sainzluvrr @ietss

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hotvintagepoll · 17 days

Text

Propaganda

Veronica Lake (I Married a Witch, Sullivan's Travels)—her look is so iconic they used her as a visual model for jessica rabbit in who framed roger rabbit and a bunch of other femme fatale types in cartoons and live action alike. i didnt think i liked women and then i saw her in sullivans travels and said gee i hope this doesnt awaken anything in me! every role ive seen her in she absolutely oozes an aura of "i know people would ask me to step on them" and her EYES bro every photo ive looked at for this submission its like shes piercing thru time and space to judge me <3

Eartha Kitt (Anna Lucasta, St. Louis Blues)—My friend and I have a saying: NOBODY is Eartha Kitt. A thousand have tried, and they've all come up empty and will continue to do so. Everyone knows her for something: from "Santa Baby" to Yzma in Emperor's New Groove to Catwoman to making Lady Bird Johnson cry for the Vietnam War. She was a master of comedy and sex, an extremely vocal activist, and she aged like fine wine... I honestly don't know what I can say about her that hasn't already been said, so I'll stick to linking all my propaganda. Like what else do you want from me. She was iconic at everything she ever did. Literally name another. How can anyone even think of her and not want to absolutely drown?

This is round 5 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Veronica Lake:

Her HAIR, her FIGURE, her VOICE, the way she wore LEATHER AND SANG SONGS FOR NO REASON.

I don't believe there's a person on earth who can watch Veronica Lake in I Married A Witch and not be struck by how gorgeous she is. She had that youthful wonder about her that almost every Hollywood starlet was trying to achieve. Her hairstyle (peekaboo bangs) became an iconic Hollywood style after she popularized it, and made her signature look all the more suggestive. Also, witches are tumblrs favorite!

ICONIC hair sweep

The US government literally begged her to change her hairstyle because it was TOO HOT to handle and women who copied it were getting their hair caught in machinery

Her hairstyle was so iconic and popular that the war department had to come out with a PSA instructing lady ironworkers with ways they could pin their hair up to avoid it getting bound in machinery. [https://veteranlife.com/military-history/veronica-lake/]

She played a lot of femme fatale roles but my favorite is Sullivan’s Travels opposite Joel McRea, which is a comedy. She became famous for her hair style at the time—she wore it long and parted on one side so it would fall over half her face in a very sexy way. They called it a peek-a-boo I think. You’ve definitely seen Bugs Bunny dressed up like her, so I think if she’s being honored in such a way she’s very cool.

look at her

she's GORGEOUS in her little witch outfits that she wore for promos and also in the oversized coats and pajamas she wore throughout the movie...she's got RANGE

My Grandpa supposedly dated her in high school, he drove her to school in his car every day. This is legend in the family.

She has gorgeous hair, has got the smouldering look over the shoulder down PAT, and is just drop-dead gorgeous too!

Schizophrenic icon, popularized the peekaboo hairdo long before Jessica Rabbit

She’s just so prettyyyyy

So much hot in such a tiny package. She was no more than 5 feet tall, and some reports claim as small as 4'9"

If you picture a femme fatale in your head, almost certainly Veronica Lake had a hand in shaping the image you think of. She came to embody the look of the noir leading lady as well as the sound and the performance. Certified Noir Baddie.

Eartha Kitt:

"A hot vintage woman who was not just known for her voice, beauty, poise, and presence, but also her unapologetic ways of speaking about how she was mistreated in the show business as a girl who grew up on cotton fields in South Carolina in the 1930s through the 1940s coming to Broadway first and then Hollywood."

"Have you watched her sing?? Have you seen her face?? Have you heard her talk?? How could you not fall instantly in love. She makes me incoherent with how hot she is."

"She can ACT she can SING she can speak FOUR LANGUAGES she is a GODDESS!!! Although she is (rightfully) remembered for her singing, TV appearances (Catwoman my beloved), and later film roles, her early appearances in film are no less impressive or noteworthy!! She’s an amazing actress with so much charisma in every role. She was also blacklisted from Hollywood for 10 years for criticizing the Johnson administration/Vietnam War, so. Iconic. Also Orson Welles apparently called her “the most exciting woman in the world.”

"She had such a stunning, remarkable appearance, like she could tear you to shreds with just a glance- but the most undeniable part of her hotness was her voice, and it makes sense that it's what most people nowadays know her for. Nothing encapsulates the sheer magnetism of her singing better than this clip of her and Nat King Cole in St. Louis Blues, she pops in at 2:49. Also I know it's post-1970 but her song that was cut from Emperor's New Groove is likely to make you feel Feelings."

Even with as racist as Hollywood was in the 1950s and 60s, Eartha Kitt STILL managed to have a thriving career. She also once had a threesome with Paul Newman and James Dean, and called out LBJ over the Vietnam War so hard that it made First Lady Johnson cry. Eartha Kitt was talented, sexy, and a total badass activist.

#eartha kitt #veronica lake #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 5

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