#luke askew

[lisamarie-vee]

[cinevisto32]

Coraje, sudor y pólvora (1972)

[zippocreed501]

Actors whose names sound like pulp novel characters:

(21) Luke Askew

[downthetubes]

Barrow's Atomica Comica Comics store announces impending closure

Bad news for Barrow-based comic fans, as their local comic shop, Atomic Comica, closes its doors

Atomica Comica Comics, a comic shop in Barrow-in-Furness has, sadly, announced it will close in July, victim to low footfall and a drop in sales. Run by Luke Askew, who had been running a comics business in the town for several years before opening the shop, the store had a loyal customer base. But in troubled times for many high streets, it sadly wasn’t big enough to sustain the store in the…

[spryfilm]

Blu-ray review: “Hurry Sundown” (1967)

“Hurry Sundown” (1967) Drama Running Time: 146 minutes Written by: Horton Foote and Thomas C. Ryan Based on Hurry Sundown by K.B. Gilden Directed by: Otto Preminger Featuring: Michael Caine, Jane Fonda, John Phillip Law, Diahann Carroll, Robert Hooks, Faye Dunaway, Burgess Meredith, Robert Reed, George Kennedy, Frank Converse, Loring Smith, Beah Richards, Madeleine Sherwood, Rex Ingram,…

[3dsben]

Layton8

One of the things to never happen

[ruivieira1950]

[caitlinsclark]

GOOD LUCK BABE! caitlin clark PART I. IT'S FINE, IT'S COOL caitlin clark x reader ✰ bree's notes: bet y'all weren't expecting this one yet mwahaha. had to write about this specific game.. for no specific reason! you'll see xoxo gotta keep you on edge. as always, i hope you all love it! thank you for all the support, you guys make me love writing again, i adore you. word count: 3.2k series masterlist masterlist and tag list

“You’re gonna be there early tonight, right?” Caitlin cringed at the longing tone that always somehow slipped in when she was talking to you. She was thankful she’d called you so you couldn’t see the way her palm hit her forehead in a silent scolding.

You remained perfectly unaware on the other end of the line, the same way you’d remained unaware the last few years. The brunette could’ve watched a closed gallon of paint dry in the time it took you to notice that she was hopelessly in love with you.

“Of course!” Your sweet voice had her forgetting entirely about the slip up, “I’m just running out with Luke and then I’m on the way.” 

Any joy from talking to you was suddenly washed away by the  natural disaster referred to as your boyfriend Luke. Luke, who you’d been with for three years now.

Three long, agonizing, pitiful years and counting that Caitlin had been skillfully avoiding a gag at the mention of his name. 

The brown eyed girl didn’t know when exactly the light changed and she suddenly saw you in a rose-tinted lens, surrounded by hearts and rainbows every time her gaze met yours. 

If she had to think, it was probably years ago during high school, a time where you were both unexperienced and eager to get your firsts done. You were just as attached to the hip as you were now, only Caitlin wasn’t knowingly burdened with the weight of loving you yet.

As you did many nights in your high school years, the two of you were having a sleepover tucked away in the comfort of your room. You were being entertained by the screen of your phone in the late hours of the night, texting an older guy in one of your classes. He’d offered to come pick you up and take you for a drive if you were willing.

As a teen who had never done anything remotely rebellious, you jumped at the opportunity to agree. You’d peaked over next to you, finding Caitlin deeply asleep and cuddling into your side. She had her head laying on the edge of your shoulder, undisturbed by the bright light of your phone when she was so cozy with your skin against hers.

You leaned over to kiss her head softly in an apology, sliding out so slowly from under her and replacing yourself with a pillow. Being so careful to be quiet despite Caitlin being one of the heaviest sleepers you knew, you tiptoed over to bathroom to make yourself look presentable and freshen up.

It was only two minutes later when the door gently pushed open and Caitlin groggily entered the bathroom with you, a blanket draped around her shoulders and her ponytail askew. 

“What are you doing? How did you even wake up?” You looked at her in the mirror, confused on how she woke up so fast.

She put her head on your shoulders, keeping her eyes closed as she used her arms around you to make sure the blanket enveloped both of you.

“Go back to bed, Cait,” You giggled, rubbing moisturizer onto your skin as you looked at her tired figure, “you’re so tired.”

She nodded without argument, “Okay,” and wrapped her fingers around your arm to tug you back with her. You tried to fight against her hold, softening at her childish pout.

“Dave wants to pick me up,” You informed, too busy to see how her face fell when you started applying lip gloss. She shifted on her feet, suddenly a lot more alert at the mention of the boy you’d been fawning over.

Maybe it was manipulative at best but Caitlin needed to stop you from going, “You’re not scared he’s gonna make a move on you? What if you’re not ready?”

You frowned, anxiety now building at the possibility she pointed out, “Do you think I’ll be bad?” Toying with your rings, you started to bite your bottom lip and Caitlin couldn’t stop her eyes from focusing on the action.

“Even if you are, you’re too hot for him,” She put her hands on your shoulders encouragingly and squeezed them, “But we can always try really quick to get your nerves down.” Caitlin spoke far too casually for what she was proposing and you did a double take at her in the mirror. 

Though she kept her eyes on you in the reflection, trying to gauge your reaction and you tried not to shake under the intense gaze. 

“Stop.” You shook your head like she was kidding, continuing to brush product onto your skin. Though she could tell you were doing this out of nervousness as you started fumbling around and looked anywhere but her.

She grasped both your hands in hers, successfully stopping you from ignoring her, “I’m offering.” Regardless of your previous nervousness, the sure look in Caitlin’s eyes had you and your heart beat settling down in the blink of an eye.

It would be a lot less embarrassing to be told nicely that you suck at kissing by your best friend than a possible boyfriend making fun of you. Worst case scenario, you were still more comfortable taking the leap with Caitlin than anyone else.

With the confirmation that she wasn’t kidding, you leaned into her and exhaled out slowly as her hands slip down to hold your hips. 

The gentle touch of your hands on Caitlin’s face was committed to memory, an intimacy she could still imagine to this day if she tried. But the softness of your lips was a feeling she kicked herself for not being replicate.

And the fear of how much she enjoyed it kept Caitlin from ever mentioning it again. The fragility of how close to her heart she held that moment could never hold up if you were to downplay it in a conversation.

“He’s not coming to the game though?” The athlete shook away from the everlasting memory and held her breath, closing her eyes and crossing her fingers during the moment of silence.

“No,” You sighed and Caitlin has never felt more apologetic for being so ecstatic at your disappointment, “him and Courtney are working on a pitch tonight.” 

The brunette thanked whoever the hell Courtney was and moved on, impatiently changing the topic to something that couldn’t be poisoned by the mention of that guy.

“Are you ready for game day?”

Tonight was a game that had both of your nerves rising. You could taste the redemption calling to you, eager to beat New York Liberty after having been bested the last three times before. 

“Wait, can I FaceTime you really quick?” You’d asked and it was a little embarrassing the speed in which Caitlin said yes. But the opportunity to see your pretty face wasn’t one she’d ever pass up.

She didn’t answer the second call right away when her screen flashed the contact picture, pausing instead to admire it as it continued to ring. It was a picture from the draft, when you’d exited the stage to see her standing and waiting for you. The matching Fever jerseys in each of your hands were proof of your dreams being within reach, the fabric wrapping around you both as you jumped into Caitlin’s arms unexpectedly. You were wearing beaming grins in the picture, as you pulled back just slightly to be face to face with her and say a small, sentimental ’we did it’ when the flash went off. Courtesy of Kate. 

Caitlin shook out of her infatuation fueled daydream and pressed accept, patting herself on the back when she got rewarded with the sight of your dazzling smile so close to the camera.

You set the phone down, doing a quick twirl in frame to show off your outfit, “Does this look good?” The black pantsuit hung off your figure deliciously in Caitlin’s eyes, framing you perfectly with a white cropped top showing off your soft skin. 

If the way she was ogling you didn’t answer the question, the stuttered ‘yes’ she let out did. You’d giggled, stepping out of frame to slightly fan yourself at the sudden heat spreading unexplainably through your body. 

“Thank you,” You had black heels in your hands, ready to slip them on when Caitlin stopped you.

“Wait,” She bit her lip at the idea, wondering if she was basically torturing herself at this point but she couldn’t stop, “Do you have those beige ones?” 

To the side she glanced at her outfit laid out, almost a reverse of yours. She had her beige set and black heels planned for about a week, though you had no idea.

You paused to scrunch up your face mid thought, Caitlin bit back her smile when your tongue poked out like it always did.

“I think so,” and you disappeared off camera for a moment while ruffling could be heard from little ways away. You walked back into frame, hair slightly messy and adorable in Caitlin’s point of view, with a pair of beige heels in your hand that managed to match the shade of Caitlin’s outfit. 

You slipped them on and took a step away, doing another twirl to show off the completed look. Caitlin started clapping from the other end of the line when you posed, cheering and wolf whistling loudly in a way that had your face heating up bashfully.

“Alright, alright,” You waved her off with a laugh, “I’m gonna see you to walk in, right?” 

She loved the fact that you knew she’d be waiting, confident like you didn’t even have to ask, “Right, I’ll be waiting.” And the tiny sigh that she let out afterward held all the dreaminess she’d been clinging to for the last 3 years she couldn’t speak on.

And you were about to respond when a knock rang out on your door. Right on time, Caitlin hid her growing smile behind her hand as you excused yourself to get the door.

When you came back, you were not only sporting a large bouquet but possibly an even bigger smile that made your eyes crinkle and face scrunch up.

“Caitlin.” You said with a monotone voice, trying not to let excitement overwhelm you as your insides lit on fire with a blazing adoration. She swore she even saw a row of tears start budding on your waterline, wishing she was there to wipe them away for you.

“What are these for?” You clutched them to your chest, a beautiful array of dipped roses that had a little navy blue bow on them.

She simply grinned, a sweet sight that you took a live photo of, “I wanted to wish you luck today. And I made sure they were safe for cats too so Perry would be okay with them.”

The outward ‘awe’ you let out was loud and still incapable of showing how touched you were, as you brought the phone to your lips and kissed the screen with a louder ‘mwah’.

She did the same back, hating the way she craved for it to be real. You lifted the gray cat up off the ground where he was circling your feet, “That was the sweetest and most thoughtful thing ever. Perry says thank you too.”

Caitlin took her own live photo, her heart growing in size as she admired you while you held the flowers tucked in one arm and cuddled the furry animal in the other. 

“Just as pretty as you,” She muttered just loud enough for you to hear, slipping your face behind the flowers to try and shield the fact that you were most definitely reacting to the praise.

Your best friend knew you too well, chuckling on the other end and you knew that she knew, “I’m gonna go finish getting ready, I’ll see you in like five days.” Caitlin groaned the last part dramatically all while you watched with an amused delight.

“I’m seeing you in like three hours, not days, C,” You laughed with a small head shake. You set the flowers in a vase as you side eyed the camera and put them on display in the center of your table where they deserved to be.

She still kept up her disappointment, “Feels about the same if it’s time without you.” 

“I’ll see you in a little bit,” You promised, sending her an air kiss which she caught obediently and saluted to you. If you had to hang up quickly to giggle like a school girl, that was no one’s business.

You’d sat dazed with a lingering smile as you slipped your phone into your side pocket. You hummed a tune, in a delightful sort of daze and you twirled a petal of the rose between your fingertips. Your blissful environment was halted by the presence of an incessant buzzing and you groaned at the caller ID of your mother. You went into the living room and sat on the couch, debating letting it go straight to voicemail.

Luke had walked in at the same moment, barely saying a word to you as he headed right into the kitchen. He popped his head out a few seconds later as you were preparing to press the green answer button

“Who are those flowers from?” 

The first thing that he’d cared to speak to you about and you stopped from rolling your eyes. Your voice came out monotone and hesitant, “Caitlin.”

He made a face you couldn’t quite describe and nodded before disappearing back into the kitchen. With fingers pinching the bridge of your nose, you tried to get back even an ounce of happiness you’d felt earlier.

“Hi.” You’d spoke curtly into the phone, trying not to sound too displeased, though you most definitely were. And talking to your mother never helped that.

“What is the attitude for?” She questioned, already adding a layer of tension and you muted the call to scream into a pillow before unmuting it.

“Sorry, I was just moving laundry, out of breath.” You’d rolled your eyes at your own lie, “What’s up?” The quicker you could get off the phone the better.

She made a noise like she didn’t believe you, “How are things with you and Luke?” There was no segway to the conversation, treated like a simple business interaction of information rather than a comforting mother and daughter exchange.

Should have expected it, you thought as you squeezed your eyes shut, “We’re great, he’s working on a big project at work right now.” With a silent prayer that the conversation would stop there, but it never did.

“I don’t see why you and Luke haven’t gotten married already, you’re settled in the league, he has a steady job, he loves you. What more are you looking for?” 

Opening your mouth for a rebuttal, you couldn’t find one in your chest. What more were you really looking for? In reality, you were content with the way your life was going. You were playing professionally basketball with your best friend in the world like you’d dreamed, you had a healthy and adorable little cat, and you had a steady boyfriend. Though your face scrunched up at the order in which you casted your priorities. 

“I don’t know, I’m not in any rush. We haven’t been spending much time together with his work and mine.” You hated having to clue her into any part of the negativity that your relationship had been facing.

You loved Luke, you truly did, but you felt like he resented the fact that you had gotten into the WNBA. Things had shifted once you got drafted and it seemed like Luke was the only one falling behind. It was a stark difference to the way he’d supported you in your career during college and you weren’t a fan of the change.

Your mother made yet another hum of disapproval, “You know, your father and I aren’t going to be around very long. You should be rushing to get married and having a family for us to see. As long as I can remember, you’ve always run away from people who treat you better than you deserve. You’ll never find someone else like, Luke.”

You could’ve mouthed the words in sync with her, knowing exactly what the conversation was going to come to, “I’ll keep that in mind while I’m prepping for one of the most important games of my season, mother.” A bitter undertone slipped its way in and you quickly hung up the phone with a loud groan.

The white picket fence life was one that was forced onto your mother, one that she seemed not too happy with. And it showed in the way she forced it onto you since such a young age. Find a nice man, get married, have kids. Nothing else in between or after mattered to her.

You were tense and rigid when Luke entered the room again about twenty minutes later, with your head in your hands and tears forming. It didn’t seem like he had any idea of your state, or maybe he did and didn’t care.

“You look hot,” Luke commented and you lifted your head to stare at him for a silent minute. When he didn’t seem to have anything else to say, you nodded in weak acknowledgement.

It was a quick decision, moving away from his lustful eyes that seemed to devour your figure. You wished it made you feel the way it used to, the way you used to melt and have to shy away from his gaze purely because it made you nervous. Now you shied away from his gaze because it made you anxious. 

“You excited for the game today?” Luke put his hand on your waist now that you were standing and you resisted the urge to protest by running far away, “You’re playing the Knicks right?”

You couldn’t help the sigh, a difficult swallow to hold back the words you wanted to say, “We’re playing Liberty. The Knicks are the NBA.” It was a gentle reminder, but the tiredness was evident in the way you spoke.

Luke had the audacity to look surprised, “Oh, you didn’t tell me that.” He squeezed the skin of your waist and you suddenly started to feel suffocated.

You did the other three times you played them. But that was beside the point. A sigh was your response as opposed to correcting him, turning to grab your keys from the kitchen counter.

You were about to completely leave when you noticed the absence of a very colorful and bright part of your day. The flowers that Caitlin had delivered were missing and you almost ran around your apartment looking for where they could’ve been moved.

“What happened to my flowers in the kitchen?” The question was frantic when you approached Luke on the couch, a little too frazzled but those were beautiful flowers. 

“They were dying, so I replaced them with new ones,” Luke smirked with a shrug, seemingly unapologetic as he nodded toward the trash. The attitude he had made you more mad than anything. 

You sped walked over to the can, ripping out the cartons littered on top of the beautiful flowers Caitlin had gotten you. A part of your heart broke when you saw half of them bent and broken.

“These were brand new, Luke,” You scolded him like a child, sighing in disappointment as you laid them out on the counter to save them the best you could.

“And those will kill Perry.” You sighed with a point to the flowers he had gotten. Not even feeling the slightest bit bad as you pulled out the Lilies and tossed them in the trash to replace where Caitlin’s used to be before heading out the door.

taglist: @lovermcres @glorioushamsterqueen @miedmead @blueagle45 @pbloverr @cavillary @elizabethkitley @1-800-fantasy @into-f0lkl0re @mysticchildsuit @sapphicmermaid @ureleesian

series taglist: @wnbaforthewin @stefanshope @sewiouslyz @kaelaheartsyou @caitlin-clark-obsessed @trinscam @julienbakerloverr @muhlsfilm @paigebueckresfan8282 @sadie-bug7 @madismadmad @dinosaurstrandedonnublarisland @kenzlovesyou @gaydonutdino @jujubuckets @elliewilliamsthang @princes21w

[kamaluhkhan]

IDLE WORSHIP

SLOTH — part i of we'll write sins not tragedies

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab) word count: 515 summary: you and luke fooling around on the roof of the hermes cabin after curfew ;) warnings: smut!! oral (reader receiving); body worship; luke and reader smoke weed....18+ ! author's note: i wanted to do a series of blurbs *loosely* based off the 7 deadly sins and here we are....also, i (finally!) made a masterlist so....enjoy!!

♪ "idle worship" by paramore

you bite the back of one hand to keep from waking up the entire camp, the other still holding a half-smoked joint loosely between your fingers. 

luke was always skilled, but tonight his tongue feels particularly heavenly.

it hadn’t been either of your intentions for the evening. the plan was for a peaceful night of getting high and stargazing on the roof of the hermes cabin after curfew. 

not entirely innocent, but more so than what it had become as soon as luke decides to shuffle underneath the blanket you share, lips traveling down your body as he mumbles sweet nothings into your skin.

luke kisses down your sternum, unbuttoning the flannel you had taken from him. “you’re so beautiful,” he praises. luke sucks bruises underneath your breasts. “prettier than any goddess.” his tongue traces over your scars. he bites just above your belly button, fingers fumbling with your shorts. “absolutely divine,” is the last thing he says before devouring your cunt.

in your defense…. it has been a stressful week. you and luke had barely had a moment alone, and chris warned that the weed would be strong. 

it’s slightly careless, yes, especially for senior counsellors — but fuck, if you don’t feel utterly blissed out.

you almost break skin when luke tugs your clit with his teeth, bringing you over the edge. luke pokes his head out from underneath the blanket that still covers your bottom half; you take a moment to admire him.

the moonlight softening his scar, illuminating his cheekbones and jawline. backlit by a million shining stars that mean nothing compared to his smile, luke looks like an angel. 

and then, you get a better look at him — his black curls slightly askew; his dark eyes rimmed red; his lips wet with your release, curling into a smirk at how you unraveled for him so easily. 

a fallen angel, maybe. a fucking gorgeous one at that. 

“can i have another hit?”

you take a drag of the forgotten joint, holding the smoke in your mouth until luke is hovering above you. when he presses his lips onto yours, you let him suck up all the smoke, along with whatever air is leftover in your lungs. he removes himself from you, allowing you a moment to breathe while he exhales. 

luke rests one hand on your hip, and reaches the other down to run two fingers across your folds and shoves them into his mouth, sucking like his life depends on it.  

“tastes just like nectar.”

“better be careful then, angel,” you drawl and tangle your free hand into his curls. you can tell luke likes the new nickname from the way he tightens his grip, firm enough to bruise. “if you have too much, it might just kill you.” 

he grins down at you lazily, blinking slowly.

“at least i’d die happy,” luke sighs. 

a giggle bursts out of your chest in response. 

you bring the tail end of the joint to his lips; this time, he exhales directly into your mouth, allowing you to share the last dregs of smoke.

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | lifestyles of the rich & famous

i. lifestyles of the rich and famous by good charlotte (introduction)

a/n: introductory chapter! introducing the dynamics of the band, luke's relationship with his mom, and teenage boy antics. pre-reader and pre-chb. things will pick up quickly after this, i promise! bear with me as i set the scene :)

series masterlist | previous | next

“why the fuck am i seeing tabloids on top of tabloids with my kid’s plastered face on the front page of all of them?” 

luke winced at the sound of his mom’s voice echoing through the empty event space. chris covered the bottom half of his face with his shirt, trying to hold in his laughter. may castellan was in her usual pantsuit, high heels clacking against the floor, as she waved around trashy magazines. she was furious. 

“ignoring the fact that you are not 21 years old and cannot legally drink, what were you thinking, luke?” travis dropped his drumsticks on the ground, motioning for chris and connor to follow him backstage. they’d seen luke get chewed out by his mom more often since they started their world tour. as the three boys walked toward the side of the stage, may turned to them. “none of you are off the hook either. you may not have been on the front page, but care to listen to what they said about you in one of their glorious articles?” 

“i would actually prefer not to, mama castellan,” chris mumbled, suddenly feeling caught. all traces of humor instantly drained from his face. luke couldn’t help but scoff, the boys always gave him shit for getting yelled at by his mom, so he was glad that this time around they were all on the sinking ship. 

she dramatically cleared her throat, opening up one of the magazines. luke grimaced at the sight of him on the front page. he was sitting on the curb, his sunglasses askew, with a girl awkwardly patting his back. he doesn’t even remember this. may shot daggers at chris, who was cowering behind his mic stand, “bassist of poisoned mercury, chris rodriguez, was photographed away from the band when he was caught outside smoking something that wasn’t a cigarette, if you catch our drift. hopefully, his habits don’t catch up to him anytime soon.” 

she stared at the stolls next, “drummer and lead guitarist of the rising band, travis and connor stoll, didn’t miss out on the fun. they walked out of the club with two models, who looked like twins, along with a bottle of dom perignon before heading into their suv.”

“and my darling child,” her words were sweet but her tone was anything but. luke chewed on the peeling skin of his bottom lip, “superstar, teen heartthrob, poisoned mercury lead singer, luke castellan, had a great night as seen in these pictures. the resident bad boy had one too many, it seems, as he walked out of the club stumbling with a mysterious blonde under his arm. castellan couldn’t make it into the car and had to sit on the curb to puke his guts out. let’s hope his actions didn’t ruin his chance at a budding romance.” 

may closed the magazine, arms on her hips. she waited patiently for one of the boys to speak up. 

“in our defense, this was in canada,” luke tried to reason, scrunching his face up. “legal drinking age is 18.” 

that was the wrong response, luke realized, when his mom’s eyes lit up in anger. she let out a breath, “you were in toronto where the drinking age is 19, which you weren’t until yesterday.” 

“i did not know that the drinking age in canada varied by region. i always learn something new whenever i talk to you, mama castellan,” travis said, trying to lighten the mood. connor shot him a look, motioning for him to quit talking. may castellan was clearly not in the mood for jokes. 

“i am tired of you guys acting reckless,” she roared, dropping the magazines. they fell with a heavy thud. she rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers, “your parents trusted me to take care of you guys while you chased your dreams and this is what you’re doing under my watch?!” 

seeing his mom at her wit's end made luke feel sick. 

“mom,” luke hopped off the stage, ignoring the sound of the magazines ripping under his feet as he landed on top of them, “we’re sorry. i’m sorry.” 

“sorry’s not gonna cut it anymore, luke,” may said, shaking her head. “after this tour, you guys are taking a break. no touring, no public appearances.” 

“what?” connor exclaimed, joining luke off the stage. the other boys followed, looks of bewilderment evident on their faces. “w-we can’t take a break now!” 

“yeah, c’mon, mama c!” chris added, shaking his head, “we’re just getting really big. if we quit now, we’ll lose this momentum.”

“you’re not quitting. it’s just a tiny break– three months,” she cut them off, raising a hand in a stop. “we’ll release a statement to the press saying you guys will be taking some time off to work on your sophomore album so people have something to look forward to when you return.” 

“okay, so that’s the cover story,” luke ran a hand through his curls. he knew that there was no winning against his mom when she made up her mind. he looked at her and spoke before the rest of the band continued their protests, “but what are we actually gonna be doing?” 

“you’re going to spend your summer in montauk, just like old times,” his mom explained, voice still stern. “you’re going to camp half blood.”

-

“what the fuck is a camp half blood?” chris asked, plopping down on the couch they had inside their dressing room. rehearsal was cut short following the news delivered by luke’s mom. 

“it’s a music camp,” luke explained, fidgeting with random things sprawled across his desk, trying to find the pack of cigarettes he hid. he really needed to clean up. “my dad used to take me there over the summer when i was younger.”

the topic of luke’s dad was a sore subject for him. his dad left him and his mom when he was 7 for some young waitress from their hometown diner. one second, he was signing up for little league with his dad as the coach; the next, he was sitting in the hallway listening to his mom cry after his dad packed a bag and left town with wendy the waitress in the passenger seat. luke hasn’t heard from him since then. last he checked, his dad was lounging beachside in santa monica with his third wife who was definitely too young for him. as far as he’s concerned, his dad was dead to him. 

but he couldn’t deny that his time at camp half blood was the place of origin of some of his best childhood memories. he got his first taste of what it was like to be on stage at camp half blood; the adrenaline coursing through his veins, the pounding of his heart at the applause, the wild images in his head about what it would be like to be known for his music-- it all started at camp half blood. he was his happiest at camp, at least before his dad ruined it for him. 

“is it fun?” travis asked, twirling a fresh pair of drumsticks between his fingers. 

“used to be, yeah,” luke chuckled, hoisting himself up to sit on the desk. “haven’t been there since i was seven.” 

“dude, i do not want to hang out with a bunch of little kids all summer,” chris groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall. 

“relax, rodriguez,” luke lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke before continuing. “there’s two sides to the camp. we’ll be with the older kids.” 

“oh shit, is camp half blood mr. d’s music camp?” connor asked. the name of the camp was starting to sound familiar to him.

luke took another drag, nodding, “that’s the one.” 

“dude, i fucking love mr. d. he always has the wildest stories,” travis laughed, “he’s so mellow and chill now, i wouldn’t’ve ever guessed he used to be like that.” 

“it was the 90’s,” chris shrugged, “pretty sure everyone was like that at one point.” 

“paid off for him though,” connor replied, opening a bag of doritos. he offered a chip to his brother, who in return, snatched the bag for himself. connor rolled his eyes, reaching over to grab another one. he was used to this. “i mean being a ceo of a multi-million dollar recording company isn’t too shabby.” 

luke hummed along, mindlessly, letting the chatter of his bandmates fill the air. the three boys fell into a conversation about the last time they saw mr. d at the recording studio when they were finishing up the vocals for their debut album, but luke’s mind was far away from the topic at hand. he couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment from his body. he knew the way his mom looked at him would haunt him for the next few nights.

it wasn’t like he was actively trying to disappoint her– really, he wasn’t, but he just gets so caught up in the noise of fame that he forgets how to act under the pressure. there was something about his mom breaking down in front of him because of him that tore him apart. he felt guilty. his mom didn’t ask for this life, she didn’t even want it. she was content being a suburban mom in westport, connecticut, but she gave up her comfy life to let luke live out his dreams of being a musician. 

he was lucky, he knew that. not every mom would be on board with her kid dropping out of traditional high school to perform rowdy songs about teenage angst, but may castellan was okay with it because she loved luke so much and wanted him to be happy. so when poisoned mercury got a record deal with olympus records, she didn’t hesitate to drop everything and go on the road with four unruly teenagers, promising their parents that she’d take care of their sons. 

sometimes, he thinks about what his mom sees when she looks at him. he wonders if she still recognized him, the him before all the fame got to his head. 

he was may castellan’s little boy. the boy who used to beg his mom for chocolate chip cookies after a bad day at school, who used to knock on her door in the middle of the night wondering why he wasn’t enough for his dad to stay, and who cried when she got him his first guitar on his tenth birthday. for most of his life, it’s always just been him and his mom. 

now, at 19, luke didn’t know who he was anymore. he was just going with the flow, doing whatever, doing whoever, his fame and his status threw his way. he did what any teenage boy would do in his position– he drank, he smoked, he had fun, maybe too much fun, sometimes. it’s a rockstar’s life, his wildest dreams come to life, but it was a distraction, mostly. luke wasn’t brave enough to face the music just yet, so he dove into this fantasy head-first, too afraid to look back.

except sometimes, he fucks up really badly, like in toronto, and he’s forced to deal with the consequences of his actions. one time, his mom cut the band off from playing video games on the tour bus for a month after a heated argument between the four of them caused them to cancel a show. the argument was stupid. luke was adamant that scorpions did not have the same mental capacity for understanding pain that humans do and that did not bode well with travis. rehearsal ended in a brawl because travis kept doing impromptu drum solos to drown out luke’s voice. his mom was pissed that hundreds of fans were disappointed over the canceled show and it was all because they couldn’t agree over a damn scorpion. 

another time, she banned them from driving the golf carts around the venue when they crashed it into a very expensive sound system in portland. they ended up owing upwards of $4,000 for the damages and were banned from playing at the event space ever again. the four of them laughed about it when the chaos of it all subsided, and they were fine not playing at the house of hades again, but they did miss the snack bar they set up for visiting talents. chris said he still dreamt about the pomegranate juice ‘til this day. 

luke can look back at the punishments over the years fondly now. in the grand scheme of things, none of it really mattered. but going to camp half blood? this was a different type of punishment. 

luke didn’t want to go to camp half blood. the last memory he had of camp was not a welcomed one. plus, after what he experienced on tour, he could think of a million other ways to spend his summer months, and living at a camp with spotty cell service and designated arts and crafts time was nowhere near the top of the list. 

“yo, castellan,” chris’ voice snapped luke out of his thoughts. “you comin?”

luke put out his cigarette against the wood of his desk, “huh?”

“we’re grabbing food, do you wanna go with us?”

luke hopped off the desk, slipping on his black, puffer jacket, “yeah, i’m right behind you.” 

as luke was walking out of the dressing room, adjusting his t-shirt, he saw his mom talking to teddy, their publicist. they were engaged in a serious conversation, no doubt talking about the press release regarding their second album and their hiatus. luke stood in front of the door for a brief moment, a stutter in his steps, not knowing if he should interrupt.

 luke pursed his lips, deciding to jog over to his mom. 

“i think we should post it on the band accounts first before the boys announce it individually. it make–” may furrowed her eyebrows, noticing luke coming closer to her. she turned her body to face him. she looked much calmer now than she did during rehearsals, “hey, what’s wrong?” 

luke shook his head, “nothin’, mom. i just–uh, just wanted to say sorry again.”

“let’s talk later, may,” teddy gave the two of them a small smile before walking away. 

“i’m not changing my mind about camp half blood,” she frowned. “sorry, luke but i can’t have you guys running around all sum–”

“no, no, i know, mom. i-i didn’t come here to try to convince you,” luke looked down at his feet, suddenly feeling like a little boy again. “i just– uh, shit. okay, i’m sorry for toronto. it was a bad time and it’s not fair that you have to deal with the fall out of our shit. and uh– thank you for sticking by us even though we drive you kinda crazy.” 

may laughed, smiling at her son, “you’re my kid. you know i’ll always be there to set you straight.” 

“thanks, mom,” luke chuckled, backing away to catch up with his bandmates. may waved goodbye, making her way to teddy’s makeshift office. before luke left the tunnel, he turned around, “wait mom! last thing!” 

she raised her eyebrows, “what?” 

luke raised his hand in a thumbs-up motion, grinning from ear to ear, “love you!” 

“i love you too, kiddo,” may replied, a hand over her heart. “now scram, i gotta clean up your mess.” 

[murdrdocs]

been thinking about luke fucking you on the beach in the sand tbh - like you’re whining about the sand on your back and he grips your jaw and forces your mouth open with his thumb so that he can spit in your mouth 😳🤭

cw spitting; MDNI

you're trying your hardest to enjoy the rock of luke's hips against yours.

it's a perfect scene to revel in it. with nothing but the soft chirp of birds and the soothing crash of waves against the shore a little ways away creating the perfect background noise, an amplifier for the soft and pretty grunts coming from luke's lips.

it's supposed to be romantic. maybe. at least you think that's what luke was going for. but any possible romanticism is lost along the sand grating at your back, exfoliating your skin in a way you would've appreciated if it weren't for your never ending concerns.

"luke." the sound of your voice makes your boyfriend hesitate.

eventually, he hums. with attitude, you don't fail to recognize.

"i think the sand's gonna–" you don't even have to finish your complaint before luke's adjusting your position. he sits on his haunches and pulls you closer by your hips, resuming his pace by thrusting up into you slowly, not at all deterred by having to hold your lap onto his and fuck you at the same time.

"better?" he asks, that same sass still heavy in his tone.

you hum appreciatively, closing your eyes and letting your mouth drop open in a sigh as luke nudges against a spot previously left unattended to.

you're placated, just for a bit, and that bit ends quickly when you're once again made aware of the grains against your upper back, likely making their way into your already ruined hair.

you groan, low and deep in your throat.

"luke," you whine, eyes open in a squint as you hold a hand up to block the suns glare. your unobstructed view is of luke staring down at you, eyes dark with frustration and his lips twisted into annoyance. a look you recognize well, one he's given you many times when you've danced on his nerves without any second thoughts.

your lips part, preparing to complain yet again. but that's all cut short when luke hooks his thumb into your mouth, the calloused tip pressing onto your pink muscle enough for him to pull your jaw down.

he purses his lips and you watch the glob of spit travel for a second before it lands in your mouth just slightly askew. tending to the remnants that landed on the outside, luke removes his thumb and glides it along your lip as if it's nothing but chapstick.

you don't have to be told to swallow. but you do have to be told to behave.

"will you shut up and let me make you feel good?"

although he poses it as one, it's definitely not a question.

[thewriterowl]

Luke: I’m sure talking and a little flirting with that DILF Mandalorian won’t turn into anything. He’s way out of my league and he is clearly busy with other things. *Literally 24-Hours Later*

Luke, now naked, on a broken bed, a big Mandalorian snoozing on top of him, adoption papers askew on a table, and a wedding necklace on, blinking at the ceiling: Well, that escalated quickly

[stareiiez]

𝐇𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬

sylus x female reader.

content : adult cis female reader. love and deepspace. indie portrayal of sylus. suggestive content. luke and kieran appearance! sex references. drinking. smut in later chapter. MDNI. 4.3k words. proof read to the best of my tired eyes.

note: returning just to post this! college and homework has had me busy and focused on other things!! sorry! this is just part one of this sylus one shot! part two is where it'll really ! get! juicy :) hope y'all like drunk sex.

likes and reblogs are loved and appreciated!

Your first-ever date with the leader of the Onychinus was something you didn't ever picture.

Being kidnapped and forced to stay with your kidnapper who wanted you to resonate with him so badly for whatever reason he didn't feel inclined to reveal to you or his henchmen; was never something you pictured to happen in all of your lives of living. To put the cherry on top of it, said kidnapper had made a date for you too to partake in.

Sylus, the man who kidnapped you and now the bane of your annoyance, had invited you out to this date. The way he even ' asked you out ' had been through both Luke and Kieran bursting into your room. Luke had parted the thick blackout curtains to let glorious shades of gold and yellows of morning sunlight stream into your room, and perfectly hit the folds of your eyelids. You groaned in response, an arm falling over your eyes to save you from blinding yourself. Kieran took the liberty of yanking away plush blankets and satin sheets away from your warm body with a grumble of ' get up.' leaving his mouth.

" Boss has plans for you!" Luke chirped, sliding to his twin's side. Cool pointy fingertips prodded at the cheeks of your face in insistent pokes. Sylus decided to announce his plans to the twins at the crack of dawn and make them wake you early so you wouldn't forget. Lovely.

" Tell your ' boss ' I don't care." Your voice is muffling into your plush pillow when you roll over onto your stomach and hide your face and morning breath into its soft material. One of your hands reaches blindly behind you for the blankets that Kieran pulled off your bed.

" Can't, he won't be back till later. Come on lazy bones, let's get up and be ready for the day." Luke chirps again, his fingers pinching at the swell of your calves sharply. Your skin flushes red and stings lightly, no matter how hard you try to wriggle out from his persistent fingers, you still manage to get pinched into giving in and rising from your bare mattress.

Your eyes sag at the corners, exhaustion still present on your face. Your hair is askew in some parts and matted in other parts of your skull. First, you look like you slept and woke up like the dead. Grumpy and craving more shut-eye. '

"Yeesh." Kieran comments. His hidden eyes look at you and your rumpled sleep clothing up and down. Luke nods in silent agreement.

You yawn, and a hand runs through your knotted hair. Not sparing either twin a rebuttal to their judgement, and Luke's faux fear of the smell of morning breath when you walk past both to meander to the luxuriously large themed bathroom of your bedroom. It's not like you're a morning person. You could have sworn Sylus assumed it when he spotted you late one night, in his floor-to-ceiling library; perusing the expanse of perfectly kept novels for you to read by the fireplace. Maybe this was just his way of driving another thorn, including the hundreds he's embedded into your skin, into your side just for amusement. Mephisto would have been the first to tell him how pissed off you were this morning to be woken up at the first light.

Another yawn stretched your jaw wide as you cranked on the hottest temperature of water you could handle and peeled off the satin sleep set Sylus had gifted you to wear to bed. Your eyes threatened to shut under the steamy stream of water from the rain showerhead. You were so warm, unfortunately wet, but so warm and comfortable under the gentle stream.

Hot water dripped down in tantalizing rivulets down your shoulders and back, head bowing down to tuck your chin towards your chest. Your weight swayed back and forth ever so slightly before you would catch yourself from leaning too far to one side. You could have started to fall back asleep standing up if it wasn't for the thundering rounds of knocking from the twins once again. Four sets of strong knuckles rapping against thick black wood was the sound of gunshots to your sensitive ears. A yelp escaped your lips, feet jumping and threatening to slip out from underneath your body when you were startled awake for the second time this morning. You rapidly blinked water out of your eyes.

"Hey! Did you die? Breakfast is getting cold." Luke's muffled voice called out. "You've been in there for almost an hour, you're not a plant." Have you been in there that long? Perhaps you did end up falling asleep in the shower after all. A woman of many talents.

The rest of your shower was done rather quickly. The sweet scent of expensive soaps and shampoos followed you to breakfast. Your hair was still wet and clinging to the soft fabric of your hunter's shirt when you arrived for breakfast. The grumbling of your stomach and the constant half-baked fear that Luke and Kieran would burst into your room to bother you one more time had left you rushing through the halls of Sylus's home just to eat.

Breakfast and even lunch passed by without much trouble from the twins once you gave in to their cumbersome ways of making sure you ate plenty. Lunch was quiet, only you sat at the end of Sylus's extensive dining room table. The air about the dining room seemed lonely, way too lonely for you to shovel another bite of one of the delectable foods made specifically to your palate's tastes. No matter how much you tried to coerce the butler to sit with you, every time he came to refill the multiple glasses of water and or juices, he always denied your pleas to sit and join you with a simple smile and a shake of his head. The tails of his petticoat and the clipping of shiny shoes on the cold tile made you realize that you had nobody. You were a prisoner locked away in a remote fancy prison cell, while the guards that watched over you pretended to be your friends so that you could warm up to their big bad boss.

Your fork twirled between your fingers, her cheek propped on your other hand as you gazed out of the floor-to-ceiling window. The views of the N109 zone stared back at you with its gleaming lights and ominous red fog that seemed to settle as a skyline for the dangerous city. The warm rays of the afternoon sun didn't affect the eerie look of the cold-looking skyscrapers. Daylight didn't belong in a zone that held nothing but crime and dark things that humanity wouldn't think twice about committing.

"Why so sad, kitten? Missing me already?" A dark timber voice practically rattled your eardrums. Whoever spoke to you, was so close you could smell nothing but expensive cologne, the sharp notes of red wine, and clean leather. Sylus.

"You wish. " You mumble, brows furrowing at the ends to portray your frustration even if Sylus can see your blush-ridden cheeks. You look so cute trying to play off your embarrassment.

Sylus's brows raise, and his pretty red lips turn into a shit-eating smirk that doesn't wipe away from his features even when he takes a step back and stands to the full height of his stature. His right hand extends out towards you. "Let's go. We have lots to do today, kitten."

You eye his hand, lips puffed out into a pout for a second till you sigh. Brows relax and your shoulders drop with the air that leaves your lungs. You accept his hand wordlessly, letting him pull you to your feet. He doesn't waste any time pulling you along after him and his long-legged strides. The clip of his expensive shoes and the faster clacks of your steps trying to catch up to him tenfold fill the empty halls of the base.

"When you said we had-- "

air quotes are given sarcastically with your fingers.

" lots to do today."

end air quote.

" You didn't mention we'd be dealing with him again." Your hands gesture out, dramatically motioning to the tall and strongly built all-midnight black Alhal-Teke horse that was one of Sylus's prized possessions. His tail swished at non-existent flies that buzzed over his gorgeous sleek body. Horse poop, sweat and sawdust floated in the breeze, irritating your sinuses enough to sniffle every now and then.

The stallion regarded you with a frill of his nostrils, blowing hot hay-scented air at your face. He was so pleased to see you too. Glad the feeling was mutual.

After the last encounter with the stubborn animal made up to be called a horse, you had the pleasure of knowing firsthand what it was like to attempt to tame his master afterward. Needless to say, you couldn't quite look at Sylus in the eye for a few days after. The vivid dreams of the rich leather of both collar and whip still haunted your senses in your sleep. The sharp intake of breath and shuddery exhale Sylus let out as the only noises he ever granted you when you traced up and down the expanse of his chest and abdomen with the cropping whip. You shivered visibly in the warm air. Goosebumps raced up your arms at the echoes of Sylus's voice, promising you to ke

Your head shakes from side to side, ridding you of such dark and unclean thoughts. You shouldn't reminisce now, not in front of such curious red eyes that watch your every move with precise calculations. The ends of his lips curl upwards in a minute smirk like he can sense what you're thinking about. Annoying.

"Are you testing me again on how to tame a horse again? I thought we were over this." With subtly laced pink cheeks, you turn your gaze from eyeing the ornery horse to gazing at Sylus. Your hands plant onto your hips.

"Silly kitty." Sylus purrs down at you like you were a wide-eyed child. His tone was slightly patronizing yet the strangest inkling of unnerving comfort. His eyes flick towards the sounds of approaching hoof steps and another set of boots crunching dirt under the soles.

A stablekeeper, you guess, walks up to the two of you. In a pristinely kept white glove, leather reins gently pull a snowy white horse to follow the steps of the unknown man. Braided mane and tail swish with every step shiny black hooves take. Needless to say, the horse looks unreal; like every pretty princess pony young girls dream about owning when they're little.

"Right on time," Sylus says once the stablekeeper comes to a stop at his side. The reins of the white horse are held out to you wordlessly, a polite smile in greeting is on the man's mouth. "Take them, I'm going easy on you this time."

You glance at the snowy white horse, unlike the headstrong and stubborn demon incarnate stallion that Sylus adorns with soft pats and low coos to please the black stallion. The other horse is kind-looking, pretty long white lashes blink delicately at you. Piebald eyes of brown and blue watch you with no harmful intent, only slight curiosity about who you are and what exactly you smell like. She was the yin to the stallion's yang. Two drastic differences between light and dark.

"Her name is Lucero," Sylus says when you finally accept the reins from the stablekeeper's hands, and he departs as he comes. Quiet. "Luce for short if it's easier."

One of your hands reaches out, open palm face up so the mare could sniff you. Your lips curl upwards and a short giggle escapes at the tickling sensation of white horse whiskers sweeping over your hand. Hot hair blows over your hand in a friendly exhale, and Luce raises her dainty head. Shiny hooves take a few steps forward on her own to you, her muzzle bumps at your cheek. A friendly greeting, something you wish could have happened when you met Sylus's horse.

"Good, she likes you. Let's mount up, we have a little while to go before sunset." Sylus interrupts the bonding moment of rider and horse by placing a riding helmet onto your head so quickly you don't even get a moment to protest at being able to buckle your helmet yourself because he does it for you. The strap borderline chokes you from how tight he tugged at the helmet straps, but it's better safe than sorry for riding three-ton animals.

He wastes no time in swinging himself onto the sleek leather English saddle. His helmet crushes his hair to his head. A riding crop, perhaps the same one you dreamed of using on him, is tucked neatly into his armpit. He looks so natural atop the steed.

You follow suit. Swinging yourself effortlessly into the sun warmed riding saddle, the reins held between your hands. Your brows lift quizzically at him. "Where are we even go-- hey!" Sylus doesn't give you the chance to finish your question, both rider and mount are cantering away; not bothering to look over his shoulder to see if you're following behind because of course, you are.

With a clicking of your tongue and a squeeze of your calves to the round sides of the mare, you break into a matching stride to catch up and ride side by side with him.

There isn't much talking when it comes to the actual horseback riding. You doubt you would even have heard of the almost synchronized beating of horse hooves thudding along thigh-high grassy fields. Sylus seemed to be in his little world. You could swear your eyes saw the way his face softened and let himself exhale in contentment at the continuous rocking ups and downs of the stallion's gait. He wordlessly guided you both through the unmarked fields, the racing track already far behind you both, and through a pebble-riddled trickling brook of water then further into more grassy dips and curves of the land.

The spray of cool water droplets splashed onto your cheeks and clothes. You couldn't help but let out a gasp at the sudden cool sens

Sylus couldn't help but smile to himself at your reaction. The way your lips parted in a shocked ' O ' formation, your right hand parting from the leather reins to shield your face from another spray of cool water flying off the hooves of the stallion he rode. You looked so cute. Not cute, that wasn't the right wording to describe it in this angle and this exact moment of lighting. You looked . . ethereal? gorgeous? breathtaking?

"Beautiful." his words decided to flow from his mouth rather than stay rooted in the recesses of his brain. He spoke them into the universe and the slowly turning golden rays of sunbeams that kissed your cheeks and eyes when they flitted over to him. Your pupils are minuscule and swim in the lightened colors of your irises.

This was falling in love all over again. He felt this feeling before. In another body, in another time. In another century of dark demons and another girl that looked exactly like you with a slightly different name. But this was you, his pretty kitten.

Thankfully you couldn't hear him, the moment of his was cut short thanks to his stallion kicking out his hind legs; like he could sense Sylus' wandering thoughts and rounded eyes of warm syrupy adoration.

"Easy, boy. You're still cherished by me." A warm leather-bound hand patted the sweat-slicked neck of the horse.

The horses slowed to an easy trot when the fields of green grew even longer blades of grass that tickled at the bottoms of your boots. They'd come up to your waist, or tops of your thighs once you would slide off the horses. Finally, since it was quiet enough to talk amid the heavy snorts of winded horses. Your head turns to fully address Sylus with your previous question.

"So, where are we going? Or is this just an act to finally get rid of me since we can't resonate?" Half teasing the leader. You let a brow raise. If that was true? What a serene way to go out, not that you wouldn't die fighting. But you couldn't ask for a better place of scenery to draw in your final breath.

"Up there, don't you see it?" Sylus gestures up ahead with a gloved palm, where dips and rises of the fields finally swell to a gentle incline of a grassy hill. A large oak tree sits rooted in the rich soil.

A deep crimson-colored blanket lays strewn on the ground under the cooling shade of the tree. Adorning the blanket was an expensive bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. An array of meats, berries, sweet chocolates, crackers, and cheeses sit on a carved board of wood. A small container containing a few slices of rich cake consisting of differing flavors and frostings sat in the middle of the large board of wood. Faux candle lights are scattered around the borders of the blanket, giving little light to set an intimate mood for the two of you. Who knew the man was into finger foods? Not you.

Your breath catches, unknowing that your eyes rounded in awe when you two rode closer to the supposed romantic scene Sylus went out of his way to prepare. Was this the plan the twins awoke you for so early? Did they help their boss pick out cute charcuterie foods to share between you two while gazing into each other's eyes? Your cheeks warm at the scene playing in your head of the three men, consulting in the large kitchen back at the Onichynus base. Discussing what foods were trending that couples were eating together, and where exactly would be a good setting to enjoy it.

"Sylus--" Your words fall out breathlessly, oblivious to how the male had reached over to grasp at the reins of your horse with one hand; and with the other, he steered his stallion around the less steep side of the hill to ride on. Your fingers blindly reach out to bat at his large hand, you can steer yourself even if you're in mild shock.

Another ploy just to gain your trust? Maybe, but you somewhat doubt the intention behind this impromptu picnic. Sylus slides out of his saddle when the two of you crest the top of the hill, his right-hand goes to reach up between his horse's ears to pull the English bridle off. The stallion snorts, shaking his long elegant mane of midnight, dark eyes blink at your mare; seemingly waiting for you to slide off and unbridle her so they can graze together in peace.

Sylus moves to your side, one hand reaching out to offer his help; the other unbridling the snowy mare with the ease of his skilled fingers. You don't turn his hand down, not that you have a choice because he takes your hand in his anyway even when you hesitate to accept such help. He's pulled you down from your saddle with enough force to have you tumbling into his arms and bumping into his strong chest. The smell of wine and rich leather only gets stronger with the proximity.

"Must I do everything for you? You make me feel like I'm your caretaker right now." His chest rumbles against yours, his voice quiet. Words whispering darkly against the shell of your ear. Even if he was taunting you, you wouldn't be able to properly comprehend it. Not when you catch his eyes lowering to the curve of your jaw and sweeping along the pout of your lips.

He takes extra long to undo the buckle of your riding helmet, his pinky and ring finger stroking along the small bump of your chin with feather-like touches that make your skin twitch pleasantly.

Sylus retracts, tucking both helmets under an arm each he strides to the picnic spread. The helmets are placed down at a spare corner of the blanket with such care, then join them by sitting down in one free spot on the blanket. His long legs are tucked languidly together, while he reaches for the bottle of champagne.

The ends of his lips quirk upwards when you take the glass from him, and bring the tart but fizzy alcohol to your lips for a long sip. The bubbles make your nose tingle, you can feel them in your sinuses. To Sylus, you look so cute he could push you down and eat you whole right here. The sweet little picnic he and the twins laid out ahead of time would be forgotten, the main course and sweet desserts would be every inch of your body.

Instead, he sweeps his arm out to you; another invitation for you to indulge yourself while he picks at the food like a bird would. He's more like Mephisto than you even know. Your legs fold underneath you, sitting across from the male. One hand still holding your half-full glass of bubbly, the other reaching for a crisp slice of bread that's smeared with salty homemade butter. It tastes like heaven on your tingling tastebuds. You chew thoroughly, eyes flicking shyly to avoid Sylus's intense gaze and watch the two horses standing side by side grazing in contentment.

What a picture-perfect view. In Sylus's eyes once again, the light illuminates your side profile in a sunkissed golden hue. The shine of golden rays on your hair makes you look like a halo is forming above your head. An angel is in the presence of a monstrous demon of a man, who watches the precious creature with a dark possessive light in his pupils.

His flute of champagne rises to his lips. The alcohol is drained in a matter of two gulps, and his glass is being refilled in no time. You're oblivious to his staring, seemingly still uncomfortable with trying to fill the caverns of silence that radiate in the air between you two. You pick at the charcuterie board, grabbing at one of the fruits that are sweetened with a thin coating of powdered sugar on top.

"Penny for your thoughts?" You quip, your voice trying not to break when you turn to meet those sharp vermillion eyes eyeing the tart strawberry you hold to your lips. His eyes are hawklike over the rim over the glass's rim.

Instead of answering the shitty excuse of small talk, Sylus quirks one brow upward. He reaches out one of his hands to grasp at your wrist and yanks you forward hard enough to send you careening forward onto your knees and into his personal space. Your hand that held the strawberry is held in a grip that screams you shouldn't pull away from him without risking your shoulder or elbow popping. His damp lips brush over the bend of your fingers, and his warm breath fans over the back of your hand in a slow exhale. You can't help but let the flush of pretty pink and rose to stain the apples of your cheeks when Sylus hums down at you.

His lips parted to reveal the glimmering white teeth that remind you of a predator's. He could lunge forward and sink those pretty teeth that smile in those unfortunate businessmen's faces before he rips them apart. Whether with his mouth or evol, he would be your undoing; and currently one of them is teasing the tips of your fingers when he sinks them into the berry for a bite. Red juice trickles down the plump bow of his bottom lip, then runs off the sharp edge of his chin. Sin incarnate is showing in the way Sylus maintains eye contact when he pulls back, chewing the sweet and semi-tart strawberry with red staining his skin. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip to catch stray berry juice and you feel chills run down your spine from the sight.

He doesn't wipe his chin, perhaps he likes it messy like that. It fits him. His eyes twinkle in knowing that he has you trying to suppress the urge to shiver weakly at something so innocent. After all, he does have the right to share this spread of food with you, this was his plan after all.

But how the hell can you last the rest of your time here, when he keeps looking at you like that?

[leahwllmsn]

happy august😔🤘

happy august indeed… you can have this barely finished august pt.2 😶

‘tis the damn season

there’s an ache in you put there by the ache in me

The last time Alessia heard your name was during your last match at the Emirates after you decided that you were leaving Arsenal. Jonas called out your name once the match ended and there you were, a bright smile and an expression full of relief, as you made your way around the stadium to wave goodbye to everyone.

Alessia remembered it so vividly; the girl of her dreams, all dressed up in her favourite color.

Alessia was sure she fell in love with the color red even more after you.

Now, two years later, you were on the other side of the world. You didn’t keep in touch—why would you? You two were never friends. We were just fuck buddies, Alessia finally told Lotte a few months after you left to the NWSL. It didn’t come as a shock to Lotte, especially since she claimed that she often saw you exit Alessia’s house or the subtle marks around Alessia’s neck even though her boyfriend wasn’t around.

Alessia was sad and mopey and her heart longed for you and she didn’t know how she let it all go. That was mainly why Alessia packed her bags and moved away from London, anything to escape the place that held so many memories of you.

Georgia was waiting for her in Munich, welcoming Alessia with open arms and allowing her to crash on her couch until Alessia found a place. And after a few weeks of sleeping on a crappy couch (no offense to Georgia), Alessia finally found a place not too far away. It wasn’t as good as her place in London, but it was enough for her.

Looking around her flat, Alessia realized that despite you never stepping foot there, Alessia could still see traces of you around and Alessia figured that must be the universe’s way of making her pay for breaking the heart of the sweetest girl Alessia had ever met. Alessia’s hoodie that you once said was your favourite laid askew on the couch. The autographed Luke Combs CD you bought for her was hung on the wall of the living room, along with a painting that Alessia had no idea who it was by—only that it was your favourite artist. And the only picture you both took together was framed and placed on the nightstand next to Alessia’s bed so it was always the first thing she saw when she woke up.

Despite the million traces of you around, Alessia didn’t know what you were up to, none of your mutual friends were brave enough to bring you up.

So it was a surprise that after two years, she finally heard your name again on a Friday night.

She had a photoshoot with Adidas, apparently the photographer adored you. James couldn’t stop talking about you, listing all the great qualities you had (like Alessia didn’t know them by heart already), and offhandedly mentioning how this Adidas campaign will include a couple of footballers—one of them being you.

Alessia couldn’t help but wonder if James talked about her to you too. She couldn’t help but wonder if your heart stopped at the mention of her name, like she did with yours.

Alessia couldn’t help but wonder if the reminder of her weighed heavy on your heart, because she knew the further James talked about you, the more Alessia wanted to rip her chest open at how suffocating it all felt.

-

That night Alessia decided to finally look at your Instagram page. It was a miracle that you didn’t block her.

Your picture was of you smiling, your hair in a loose braid, you were glowing and you were still the prettiest girl Alessia had ever seen.

Her hand was itching to type up a ‘Hello’, to ask how you were. But Alessia knew better than to do something so stupid—something so selfish.

And as she was about to close the app, a picture caught her eye.

Of course you had moved on. It would be crazy that someone as amazing as you didn’t have a million people lining up for you.

You moved on. That was good. Alessia couldn’t possibly take away your happiness once again.

Alessia wondered where you would be today if she chose to stay that day. If Alessia didn’t leave you all alone when you were begging her to stay.

Maybe you would both still be in London together, maybe you would be right there next to her, sleeping soundly in your bed together, your arms draped around Alessia’s stomach as she watched some reality show on the TV.

Shaking the thoughts away, Alessia immediately put her phone away and willed herself to sleep.

Alessia dreamt of waking up to your long hair against the pillow next to hers. The disappointment in her chest when she woke up alone made her long for something that had always been out of reach.

[thedroneranger]

A Little Time Alone

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw

Précis: Bradley and his wife have been busy with everything except each other.

Note: One of two entires for @roosterforme’s #love is in the air tgm love song playlist challenge. This fic is inspired by Luke Comb's The Kind of Love We Make.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut.

Word count: 3.7k

It had been weeks since we spent any time together. 

Between the new curriculum and latest batch of pilots, I was coming home late every night and leaving early every morning.

At first, she was doing her damnedest to stay up until I got home. Each night, before sliding into bed, I would slip her tablet from her clutches and remove her askew reading glasses, placing both on her nightstand. Once I settled into bed, unconsciously, she would snuggle into me, allowing me to fall asleep with a smile.

However, lately, it was clear she had been sleeping for hours. Tucked into bed, fast asleep with just her hair peeking between the bedding. I would slide into my side and do my best not to disturb her.

Each morning, I didn’t leave without giving her a goodbye kiss, but guilt always edged my decision to not wake her. Instead, I would press my lips to her forehead or cheek, whichever was exposed.

Things seemed to take a turn after her plan to surprise me with lunch on base was foiled. Normally, she would coordinate with Maverick, if he were around, or the security guard she had befriended to sneak into my office with sandwiches from our favorite deli.

Of course, she always wore a dress, which made it easy for me to bend her over my desk for a pleasurable finish. 

We had a text code so I knew to expect her. The last time she plotted a lunchtime date, I, unbeknownst, stood her up. Unable to check my texts all morning, I never saw her message and never went to my office. It wasn’t until later in the evening I saw several messages and a couple missed calls. 

I was devastated and wanted to apologize in person. However, she was always asleep when I got home. I even tried to call a few times during the day, but I never managed to catch her. After that, we exchanged fewer and fewer texts throughout each day. 

Even our weekends had been spent separately. I found myself on base more and more for special events and training. Hell, the last couple weekends, I even slept there.

She, on the other hand, has been a godsend, representing us both at family get-togethers and other personal events.

I can only imagine how she felt, likely making up excuses for my lack of presence.

The whole situation made me absolutely miserable.

“Bradley. Bradley. Bradley!” My head jerked to find Maverick intensely staring at me.

“Yeah, Mav?” I coughed to clear my throat and gave him my full attention.

He and I were alone in his office. Maverick and I were co-instructors for an upcoming class. We were going over the lesson plan when my thoughts drifted. “What’s on your mind, Bradley?” Mav put down his pen, leaned back in his chair and looked at me.

Shifting in my chair, I noticed the tension in my shoulders and that I’d been holding my breath. Subtly untensing, I spoke. “I can’t remember the last time I spent time with my wife, and she’s getting distant.”

Maverick leaned forward. He loved her like a daughter. Actually, I was convinced he liked her more than me. Mav was always reminding me not to let work ruin our relationship. 

Not that he had room to talk. 

Although, he and Penny have appeared rock solid since getting back together. Once Maverick proposed and they wed, Penny was the happiest I’ve ever seen her.

“Bradley—”

I cut off Mav. “I know, I know. Don’t fuck it up.”

“Go home,” he said.

“What?” My eyebrow cocked.

“Go home. Report back on Monday,” Mav said. We stared at each other for almost a full minute. “Go fix it.” The tone in Mav’s voice told me he was about to make it an order, so I nodded, gave a quick salute and dashed out.

Not having been home at a decent hour in nearly a month, I forgot what traffic was like. It had me doubting if I would be home any earlier than as of late. 

Her vehicle was in the driveway when I finally pulled up.

My feet were carrying me faster than my brain was processing. My mind was trying to get my hands under control so I could get the key in the door, when the door flung open.

A gasp left her lips as our gazes locked. “Hey, stranger.” She did her best to hide a smirk. Unfazed, I walked toward her, forcing her to back up and allow me into the house. Once far enough in, I closed the door. 

“Hey,” I replied. My eyes raked across her form. She was wearing a short red sundress and some strappy sandals. My cock twitched. I could not recall the last time I saw her in anything other than our fluffy duvet. 

“I should go—I don’t want to be late.” She walked toward me and got on her toes to kiss my cheek. However, I turned my head and captured her lips with mine. She hesitated for a second, but melted into me as I wrapped an arm around her waist and the other hugged her ribcage. Her hand slid from my bicep up to my neck. 

We separated just enough to look into each other’s eyes. “I hate that I forgot what you feel like,” she said. 

The comment made me hold her tighter. “We can’t have that,” I said as a matter of fact. Her eyebrow and lips quirked. I smiled at her. “I’ve been missing you more than you can imagine,” I confessed.

She was still looking at me with a tight smile. “I may have an idea.” She pursed her lips and looked off the side. Then, she looked back at me and pressed her lips to mine. As we kissed, I uncoiled an arm from around her, so I could reach back to lock the door.

She heard the click. “I have to go,” she said with her lips still against mine. 

Again, we separated just enough to look at one another. “Cancel.” My voice was more demanding than either of us expected. She looked surprised but not offended. “We need a little time alone.” I sounded softer. “So tonight, I’m only gonna be your man,” I told her. She raised an eyebrow. “I’m off the entire weekend.”

“Bradley Alexander—” She was ready to scold me for messing with her. 

“Scout’s honor.” I held my fingers up in the Eagle Scout sign. We stared at each other. “There’s no way I’m leaving this house, especially when you look this good.” My hand dropped lower to squeeze her backside. She dropped her head trying to hide the blush in her cheeks as if I’d never seen it before.

“Go shower,” she said. My grip on her loosened so she could step away. “I’m not spending the evening huffing jet fuel.” She looked my attire up and down. I left in such a rush, I still had my flight suit on. 

Extra swagger in her hips, she sauntered to the kitchen. For a split second, I considered following her and bending her over the nearest surface. But tonight called for something slower, softer than a counter quickie.

Instead, I went to our ensuite bathroom and let the water pressure ease my muscles. Soothed by the water and steam, I lost track of time. When I realized, I hopped out, did a quick shave and dressed.

We were home, but she was wearing that sinful sundress, so I at least wanted to wear something I knew she’d love. I put on my favorite pair of worn jeans, a white tank and an Aloha shirt I knew was one of her favorites. 

I padded downstairs, noticing the lights were low and she’d lit candles. A smile turned my lips when I heard Led Zeppelin IV spinning on the record player—I thought about the countless times we made out to this soundtrack.

When I rounded the corner into the kitchen, I stopped in my tracks. She was sitting on our small breakfast table, palm supporting her, head tilted back, wine glass to her lips. One leg ran the radius of the table while the other hung off at the knee. Her heel popping to the beat of the music.

She turned to look at me. “Wine?” She held out her glass. I shook my head as a coy smile pulled a corner of my mouth. She winked as she polished off the last sip in her glass.

As I approached the table, she shifted so she was facing me and placed the glass at her side. Stepping between her legs, I pushed the glass further back. A hand on either side of her, I leaned so we were at eye level. 

Her hand cupped the side of my jaw, and her thumb ran along my lips. Mindlessly, I pressed a kiss to it. The tiniest smile curled the corners of her mouth as she searched my face. I hummed as her fingers traversed the raised skin of my scars and came to rest on the dip of my chest just below my clavicles. “Do you have any idea how handsome you are?” she asked.

Surely she felt my chest rumble as I chuckled. “Only when you tell me.” My voice was raspier than usual. Leaning further into her, I dropped my head to place soft kisses on her neck. 

“Surely other women tell you.” I knew exactly what she was doing. 

“I can assure you, they keep their thoughts to themselves,” I replied. Between kisses I told her about my latest class catching sight of her on base. It was the last time we had lunch together before our drought. A couple of them commented about a hot civilian. Turning, I found her chatting with Maverick. 

I told them the easiest way to not return from a mission was ogling another pilot’s spouse. One of the women who had been doing her damnedest to flirt with me blurted, “That’s your wife?!” I nodded at her with a wink. She paled and never looked me in the eye again.

The earned laugh that quickly morphed into a moan had me considering unzipping my pants and unceremoniously fucking her. But I had to pace myself. She was flat against the table, my body covering her with my forearms holding me up as I kissed whatever exposed skin was available. The raggedness of her breathing kept me going. 

“Do you know how hard it is for me not to wake you up every night at some ungodly hour?” I told her, picking my head up to see her response. 

Her bottom lip was between her teeth as her eyes twinkled in the low light. “Why wouldn’t you wake me up?” she asked. Her thighs were squeezing my hips, the skirt of her dress covering almost nothing. 

“First, you sleep through absolutely everything.” She chuckled as my hands skimmed her bare thighs. “We could be having a magnitude 10 earthquake, and you’d sleep through it.” She nodded in agreement as one of my hands slid between us. 

I froze. “Where are your underwear?” She never went commando without a purpose. 

She propped herself up on her elbows. “Maybe I was hoping you would be home, in bed, when I returned. And I could wake you up.” She paused. “If you came home.” Her gaze was intense.

My smile faltered and my head dropped with my shoulders in a moment of guilt. Quickly, I looked back up at her. “I’m sorry.” Still gripping her thigh, my thumb drew circles on it. 

“Show me,” she said.

“Excuse me?” I had expected her to scold me or for us to get into a deep conversation about the past month.

She moved my hand from her thigh to between her legs. “Actions speak louder than words.” Expertly, she maneuvered my hand to guide two fingers into her. “Show me how sorry you are. How much you’ve missed me.”

For a minute, I froze. Tired of waiting for me, she wrapped her hand around my wrist to slide my fingers in and out of her. Finally, I got a hold of myself, my thumb pressing to her swollen bundle of nerves and the pads of my fingers stimulating that spongy spot inside. Her breath caught as I took over.

“That’s it, honey.” She melted against the table. “Let’s take it nice and slow.” She clenched around my fingers—I thought I might come right then. “Fuck,” I said under my breath. She smiled as she watched me squeeze my eyes shut. 

Back on her elbows, her fingers snuck into my hair and pulled me until our lips connected. My lips parted just enough to allow her tongue in. It toyed with mine, matching the rhythm of my fingers pumping in and out of her. Her lips left mine with a smack. “Bradley,” she moaned as I alternated between scissoring my fingers and curling them against her G spot.

“That’s it,” I cooed, keeping the same pace and pattern. I could feel her tightening around my fingers. “Fuck,” I breathed out, enjoying the feel of her. My lips fell to her neck, knowing the additional contact would send her over the edge. 

The stutter breath she let out matched her contractions around my fingers. “That’s it, honey.” I watched her face as she went through her high, my fingers keeping pace. As she untensed, I slowed to a stop. She looked at me as she steadied her breathing and a smile appeared. She continued to watch as I cleaned her from my fingers. Immediately, she pulled me down to taste herself.

She hummed as we separated. “Go pick another album. I wanted to make out with you on the couch.” My cock jumped from just the words leaving her mouth. Standing to my full height, I helped her off the table. 

She shooed me with her hands to the living room where my inherited record player was housed. I thumbed the sleeves until I found the perfect selection: The Velvet Underground’s Loaded.

As soon as the needle fell into the groove, she appeared with the bottle of wine. We both traipsed to the couch. She split the wine as I settled into the sofa. I accepted a glass and then beckoned her to sink into my side. Together, we sipped and listened to the opening song. 

As the next began to play, she placed our empty glasses on the coffee table and straddled my lap. My hands came to rest on the tops of her thighs, pushing the fabric of her dress higher to expose more skin. She shimmied even closer to me, so she was at even more of a height advantage—my head was tipped almost completely back. 

Her fingers sifted through my locks, her nails massaging my scalp. A deep breath I didn’t even realize I was holding escaped my parted lips. She smiled as she watched me relax. My eyes were practically in the back of my head, her massage turning my mind to mush.

She tugged my hair, which earned a moan and caused me to shift under her. She ground against me, the stiff seams of my jeans caressing her most sensitive spot. I let her roll my head to the side so she had better access to pepper kisses along my neck. She continued to grind against my denim-clad crotch. Boy, did I wish there were less fabric between us. 

My fingers dug into her thighs as she sank her teeth into my neck. “Christ,” I said under my breath. She sat back and eyed me, proud of the reaction she got. Her thumb passed over the spot that would surely be purple later. “Maybe your students will have fewer questions come Monday.” Before I could say anything, she leaned in and sweetly pressed her lips to mine. 

“You’re such a sour patch kid,” I teased. She smiled at the nickname while she nipped my lips and swirled her tongue against mine. At the same time, her hands were busy unfastening my jeans. She climbed off my lap, and I lifted my hips to help her rid me of my garments. 

Climbing back into my lap, her knees bracketed my hips and the tops of her feet contoured the curve of my thighs. Her core rested against my length. I wanted nothing more than to guide myself into her.

“It’s really unfair you look this good in such a silly print.” Her fingers followed the shoulder seams of my shirt to the collar. Using the points, she pulled me back in for a kiss. As we separated, her hands dipped under my collar and over my shoulders to help shed the cloth. 

Once that was off, she took advantage of a tiny hole I hadn't noticed in my tank. Penetrating it with her finger, she pulled and the fabric easily gave way. I watched as the hole grew and she fisted the fabric to snap it at the hems. She untangled me from the ruined garment and dropped it to the floor. 

My arms snaked around her waist, pulling her closer and hands palming her backside through her dress. Her hips lifted, and with one hand, she guided me into her. Slowly, she returned to her resting position. A sigh left my mouth as I felt her adjusting to me.

“Honey,” I trailed off as she squeezed me a couple times. We kept eye contact as she began to slowly lift and lower herself. The pace quickened just a bit as she fell into rhythm with the music.

As she kept going, my hands slipped under her dress and began to pull it up until it was over her head. Once it was off, my mouth immediately found one of her nipples. The moan that left her lips was euphoric. 

It made me bite her harder. She let out something between a moan and cry as her nails sank into my shoulders. I hissed, enjoying the burn as she scored my skin.

She was frustrated, and I wanted every bit of that energy. 

Not wanting to miss any of it, I coiled an arm back around her waist and easily flipped us so she was laying on the couch parallel with the cushions. 

Her doe eyes stared up at me, filled with surprise. My quirked lip grew to a smirk, as I anchored a hand on the cushion beside her head and the other on the couch back. My hips began to rock, setting a new pace for us. The lust came back to her gaze as her soft thighs met my hips and her heels found purchase in the dimples of my ass. 

I held it together as her nails gently ran from the top of my cock to just under my pecs and back. Her touch was soft but firm enough not to tickle. I flexed a little extra. 

Watching her breasts bounce with each thrust was enamoring. Her breathy gasps each time I bottomed out were the only noise I was hearing. My eyes sank as she stopped touching me and started touching herself. 

My pace stayed the same, but my gaze was trapped where we connected. I slid in and out while her digits swirled along her swollen nerves. My hips stuttered from the added pleasure as her index and forefingers made a V around the base of cock. “Fuck me,” I whined. 

She smiled. “No, you’re fucking me,” she corrected. We laughed together. 

“I missed this so, so much,” I confessed. Wanting to be closer to her, I sank to my elbows. I tucked my palm behind her head, letting my fingers sift through her hair. Her eyes were hooded as she looked at me through her lashes. 

We locked gazes as she took a deep breath and moved her hands to my waist, her nails sinking into the flesh just above my hips. At the same time, I felt her entire lower half contract, thighs hugging me and core convulsing. 

“Bradley.” My name was long and drawn out as it left her lips. It was enough to make me spill into her. I breathed her name into the crook of her neck as I curled my arm under her head, my elbow became her head rest, to hug her whole body as close as possible. Her hand ran up my side and hooked around my shoulder. 

I followed her name with a pleasurable hiss as her teeth sank into the meat of my shoulder. She punctuated the action with a tender kiss. The first of several she trailed into the crook of my neck as we rode out our orgasms.

Just as we came down from our high, the record ended. “Perfect timing.” I pressed a kiss to her forehead before pulling out and heading to the record player. She whined, but turned to enjoy the view as I walked away. Patiently, she waited as I flipped the vinyl and put it back on the player. I lined up the needle perfectly, and immediately the opening notes seeped out of the speakers. 

By the time I was headed back to the couch, she was standing beside it. “Should we change the dress code in the house to birthday suits only?” I pressed my body to hers, enjoying the full frontal contact and handful of her ass I grabbed. She squeaked and arched her back. My lips covered hers to distract from her attempt to escape. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled into her lips. 

We parted just far enough to look one another in the eyes. Her expression was playful. “Apology accepted.” I squeezed her around her ribcage and stuck my face in the crook of her neck. Although we were stark naked, our hug was earnest. 

As we separated, she held my biceps, keeping us close. “Let’s go upstairs so you can keep doing what you’re doing to me all night long.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Together, we blew out all the candles, and then walked upstairs hand-in-hand.

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[to-fly-with-clipped-wings]

A Sea of Sorrows -> Act 1, Part 1

Act 1: the Fall of the Gods

Dear Percy. This was the year the Gods fell from Olympus, and I fell from you. I miss the us from that year. I wonder, did either of us know what was in store?

Series Summary: A chronicle of the moments you fell in love with your enemy, Percy Jackson. An epilogue to your fate and an epitaph to your grave.

AKA in a universe where you are a traitor to Camp Half-Blood. This is an ode to the boy that led to your downfall: Percy Jackson.

Series Masterlist

Percy Jackson Masterlist

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

i. “OH, OH, tell us again how the legend goes?”

Your eight-year old self bounced on the heels of your feet. The little blue birthday hat atop your head started to slip, the elastic string too long to fit snugly around your head, but you hardly bat an eye. You clap your hands together, giggling, staring in awe as yet another star sparks in the sky and, it too begins its spiralling descent from its heavenly abode and to the feet of your earth-dwelling mortals. 

The star’s trail of divine dust, marking its venture across your frail vision, was reflected in your eyes. You raised an arm, as though trying to pluck the celestial from the sky.

Silena Beauregard giggled as she reached over to fix your askew birthday hat. 

You didn’t know if it was the mind of your eight-year-old self manipulating a shroud mist around the girl or if she genuinely held the most ethereal, luminous pieces of the sky within her dark blue eyes. You didn’t know, or perhaps, didn’t want to remember, if her midnight silk hair, glossed and draped over her shoulders as the night enveloped the horizon, had been anything but that. The bracelets around her wrist tinkled as she went about drawing your astray strands of hair back. You could smell her perfume as well, but its scent was so fleeting that you could never seem to recall it once she left.

You smiled at her, like if you had even the slightest chance, you wouldn’t have hesitated to delve into the velvety curtain of the night to retrieve only the finest of stars for her eyes to hold. 

She smiled at you, as though — impossible as it may have sounded — as though, in that moment, she loved you.

“Well,” she started, leaning over to place both you and Annabeth on her lap.

Clarisse La Rue took that chance to rip off her birthday hat (red, she had insisted) and replace it with her usual bandanna. The Stoll brothers, apparently, took great offence to that gesture, as they too whipped off their own hats to brandish like daggers at the Ares girl. Clarisse snarled at them, before taking her own, very real, spear and threatening to shove it down their throats or in some other choice places.

Beckdorf smirked, crossing his arms as he turned his head to appraise the face-off between the brothers and Clarisse, but he didn’t make any move to discourage the oncoming fight. And then, as was usual, Luke — the golden boy, the older brother to all campers (no matter if you were younger or older than him) — sighed, as though he’d just lost fifteen years of his life from their spat, and then plucked Clarisse’s spear out of her hands and lightly pushed his half-brothers into each other, sprawling onto the ground like dominoes.

“Can’t you guys ever settle down?” he asked, rolling his eyes. But then he smiled, so all of you knew that he didn’t really mean it. “I mean, it’s little Major’s birthday today and all we want is to enjoy the meteor shower in peace.” “Little Major is contradictory,” frowned Annabeth. An onlooker might’ve thought that Luke had just wished a deadly curse upon her entire bloodline, from the way her grey gaze furrowed. “How can she be little and major at the same time? It doesn’t make any sense!”

Before Luke could make a teasing remark (you could tell from the way the outer corner of his lip, the one without the dimple, twitched upwards), you cut in. “Please, Selly, pretty please! Tell me about the shooting star?”

“It’s a tale of wonder,” Silena finally began, her pearly white teeth shining through her picture-perfect smile. Her tone was hushed, like she was whispering a super-secret secret to the girls, “forged by immortals under a sky, much like this one.”

“In the days of old,” continued Beckondorf, his contribution to the conversation surprising you. The muscular boy was of few words, but you supposed that Silena’s presence had drawn him out from his carefully crafted shell. You and Annabeth shared amused looks, far more knowing beyond your years. 

“The Greeks looked up to the heavens and saw the gods in every corner of the night. They believed that the sky was a grand canvas, a blank machine of sorts, where the gods etched their stories in constellations and galaxies.”

“Now, the gods, they weren’t distant watchers,” said Silena, glancing at Beckendorf as she spoke. She looked at him as though she wasn’t reciting the tale to you, but to him, the only other person in the world. “They were keepers of hopes, weavers of destinies. And sometimes, just sometimes, they would lean so close to Earth that a star would slip through their fingers and streak across the sky. That’s what we call a shooting star.

“The legend goes that in those fleeting moments, the veil between us and the divine thins. It’s when the gods are listening, truly listening, to the heartbeat of the world. And if a mortal, pure of heart and full of hope, makes a wish upon such a star, the gods take notice.”

“They say that Aphrodite smiles upon lovers,” spoke Luke softly. He gazed up at the sky, and then toward the pine-tree in the far distance. “Athena guides the seekers of wisdom, Ares leads man into war, and that, if you were truly of a golden heart, Zeus himself might offer his insight.” 

His voice dwindled off, and if, at the time, perhaps you hadn’t been so caught up in your childish, insolent elation, you might’ve picked up on his bitter tone.

Annabeth turned to you. “So, on your special night, let’s wish on all the shooting stars. Together.”

Silena nodded, resting her head on Beckendorf’s shoulder. “Close your eyes, you wish on that star. You wish and you dream wish with all that is there in your heart, and just, believe. Believe, as the gods are kind, and they cherish the dreams of their children.”

“But you remember, Major,” Luke turned his saddened gaze back to you. “That old star can only take you part of the way. You have to help it along with some hard work of your own, and then, yeah. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

“Just promise us one thing,” murmured Silena. “That you'll never, ever lose sight of what's really important.”

“I don’t know what to do,” You stared up at her anxiously, fiddling with the string of your birthday hat. “Could you show me how to wish?”

She smiled once more, and it felt like the balance of the stars and sky had been reborn to take the form of Silena Beauregard. “Oh, I’m sure you already know how to do that.”

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

ii. Against all odds, you would say that you were looking forward to the Yancy school trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Yeah, you didn’t really care about art or architecture or the weird little naked statues of the gods (you definitely didn’t appreciate that), but you were looking forward to your first extraction mission as a demigod — even if this little outing of yours couldn’t be considered a quest, and even if it was long overdue.

Being undetermined was a disease in the world of Greek mythology, and it was a disease that followed you like the plague. it was a curse when your Godly parent refused to claim you, refused to acknowledge you. You were cursed from the start, cursed to run around, seeking kleos, and for what?

For absolutely nothing.

That was something no one let you forget. From your spot on the floor in Cabin Eleven, to the brown mass of curls on Grover’s head that frantically kept glancing back at you to make sure that no monster had snuck up on you during the last thirty seconds he hadn’t been looking at you. It even took Chiron about three years worth of convincing to let you go out, as he used the same reason (excuse) over and over again: you aren’t claimed. You don’t know how to defend yourself. It is too dangerous.

That’s what it always boiled down to. 

You weren’t claimed, fine. You didn’t need to be claimed to be able to fight. 

It was always the same broken record that played whenever someone opened their mouth, but instead of sweet melodies or even sweeter, praise, it was the string of never-ending, ‘you aren’t strong enough. You aren’t brave enough. You aren’t good enough.

You aren’t claimed.’

A voice in the back of your mind churned traitorously. Although, you supposed that you shouldn’t be the one to talk about betrayal. 

The speculations held merit, it had whispered.

Once a demigod was claimed, it was said that their powers grew exponentially. A claiming was essentially a blessing from your divine parent’s hand, a way of saying ‘I, as your parent, grant you your birthright as my child.’ You became blessed by Olympus to become faster, better, and stronger, a means to defend yourself from the monsters that lurked in the outside world.

But the thing was, once a godly parent claimed their kid, their godly side also began to radiate monster-attraction scent that enhanced their presence to monsters in a nearby radius. One would argue then, that meant unclaimed half-bloods would be better suited to high-risk jobs since they were at a lower risk of monster attacks than claimed ones. 

“But,” Clarisse La Rue had argued, “that also means that you have less experience fighting monsters, so what happens if you encounter a beast like the minotaur on the field? Less experience, plus no divine blessing is a stirring pot for demigod death.”

“So,” Chiron blinked at you, not unkindly. “You need to understand, we simply cannot be sending you out of camp, Major. Your mother is not in  a state where she is able to ward off monsters, and you…”

You…

You are not strong enough, you finish in your head bitterly. You were not strong like the others, not because you weren’t good with a sword or spear, but because you were not good enough to register as a child to your divine parent.

It was always Major, the side-kick. The pathetic little Robin to Luke’s Batman, or the golden rope to Annabeth’s Wonder Woman. Always the damsel in distress, never the prince. Always the one in the shadows, never the hero. Always the angel, never the god.

Since your mother’s passing four years ago, you had become a year round camper so you had more training under your belt than, say, ninety percent of the Apollo cabin. Yet, even they were allowed to leave camp and get up to all sorts of nonsense. 

Were you not enough for your godly parent to look up from whatever divine duties they needed to do? Were you not good enough for your godly father to come down to save your mother when she was on her deathbed? You weren’t even sure if your father knew your name. 

You sent Grover a small smile when he glanced back at you again. 

Next to you, Percy Jackson, pulled a face. 

Percy was a thirteen year old boy. With staggering sea-green eyes, black hair and tan skin, he was the half-blood Grover had called Chiron out for. For a year, it had been you, him and Grover fighting your way through the hell-hole that was Yancy Academy. Between failing classes, cheating off each other during tests (and failing those anyways because apparently both of you sucked at academics equally) and throwing dirt into Nancy Bobofit’s eyes, whenever she threw her weird bits of peanut-butter-and-ketchup sandwich on Grover, you would say that you and Percy were probably each other’s closest friends. Throughout the year, you and Percy had become each other’s anchor. You shared the burden of academic challenges, often finding peace in the fact that if you were going to fail, at least you’d do it together. 

There was a certain comfort in Percy’s company, a sense of acceptance that was rare and maybe even precious. He never looked at you with eyes of thinly veiled judgement that others often did, nor did he offer unwanted pity, that felt more like a burden than a comfort. It was probably because he had no idea of his demigod heritage, but with Percy, you were just you. 

Unclaimed, maybe, but never unseen. 

You liked Percy’s company, and you were impatiently waiting for the day Chiron gave you the all clear to return to Camp Half-Blood. There you and Percy could spend your days picking strawberries, sparring, whatever it was you two wanted to do. And hopefully, Percy would end up being unclaimed, or maybe even the son of a minor god, so you could ride out your days in the Hermes Cabin forever. Maybe one day, you would even be promoted to having a bunk. That would be especially great. 

“Excited for the trip, Major?” Percy grinned at you. 

You sighed, tilting your head on your seat so you could glance at him through the corner of your eyes. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Ahead of you, Grover squawked when Nancy Bobofit threw another bit of her sandwich at him. 

“I’m going to kill her,” muttered Percy, his eyes darkening at the red-headed girl. 

You patted Percy’s knee, trying to stop him from leaping toward Nancy. She sucked, but it wasn’t worth Percy getting expelled from Yancy just yet.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

i. “It’s easy,” said Luke, clapping your little, eight-year-old self on the back. “Wait and watch.”

And that you did. With bated breath and rapidly trembling fists, you waited and waited until the stars started to pour once again from the sky. They streaked down the horizon, the eyes of the sky shedding them like divine tear drops or that raindrops that slid down a window — the sort you would bet on with Annabeth about which would reach the sill first.

Beckendorf pointed at the brightest one he could find. He cleared his throat before saying his wish under his breath.

You tilted your head in confusion. “I didn’t hear the wish,” you frowned.

Luke smiled gently, his facade of happiness not quite reaching his eyes. “That’s the catch. You can’t let anyone find out about your wish, otherwise it won’t come true. It’s just between you, and the gods.”

He turned to the sky once more, and uttered his own wish. This time, you tried extra hard to pick up what he was saying, but you couldn’t hear much. You did catch a few words, something about history? It didn’t make too much sense to you though.

It was Silena’s go next. Her cheeks were pink as she made her wish, and she looked at the ground instead of the stars. Her wish was so quiet that even though she had placed you and Annabeth on top of her, you couldn’t hear a thing. 

Annabeth Chase, Clarisse La Rue, Travis and Connor Stoll, Harmony Crosscov and Critos Lyalin all prayed for their wishes as well. It wasn’t hard for you to predict what theirs might've been about. Annabeth’s probably had to do with architecture, Clarisse’s with her spear (possibly making it more deadly, even though you didn’t know why exactly a ten year old needed a super deadly spear in her collection). Travis and Connor probably asked to get a key for the camp’s gift shop so they could raid it even when it was locked. 

Harmony, a daughter of Apollo, had picked up the lyre she was strumming and held it to the sky as she wished, so you suspected hers had to do with maybe creating the most beautiful melody mankind had ever heard with it (although she already did that, so you didn’t know why she needed to use her wish on that). Critos was a son of Demeter, and he was the only one who weren’t entirely confident about, but you thought maybe it had to do with one of his plants — like the petunias that kept wilting? He had always complained about those.

Now, everyone had made their wish. Everyone but you. Your birthday posse turned to face you, the birthday girl, as you prepared to make what was going to be the most important wish of the night.

You were beside yourself in excitement. Today was your eighth birthday! The gods had to grant your wish, that was the intrinsic birthday rule, wasn’t it? The gods had to be looking, heck, maybe even your godly parent was looking. Maybe, just maybe, today would be the day you would get claimed.

You thought about using that as your wish. ‘I wish to be claimed.’ But you decided against it. You had only been at camp for about two months, that wasn’t that long compared to the other camper’s claiming stories. You had plenty of time ahead of you to get claimed, so you didn’t need to rush and waste your wish on something that was inevitable anyways.

Maybe you should wish to win the next capture the flag game? Gods know that the Hermes cabin would be ecstatic if you did. What about acing the Ancient Greek vocab test you had the next day? No, you shook your head. You were going to fail that anyways, wishing on a star wouldn’t save your pitiful grades. You would just have to hope Annabeth would be in a ‘helping-Major-cheat’ mood tomorrow.

Maybe you should wish for something to do with your mother? You frowned. 

The thought of her laughter, her warmth, her guidance - all the things you missed the most - flooded your mind. ‘If she could come back, would she be the same?’ you pondered, the uncertainty a heavy stone in your stomach. ‘And what would she think?’ The frown deepened as you considered. It wasn't just about what you wanted; it was about the balance of things, the natural order. But… she’s gone now. Was she? Could this wish bring her back?

You opened your mouth, but before you said anything, another thought struck you. And with that thought, a sense of peace began to settle over you, as if your mother's wisdom had reached out from beyond, guiding you once more.

That was it! 

The most perfect wish. The gods had to grant it, there was no way they could refuse. It would be the best blessing, the most perfect divine grant that couldn’t possibly be refuted.

In your excitement, however, you forgot about the wishes-were-supposed-to-be-super-top-secret-so-you-must-whisper-them rule, and ended up just blurting it out of your mouth, words churring out faster than you could comprehend.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

ii. Chiron — sorry, Mr. Brunner, led the museum tour.

It wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before. Ancient Greek armour (that you knew weren’t that ancient), pots with little dancing figures painted on them, steles with, to no one’s surprise, weird naked statues of gods running across them. It was really nothing special, just the usual artsy stuff mortals were crazy for, but you did get a kick out of Percy snapping at Nancy when Chiron was rumbling about something to do with Greek depression or something.

“Will you shut the fuck up?” Percy gave her his nastiest stink-eye.

Everyone laughed. You nudged Percy’s shoulder, and he turned his gaze to you, kicking your shoe in retaliation, before remembering that Chiron and Mrs. Dodds were still there, and they didn’t look happy at all with Percy’s interruption.

Mrs. Dodds was an interesting character. She despised Percy with all of her being (not heart, you weren’t sure if she had a heart), but you would say she had a soft-spot for you. Like whenever she gave Percy after-school detention for blowing up a bin or something, you would turn, smile at you and hand you this weird melted candy bar that tasted oddly like hot fudge and sea salt?

While the chocolate was a much appreciated gesture, you didn’t enjoy the way she snapped at Percy, and you agreed that there was something off about her. Like in the way she wasn’t exactly… normal? But you doubted anyone would listen to you anyways, and if Chiron hadn’t picked up on it, then it probably wasn’t important.

“Mr. Jackson,” began the centaur in disguise. “Did you have a comment?”

“No, sir,” said Percy, his cheeks burning red.

Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. “Perhaps you’ll tell us what this picture represents?”

Percy looked to where he was pointing. He nodded slightly, that he knew the answer to that question (if he didn’t that was fine anyways, you would’ve just whispered it to him). “That’s Kronos eating his kids, right?”

“Yes,” Mr. Brunner said, raising an eyebrow. “And he did this because…”

“Well… Kronos was the king god, and —”

“God?” Mr. Brunner asked. 

You flinched slightly when Percy said it; you didn’t think the gods would be willing to hold back if they caught him making that little comment. The gods had incredibly short fuses, and it was often their temper that caused the most destruction — like when Ares shot that one archduke back in 1914 and started World War 1.

“Titan,” Percy fixed. “And…he didn’t trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—”

“Eeew!” squealed a girl from behind you. 

“—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans,” Percy powered through, “and the gods won.”

Nancy Bobofit mumbled, “like we’re going to use this in real life. Like it’s going to say on our job applications, ‘Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.’”

You didn’t like Nancy much, but there was probably some merit to her question. The gods cared so much about themselves, that one day they probably would manage to hijack mortal job interviews into a pop quiz of ‘what is Aphrodite’s favourite brand of perfume’ or ‘write a one thousand word essay on why Zeus is most supreme god, explaining clearly why his brothers Poseidon and Hades suck ass.’

You rolled your eyes.

“And why, Mr. Jackson,” Brunner said, “to paraphrase Miss Bobofit’s excellent question, does this matter in real life?”

“Busted,” Grover muttered. 

“Shut up,” hissed Nancy, her face even brighter red than her hair. 

Percy looked pensive for a moment, the most pensive you’d ever seen him apart from when he needed to decide between blue cookies or blue jelly beans. “I don’t know, sir.”

“I see.” Chiron sighed. “Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan’s stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld.”

Kronos. The name sent chills up your spine. The Titan lord who had once ruled before the gods, now a whisper from the past, yet his legacy lingered like a shadow. As Chiron recounted the tale, you couldn’t help but feel a twinge of foreboding, a sense that the history of the gods and Titans was not as distant as it seemed.

Your gaze shifted downwards to your trembling hands. You clasp them together to try and steady them. The tales of gods and Titans, of heroes and monsters, they all seemed like distant echoes of a world you were forced into but never truly belonged. You felt the weight of your unclaimed status, a constant reminder of your place, or lack thereof, in this mythological nightmare.

You watched Percy. His fate was yet to unfold, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy. He had a path, albeit unknown to him, but you… you were adrift in a sea of uncertainty, a ship without a sail.

The gods, those mighty beings who played with the lives of mortals and demigods alike, they were the root of your turmoil. How easy it must’ve been for them, to watch from their celestial thrones, to judge and to ignore the pleas of their children. 

In the days to come, I would stand by you as you discovered the truth. But, when the weight of your destiny became too much to bear alone, my greatest regret was that I could not stand beside you. Your bond was a testament to the strength that friendship and loyalty could bring. Mine was a testament to the darkness and hatred of our world.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iii. The battlefield was before you, a canvas of chaos painted with the scars of war. The earth itself seemed to mourn, its once green flesh torn and charred. The battlefield stretched out, a vast, open wound upon the ground. The grass was soaked with the blood of fallen warriors, and squelched underfoot as you walked among the remnants of what had once been a fierce and vibrant camp. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of burning flesh, a sensory assault that would haunt you for all your days.

The earth, which had once cradled life, now cradled the fallen, its bosom scarred by the violence it had witnessed. The camp, once a beacon of hope and strength for demigods, lay in ruins, its vibrant pulse silenced, save for the mournful wind that whispered through the shattered remains.

Luke Castellan had returned, but not as the triumphant hero he had set out to be. His quest to retrieve the golden apples had failed miserably. The cost of his ambition was written in the blood and lives of his quest mates, who had perished along the way. The monsters he had inadvertently brought to the camp's boundary were now a symbol of his failure, their snarls and roars a chorus of impending doom.

Amidst the cacophony of clashing steel and the cries of the wounded, a shadow loomed large. The dracanae, a beast of nightmares, slithered through the chaos, its presence a dark omen. Its scales, as dark as the void, absorbed the light around it. They were fighting not just for their lives, but for the very soul of the camp, against forces that sought to extinguish their light forever.

Monsters had breached the camp's defences, and panic had taken hold.

Luke stumbled across the boundary line of the camp, his face marred in blood, blood, blood. Luke's arrival had been a tragic procession, a lone figure staggering under the weight of failure and loss. His face, a mask of agony, was a stark reminder of the cost of their endeavours. The blood that stained him was not just his own but that of his questmates, their lives extinguished.

One of his eyes was doused in the red, liquid, acid, and you could make out a gruesome scar that trailed from above his eyebrow right down to his jaw. You sucked in a breath.

You had watched, your heart shattering, as Luke's knees buckled, his strength waning. The monsters he had unwittingly led to the camp's boundary now surged forward, eager to feast on the grief and fear that hung heavy in the air.

His face was as though it had been split open. You dropped your sword, and immediately rushed toward your old friend. Luke cried out in pain as he brought a hand up to his wound in an attempt to hold his face together.

“Luke! Luke!” you shrieked, almost tripping over the armour that was too big for your ten-year-old body. “Luke!”

You ran toward them, engulfing him with your arms. You had run, small legs carrying you faster than they ever had, toward the brother who had taught you to be brave, to fight, to hope.

The battle raged on beside you, but you could hardly care, for your oldest brother was in your arms with his heart and soul bore open and torn to shreds. 

As you had reached him, the world seemed to slow, the sounds of war fading into a hushed lull. You had wrapped your arms around him, a futile shield against the tide of darkness that threatened to engulf you both. Luke's eyes, once bright with mischief and courage, now mirrored the devastation that was before you.

The battle had raged on, indifferent to the small, poignant scene at its fringes. But for you, in that moment, there had been nothing else—only the piercing grief of a child holding onto the last remnants of a family that was swiftly being torn away.

“Archers!” Lee Fletcher called out to his fellow half-siblings. “On my mark!”

The sky above was a tumultuous canvas, where the wrathful gods seemed to paint with clouds the colour of bruises and ash. Their indifference hung heavy, a suffocating blanket over the carnage below. 

You had once prayed to them, believed in their wisdom and justice, but now their names left a bitter taste on your tongue.

“Now!”

A volley of arrows spiralled through, each one hitting its mark. One, two, three arrows in rapid-fire succession knocked off the beasts that stumbled into camp boundaries. A cyclops that had been standing over a bloodied mass of a young girl, hollered in pain as an arrow pierced its singular eye. A draco aionius roared out a blast of fire, but your eyes were so wrung out with tears and blood that you couldn’t see who it had shot down before it had been killed. The dracanae lashed out one final time before exploding into a heap of golden dust.

The cries of the wounded rose around you, a haunting chorus that melded with the wails of those mourning their kin. You saw families torn apart, sisters cradling lifeless sisters, brothers with eyes hollowed by a brother’s loss. Each face was a mirror of your own despair, reflecting a shared agony that would bind you to them in grief.

You stumbled upon the body of the young son of Demeter, his chestnut hair matted with blood, his eyes forever staring at a sky that offered no solace. 

Critos, you sobbed. Critos…

A mistake that no amount of tears could wash away. A young camper, a son of Demeter known for his gentle spirit and his ability to make the flowers dance, lay still on the ground.

With a heart heavy as lead, you made your way to the infirmary, the air thick with the scent of herbs and the low hum of healing chants. There, among the rows of cots, you saw her—a daughter of Apollo. Harmony. 

The sight of her, your friend who had once filled the air with melodies so sweet they could make the sky weep, struck a new chord of pain within you. Her hands, those delicate instruments of beauty, were now disfigured by the violence in the name of the gods. She had dreamt of music that would touch the divine, but now her dreams lay as shattered as her bones. Now, those hands were stilled, and the music was no more. 

Her hands, once so deft at the lyre, now lay motionless by her side. 

Her eyes met yours, and in them, you found not blame, but a silent understanding. It was the cruelty of fate, not the will of gods, that had brought this upon her. 

She looked up at you, her eyes not accusing but filled with a sorrow that echoed your own. In that gaze, you saw the reflection of every broken promise, every shattered hope. She had been there to celebrate your life, and now here she lay, a casualty of a battle she had no part in starting.

Anger surged through you, a fiery torrent that threatened to consume everything in its path. The gods, those distant arbiters of fate, had watched impassively as your world crumbled. They had remained silent, their celestial indifference a stark contrast to the cacophony of grief that filled the camp.

Your mother, a casualty of their indifference. Critos, your dear friend, your found brother. Harmony, who would never play her instruments again. Her god-given gifts, the blessings bestowed upon her by her father had been ripped away from her. You knew it — injuries, bone fractures, that were severe beyond repair. No one apart from the gods could save her, but you knew that no matter how much you wished on the stars, they would never answer.

You wept for Thalia, who you had never known but who had died for you and your family. You wept for Annabeth, her face wrapped in a cast of bandages, and was laid on the cot next to Harmony. You wept for Luke, who was only a few steps away from the white bags that enshrouded that bodies of—... of the fallen.

They were all lives that could have been saved. 

Silena cried in Beckdorf’s arms. Their shared silence was louder than any words could ever be, a mutual understanding of the depth of their sorrow.

In this moment of profound loss, the realisation hit you like a wave crashing against the shore: wishes were but fleeting thoughts, powerless against the tides of fate. The gods, distant and enigmatic, offered no solace to the grieving hearts of mortals. It was a harsh lesson, one that stripped away the veneer of mythical heroism to reveal a truth as old as time itself.

Was this what they had meant about not relying on some magical stars to make a wish?

The gods, those distant beings, had taken from you the family you had found in this band of warriors. They had watched from their lofty thrones as you had fought, bled, and wept, mere pawns in their celestial games. And in that moment, as the weight of loss bore down upon you, you felt the seeds of hatred take root. Hatred for the gods who had forsaken you, hatred for the fate that had been thrust upon you, and hatred for a world that could be so cruel.

In the end, you could only truly rely on yourself to make wishes come true.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iv. Strapping your head-piece securely on, blue plumes spilling from the top. Your armour was strapped on and you were decked out in metal from head to toe. You double-checked that your sword was tucked into your sheath before joining the Athena alliance in their march for the Capture the Flag match.

You quite liked Capture the Flag. It was one of those games where you had to do something and everyone got to run around and play — albeit, Camp Half-Blood kids did run around like headless chickens most of the time.

Percy scrambled to catch up with, tripping over his shin-guard that was a few sizes too big for him. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you grinned at him.

“So what’s the plan?” He asked. “Got any magic items you can loan me?”

You shook your head. “Nah. Sorry. Magical items are things you get from your godly parent when they feel like it. I haven’t got anything.” you waved at your basic sword for effect. “That’s why I usually go with one of the spare swords from the training shed.”

You pointed at his pocket. “You’ve got Riptide, though, haven’t you? That’s more than enough.”

Percy shrugged. “I don’t have it anymore, it vanished. I’m stuck with a regular, boring sword like you.”

You frowned at this. Didn’t Chiron give it to him? He should still have it, shouldn’t he? “That’s strange. Just make sure Clarisse’s spear doesn’t touch you, it's electric and stings like hell. Annabeth will handle getting the banner from Ares.”

He gave you a lopsided smile. “Okay, Major.” He said ‘Major’ with the same tone you would call someone ‘Bossy’.

You laughed before catching him by the strap of his armour when he tripped over again. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Border patrol, whatever that means.”

“Ah,” you nodded. “That’s easy. Stand by the creek, keep the reds away.”

“What’re you doing?”

You rubbed your chin thoughtfully. “I think I’m supposed to be a decoy for Luke when he runs for the flag.”

Percy looked at you appraisingly. “I guess you do look like him. I see how that would work.”

He swerved to avoid getting a faceful of the dirt you’d kicked up at him with your shoes. 

Percy then started chasing you down to the creek where the Athena alliance were planting their flag, similar to how the satyrs would chase the dryads near the strawberry patch albeit a lot slower because of his armour that was triple his body weight.

You stopped when you reached the silver flag, causing Percy to topple into you and send the both of you flying into the ground. You laughed, tugging the boy up with your hands and punching him in the shoulder. He huffed before waving at you and walking down to the creek to assume his duty of border patrol. 

You went to stand by Luke.

Overall, you would say Capture the Flag was a success. 

The Athena win streak was not lost this match, and you got to beat down one of the Hephaestus kids with your sword, which was always a pretty good bonus. The blue team cheered loudly, carrying Luke on their shoulders as he waved the Ares flag about in the air. You were going to join them when you saw Percy, drenched in water, arguing with the air.

“I told you. Athena always, always has a plan,” said the air before shimmering and revealing Annabeth with her invisible yankee cap.

“A plan to get me pulverised,” snapped Percy. His arms were crossed as he stared down the daughter of Athena.

“I came as fast as I could. I was about to jump in, but…” She shrugged. 

“You didn’t need help?” you suggested, popping up between them.

Percy’s glare dropped as he saw you. “Sup, Major. I’m guessing decoying for Luke went well?”

“The best,” you agreed before noticing the wound on his arm. “How did you do that?”

“Sword cut,” He said, rolling his eyes. “Stupid Clarisse and her pig-headed minions.”

“No,” Annabeth interjected sharply. “It was a sword cut. Look at it.”

You watched, incredulous, as the blood disappeared. Where a gaping wound had been, only a faint line lingered, and even that was fading fast. In moments, it dwindled to a mere scratch, then vanished as if it had never been.

The smile slipped from your face.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iii. Being a demigod was a curse. 

It was a relentless burden, especially when you had been confined within the walls of Camp Half-Blood for four years, and still, your divine parent remained a shadow, unclaiming and aloof. 

You lifted your face to the heavens, rain simmering on your face like little angels doting you with frigid kisses, each drop mingling with the silent tears that trembled down your cheeks. It was almost as though you were praying, but you knew better than that.

Prayer had once been a solace, a hope, but now it felt like a bitter reminder of divine neglect.

The pyres stood ready, a grim assembly for the ritual of farewell. The rain fell in a relentless drizzle, each drop a cold, indifferent tear from the heavens. You stood before them, the shrouds of your fallen family draped over the lifeless forms that had once been vibrant souls among you.

Being a demigod had always been a double-edged sword, but never had the blade cut so deep. The walls of Camp Half-Blood, which had once offered sanctuary, now felt like a prison, holding you captive with your grief and rage.

You raised your face to the sky, the rain washing over you, a cruel mimicry of the comforting touch you so desperately needed. It was as if the gods themselves were mocking your pain, offering water when it was solace you sought.

Your heart was a cauldron of fury, simmering with a silent rage that threatened to boil over. The gods, those distant observers of mortal toil, had turned their gaze away, leaving you to fend for yourself in a world that seemed to crumble at your feet. 

As you stood there, the injustice of it all seared your soul, igniting a fire within that no amount of rain could douse. Betrayal was a bitter pill to swallow, and it lodged itself firmly in your throat, a constant reminder of the gods' neglect.

Your hands, though trembling, were resolute. The delicate tremor was not a sign of weakness, but a testament to the strength that surged through your veins—a strength born of anger, of loss, of an unwavering commitment to those you called family.

With a heavy heart and a spirit ablaze with determination, you stepped forward to light the pyres. The flames caught quickly, their hungry tongues licking at the shrouds, consuming the last physical remnants of those you loved. The smoke rose to the heavens, a silent scream of defiance against the gods who had forsaken you.

In that moment, as the fire crackled and the rain wept, you made a silent vow. You would do anything for your family, for those who had stood by you when the gods had not. You would be their protector, their avenger, their unwavering support. And though the gods may have turned their backs on you, you would never turn your back on those you loved.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iv. “I—I don’t get it,” he said.

Annabeth was deep in thought, face wrinkled in concentration, and you could only imagine the intense mental gymnastics happening behind her gaze. “Step out of the water, Percy.”

“What—”

“Just do it.”

Percy emerged from the creek, hair plastered to his face and body bone-tired, but strangely enough, completely dry. He swayed on his feet, and you reached out to steady him, your touch firm. 

“Oh, Styx,” Annabeth cursed. “This is not good. I didn’t want…I assumed it would be Zeus.…”

You could only meet Percy’s gaze in a muted horror. 

Of course you’d picked up on Annabeth’s train of thought. But the revelation left you reeling. You couldn’t believe it. You thought… of course they wouldn’t stick to the oath. This — the one thing! How could they? What? 

Your jaw clenched, and your grip on Percy tightened subconsciously.

Percy opened his mouth but before he could say anything, a canine howl reverberated throughout the forest.

Everyone tensed and Chiron barked out “Stand ready! My bow!”

Above you, a monstrous creature crouched on the craggy ledge, its silhouette massive against the sky. Its eyes burned like coals from the depths of a forge, and its massive jaws bristled with teeth, each one as lethal as a freshly honed blade. It stared down at you with an intensity that pierced through your body.

A hellhound. Your eyes widened, gripping the handle of your sword.

Nobody moved except you, who yelled, “Percy, run!”

You tried to step in front of the boy, your sword clutched in between your fingers. The hellhound barked, and although you expected it to forget Percy and redirect its course to you, it dove past you (ignoring you completely) and ripped into Percy’s armour.

You didn’t look back as Chiron and the Apollo cabin took care of the hellhound, focusing on Percy whose chest was blooming with deep, red bloodstains.

“Percy!” You cried out, dropping to your knees beside him. Your fingers fumbled with his chestplate, trying to ignore the slick, warm blood that coated your hands.

“Di immortales!” Annabeth exclaimed. “That’s a hellhound from the Fields of Punishment. They don’t…they’re not supposed to…”

“Someone summoned it,” Chiron announced, trotting over. “Someone inside the camp.”

The dead body of the hellhound melted into the shadows, presumably returning back to the Underworld, only, you didn’t care. What you cared about right now was Percy Jackson who was drenched in blood with a horrific gash torn into his body.

“You’re wounded,” Annabeth told Percy as if no one knew that. “Quick, Percy, get in the water.”

You draped Percy’s arm around your shoulder, helping him step into the creek with little protest.

“Chiron, watch this,” Annabeth said.

As Percy staggered into the creek, the water seemed to greet him like an old friend. The blood that had painted his clothes a grim crimson began to dissolve, carried away by the gentle current. You watched as the gruesome wound in his chest closed before your very eyes. The torn flesh knit together, leaving not even a scar behind. It was as if time had reversed, as if the claws of the hellhound had never touched him.

But that wasn’t the part that stunned you the most.

“Look, I—I don’t know why,” Percy tried to apologise. “I’m sorry.…”

“Percy,” Annabeth said, pointing. “Um…”

There was a sign above Percy’s head, an unmistakable one that no one did not know. A hologram of green light, spinning and gleaming. A three-tipped spear: a trident.

“Your father,” Annabeth whispered. “This is really not good.”

“It is determined,” Chiron stated solemnly.

Campers knelt around you, even those from Ares’ cabin, though they did so grudgingly.

“My father?” Percy was bewildered.

“Poseidon,” said Chiron. “Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, Perseus Jackson, Son of the Sea God.”

A shadow was drawn upon your face, eyes fixated on the trident above Percy’s head. The throb in your head returned and all you felt was a torrent of fervent, quivering, absolute rage that coursed through you.

I know that it wasn’t your fault, Percy, but at that moment, I couldn’t think of anything else.

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

iv. The shroud burning had already taken place, the flames extinguishing along with the last rays of twilight. The camp was shrouded in darkness, a reflection of the sorrow that enveloped your heart. You stood alone, the grief a tangible presence that seemed to suffocate you with its intensity.

The gods had remained silent, their absence in your hour of need a betrayal that stung sharper than any blade. The ritual had been meant to offer closure, but it had left you feeling hollow, the embers of the pyres like the dying light of your hope.

That night, as the world around you faded into the quiet hush of slumber, a curious sensation took hold—a dream, or so it seemed, yet not quite. Dreams were fleeting. They often slip through the fingers of your mind, vanishing from your memory once you woke up. But for some strange reason, you felt the trickling trail of deja vu climbing up your spine. 

You thought that you’d had this dream before. Probably.

A shiver of recognition danced up your spine, a whisper of memory that felt like an old friend—or perhaps a ghost from the past. It was a dream that had etched itself into the grooves of your mind, returning with the silent stealth of a cat prowling in the night.

You strained to recall the last time this dream had visited you. It could’ve been a year ago, a month ago — even last night. But you did know that you’d had it. This dream had treaded the halls of your sleep before.

In the realm of dreams, you found yourself wandering through an ancient forest, the moonlight casting ethereal shadows upon the ground. The air was thick with the scent of pine and the whisper of leaves. The moon, a sliver in the sky, provided scant illumination, casting long, haunting shadows that danced between the ancient trees. Your footsteps were muffled on the forest floor, as though the earth itself conspired to keep your passage secret.

With a heavy heart, you spoke into the storm, “You could have saved her, but you didn’t.” 

The words hung in the air. “My mother. She was one of your most faithful, but, when she needed you most, you turned away. Why? Was her devotion not enough? What about Critos, who died alone, without his family, on the battlefield? What about Silena, who lost her sister? What about Harmony, who will never be able to use her hands again, never able to exercise the blessing that you gave her. What about all the countless other demigods, older and younger than me, who died for a cause — your cause — whose names you will never bother to remember.”

The silence that followed was your answer. 

Your voice broke as you continued, “What about me? For years, you ignored me — you still ignore me. For years, you left me to fight for myself in a world that you created. I don’t understand. We’re your children, aren’t we? Aren’t we supposed to matter to you? We deserved better.”

“You’re supposed to be our parents. We deserve someone who would fight for us, who would value our lives. But what do we get instead? Fucking selfish deities, with all the power in the entire goddamn world who leave us to suffer and die in some sick game you orchestrate just because you can!”

“You don’t understand! I’ve waited my whole life for just a sign from you. Our whole lives revolve around you! What more could you want from us?” The tears of the sky dripped onto your shaking form. 

“You take life after life! You take, take, take when we’ve already given you everything you could have ever wanted!”

The thunder seemed to mock your pain, and you trembled with a mixture of cold and fury. “You say these stupid things, give us stupid, stupid, naive hope — wish upon the stars, wish upon you and all will come true? We looked up to you! We wished, and wished and wished, but instead, you killed my family, tortured us beyond cruelty. What do you want from me?!”

You were screaming at the sky now, your mind pulsing with nothing but red-hot rage. “I’m done waiting! You’ve shown me exactly what we mean to you — nothing!”

Something clasped your shoulder. 

Turning around, your heart caught in your throat. Your eyes trembled, pupils dilated at the sudden contact. As you turned away, a presence enveloped you, not the warm embrace of a father, but the cold touch of something ancient and powerful.

A dark mist surrounded you. The air crackled with static, a lingering feeling of something you couldn’t quite name. 

And then, without warning, the forest fell away, and you found yourself standing at the edge of a clearing. The mist swirled here, gathering strength. From the heart of the mist, a figure materialised. It was tall and imperious, its form shifting and wavering as if woven from the fog itself. Its eyes, when they met yours, were bottomless pits of darkness, and you felt yourself falling into them.

“Child,” it spoke, and the words seemed to resonate with the very fibres of your being. “I have watched you, and I know the suffering you’ve been dealt by the gods.”

“They have wronged you, as they have wronged me,” the figure continued, the mist swirling with every gesture. “They sit in their celestial palace, blind to the struggles of those below. But I see your potential, your desire for justice. Together, we can make them regret.”

In the quiet of your dream, your heart stirred. You did not know who this figure was or what he wanted from you, but his words reached you. The gods, those distant watchers, had become but silhouettes against your tribulations, their figures blurred by the tears of your unanswered calls. Beings who had turned their back on you, refused to acknowledge when it mattered. Left you unclaimed, left your mother to die, left your brothers and sisters to die, and since the beginning of time, left humanity to suffer in a cyclic torture. 

And, so close, was the embrace of the mist — echoing your fury, validating your resentment. 

“Why should I join you?” you asked, though part of you already yearned for the vengeance he promised.

“Because your rage is a weapon that can reshape the world,” the mist replied, its form growing more defined, more commanding. “The gods fear what they cannot control, and they cannot control the fury of the heart. I will help you shield the loved ones you have left. If you join me, I promise they will be safe in the end. We will turn your fury into a force that will shake even the heavens. And you, my dearest, Major, will see to it that your family is treated better than the gods would ever care to allow.”

The mist’s words were a poison, sweet and lethal, the dream reached its peak, as you teetered on the cross-roads of a decision that could alter the course of history.

You stood still, the realisation dawning on you like a cold sunrise. This was Kronos, the Titan King, the very essence of time and treachery. The air around you grew colder, the mist swirling with a newfound intensity.

The mist around you thickened, and Kronos’s voice became more insistent. “I can help you,” he whispered again, the words slithering through the air like a serpent.

You felt the anger and sorrow within you stir, manipulated by his words. It was a dangerous game he played, but in your heart, the seeds of rebellion had been sown. 

“Join me,” whispered Kronos.

“Yes,” you found yourself saying, the word escaping your lips before doubt could take hold. “Yes, I will join you.”

With a resolve born of grief and betrayal, I turned my back on the sky and walked away. That was the moment, when I was only ten years old, that I swore my life to Kronos. It was the moment, I think, that sealed our fate. 

* . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

i. “I wish that we would all stay together.” you said.

“That’s my wish. I wish that, no matter what, no matter what place or lifetime we’re in, we will always, always, be family.”

“Promise me, ‘kay?” you continued, not fully sure if you were still talking to the gods or the people around you. “That in this life and the next and the one after, we will always find each other. Because we’re family.”

You turned to the demigods around you, who have all taken on some form of shock. The younger ones look appalled that you spoke your wish out loud (“how will it come true now?” protested Annabeth, though her face was tinged with a pink blush), while the older ones wore expressions you couldn’t quite discern.

“Major…” Silena breathed, her eyes, for some reason, glossy. Was she upset that you had said your wish too loud? 

“I mean it!” you looked to the heavens earnestly. “We’re family now, we have to stick together. Forever and ever and ever.”

Another star crossed the twinkling night tapestry. It was a dark, terribly dark, night, but unless someone else had been sharing this story, to you, the moment would remain of the most bright, luminous scenery you’d ever had the honour of bathing in. 

The gentle hand of the gods met their mortals upon the ground through the sky’s scattered stars, and they coated you and your family in their mystical star dust. 

Luke blinked himself out of his stupor. He offered you his hand to shake. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Major. Gods or not, we promise. Family.”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, a gesture as warm as the sun's embrace, which seemed to spark a chain reaction. Annabeth, with a smile that could light up the darkest of nights, followed suit, her arms joining his. One by one, the rest of your family, a patchwork quilt of half-bloods, each with their own stories they bore in their hearts, came together in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

Under the star-swept sky, a canvas dotted with celestial wonders, the group hug grew, a living, breathing entity of connection and joy. You shrieked with laughter, the sound mingling with the chorus of chuckles and snorts around you. It was a symphony of happiness, a melody that resonated with the very core of your being.

You tried to pull your head out of the mass of limbs you’d become entangled within, seeking a breath of air, only to be lovingly dragged back into the fray. Someone’s hair tickled your nose, another’s elbow nudged your side, but it was all part of the beautiful chaos that was your home.

The hug was more than just a physical act; it was a promise, a silent vow of unity and support that needed no words. It was the understanding that no matter where life's journey took you, these bonds would remain unbroken. And as you stood there, enveloped by the people who had become your world, you knew that this moment would be etched into the stars above, a memory as eternal as the night sky itself.

“This is— the— best birthday— ever!”

And thought you meant that. You really, really did.

I wish I could’ve said sorry to you, Percy, back then.

Maybe then we could’ve stood a chance. * . °•★|•°∵ ∵°•|☆•° . *

Random fun fact: Major is anti-government and hates taxes 🥶😊, she also likes liquorice

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