#reading pjo making me mourn for luther a lil harder

[doomdays]

he writes his daily update to send to his father and then immediately turns around and starts journaling for himself in such a dramatically different tone. to his father, he's still trying so hard to fit the mold of the perfect son and perfect soldier, trying to impress him and make him proud of the work he's doing, trying to solidify his place in the world as this hero he's fated to be even though the last few years have proven that the world doesn't actually need him anymore.

and then he seals those letters up and immediately goes back to his own private journals and falls apart. he's not the perfect son, he's not the perfect solider. he doesn't even know what he's doing up there. he's alone, just like he's always been - like he's been those few years after his siblings left him there and even before that, when they didn't truly know how to be a family, when it was clear that all of his siblings never truly had the same path as luther thought they were all supposed to.

he's always been isolated, he just never truly noticed it until he lost his family -- and now he's been sent away to the moon with nothing but his thoughts. and this body, the body that's not his, the one he did not ask for nor consent to, and he's forced to think every single day if it would've just been better for his dad to let him die instead. because why did he save his life for this? what is he doing? who is he supposed to be? when his family saw the news of his departure, did they care? did they think to come to visit him? when they saw the news of his near-fatal accident, why didn't they come see him? and would he have wanted that, anyway? he doesn't want them to see him like this. he doesn't even want to see himself like this. his father didn't, either, clearly.

most of his free time (basically, all of his time, considering) is spent writing poetry, but it's those times after he's sealed up another one of his reports to send to his father (knowing he'll get no response because his father never actually opened them) that he feels so utterly hopeless, in such a contrast to the way he frames himself to be in his reports, that he starts writing out all his feelings in ways he knows he could never talk to anyone about. because who does he have?

he's so much better at processing his thoughts through poetry but i just think he also deserves a little journal ranting. as a treat

someday i'll write out some of luther's journal entries from his time on the moon. and then you'll all know