#story in verse

[ilovedagain]

A story of Damian's place in his family, told in verse.

There's a book in a library in Grandfather's castle, with people's illustrations and yellowed pages. Lines connect their names and faces, forming branches spanning generations. And down at the bottom is Damian's name. Mother's face and name are there, a beautiful portrait and sprawling calligraphy. But the space for Father's place is empty. He traces his small fingers over the space where Father ought to be and wonders what the reason could be.

"Am I a bastard?" He asks Mother one day, his mouth and mind running as she runs a comb through her hair.

The comb stops. She meets his eyes in the mirror, facing him in the gilded frame. For a moment, it's as if her portrait from that book has come to life. "Why would you say that?"

"My father is never here. And his name is not in the book—the book of our family tree..."

Mother turns and holds his shoulders with careful hands. There is something in her expression that he can't understand.

"Your father is the greatest man," she says. "And you are his precious son. His name is Bruce Wayne and he lives in Gotham. One day, my love, you will meet him and know exactly how deep his love for you grows."

That is the day Damian steals the book and hopes. He hides, takes out a quill, and replicates with careful hands his family tree. It is with a child's hope that he draws sprawling leaves and bountiful apples, deep roots, and entwined branches. And in each apple, he writes a name. Ra's al Ghul. Nyssa Raatko. Mara al Ghul. Dusan al Ghul. Talia al Ghul. Bruce Wayne. And Damian al Ghul Wayne.

From then on, Mother regales him with tales of Bruce Wayne. The king who protects his city like a knight, the man whose love for people burned bright. Damian drinks up the stories he hears from Mother like thirsty roots, and he loved and loved. One day, his mother said, he will meet his father and find the same love.

Like a sprout, Damian grows. His feet are grounded, and his heart burns with sunlight. His hands are tough as tree trunks and calloused like them too. He sheds blood and bleeds from his blades. Then, night fades, dawn breaks, and his promised day comes.

He meets his father at Wayne Manor. He is everything Damian hoped he'll be. Except—

Except—

Damian is nothing his father wants him to be.

There is a family in Wayne Manor and Damian's not part of it. They come from different trees, and yet Father treats them like branches from his own pedigree. And Damian—Damian—is the unwanted one.

It doesn't make sense. It's nurture against nature. With every moment Father dotes on his wards, approves of their choices and hands them responsibilities—

but not to Damian, never, no—

Damian's heart rots. A worm finds its way into his heart and scours. He is spoiled skin streched over an eaten core. Yellowed fruit, left out, and nothing more.

And yet, he loves. He loves Father again and again: when he breaks his bones to save them all, when he admonishes Damian because he cares if his heir knows right from wrong, when he writes detailed notes about his wards and never forgets a word, and when he settles his hand on Damian's head in a rare moment—a warm weight, like feeling sunlight for the first time, and Damian leans into it.

Drunk with sunlight, he opens his sketchbook and draws the day Mother said he was ready to meet his father. It was the coldest night in the desert, with blue-tinted sand and red blood pouring from his victims. The sandstorm that shook his bones was nothing compared to the relief vibrating in his body when he heard those words: "Good work, my son. You are ready to meet your father."

There is a page in Damian's sketchbook from when he was young: a forgotten drawing of his family tree. An al Ghul is not one to concede, so Damian takes the page and tries to understand.

He reconstructs the tree with hope it will reconstruct himself. More branches. More apples. More sons and daughters, even if he has to pause because his hand shakes as he draws. Faces drawn in detail and referenced from a family photo he wasn't in.

He gives each portrait a personality. Richard Grayson is penciled in feather-light strokes, hair wind-blown. Jason Todd is inked again and again, lines darker and thicker each time. Timothy Drake is penned in simple lines and logical symmetry. Cassandra Cain is painted with a thin brush, every curve in her lips and line in her shoulders there for a reason. Alfred Pennyworth is drawn with exquisite detail in the finest fountain pen. Martha and Thomas Wayne are brushed to life with oil paint.

Father adopts new wards, Damian adds more and more. He thinks he understands. Father chose them all, but Damian he did not. There are blood ties that flow in veins, and then there are waters that flow in trees. Water may come from rivers, seas, ponds, and rain. Blood, however, is always the same.

Damian looks at the family tree he made. Father's side is vast and flourshing with new fruit. Mother's side is small and old. It looks like it's not getting enough water. Damian resolves to change that. Al Ghuls live in harmony with creatures spanning the globe and time itself. Surely, surely, he can do the same with his father's family.

He loves again and again: when he cuts through the air beside Father; when Grayson is the first to understand Father, and Drake is their first responder; when Todd swaps his bullets for rubber and Father claps his shoulder; when Damian fights with the blunt edge of his katana, and Father observes the cuts in his victims a second longer.

"Not everything is a fight."

Love feels like a fight. He fights love and it fights back. He holds his tongue with barbed wire and shoulders past names like 'Demon child'. He marks down their birthdays on his calendar because they say it matters. Leaves his heirloom daggers in the back of his closet, feels stripped naked even fully clothed, and tells himself it doesn't matter. He loves, and he remembers those words—"you will meet him and know exactly how deep his love for you grows"—and he finds his mother's side of the family on a blacklist, and silent stares are trained on him whenever "Ra's" is uttered as a suspect.

"Did he kill again? Whose blood is that?"

He loves again and again. The inside of his heart is flayed and raw, red lines crisscrossing his love. He loves until it consumes his heart, and then he loves again. When Cain is Father's choice for a partner and Damian is an obligation. When Drake is entrusted with a business empire and Damian is watched out of the corner of their eyes when he holds a kitchen knife. When Grayson is away and Father calls him, Damian is always here and Father seldom speaks to him. When Father suggests books for Todd to read and frowns at the men lying dead in a desert in Damian's sketchbook.

"Don't draw these things, Damian. Violence is not to be glorified."

He loves. And he loves. He loves and stays awake nights wondering why his family's love is a forbidden fruit. He deeply yearns but he's not allowed it. He reaches towards it and it reaches opposite. He kills little parts of himself to have it and it can easily live without him.

"Who did he kill this time?"

There is a page in a sketchbook in Damian's closet. With people's illustrations and fraying edges. Lines connect their names and faces, forming branches sprouting apples. And down at the bottom, is Damian's name. On his mother's decaying branches. The poisoned apples.

[melodyseestrees]

The 7th five star book

Me (Moth) by Amber McBride

A story in verse is one that is hard to love, as so much goes unspoken. We don't actually know who the characters are-- in favor of knowing what the core of them is. I lacked the cultural touchstones to get some of the poems individually, but taken alongside the others, they still were able to get me to relate to the emotions going on.

Sometimes, you are holding on to something so tightly that the only choice is to learn how to let go.

[weirdlookindog]

Edward Gorey (1925-2000) - The Doubtful Guest, 1957

[technically-human]

Can you draw something with Doom Patrol!Edwin and Netflix!Edwin?

Maybe something about Dp!Edwin talking about his feelings for Charles with N!Edwin?

It's just something I've been thinking of, make it a little angsty?<3

Glad you asked

ko-fi

[canisalbus]

What if I told you that RoobrickMarine went and wrote an entire novella starring my 16th century dog couple? It's very canon-adjacent, well researched and thoughtfully put together, has inspired me a ton during these past months and it's now publicly available at AO3. I highly recommend it.

✦ Separation ✦

[osfi-am]

So um that new spiderverse short?

[belliesy]

HELPING HAND. miguel o’hara x reader

TAGS. afab!reader, virginity loss, overstimulation, squirting, cunnilingus, fingering, handjob, riding, soft to rough, belly bulges, breeding, size difference, friends to lovers, pwp

SYNOPSIS. you and miguel have been friends for a couple of months now and when you bring up how embarrassed you are of still being a virgin, miguel is very eager to help you with your problem // not proofread

Miguel has you lying on your back, legs propped up and spread as he gives you soft kisses. Down your neck, on your shoulders, and down your stomach. He lifts his head up, “are you sure your okay with this, princesa?” You nod and Miguel continues kissing down, over your clothed cunt. The wet stain grows larger from the little amount of friction and the excitement of seeing a man much larger than you on his knees and being so delicate with you. Miguel taps your leg, signaling you to lift up your hips and you do. He slides the damp panties down your legs and tosses them to the side.

He places a kiss across your pussy before spreading your legs more and starts sucking on your clit. The sudden pleasure makes you moan loudly, putting your hand over your mouth and grinding your hips into him. Miguel releases it with a pop and drags his tongue up and down. Your shuddering from the feeling and your other hand reaches down to grab his hair. Miguel slowly starts to nudge his tongue into you while one of his free hands rub your swollen clit. Miguel flicks his tongue in a way that has you screaming, you remove your hand from your mouth and use both hands to push more into his mouth. Your babbling incoherent sentences and bucking your hips into him. Miguel can feel how close you are and quickly switches his tongue and fingers, his fingers move in ways that have your legs shaking, hitting your g-spot and making you feel so full by only two fingers. He switches between flicking and sucking on your sensitive clit, your fluttering around him and Miguel moans into your cunt. “Mm, god yes, Miguel!” You cry, moaning and panting, your legs wrap around his head, trapping his head. Miguel continues his pace and feels you come undone below him. Your whining and moaning about how good it feels as you cum allover Miguels fingers.

Miguel removes his fingers slowly, and places a kiss to your clit and watches as your cum drips down onto the bed below you. Your legs slowly relax and settle onto the bed, the sudden realization of what just happens hits you and you cover your face. “What? Embarrassed?” Miguel teases as he stands up in-front of you. You playfully and lightly kick his leg, “what di you think?” You mumble into his hands. Your both silent for a moment, “but, if your fine with it, can we keep going?” You ask, moving your hands down to look him in the eyes. He smirks at you and grabs your hips lifting you up all while putting himself on the bed.

The position has you in his lap while he’s laying on his back, he grabs the hem of his boxers and you lift your hips up off of him. He pulls them down enough so his dick can come out. You settle back down onto his lap and his cock stands in-front of you, almost reaching your belly button. You gasp at the size and Miguel laughs lowly, he places his hand on your hips. You gulp and put your hand around his cock, your thumb on the tip. You rub the precum around it and slowly begin twisting your hand around his dick, up and down. Miguel is lowly moaning at the feeling, it gets you more excited and you move more faster. Getting the precum all over it, making it almost glossy. You continue for a little longer before Miguel grabs your hand. “I can’t wait anymore,” he moans out, he’s looking at you almost like he’s begging you to ride him, to just put him inside of you.

You release your hand and lift your hips up more and pushing them forward, his tip lines up with your hole and you both whimper at the contact. You slowly, push down, the thickness and length cause a little panic. You hope that both of your cum from before would make this less painful. Miguel places his hands on your hips, “your doing so good, pretty girl.” Miguel praises. “Mm, I don’t think im even an inch in, Miguel” you whimper. “Hush, and let me be nice” Miguel responds, you giggle and lean your head down to his forehead. You both stare into each others eyes and Miguel kisses you. It’s short and sweet and makes your face go hot, you pull away feeling embarrassed again and continue lowering yourself down, pushing through the thickness and slight stinging pain. Miguels hands rub your hips, “feel so good already, baby.” Miguel keeps on praising you through it, making you wetter. Sooner or layer you finally bottom out, your panting and out of breathe, you both stay still for a minute. While you adjust to the new feeling, Miguel is trying not to buck into you. You feel so good around him, so wet and warm.

“Fuck, I don’t think I ever wanna get out of you.” He moans when you slowly push up. “You feel so good, Miguel, making me feel so full..” You moan out. Your hips make a even and slow pace, bouncing up and down on Miguel. Your head is thrown back and your clawing at Miguels chest and sides. Miguel is fixated on the slight bulge in your stomach, his gaze switches between the bulge and your pleasure written face. You look so pretty when you feel good, it drives him crazy. Your whimpering and moaning out and build the pace up. Moving your hips in a angle that makes you lose more of your mind, to lost into it your pace isn’t as steady, switching between bouncing and grinding. Miguel sits under you moaning and grunting, feeling so good from you. He’s obsessed by how your hips role onto his dick, how your moaning his name, whimpering about how he makes you feel so good. He feels almost proud of how his dick is making you feel so good, making you go dumb. Your hips suddenly start jerking more fast then before, your head is thrown back even more and the moans are louder than ever. He watches as your hips slowly stop and as you squirt all over his lower stomach and dick.

“Oh, fuck.” Miguel watches you captivated at your expressions. You lift your head up and lean over him panting. “You looked so pretty, cariño,” Miguel mumbles, grazing his knuckles against your cheek, “wish I could have taken a photo of it.” He teases, you both laugh put of breathe.

You lay down on Miguels chest, him still in you. You relax, but suddenly feel Miguels hands on your hips again. His hips buck up into you from below you, you gasp and lift your head up and stare at each other while moaning. “What? Forget that I have to cum too?” He teases before kissing you roughly. Its sloppy and drool drips down but you couldn’t care less when Miguel is pounding into you from below. You moan into the kiss, his thrusts reaching so deep into you. “Hah, fuck pretty girl, I’m gonna cum soon.” Miguel moans, you bury your head into his neck and let him pound into you like a doll. It feels so good, your already so close again. The overstimulation has you praying it stops soon but at the same time its the best feeling ever. Miguel moans loudly, it sounds so so pretty and makes you squeeze tight around him.

His hips keep pounding into you as he cum’s inside of you, filling you so full and making you feel so good. You cum again and scream into his neck. Pussy fluttering around him, his thrust become sloppy and slow until finally his hips lay down flat on the bed again. Your both panting and overstimulated. Miguel leads your face to his and he cradles your face as he kisses you slowly, he mutters something between the kiss. “Good job, pretty girl, that was so good.” Miguel says.

Your face grows warm again and you sit up and move out of him. He sits up after you and grabs you, carrying you to the bathroom bridal style while still giving you kisses on your cheeks, lips, and forehead. Showering you in praise while making sure he takes care of both of your bodies after what had happened.

[zeroraiser]

Miguel, freaking out at Miles: THERE’S ONLY SUPPOSED TO BE ONE SPIDER-MAN IN EVERY UNIVERSE!!! 😡 😡 😡 😡 😡 Insomniac Spider-Man, in the background, staying quiet to protect HIS universe’s Miles:

[kur0m1sblog]

If you are okay with writing this, do you think you can write a Miguel x F!Reader (whose a Spider) oneshot where Miguel finds out the reader is pregnant due to his hearing, and the reader reveals she kept it a secret because she didn’t know how to tell him.

Not Meant To Hear Yet.

summary: Miguel had came back from a meeting with the spider-society and overheard you panicking in you’re shared bathroom. He continued to overheard something he wasn’t meant to hear yet…

characters: Miguel O’Hara. Jessica Drew.

warnings: crying. reader having a panic attack. angst. implied smut. little love confession.

genre: angst. romance. fluff.

reader: fem! spider-woman! reader

REQUEST ARE OPEN!

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

This was not what you wanted to happen, you didn’t want a to have a child this young. You were 24, your boyfriend of 4 years, 27. And a couple months ago, you’d found out you were pregnant. At first you didn’t believe it, until all the test you took all came back positive. You didn’t want this, well you did want a child, just not this early..

And how were you going to tell Miguel this, you were sure he wouldn’t take the news good. You’d thought at the time you were for sure on the birth control..

He was at a ‘meeting’ with some members from the spider-society while you decided on staying home. After he left you did your normal routine, house chores, out chores. Miguel always insisted that you didn’t have to do that whenever you stayed home, he didn’t want you to be worked up and more tired then you normally should.

After your ‘chores’, you rush to your shared bedroom that was up the stairs. Dialing your phone, you call Jessica. She answers in a calm tone, while you answer in a worried tone. “Hey are you okay? What is it you need help with? You seem worried..” She said, a version of her showing up infront of you, she was on her motorcycle on a street in her universe.

You clack your nail repeatedly on the counter repeatedly, deciding to tell her what happened once she’d stop at a light. “Okay don’t get to excited or anything since your riding your motorcycle, but.. I’m pregnant..” You say waiting for her response and reaction.

As Jessica sat at the light, she started asking you a dozens of questions, “Do you know the gender yet?”, “Top 5 names if it’s a girl or boy?”, “Does Miguel even know yet?” You didn’t say anything after that question. Just from a minute of silence, she knew you hadn’t. “You haven’t told him have you..?”

Miguel had teleported into the house, he took his costume off and replaced them with comfortable clothing he’d left from the previous night before on the couch, while doing so, he heard you talking to someone. He figured it was important so he shrugged it off and started taking the ingredients out for dinner you were going to be cooking on this bittersweet night. “I just don’t know how to tell him that there’s a baby on the way.” He paused his movements. Had you just said what you said was truly real. It seemed seemed specious, but it wasn’t. It was true, real. “I don’t know how he’ll take the news, I want him to be happy about it and all but, what if he’s not, what if he’s angry about it..” That made him feel egregious and compunctioned. You thought he wouldn’t react well or good to the news..? He frowned and sat on the couch, still ‘eavesdropping’, but not on purpose of course.

After the conversation you had with Jessica, you pranced down the stairs to see Miguel on the couch, you froze halfway on the stairs panicking, you hoped he didn’t hear that whole conversation with her, and that he’d just gotten home. You continued your way down the stairs, he looked up to see you. God, he thought you looked so seraphic. “Hello Mi Rey, how was your day?” You say as you walk up to him and give him a sweet kiss onto of his forehead, after you ran your hands through his hair and smiled sweetly at him.

It took him a second or more to respond to your daily question, “It was good baby, do you feel okay right now? Your red..” He says. He knew what he was doing, he already knew what happened now.

You look in his eyes, look down and chuckle. “Yes dear I’m fine, I’m going to start dinner now.” Kissing his cheek, you walk to the kitchen to see he put what you needed out. “Aww, thanks for putting everything out, thank my hombre guapo. Would you like to help me with dinner tonight?” You say peaking your head out of the kitchen into the living room.

He stands up and walks over to you, “Only if that means we can play music?” He says as his large hands wrap around the small of your back and butt. Whenever he meant “play music”, he meant while the food was cooking and the both of you had time to waste to dance around in the kitchen and plant gentle kisses on one another.

You look to the side and frown for a second, debating your words of choice. “Miguel?” You say looking up at him.

After you just saying his name, he got quite worried. “What is it mi amor?” He said looking deep into your eyes.

“Whatever happens, I just hope you know I love you, so so much.. Your the best thing that’s ever happened to me..” You say, feeling different waves of emotions coming over you.

He was surprised. He thought that something bad was going to happen, but surprisingly it wasn’t anything bad. You were having one of your moments where you just wanted to say that you loved him. “God I love you too y/n..” He says shoving you into his broad chest.

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

After making dinner the both of you sat down at the table, across from eachother. It was quiet, that weirded you out a little, he was always the one to start a conversation at the table..

You clear your throat and look up at him, “Soooo, did anything interesting happen with them today?” You say, taking another sip of your soup. Your mind was racing with random question and things you had to finish after eating.

He looked up, didn’t say anything, until a couple moments later. “Nope not really.. But there is something I’d like to talk about with you.” He said in a significant tone, as he pushed his soup bowl to the side, with his glass of water.

You took note of this, his tone was never like this unless there was something wrong or serious we needed to talk about. “Okay…” You drag out as you do the same gesture as him, pushing your glass and bowl out of the way.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant..?” He asked. His shoulders were tense, as he stood properly in his chair.

Oh god, he knows..? But how, that shouldn’t have been unless he heard me upstairs, is that why he was so tense when I came down the stairs.. “Look Miguel, I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to break the news to you.” You felt a sense of compunction rush over you. “I didn’t know how you would react, or how you felt about having a child.. I just..” You didn’t finish anything, tears ran down your cheeks, as you didn’t look at him but at the cleared area in front of you on the table.

You didn’t see him, but he got up and started walking towards you. He wrapped his strong and well-knitted arms around you, you cried and cried in his chest. You felt horrible, you were gasping for air at this point from crying.

He let go of you and took your flushed face in his hands. “Look Hermosa, I’m not angry, I’m just a little sad that you’d think I’d feel that way. I’m happy that you are okay?” Staring at you, he waited for you to nod. When you did he gave you a kiss, picked you up, and carried you to the bedroom where the both of you would go to sleep. And clean up the both of you made from cooking tomorrow. “Goodnight, Mi Amor.”

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

notes: Thank you so much for requesting, I truly hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Have a great morning/afternoon/night!

June 4, 2023

9:30am

[lixzey]

i. how long could we be a sad song, til we were too far gone to bring back to life?

luke castellan x apollo!reader

warnings: just read at your own risk, editing this was hard as fuck so bear with me. this has a lot of swearing, ANGST, and a new character! This is part one of chapter two, by the way!

thank you so much to my girls, @lilmaymayy and @jennapancake 🥺🫶🏻 for without them, i would be lost ‼️

hope you guys love it! (i put my blood, sweat, and tears into this-) love you guys!!!

ps: look out for clues!!

10.5k words

The smell of your mother’s freshly baked brownies invades your nostrils—a scent you haven’t smelled in a long time—which makes you feel nostalgic for a bit, as if your mother was in the room. Heated sounds of arguing coming from outside closed doors snap you fully awake, eyes fluttering open in response. You try to sit up, but your body fails you—tired and worn out. Your eyes scanned around the room, you were in the infirmary, no doubt about that. Bottles of nectar and cubes of ambrosia—the source of the comforting smell—sitting on a nearby table with your guitar sitting in a chair beside it.

“Let me the fuck in, Chris!” You hear Luke’s voice from outside, annoyance evident in his tone. “She’s my best friend! Move away from the goddamn door!”

Clarisse scoffs loudly. “Best friend? Best friend? You ditched her to go make out with that blonde smartass!”

You wanted to stand up and eavesdrop on their conversation, but your body wasn’t letting you. Clarisse was obviously talking about Lacy, and how Luke bailed on you last minute. Chris probably told her that, and besides, it’s not like she doesn’t know that I have feelings for that dumb little shit. You wondered what would happen if you grabbed another few cubes of ambrosia, maybe Lee or whoever tended to you while you were out cold didn’t shove a cube down your throat yet. You hesitated, you were a healer—cabin seven’s finest, for crying out loud!—you should know better than to give in to whatever your brain tells you to do.

“Do not call Lacy that,” Luke growls at Clarisse. “I asked Y/n if it was okay, and she said it was! I wouldn't have gone if she wasn’t okay-”

“If it wasn’t for your dumbassery she wouldn’t be in here in the first place, you stupid dumb fuck!” Clarisse growled back, matching Luke’s intensity like an echo.

“I asked her and she said it was fucking fine! Get that in your damn thick skull!”

“Ha! Look who’s talking!” Clarisse snapped, despite being younger, she was a firecracker in her own right. “Acting all high and mighty, when this is all your fault! Did you even know that she went down to the docks, after you acted all white knight just to spend time with that know-it-all little shit? Huh? With an ungodly amount of food meant for the both of you!”

“Stop. Calling. Lacy. Fucking. Names!”

What on earth is happening out there? You shake your head, taking a deep breath, forcing yourself to sit with everything you got. You wince at the throbbing pain in your head, leaning against the wall, trying to get your shit together before grabbing a cube of ambrosia and shoving it down your throat despite that nagging voice inside your head telling you no, like a broken record.

“Y/n is unconscious, for crying out loud!” Clarisse yells, anger spewing like lava from the rock climbing wall down by the amphitheater. “And all you can fucking think of is Lacy!?”

“That’s why I’m literally here, Clarisse!” Luke snaps, rubbing his arm. “I’m here to see my best friend!”

“That girl inside,” Clarisse jerks her head towards the door behind her, anger fuming out of her like cigar smoke. “Is the kindest and most loving person out here at camp—literal sunshine trapped in a human’s body! She has always been at your side, and you repay her by ditching her to make out with a girl whom, might I just add, you’ve just talked to within the goddamn DAY and proceeded to ignore your said best friend.”

“I’m here now-”

Clarisse cuts him off. “Leave.” She pointed down the hallway, to the door out of the Big House. “Before I lose my shit and chop your head off and use it as a fucking bowling ball with your limbs as the damned pins.”

“Luke,” You weakly call out, loud enough to interrupt what could’ve been Clarisse acting out on her intrusive thoughts, your voice hoarse and dry as if you’ve been stuck in a desert without anything to drink.

“Y/n,” Luke breathes out, the sound of your voice calming him down as he pushes past the two. As soon as the door opens, you see him smiling at you—that mischievous smile you’ve learned to love the past three years. He then steps forward, ignoring the glares Clarisse and Chris were giving him. But before he can even get close, you fall back into your bed—steaming, as if you were burning like a forest fire. Luke immediately rushes to your side, sitting on the bed, holding your hand in his. Worry and fear was visible in his features, the scar on the right side of his face resembling tears running down his cheek as fear slowly crept into his mind. “Fuck, you’re burning, melody.”

“What?” Chris asks, frozen in place—worry replacing glare he once had. “I thought Lee already gave her ambrosia!”

“He did!” Clarisse says, seemingly forgetting her anger towards the older Hermes boy as she rushes to your side. “Gave her two cubes!”

“Call Lee, Michael, or Dawn! Now!” Luke barks at the two, looking around the room for anything to help cool you down, even though Luke knew that a fever like this wasn’t easily fixable by a cool rag or something. “Now!”

Clarisse immediately scrambles to get your siblings, looking like she had seen a ghost, dark curls following her every move.

Chris then stares Luke down, seemingly getting over his initial worry for you as his glare intensifies by the second. “Get out.” he spits out harshly. “Get the fuck out before I forget that you’re my brother.”

Luke looks at his brother, matching his intense glare. “I don’t give a damn, Rodriguez,” he hisses, refusing to leave your side like a clinging child.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out.” Chris enunciates each word with venom, his eyes flashing with hate and anger.

“She called me! She wants me! She needs me!” Luke let go of your hand, standing up to face his brother as he tried to argue, but Chris wasn’t having it.

“Go fuck Lacy for all we care,” Chris pushes him by the chest—despite being a full two inches smaller than his older brother. “Since you chose her over your best friend.”

Before Luke could even react, your siblings—Lee and Dawn—came rushing into the room, just in time to prevent gods knows what. Luke moved to the side, giving your brother and sister room to work, while still glaring at his brother. How dare he? The counselor of cabin eleven thought, forcing himself to calm back down for your sake. He felt miserable, that he had caused this. He wanted nothing more than to see you be happy, healthy, and well, you.

Luke averted his gaze away from his brother, chocolate brown eyes helplessly staring at your unconscious form. You looked so worn out, almost as if someone had drained every bit of your life force.

“Get your punk ass out of here right now,” Clarisse hissed, yanking Luke’s arm, trying to drag him out.

“Let go of me, you little shit,” Luke growled, like a lion defending its territory. “I’m not leaving her-”

“Get out!” Lee snapped, looking over his shoulder with a murderous look in his eyes. “Before I give you all hives, boils, anything available in the book!”

“But-”

“Get out!”

And with that, Chris and Clarisse dragged Luke out of the Infirmary.

“Let me go!” Luke struggled in their hold, every cell of his body wanting—needing—to get back to his girl, his melody. “S-She needs me!”

“Calm the fuck down, for Christ’s sake!” Chris sighs, letting go of his hold on his older brother. “Even if we both let you go, Lee and Dawn aren’t going to let you inside, you stupid dumb fuck!”

“Damn you, damn all of you!” Luke angrily yells at Chris and Clarisse, and probably at everyone else.

“Shut the hell up, Castellan!” Clarisse yelled, annoyed at his stupid behavior. “Stop acting like you’re the victim here, you whiny bitch!”

Luke ran a hand through his curls in complete frustration, muttering incoherent words as he tried hard not to pull all his hair out of his scalp.

“Get a grip, dumbass!“ Clarisse threatened, on the verge of acting on her intrusive thoughts. “Before I smack some sense into your sorry ass!”

Surprisingly, Luke didn’t fight or argue back. It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight back, but this girl in front of him was ruthless. More than anyone else at camp. And if she threatens someone, there’s a ninety nine percent that she will do whatever she says.

Luke sighed, quickly fixing his composure, glaring at Chris and Clarisse for a minute at most, before turning his heel and leaving the Big House, not even bothered to take a look back.

“Melody, I love you,” Luke whispers in your ear. “Please be mine, I promise to never hurt you again.”

“Luke,” You sigh, looking him straight in his eyes—deep brown that holds your heart. “I love you too.”

The sun slowly crept through the curtains, waking you up, tearing you away from your dreams. Your eyes flutter open, squinting as they adjust to the light as if it was the first time in a long while.

“Mornin’ sleepy head,” A voice echoes through the room’s four corners, snapping you fully awake. Your eyes dart towards the voice’s direction, meeting a familiar set of chocolate brown eyes you’ve stared into more times you could ever count paired with that signature smile of his that made his scar just below his right eye, practically fade. “About time you woke up.”

“Luke?” You mumble, thinking that you were still dreaming.

“Gotta be quiet now, melody,” Luke moves closer to you, giving you a better view of him—looking as handsome as ever. “No one knows I’m here.” He points to a New York Yankees cap dangling from his belt loop. “I sneaked in.”

“What? You snuck in?” You ask, brows knitted in confusion. “Why’d you sneak in? It’s not like you’re not allowed to be in here.”

Luke scratches the nape of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “About that….”

You raise a brow at him, arms folded in front of your chest. “Luke, what’s going on? Don’t lie to me, I know when you’re lying.”

“Of course you do,” Luke chuckles, shaking his head. He then takes a deep breath, looking you straight in the eyes. “Chris and Clarisse won’t let me see you, while you’re here, unconscious.”

You crack a small smile, the light you always had, returning to your eyes. “What? Why? I mean, they’re literally three, four years younger than both of us and they bested you?”

Luke smiles at you sheepishly. “Yeah, well, Clarisse isn’t someone I’d like to cross.”

“You and me both,” You chuckle, sitting up straight. “So, how long was I out? Two, three hours?”

Luke’s smile falters, hesitation in his eyes. “You’ve been here for a week, melody.”

“W…what? A w…what!?” You stutter in disbelief. “One whole week!?”

“Apparently, your insides burned because of too much ambrosia intake.” Luke explains with a look of worry in his eyes. “You got everyone worried, melody.”

“How much did they give me?”

“Lee swears he gave you only two, but another cube was missing from the table, so they couldn’t be sure if it was only two.”

“Oh.”

Luke raises a brow at you, a knowing smirk on his lips. “You don’t happen to know anything, huh, melody?”

You stare at him in disbelief. How is it that he knows when I’m lying but not that I’m head over heels for him? “I may or may not have grabbed another cube, a week ago.”

Luke shakes his head with a chuckle. “And I thought I was the one, what was that you always say? Who doesn’t follow orders?”

You roll your eyes at him, your lips curling up into a smile. “Shut up, Castellan.”

“You love me, L/n.” Luke grins, mischief twinkling in his beautiful brown eyes. Of course, I fucking do. You’re just too damn stupid to notice.

“Dream on,” You chuckle, forcing a fake smile, hoping that he won’t see through it. “So, how come Clar and Chris won’t let you in?”

Luke hesitates again, avoiding your eyes—a telltale sign that he was guilty. “They, uh, were, uh mad at me. For, you know? Ditching you.”

Oh. That’s why they were arguing a week ago, apparently. You understood why Clarisse and Chris wouldn’t let Luke in, they were only concerned for you. But it wasn’t a valid reason to keep him out, when it’s him that you’ve always wanted to be right beside you.

You force out another smile—maybe you were a pro, at this point—taking his hand in yours. “I don’t mind, charming,” you say, gripping his hand tighter. “As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Luke looks at you. “You sure? I mean, I don’t want to put our friendship on the line because of my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” You choked out, shock evident in your eyes, but you pushed it down like you always do. “I mean, how? When? I remember the two of you just talking…”

“Just two days ago,” Luke answers with a confident smile. “I’m in love with her, melody, I really am. After that failed quest my stupid father gave me, I think I finally got something right—her.”

You didn’t know how to feel. You felt numb, as if your heart couldn’t break anymore than it already has. Here he was, happy to tell you that he’s finally done something right in his life. Not knowing how it’s breaking you, piece by piece, tear by tear, beating you down until you can’t anymore. But, you can’t do a thing. You don’t have any right to get hurt, angry, and broken-hearted. After all, you were only his best friend, nothing more.

You gave him a smile with every strength you could muster. “Good for you, Luke. I’m-” you took a shaky breath, hoping you could blame it on the drowsiness if he asked. “Proud of you, finally getting the love you deserve.” If happy is her, then I’m happy for you—at least, I’ll try to be.

Luke leans forward, wrapping you a tight hug. “Thanks, melody,” He whispers in your ear. “You’re the best.”

You pat him on the back, wishing you could just hit him hard enough to knock some sense into him, make him realize that you were here—right in fucking front of him. “Anytime, charming.”

Luke pulls away, giving you a kiss on the cheek before ruffling your already messy hair. “You rest well, okay?”

“Says the one without burnt insides,”

“We all have rough days and it’s okay not to feel a hundred percent all the time.” Luke assures you with a soft smile. “You’re gonna pick yourself up, and get back out there. Be easy on yourself, alright?”

You raise a brow at him, laughing softly. “When did you become so wise?”

“Turns out, hanging out at cabin six makes you wise.” Luke laughs, rising to his feet. “I’ve got to go, alright, melody? I don’t want Clarisse to kick my ass, again, if she catches me here. Anyway, we have a game of capture the flag next friday. Chiron’s pushed it back long enough, if you ask me.”

“Already?” You ask, pushing strands of your hair away from your face. “What day is it?”

“You’ve been out cold for a week, melody,” Luke chuckles, shaking his head, his curls looking as messy as ever. “It’s Thursday today, Chiron announced last night.”

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath. “I missed a lot, huh?” Like you making Lacy officially your girlfriend.

“Don't you worry your pretty little head, you can jump back into it as soon as you feel okay.” Luke assures you with a smile, walking towards the door, Annabeth’s New York Yankees cap ready in his hands. “Now, get some rest.”

You nodded, playfully rolling your eyes, as if you weren’t already dying of heartache and a headache from all the information you’ve just ingested. “Yes, I will. Don’t worry too much about me.”

“When you’re better, meet me at our spot.” Luke gave you a lopsided grin. “We’ll spar, but don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Alright,” You fake a smile so normally, reaching for the bottled water on the bedside table. “I’m sure gonna beat up your sorry ass.”

“As if,” Luke scoffs, a teasing smirk playing on his lips. “You can’t beat me.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. “I sure can, dummy.”

Luke snorts, adjusting the Yankees cap to his size. “We’ll see.” He then places the cap on top of his head, his body disappearing right in front of your eyes. “Rest.”

You chuckle, smiling—genuinely—at him. “I will, thanks for the visit, charming.”

“For the love of dad, Lee,” You groan, glaring at your younger brother, lips pouting like a little kid. “It’s been twenty four hours! I’m better now!”

“Let me check first!” Lee counters, ripping open a tongue depressor. “Please, just let me check—to make sure that you’re actually healed.”

“I told you, I’m oka-”

“I’m going to bound you to that bed if you don’t shut up and let me do the freaking examination.” Lee cuts you off, effectively shutting you up. He sounded just like you, it was scary, to say the least.

“Damn, he sounds like you, sunshine.” Chris laughs from the doorway behind Lee. “You better now?”

“She would know by now if she’d just let me fu-”

“Just do the damn exam.” You grumble, sinking into the bed, your arms folded over your chest like a little girl arguing with an adult as you glared at your younger brother. “Don’t fucking swear.”

“But you do,” Lee retorts, pushing the depressor into your mouth, flat against your tongue, checking for burns cleverly caused by his sister who should have known better. “So, why shouldn’t I?”

“I’m gonna bite off your fingers, try me.” You say out through the depressor pressing over your tongue, your gag reflex activating causing you to grimace at the feeling. “I der ya.”

You hear Chris snort, earning him a glare from you. “What?” He laughs at your annoyance. “You sound like a toddler.”

You glare at him, raising your middle finger at him. “Yuck you.”

Lee, who was checking your throat, bursts out laughing. “You’re better, alright.”

You yank the depressor out of your mouth, the taste of wood still lingering on your taste buds. “I’m better, fine, good, all fixed. Can I go now or do I have to stay and be tortured by your annoying ass presence?”

Lee nods, a teasing grin plastered on his face. “Go, just don’t tire yourself. No stress for this day, at least, for gods’ sake.”

You roll your eyes at him, sitting up and reaching below for your shoes. “I know what to do, dummy.” You quickly put on your shoes, tucking the laces inside so that they don’t cause another accident before standing up. “I’ve been a healer much longer than you, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, right,” Lee mutters, throwing the wooden paraphernalia into a nearby bin. “Says the girl who burned her insides.”

“Shut up,” You hiss at your brother, resisting the urge to just smack him upside the head like the doofus he is. Brothers, geez. You can’t stand them but you can’t imagine life without them. You then grabbed a hair tie from your pocket, strands of your hair falling as you pulled your hair up into a messy ponytail. “I’m going to go find Luke.”

“Him?” Chris scoffs, rolling his eyes. “He’s literally the reason why you got sick, sunshine.”

“Nonsense,” You dismissively wave Chris off. “It was my fault, I forgot to drink water.”

“Yeah, right,” Chris rolls his eyes at you, not believing any of your bullshit, as Clarisse would call it. “You forgot to drink water on a hot summer, because my stupid ass older brother broke your heart?”

“Don’t you have someplace to be?” You grumble, picking up your guitar before making your way to the door. “Luke is still my best friend, I’m not just going to ignore him.”

Chris scowls playfully at you, placing his hands on his hips. “Then what am I? A tree?”

You chuckle, moving towards him and pinching his cheek, making him wince. “You, my friend, are like a little brother to me.”

Chris pulls your hand away from his cheek, still wincing from how hard you pinched him. “Little? I’m literally taller than you, sunshine.”

“Semantics,” You rolled your eyes, smiling at him. “Tall or short, big or small, or whatever the hell you want, you’re still like a brother to me.”

“Then,” Chris chuckles. “You are the best big sister anyone could have. Right, Lee?”

Lee nods his head vigorously. “The best, one hundred percent. Cabin seven is lucky to have you, sis!”

Your cheeks blaze pink, as you smile from ear to ear. “Gee, thanks guys,” You bow playfully. “Glad I’m appreciated around here.”

“Unlike some people.” Chris mutters loud enough for you to hear.

“He does,” You insist, your dad’s stubbornness shining through you like beams of light. “Luke appreciates me, I know it. He wouldn’t have visited me yesterday while I was out if he didn’t.”

Chris raised a brow. “Oh, did he now? I think I’m gonna have a word with this dear brother of mine.”

“Chris,” you say in a warning tone. “Be nice.”

“Fine, fine,” Chris sighs. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you, sunshine.”

“I am this close to cursing you with the sweating sickness.”

“Go,” Lee laughs, pushing you out the door. “Your prince charming awaits.”

The late summer afternoon sun was still hot against your skin as you excitedly made your way to find Luke, practically skipping as you threaded through the North Woods, to the place you and Luke call your escape from being the pillars of camp.

Only the two of you know about it. You and Luke swore on the River Styx to never tell anyone of the little hidden paradise the both of you had grown to call your own. It was the place you could be happy, the place you could have Luke all to your own.

“Not so fast!” Someone snarled, yanking on your hair, grabbing your bow and arrows. “Give me the fucking flag!”

“Luke!” You screamed, struggling against the pull at your hair. “A little help!”

Luke whipped his head around, anger immediately coursing through his veins. The sight of you struggling at the hands of an older Ares boy ignited a flame inside of him. Nobody hurts her.

Luke charged at him, making you yelp at the tug of your hair. The son of Ares was using you as a shield against Luke—and Luke wasn’t liking any bit of it.

“Let her go!” Luke roared, trying his best to attack and not hurt you. “You big dumbasss!”

“Just give me the fucking flag!” The son of Ares growled, pulling your hair harder, causing a sharp pain in your scalp—you were sure if he let go of you, all of your hair would fall out. “And I’ll spare both of you!”

“Never.” Luke growled, quickly planning an attack. Being the child of Hermes had its perks, as Luke was quick to move. Luke charged like an angered bull, taking the older boy by surprise, knocking you off of his grasp. The son of Hermes slammed the hilt of his sword against the son of Ares’ chest armor, causing it to dent and making him stumble. “Now, get the fuck out before I chop you into pieces.”

The son of Ares immediately scrambled away. “We’re not over, Castellan! We’ll get that flag one way or another!”

“Yeah? Try me.”

Luke turned his attention to you, almost tripping on a rock as he ran towards you. “You alright, melody?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You grunt, adjusting the strap of your armor. Seeing Luke’s worried look, you sighed. “Hair pulling isn’t gonna give me a concussion, don’t worry.”

“If that fucker comes back, I’m gonna-” You pinch him on the arm, making him yelp. “Ouch, woman! That hurts!”

You rolled your eyes. “Quit being a baby.”

“Violence is never the answer! I’m not the enemy, so don’t attack me!” Luke grumbled, rubbing his arm where you had attacked him.

“Let’s just go and hide.”

“Do we have to hide?” Luke asks, gripping his sword, ready for defense. “I mean, we can fight—I can fight.”

“I am not going to fight when I can just hide.”

“Then what’s the point of capture the flag if you aren’t even fighting to keep the flag safe from the opposing team?” Luke folded his arms over his armored chest. “It’s a war game for a reason, melody.”

You roll your eyes at him, shaking your head in annoyance. He was really persistent, but you wouldn’t have him in any other way. “One, we have the flag. We’re supposed to keep it safe, so we should be hiding it. Two, I am not in the mood to heal you if you get hurt—which will probably happen, because I know you.”

“Come on,” Luke whined, tugging at the blue flag in your hands. “We can win this, I know it!”

“We can win this,” You nodded. “If you quit being a pain in the ass.”

Luke scowled. “I am not a pain, thank you very much.”

You snort, raising your hand up to wipe off the dirt on Luke’s face. “Yes, you fucking are.”

Before Luke could retort, you hear yelling just meters away from where you and Luke were standing.

“They’re over there!”

You immediately realize who it was—it was the boy who Luke had bested just minutes ago.

“Great,” You groaned, simultaneously, Luke pumped his fist up in the air.

“Idiot.“ You muttered before grabbing Luke’s wrist, dragging him away.

Despite his protests, you keep your grip on him. You weren’t gonna let him pick a fight just because he wanted to.

“There!” You hear the yells of the opposing team getting loud and closer. “I’m going to fucking rip his head off!”

You spot a cave just a few meters away. It would be a good hiding spot, just until the furious Ares kids leave the two of you alone.

“Let me at ‘em!” Luke tried pulling his hand away from your grasp. “I can handle them!”

“No!” You snap at him, dragging him towards the direction of the cave’s entrance, almost tripping as you dragged the stubborn Hermes boy despite his annoyed protests.

The two of you stumble into the darkened grotto just in the nick of time, practically shoving Luke inside. You leaned against the stone wall, trying to catch your breath, hoping those sons of Ares won’t get the idea to look inside. You immediately pulled your necklace out of your shirt. The sun shaped locket your father gave you started to glow, illuminating your face in the darkness.

“You should’ve let me fight them,” Luke grumbled, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath like you did. “I would’ve beat their asses!”

“If I did they would’ve got the flag from me, dummy!” You retorted, letting go of the chain of your necklace, letting it dangle over the camp's logo on your shirt. “Quit being reckless!”

Luke scowled, slumping onto the ground. You could see beads of sweat all over his forehead down to his neck. “I’m not reckless.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Am not.”

“You are.”

“Nuh uh!”

“Uh huh!”

Luke rolled his eyes, a small smile creeping its way to his lips. “I mean, I guess I am a little bit reckless.”

You raised a brow at him. “Only a little bit?”

“Okay fine,” Luke sighed, shaking his head with a laugh. “I’m reckless, are you happy now?”

“Delighted.” You grin at him, wiping sweat off of your forehead with the back of your hand. The two of you then sat in silence for what felt like hours—it was only a few minutes—the sounds of yours and Luke’s breathing accompanying the dim light of your locket.

“So, where exactly are we?” Luke asks, breaking the momentary silence. “Never seen this cave before.”

“I actually don’t know,” You answer, looking around the poorly lit enclosure. “Pretty sure we’re barely past Zeus’ fist, so we don’t have to worry about being too far out.”

“Zeus’ fist?” Luke snorts. “What? Mister king of the gods had a tantrum and punched camp?”

“It’s a clump of rocks that look like a fist,” You laugh, rolling your eyes at Luke’s humor. “Although, some call it Zeus’ shit, since it looks like a clump of Pegasus shit.”

Luke burst out laughing, throwing his head back like a little kid. “Nice name, fits mister grumpy pants. Thalia would’ve loved that!” he says in between fits of laughter.

“She would,” you smiled, knowing how much Luke missed Thalia—his first best friend. You didn’t know much about Thalia, but knowing from the stories Luke has told you before, he was right. “Thalia would’ve loved it.”

“Yeah, she would’ve,” Luke sighed, smiling softly. “Hey, melody?”

“Mhm?”

“Do you think anyone else knows about this cave?”

“I don’t think so,” you shrug, looking around. “This place looks so…dark, you know? And besides, the Ares kids haven’t found us yet. So, it’s safe to say that no one else knows about this place.”

“Our own place.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“This could be our own place,” Luke explained with a grin, his eyes shining with a familiar excitement you’ve seen before in his chocolate eyes. “Somewhere only we know.”

“It’s dark here,” You say, your nose wrinkling in disgust. You never really liked the dark. As a child, it had been your worst nightmare. Your mother would always set up a nightlight just so you wouldn’t get terrified of the possible creatures that lurked in the dead of the night. When you got to camp, your father had given you your locket to help you cope with the darkness and being alone since your mother couldn’t really help you with your fears anymore. “I don’t really like the dark.”

“We could add some torches outside, plus some inside, maybe those streamer light things too—we just gotta figure out how to add this without power, but I think I can ask that Beckendorf kid for a favor. A few crates we can stack up for a bed when we need it—I can grab an extra sleeping bag from the camp store. And some throw pillows here and there and it’ll feel like home.”

“You can’t possibly think that this dark cave could feel like a home,” You argued, folding your arms over your chest. Realizing that you’ve covered the only source of light in the dark, you quickly tugged on your chain, pulling it from below your arms.

“I lived in a cave once.” Luke says casually, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s not that bad, honestly. You just got to use your artistic eye—you do have that, don’tcha?”

“I’m not going to get my way, am I?”

“Nope!”

You rolled your eyes at him, smiling despite losing another decision to the boy right in front of you. “Fine,” you groan playfully. “You better make this place as bright as my cabin.”

“Not that bright, but of course, my sweet darlin’ melody!”

You smile, taking it all in. You’ve never had something as intimate as this, and it felt good, somehow. A place you can call your own, now who wouldn’t want that? “Our own place,”

“Our own place.” Luke repeated, contentment in his voice. “Swear on the River Styx?”

“What for?”

“If this is gonna be our little escape from camp duties, we should at least keep it a secret from everyone else.”

You raised a brow at him. “Even from Annabeth?”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Yes, even from Annabeth.”

“Pretty sure she’s gonna find out either way, but yeah sure, we can swear on it.”

“I, Luke Castellan, swear on the River Styx to never tell anyone of this place.”

“I, Y/n L/n, swear on the River Styx to never tell anyone of this place.”

The sound of the conch rang out from the distance, signifying the end of the game, and since the flag was still in your hands, your team had won.

“Did we win?”

“We did!” You squeal, grinning from ear to ear like a child on Christmas eve. “We won! We actually won!”

“Come on, let’s rub our victory in their faces,” Luke grinned, his eyes shining with that familiar mischief you’ve come to adore, dramatically offering his hand out for you to take. “Shall we, my lady?”

“We shall,” You giggle, grabbing his hand as the two of you make your way out of the dimly lit space.

From that day on, you and Luke have decorated the place to look as cozy as possible. The both of you would spend as much time as possible together, usually sparring outside the cave or just catching up on the sleep you’ve missed from waking up early in the mornings. Sometimes, you’d bring your art supplies and paint little murals all over the walls. Luke even carved yours and his initials on one side of the walls and painted them gold—in Luke’s words, because, our friendship is worth more than gold. This little cave was your escape from reality. Where Luke is yours, and you are his—even just in your imagination.

You sigh happily as you spot your little hidden paradise, blazing greek fire on torches set up just at the entrance. You practically skipped towards the cave, a huge grin plastered on your face.

“Luke? Are you here, charming?” you call out, your voice sounding a little giddy as you make your way inside, following the dim light inside—which Luke probably lit beforehand. “I’m here! I’m ready to beat your ass!”

As you approach closer to the light, you hear faint moaning? What in the name of Hades is he moaning for? You thought, brows knitting in confusion as you moved cautiously forward, pulling the strap of your guitar over your head. He better not be jerking off again. I swear to the gods above I’m going to hit him with my guitar.

You’ve only caught him in the act once, and it was enough for you and Luke to resort to calling before coming in—which you did, and debating whether to do it again because you did not want to see how males relieve themselves again ever in this lifetime.

You sigh heavily as you make your way inside of yours and Luke’s secret hide out, desperate for a little sleep before getting back into your duties as one of the head counselors. Your fourth archery class was in two hours, and you were already debating whether you should leave it for Dawn to handle because you were absolutely aching to get a well deserved rest, practically begging Hypnos to put you into a peaceful nap right there and then.

As you walk past the buckets of paint you left from the last mural you made, you hear muffled sounds coming from inside. Immediately, you thought of Luke being injured or in pain—his recklessness usually got him into unsavory circumstances, and it was honestly so stupid of him most of the time. But you’ve never heard him like this before, and it made you worry. Maybe he got stabbed—which was highly unlikely, knowing how good he is with a sword—and was scared to tell you, knowing you’d bound him to a bed in the infirmary this time. Whatever it is, you were ready to hit him on the head for it. Perhaps even curse him with the sweating sickness for, well, being a pain in the ass (you love him for it, so you most likely won’t).

Sighing, you finally make your way towards him, hands in your pockets searching for something that could help—band aids, ambrosia, anything—ease whatever pain Luke was feeling. Hopefully, it isn’t that bad and fixable with the few cubes of ambrosia in a pouch inside your pocket.

“Jesus, Luke!” you shriek, immediately closing your eyes shut, pulling your hands out of your pockets and covering your eyes for added, well, coverage from what you just saw.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hear Luke say as he quickly—as you assumed—pulled his boxers and pants up, before the sound of his footsteps echo in your ear. “You saw that…?”

“What do you think, dumbass?” you hiss, eyes still closed shut as you attempted to cross one arm over the other against your chest.

“Maybe next time, call first?”

“You think?”

“You can open your eyes now, Mel,” Luke says with a chuckle. “You gave me blue balls, but I’m decent now.”

“Nuh uh,” you shake your head. “I don’t trust you.”

“You wound me, miss Y/n L/n, daughter of the god of truth-”

“Your dad is a liar. You said so-”

“You think I’d ever lie to you, melody?” Luke snorts. “Just open your eyes, drama queen.”

“It’s not my fault I’m scarred for life!” You grumble, reluctantly opening your eyes, relieved that Luke was decent looking at least even though his belt was undone and the zipper was half way up—which you just chose to ignore. “Gods of Olympus, I think I need to get therapy!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke rolls his eyes sarcastically. “It’s not my fault you just waltzed in without announcing yourself.”

You scoffed, glaring at him. “Well, I’m sorry for thinking that you were injured or something, dumbass!”

“Come here,” Luke opens his arms out for a hug, giving you an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, mel-”

“Ew, wash your hands first!”

Luke burst out laughing. “Really?”

“I am not hugging you until your hands are a hundred percent disinfected, Castellan.”

“Fine,” Luke laughs, turning his back to get the shoe box sitting on the ground, placing the cover back on top. “Let me just bring this back to eleven, and then you can supervise me in disinfecting my hands.”

“What even is that?” you ask, peering over Luke’s shoulder.

“Oh, trust me. You don’t want to know.”

Realizing what he meant, you visibly cringed. “Oh, dear gods,” you say, your nose wrinkling in disgust. “You are disgusting, you know that?”

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” Luke smirks. “It hurts, if not relieved properly.”

“Stop, stop,” you shake your head, covering your ears. “I do not need a lesson on the male reproductive system.”

“It is what it is, melody.”

“Shut up,”

“Next time, call first, alright?” Luke chuckles, placing the box under his arm. “Yell if you have to.”

“Noted. And next time, give me a fucking heads up an hour before you want to do…that.”

“You do know that your brothers probably jerk off too, you know?”

“I swear to my dad I’m going to kill you of you don’t stop, Luke-”

Luke smirks, slinging his other arm over your shoulders. “You love me,”

I do, you think as the two of you make your way out. “But that does not mean you can annoy me to death.”

“Ah, but that’s my purpose, my friend.”

“You are absolutely, a hundred percent, annoying, Luke.”

“I think you mean, absolutely, a hundred percent, charming?”

“Nope,” you chuckle as Luke scoffs playfully. “You’re definitely an annoying little shit.”

“Yeah, well, I’m your annoying little shit.”

“The one and only.”

“Luke?” you call out his name again, this time a little louder. What is he doing? He better not be doing what I think he is, or I am definitely going to kill him.

“Luke-” A gasp escapes your lips at the scene playing right in front of your eyes. Suddenly, you felt like a statue, stuck staring despite the voices in your head begging you so desperately not to.

Luke was half naked, leaning against the wall, his jeans unbuckled and hanging loosely around his waist. And there was Lacy, straddling him, hands roaming absolutely everywhere. Her manicured hand trailing up and down his bare, scarred chest while the other was threading through his chocolate curls as he kissed her like it was the end of the fucking world. Luke's hands slowly crept down, one hand snaking around her waist, pulling her closer and the other trailing up under her shirt and up to her breasts, emitting a sound you never wanted to ever hear. The sounds of their moans kept ringing in your ears, haunting you with every second you stood frozen. Gods, at this point, you wanted to pop your eardrums just to be free of this involuntary torture.

But that wasn't even the worst part. It was the fact that, a few inches up, you could see a pair of initials drawn messily with red lipstick right over yours and Luke’s.

L + L

He was putting her over you, literally and physically.

You knew this was going to happen from the very moment Luke told you about his relationship, but you didn’t expect it to be so soon. Angry tears started to prick the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill at any second. You tried your best to push them back, but it felt like an overflowing dam. Your grip on your guitar loosens as your tears slowly cloud your vision. The wooden instrument slips from your hold, shattering into tiny unfixable pieces from the impact, just like your heart. At the sound of the instrument breaking, Luke’s head whips around, spotting you. His face immediately drains of color, knowing his faults.

“Shit-” Luke pushes Lacy off of him, causing her to yelp as he quickly makes his way towards you. But you turn to run off before he could even catch up. “Y/n, wait!” he calls after you as you run out of yours and Luke’s once secret place.

You kept on going, running and ignoring Luke’s pleas for you to stop and talk to him. You felt very betrayed, very heartbroken, and very angry. How could Luke do this to me? You kept on asking yourself as tears kept clouding your vision like an endless fog while you ran through the woods without any direction. You wanted to stop and face Luke, to scream at him for being so clueless about your feelings and for hurting you. But you couldn’t, you just can’t. The image of him entangled with that girl was burned into your mind, refusing to let you get away from its grasp as the memory replayed again and again like a broken record. Oh, how you wanted to gouge your own eyes out and drown them in bleach until the image of them faded completely out of your mind, unfortunately, you are a prisoner of your own thoughts.

And even if you could muster up the courage, you didn’t have the right to do so. You were just his friend, nothing more. You were just this person he could count on whenever he needed something. He doesn’t care about your feelings if or not you get hurt by his choices, because you didn’t mean much to him the way Lacy meant to him. You wanted so badly for your heart and mind to just realize that crucial fact, but like your father, you were just as stubborn. Gods, fucking gods, how cruel are they to damn you like this? What the hell did you do to invoke the ire of the gods and get this kind of suffering?

“Y/n, will you stop for a second!?” Luke managed to catch up on you, grabbing you by the arm and pulling you towards him like a force of a thousand magnets.

Your hands immediately found your eyes, wiping off every tear as much as you could, trying your absolute hardest to look normal. As if you weren’t hanging onto the balance of anger and hurt.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Luke’s voice was suddenly gentle and soft, his hands moving upward to cup your cheeks, slightly titling your face up so you could meet his eyes. “Are you okay, melody? What’s wrong? You know you can tell me anything.”

“Yeah, I’m-I’m good,” You sniffle, shifting your gaze away from him. How stupid is he to not see through you? “Just had a really shitty day.”

Luke sighs as he wraps his arms around you, his lips pressing against your forehead, burning into your skin. “I’m so sorry about-”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off with a shaky breath, pushing yourself away from his hold. You wanted so badly to bury yourself in his chest, like you always did whenever Luke hugged you, to breathe in his scent, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Knowing that Lacy had already claimed her territory. “I-I have to go,” You choked back a sob, wiping away the fresh tears falling from your eyes as you turned your back on him. “Lots…lots of stuff to do.”

“Y/n, wait-” Luke tries to stop you, his hand on your arm—holding onto you like a vice he didn’t want to let go—but you pulled your arm away and just walked away without taking another look back, because you didn’t want to look as desperate as you felt.

You feel your chest tighten as you hear Luke calling your name again and again, his voice slowly fading as the distance between you and him grows farther away. But, you continued to tread on, walking without a sense of direction through the woods. Despite that, there was this lingering feeling in your heart that hoped so badly that Luke would still follow you.

Should I look back? Should I stop? Should I…

No, Luke isn’t behind you anymore. He doesn’t care about you. He doesn’t give a damn about you. You are nothing to him. He loves Lacy, not you. And he will never love you.

Haven’t I given enough? I mean, I gave Luke my best me’s-

You aren’t her.

You aren’t Lacy.

What does she fucking have that I don’t?

You will never be her.

You snap out of your thoughts as you fall onto your hands and knees, gasping for air as the tears you were trying your absolute hardest to push back now flowed down your cheeks like an endless stream. You couldn’t keep it in anymore, it was just too much for you to handle all at once. It was suffocating, as if Lord Eros had shot an arrow straight through your throat, purposely missing your heart, and with a taunting voice he’s telling you “You don’t deserve love!”

“Holy Hephaestus- Beckendorf, get your ass down here for a sec!” You hear someone say, causing you to immediately wipe away tears, dirt smearing all over either side of your face. You see a figure approaching you from your peripheral view, which then you realized where you were. Fire crackled in the distance, the smell of burning metals lingering in the air. “Gods of Olympus- Y/n?” The figure knelt in front of you, large calloused hands supporting your weight as your body trembled from the forcing back whatever you felt. Looking up, though still a bit blurry, you recognized the person holding onto you. Marco Leon, head of cabin nine and son of Hephaestus—a familiar face you’ve come across multiple times a day in the infirmary.

“Are you alright, Y/n?” Marco asked, lifting your palms away from the ground, placing them onto his shoulders as he helped you stand up, searching you for any cuts or bruises. “What happened?”

What happened? Nothing. I just saw the love of my life practically having sex with his new girlfriend. “N-nothing,” You wheezed out, stumbling forward a bit as your chest heaved from trying to stop the tears and catch your breath. “I’m fine…”

“You’re obviously not fine, Y/n.” Marco shook his head, his face contorting into a look of concern. He slid his arm around your waist, careful not to make you feel uncomfortable but enough to keep you steady on your feet. “Come on, let’s get you seated for a sec.”

Marco led you towards the workshop, where surprisingly only one of his siblings—Charles Beckendorf—was waiting, confusion evident in his features as you approached.

“Holy- What did you do, Marco?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong! She tripped!” Marco defended, helping you onto one of the work benches around. “Quick, get the first aid kit!”

“No,” You say, shaking your head, your voice hoarse and dry as you undo your ponytail. “I mean, no thanks. I-I can do it myself.”

“Are you sure?” Marco grabbed the first aid kit from his brother, opening it. “You’ve got a pretty nasty scrape, there.”

You smile weakly, pushing back a few strands of your hair away from your face, cringing slightly at the feeling of dirt dried up on your skin. “It’s fine, don’t worry.”

“Alright,” Marco smiled, giving you an alcohol pad and gauze along with the tiniest roll of paper tape, which you gladly accepted with a small nod.

Ripping open the alcohol pad, you pressed it against your skinned knee, wiping any debris and bacteria away, a whimper escaping your lips at the burning sensation of the disinfecting wipe. You then repeated the process on your other knee, before placing the used pad on your lap and opening one of the gauze packs.

“Here, let me help with this, at least.” Marco offered, grabbing the roll of tape, tearing off a piece. “Put the gauze over the scrape, and I’ll secure it down.”

“Thanks,” You squeaked, eyes widening at how horrendous that sounded. Gods, why can’t I do anything right? “I’m so sorry for being a bother-”

“You’re not bothering anyone, trust me,” Marco chuckled, meeting your eyes with a kind smile. “You’ve been taking care of everyone at this camp, it’s just right to return the favor.”

Marco pulled another piece of tape, only for it to reach the end of the roll. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, reaching for the medical kit and rummaging for another roll of paper tape, letting out a huff at the unsuccessful search. “Guess we’ll just have to make do with this little thing.”

He tore off the paper-clip sized piece off of the roll, placing it on the bottom side, so that the whole gauze wouldn’t fall off. It didn’t really make a difference, since your other knee was still bare—though, sanitized, at least.

You muttered a quick thank you, before taking a deep breath, composing what’s left of…whatever the hell you had left. “Gods, this is so embarrassing, you know?”

Marco raised a brow, closing the incomplete box of first aid necessities and passing it to his brother, who ran with it to god knows where, leaving you alone with the senior counselor of cabin nine. “What is?”

“Head healer, being a dumbass, getting herself injured and can’t even properly heal said injuries—and the worst part, the injury was only a scrape, a fucking scrape.”

“Stop that,” Marco sat right next to you, shoulders brushing against one another. “You have got to stop discrediting yourself, Y/n. You are an amazing healer, sister, friend, and person. From what I’ve seen you do over the years, I’m confident to say that you are the most selfless person here at camp.”

“You’re just saying that because-”

Marco placed his hand on your shoulder, your eyes suddenly meeting his—chocolate brown, just like Luke’s. I can’t even talk to another without thinking of him, gods, what is wrong with me? “You take care of everyone, honestly, but who takes care of you?”

“I-I…” Words refuse to come out of your mouth, leaving you like one of your blank canvas. Marco was right, and it pains you to admit it. You’ve always been the caretaker, but never the one cared for. Sure, your siblings and friends care for you, but at the end of the day, it’s still you who looks after everyone—especially him. If Luke Castellan ever needed tending to or help with practically anything, you’re there by his side, just like how Icarus was drawn to the sun. You often forget to take care of yourself, even the simplest of tasks like eating or drinking, slips out of your mind whenever Luke or someone needs your help. It’s almost an endless cycle, fixing everyone’s problem until it’s you who’s stuck with something you can’t muster up the courage to ever get a solution.

When was the last time you even had time for yourself? Gods, you felt pathetic. At this point you think it’s all you’ll ever be, as terrible as it is, a pathological people pleaser.

“Come on,” Marco pulls you out of your self loathing. “Let’s get you back to your cabin, you need rest.”

“I’m okay,” You mumble, biting the inside of your cheek. Here you go again, acting like you’re fine when you’re not. Taking a deep breath, you meet Marco’s eyes with a smile. “I’ve got to get back to work, you know? I fear my absence this past week has affected a lot.”

Marco shook his head, chuckling at how stubborn you probably looked right now. “Still, I'll walk you back.”

“I’m okay, Marco, I swear-”

“Please,” His voice was firm, but there was this gentleness in his tone that made your heart flutter a bit. What in Apollo’s name is wrong with me? Ugh!

“Okay, fine.”

Marco quickly rose to his feet, a grin etched onto his handsome- No, I mean, attractive- fuck it face like he’d just won a million dollars in the lottery. “My lady?” he bowed in front of you, offering his hand out the way Luke always did whenever he was trying to make you laugh after he’d upset you or something. You took his hand, choosing to ignore what your mind—heart— wants, giving the boy in front of you a small, forced smile as he helped you onto your feet. “Shall we?”

You nod, letting go of his hand before it all feels weird and awkward. Gods forbid anyone sees you holding hands with Marco, not that it’s bad or that you’re ashamed, but there is one person you have in mind you would prefer not to see you frolicking like a teenager in love.

Well, you were, in fact, a teenager in love, but not with Marco Leon.

The two of you headed back to the cabins in complete silence. It was honestly deafening, to say the least, you just couldn’t bring yourself to utter a single word. With everything that’s happened today, you wanted nothing more than to run away and hide, to weep like a fucking disney princess in hopes of getting a fairy godmother to appear out of the blue to help solve all of your problems, even if the magic fades after midnight. Oh, what you would give to get that wretched, cursed, image of the boy who owns your heart and soul with that…that girl out of your mind for all eternity. If it was possible to rearrange and delete memories from your mind, you would’ve clicked the easiest option out.

As the cabins came into your view, you let out a soft sigh of relief. He’s not here yet, thank gods. You weren’t ready to face him, or her after what you’ve just seen in the place that was once exclusive to and your best friend. The thought alone of them kissing made your stomach churn so badly that you wanted to throw up. Oh no, did they….continue after Luke got back? You visibly cringed at the thought, gods of Olympus, why was your own mind punishing you like this? You look up at the sky, the sun is setting in the horizon, the serenity of the pink and orange hue in the clouds calming you down.

“Are you free tomorrow?” Marco asked as the two of you approached the vicinity of the cabins, your hands brushing against each other ever so slightly.

“I don’t think so,” You hum, your hair blowing against the evening summer breeze. “I’ve got to get back to my duties. Archery lessons, music, and arts and crafts, I think? Why?”

“Maybe you’d like these new…uh, arrows? Yeah, arrows, that’s right! Me and Beckendorf made them for you guys. Test them out before, you know, using them.”

“Yeah?” You ask, brows furrowed in confusion. “I didn’t know we had new arrows coming in.”

“Lee approved them, because you were unavailable? You were, you know? Sick?” Marco fumbled over his words, like your younger brother, Will, whenever he gets caught stealing Lee’s flannels.

“Oh, well then, I think I could squeeze you into my schedule tomorrow.” You smiled, though, a bit unsure if you could take a few minutes off of your hectic schedule—the same routine of events you always do.

“I’ll pick you up- no, I mean-”

Before you could utter a response, you heard screaming. “Connor Stoll, get your ass back here!”

What has he done this time? You thought, because you were the one who had to patch the younger Stoll brother whenever he got maimed by the one he was terrorizing. Usually, it was Luke who’d ask what his menace of a brother did, and the two of you would laugh about it after the said menace was out of earshot.

You see Connor Stoll running in your direction, with that shit eating grin he always has every time he’s successfully pulled off a prank. Behind him was an angry Katie Gardner, with a trowel in her hands as she chased after the speeding little shit- Connor. “Get back here, you little shit!”

“Never!” Connor yelled over his shoulder, zooming in your direction without looking where he was going, colliding into you, causing you to stumble backwards- You have got to be kidding me, falling into Marco Leon’s arms like you were in a goddamn romantic comedy movie.

“Hi,” Marco chuckled, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you steady like you were a canvas and he was the easel. “You okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I-I’m okay…”

“Stoll’s a menace,” Marco laughed, helping you back onto your feet in one swift motion, his arm still placed firmly against your waist, his face just a few inches away from yours.

“When isn’t he?” You let out a shaky laugh, realizing that were probably campers gawking at you and Marco flirting like two leads in a movie. “You…uh, you can let go of me now.”

Embarrassment crept onto his handsome features like a plague, scratching the back of his head like he’d been caught stealing from the Big House or something. “Oh, yeah,” he chuckled awkwardly as he helped you back to your feet. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” You pat him on the shoulder like an absolute idiot, who the fuck pats a person? At least, no one else saw that, because if someone brings this up sooner or later, you were going to kill Connor Stoll. Though, it seems that everyone has gone to get dinner, and won't be back until after the campfire—which, you should be there for, as senior counselor and head of the Apollo cabin. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow? I mean, if I get the time and all.”

“Yeah, of course. Take your time! I’ll be right here- I mean, not here here, but at my cabin, or at the forge. Not here, where we’re currently standing.”

“See you tomorrow, Marco,” you chuckle, playfully rolling your eyes at him, starting to walk away from the oddly awkward Hephaestus counselor. “I’ll try to make time, I promise.”

“Wait, you’re not going to eat dinner?” Marco asks, walking three steps behind as you headed to your cabin, which was only next to his own.

“Eh,” you shrug, running a hand through your hair, which wasn’t as smooth as you wanted it to be. “I think we have a few snacks in the cabin.”

Marco raised a brow, a teasing smile on his lips. “You gonna survive on snacks alone?”

“I think so, though, it wouldn’t be as healthy as I’d prefer.”

“Tell you what,” Marco gently grabs your arm, prompting you to stop in your tracks, now just a few meters away from your cabin. “I’ll go grab you something healthy to eat from the pavilion so that you won’t have to make do with that unhealthy junk. How does that sound?”

“You’d do that for me?” You ask, shocked as to why he would offer such a thing. You weren’t a princess, so it doesn’t make sense that he’d bring you food like some sort of servant, which he absolutely wasn’t. Gods, you felt bad even just thinking about it. Though, a meal sounded nice, since you’ve haven’t gotten anything to eat yet since you’d left the infirmary.

“Of course! It’s no trouble, if that’s what you’re thinking.” Marco assured, letting go of your arm. “What about the campfire, though?”

“My siblings will come looking for me, I suppose.” Foolish of you to think that you could ever get a little time for yourself. Guess you’d never learn your lesson then, dutiful daughter of Apollo. A soft sigh escapes your lips, still reeling high from the events that had come to pass. Dad, I just want the day to end, I want to curl up in my bed and cry myself to sleep. Come on, let me just do this once? I promise I’ll be your perfect, responsible, but broken hearted daughter again!

Marco seemed to notice the change in your tone, his eyes locked with yours, as if he was looking for answers in your gaze. You didn’t even understand why he was doing all of this. Yeah, you’ve interacted with him every time he comes to you with a broken thumb from accidentally hitting himself with a hammer or well, any injury that comes with being a son of the blacksmith god. He took a step closer, so close to removing the distance that separates the two of you.

“You deserve rest, after everything you do for all of us here at camp.” Marco tucked strands of your hair behind your ear. “You’re not a robot, you’re human. They can’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

Feeling a bit overwhelmed, you took three steps back, fighting the urge to break down again. You didn’t need that, you needed to get over your own feelings—figure them out before you lose your own mind trying to fix this mess of a puzzle called you. “Of..of course. I got to go, I-I need some time alone. Thanks, for everything.”

And with that, you turned your back and ran towards your cabin, without looking back.

Luke Castellan, you fucking asshole.

I wish you were here.

[valtsv]

"Can you guess what it stood for, Mum? [...] It stood for valuable."

[circussbeetle]

Thinking about how Hotch almost certainly has The best monologues in the entire show. From “my team? Let me tell you about my team.” To “When im home, it’s like im in this silent panic” to “at your core, you’re a coward” to “sometimes the day just… ends” Hotch has some of the most moving monologues in the entire series and i think its so interesting when you think about how quiet he is normally, he’s so reserved and usually his sentences are clipped and direct, more like orders than monologues, and yet on the other side he has an almost theatric delivery to his monologues that makes it so captivating to listen to, makes you hang on every word. He’s so eloquent and concise, every word he says is so intentionally chosen, and it really lands when you’re watching the show. His monologues will always be the ones that stick out to me the most as some of the best line deliveries in the entire series

[yellowocaballero]

Miguel is Fine, Actually (Being Spider-Man's Just Toxic As Hell)

Before I watched ATSV I said that I would defend my man Miguel O'Hara's actions no matter what, because he's always valid and I support women's wrongs. I was joking, and I did not actually expect to start defending him on Tumblr.edu. But I'm seeing a lot of commentary that's super reductive, so I do want to bring up another perspective on his character.

Miguel wasn't acting against the spirit of Spider-Man, or what being Spider-Man means. Miguel isn't meant to represent the antithesis of Spider-Man. Miles is the antithesis of Spider-Man. Miguel represents Spider-Man taken to its extreme.

Think about Miguel's actions from his perspective. If you were a hero who genuinely, legitimately, 100%, no doubt about it, believed that somebody is going to make a selfish decision that will destroy an entire universe and put the entire multiverse at severe risk - if you had an over-burdened sense of responsibility and believed in doing the right thing no matter what - you would also chase down the kid and put him in baby jail to try and prevent it. He believed that he was saving the multiverse, and that Miles was putting it in danger for selfish reasons. Which is completely unforgivable to him, because selfishness is what he hates the most. And then he goes completely out of pocket and starts beefing with a 15yo lmfaooo he's such a dick.

But why did Miguel believe that? Why did he believe that Miles choosing himself and his own happiness over the well-being of others was the worst possible thing? Why did he believe that tragedy was inevitable in their lives, and that without tragedy Spider-Man can't exist?

Because he's Spider-Man.

Peter Parker was once a fifteen year old who chose his own happiness over protecting others. It was the greatest regret of his life and he never forgave himself. Peter's ethos means that he will put himself last every time, and that he will sacrifice anything and everything in his life - his relationships, his health, his future - to protecting and helping others. Peter dropped out of college because it interfered with Spider-Man. He destroyed his own future for Spider-Man. He ruins friendships and romantic relationships because Spider-Man was more important. If Peter ever tries to protect himself and his own happiness, then he's a bad person.

That is intrinsic to Peter. Peter would not be Peter without it. A story that is not defined by Peter's unhappiness is not a Spider-Man story. If Peter doesn't make himself miserable, then he's just not Peter.

That is a Spider-Man story: that not only is tragedy inevitable, that if you don't allow yourself to be defined by your tragedy then you're a bad person. If you don't suffer, then you're a bad person. If you ever put anything above Spider-Man, then you're killing Uncle Ben all over again. Miguel isn't the only one that believes this - as we saw, every Spider-Man buys into what he's saying. There's no Spider-Man without these beliefs.

Miguel attempted to find his own happiness, and he was punished in the most extreme way. He got Uncle Ben'd x10000. He tried to be happy, and it literally destroyed his entire universe. It's the Spider-narrative taken to the extreme. Of course Miguel believes all of this. Of course he believes this so firmly. He's Spider-Man. That's his story. And the one time Miguel tried to fight against that story, he was punished. And like any Spider-Man, he'll slavishly obey that narrative no matter the evil it creates and perpetuates. Because if he doesn't, the narrative will punish him. The narrative will always punish him. It's a Spider-Man story.

I don't think the universal constant between Spider-Mans, the thing that makes them Spider-Man, is tragedy. I think it's the fact that they never forgive themselves. And Miguel is what that viewpoint creates. He doesn't believe this things because he's an awful, mean person. He believes them because he's a hero. He's a good person who hates himself.

Across the Spider-verse isn't really a Spider-Man story. It's a story about Spider-Man stories. Miguel's right: if this was a Spider-Man story, then Miles acting selfishly really would destroy the universe. But Miles' story isn't interested in punishing him. It pushes back against Peter's narrative that unhappiness is inevitable and that you have to suffer to be a good person. It says that sometimes we do the right thing from love and not fear, and that Peter's way of thinking is ultimately super toxic and unhappy. ITSV was about Miles deciding that he didn't need to be Peter Parker, that all he needed to be was Miles, and ATSV is about how being Peter Parker isn't such a good thing. Miguel shows that. Whatever toxic and unhealthy beliefs he holds - they're the exact same beliefs that any Spider-Man holds. He's a dick, but I don't think he's any more awful a person than Peter is.

TL;DR: Miguel isn't a bad person, he just has Spider-Man brainrot.

[wordsinhaled]

it was really only a matter of time until edwardian payneland happened and what if i channeled maurice about it. just a little

-

Charles is the son of the groundskeeper at St. Hilarion's School for Boys while Edwin is a pupil there. And he can't help but notice Edwin—how he’s nearly always alone, or else being harangued by the cruel older boys who call themselves his peers.

Charles privately thinks they hardly seem equal to him in poise or grace or manner. They are boisterous, brash, crass, violent, all overlaid with a veneer of false propriety, but Charles can see the cracks in it. He knows that sort by how they are inside, and they cannot be like Edwin at all. No, Edwin Paine's got a sad, drawn sort of look about him that Charles can't help recognizing. This lonely boy who feels somehow kindred in a way he can't put a finger on, but is pulled to him all the same, though by rights he'd do better to keep his distance.

Edwin often sits by the lake by himself, to read, or to do his assignments in the shade of the trees. Picturesque as a painting, he is. One day Charles dares to approach him, though he knows the risk in it—prepared to be rebuffed, rebuked for his untoward attention to someone he is meant to ignore; but the boy does not turn him away.

And so they become friends. Tentative, and then less and less so.

Together they explore the school's sprawling grounds, all of whose surprising hiding-places Charles Rowland knows by heart, having wandered them himself for years and made them his own refuge. The woods become theirs; the shore by the lake theirs; the shade of the trees theirs. The attic, where no one comes to look for them in the dead of night, also theirs.

And then one day Charles notices a group of boys surrounding Edwin. The usual cadre, and they're posturing, their voices loud in the autumn air. They’ve ripped Edwin's penny magazine from his grip and are tearing pages out of it, scattering them to be plucked up by the wind. Charles can do nothing else but step in. He shouts at them to back off, puts himself between them and Edwin, and gets himself thrashed for his trouble—but they, at least, finally leave Edwin alone.

Edwin, for his part, cannot believe Charles would be so reckless for his sake. Charles has not yet mentioned to him that he is used to this sort of treatment, and sees worse at home. They sit together in the boathouse by the lake, cross-legged, close enough for Edwin to dab carefully at Charles’ split lip and bleeding knuckles.

“You should not have done that for me,” he chides, though it carries no heat. “What will happen now?” He thinks word is sure to get back to the school, and there will be a scandal. Those boys, who so vocally despise Edwin, will hardly be quiet in their outrage, their humiliation. Charles’ father might be relieved of his post, and then Charles’ family will have to leave St. Hilarion’s. That is how these things go.

And what was it all for? For Edwin? How could it have been worth it?

“Doesn’t matter, does it?" Charles is saying, when Edwin surfaces from his troubled thoughts. "Couldn’t let them treat you like that. They had you five to one. And that, just ‘cause you’re different. I know how it is.” Charles’ eyelashes are very long, and the light turns his eyes a warm, deep amber as he talks fiercely, insistently, in defense of Edwin.

It’s terribly forward, Edwin thinks. And, despite every misgiving, he welcomes it. No one has ever fought for Edwin before. No one has ever spoken about him with such conviction.

Then Charles seems to lapse into pensiveness. “You didn’t have to…” he says softly. "All this." He gestures, with the free hand Edwin isn’t busy wrapping up, at the little bottle of antiseptic, the scissors, the roll of bandages and the cloths, all spread out on the floorboards between them.

“Of course I did,” Edwin says.

Really, he had not given it much consideration. He had had only the presence of mind to memorize the sight of Charles kneeling in the dew-damp grass, angry gaze still spitting fire at the backs of Edwin’s retreating bullies. He’d had blood in his bared teeth, and the briefest flash of desire had seared through Edwin—to kiss him. Merely in thanks, perhaps, but still, to kiss him.

He would know the warmth of Charles’ mouth. Fleeting, forbidden, it would sear itself into his mind for ever.

Of course, he had done no such thing; for he could not. Instead, he’d done the only thing he could do—bent low towards Charles, and squeezed his shoulder once, as if to say, Wait here for me. I will come back to you.

And as he'd turned on his heel and gone off in the direction of the infirmary, leaving Charles there with dusk encroaching, Edwin had hoped Charles understood his gesture for the indelible promise it was.

[aregebidan]

The Silt Verses, Chapter 45: Of Love, And Gods’ Defeat // The Silt Verses, Chapter 20: And Rend Us Both To Dust Below

ID in alt

[hobie-enthusiast]

— cw; making out, suggestive themes, implications of death

thinking about hobie brown who would impulsively get a new matching piercing with you after a night out in the city. he brings you to a friend of his who does his piercings, someone he trusts. he tells them to do whatever they want, as long as the two of you match. he offers his hand to you to squeeze when you’re being pierced, and after, he’s absolutely obsessed with how you both look.

thinking about hobie brown who’s protective of the things he loves, especially you. He doesn’t trust many people, especially those he doesn’t know. it's little gestures, like pulling you close to him by the arm or waist or walking on the side on the street the road is. he couldn't imagine something happening to you, he has a strong urge to always keep you safe. that's probably why spider-man always happens to show up when you get into some trouble alone.

thinking about hobie brown who drops several hints he’s spider-man. he doesn’t like lying to you, and even though he isn’t, it feels like he is. so he waits for you to ask or put the pieces together. if you never do, he doesn’t outright tell you. he would never want you to think he’s doing it to impress you or be famous. not that you would think that. but if you do, he’s honest and even offers to let you be his partner-in-crime, its perfect.

thinking about hobie brown who always wants to hear about your interests. even if it’s something he doesn’t know or understand the excitement over. he wants to hear every detail you know. he wants to know and understand where your excitement comes from and what you love about it. he will just sit there with such a love struck grin, eyes never leaving you or your lips moving so passionately.

thinking about hobie brown who lives for post-show make out sessions. after his band plays he always takes you to the back of the venue, holding you close to him as he kisses you like there's no tomorrow. he's addicted to you; the way your hot bodies press together, the way your lips feel on his, the way he can make you unravel from his hands settling on your waist. it's like a drug he's never going to get enough of, especially when his leg slots so perfectly between your thighs to rile you up. after he's always a panting mess, eyes lidded as he laughs, yet the laugh is a low chuckle from the way you practically drag him home.

thinking about hobie brown who would not hesitate to interrupt a canon event to save your life. whether it's in his dimension or some other variation of his, he doesn't care. the second he notices your life in danger, he's saving you. he can handle a heavy and hard scolding from miguel. hell he can ever handle being kicked from the spider-society for good. but nothing comes above saving your life, and he is a firm believer in that.

thinking about hobie brown who is obsessed with the way you play with his hair. his favourite way to fall asleep is in your lap, your hands tangled in his wicks, treating them and him like the most precious thing in the world. it's like some sort of spell you put on him, and he will never get enough of it. you start scratching his scalp or weaving your fingers through his hair? he's asleep in minutes. he's very protective of his hair and who can touch it, so letting someone he loves see him so vulnerable is always enough to relax him and coax him into getting proper sleep.

truly just thinking about hobie brown.