#this was originally much sadder

[wigglebox]

“The voice says I’m almost out of minutes 😡” [x]

[andrew-dramaqueen-minyard]

25 year old Andrew to his younger self: we’re in love with a man, we have cats together, you have a twin brother, we go to therapy weekly but we made it. We are alive.

14 year old Andrew, who thought he wouldn’t make it to 18, was in denial about his sexuality, hated every therapist he’d ever met, and had no idea aaron existed yet: what.

6 year old Andrew: we’re in love? We have a brother?! 🥺

25 year old Neil to his younger self: you play exy professionally now, and you’re no longer on the run, you have a partner named Andrew. You love him with everything you have. You’re safe.

14 year old Neil, tired, who very much thought he’d be dead by now: we’re not running? It’s over?

6 year old Neil: WE GET TO PLAY EXY?!

[terrorincarnate]

thx for coming to my rodeo

[quitefair]

so i just read the yasha comic and let me tell you that a) the art is fucking stunning and b) i am now never gonna stop crying over Them.

[fictionadventurer]

imaginary book: “The Ruined Idylls of Calomar”, low fantasy (quite obscure, authorship disputed; philologists suspect the first draft was written in a Celtic or Semitic language in the late 19th or early 20th century.)

The Ruined Idylls of Calomar by A.E. Mann

This haunting work of fantasy claims to be the journals of an unnamed scholar living in exile after the fall of the hidden lands of Calomar. Once a thriving, peaceful, highly civilized culture, its glory was brought low by the pride, greed, and wrath of kings, scholars, explorers and warriors who fought for glory, power, and honor, until its final destruction by a dark, nameless weapon left only a scant handful of survivors to escape and tell the tale. In haunting language, the narrator writes of Calomar's glory and intrigue, its final fall, and his irresistible yet doomed attempts to return to his lost homeland and learn what, if anything, has survived.

[fat-butch-dyke]

wait wait wait, can i add, ryou F7 and any -10 for tkb

attack dog energy-

[crimeronan]

also I’m SURE this has already been discussed but like. what are each of their songs To You vs what do they actually listen to? like what songs make you think of them vs what songs do they like for real?

OLD question about the OC quartet but here i am finally answering <3 i think the OCs' tastes in music are more varied than my own. keep in mind this is technically not our world so i can't cite specific bands/songs but

nova: stimmy EDM bitch through and through.

sol: likes anything loud and angry (perhaps unsurprisingly).

ruby: particularly fond of fiddle, drums, & any form of live music.

devin: has the most varied taste in that he literally will listen to whatever is engaging enough to serve as a distraction from The Horrors

i can't choose One Specific Song for each bc i have a million half-formed playlists for a million different character facets. so i grabbed one song for each OC from each of the three loud angry bands i've been listening to most lately (rise against, delain, & the pretty reckless)

i put all 12 in a spotify playlist here. sorry for lyrics spamming but i chose snatches that are Particularly painfully relevant

sol: get the devil out of me - delain

though i try not to lose, if in the end i will fall better to have you in tears than not to have you at all i'm no jesus christ, i'm the one mistake that you love to hate i apologize, it's your destiny to get the devil out of me

witches burn - the pretty reckless

welcome back to the days of old where the men are men and the women are sold unwilling sacrifice, i'll fuck you for a price they kill 'em young so they never get old

prayer of the refugee - rise against

we are the angry and the desperate, the hungry and the cold we are the ones who kept quiet and always did what we were told but we've been sweating while you slept so calm in the safety of your home we've been pulling up the nails that hold up everything you've known

devin: your body is a battleground - delain

your body is a battleground and chemicals are scattered round your body is a battleground but don't think you can do without your body is an industry, your pain nothing but gain to me your body is an industry, you can't break free

hit me like a man - the pretty reckless

take your time, do with me what you will i won't mind, you know i'm ill, you know i'm ill so hit me like a man and love me like a woman buried and sad, look me in the eyes, i want it

sooner or later - rise against

from the gods we all seek favors with every sacrificial lamb but the bodies all pile higher and the blood just stains your hands and soon you'll feel the panic in your breath and in your veins when you know there's no tomorrow and you've realized too late

ruby: start swimming - delain

all i seem to hear is stop, stop, i'm catching up on you don't leave me behind i can't see a soul out here it's dark dark, i'm catching up on you and all i wonder is why, why don't i try to stop running?

living in the storm - the pretty reckless

there's something wrong with all of my friends empty heads and violence, i'm trying to pretend that it's not me i can be anything i want to be and i'll try to ignore it, this banging at my door

the eco-terrorist in me - rise against

when business and suffering are one and the same when laws fail the people they turn to the flame i found love, i found life as a thorn stuck in your side, and you wonder why when it all comes down, will you say you did everything you could?

nova: army of dolls - delain

army of dolls stole your reflection army of dolls stole all your perfect imperfections just shut them out, don't let them in, into your head, under your skin do you really think misery tastes much sweeter served with a perfect smile

miss nothing - the pretty reckless

i'm misused, miss-cunt-strued, i don't need to be saved misguided, high-minded, i'm stuck in the rain and i don't know where i am and i don't know what i'm into and i don't know what i've done to me

a gentleman's coup - rise against

afraid, we cower to interests not our own the power to free or to control we let it skip through our fingers to the bone watch as the bodies wash ashore, nobody lives here anymore

[dirt-str1der]

Love all the randos in y0 making fun of majima for being skinny calling him shit like stickman and other insulting things i forgot and they make sure to really cement that majima is your wireframe protagonist and then he takes off his shirt and hes literally normal shaped. Bullshit i want to see a scarecrow i dont like his beefy body , you hyped me up only to lie to me

[mistninja]

Whenever i start coming up with more alonso lore its always "how can i make him even more sad" and "you know what could make his life even worse". I love torturing him. Thats what he deserves

[shriekthemighty]

writing this sequel means i have to actually figure out what the fuck is going on with Eddie.

[dumb-fictionkin-sideblog]

if i don't end up doing a suicide attempt purely for attention/to get help it'll be a fucking miracle

[mysterycitrus]

rereading lpod just makes me sadder that so much of tims origin has been muddled through interpretation cause what do u MEAN the character who catalogued bruce’s grief and violence in the wake of jasons death to try and convince dick to return to robin is now a stalker who followed batman around for years. so much of tims character was driven by his own logical necessity. someone had to show dick grayson how bruce was spiralling. someone had to be robin again. someone had to hold things together.

retroactively changing things so tim was a turbo-stalker jason fan with actively abusive parents who hate him misses the point. he knew dick grayson before he knew batman. he only knew batman in the wake of jasons death. he did not view bruce’s actions as aspirational, and he did not know jason as robin, only as a ghost.

like ig him being an actual intense batman fan changes dynamics for storytelling purposes but foundationally tim drake was conceived to be an ordinary person who achieved the extraordinary. that’s the entire point!! im rattling the bars of enclosure again because this kid didn’t even care about photography before he chose to take action like come on

[nathaslosthershit]

Birthday Celebrations (Teen Dad!OP81)

(Part 5 of my Teen Dad AU [can be read in any order])

Summary: The Piastri twins, with the help of their mom, try to make their Dad’s 23rd birthday as special as it can be. Warnings: I am currently pregaming a pregame so I am not writing this while sober. Also I decided to make this super fluffy because it only makes Tensions Rise so much sadder.  A/N: Name reveal for the twins! Also this takes place before Tensions Rise, which originally took place at the Silverstone GP but I have changed it to Suzuka :)

6 am on April 6th, Honey woke up to her alarm. It was earlier than she would usually wake up. On most days, her 3 year olds woke her up at around 7:30, but today she decided to make sure she was waking up ahead of them, in order to intercept any attempts to wake up Oscar on his 23rd birthday. 

She had finished decorating the kitchen when she heard tiny footsteps approaching. Two bleary-eyed toddlers entered the kitchen and looked around, eyes opening wide with a sort of wonder only young children seem to have, as they saw all the balloons and streamers around the room.

“Hi babies, are you excited for today?” Honey asked as she hugged each of her kids. Seeing the confusion appear on their faces, she added, “It's your dad’s birthday! And I think it's about time to wake him up. Are you both ready?”

She was met with enthusiastic nods and once promising that they would get the cake they so desired, she held both their hands as she quietly opened her bedroom door, letting the twins loose to wake their dad up. 

Oscar had been blissfully asleep when he felt weight on him, suddenly throwing him out of sleep. Immediately concerned, he sat up with an impressive amount of swiftness before he realized it was his children sitting on top of him.

“Happy birthday Daddy!” They both screamed at the same time, immediately shoving the cards they had made him a few days prior in his face. They couldn’t write properly yet, so Honey transcribed what the scribbles meant in her much nicer handwriting below. 

“Aw, thank you both. What a frightening but sweet way to wake up.” He said as he gave them both a kiss on the head. He then turned to Honey, who had let the toddlers get their moment with him. Kissing him passionately, the adults only stopped once they heard the ‘ew’s from their two kids. 

“Happy birthday, darling.” She said as she handed him a jewelry box.

“I thought we said no gifts for holidays? That the money should go towards the kids?” Oscar asked as he held the box.

“That was when we were teens and you weren’t making F1 money.” She sassily replied.

Opening the box, he was confused when he saw two gold bands inside, a perfect fit for his and Honey’s ring fingers.

“Look at the engravings.” She quickly added. There, the names Frances and Hudson were engraved, the names belonging to the two kids sitting next to them on the bed. “I thought I would buy the bands ahead of time. I know we aren’t getting married for a bit but I really wanted to add their names to the inside and knew you aren’t big on getting gifts. Think of it as our first step towards our wedding” She rambled. She got nervous the longer he stared at the gift, was it too soon? Did he hate it?

“Honey, this is the sweetest thing ever.” He said as he began to tear up. They hadn’t started wedding planning, with how busy things had been, it seemed impossible to find the time. This was the first real step towards their forever. As he looked at them, it finally settled in how much he needed to marry her as soon as he could. 

“God I can’t wait to marry you.” He whispered, more to himself than to her. 

“I can’t wait to marry you too, Oscar. Now, let's go feed these hungry kids. I made special birthday pancakes.”

[keqism]

⎯⎯ 𝐒𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ⊰

.࿔ feat. childe, xiao, scaramouche, diluc, heizou, tighnari

.࿔ premise. L-O-V-E doesn't always have to be vocalized

.࿔ cw. fluff, gn!reader, modern au, mentions of alcohol, two swear words, pet names, use of childe's real name

.࿔ notes. reposting because this app hates me and i accidentally deleted the original post.

𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 (𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓) ≀ feat. childe

childe always makes time to call you when he’s away on his business trips. regardless of the time difference, he'll facetime you from his hotel room. some days he's rowdy, loudly chattering about his shady fatui dealings; other times, he's quieter, a little sadder. he'll softly ask you about your day, perfectly content with listening to your sweet voice while tracing the pixels of your face on his phone. he'll never admit it but he can't sleep well without you, sometimes tucking a pillow into his side and pretending that it's your body.

"ajax you should go to sleep." your frowning face peers at him through the screen, examining his droopy eyes.

"but i wanna hear your voice," he slurs, his words muffled by the blankets drawn up to his chin. "i miss you so much."

"you're such a baby," you tease, although your bittersweet smile tells him that you miss him as well. "alright, i'll stay on call until you fall asleep." 

childe offers you a drowsy grin in response, nestling deeper into his blankets. the hotel bed is a little too cold for his liking, but your voice fills the room, warming his body and lulling him further into his dreams. 

𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 ≀ feat. xiao

it's a running joke among your friends that xiao is like a cat: aloof and stubborn with a hidden curious side. you would have to disagree though because xiao protects you like a vigilant guard dog. he'll switch places with you so that he's walking on the outside of the sidewalk, an arm timidly wrapped around your waist. at parties, he'll clutch your drink to his chest like it's a newborn baby, one hand firmly planted over the top. you can always feel his gaze from across the room, warding off any bold individuals who have the nerve to approach you. 

"xiao, dance with me!" you're a little tipsy, wobbling as you turn to face your boyfriend.

xiao's breath catches in his throat. you're beautiful, hair messy and lips curving up into a shy grin. it drives him crazy, the way you cling to his arm for balance and gaze at him with those mesmerizing eyes. 

i'm whipped, he sighs as you tug him through the crowd of people, wrapping your hands around his neck as a slower song plays through the speakers. he pulls you into him protectively, swaying to the beat of the music. for a moment, the sweaty bodies around you disappear; it's just you and him, slow dancing in the dark.

𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐍 ≀ feat. scaramouche

scaramouche—unwillingly—lets you include him in your self-care days. every friday night, you'll sit him down on your living room floor and lay out ten different face masks for him to choose. he'll begrudgingly rest his head in your lap while you apply the face mask (play with his hair and he'll fall asleep). if you're lucky, he might let you tweeze his eyebrows, although he'll complain loudly about the pain and grumble about how you tweezed one brow higher than the other. 

you plop down onto the couch with a groan, feeling the ache in your muscles. absentmindedly scrolling through your phone, you feel a pair of eyes burn into the side of your head.

"yes, scara?" you hum, intrigued by a video of the latest celebrity scandal.

suddenly, your phone is snatched from your hand and you find yourself pinned under a body. scaramouche hovers over you, glowering at your figure underneath him.

"scara, what the fuck?"

his scowl deepens. "it's friday, idiot, you're forgetting something."

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐓™ ≀ feat. diluc

some say you're in it for the money, that you're only dating diluc for the ragnvindr clan's wealth. others claim that it's a fake relationship. diluc must have hired you to date him to maintain his status as mondstadt's number one bachelor. but what they don't know, is that you're in it for the coat. diluc ragnvindr's coat is what you would describe as heaven on earth: warm with a comforting weight and a lingering scent of your favorite pyro vision holder. you love wearing it and he loves to see you wearing it. the weather outside is slightly chilly? coat. you accidentally forgot an umbrella during a date? coat. fuck the rumors; you're not a gold digger, you're just very much in love with diluc—and his coat.

the loud thud of the dawn winery doors announces diluc's entrance. it's evening by the time he returns from his duties; he's exhausted and would rather be in bed with you tucked into his side. 

quietly, diluc enters your shared bedroom, only to find an empty, cold bed waiting for him. he frowns. you should have been in bed by now. his footsteps echo as he hastily makes his way down the hallway, panic rising in his throat. flinging the doors to his study open, diluc's eyes land on your sleeping figure, curled up in the armchair by his desk.

diluc slowly approaches you, brushing a hand against your cheek. you must have tried to stay up, he muses. he sheds his coat, carefully wrapping the thick fabric around your shoulders. despite his efforts to stay quiet, you startle awake.

"diluc?" you blink the sleep from your eyes, leaning into his warmth. 

"shh, i'm here now, love," he reassures you, gathering you in his arms.

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃! ≀ feat. heizou

heizou holds your bag for you. yes, because he's a gentleman but also because he likes to store his things in there too. it started off with his jitte and spare headband laid neatly next to your belongings. gradually, a green pebble was added and then a law book (courtesy of yanfei) was shoved in. you're slowly running out of room for your items, but heizou flaunts your bag with such pride that you don't have the heart to tell him off.

you lean against the brick wall of the library, scanning your surroundings for a familiar auburn-haired individual. the autumn breeze stirs your hair, sending a chill through your bones as you burrowed into your scarf.

a distant shout of your name brings your attention to the library's entrance. heizou runs towards you, sporting a tawny cardigan and a matching scarf. 

"sorry i'm a little late!" he beams, hands automatically reaching for your backpack. you allow him to slip the straps off of your shoulders and onto his, leaning in to peck his icy cheek.

"let's head home," you smile, slinging an arm around his hip and sliding a hand into his pocket. "it's cold today, do you want to stop by the café for a drink?"

his laugh rings through the chilly air. "you read my mind!" 

𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐇 ≀ feat. tighnari

as a forest watcher, tighnari spends most of his time out patrolling sumeru's rainforest and examining the surrounding fauna. he does get a little distracted, though. it's hard to stay focused when everything reminds him of you. zaytun peach, your favorite fruit; the purple sumeru rose that would look so lovely tucked behind your ear. tighnari pockets each of these trinkets to take back to you, carefully tucking them into his duffle bag.

"welcome home, nari," you greet him with a brief kiss as he enters your shared home.

"it's good to be back," he replies, cupping your face in his hands. "i brought you some things—they reminded me of you."

you eagerly watch as he digs through his bag, gloved hands pulling out different flowers and pebbles. his previous gifts already litter your house, but you still appreciate them nonetheless. 

you pluck a misshapen mushroom up, raising an eyebrow at him. "a mushroom, tighnari? do explain how this reminds you of me."

a sly smirk makes its way onto his face. "well, it's cute like you," he teases, pinching the skin of your cheek. "and it's a fun-gi. get it?"

you slap his hands away, pointing an accusing finger at him. "you met up with cyno today, didn't you?"

[achenetype]

Hihi can you please do a Luke x reader where it’s basically an unrequited love like reader is so in love with Luke and he has no idea so she moves on and years later she’s over him and confesses to him like a oh I thought you should know and the whole time Luke had been in love with her, kinda base it off that one TikTok audio where it’s like “I’m not in love with you anymore” “I never knew you were” 🩷🩷

OHH YOURE FEEDING MY ANGST BRAIN WITH THIS ONE. buckle up lets break some hearts

edit: this ended up being WAY sadder than i originally intended. i am so sorry anon oh my god

i gave you a rare gift (but you didn't want it) — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

content: angst, major character/reader death, unrequited love, mutual pining, reader is part of kronos' army, luke and reader are doomed by the narrative, [Y/N] used (sparingly), alcohol mention, description of injury

listening to: bloodfest (from mizumono) by brian reitzell

You are twenty-two years old, sitting on the rocky beach of a lake somewhere in the forests of upstate New York. Light, gentle fog hangs in the air around you, and the only sound is the tap-tap-tap of Luke skipping rocks across the water.

Come dawn, the world will burn. The gods will be dethroned. Every demigod will either be free, or dead.

But now, at midnight, you are twenty-three and Luke turns to you. He's holding a small, squashed cupcake in one hand. "Happy birthday," he says, "to my right-hand man." He pauses. "Woman. Right-hand woman."

He holds the pastry out to you and smiles, but something behind his eyes is empty. Hollow. He hadn't been sleeping recently. As much as he tried to hide it, he couldn't stop you from seeing when he came to you every morning for a cup of coffee and to debrief for the day.

Perks of being the revolution leader's best friend, you think. His right-hand woman.

Luke's eyes flick from the cake to your face. "Do you like it?" He asks, and for a split second, you swear there's a note of hope in his voice. "I wanted to do something, y'know," he says. "Twenty-three is huge. It's a monumental age."

You nod, but stay quiet.

He pauses for a second. "You remember how you always said you wished you never had a birthday?"

When you were twelve, nearly thirteen, your mother drove you across the country to go to summer camp.

"It'll be like a road trip," she said, tossing your duffel bag into the back seat of her battered car. "And then, hey, you'll only stay at camp until the end of August, and then you can come back and go to school. See all your friends again." She squeezed your shoulder and pushed the car door closed. "How about that?"

"Sure," you said. "Super fun."

And it was; you were actually kind of excited. You'd never been to New York. It seemed a million universes away.

And it was your birthday tomorrow. Maybe this was a gift, something that your mother had put together to make up for the years of being too tired and too drunk to make a cake, or get presents, or anything.

Your mother put her hands on her hips and sighed. "You know how I feel about the attitude, yeah? Let's not do this today."

"I wasn't even trying to—" You cut off as your mother glared at you, her face tense. You knew that look: the biting-the-inside-of-her-cheek, trying-to-be-understanding, trying-to-be-a-good-mom-despite-it-all look.

You hated that look.

"Just..." She sighed. "Just get in the damn car, [Y/N]."

You did, fighting back the tears building in the corners of your eyes, and the slam of the car door closing was as loud as thunder.

Twenty silent minutes of city streets and highway merge ramps and cold, empty stretches of asphalt and concrete passed before either of you spoke.

"Mom," you said, thirty-three seconds into minute twenty-one, "I'm sorry for talking back earlier." Your voice was quiet, shaking, cupped in your throat like a scared animal.

She didn't answer, keeping her eyes fixed on the road.

"I don't like being like this, Mom," you said, looking over at her. The silhouette of her through the driver's side window, backlit by the streetlights, was shapeless. Impassive. "I don't like doing this with you all the time."

She scoffed.

You pulled your legs to your chest, tucking your head between your knees, and tried to find sleep.

You weren't sure how long you slept, but you woke up to the sound of music playing softly over the speakers. Exit signs whizzed past you at what felt like breakneck speed. You wondered, briefly, if you would break your neck if you jumped out of the car right now.

Ultimately you decided against it. You didn't want your mother's last words to you to be, get in the damn car.

That would make her feel guilty, you thought, and that guilt would make her hate me even more.

"I don't wanna fight," you tried instead, picking at a loose thread in the cuff of your jacket sleeve. "Mom, I'm sorry, okay? I don't want us to be mad at each other anymore," you said. A sob caught in your throat, heavy and wet and choking.

Your mother sighed and reached one hand from the wheel to tuck your hair behind your ear. "I know you don't, sweetie," she said. "I don't want to be mad at you either."

"Then why do you do it," you asked.

When she turned to look at you, her eyes were wet. She smiled, or tried to. "Sometimes, certain people just…can't help but fight," she said. "It's just part of who we are, I think."

"Did you fight with Dad?"

Your mother inhaled, quick and sharp through her nose, as she flicked the turn signal to right and guided the car down the exit ramp from the highway, her eyes locked ahead. "Yes," she said. "Sometimes. Sometimes I think that's where we get it."

You swallowed. "Do you ever miss him?"

She doesn't peel her gaze away from the road. "Every day."

The two of you made your way through bustling streets and across too many bridges to count. You thought you fell asleep again, for a minute or maybe a year. Maybe it was all a dream.

"Mom," you asked as she turned onto a worn dirt road, the sunrise barely stretching over the horizon, "why are you bringing me here?"

She didn't answer for a moment. Two moments, then three. Through the leaves, you saw one tree standing impossibly tall. A pine tree.

Your mother parked the car and turned to you. "Because I don't know what to do with you, [Y/N]," she said. "I don't know how I can keep you," she paused, "safe. How I could do this, on my own, in any normal way."

She got out of the car and grabbed your bag, shoving it against your chest. "Camp is just up that hill there," she said, gesturing in the direction of the large tree you'd seen earlier. "They’ve got people up there waiting for you."

"Mom," you said. "Wait, I—I wanted to talk to you—"

She shook her head. "I can't come with you, sweetie." She smiled, the curve of her mouth falling just short of her eyes. "You just remember that I love you, okay?"

At that moment, you knew: she was going to leave you here.

“No,” you said, tears rolling down your face. “No, no—Mom. Mom, please.”

“Before you go,” she said, her voice tight and sharp, “I wanted to give you this.” She reached into the back seat and pulled out a jacket, worn leather with patched elbows. “It was mine in college,” she explained, not meeting your eyes. Like she was reading from a play or book, and you were the unfortunate audience. “I figure, it doesn’t fit me anymore.” 

She pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Happy birthday, baby.”

It was the first time you had ever felt like your mother loved you. You knew she liked you, sometimes. But you were never quite sure if she loved you until that moment. 

And then she got back into the car with one final, teary nod. 

And you never saw her again.

“Yeah,” you tell Luke, shrugging. “I think I’ve got a pretty good reason, though.” Your lips curve into a smile.

He laughs and tilts his head. It’s a habit of his; he’ll say something and twist his neck just a fraction, narrow his eyes. A nervous tic that not even years of training and fighting and killing could stamp out.

You used to think about kissing his neck when he did it, but now you’re not sure whether you would know the difference between kissing and ripping his throat out. 

“True,” Luke concedes. You laugh, too, unrestrained and loud. “Gods, your sense of humor is dark.”

“You laughed first,” you remind him. He grins.

The cupcake he offers you, despite its lumps and smears of frosting, is pretty good. You split it apart with careful fingers and hand half of it back to him.

“You’re celebrating with me,” you laugh, “so you get half. That’s the rule.”

Luke simply smiles at you and takes the crumbling cake from your hand. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, grinning back. “Damn right.”

Luke’s laugh rings out again, sharp and bright against the night sky. Firelight flickers across his face, painting him in brilliant streaks of orange and gold. 

“After tomorrow,” Luke murmurs, pulling his knees up to his chest, “we can do this whenever we want.” The wind ruffles his hair almost fondly, floppy brown curls stirring and settling back against his skull.

You raise an eyebrow. “This?”

He gestures in a wide arc. “Be here, like this. Just be people, instead of demigods or heroes or revolutionaries.” Luke’s voice picks up, conviction surging into his words. “I mean, seriously—when was the last time you thought you would ever have a normal life?”

You’d never understood the demigods who joined Luke’s cause without knowing him. The plan itself seemed crazy—the only way anyone would follow it was if they knew their leader could pull it off. 

You have to know Luke to know he was capable of that, you think.

Until now. Now, you see what you think everyone else sees—a real leader, a revolutionary. A force for change with a silver tongue.

He makes it all seem so possible. You almost think he might pull it off.

Luke looks over to you. “We’re going to change everything,” he says. 

Almost.

“We’re going to change the rules,” Luke said, spreading the map over an empty cot in his cabin. “If we want to win, we need to be thinking six steps ahead of the enemy.”

A few of the campers huddled around the makeshift table shuffled and coughed awkwardly. 

“Every strategy’s been done before,” a tall girl with bubblegum-pink hair and an eyebrow piercing shouted from the back of the group. “How are we going to out-war the god of war’s kids?” 

Murmurs rushed around the table, soft and susurrant. There’s no way we’re going anywhere here. We’ve gotten our asses beat six weeks in a row. What are we even doing?

Luke smiled. “Ares is the god of war,” he said, “not strategy.” He slung his arm around one of the campers next to him and inclined his head in the direction of the map.

Quietly, almost too quiet for you to hear, he murmured into the girl’s ear. “Don’t doubt yourself, Bethy,” he whispered.

You learned three things in the ten minutes that she spent explaining your team’s new strategy—

—one, your team was going to kick some major ass—

—two, your strategist’s name was Annabeth Chase, and she was the smartest eight-year-old you have ever met—

—and three, Luke was right.

Annabeth’s plan took the rules of Capture the Flag and threw them out the window. She split the team into four subgroups, each with a delegated leader. Luke nodded along as she talked, marking the map with a stubby pencil. 

When Annabeth’s eyes, dark and piercing, searched the crowd and landed on you, you felt your heart stop.

“You,” she said, “are you good with a sword?”

You raised your eyebrow, pointing to yourself—just to confirm this genius child was speaking to you—and Annabeth nodded. 

“I guess?” You said, shrugging. “I know some basic stuff, and I’m good at disarming.”

Annabeth’s face broke into a smile. “Work with Luke on the first wave of offense.” She gestured to the map. “You two will take points B and B-one,” she explained. “My group will take the A-points. You wait for our signal to move in.”

You met Luke’s eyes across the table. Hey, you mouthed. 

His eyes flicked up and down your form. Hey, he mouthed back. You ready to win?

You smiled and nodded.

Good, Luke said, all teeth. Let’s go.

He stood and grabbed his helmet. You did the same.

“I’m [Y/N],” you said as you followed Luke through the forest. “We, uh—we met when I first got here, like, a year ago.” I was sobbing my eyes out because my mother abandoned me, you didn’t add. It was kind of pathetic. I think I threw up from crying so hard.

You suddenly hoped Luke didn’t remember meeting you, actually. That would be less embarrassing.

He turned and caught your eye. “You live in the same cabin as me. ‘Course I know you.” 

Of course he remembers.

You laughed, flushing red. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

The silence was so thick, you could have cut it with the sleek bronze of your sword.

In the end, it was Luke who broke the silence. “You wanna play a game while we wait out here?”

You shrugged. “Sure,” you said. 

“Twenty questions,” Luke replied. “So we can learn enough about each other to actually work together.” He smiled. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Low-hanging fruit,” you said, your voice just barely taking on a teasing tone. “It’s green.” 

Luke laughed, loud and full and bright. “Apologies,” he said; mirth crept into his words, staining everything with a tinge of that laughter. “I’ll go for the more gut-wrenching, intimate questions next time.”

You flushed red again. Intimate questions. What the hell does he mean by that?

“My turn,” you said instead. “What do you want to be when you get older?”

“We’ll be heroes,” Luke whispers. “Real heroes. Not figureheads propped up by the gods.”

You wish you could believe him. He’s lying on the beach next to you, his head resting in the junction between your shoulder and your neck. Over the treetops, the stars are beginning to fade from the sky.

It’s almost time.

Your throat feels like someone has sanded it down to expose your vocal cords. This is a bad idea, you want to say. We shouldn’t do this. Tell me we can still not do this. 

“Wanna play twenty questions?” You say, crackling and hoarse.

Luke turns to look at you. “Yeah,” he murmurs. 

“My turn first,” you whisper. Luke nods.

You take a deep breath, in and out. “Are we going to die doing this?”

Luke inhales sharply. “Maybe,” he says. Slowly. Deliberately. “But we’ll do everything we can to make sure we don’t.”

“I got another question,” you say. Luke raises an eyebrow. His knuckles brush yours as you sit up.

“Are you scared?”

It’s your birthday. 

You think you’re going to die. 

Luke is kneeling over you, the palm of his hand pressed against the wet opening in your stomach where someone had caught you with a spear. The shaft of it is still sticking out of you, you think. You’re afraid to look down, afraid to see it. 

“No,” Luke gasps, “no, no, no.”

You watch as the gold fades from his eye, leaving behind the honey-dark brown you remember. His hands are slick with blood—most of it’s probably yours, it has to be yours. You’re bleeding out, after all. 

You tug on Luke’s sleeve weakly. “Hey,” you breathe. “Luke. It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“No,” he says. “You’re—you’re hurt.”

“I know,” you rasp. “I know it hurts. I’m the one—” 

You break off as a cough sticks in your throat. It feels wet. Oily. Desperate to get out. You taste the blood in the back of your throat before you can even take another breath.

“—I’m the one who’s feeling it,” you finish, your voice tilting up at the end. A joke. Gods, your sense of humor is dark.

Luke laughs weakly. “Don’t talk,” he says. “You’re gonna be just fine, [Y/N], just fine.”

He meets your eyes. You see him realize it in slow motion.

Tell him. Tell him now. He’s never going to know otherwise—he could die any minute—

“Luke,” you murmur. “Luke, did you know I loved you?”

He freezes. “What?”

You cough again. Blood spills over your lips. “I loved you,” you repeat. “Since we were campers. Had the…the biggest, stupidest crush on you.”

Luke shakes his head. “No, no,” he says. “You—”

“You’re my best friend,” you continue. “Whatever feelings were there, you’re my best friend.”

Luke’s palm against your stomach is warm. It feels safe. It feels like sleeping side-by-side in the cabin, like shared meals and shared secrets. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Luke says, “why are you—why?”

You blink, just once, but it takes everything you have to open your eyes again after closing them. “Because I’m going to die,” you whisper. “And even if—even though I moved on, I wanted you to…to know.”

Luke bows over your body, pressing his forehead to yours. Tears slip from his cheeks and fall onto yours, driving little rivers through the blood smeared there.

He’s crying. Why is he—

“You idiot,” Luke says brokenly. “I loved you too. I loved you too.” He cradles your head in his lap, brushing your hair away from your face. “[Y/N], I’m so sorry.”

Your eyes slip shut.

I loved you too, Luke’s voice echoes. I loved you too.