This Is So Cool

this is so cool

https://www.tumblr.com/dancing-inasnowglobe/743873932441026560/this-mannn WAIT WHERE IS THIS FROM????

it's from the recent percyseries reel on instagram! the one second every day one, i took screenshots of the moments with charlie 😭

so so so so cute i'm squealing and kicking my feet. i love it so much when it's two oblivious idiots and everyone else can see it <3

ʚɞ A VERY COMMON CRISIS

or alternatively: the 5 times campers realized you and luke castellan were whipped + the 1 time you realized it yourselves

notes/cw: luke castellan x fem! reader, luke castellan x apollo! reader, canon typical violence, pov lineup: lee fletcher + annabeth chase + drew tanaka + connor stoll + clarisse la rue

word count: 5.2K (got a bit carried away this time)

links: masterlist

i. the infirmary (ft. lee fletcher)

“Could I have some more nectar?” Lee asks, tenderly inspecting the cuts on his arm. He’d been caught by the harpies after a late-night excursion to the lake with a particularly good looking son of Aphrodite, before they’d descended on him, clawing and scraping and screeching. He had barely just made it out with his life. 

You smack him upside the head, annoyed. 

“I’m your brother!” Lee protests, rubbing the back of his head. You shoot him a glare, only made more threatening by the way you’re currently wielding a pair of sharp scissors in hand. Not for the first time, he wonders if perhaps the previous Apollo Head Counselor had made a grave error in appointing you as a Healer. 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“Who happens to be your brother!” 

“Who’s unfortunately an idiot,” you repeat, rolling your eyes. “I can’t give you too much nectar or ambrosia, or else you’ll burn up, which I don’t think anyone wants regardless of how annoying you are.” 

“Hey!” 

You ignore him, continuing, “But of course, you would already know that if you paid attention when I give our monthly health seminars instead of just staring at Kalyan Yadav!” 

“Kalyan’s face is much nicer to pay attention to,” Lee argues, and you sigh, wrapping the gauze around your half brother’s arm. He hisses in pain as it makes contact with his bruised flesh, knowing you’re only drawing out the process out of frustration at him. 

The door to the infirmary is then thrown open, and you whip your head around, ready to give the newcomer a piece of your mind about knocking before entering. But then you freeze, and Lee leans his head past you to see what’s wrong. 

“Oh wonderful,” he snarks, catching sight of the two newcomers. Luke Castellan currently has an arm around Chris Rodriguez’s shoulders, looking pale as blood drips down his nose. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask, having immediately left Lee’s side to check for signs of damage. 

You direct the two sons of Hermes to an empty bed by the bay window, helping Chris set Luke down against the pillow. Crimson leaks down Luke’s lip, as he stares up at you, defiant. 

“I’m fine,” he protests. 

“He got punched in the face,” Chris says cheerily, prompting a disgruntled “Chris!” from the aforementioned patient and a loud “What?!” from you.  

“How come you’re never this worried for me?” Lee asks, narrowing his eyes at you in suspscion. This goes ignored by all three of you, as you’re now rummaging through the cabinets, producing a fresh towel to clean the cut. 

Lee hears water running, as you move quickly around your work station, presumably soaking the washcloth in hot water. He doesn’t particularly envy Luke right now, knowing how much it stings. 

“You have got to stop starting fights for no reason,” you say, worried, as you make your way back to Luke’s bed, tilting his head to the side as you dab the cloth at his lip. 

“I didn’t start the fight,” he says, upset. 

Chris opens his mouth as though to say something, but shuts down at something in Luke’s face. Lee, intrigued by this development, catches Chris’s eye as he mouths, “Did he?” The boy nods, to which Lee arches a brow up in surprise. 

While Luke’s aggressiveness certainly isn’t unheard of, the fact that he wants to keep it secret from you is. He tells you everything, which Lee has been an unfortunate witness to several times over the years. 

“It’s just a split lip,” you finally diagnose, after having cleaned the cut. “I won’t give you nectar because as I was just telling Lee, it’s too much for a minor injury like this.” 

“A split lip hardly qualifies as an injury,” Lee scoffs, to which Luke nods his head, agreeing. Well, that’s a first. 

“Shut up, Lee.” 

“I do appreciate it though, Doc,” Luke says, smiling warmly at you for perhaps the first time that day.

Your cheeks flush in embarrassment, as you mutter something along the lines of how it’s your pleasure, and Luke thinks nothing of it, perhaps thinking it’s out of humbleness. 

But Lee’s your brother, and knows you don’t possess even an ounce of humbleness. He’s known you long enough to see the difference in the way you act around Luke compared to anyone else, and can only come to one conclusion. 

Oh, you are so whipped. 

ii. the arena (ft. annabeth chase)

It’s only expected that Annabeth would be interested in watching the sparring matches, as it helps her scout out talent in deciding which cabins she wants to partner with for Capture the Flag. So really, it’s no surprise that she’s at the armory right now, giving Luke last minute advice before he enters the next sparring match. 

“You’re giving me pointers?” Luke asks, a hint of amusement in his tone as he gives a final tug on the strap of his armor, properly securing it in place. “You do realize that I’m the best swordsman the Camp’s seen in the past 300 years? Chiron’s even said so himself.” 

Annabeth rolls her eyes as she shoves at him, causing the taller boy to stumble over his feet. He shoots her a glare, adjusting his armor for the umpteenth time that day. This was a common occurrence for the pair, pushing and shoving and kicking as much as any normal pair of siblings would do, despite not having any parents in common. But Annabeth and Luke had always been family on a deeper level than any of their cabin mates could ever be. He would always be her first brother, no matter what. 

“All ready?” Chris asks, poking his head inside the armory. “Are we feeling confident about today’s match?” 

“Yeah, I think so,” Luke says, finally– finally done messing around with his armor. He checks himself in a particularly shiny shield left in the armory, messing with his hair as he makes weird faces to his reflection. 

“What girls are you trying to get?” Annabeth asks, giggling as Luke shoots her another glare over his shoulder. 

Chris gives a long suffering sigh as he rubs the bridge of his nose, saying, “Don’t even get me started on that.” 

And of course this only piques Annabeth’s curiosity, but before she can ask about the secrets Luke’s been keeping from her, the conch sounds, indicating that the next match is going to start. 

“Wish me luck,” Luke says, patting the girl’s shoulder as he heads out, sword brandished and at the ready. 

Annabeth’s not surprised to see you in the arena, leaning against your sword as you pay rapt attention to your half siblings. While not at the same level of Luke’s prowess, you’d been at Camp long enough to still be a formidable opponent on the battlefield. Perhaps the Athena Cabin could ally with the Apollo Cabin in the next game of Capture the Flag? 

“I didn’t know you were sparring today!” Annabeth calls, leaning over the flimsy wooden fence set around the main fighting zone. Your half siblings have all taken their seats on strawberry crates set around the arena, leaving the two of you to talk in the limited minutes left before the match. 

“I honestly didn’t know either till a few minutes ago,” you say, laughing, a few flyaway strands loose from your tied up hair. 

“Attention c-campers!” 

It’s Woodrow, a particularly high strung satyr, who’s cut into your conversation, looking all too nervous to be refereeing the match. “Our n-next match will c-commence between Luke C-Castellan and—“ He studies the paper in hand again, before announcing your name loudly, stuttering as he speaks. 

“And that’s my cue,” you say, but not before you do a cheesy finger-salute in Annabeth’s direction. She grins, knowing there’s a reason she’s always liked you. 

“I t-trust that you b-both know the rules of the a-arena,” Woodrow says, eyes darting frantically between you and Luke, as though expecting one of you to fight him instead.  

“No killing,” you say, eyes sparkling with mischief at your opponent. 

“No maiming,” Luke adds solemnly.   

“V-very good. You may t-take your p-positions now,” Woodrow says. “May the b-best c-c-camper win!” 

“Don’t get too cocky, Castellan,” you warn, pointing your sword at Luke as the two of you circle around the other. Your dagger lies low on your waist, more for show than anything else at the moment. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Luke says, tagging your last name at the end in mimicry of your statement. And then the conch is blown, and the match is finally on. 

You immediately dive in Luke’s direction, showing how not out-of-practice you are as you deal blow after blow, your sword clanging metallically against his. Luke parries your actions as you push him to the fence, blocking and dodging with an equal amount of force. 

He manages to knock the hilt of his sword against your face, sending you doubling-back as blood drips down your mouth, and Annabeth gasps while your half siblings immediately start complaining that it’s a foul, yelling loudly at Woodrow to take action. The satyr looks as though he might just about faint from the stress, but he doesn’t have to worry for long when:  

“Time out!” Luke calls immediately, signaling to the satyr as he rushes to your side. Annabeth feels a small burst of pride in her chest at this, leave it to Luke to do the honorable thing. 

You blink at Luke, still shocked at the sudden sensation of pain as you raise a sleeve to your mouth, wiping the blood off. He’s saying something to you, something which looks like an apology, but Annabeth’s too far away to hear what exactly it is. 

“I’m fine,” you say, waving off Luke’s mother duck actions, nodding briskly at Woodrow. “We can continue the match.” 

And you’re fighting with twice as much conviction as before, slashing and stabbing with an aggressiveness that could put even a Spartan warrior to shame. Unwilling to let the prior events slow him down, Luke fights back, taking the aggressive stand this time. 

He knocks the sword out of your hand with his, sending it scattering across the floor. You raise your hands up in defeat, wide-eyed as you stare up at Luke. He’s grinning, holding his hand out to help you up, when you sweep your leg behind his, knocking him off balance. 

Annabeth grimaces, all too familiar with the feeling of one’s back meeting the cement like that. Luke groans in pain as you pin his arms above his head, dagger swiftly unsheathed and pointed at his neck. You’re both breathing heavily, chests heaving as you stare at each other, and Luke’s gaze flicks to your lips momentarily. It suddenly feels far too intimate a scene for an arena match, and the conch blows again, signaling your victory. 

Luke’s ears turn a bright shade of red as the two of you are brought back to reality, with you hurrying to scramble off of him. 

“Good match,” you say, not quite meeting Luke’s eyes as you shake his hand, before being stolen away by your cabin mates, all of whom cheer you for your victory. You’re grinning at them, allowing them to ruffle your hair as they manhandle you, but it’s nothing compared to the way Luke’s looking after you, a soft smile playing on his features. 

Annabeth nudges Luke at this, arching a brow up in confusion. The tall boy shakes his head, it’s nothing, but his gaze continues to wander suspiciously close in the direction of certain Apollo campers even as the sparring matches resume in front of them. And that’s when Annabeth realizes: 

Her brother was whipped. 

iii. the mess hall (ft. drew tanaka)

You and Drew had always gotten along on somewhat amicable terms; you didn’t bother her and she didn’t bother you. However, your antics regarding a certain curly-haired son of Hermes always annoyed her, your obliviousness to her and her siblings’ unsubtle hints even more so. 

Luke Castellan and you are currently carrying back crates of strawberries back from the fields, as it was the Apollo Cabin’s job to help the satyrs with their cultivation duties today. It doesn’t seem to particularly matter to Luke, as he goes where you go, and you go where he does. It’s, for lack of a better term, pathetic. Cute! But pathetic. 

You’re saying something to him when you put the crate down, something which seems to be highly offensive by the way he suddenly drops his own crate and stalks over to you. You’re putting your hands out in apology, profusely apologizing, saying you’ll take it back, but it’s too late as Luke grabs you by the waist, spinning you around as you laugh loudly, the sound carrying over to the Aphrodite Table. 

“Are they together?” one of the new Aphrodite campers asks, sighing dreamily. Drew rolls her eyes, while the rest of their cabin mates shift uncomfortably in their seats. 

“Not exactly,” Silena Beauregard says gently, to which Drew adds flatly: 

“Believe me, it’s a major source of frustration for us.” 

“Drew!” 

“Oh,” the new camper says, poking at her food sadly. But then an idea seems to go off in her head, and she perks right back up. “So, they’re like a slow burn? I love slow burns!” 

“The slowest burn.” 

“I think even Tartarus would freeze over before the two of them get together.” 

“Esme! Kalyan!” 

They lower their heads in shame, simultaneously muttering their sorries together. The new camper looks downcast, her wide brown eyes once filled with wonder now filled with disappointment for the stupidly oblivious teenagers at the other side of the hall. You and Luke were the worst type of monsters, unaware of how your unspoken, yet extremely obvious, feelings for the other led the rest of camp into constant emotional turmoil. 

As of now, you’re cursing Luke’s name as you chase him around the pavilion while he jumps atop tables to escape, wielding the lid of one of the strawberry crates as a shield as he tries to dodge your advances. You’re currently dripping in strawberry juice, the mushy goo of the fruit sticking against your camp t-shirt. Drew briefly wonders how that had happened, before catching sight of the twinkle in your eyes. 

You were whipped. 

Pathetically so. 

iv. the hermes cabin (ft. connor stoll)

Connor wakes to incessant rapping on one of the windows in the Hermes Cabin, and feels ready to give whatever woodpecker that’s mistaken the window for wood a piece of his mind as he sits up straight in bed. 

The window unlatches with a click, and Connor realizes too late that it is a person– not a blind woodpecker, which has been harassing his sleep schedule. He shuts his eyes tight as he pulls the covers over himself again, not wanting to get involved with his cabin mates' romantic endeavors, especially after the last time Ethan had snuck a girl into the cabin. No amount of bleach will ever wash out the things he’s seen. 

“Luke? I didn’t know if you were still awake.” 

It’s your voice, soft and unsure, as you climb inside the cabin. 

“What are you doing this early?” Luke’s voice is low and raspy compared to yours, sounding as though he’d just woken up. 

“I– I think I got a quest,” you say, and Connor freezes in place, his body going rigid. 

Shit. 

Connor can only imagine the look on Luke’s face right now, the gears in his head turning as he figures what to make of this situation. Chiron had put a ban on all the taking of all new quests following Luke’s, err… incident with the dragon, Ladon, at the Garden of the Hesperides, and Connor can’t possibly imagine what could have changed his mind. 

But instead of poking that as expected, all his half brother asks is, “Why don’t we sit down?” 

There’s an awful lot of rummaging as the two of you make yourselves comfortable on Luke’s bunk, that Connor thinks it’s a miracle no one else has woken up yet. Or perhaps they are awake, but have also taken to eavesdropping on you both as he has. 

“My dad, he– he uhh.” There’s a ruffling of sheets, likely meaning you’ve somehow managed to move even closer to Luke, or he to you. It doesn’t matter, both options are equally disgusting in Connor’s prepubescent head. 

“Your dad?” Luke prompts. 

“My dad visited me,” you say. “Or at least I think so? It was very unclear.” 

“How so?” 

And there’s silence, and Connor’s imagination is left to once again fill in the blanks on his own. He imagines your features contorting into a bit of a funny face with a scrunched nose and furrowed brows as you figure out how to explain your dream. 

At last you settle on, “I’m not quite sure if it was a dream-dream or a vision-dream. There were a few too many dancing centaurs.” 

And Luke laughs, a light, easy sound. He’s taking this much better than Connor expected. 

“What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Are you going to accept the quest?” 

There’s more ruffling of sheets, presumably as you sit back up to stare at Luke. The question’s almost blasphemous, each demigod at Camp has been taught that the gods’ wishes take first priority every time. 

“He’s my dad,” you say slowly, as though confused.

“And?” 

“Luke.” 

“Since when have you cared about what the gods wanted? What do you want?” 

“To not stay within the borders of Camp for the rest of my life!” 

“Not staying in Camp means a life of constantly looking over your shoulder, constantly having to suspect everyone around you of being a monster, constantly on the run as you try and mask your scent!” 

The conversation feels suspiciously like something the two of you have discussed before as Connor feels that he’s perhaps missed out on a big portion of this fight. 

And you huff, it sounds like you’re about to leave for the Apollo Cabin again when Luke says, “Wait, no, I’m sorry.” 

“Let go of me,” you say, your tone dangerously low. “I don’t want to fight.” 

“I don’t either,” Luke says. “I just want you to be safe.” 

Silence. 

“I want you to be safe too,” you admit at last, the bed creaking as you climb back next to Luke. “I just– What use is a life lived of fear and cowardice?” 

Connor fake gags, not even caring to be silent any more. You two and your lovey-dovey confessions and trying to resolve conflicts as any healthy couple would do. How could two people be this blind, especially when they talked like this? 

You and Luke stay talking for the rest of the night, during which sleep finally gets the better of Connor, interruptions be damned. When he wakes: Chris, Travis, and Beckett are gathered around Luke’s bed, pointing fingers as they whisper. Connor pushes his way to the front, seeing you curled against Luke’s side, the two of you sound asleep and oblivious to the world around you. 

Connor has honestly never seen a pair more hopelessly whipped than the two of you. 

v. the quest (ft. clarisse larue)

Clarisse still isn’t particularly sure why you chose her for the quest yet, narrowing her eyes as she scrutinizes you and Luke, both of whom are currently seated in the row in front of her. She thinks she might about just throw up from the way you’re both huddled together, talking in low tones about something which suspiciously doesn’t seem quest-related. 

“What are you talking about?” Clarisse asks, keeping her voice neutral as she speaks. She certainly doesn’t care, of course not. She’s a child of Ares, not Aphrodite, gossip and idle talk is beneath her. 

You whip your head around, as though just remembering the younger girl’s existence, while Luke simply looks annoyed at having your attention stolen away. 

“We were just talking about how we’re going to recover the stolen lyre,” you say, and there’s nothing in your tone to indicate a lie. Your father, Apollo, had apparently appeared in your dreams, bequeathing you a quest to reclaim his favorite musical instrument, which had gone missing before his bi-annual concert for the Olympians. As far as quests go, there have certainly been stranger ones. 

The three of you had just returned from a confrontation with one of the nymphs who worked in the great halls of Olympus, deciding to work your way down the list of potential suspects. It hadn’t taken much to get a confession out of her, as she’d sobbed hysterically about how she’d been blackmailed into stealing the lyre. 

You’d rubbed the cloud nymph’s back gently, casting a worried look at your quest mates. Even Clarisse couldn’t help but feel bad for the nymph, Kora, who’d said she was just trying to keep her sister safe. At that moment, her heavily pregnant sister made an appearance, looking confused at the ragtag group of teenagers in her living room. 

“Is everything alright?” she’d asked, oblivious, causing Kora to descend into a further state of sobs. 

Clarisse could understand. The nymph hadn’t wanted to harm anyone, but the rage of Apollo wasn’t any trivial thing to play around with. The ancient myths had long since made that clear, and perhaps you’d realized this too, as before leaving, you’d grasped Kora’s hands tightly, promising, “We won’t tell my father about this.” 

And the cloud nymph sobbed again, profusely thanking the three of you for your graciousness. And she’d readily volunteered the whereabouts of the current person with the lyre as a token of her gratitude, a small concert hall in downtown Manhattan. 

“‘The Bart Long?’” you ask, tilting your head in confusion, the three of you now standing in front of a small rickety building. It’s situated right between two apartments, looking out of place with its gloomy exterior. 

“I think it’s supposed to read ‘The Back Lounge,’” Luke says, squinting his eyes at the bright red signs. One of the letters isn’t lit properly, and Clarisse doesn’t blame you at all for not reading it correctly, dyslexia be damned and everything. 

“Well, that’s not suspicious at all.” 

Yet the three of you still make your way inside, your ears getting an unpleasant surprise from the lady sitting on a wooden stool on stage, plucking the strings of the lyre in a way no one would have ever dared to do so before. From the top half, she might have looked like your average everyday college student, save for her pasty green, scaly skin. But the real horror started from her lower half, where instead of legs, she has a pair of snake tails protruding from her waist. There’s several other dracaena seated in the audience, looking bored as they watch the performance. 

You look like you might be sick, and Clarisse vaguely remembers the story of Apollo and Python, and how all of Apollo’s children had inherited an extreme phobia of snakes as a result. Either that, or the evil snake-lady’s music was just that bad. 

The dracaena notices the three of you, setting the stolen lyre down next to her as she smiles, while the others perk up at the intrusion. “Half bloodsss!” she says cheerily, much to Clarisse’s confusion. “When Draco said he would arrange catering for the concssert, I had no idea he meant we’d receive live sssamples today!”

“Oh no,” Luke says immediately, holding the hilt of his sword steady, ready to attack at a moment's notice. “We’re not part of the menu.” 

“Are you sure?” one of the other dracaena asks. “You do look particularly tasssty.” 

“We’re here to retrieve the lyre of Apollo,” you say, squeaking as you do so. So much for not being part of the menu. 

“It’sss mine,” the main dracaena hisses, her friendly demeanor dropped at once, forked tongue darting out in warning. “I found it myssself.” 

“You mean you stole it!” Clarisse argues. 

“The nymph ssstole it.” 

“Only because you blackmailed her!” and Clarisse is mad, so mad at the way Kora was exploited out of her fear of more powerful beings, that she’s yelling, her spear raised to take lives. 

“Clarisse!” 

But it’s too late, the dracaena on full alert as they fight back, wielding their own weapons made of celestial bronze. Thieves, the whole lot of them, Clarisse thinks bitterly, having a few guesses for where the dracaena had gotten the weapons from, and not liking any of them. 

Luke joins her as they try to hold off the monsters, giving you time to use the distraction to your advantage. And so you dart for the stage, tumbling as you grab the lyre from the head dracaena’s arms. 

“You foolsss, forget them!” she shrieks. “The girl’sss ssstolen the lyre!” 

This causes slight confusion, as there’s not one, but two demigod girls, although Clarisse currently isn’t feeling thankful for being one of them as she defends herself from the monsters’ attacks. Meanwhile, you’re not having any better luck, your dagger currently caught in a bit of a tug of war battle between you and a dracaena. 

“Luke!” Clarisse yells, hoping that he’ll be able to go help you, but the boy’s having his own trouble with two other dracaena. 

“I’m a little preoccupied!” he yells back, disintegrating one with his sword, while the other roars with rage. 

But it doesn’t matter for the dracaena’s beat you, finally wresting the dagger from your grip. And she stabs you, twisting the blade in before pulling it out, your blood coating the metal. You keel over, clutching your stomach as you fall to the ground. 

Clarisse’s heart falls into her stomach as she screams, alerting Luke to what’s just happened. 

“Stay back!” he yells, his eyes wild as he slashes a wide arc around him, slashing his way through the hoard of monsters. Clarisse can feel the usually laid back Hermes Counselor’s rage roll off of him in waves, his disarray and anger rivaling that of Ares himself. 

And she suddenly recalls something that Chris had told her once, after watching Luke lose a sparring match to a daughter of Aphrodite, something she would have once deemed impossible if she hadn’t just seen it happen in front of her. Perhaps Luke liked the girl and lost on purpose? 

She’d then voiced her theory out loud to Chris, who had almost immediately waved off Clarisse’s suspicions, shaking his head profusely as though she was crazy. 

“Luke’s whipped for someone else,” Chris had said. “Like whipped, whipped.” 

Only now Clarisse remembers that you’d been there that day too, waving at Luke as you walked past the arena with your siblings, your usual camp attire traded for neater clothes, your hair down for the first time in a millennia. 

+ i. the infirmary again

It only makes sense that a daughter of Apollo’s worst fear would be silence, you think sullenly as you pick at your nails, carefully watching Luke Castellan as he draws the blinds of the infirmary window open. Sunlight pours in almost immediately, casting his beautiful brown eyes in caramelized honey. 

“Don’t pick your nails,” he says, suddenly, bringing you out of your stupor. 

The statement is so confusing and out-of-the-blue that you can’t help but say, “Huh?” 

“Don’t pick your nails,” Luke repeats, taking his seat next to your bed. 

You cease the action, willing to humor him as you push yourself to sit up. But everything hurts, you realize belatedly, wincing in pain at the sudden exertion. 

Luke leans forward, sensing your pain almost immediately as he helps you adjust, waiting for you to settle properly against the pillows. “Are you okay?” 

“I— Yeah, thank you. Are you?” 

And Luke laughs, a small broken noise as he leans away again, running his hand through his already mussed hair. “You’re asking if I’m okay?” 

And you nod, not understanding why he looks so forlorn. 

“You almost died,” Luke says, looking at you. “I– I don’t know what I would have done if–” He breaks off, turning his head to the side, tears gathering in the corner of his eye. 

You reach your hand out, cupping his cheek, forcing him to look at you. The bags under his eyes are dark and sullen, and you briefly wonder when was the last time he’d slept. 

“I’m here,” you say, frowning at him. 

“You almost weren’t,” Luke says, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “You— Your father arrived in time to retrieve the lyre. I— I don’t know what would have happened if Apollo wasn’t there.” 

“But he was.” 

“But what if he wasn’t?” Luke pleads, gripping your hand on his cheek with his own. He’s begging you to listen, but for what, you’re not sure. 

“Why are you so worried? I’m okay, see!” 

“Do you really not know?” And Luke’s looking at you, his eyes searching. You give a slight shake of your head, and his eyes drop, disappointed. He says your name, his tone low as he adds, “I— You— I don’t know how I’d ever live without you.” 

And you feel the wind knocked out of your chest when you hear those beautiful words at last, what he’s been trying to say this whole time. 

“Are you—“ you try again. “Are you saying you’re—“

“—in love with you?” And Luke looks up at you, his eyes soft. “Yeah. I— I am. I think so, at least.” 

“Oh.” you think you’re making a face because the sentiment is so utterly foreign to you. “Thank you?” 

A smile tugs at Luke’s lips at that. “Only you would thank someone for being in love with you.” 

You roll your eyes, using your free hand to shove at his chest. Luke, being Luke, dramatically faints at this, proclaiming that you’ve wounded his soul, torn up his confession and thrown it out the window. 

“Oh please, you big baby,” you scoff, twisting your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, misjudging your upper body strength as you pull him towards you, Luke’s black curls falling in front of his face. It really is growing long, is all you have time to think before he ducks down, kissing you at last. 

You think you might have died early and gone to Elysium, as you reciprocate the action, tangling your hands in his hair. 

The kiss is everything that Luke Castellan is meant to be: wild and free and sweet and confident. He’s everywhere and everything all at once, but the moment’s over too soon as you gasp in pain, his hand accidentally gripping your fresh scars. 

“I’m so—“ 

“Don’t apologize,” you wince, gritting your teeth in pain. “I just— I need a moment.” 

“Do you need anything?” 

You shake your head, but it does nothing to dissuade Luke from poking his head out the window, yelling for Lee to hurry his ass inside. You giggle, holding your arms out for Luke, and he takes it, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

“We’ll resume this when you’re better,” Luke promises, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as he breathes in, breathes out. You nod in agreement as he presses a final chaste kiss to your cheek, muttering something about having to check on his siblings before they burn down the Hermes Cabin as Lee enters the infirmary.  

You watch Luke fondly as he leaves, finally realizing that you really were whipped, weren’t you? 

i am SICK to my stomach

the gods were never on our side so i think it's time we watch them fall

hold on a second man…