Azmixe-tonka - Vulpecvla.c

𝕕𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕠 𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕗𝕠𝕪 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

ˢᵉʳⁱᵉˢ

ᵒⁿᵉ⁻ˢʰᵒᵗˢ

ᵇˡᵘʳᵇˢ

ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿⁿᵒⁿˢ

𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕨𝕒𝕧𝕖//𝕕.𝕞

Draco Malfoy

Soulmate one-shot where everyone gets their soulmate's first words to them branded on their skin on their fifteenth birthday.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: angst, fluff at the end

MASTERLIST

-Ⰶ

What the bloody fuck is wrong with your face?

That was what was written on your blemish-free forearm, available for the whole world to see.

You groaned for the tenth time that day, face flushing pink. No matter how many times you had tried to scribble over the newly formed words with a Spell-O-Pen, the black ink always seemed to vanish when you weren’t looking, seemingly absorbed into the flawless calligraphy taunting you.

What a brilliant start to your 15th birthday.

Your best friend, Ron Weasley, shared your birthday and received his soulmate mark. He started cackling when he saw yours, the wording sending him into stitches. Unimpressed, you pointed out that his tattoo wasn’t located anywhere to the common eye, like the usual forearm marks.

And naturally, Ron panicked, claiming that he would be alone forever. Until you spotted words, scrawled in neat print on his armpit, spelling, And, you are?

That was how you and Ron found yourselves in thick jumpers in the middle of summer, managing to almost pass out during Snape’s lecture because of the heat.

As Snape’s monotone droned on, you began to not only feel unaccomplished but also bored out of your mind, and it was difficult to feel anything other than the scorching heat of your Gryffindor jumper. A slow migraine was starting to develop, and Ron didn’t seem to be having any better luck, with a sopping wet brow line and his pale skin matching his flaming ginger hair.

Yeah, it probably wasn’t the greatest idea in the world.

As you sat there, counting the agonizingly slow minutes until release, an impatient finger tapped your shoulder. You knew it was Ron, but the unbearable amount of stress and heat on your shoulders caused you to ignore your best friend’s hand. You tried to focus on any little thing, the way Hermione’s curls bounced when she scratched on parchment with her quill, or how Harry’s eyebrow twitched when he sneezed as he carelessly sniffed the lacewing powder.

The finger was still discreetly tapping your knee at an incessant pace, and you began to get quite irritated. Couldn’t he get the hint? How was he so unfazed about it?

“[y/n]. I need to itch my belly button.” Oh for goodness sake!

“Hush up, Ronald! Just focus on your work or something.”

A pause. The constant tapping resumed, as if Ron didn’t realize he was doing it and was on autopilot, moving his smaller appendage like the beating of his heart. “I knew we shouldn’t have done something like this. This is all your fault, [y/n]!”

You look up at his strained face incredulously, forgetting about Snape’s lecture. Ron was tapping at your leg forcefully now, and you had quite enough. Pushing him away by his face, you sneered, “This was your idea, Ronald, and a bloody terrible one at that!” you were enraged, how could he blame you on something that was his fault? “Because of you, we are sitting here burning-” your voice was rising incrementally higher, anger at everything; your situation, your bloody soulmate mark, Ron’s impudence, was fueling your words.

Ron’s face was slack, and slowly morphed into a panicked expression. His impossibly red face turned redder still, until he looked like a ripe cherry from a muggle farmer’s market. The bucket load of sweat slipped onto his face from stress wasn’t helping his situation either, and he constantly reached up to swipe the runny liquid from his face with his damned jumper.

You weren’t finished, fists clenched and shaking at your sides. Your anger was completely unreasonable, but the embarrassment of receiving a soulmate mark such as that, of your soulmate berating your face, made you livid. “And I am so sick of-”

“[l/n]!”

Snape towered over the both of you, his beady black eyes searing into your skull. His disapproving frown was etched onto his face, and you gulped, previous anger forgotten. Ron released a barely perceptible sigh of relief that you didn’t hear. You must have not realized Snape was even there, your rage-filled rant attracting the unwanted attention of the other students in the class as they watched you in confusion.

A pregnant pause ensued. You held your breath, hoping the punishment wouldn’t be too painful.

“Fifty points from Gryffindor.” A collective sigh of annoyance arose from the scarlet-clad members of the potions class, as Snape snapped his hands across Ron’s head. If you weren’t put in such a position, you would have laughed. Now you just felt like crumbling to the floor in a heap and bawling your eyes out.

He looked at you again, in confusion this time. “And remove your jumpers, both of you. I don’t want your performance in this class hindered by distracting clothing.”

Your eyes widened. No. No you wouldn’t.

If you removed your accursed crimson jumper, everyone would see your mark. You clenched your fists. This was unreasonable in more ways than one. You’d be known, not as [y/n], the best Gryffindor keeper of your age, but [y/n] the girl unworthy of her own soulmate. A few tears sprang up from your eyes.

Before you knew what you were doing, you sprang up from your desk and stormed out the door, not wanting to spend another moment in the classroom. You ignored Hermione and Ron’s calls, charging into the nearest girls’ lavatories.

You finally let your tears flow, hiding from nobody in the corner of the damp room. You covered your face with your fully clothed arm, not daring to remove the offending cloth to relieve your own body temperature. You would do anything to not see your mark of shame gazing up at you, and you had the uncontrollably odd urge to rip your own skin off.

What kind of person were you, that your own soulmate hated you? You felt pathetic beyond belief, and the thought alone caused you to sob harder. You felt your sweat roll down your chest, a tiny feeling of relief. At least you were out of the sweltering room.

A new anger settled itself in your heart. Something full of self loathing, self hate. Grappling with your tie, you managed to yank it off from underneath your jumper. Throwing it to the ground, you sat dejectedly on the linoleum tiles and cupped your face in your hands.

You were angry at yourself. How could you be so… so ugly that the person you were meant to spend your life with hated your fucking face? The urge grew stronger, and you had the morbid curiosity to claw your face off. At least your soulmate would have a reason to question your appearance then.

Peering up, you looked into the mirror. Mascara tracks slithered down your face like an eroded waterfall, and your hair stuck together, sweat clumping it up. Rubbing your face tiredly, you managed to smudge your eyeliner and strawberry lip gloss. You looked deranged, like you had broken out of an asylum you were imprisoned in for two decades.

The flash or rage came again as you let out a roar of frustration, hands slamming into the sink. The force of your upper body cracked the ceramic, slightly but still noticeable. The sink was crumbling, its old age not doing anything to help its mortality. Splinters of the white material were stuck in your hand, but you didn’t notice. All you saw was your face, and how the reflection of yourself glared into the mirror, as if you could wipe the pain and imperfections from your face.

And it wasn’t even your time of the month.

A squeak of a door from behind you shocked you out of your stupor. Whirling around, you saw a boy with straight platinum blond hair and startling blue-gray eyes. He was about a foot taller than you, and he looked annoyed, eyebrows furrowed as he gazed at your small profile shaking beside the sink.

It was Draco Malfoy.

The boy who had tormented your other three friends, who warned you to stay away from him. He was exactly as they described him, pale, aristocratic, his dark robes contrasting perfectly with his complexion. The green Slytherin emblem was stitched on his robes, and you felt confused by the mere sight of him.

He started forward, pushing past the door. There seemed to be nobody from behind him. He completely disregarded the girl’s bathroom sign and strode towards you, causing you to stumble back in fright.

“What the bloody fuck is wrong with your face?”

Pure white-hot anger shot into your system, making you forget your situation. Rude. “I could say the same about you, you albino mongoose!” You shrieked, moving to shove him away.

As you lunged forward, Malfoy caught your wrists. You gave a startled gasp, the momentum of your shove having thrown you into him. As he steadied you, you looked at your hands.

They were bloody, the pieces of ceramic from the sink having been lodged painfully in your joints. You winced as he scooped up your hands again with a tenderness that you hadn’t felt in a while, not even from Ron.

His long, pale fingers were almost translucent, and you found yourself frowning at them in curiosity. They seemed to be ghostlike, ethereal, a glowing undertone of mother-of-pearl under the masterfully-placed veins. His grip was gentle, as he slipped his grip from your wrists to your tiny fingers.

“No, I meant,” he stroked your palms with his thumb, a strangely intimate move for someone he just met. Besides being fascinated by the boy in front of you, you were weirded out immensely. “Why are you crying?”

You stared up into his stormy eyes. They softened, and he led you towards where your tie was laying, thrown to the ground by your antics. Realizing he wasn’t going to get an answer, he picked it up with his nimble fingers before sitting you down.

Pressing a thumb to his soft lips, his pink tongue darted out to lubricate it. You watched in fascination as he near painlessly removed the shards from your mangled hands. He was skilled, you could tell, his hands dancing across yours to relieve you of your pain. You briefly wondered why a boy as rich as him learned how to heal.

Reaching out with his finger coated in saliva, you winced loudly as he smeared it over the biggest wound on your thumb web. You hissed in a breath, watching as his eyes flicked up to meet yours for a dreadfully long second. His handsome face was set, as he seemed to ask for permission from you.

You gave him a barely perceptible nod. He smiled back. A lovely, caring smile that made your heart thump painfully in your chest.

He then pulled out his wand, a beautifully polished hawthorn one with two rings encircling the bottom. Running it over the wounds, he whispered, “Episkey.” You watched, mesmerized, as the skin seemed to see itself up painlessly, stitching itself together until the aching in your hand disappeared. You were stunned.

“How...” You mumbled, your eyes cautiously scanning your hands for other spots. Malfoy’s spit had vanished too, numbing your thumb web.

“I’m training to be a healer at St. Mungo’s.” You looked up to see Malfoy watching you carefully, kneading out your expression with a soft gaze. Why was everything pertaining to you soft?

“I...see. Thank you.” You seemed to have gained control of your voice. Malfoy smiled.

Then leaned closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Your breathing seemed to have halted in your chest. His breaths were shallow, smelling of apples and mint, a strangely pleasing combination. Instead of the expected pungency of cologne, you were struck with the soft smell of teakwood and pine, an earthy aroma that made you backtrack a bit.

He seemed to hesitate. Then reaching down, he tugged at the end of your jumper, pulling it up.

Oh. Oh no.

“No!” You exclaimed, snapping your newly healed hands to his, halting his movements. You involuntarily ran her fingers over his veins, and shivered. You were reminded of the entire situation in the first place, how you ran out of Snape’s class, had a bawling fest, and…

Met him. You met him.

Of all the days in your life, you had never met someone who struck a chord in you so profoundly after minutes of meeting them. Your body had seemed to memorize him, a strange connection like moths to flames ignited within you.

You looked back up at him shamefully, and found him smiling in amusement. His fingers slipped from yours and pressed against your hot forehead, startling you. Everything he did startled you. His touch was like static on metal to you, his presence was like hot chocolate and warm blankets on a winter day.

And you had just met him. This boy was affecting you like nobody had ever affected you before. Your emotions ran high, and you started trembling when his hands held either side of your face. As if both of you had done this before. Thousand times before. Like it was rehearsed.

He tilted your head, so your eyes met his. A blizzard, a tundra, swirled through his greys. While most saw bleak blue, you saw a paradise in his eyes. The color of steel, reminding you of so much stability. His euphoric eyes gazed at you with something you could only describe as adoration.

“I’m not ashamed, so don’t be.” His words were soft, gentle, like the breeze on a pleasantly chilly day. It took a moment for you to realize he said something, so you tilted your head.

“What?”

“Don’t be ashamed.”

Tilting his head to the left, your breath caught when messy handwriting- your handwriting- was scrawled onto his pale neck. Lifting a shaky hand, you placed it on his sculpted cheek. He released a soft sigh of relaxation, turning his neck further for you to see the tattoo.

I could say the same about you, you albino mongoose!

Wait.

Without wasting another minute, you seized the ends of your jumper and pulled it over your head. The fresh air welcomed you, as you sighed in bliss, throwing your jumper to the side to join your tie. Holding your tattooed arm out for your soulmate- it was so strange to say, soulmate- and watched as his eyes widened impossibly, pure happiness filling his oceans.

He cupped your face, hurriedly pressing his lips to your forehead, cheeks, and nose, peppering sweet packages of love to you, his quest to find his other half complete. His lips felt so right, as if you two had done this a million times. Both your laughters filled the small lavatory, your small arms wrapping around his waist as he nuzzled his face into your soft locks.

“[y/n]...” he whispered, your foreheads pressed together, and your heart almost burst, because nobody in the whole wide world could say your name as beautifully as him, and he was sure he felt the same when you replied, “Draco.” A confirmation. And you could stay with your Draco forever, you knew that, you wouldn’t leave for anything, because you love him, you love him, you love hi-

“[y/n]! My belly button still needs itching!”

You groaned. It would be a long day.

𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

ᵇᵘᶜᵏʸ ᵇᵃʳⁿᵉˢ

ᵖᵉᵗᵉʳ ᵖᵃʳᵏᵉʳ

𝕒𝕧𝕒𝕥𝕒𝕣: 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥 𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕓𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

ˢᵒᵏᵏᵃ

ᵏᵃᵗᵃʳᵃ

ᶻᵘᵏᵒ

ᵗᵒᵖʰ

ᵃᶻᵘˡᵃ

(they all say that) it gets better | luke castellan

bleedin' me dry for context (this is that reader's origin story!!)

summary: a look into your unclaimed year.

a/n: does it still count as fluff if you already know it doesn’t end well? idk but i’m having fun writing for this pair so it’s okay. i hope you guys are enjoying reading them!! this ended up becoming a hell of a lot longer than i thought it would be but these kind of one shots are my faves to write lol

title from teenage dream by olivia rodrigo bc apparently guts teenage angst works very well for a demigod who feels like they're worthless and unwanted for a good period of time!! shoutout to the gods

wc: 11.4k JESUS

warning(s): fem!child of demeter reader. typical anger at the gods, but luke is actually pretty sweet! crazy. mostly hurt/comfort, reader is going through it at the beginning (mentions of injuries and almost dying), honestly she's going through it the whole time but luke is very nice to her lol. barely proofread bc proofing 34 pages is a nightmare !!

It was your first day as a demigod and you were already off to a bad start. 

You didn’t remember much, obviously. There was a lot of stumbling, barely held up by your satyr as you crossed the border, and then full on collapsing. Somehow you managed to stay conscious all the way to the infirmary, enough to hear shocked murmurs from the people-like blobs around you and terrified, whispered affirmations from your satyr as he ran along with whoever was carrying you. 

You didn’t remember much. But you do remember thinking what a shameful existence it would be to die at fourteen. 

And now you were sitting in an uncomfortable cot, staring at the wall and counting divots. The first half of your visit was only there in flashes as you drifted in and out of consciousness, but now, unfortunately, you were fully awake. You belatedly wondered how many other kids began their camp life with a stay at the infirmary. 

The thought was dashed from your head as you jolted and cried out in sudden pain, and you shot daggers with your glare at the boy next to you.  

“Sorry.” The boy fixing you up was about your age, and he almost seemed to glow from within. “You dislocated your shoulder—I was popping it back into place.”

“You could have warned me,” you seethed.

“I did,” he said, and when he placed his hands on your shoulder they actually did glow. “You just weren’t listening.”

“...Sorry,” you said after a moment. “I’m having a rough day.” 

He shook his head with a slight smile. “It’s expected.” 

“It’ll be okay,” your satyr said, and some of the tension left your shoulders as you looked over at Tate. He’d been by your side for the past two weeks of disasters, and you’d saved each other’s lives more times than you could count. You were just thankful he didn’t have to watch you die. “Jace is one of camp’s best healers. You’re in good hands.” 

You nodded, not wanting to cause any more problems, so you bit your lip and bit your tongue and let him heal the rest of your injuries in silence. He was done soon enough, and you could feel both their eyes on you as you rifled through your backpack. Thankfully, Tate brought it in as you were dying. Your own blood stained the nylon. 

“How do you feel?” Tate asked anxiously. 

“Better,” you said, tearing your eyes away from it as you continued making sure all your belongings were still there. “A lot better. Not like there’s much competition.”

Tate chuckled, and Jace picked up a small bag from the bedside table and handed it to you—it looked like there were little pieces of fudge inside. “Here.” 

“What’s this?” you asked as you took it. 

“Ambrosia,” he said. “Wait a few hours before you have a piece, and only have a little if you feel a lot of pain. I already gave you nectar while you were out, and the last thing we need is you burning up.” 

You looked at Tate with raised eyebrows and he smiled a bit. “Ambrosia and nectar are the food of the gods. It heals demigods in small portions, but take too much and you’ll get a fever. Worst case scenario, you’ll literally burn up from the inside.” 

“Oh,” you said, and you stuffed the bag into your pack before zipping it up. “I’ll… I’ll wait.” 

“Probably a good idea,” Jace said, and he looked over at your satyr as he stood up. “I’ve gotta get back to my sword-fighting lessons. Can you give her a tour?” 

He shook his head. “I have to debrief with Chiron and Mr. D. There were some… rough things on the road.” Tate looked at you. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes— are you sure you’ll be okay?” 

“It’s fine,” you said with a smile. “Do your thing. I’ll look around some, then we’ll find each other later.” 

Tate nodded thankfully and went through an open door opposite your bed, and Jace gave you a tight smile as he started to put away all the medical supplies he used on you. You sighed, slung your bag over your shoulder, and walked out. 

You shut the door behind you and blinked rapidly as you tried to adjust to the sunlight. Then, you heard someone sigh. 

“Thank the gods you’re okay.” 

You turned to see a boy standing up from the wall. Dark curls hung just above his eyes, a contrast to his tanned skin, slightly red from exertion. He was wearing the same bright orange shirt that your healer was—Camp Halfblood, it said in curved text. He was far too pretty for his own good. 

“I’m the one who carried you in,” he said, and you realized you were frowning. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“Oh,” you said. “That’s… that’s nice of you.” 

“It’s been a while since we’ve gotten someone new,” he said. “Even longer since they’ve had such a dramatic entrance.” 

You shrugged. You didn’t exactly know what to say to this boy. “Sorry.” 

He paused for a moment, and then he nodded. “Not one for conversation. That’s fine.” 

“I did almost just die,” you said wryly. “I’m fresh out of icebreakers at the moment.” 

“Maybe I can help with that.” He held out his hand. “Luke Castellan. Head Counselor of the Hermes cabin, and apparent rescuer of damsels.” 

You huffed a laugh as you stared at him. “I’m a damsel?” 

“I’d say you were in as much distress as someone could be back there,” he said with a shrug. “I practically saved your life. I think that deserves a handshake.” 

The slightest bit of tension dissolved from your shoulders and you shook his hand. His smile grew. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, dropping his hand. “You were pretty rough when I found you.” 

“Better,” you said, though you grimaced a bit as you tested your shoulder, and you decided to switch your pack to your other side. “Whoever that guy in the infirmary is, he’s good.” 

Luke nodded. “Son of Apollo—they’ve got healing abilities. Very useful when we’re all constantly getting injured.” 

Your brows knit together. “So it really is all real.” 

“You were nearly dead on our doorstep, and from those claw marks I’m guessing it wasn’t just a bad fall.” Luke offered a wry smile. “I’m sure you’ve known it’s all real for a while.” 

“Of course,” you said. “It’s just weird to really know that it’s all real. To see all of you, really. Just knowing I’m not alone.” 

He nodded. “That’s the best thing about it, knowing you’re not alone.” He looked around at your surroundings—various campers chatting as they walked with each other (some glancing at you as they went by), distant shouts and cheers, and a perfectly blue sky matching the perfectly blue house you just left. 

“I’d say the worst thing about it is feeling like I still have no idea what’s going on,” you said. “Unless the gods exist just to be deadbeats. That’d be disappointing.” 

Luke actually laughed at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and you found yourself smiling a bit. “I can tell we’re gonna get along.” 

Your own smile returned—it was like his joy was infectious. “You think so?” 

“I know so,” he nodded. “Just… try not to throw the gods’ names around like that. They don’t like to be talked about unless they’re being revered.” 

You huffed. “Sounds like an interesting place.” 

“Camp Halfblood,” he provided, and he gestured around you with his hand. “Keeping young heroes safe for over three millennia.” 

“What,” you said wryly, “are you their PR guy?” 

Luke laughed and shook his head. “It’s something Chiron likes to say.”

“You’re the second person to mention Chiron,” you said. “Who exactly is he?” 

“You haven’t gotten a tour yet?” 

You gave him a look. “Come on. You carried me in. You think I could have gotten a tour between then and now?” 

“Fair,” he admitted, and he tilted his head. “I can give you one, if you’re so inclined.” 

“I said I would wait for Tate,” you said. “He’s my satyr— I figure I owe it to him.” 

“C’mon,” Luke said. “He’s meeting Chiron and Mr. D—that’ll take long enough on its own, and if we don’t get out of here soon enough, you’re gonna get dragged into a whole other conversation with them. At least this way, you can get a little bit of downtime before all the lore of this place is dropped on you.” 

You bit your lip, and then you sighed and nodded. “Fine. But it can’t take too long.” 

Luke smiled and held up three fingers. “Halfblood’s honor.” 

-

You didn’t know where to start.

There were far more people than you expected, not nearly enough beds for all of them, and half were talking and a quarter were fighting and the others were just completely unfazed. All you could do when you walked in was stare.

“You get used to it,” Luke said, glancing over at you. “Everyone’s nice, I promise—just keep a hand on your pockets.” 

You frowned. “Why?” 

He gave you a crooked smile. “Hermes is the god of thieves. We learn by experience in this cabin.” 

Your hands instinctively reached back to the pockets of your jeans, despite the fact that you hardly had anything to your name. “Why do they put the new, naive kids in here again?” 

“God of travellers, too—all are welcome.” Luke saw your hand shoot to your pocket and laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone mess with you too much—for now, at least.” 

“Oh, good,” you said lightly. “The hazing doesn’t start until later.” 

Luke smiled as he continued to guide you through the cabin, nodding to and greeting campers with equal parts names and handshakes as he walked past them. You got just as many stares as Luke did hellos, and your skin crawled at the attention. 

“Why are they all looking at me?” you whispered to him. 

“Like I said, you’re the first new camper in a while.” Luke glanced at you. “News spreads fast, especially in this wreck of a place.” 

“It’s not that bad,” you said , but your grip tightened on your backpack strap. “Just very busy.”

“That’s what happens when they shove everyone in here,” Luke said. “All are welcome means all are welcome—Hermes kids, unclaimed kids, and kids of minor gods.”

You frowned. “Minor gods don’t have cabins?” 

“This place is as much for us as it is in honor of the gods,” he said. “Twelve cabins for twelve Olympians. They don’t see it as a problem, therefore we can’t see it as a problem.” 

You decided to bite your tongue, but you couldn’t hide your sigh. “I guess I’m gonna be here for the time being.” 

He looked you up and down, and all you could think was that you must look like an absolute disaster. “I’m guessing you fall into the unclaimed.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, a sad attempt at a smile. “Yeah, but I just got here—I bet my mom doesn’t even know it yet. Gods are busy.”

“They’re also omniscient,” Luke said wryly. “I’m sure she could have claimed you the second you crossed the border. Your parent could’ve given you a little divine intervention and kept you from nearly dying on the hill.”

“Well, I’m here for now,” you said with a bit too much force, and your nails dug into your palms. “So do you mind showing me around?” 

Luke stared at you for a moment before he smiled. “‘Course not. I can also give you a quick tour of camp too, if you haven’t already gotten one.”

You shook your head. “Only the infirmary.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “you heal up well.”

“I don’t think that’s a credit to me,” you said. “I think it’s whatever magical drink that healer gave me while he was trying to bring me back. Tasted like pecan pie.”

“Nectar,” he said as he started walking, and you followed behind him. “Drink  of the gods that heals demigods in small portions. It tastes like your favorite food—same as ambrosia.” He stopped in an empty corner and looked at you. “You like pecans?”

You shrugged, suddenly self conscious. “My dad makes it the best.”

“I hope you’ll be able to get the real thing soon,” he said, and then he gestured with a flourish at the same empty corner. “Welcome to your new home.”

You stared at him. “This is the floor.”

“We’re a little overbooked,” Luke said sheepishly. “If it makes you feel better, we’ve got sleeping bags. And this is a top tier corner. Quieter than the others.”

“…Great,” you said. “I feel very welcome.”

“I’m sorry.” To his credit, he sounded like he meant it. “Bunch of unclaimed kids, couple kids of minor gods, couple Hermes kids—it all kinda adds up to a mess.”

“...It’ll be better than camping,” you said, though mostly to yourself as you took your bag off your shoulder and let it thud to the ground. 

“Hey,” Luke said, and his voice was softer, “it’ll be okay. With any luck, your parent’ll notice you now that you’re at camp, and you’ll be claimed before you know it.” 

“I hope so,” you murmured. 

“Luke, who’s the new girl?” 

A boy with curls just as good as Luke’s walked up and clapped him on the back, smiling at you in a way that instantly set you at ease. He also wore the orange camp shirt, with long tan sleeves below that he’d pushed up to his forearms. He had kind eyes. 

Luke said your name, his own smirk on his lips as he looked back at you. “You’ve probably heard about her dramatic entrance by now, but she’s the newest resident of the Hermes cabin.”

“Unclaimed or your sibling?” he asked. 

“...Unclaimed,” you said yourself. You hadn’t even been here for more than two hours and it already felt like your own brand of shame.  

He repeated your name with a nod and held out his hand. “I’m Chris,” he said. “Fellow unclaimed kid.”

A little bit less of a scarlet letter, at least. You swallowed your budding insecurity and shook his hand. “Sounds like a shitty club to be in.”

He snorted. “You’re telling me.”

“How— how long has it been?” you asked hesitantly, almost afraid to know the answer. 

His lips pressed into a tight smile. “Couple years.” 

“Gods,” you murmured. You didn’t know if you’d be able to wait that long. It had been hard enough already growing up without one—if your mother was just out of reach after all this time, you would surely lose your mind. 

“Don’t worry,” Chris said, his expression softening a bit. “It won’t take that long for you. I can tell.” 

“That’s what Luke said,” you responded wryly. “Do I give off a vibe that says ‘I’m unwanted, but not for too long’?” 

Luke laughed and shook his head. “I promise, it’s all gonna be okay. I’ve been the counselor here for a couple months—kids get claimed all the time. I bet you’re next on the list.” 

“Maybe,” you said. You didn’t believe it as much as they did—if they did at all. 

You heard the door open and your head automatically turned to the noise, and you felt the heat rush to your cheeks in embarrassment as Tate came through, slightly out of breath. You stared at Luke—he said thirty minutes at least. He just shrugged. 

“I figured you would be here,” Tate said, his chest rising and falling just so as he walked—trotted?—inside. “You didn’t exactly wait.” 

You opened your mouth to speak up, but Luke beat you, already putting on a charming smile. “Sorry. We got to talking, and then I offered to show her around the Hermes cabin. Just so she  could put her things down, y’know.” 

“‘Course,” Tate nodded. “That— that was probably a good idea. Would have been bad if you got lost or something.” 

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you went to pick your bag up. “Luke said you would be talking for a lot longer— I was going to come back after I was done with this.”

Tate shook his head. That nervous energy from the worst parts of the road was back, and you wondered how badly the talk with Chiron and Mr. D went. “No, it was a good idea. Better than you getting lost around camp or caught up with some troublemakers. Thanks, Luke.” 

“‘Course,” he said. 

“Not sure she’s in much better hands with Luke,” Chris said wryly. “He’s head troublemaker in the cabin of troublemakers.” 

Luke just chuckled and shook his head. “It’s her first day. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.” 

You were only able to glance at Luke for a moment before your attention was drawn back to Tate as he gestured outside with his head. “Chiron’s waiting outside. He wants to talk to you some before the tour.” 

And now you had to deal with it too. “...Great,” you said. You set your bag back on the ground, in your newly coveted corner.  

“It’ll be fine,” Tate promised. “You already went through Hades to get here— he’s not gonna pile on you more. That’s why Mr. D is back at the Big House.” 

This time, you did look at Luke. Thankfully, he understood. 

“Dionysus,” he explained. “He’s our camp director.” 

You blinked. “The god?” 

“Yep,” he nodded. “Punishment from Zeus. Not the worst gig, but he’s… interesting.” 

“Great,” you repeated, because you didn’t feel like processing that at the moment, and you looked back at Tate. “You’ll be with me, right?” 

He nodded. “Not for the talk, but for the tour.” 

You let out a loose breath, because it was going to be fine. He was just the authority figure of the one safe place in the world for you, and you were just an annoying kid that had no idea what the hell was going on. 

“Great,” you said for the third time. You looked back at Luke. “I’ll see you around?” 

He smiled and bowed his head. “Definitely. You do kinda live here indefinitely now.” 

You nodded, more relieved than you wanted to show, and you started following Tate out.

You heard Chris mutter something to Luke, and you turned your head in time to see Luke jab him in the side. His head perked up when you laughed, and his whole expression changed as his smile returned and he did a little wave. 

You couldn’t help but smile back as you did the same, and you left the cabin with a little pep in your step. 

—

“You promise you’ll be safe.” 

“Yes, Tate,” you said with a slight laugh. “The worst is already over—you got me here, and we’re both alive. I’m gonna be fine.” 

“I know,” he said, and he managed his own smile. “I’m just worried about you. You don’t spend two weeks on the road fighting for your life with someone and not get a little attached.” 

“You’ll be back here, right?” you asked. “I know your whole thing as a Protector, but you’ve gotta drop the demigods off too, right?” 

“Of course I’ll be back,” he promised. “It… just might be a while. You’re the third demigod I’ve gotten to camp safely, now—Chiron’s trusting me with a bigger mission. It might be a couple months, but I’ll be back.” 

“And you’re telling me to be safe,” you said wryly. 

“I’ve been doing this for a while,” he said. “You just got here.” 

“I know,” you said, and you pulled him into a hug. “Just don’t get killed out there.” 

Tate laughed and patted you on the back before he pulled away. “So long as you don’t killed out here.” 

“Thanks for everything,” you said with a nod. 

“Thank you,” he said, and he gestured at the pavilion with his head. “Now get over there and make some friends. I’ll see you around.” 

You hugged him one last time before you reluctantly went off, and you looked back to wave him goodbye before you really started on your way. 

Your head still spun with all the information Chiron and Tate had imparted on you—so much about Greek mythology (and how it was all real), ADHD and dyslexia (and how they weren’t just there to make your life harder), your godly parent (who would hopefully claim you within the month) and so much more that you knew you would forget in an hour or two. 

And Chiron’s talk. God, it felt more like you were in the principal’s office than anything, even though he was nothing but kind. You couldn’t help but be overwhelmed from it all, and though the talk was probably meant to stave some of that anxiety off, it really didn’t. 

But you’d always felt out of place all your life. And now you were finally where you were meant to belong—that had to count for something. 

Tate had dropped you off at the pavilion—nearly dying had taken a lot out of you, and it just happened to be lunch—and just as you neared the tables and realized you had no idea where to sit, your eyes were drawn to a boy raising his hand and calling your name. 

You looked over and saw that it was Luke, the counselor from earlier, and you couldn’t help but smile. True to his word. 

You weaved your way through various campers and around tables full of kids to finally stop next to Luke’s table—Chris, the guy from earlier, sat across from him, and they both smiled at you. 

“How’d the tour go?” he asked. 

“Fine,” you said with a nod. “A little overwhelming, but better than I thought.” You pulled at your new camp shirt, the fabric noticeably brighter than a majority of those around you. “I match now, at least.”

“Orange suits you,” Luke remarked, and he patted the open spot next to him. “Sit down—stay for a while.”

You chuckled as you sat down. You still felt out of place, but at least they weren’t going to hang you out to dry. “Bright orange seems like an odd choice when we’re trying to stay hidden.”

“Probably so Chiron doesn’t lose us,” he joked. “This place is huge, and there’s a lot of us. When the newest camper gets turned around in the woods during capture the flag and nearly dies to a monster, it’s easier to find them.”

You frowned, and you must’ve not been very good at hiding your panic because Chris shook his head.

“Luke, you’re scaring her. She’s already been through enough.” 

“Don’t worry,” Luke said, patting you on the shoulder. “Just a little halfblood humor. You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you said wryly. “It feels like I nearly died four hours ago and now I have no idea who anyone is or what to do.”

“Not true,” Chris spoke up, and he smiled. “You know us.”

“I’ll look out for you,” Luke promised. “And pretty soon, you’re gonna be good enough to look out for me.”

You let out a long lasting sigh. “God, I hope so.” 

—

“You’re not holding it right.” 

You adjusted your hold on the hilt, resisting the urge to wipe away the bead of sweat dripping down your forehead and the even stronger urge to hit him. 

“You’re still not holding it right.” 

Your teeth grinded together as you turned to look at Luke. “Are you gonna actually help me, or just stand there judgmentally?” 

“I dunno,” he said. “The weather’s pretty good over here.” 

You groaned and moved your non-dominant hand closer to the pommel, shifting your other down as well. “Is this worthy of your approval, Your Majesty?” 

Luke chuckled as he walked over to you, and you could feel the calluses on his hands as he adjusted your form with slight touches to your arms. “It is acceptable, my lady, but your posture is not.” 

“I don’t know how so many people at this camp like you,” you grumbled. “This is awful, and so are you.” 

He smiled. “You’ve been here for two weeks. Give yourself some grace.” 

“I’ve spent one of those trying and failing at the most basic basics of sword-fighting,” you said. “I spent the past hour losing to an Ares kid who I’m pretty sure actually wanted to kill me.” You looked over at Luke. “Thanks for that, by the way.” 

“Trial by fire,” he supplied. “You’re still alive, so obviously you’re doing something right.” 

“Yeah, probably because you’re here,” you said. “You can’t just kill someone when their counselor’s standing right next to them. It’s bad publicity.” 

Luke huffed a laugh and shook his head as he crossed his arms. “Stop talking down on yourself. You managed to make it here with a couple monster attacks on the way—what’d you use then?” 

“I started off with a screwdriver I stole from the garage before Tate and I left,” you said. “And then I stole a hunting knife from some outdoor store. Not exactly top-tier.” 

“Lotta stealing,” Luke chuckled. “Maybe you are a Hermes kid.” 

“They nearly caught me,” you said. “Definitely not.” 

“Regardless of thievery, you still survived,” he continued. “You’re not a bonafide swordsman, that’s fine. But you’re resourceful, creative—scrappy in a fight is just what we need sometimes.” 

“Great,” you mumbled. “I’m ‘scrappy’.” 

“It’s a compliment,” he promised. “If we were all sword-fighters, we wouldn’t get far. Someone like you is gonna do us a lot of good.” 

“If I don’t die before I even get out to the battlefield.” You knocked the helmet off of one of the straw dummies with your sword and sighed as it clattered to the ground. “This is the only enemy I stand a chance against.”

“You’re thinking too much about it all,” Luke said. “You’re literally wired for battle—didn’t you feel it during your fights on the way to camp?”

You shrugged. You guess you did—you remember not even taking the time to analyze the situation, just knowing your lives were in danger and finally feeling the ever-present jitters in your bones settle for the first time. 

“It was rough,” you finally said. “But… it did feel like I knew what I was doing. Like my body understood it all even when my mind was still a couple steps behind.”

“And that was without training, and with,” Luke huffed an incredulous laugh, “a screwdriver. Just imagine what you’ll be able to do with actual Celestial bronze and actual training.” 

“…I think I remember why people like you,” you said reluctantly. “And why I liked you.” 

Luke grinned as he stood up. “That’s the spirit.” He picked up the fallen helmet and placed it back on the dummy, then looked at you. “I think I’ve put you through enough suffering. Let’s get lunch.”

“So a compliment was all it took for me to get out of this?” you asked in exasperation, gesturing with your sword as you worked to undo the ties on your armor with your other hand. 

“Exactly,” he mused, and he took the sword from you to store it away. “I don’t get nearly enough compliments these days, y’know. Sometimes you end up taking that out on campers that don’t know how to swordfight.” 

“Luke Castellan,” you grumbled as you finally got your breastplate off, “you are a piece of work.” 

He winked. “Thank you.” 

—

You didn’t think you were built for this life. 

It was the only thought running through your head as you sat at a crowded Hermes table, absentmindedly picking at fruit with your fork as you stared off into the distance.

You’d been at Camp Halfblood for a month now, but it had already felt like a lifetime. 

You’d managed to make a few friends—a Demeter girl who grew you a bouquet of your favorite flowers as a consolation prize for fighting dirty during training; an Athena boy who told you whatever interesting fact popped into his head first every time you ran into each other; the Hebe girl who had the misfortune to have the corner opposite you in the Hermes cabin and showed you skincare tips once in a while. 

Throw in a smattering of Hermes and unclaimed kids and a counselor that seemed determined to make you smile, and you weren’t as lonely as you thought you’d be. 

You were learning how to fight in your own way. Luke was right—you weren’t a swordsman, but you were damn good up close and personal. He’d taken you to the camp armory, you found a Celestial bronze dagger that spoke to you, and from then on you’d actually been doing well in training.

Your corner of the Hermes cabin didn’t feel as sad anymore, either. Luke took you to the camp store for retail therapy after you nearly burned your jeans off on the climbing wall, so now you had an AC/DC poster (courtesy of the little money you had) and an I ❤️ NY keychain to attach to your backpack (courtesy of Luke’s idle hands).

You were starting to come into your own, sure. You were doing better in training and making friends in the cabin you were stuck in and starting to get used to burning part of every meal, but the most glaring issue of all still hadn’t been resolved.

You still hadn’t been claimed. 

And maybe it shouldn’t have been such an issue for you, but how could you not feel shitty? How could you see all the different tables and all the different kids talking and smiling and joking with each other that had parents who cared enough to at least claim them, and not feel unworthy?

Because you did. You felt unworthy, and it didn’t matter how many times you took your sparring partner down or bested the climbing wall or actually hit the bullseye at archery practice—your mother didn’t think you were good enough, so neither did you. 

“How’re you doin’, Berkeley?” 

You frowned. You didn’t have to look up to know it was Luke as he sat down next to you. “What?”

“Did you not hear me?” he asked, but you were already shaking your head.

“Berkeley,” you repeated, finally glancing at him. “That’s not my name.”

Luke shrugged. “I dunno what to tell you. You’re unclaimed. UC. University of California—first one I think of for you is Berkeley.”

You were staring now. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’ve got tons of UCs. I’ve gotta keep track of them all somehow,” Luke said, and he pointed at campers both at your table and walking around as he talked. “That’s LA, Irvine, Davis—the others aren’t here, but you get the gist.” He looked back at you. “Been savin’ Berkeley for someone special.”

“Oh gods,” you said, horrified. “I’ve got to get claimed.”

One of the girls at the table—Irvine?—rolled her eyes as she stood up and flicked Luke on the head. “Be nice,” she said before walking away. All he did was smile.

“Maybe give it to someone else,” you said. “I don’t feel special.”

Luke’s brows creased. “If you don’t like it—”

“It’s fine,” you said. “The name doesn’t bother me. The reason I have it does.”

His eyes softened as he said your actual name. “It’s only been a month. You’ve still got plenty of time.”

You looked across at the Hebe girl you’d become friends with—Marisol, if you remembered right—and hoped that your eyes didn’t show the desperation you felt. “How long did it take for you?” 

She offered a sympathetic smile. “Six months. But it probably won’t be that long for you.” 

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” you mumbled. But it had been a month, and you hadn’t gotten a single sign. 

“Because it’s true,” Luke urged. “Whoever your mom is will notice you—you’ve been killing it lately.” 

“Really,” you said flatly, “I’ve been killing it.” 

“Yes,” he said. “You don’t know it because you’ve only got your own experience—you went from nearly dead on our doorstep to taking down most of your opponents.” 

“In training,” you said. 

“That still counts!” Luke exclaimed. “Y’know, you’re holding yourself back. You’re incredible, but you’re the only one that seems to not notice it.” 

“And my—” 

“Do not say your mom,” he said, pointing a finger at you. “We’re not talking about the gods right now, we’re talking about you. And you, Bee, are killing it.” 

That gave you pause. “Bee?” 

“I’m trying to get you back up and you focus on the nickname?” Luke asked wryly. 

“Just explain it,” you said. 

“Bee shortened from Berkeley,” he said. “Not fully unclaimed, but still something special.”

God, you hated him. You’d been feeling shitty for a majority of your month here, but he always managed to make you smile.  

“Sure,” you said. 

“And a little annoying,” he added, earning himself a jab in the side as he laughed, “with a bit of a sting.”

“Aren’t you just so clever?” you mused, though you couldn’t help your smile widening.

“It’s in my genes,” he said proudly.

For the rest of a less than exciting lunch, Luke kept you occupied. Whether it was stories of his life before camp, or the couple of months that earned him counselor before you got here, or getting the other campers at the Hermes table to talk about themselves, he made sure you didn’t get a chance to spiral. 

By the end, your face hurt from smiling

As you finished cleaning up, Marisol turned to you.  “Me and a couple other girls were gonna go play volleyball—do you wanna come with us?” 

“Yeah,” you said, and your smile grew. “Yeah, I’d love to. Thanks.” 

“‘Course!” she exclaimed, and she linked arms with you. “I’d be a fool not to get you on my team after you took down Liam yesterday.” 

She continued to talk as she pulled you along, and you looked back at Luke. He chuckled and gave you a thumbs up. “Go get ‘em, Bee!” 

You gave him one back, and as you turned back to Marisol, you found that you couldn’t stop smiling. 

—

It was two in the morning and you couldn’t stop crying.

You finally had a mattress against your back, and however stiff it was, it was better than the floor. A decent amount of kids got claimed over the past month, and half the cabin left after the summer was over, so you finally had the privilege of a bunk—thankfully, Marisol did too, and she was below you. 

At least, until the summer-only campers that all the Hermes kids liked more than you returned. Then it was back to the floor.

Unless you got claimed before then. But that was less likely than being able to muster some good will from your cabin mates. 

Because it was embarrassing, truly. You’d been at camp for four months now, and you hadn’t even gotten a single goddamn peep from whoever your mother might be. You just woke up every day on the floor, moseyed about a camp that still didn’t feel like home, burned offerings to a god that didn't want you, and went back to sleep on the floor. 

And now you were crying in a bed that was barely even yours and it was two in the morning and you were wondering if it would have just been better for you to die on the road to camp the first time, because at least then your mother might have actually paid attention to you. 

“Hey.” 

And now you were really wishing you’d died because you’d woken someone up and they’re just gonna hate you more— 

“Are you okay?” 

You finally turned your head from where it had been buried in a pillow, a laissez-faire attempt to suffocate yourself or maybe just muffle the noise, and you saw Luke Castellan. Counselor of a cabin of thieves, vagabonds, and rejects, and maybe the only person that you didn’t want to see you like this. All that good will, the unearned faith you’d accumulated—this was the easiest way to lose it. His eyebrows were creased, and his whisper held what sounded like concern, but he was required to be concerned. 

You nodded, still not moving, still not speaking. Tears rolled down your cheeks and stained the bed sheet. 

“You’re gonna have to be a little more believable than that, Bee,” Luke murmured. 

“No, I don’t,” you whispered back. 

You got the tiniest huff of a laugh out of him, and he gestured towards the closed door with his head. “Wanna take a second?” 

“It’s past curfew,” you mumbled. 

“And you’re miserable,” Luke said. “You can’t feel any worse getting eaten by harpies than you do now.” 

Still, you stared at him. 

“It’ll be okay,” he promised. “Right outside the cabin. Harpies won’t even know.” 

You rubbed a hand across your face, coming away wet with tears, and you realized that he wasn’t just going to leave you like this. So you got up as quietly as you could, careful not to disturb your bunkmates, and followed Luke. He pushed the door open and shut so quietly you wondered how many times he’s snuck out. 

The cold air was sobering, and you wiped away more tears before wrapping your arms around yourself. Camp Half-Blood was always supposed to have perfect weather, but you guess not even they were immune to November nights. 

“So,” Luke started, and in your peripherals you could see him leaning against the side of the cabin. You could feel his gaze on you, and you just stared off into the distance. 

“So,” you repeated. 

“You wanna tell me why you’re crying in the middle of the night?” he asked. 

“Not really,” you said, because it felt ridiculous that a boy your age was acting like he’s ten years your elder. 

Luke chuckled and tipped his head. “Fair. You want to say anything at all?” 

“I’m sorry for waking you up.” 

He shook his head. “I was already up. I’m a light sleeper.” 

“Seems rough in a cabin like this,” you said. 

“I’ve gotten used to it,” he said. “Did you have a nightmare?”

You frowned, because now it really felt like he was babying you. Luke must have caught on, because he laughed a bit and shook his head.

“Demigods have… extremely vivid dreams,” he said. “Typically horrific nightmares. Sometimes prophetic.”

Your frown deepened. “That’s awful.”

Luke shrugged. “It’s just the way it is. The gods can’t interfere in mortal affairs, so I guess it’s their way of letting us know what’s wrong.”

You shook your head with a sigh. “No nightmares, thankfully. Just… feeling overwhelmed.”

“About what?” he asked. “I told you you’ve been doing great.” 

“It doesn’t matter how many times you say it,” you said wryly. “It doesn’t mean I believe it.” 

“There’s no reason you shouldn’t,” he asserted. 

You huffed a laugh. “It’s been four months, Luke. Four months since I got here after nearly dying in five different states, and I don’t even know who’s responsible for it.” 

“Ah,” Luke said. “The unclaimed thing.” 

“Yeah,” you said wryly. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Sorry,” he said, and he shook his head. “It’s a bigger deal than that, I know.” 

“Maybe it isn’t,” you said. “There’s at least six other kids in there dealing with the same thing as I am, and none of them are waking up their counselor in the middle of the night with their tears.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Luke said with surprising conviction. “Like your feelings aren’t valid. Because they are.” 

You crossed your arms. “Doesn’t seem like it.” 

“They are,” he insisted. “A— and you’re not bothering me. We’re friends, and we help each other. I care about you, y’know.” 

“I never said I was bothering you,” you said wryly. 

“You thought it,” Luke said. “I know you did.” 

“...Maybe.” You sighed and shook your head as you looked out at the stars. They really were beautiful here. “I just can’t help but be bitter about all this, and I feel so shitty about it.” 

“Would it make you feel better to know you’re not the only one that thinks that?” he asked. 

“A little, yeah.” You glanced at him. “No one else seems too bothered that their parents are never around.” 

“Most of them have accepted that it’s just the way it is,” he said. “Doesn’t mean you have to.” 

“Have you?” 

Luke sighed after a moment of reluctance. “I… I have a complicated relationship with my dad because he was around. It was almost… worse to know him, and then to have him leave.” 

“It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” you quoted. 

“I don’t know about that,” Luke murmured. “But it certainly helps to talk about it.” 

You glanced over to see him gazing off into the distance, a look in his eye that you couldn’t quite place. This was the most he’d ever talked about his past to you, you realized—and it still wasn’t much. 

“When were you claimed?” you asked after a moment of contemplation.

Luke shrugged. “I never really had to be. Hermes stayed with my mom for a year after I was born, and she told me who he was when I was a little older. I’ve known basically my whole life—he had no reason not to claim me as soon as I got to camp.”

“So you’re saying my dad could be keeping secrets from me too,” you said. 

“He might not know,” Luke said. “A lot of times, they don’t talk about it. Sometimes, we don’t find out until a monster’s trying to kill us on a field trip.” 

You huffed. “What a great existence we’ve been blessed with.” 

Luke smiled, though it was tighter than usual. He let out a deep breath, then fully turned to you. 

“Do you have your dagger with you?”

You frowned. “It’s under my pillow. Why?” 

“Under your—” Luke stared for a moment before he laughed and shook his head. “A little paranoid?” 

You shrugged. “You said it yourself. You’re a cabin of thieves.” 

“True,” he admitted. “How’d you like to get some of this emotion out?” 

“We’re sneaking out even more?” 

“It’ll be fine,” Luke promised. 

“You always say that,” you said. “Eventually, it’s not gonna be true.” 

He laughed and gestured at the door. “Get your dagger. We’re gonna make this a very bad night for some mannequins.” 

-

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.” 

You huffed as you ripped your dagger out of the dummy, a few strands of straw coming out of the new hole you’d torn in its forehead, and wiped the sweat off your forehead. “Are you kidding? This was a great idea.” 

“Not this part,” he said. “The ‘being alone with you during a rage’ part.” 

“I’m not in a rage,” you muttered as you slashed at the breastplate, “I’m blowing off steam.” 

Luke hummed. “And you thought you weren’t a good fighter.” 

You stabbed at the armor again then rammed your fist into its head, and you took a step back as the mannequin thudded to the ground. “I guess I just need to think about my mom before I go into battle.” 

“Y’know, Bee,” Luke said, “you scare me sometimes.” 

You shook your head, wiping your blade on your night shirt to get any debris off as you turned around. “You’re really gonna stick with that?” 

“I told you I’d stop if you didn’t like it.” 

“It’s not that. I just…” You sighed and shook your head again. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Of course it does.” Luke crossed his arms. “Everything you have to say matters.” 

“Not if I say it doesn’t,” you countered, and you looked at him. “Who do you think it could be?” 

“Your parent?” he asked. You nodded. 

“Definitely not Apollo,” Luke said. “You’re way too dreary to be a kid of the god of the sun.”

“Gee,” you said dryly, “thanks.” 

Luke shrugged. “You asked.” 

“Well— who else?” You picked the dummy back up and dusted the armor off. “Athena, maybe? I’m smart.” 

“Not smart enough to not be out past curfew with me,” he said. 

“You suggested this,” you scoffed. “And I definitely needed it. If we get caught, I’m blaming you.” 

“And why do you think that would work?” he asked, amused. 

“You’re the camp’s golden boy,” you said. “I doubt you’d get in much trouble.” 

“Sure, sure,” he said, nodding. “Or you just think I’m good enough to talk my way out of it.” 

You tilted your head. “That too.”

“I never thought Ares before,” Luke chuckled, “but after all this, I think you might have it in you.” 

“God, I hope not. Priya hates me.” 

“She doesn’t hate you,” Luke said. “She just tried to kill you that one time.” 

“And that other time during capture the flag,” you said. “She’s out for blood, Luke.” 

He chuckled and shook his head. “She always is. She’s probably already moved onto her next victim.” 

“I hope so.” 

“Maybe Aphrodite?” he suggested. “You’re awfully pretty.” 

You rolled your eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” Luke corrected. 

You huffed a laugh but couldn’t help the slightest smile as you shook your head. “It’s not Tyche, at least. I have the worst luck.” 

“Maybe you’re a Big Three kid,” he said. “How do you feel about the sky?” 

“I like it,” you said. 

“The ocean?” 

“Not so much.” 

“And the darkness?” 

You huffed a dry laugh. “I’m not a Big Three kid, Luke. Even I know that.” 

“No, you don’t,” he said. “You can never know for sure until you’re claimed.” 

“If I was, I would be the biggest disappointment,” you said, looking at your reflection in your dagger. “Breaking their pact for a kid that can barely fight.” 

“Why do you always do that?” 

Luke’s voice had lost the joking edge from before, and when you glanced over at him, he was frowning.

“Do what?” 

“You always put yourself down,” he said. “You don’t even give yourself a chance to believe that you’ll be great, or that you’ll succeed—you’re just a coward, or a failure, or worthless at the first bump in the road.” 

“Luke—” 

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I need you to understand that you are so, so much more than whatever that shitty voice in your head says.”

You went silent. Any words you could have even said stuck in your throat. 

“This is not an easy life,” Luke asserted. “We’re thrown into an ocean before we know how to swim, and we have to find the shore all on our own or die trying. We—” he laughed, but there was no heart in it— “we’ve got our parents above us that could guide us, could save us, but most of the time they refuse to even acknowledge us. And we’ve got every single goddamn obstacle in the way trying to kill us.”

He inclined his head towards you. “But in spite of all that, you’re alive. You’re still here. You’re pushing through everything in your path, and you are still fucking here. Do you get that?”

“…I’m still here,” you repeated, and your hands clenched into fists. It had never felt more right to have your dagger in your hand. 

Luke nodded resolutely. “And you’ve got a couple lifeboats to help along the way.”

“You mean it?” Your voice came out softer than you thought, in stark contrast to the stiffness of your bones, but you felt like a kid all over again. 

“With all my heart,” he promised. “For as long as you’re here, I’ll be here.” 

Your throat tightened, and the telltale beginnings of tears pricked behind your eyes. This time, when you spoke, your voice was little more than a whisper. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he said. “And I mean that.”

You nodded, maybe a few too many times, and cleared your throat as you looked back at your dagger. “It’s late. We should get back before we actually get in trouble.”

Luke nodded too, and he helped you move the dummy back into place. You hated how your heart jumped into your throat when your hands brushed for the barest moment, but thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. 

“Thank you for this.” You played with your hands as Luke finished putting everything else away—extra insurance to make sure no one knew you were here—and only managed to make eye contact just as he looked at you. “It… it really helped.” More than he knew, you were sure. 

Luke smiled, and he offered you his arm. “Always.”

You took it, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “Just… don’t tell anyone about the crying.”

He chuckled as you started walking together. “After the way you’ve been handling that dagger? I’d be a fool.“

-

“Luke,” you groaned, “this is awful.” 

“You were the one who said you wanted to spend time with me,” he said, giving you a crooked smile. “Spending time with me after the worst cabin inspection ever means cleaning the place head to toe for our next one.” 

“Is skipping dinner really worth it though?” you asked as you scooped up a pile of dirty clothes and tossed it into the basket between you two. 

“It’s the only time this place is completely empty,” he said. “I told you I could handle it alone—you’re the one that insisted on helping.” 

“Maybe I do want to be a Big Three kid,” you grumbled. “At least I’d only be cleaning up my own mess.” 

“You’d also have the wrath of the gods and every monster in the world to deal with,” he said. 

You shook your head. “A small price to pay for a clean cabin.” 

“And then you wouldn’t get to see me when you wake up every day,” he mused. “A much bigger price to pay.” 

You huffed as you dropped to your knees, reaching under a bed to grab a stray camp tee. “Keep talking, pretty boy. It won’t clean the floors.” 

Luke grinned. “You think I’m pretty?” 

“I think you’ve got the messiest cabin in the world,” you said. “We’ve gotten the lowest rating every day for the past two weeks. I’ve been here for seven months now, and I don’t think we’ve ever gotten a full five.” 

“Which is why you’re helping me!” he said. “Because you’re as sick of scrubbing the pegasi stables as I am.” 

“You’re the counselor here!” you exclaimed. “You’ve gotta whip your siblings into shape.” 

Luke gestured at you. “You’re basically my co-counselor. It’s just as much your responsibility.” 

“And just what makes you think that?” you marveled. 

“You’re the person in the cabin I like the most,” he said, “and we spend a lot of time together. That’s enough to make you my partner.” 

“My stuff is always clean,” you said. “It’s you and the rest of the Hermes kids that’ve gotten us stuck in the stables and the kitchens every afternoon. Not me.”

You started remaking the unmade bed—would it kill any of the Hermes kids to make theirs right after they got up?—and shook your head. “It’s just not fair. Aphrodite’s cabin is basically Barbie’s Dreamhouse, and Demeter kids can grow plants to make it all pretty. We’ve just got a cabin of slobs.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, but when you glanced at him, you saw he was smiling. “It’ll all be fine.” 

“You always say that.” You got the fitted sheet into all the corners then looked at him full-on. “Even when it’s not about something as stupid as laundry. How do you know?” 

Luke shrugged as he nudged a ladder to a top bunk back into place. “I don’t. I just hope for the best.” 

“How do you do that?” you asked. “How does anyone here do that? I feel like I’m the most pessimistic person here.” 

“Every single one of us is an anomaly,” Luke said. “Freaks of nature. By all accounts of logic, we shouldn’t exist. But we do. All of mythology does. And when we have to literally fight for our lives for every single day, it doesn’t do much good to sweat the small stuff.”

“All I do is sweat the small stuff,” you grumbled, and you stretched your back out before you continued. “D’you think they’ll get annoyed that we just pooled all their laundry together again?” 

“Nah,” Luke said. “If they didn’t want to have to pick all their stuff out after we so graciously do the laundry for them, they would keep their things clean in the first place.” 

You chuckled and shook your head as you finished laying out the sorry excuse for a comforter—it would end up on the floor five seconds into the night, but Sisyphus and the boulder and all that—and sat down on the fruits of your labor. “I think this mess is the one thing I won’t miss when I get claimed.” 

“You’re not as down about that as you used to be,” Luke noted.

“You know how they say a watched pot never boils?” 

He actually laughed at that as he leaned against a bed post. “If you don’t care, you’ll get claimed faster?” 

You shrugged. “Nothing else has worked. And like you said—don’t sweat the small stuff, right?” 

“Like you said— all you do is sweat the small stuff.” 

“Maybe I’m gonna try and turn over a new leaf,” you mused.

“I think that would be good for you,” he said. “You’ve been happier lately. It’s good to see you happy.” 

“You’ve been watching?” you asked wryly. 

Luke smiled. “You know I always am.” 

You ignored the warmth stirring in your chest as you shrugged. “I’ve spent way too much time this year being sad over things I can’t control. Might as well start focusing on the things I can.” 

“And to think,” he mused, “this is the same girl that wanted nothing to do with me when we first talked.” 

“Oh, please,” you said dryly, “I’ve always wanted something to do with you.” 

“And you still understand that flattery gets you everywhere,” Luke said with a grin. He pushed himself up and held out his hand. “C’mon—this place is clean enough. I think if we run, we can still make dinner.” 

“Think we’ll get in trouble for partially skipping?” you asked as you stood up and took his hand, swinging your intertwined hands a bit as you walked together. 

Luke chuckled as he pushed the door open and you walked out. “After the work we did here? We should be hailed as saints.”  

-

“Luke,” you whispered. 

His eyes shot wide open as he jolted up, and you had to stifle your laugh at his bewildered expression before he realized it was you. 

He said your name groggily, rubbing his eyes as he kept himself propped up with his other arm. “What d’you need?” 

“The stars,” you said. “They’re beautiful tonight.” 

“So are you,” he mumbled. “You don’t see me waking you up in the middle of the night to tell you that.” 

“Luke,” you said, but you couldn’t help your smile. “On topic.” 

“The stars,” he said, barely nodding in his addled state. “Good for them. I’m going back to sleep now.” 

“No, Luke—” you laughed softly and took his hand. “Come stargazing with me.” 

He closed his eyes, but he didn’t take his hand away. “You’re insane.” 

“Please,” you said. “I could never see the stars at home, not like this. They’re brighter than I’ve ever seen.” 

“It’s so late,” he complained. “Can we do it in the morning?” 

“Do you know what stargazing is?” you asked, amused. 

“Hey, lovebirds.” The annoyed, tired voice of a camper rang out as they hit the wall. “Take it outside so we can sleep.” 

Again, you had to bite back a laugh. Luke looked like he was holding back a groan, but he got up anyway, rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes. You moved to the door as quietly as possible, and you waited until he joined you on the small porch. 

“Thank you,” you said, hearing the door close, “and sorry.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Luke covered up his yawn as he held a jacket out for you. “Put this on. I’m not gonna be responsible for you getting a cold because you want to stargaze in February.” 

Your eyebrows rose as you took it. “Is this yours?” 

“Don’t think too much into it,” he said, but he had the slightest smile on his lips. “You wanna see the stars, right? Let’s see ‘em.” 

“Not here,” you said, shaking your head as you zipped up the maroon hoodie. You held out your hand once you finished. “Do you trust me?” 

“Oh, gods,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “We’re doing a trust exercise too?” 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you remarked. You took his hand and started dragging him along, a clear spot in mind. 

“You’re kidding me,” he said in exasperation. “I thought we were just gonna look at the sky for a couple minutes— you’re taking me to a second destination?”  

“Hey,” you said, “don’t sweat the small stuff.” 

“Oh, I can’t wait to use that on the harpies when they catch us and eat us,” Luke said offhandedly. “‘I’m sorry, ma’am—we’re really trying not to sweat the small stuff.’” 

You laughed as you continued on your way, and out of the corner of your eye you could see Luke smiling too, despite himself. Suddenly, though, his grip tightened on your hand and he pulled you behind one of the thicker columns of the pavilion. 

“Wh—” 

He shook his head then gestured with it to the other side of the pavilion. One of the harpies—Aello, if you remembered correctly from Chris’s rant the past week about cleaning dishes—was walking past, muttering things to herself. 

“Speak of the devil,” you marveled. You definitely weren’t a child of Tyche. 

Luke gave you a look that quite clearly said be quiet, and for some reason that only made you want to laugh more. He must have seen that glint in your eye that he’d grown used to, because he placed his hand over your mouth right before the dam was about to burst. 

You squeezed his hand tight as you tried to keep yourself from blowing your cover while Luke occupied himself with actually watching to make sure your path would clear. You were pressed right up against each other, and even through the jacket, even in the cold, you could feel his body warmth. He did say he ran hot.

Eventually, Luke let out a labored sigh and let his hand drop, and you wheezed, nearly doubling over. 

“There is something wrong with you,” he said. He was barely able to hold back his own amusement.  

“Oh my god,” you breathed, “that was awful.” 

“That was your fault!” he exclaimed. 

“How was it my fault?” you argued. “You’re the counselor here—you’re meant to be the responsible one!” 

“I was being responsible!” Luke laughed again as he ran his hand through his hair then used it to gesture at you. “You were the one that nearly got us caught—you were the one who wanted to be out here in the first place!”

 “Right,” you said, pointing your finger, “we gotta get to the beach.” 

“Stargazing on the beach,” Luke marveled. “Definitely worth nearly getting eaten.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you said as you continued to pull him along. “You could’ve said no.” 

He squeezed your hand for a moment. “We both know I can never say no to you.” 

Once you got to the beach you let go of his hand and laid down, taking care not to get sand in your sneakers. Luke sat down next to you but stayed up, watching the tide go in and out. 

At night, without a hundred campers running around making all the noise they can, you actually felt like you could breathe. 

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” It almost felt wrong to break the sacred silence, to insert yourself in the ambiance of nature working together in all its glory. 

“Yeah.” Luke’s voice was softer than usual, that rough edge you’d grown used to absent in the face of calmer seas. “Yeah. It’s…” 

“Serene,” you suggested. 

“Beautiful,” he said. When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you. 

“Very smooth,” you said wryly. “Now stop flirting and look at the stars.” 

Luke chuckled lightly as he let himself fall back. His hand bumped yours as he adjusted his position, and your breath caught in your throat for the barest moment. You moved it away. 

The two of you laid there together in silence gazing at the stars for what felt like forever. The gentle waves coming to shore then leaving, the scattering of sand from quiet winds, and not a single angry car horn or police siren. 

You missed home, the city. You were headstrong in your belief that Detroit was better than New York. But gods—sometimes, you just couldn’t beat camp. 

You didn’t know what possessed you to break the silence. But something had been tugging at you since the moment you laid down on the beach, and so you did. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” 

Luke didn’t miss a beat. “Always.” 

“I…” you trailed off for a moment, but you bolstered yourself. “I’m scared of what comes next.” 

You heard Luke shift in the sand and felt his eyes on you. “What do you mean?” 

“After this,” you said. “The honeymoon phase of being a demigod.” 

He huffed a laugh. “I wouldn’t say we have a honeymoon phase.” 

“You know what I mean.” A shiver went down your spine and you put your arms on your chest. Like a coffin. “I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.” 

“I think you need to stop getting up in the middle of the night,” he said. “It seems you have all your existential crises then.” 

You exhaled out your nose, a sorry excuse for a laugh. “I’ve heard about quests—how they can happen for no reason except a god’s will, to— to prove that you’re worthy. And all I can think about is that my mother will never claim me until I prove I’m worthy or die trying.” 

Luke was silent. You could feel your throat closing up, the threatened onslaught of tears. You blinked them back. 

“All my life, I have never felt seen,” you murmured. “And I’m terrified that the only way I will be seen is when I die.”

“Look at me.” 

You turned your head—Luke’s eyes were piercing in the moonlight. 

“I don’t care what anyone says, especially that voice in your head—you’re worth everything and more,” he said. “And you are worth so much more than becoming a martyr for a god’s approval.” 

“I wish you could tell my mom that,” you mumbled. 

“I would march right up to Olympus and say it to her face,” he said. “And if it bothers her that much, she can smite me right now.” 

That got a breathy laugh out of you from the pure absurdity. Luke’s eyes flicked to the sky as he waited, and when he didn’t instantly die a horrific death, his gaze went back to you. 

“I see you,” Luke promised, his voice low. “And I’ll make everyone see you the way I do. I swear it.” 

You were starstruck. You couldn’t look away from him, from the determination etched into each detail of his face, the softness in his eyes directed wholly at you—the fact that he was here at all in the first place at an unholy hour just because you asked. 

Oh gods. You were in trouble. 

“It’s late.” You finally managed to break the spell that held you under. “We should go.” 

“Yeah.” Luke made no motion to move, still focused wholly on you. 

“Luke,” you whispered. 

You could have sworn his eyes moved down to your lips, but he was sitting up so quickly that you knew you must have imagined it. You cleared your throat as you followed suit, brushing the sand off your—his— jacket. 

“This was nice,” he said after a moment. “...Thanks for waking me up.” 

“Of course,” you said. “There’s… there’s no one else I would’ve wanted to share it with.” 

Luke smiled, and you didn’t think he’d ever looked more beautiful than he did now, awash in the silver moonlight. If you were braver, you would have taken his hand again. You would’ve done what the voice in your head desperately wanted to do—had wanted to do for the past two months.  

But you didn’t. 

“I guess it was worth nearly getting eaten, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he shrugged. “But most things are worth it when it comes to you.” 

You nearly melted right there, and it was a credit to your strength that you didn’t say anything horrifically stupid. Instead, you put on a smile, hoped he couldn’t see how much he was killing you, and started back up on the path. 

“C’mon,” you said. “Before we end up having to clean the entire camp for breaking curfew.” 

“Whatever you say,” he mused. 

-

You groaned as you slumped into your usual spot at the Hermes table. You heard Luke laugh, and you felt his eyes on you as you put your head in your arms.

“What’s got you so down?”

“I’ve been fifteen for three days and I already feel like an old woman,” you said. “Everything still hurts.”

“Capture the flag was meant to be a birthday gift,” Luke said wryly. “And we did win.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you grumbled. “I swear, some people went after me on purpose just because it was my birthday. I’ve got bruises all over.”

“You know, we have an infirmary for a reason.” 

“They’re battle wounds,” you said. You picked up your head just to take your goblet. “Lemonade. Actually, pink lemonade.” You took a sip, but even that didn’t make you feel better. You buried your head back in your arms with a rough sigh. “Signs of our victory.”

Luke huffed a laugh. “Sometimes I really don’t…”

He trailed off suddenly, and you heard a collective gasp go up at the table.

“What?” you asked halfheartedly. 

“You— you’re—” 

You didn’t know why he couldn’t finish his sentence. You picked your head up to see Luke’s face awash in golden light, his eyes wide. Everyone else at the Hermes cabin was just as awestruck, and Marisol fumbled around in her purse until she pulled out her compact. She opened her foundation, the mirror pointing at you, and you realized why.

A glowing, golden, translucent sickle with a few sheaths of wheat floated above your head. You frowned.

Before you had the chance to say anything, Luke was yelling your name and tackling you in a hug. You let out a grunt of surprise as you barely managed to brace yourself, and when he pulled away he was smiling wider than you’d ever seen.

“You’re claimed!” he exclaimed, his hands gripping your shoulders. “You— you’re finally claimed!”

“Demeter,” you said, almost absentmindedly. It still hadn’t quite hit you. 

“Demeter,” he repeated, nodding rapidly, that gigantic smile seeming like a permanent feature at this point. “I told you everyone would see you— I told you we would make them see you the way I do!”

The rest of the table was chattering away, and you could feel Chris patting you on the back and saying words that went in one ear and out the other. The rest of the pavilion was starting to catch word, and you could see a couple kids from a table on the opposite end standing up and craning to see. Maybe your new siblings. 

(You should be happy.)

Your new siblings. 

…Your new cabin.

You could still barely think, like there was static in your brain. Luke’s hands on your shoulders were the only thing grounding you. 

(You should be ecstatic.)

A year of tears, silent prayers, and apathetic resolution had finally come to a close, just days after your fifteenth. 

(Why are you not smiling?)

You’d been claimed. But you didn’t think you’d ever felt more lost. 

i do not pity israel. never have, and never will.

each night that gaza experiences is deadlier than the last, as idf soldiers record propaganda tiktoks, make rave parties and grwms and fit checks, gloat over having food and water, and film themselves deriving sadistic pleasure from torturing their hostages and victims and desecrating the dead.

Palestinians have to display their martyred before the camera for you to believe the atrocities that the zionist entity has subjected them to. they cannot even mourn in private. the apartheid entity murders them in cold blood, and you deliver the killing blow by doubting them.

babies whose families have been killed will never get to know their own name.

i can't reshare a tenth of the videos and photos that cross my timeline. i have seen more dead children in the past month than i have known death my entire life.

israeli settlers burn olive trees, bomb bakeries and fishing boats, shower white phosphorus and earthquake bombs on the captive civilians of gaza. you already know about the disastrous effects of white phosphorus, but earthquake bombs were last used during ww2 to wipe out entire cities.

how holy is the land that seeks to be built over the mass graves of thousands of children? is it holier than the miracle of a child being born in this hypocritical world?

all 11 universities in gaza have been bombed. academics should be agitating right now, especially those who call themselves "decolonial thinkers." destruction of universities is a sinisterly deliberate act to sabotage the Palestinians who will survive this great catastrophe.

the act of cleansing your hands before prayer is extremely important to muslims. no part of us can remotely comprehend the grief of the mother who refused to wash her hands from the blood of her children after losing them in a zionist airstrike over gaza. "I swear I won't wash them, I won't wash my hands, how else am I supposed to sleep near my kids."

it is only both moral and right when one side defends itself. the other side are the price of war, no better than insects and cattle and sheep left to die within the four walls of the slaughterhouse.

this situation should not be up for debate, but let me finish with one final thing : do your research about Palestine. HOWEVER. you do not need a degree in middle east studies to object to an ongoing genocide. if someone outwits you in a debate about historical details and every nuance of a subject, you were and will remain entirely correct in objecting to a genocide.

may those martyred rest in peace and be reunited again with their loved ones in heaven's eternal vastness.

DO NOT STOP TALKING ABOUT PALESTINE.

glory to Palestinian resistance. from the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.