ewtyfuw

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Minty… your dark romances are everything. 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 If I may, can I ask for a King of Vampires Dick Grayson dark romance? And can it be a soulmate AU? Like, everybody eventually has the name of their soulmate etched into their skin at some point in their life (humans and vampires), and human reader finds out that hers is the King of the Vampires. Everyone isolates from her, and she tries to hide away while Dick looks for her.

WRITTEN WITH BLOOD | vampire! dick grayson x reader

DC MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: manipulation

You thought it was just a myth.

A cautionary tale told around dying campfires and passed in whispers between generations. A story for children and foolish romantics—about the Vampire King who once ruled in silence, hidden beneath moonlight and shadow. Beautiful. Cruel. Eternal.

They called him Richard Grayson. The man with eyes like dusk and a smile sharp enough to cut your heart out. A ghost story.

So when his name appeared over your ribs—etched in dark crimson, as if written in dried blood—you laughed. Panicked. Scrubbed at it until your skin went raw.

Because that couldn’t be real. Soulmate marks were real—everyone had one eventually, human or not—but this? This had to be a mistake. Still, the name pulsed like it knew you. And the people around you noticed.

They stopped speaking to you. Avoided your touch. You overheard them muttering about the omen—about him. You heard someone say you were tainted, that your bond would bring death to the village.

You were scared. So you left.

You make it to Gotham by nightfall, half-frozen and heartsick, praying to any god left that Zatanna is home.

She’s the only one who might know what this is. Who might fix it.

She takes one look at your ribs when you pull your shirt aside and goes deathly still. Her breath hitches. Her gloved hand trembles when it hovers above your skin.

“This isn’t a trick,” she says softly. “This is real.”

“No, it can’t be,” you whisper. “He’s not—he’s not even real. He’s just some fairy tale—”

Zatanna’s eyes, full of old magic, meet yours. “He’s real. Or… he was. Long ago. A vampire king who disappeared centuries back. I thought he was just a story too—but this…” She gestures to the name. “This mark is a soulbound seal. You don’t get these unless the bond is true.”

You collapse onto the couch, dizzy. “What do I do? Can I reject it? Can I break it?”

She hesitates. “Zee,” you beg. “Please.”

Her voice drops. “The bond was written in blood and power. It predates language. You can’t undo it. If he still exists, he’ll be looking for you.” You feel like the air is being crushed out of your lungs. “I never asked for this.”

Zatanna kneels beside you and takes your hand. “I know. But you’re his soulmate now, whether you want to be or not.” Then, after a long pause: “You need to hide.”

But he is already awake.

Stirred from centuries of slumber the moment his name seared itself into your skin. The bond rattled through his bones like lightning—dragging his consciousness out of the dark crypt he called home.

Richard Grayson rises.

The first thing he tastes is your fear. The panic in your blood. The sorrow in your heartbeat. He smiles. You’re alive. You’re his. And you’re running from him. He can feel it. The bond pulling tight. Like a leash made of stars.

He stretches his wings beneath the moonlight and opens his eyes, glowing with cold desire. “Found you.”

They came at dusk. Not with fire, but with fear.

A group of locals who’d once waved at you in the market—now armed with holy symbols and harsh voices. They shouted that you were cursed. That the name on your skin would damn the city.

You tried to reason. To plead. But the moment one of them reached for you—

He appeared.

A blur of motion and cold air, sharp and silent as the night. Before you could scream, the man who grabbed you was on the ground—pale and breathless, eyes wide in terror as he scrambled away.

The others backed off instantly.

They didn’t know who he was. But something in him—something unnatural—made them run.

And then he turned to you.

He looked… human.

Tall, handsome, with blue eyes and black hair curled slightly at his temples. Dressed in dark clothes that didn’t quite fit this century. He moved with precision, like someone who didn’t waste a single breath. Not a fang or claw in sight.

“…You alright?” he asked, voice low and smooth.

You nodded, throat dry. “I think so.”

“They were going to hurt you.” Your gaze dropped. You hated how your lip trembled. “They think I’m marked.”

He blinked slowly. “Are you?” You hesitated. “Does it matter?”

“…Not to me.”

You looked up sharply. He said it so simply. So honestly. As if he knew the weight you carried and chose to lift it anyway. “I’m Dick,” he offered. “Just passing through.”

Your ribs twitched. The bond burned, but—no. No, the name was Richard. Not Dick. You didn’t even make the connection. You were too shaken, too grateful, too exhausted.

“…Thank you, Dick,” you said softly. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stepped in.”

He shrugged, but didn’t move. “I can stay nearby. Just in case they come back.” You hesitated. Looked toward your apartment door. Then, with a quiet breath— “…Or you could come in.”

He followed you inside. Didn’t even blink when the protective wards flickered over the doorway. He didn’t force his way in. He waited until you gave permission. And the moment he crossed the threshold—something in the bond snapped taut, like a tether between your hearts had been yanked. But you didn’t know. You thought you’d invited a stranger.

He stood by the window, hands behind his back, letting the dim golden light of your kitchen spill across his features. You noticed the rings on his fingers. The way his voice lingered long after he spoke.

“Strange name,” you mused quietly from the couch. “Dick.” He smiled, head tilted. “It’s a nickname. Old family name.”

“Oh. I thought my soulmate’s name was Richard.” You gave a sad laugh. “But that’s just a myth, right?”

His smile didn’t falter. “Right.”

The tension in the air lingered long after the mob fled.

You sat curled up on the couch, knees tucked against your chest, fingers trembling as you held the steaming mug of tea. Across from you, he sat comfortably in the chair by the window, back straight, hands resting on his thighs, not quite relaxed but not tense either. He watched the rain trickle down the glass in silence, as if he had all the time in the world.

You weren’t sure what to make of him.

He was polite. Strangely kind. And terrifying in a way that didn’t come from what he did—but from what he didn’t do. The kind of quiet restraint that made you wonder how much power sat coiled beneath the surface.

You sipped your tea carefully, trying not to stare too long at the man who’d saved you. “…They’re not coming back, are they?”

His eyes shifted to you. Blue—almost violet in the low light. “No,” he said simply. “Not while I’m here.”

You nodded slowly, grateful, unsettled. “They think I’m dangerous. Or cursed.”

“They’re afraid,” he said. “Fear makes people cruel.”

“You don’t seem afraid.”

“I’m not.”

That answer should’ve scared you. But instead, it made something in your chest loosen. You sighed and looked down into your cup. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for a name I didn’t know carved into me forever.”

He hummed, just a quiet sound of acknowledgement. Then, after a pause: “Do you know anything about him?”

“…My soulmate?”

He nodded.

You gave a bitter laugh. “Just that his name is Richard. That he’s supposed to be some—some king or monster or ancient vampire who vanished centuries ago.” You glanced up at him, wry. “You’d think someone would’ve gotten rid of that fairy tale by now.”

“I’ve heard that story,” he said softly.

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “They say he was powerful. A leader. That he disappeared after losing something important. A war. Or a love. Depends on who you ask.”

You scoffed. “Soulmate bonds are supposed to bring people together, not ruin them.”

“What if it wasn’t the bond that ruined him?” he asked, voice quiet. “What if it was the world that couldn’t accept it?”

You blinked. That struck deeper than you expected. “…I don’t know. Maybe. Doesn’t matter. He’s not real.”

“No?”

“If he was, he would’ve shown up by now. Or… I don’t know. The bond would’ve done something. But it just hurts. Like a reminder that I’m alone.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “You’re not alone now.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

He had the kind of beauty that didn’t seem to belong to this era. Sharp cheekbones, shadowed eyes, a mouth that held secrets. His coat hung off him like it belonged to a prince. A fallen angel. Something old.

“…What do you think of him?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked again. “Who?”

“Your soulmate.”

You stared into your tea. “I think… I hate him. A little. Not because he exists. But because he’s real enough to ruin my life without being real enough to love me back.”

Something in his expression cracked—just for a second. A flicker of emotion too deep to name. He looked away again, back out the window, and when he spoke, it was almost to himself.

“He’d be a fool not to love you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you sat in silence, sipping your tea, the sound of rain filling the quiet between you.

Neither of you said it—but something passed between you. Heavy. Inevitable.

He would stay. To protect you. The town would leave you alone, if only because they were more afraid of him.

And you—despite yourself—would let him.

Because “Dick” didn’t feel like a monster. He felt like a shadow you could lean against. Like safety wearing the face of a stranger. You didn’t realize how your ribs burned beneath your shirt every time he looked at you. Or how the name marked on your skin had started to glow.

You didn’t sleep that night.

Not really.

You curled up on the couch beneath a blanket, pretending the steady beat of rain against the window was enough to lull you into rest, but your mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the townsfolk’s faces twisted in fear. And behind them—him. The man now seated on the floor by your door, one knee raised, one hand resting lazily over it like a sentinel carved from dusk.

He didn’t need to sleep. That much was obvious.

Instead, he watched. Not in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in a way that felt… grounding. Present. Like no matter what storm knocked at your door, he’d be there to hold it shut with one hand and never break a sweat.

You shifted under the blanket and murmured, “…You don’t have to stay right there all night.”

“I know.”

“But you’re going to anyway.”

He didn’t respond. Just a small, knowing quirk of his lips.

You studied his profile in the dark. “You really believe in soulmates?”

He was quiet for a moment, then nodded once. “Yes.”

That surprised you. “Even after everything?”

“Especially after everything.”

You frowned. “You talk like you’ve… lost someone.”

“I did.”

You hesitated, chest tightening. “Was it your soulmate?”

He didn’t answer.

You almost didn’t expect him to. Maybe that was too much. Too personal.

But just when you were about to apologize, he said, quietly, “I spent years looking for her. Even before I knew her name. Even before the bond. I think… part of me always knew I was missing someone.”

You sat up a little. The fire in your living room crackled low, casting long shadows. “…And when you find her?”

He finally looked at you then. Really looked.

“I won’t let her be afraid. Not of me. Not of the bond. Not of what it means.”

Your breath hitched. You opened your mouth to speak—ask something, maybe thank him—but your chest burned.

It was sudden. Hot. Like a sun flaring beneath your ribs. You gasped and gripped your side instinctively, fingers curling over the brand of your soulmate’s name—Richard—as it flared to life under your skin.

The pain wasn’t unbearable. But it was undeniable.

You choked on a breath. “What the—?”

He was beside you in an instant, crouched at your side before you even heard him move. “Let me see it.”

You pulled back without meaning to. “What’s happening—?”

“It’s the bond,” he said softly. “It’s responding.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “That’s not possible. I haven’t met him—”

“Yes, you have.”

The words stopped you cold.

You stared at him. Really stared. And it was like your vision shifted. The angles of his face sharpened. The centuries in his eyes peeled back. Not just handsome. Not just strange.

Ancient.

“…What?”

His hand hovered near your wrist, not touching, waiting.

“My name,” he said, almost a whisper, “is Richard.”

You froze.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to frighten you,” he said. “You’ve been through enough. I thought… if I stayed close, if I helped, maybe you’d feel the bond before the world told you what I was.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

“No,” you whispered. “You can’t be—”

“Your ribs say otherwise.”

You gripped your chest, heart threatening to tear itself apart. “You’re the King. The one they say vanished—”

“I never vanished. I just… waited.” His voice cracked faintly. “I waited until I could feel you. Until I could find you. And now I have.”

Your hands trembled.

Part of you wanted to run. Part of you wanted to scream.

But deeper than that—beneath all the noise and fear—was the quiet, aching pull that had followed you your entire life. That same pull you’d felt the moment you let him inside.

“…You lied to me.”

“I protected you from the truth,” he said gently. “I would have told you. But I needed you to see me first. Not the stories. Not the fear. Just me.”

You swallowed hard, emotions crashing over you in waves. “…And what happens now?”

He held your gaze, soft but unyielding.

“Now I stay. Unless you ask me to leave.” You looked down at your ribs.

The name pulsed softly beneath your skin—like a heartbeat. Your heartbeat. You should have told him to go. Should have thrown him out. Should have feared him. But instead, you sat there, breathing in sync with his silence. And whispered: “…Stay.”

“So… what do we do now?” you asked, your voice small against the hum of the fire and the soft rain beyond the windows.

His eyes didn’t leave you, steady as ever. Watching. Waiting.

You hesitated, glancing at him—really looking at him. At the man who sat on your floor with such impossible patience, as though eternity itself could wait for your permission.

“And… this—” you gestured toward him, the coat, the softened lines of his face, the warmth in his eyes, “is this what you really look like?”

He was quiet for a breath. Then he shook his head.

“When I was human—yes. But now… no.”

You swallowed.

Part of you wasn’t sure why your heart beat faster. Fear? Curiosity? Or that pull—strange and ancient—that seemed to live in your veins now, whispering you were made for this.

“…Can you show me?” you asked.

He blinked.

“I mean…” You shifted in your seat, gripping your mug with both hands. “We’re soulmates, right? I should… see the real you. If we’re going to do this.”

The silence stretched long between you. Not cold—just heavy. Weighty with the kind of decision that couldn’t be taken back.

He watched you. Read your expression. Then gave a faint nod.

“All right.”

You held your breath.

And then—he began to change.

It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t monstrous. It was fluid—like shadows melting off his skin, like centuries unfurling from his bones. His coat whispered against itself as his shoulders straightened, stretched, his presence swelling to fill the room like a storm rolling in. His nails lengthened into sleek, obsidian points. His irises deepened into a luminous, predatory red, glowing softly beneath the dim firelight. The gentle lines of his face sharpened, high cheekbones cutting like marble, fangs glinting faintly beneath his parting lips.

He was beautiful. Inhuman. Ageless.

The embodiment of every myth whispered behind closed doors at midnight. Even in this form, they were still him.

Still Dick. You didn’t move. Didn’t scream. You only looked up at him, heart hammering, and whispered, “Oh.”

He stood still, watching you closely, not advancing. Not even breathing. “Does it frighten you?” he asked softly.

You looked into those gleaming eyes, into the eternity they held. “…A little,” you admitted, truth catching in your throat. “But not enough to make me look away.”

He closed his eyes—just for a second—and when he opened them again, the tension in his shoulders had loosened. Something in him broke. Quietly. Softly. Like a chain slipping loose.

You reached out—slow, deliberate—and brushed your fingers against his hand.

It was cold. But the moment your skin touched his, that heat in your chest bloomed again, golden and soft, warming your insides like sunlight through glass.

You looked up at him. And for the first time, he looked unsure. “I didn’t think…” he murmured, almost to himself. “That you’d ask to see me. Like this.”

“I didn’t think I’d want to,” you said quietly. He glanced down at your hands. “But here you are,” you added. His hand turned, slow and deliberate, until his fingers curled around yours. He bent slightly, bringing your knuckles to his lips—but he didn’t kiss them. He breathed you in.

And whispered, like a vow etched in stone: “Here I’ll stay.”

Your heart was a mess of thunder and soft ache, pounding so loud in your chest you were sure he could hear it—feel it—through the bond tethered between you. His breath still lingered on your skin, cool and reverent, like he was afraid that touching you too hard would break whatever fragile, impossible thing had taken root between you.

You looked at him. At all of him.

The glow of his eyes, the edges of him sharp with shadow, inhuman and terrifying—and still, somehow, heartbreakingly familiar. Still him. Still the man who’d stood at your door and asked for tea. Who stayed when the world didn’t. Who hadn’t let you fall.

Your hand shook slightly as you lifted it, fingers brushing up the side of his jaw. His head tilted ever so slightly into the touch, the gesture so gentle it made your chest ache.

“I don’t know what this means yet,” you whispered.

His lips parted, something uncertain flashing in his expression.

“But I know I feel it. The bond. The… pull.” You swallowed. “I’ve never felt anything like it. And I don’t think I’ll ever feel anything like it again.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t dare move. Just watched you with that centuries-old gaze—guarded, glowing, still.

“I’m scared,” you admitted. “But I think I’d regret it more if I didn’t.”

And then—before you could talk yourself out of it—you leaned in.

Your lips brushed his, tentative and trembling, nothing like a fairytale and everything like a beginning. For a second, he didn’t move. But then his hands rose to your waist, not pulling, not claiming—holding. Anchoring. As if you might vanish like smoke if he wasn’t careful.

He kissed you back.

It was soft at first. Reverent. Then deeper, fuller—like something unspoken was finally being answered. His fangs grazed your lip, but never bit. His cold breath shuddered against your skin as though even he couldn’t believe this was real.

You pulled back just an inch, breathless, eyes fluttering open.

He looked stunned.

Like centuries of waiting had just come to an end in the smallest, softest moment.

“…You kissed me,” he said, as if he hadn’t meant for the words to slip out.

You flushed. “Yeah. I—I did.”

He exhaled something that might’ve been a laugh, something that might’ve been the echo of relief. His hands remained on your waist, unsure whether to hold tighter or let go.

“I thought I’d have to wait a thousand years more before you’d want that.”

You smiled faintly, nervous but warm. “Well. I guess you got lucky.”

“No.” He leaned in again, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I think I finally found the one thing in this world worth being patient for.”

i love it when a man looks all sad and beat up like yes baby come here i'll take care of you

Poseidon Offerings

"Poseidon is the Olympian god of the sea, earthquakes, floods, drought, and horses."

Large Altars:

Ocean water

Honey

Olive oil

Water from rivers, lakes, rain, etc.

White wine poured into water

Seaweed

Wild celery

Homemade fish stew, clam chowder, etc.

Horse shaped crackers or cookies

Ocean and rain scented incense

Conch shells

Horse, ship, or dolphin statues

Impossible bottles (ship-in-a-bottle)

Blue, green, and silver candles

Ocean and sea scented candles

Tridents

Cloaks

Wreaths made from wild celery

Small/Hidden Altars:

Seashells

Sea salt

Starfish or starfish decorations

Gems such as pearls, sea glass, blue sapphires, aquamarine

Toys or art of dolphins, fish, and/or horses

Coral

Mint

Mint candies

Art, toys, or photos of tridents

Photos or art of the ocean

Naturally shed shark teeth

Sand

Ocean scented essential oils or perfumes

Art of hippocamp (half-horse, half-fish creature)

Art or figurines of ships and sailors

Gold and silver objects

Devotional Acts:

Donate to ocean conservation in His name

Donate to coral reef restoration programs in His name

Donate to natural disaster relief programs in His name

Support local fishermen

Go fishing

Help clean up oceans, beaches, lakes, rivers, riverbanks, etc. (Be careful when cleaning up litter)

Go swimming

Sing in the shower

Visit bodies of water and enjoy the beauty they offer

If you can't visit any then watch videos of the ocean or listen to the sound of waves

Visit aquariums

Wear seashell jewelry or fish-shaped jewelry

Meditate at bodies of water, in the shower, or while listening to the sound of waves

Take baths and surround yourself with images of the ocean

Ask Him to aid you in bath and weather spells

Get a pet fish if you are able to take care of it

Go horseback riding

Learn about horse care

Learn about marine biology

Learn about natural disasters and what to do during one

Wear blues and greens or clothes with horses or dolphins on them

Decorate your room with a nautical theme

Research and work with mermaids, sirens, and the fae

Pray to Him for rain or for rain to stop, for earthquakes or floods to end, for protection, for safe travels across the sea, for healthy horses

Sources:

https://vocal.media/futurism/ways-of-worship-poseidon

https://www.theoi.com/Olympios/Poseidon.html

https://hellenicfaith.com/poseidon/

http://zer0dmx.tripod.com/gods/poseidon.html

Fear the God of War

The only ship dynamic that 𝙜𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙢𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙛𝙚. 🖤

Monster X Human

don't fucking interrupt me when i'm reading my x reader fics it's rude

the new creme pokemon is MADE for cure whip, right?? yes??

Here's a website where Palestine GoFundMes are vetted and shared that you can send out to people. The url is gazafunds.com

Easy to use and simple. Just share the site whenever someone asks for GFMs for Palestine.

i’ve been traveling and have no access to information on twitter and won’t until i’m back. i cannot speak on anything until i have all the information. it’s the most responsible thing to do in this situation. however, using this opportunity to further spread hate, harassment and even send more death threats is such a disgrace and i will continue blocking ANYONE who thinks it’s ever ok to do these things to another human being.

i have not blocked anyone who wasn’t saying something unkind or untrue. i’ve reported EVERYONE sending death threats and you should too. to use recent events to justify spreading more hate and wishing for more death is the most vile thing i’ve ever seen. what a disrespect to the very serious issue of online harassment. wishing for harm is ALWAYS UNACCEPTABLE. and i still wouldn’t hold those people responsible for their whole community. its simply not fair.

these people will not stop because they aren’t doing it for me and won’t listen to me. this isn’t about communities. it isn’t about me. it’s about spreading hate. hating my abuser doesn’t align someone with me or make them representative of what i’ve spent years teaching. be kind. have compassion. be there for those struggling. take care of yourselves and put your mental health first. i’ll speak more on stream when i’m back.

Guys I'm shaking and crying rn. How did he do that

when the sun came up (i was looking at you)

series masterlist

pairing: luke castellan x fem reader

word count: 4.8k

summary: your poisoning in the woods and everything that comes after

content: angst + hurt/comfort. reader is poisoned which leads to aggression/hallucination; she gets restrained. general near death experience content ?

notes: title from out of the woods by taylor swift. these guys are NEVER escaping the trauma of the woods loll

The door slams inward, and the entire Apollo cabin goes silent.

There’s about ten campers inside, a few of them clustered around the cot in the center of the room. Every single one of them turns to face Luke with the same look painted on their faces.

Panic.

“Where is she?”

They part like the Red Sea, avoiding his eyes and scrambling to disperse throughout the room. Luke’s on autopilot, his eyes darting around the room for any familiar face as he pushes past those who don’t get out of the way fast enough.

A girl named Mary - or Maria? - is sitting by the window. She looks quickly down at her feet when he catches her eye. Beck blinks wide eyed at him as he side steps out of his line of fire.

(Something out in the forest. Screaming that could be heard from three cabins down. Uncontrollable aggression.)

“Luke,” Miles says, the only one brave enough to stand in front of him. He plants a firm hand on his shoulder, his brows knitted together. “You’re not supposed to be in here.”

His hand gets shoved off immediately. Luke can’t believe what he’s saying to him — the disapproval in Miles’ voice at his presence in the cabin. He scoffs, trying to cool down the anger that threatens to flare up.

Hyperthermia, someone else had said. It doesn’t take a child of Athena to know the risks of it. You’re somewhere nearby, in pain, and Miles has the gall to tell Luke he shouldn’t be looking for you.

Luke’s badly contained temper comes back with a vengeance.

“You should fucking know better. She’s my…” Luke’s breath shakes as he inhales. “She’s my best friend.”

Miles wilts and turns to his siblings, looking for backup. Not a single one meets his eyes. He’s torn in half, clearly fighting with himself over something.

(“Luke.” Warmth around his wrist. Your hand. “Please hold me.”

Red palms. Your dried blood between the creases on his hands — the lines you’d trace while half asleep, leaning against his shoulder while trying to get some rest.

The coldness of your hands. Chocolate bars so rich you have trouble eating. The suffocating sterility of the hospital.

The entire goddamn state of Pennsylvania.

Luke won’t do it again.)

“Tell me where she is,” he snaps, his voice bordering on a snarl.

Luke Castellan is not above begging.

It’s quiet. Miles’ siblings are staring at the two of them, unashamed. Luke can see the guilt in all of their eyes.

The younger boy is frowning. “We’re not supposed to—”

“So what?” he grits out. “Do you expect me to sit around while she’s fucking dying?” Miles is silent, and Luke scoffs. He turns to the rest of the campers, his gaze sharp enough to hurt. They remain quiet.

“If none of you tell me, I’m going out there to find her myself.”

Miles is frowning. Luke turns his back on him. “Wait, Luke—”

“The river by the strawberry fields.”

It’s one of the older Apollo kids. Luke’s known him for a while, and he couldn’t be more grateful. The boy, Carter, is sitting on the cot that his siblings had been crowding around earlier. There’s a cut over his eyebrow and he’s clutching a bag of ice to his cheek. When his hand drops, Luke can see the tell-tale signs of new bruising.

“She’s hyperthermic,” a girl next to Carter confirms after she glances at Miles wearily. “Whatever got her out there was poisonous. We couldn’t break her fever.”

“A few of them just left for the river,” someone else offers. “It’s the coldest source of water nearby. They have to help her cool down, or else…”

She trails off, but she doesn’t need to continue for Luke to understand. The pity is rolling off her in waves.

What should be a comfort offers him nothing but the realization that it’s all real. You really are dying, so sick that the Apollo kids are at a loss of what to do. This isn’t another night terror — a messed up idea his mind has come up with to torture him.

It’s real. And this time, waking up won’t save him from it.

He can only hope he looks as grateful as he feels when he mutters out his thanks.

“Luke,” your friend Liza calls before he can get too close to the door.

She’d done your hair for you just last week, perfectly styled strands you’d shown him with a grin. When he faces her now, there are unshed tears in her eyes. “You need to be careful. She’s- not herself. And she’s scared.”

Uncontrollable anger. The red mark on Carter’s face is beginning to make more sense.

The other kids standing around the cabin give Luke tentative looks, although he’s not sure why. Do they expect him to cower at the thought of you hurting him? Surely they should know by now.

He turns away from them and starts in the direction of the river.

—

It’s not that far, just a left out of the Apollo cabin and about a five minute walk towards the woods. If he goes fast, he knows he’ll catch up with you in no time.

The short distance is why Luke hears you before he sees you.

As he gets closer to the river, the quiet sounds of nature are drowned out by the words of the Apollo kids standing over you.

“Ah, shit— Lucy, hold her.”

“Gods, I really don’t want to, but if this is going to work, we’re going to need to—”

The girl gets cut off by a scream. A warped plea ripping itself from your throat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” another voice says in pity, and the fear that’s wrapped itself around Luke’s chest begins to constrict his lungs.

He’s by the water before he can even realize that he started running. There’s only three healers here, but the way they’re huddled around you still manages to block you from view.

He has to remind himself to breathe, to continue inhaling and exhaling so he doesn’t pass the fuck out.

In.

(Three jagged lines, angry and red hot.)

Out.

(Pus oozing from the gapes made in marred skin.)

In.

(Cold to the touch. The weight of your unconscious body on his back.)

Out.

It’s stupid. They’re trying to save your life, trying to keep you from cooking yourself from the inside out, but Luke takes the closest Apollo kid by the back of their shirt and drags them behind him, breaking the iron tight ring of people hiding you from view.

Your hands are bound.

Golden fabric circles your wrists, locking your arms behind your back. The girl, Lucy, has both of your legs secured under an arm while she tries to work another strip around your ankles.

Luke sees red.

He bites back the venom threatening to spill from his mouth.

These girls are young, he tries to remind himself through the anger that’s burning hot in his chest. They’re scared too.

He drops to his knees, hands moving immediately for your bindings. The same hands that have held him through nightmares and his mother’s fits are locked together and held by your own weight into the dirt.

Your shoulder is inches away from his hand when Luke is yanked backwards harshly. It feels like an electric current shakes his skull when his head hits the stones lining the river.

“Luke,” Casey, the girl he pulled away, says his name frantically. His vision is swimming, but he pushes himself up onto his forearms despite the ringing in his ears that tells him to stay down. “We really didn’t want to, but she’s getting violent, she—”

When the world comes into slight focus, he can see the unmistakable footprint shape pressed into the front of her t-shirt. Maya, the girl by your head that’s trying to help Lucy ease you into the water, has a raw scratch going down the expanse of her arm.

Despite your bindings, you’re putting up a fight. You lock your knees before thrashing out, knocking Lucy back a few inches as you try to jab Maya in the nose with the back of your head.

“It’s everywhere!”

It takes Luke a second to even recognize your voice as your own. It sounds like your larynx has been shredded, the usual cadence of your voice unrecognizable to his ears.

Casey doesn’t bother trying to push him back down when he surges forward for you.

It’s the first good look he’s gotten of you since this morning. You’d eaten breakfast together like always, your knees knocking against his whenever you got super into the story you were telling him and Chris.

When it was over, some of your friends ended up dragging you away for the rest of the day. There was an apologetic grin on your face as you waved at him from across the pavilion.

He should’ve gone with you. Should’ve, should’ve, should’ve.

His fingers are already working to loosen the knots at your wrists when he remembers he should say something. “Killer, it’s me,” he says, trying to tamper down the waver in his voice.

The golden fabric falls limply to the ground. The skin below it is rubbed raw from your thrashing, and the sight makes Luke want to empty his stomach. He tries meeting your gaze, but your eyes are squeezed shut, your face turned away from him as you sob.

You need to calm her down, Luke thinks to himself. Stressing her out is going to worsen everything. Calm her down.

He thinks about his nightmares, about the sweat sticking his shirt to his back and to his bedsheets. You’ve helped him through it countless times, what feels like every night since his quest.

You had seemed so sure of yourself from the very start, like brushing his hair from his face and knowing exactly what to say was second nature to you. He’d hold you on those nights and fall asleep to the feeling of your gentle exhales against his chest. Luke doesn’t know a place safer than with you in his bed, one of your arms thrown over him and the rest of you tangled together.

Luke clenches his hands, trying to will the shaking away. He doesn’t know how to do that for you, and it makes hatred fester in his chest.

He pushes stray strands of hair away from your face before moving to untie the fabric at your ankles. The other girls have long backed away by now, know that trying to stop him would be useless.

You’re quiet. Painfully so. But the moment your legs are free, you move like you’re being fueled by fire. Luke barely dodges the swipe you make at his face as you kick your leg out in a wide arc. He flattens himself against the ground, and you wrestle yourself on top of him, your legs curling around one of his and locking him against the dirt.

He’d taught you how to do this.

Lucy lets out a startled gasp, and Casey moves forward to drag you off of him, but he holds up a firm hand, the message clear.

Stop.

You waste no time. Your hands string around his neck, constricting in a way that's sure to leave bruises. Your eyes had been pressed firmly shut earlier, but now they’re blown wide. The sclera of your eyes are red and aflame, and your constricted pupils are swallowed up by the color of your irises.

Your face is devoid of any emotions. You don’t recognize him.

As the airflow to his lungs slows, it would make sense for his adrenaline to propel him upwards, to get him to wrestle you to the ground and pin your arms. He’s done it before and could do it again, despite how difficult you make it.

But there’s another part of his brain that’s taking over, dragging him away from his instincts to protect himself.

Because it’s you.

The same way his natural battle instincts have been hardwired into his brain, it’s like his body has a visceral reaction to being with you, to hold you in his hands and shelter you from everything else.

Luke rubs soothing circles into the backs of the hands that are wrapped around his throat. They’re searing hot.

“Kill-er,” the syllables are stilted, coming out intermittently whenever he can manage to get air through. He’s surprised he can even speak right now, knowing the strength that courses through your veins. If you’d wanted him to, he’d be down for the count.

You’re going easy on him.

He moves his hands off of yours to hold the back of your head. Sweat runs down from your forehead, your body working tirelessly to cool you down. Your wild eyes dart across his face frantically, taking him in for what seems like the first time. Confusion and recognition is flickering across your face.

It’s then when Luke sees the puncture wound on your neck, the mark green and sickly and throbbing at your pulse point. He brushes hair away from your face.

The grip around his neck begins to loosen slightly, and he takes in as much oxygen as he can through his gasp for air. He takes your hands in his again and squeezes once.

“It’s me, sweetheart. It’s Luke.”

The tension you’re using to lock his legs into place dissipates. You blink hard, like you’re trying to come back to yourself.

He should throw you off of him now, he knows he should. Your hands are no longer tight around his throat, and the heat of your body where it's pressed against his is unbearable.

“Luke,” you rasp. “Luke.”

“It’s me, it’s me,” he mumbles, the relief pouring through the cracks. He lets go of your hands to run a soothing hand down your back. The back of your shirt is soaked through with sweat.

Your face cracks. You lean down close to him, your face curling in anguish.

“Luke, they’re everywhere.” Your voice is quiet, like you’re trying to tell him a secret no one else can hear.

He nods before he knows why. “I know, I know. It’s why we need to take you to the water. It’ll help, killer, I promise.”

You’ve gone a little boneless, your arms giving in as you collapse against him. The heat emanating from your skin is growing oppressive, and he knows he needs to move. “I can feel them, Luke. It’s everywhere.”

“I’m sorry, I know,” he says again, heaving you upwards. One of his hands goes to the back of your head as the other secures itself around your lower back. He repeats his words into your hair as he inches both of you closer to the water.

He’s going to have to let you go. Letting you cling onto his body heat isn’t doing you any favors, but he finds his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt when you wind yourself around him.

Hold her, everything in him seems to say.

So he does.

“Luke,” someone says, snapping him out of your orbit. It’s Casey, standing ankle deep in the water in front of him. He’d almost forgotten anyone else was here. Maya and Lucy look on from the grass with matching concerned expressions. “You have to hurry. There’s not much time.”

There’s a water nymph standing a few feet in fromt of them — this must be her river. She’s cocking her head at you curiously, and when Luke sucks in a broken inhale at the sudden drop in temperature, he knows it’s her doing.

The fabric of his pants gets soaked through with the icy water immediately, but he sinks deeper into the river despite it. You jolt in his arms the second the water comes up to your chest.

“Luke,” you sob, your grip around his shoulders growing painfully tight. “I can’t, I can’t, I—”

He pries your face out of the crook of his neck regardless of the way you’re protesting.

Luke is shivering. You are far from it. You’re even making it worse, trying to wrap yourself around him even with the heat that’s threatening to kill you.

When he knocks his forehead against yours, he says your name, your real name, with as much force as he can muster.

“Do you trust me?”

Luke has no idea what tricks your mind is playing on you. He doesn’t know if the poison will take five minutes or ten hours to leave your system, and has no idea if this water will even help you. Your organs could fail in an hour and this entire thing would have been pointless. He could be lying to you right now, giving you false hope that he can fix it all. But pressed so close to you, he watches as your eyes dilate, and he knows that you’ve placed your trust in him.

The tears that have collected in your eyes spill over, running in rivulets down your face. He wipes them away with careful hands as you slump in his arms. Luke presses another kiss onto the high point of your cheek.

He works to unwind your arms from around his neck, and you groan like it physically pains you. He’s mumbling apologies the entire time, laying you on your back as the salt of your tears mixes with the freshwater of the river.

He knows he shouldn’t be touching you, shouldn’t be giving you another source of heat, but you give him a look that breaks his heart when he tries to loosen your hold on his wrist. He folds. He leaves a comforting hand against your shoulder blades as he scoops water to pour over your head.

He doesn’t stop until he hears your teeth chattering from the cold.

Luke doesn’t torture you with the distance any longer. When Casey gives him a look of approval, he tilts you upward to pull you back into his chest. You fit perfectly into the dip of his shoulder, and he holds the back of your head as close to him as physically possible.

The two of you sit there and listen to the sound of the shifting water around you until your skin begins to prune. He holds you there, feeling your steady heartbeat against his until his breathing evens out.

—

Your hands are cold again.

Luke remembers how they had felt when he had sat by your hospital bed and tried not to cry.

But this time, the cold is comforting. You’re not burning up anymore, your body no longer threatening to swallow you whole.

He had Carter check your temperature. And then check it again fifteen minutes later. Your temperature is a perfectly healthy 98 degrees fahrenheit.

He watches your chest rise and fall underneath the blankets. And then he presses his hand against it just to make sure it isn’t a trick of the light.

He cares about you. A lot. But he knows you’re going to drive him crazy with worry by the time you’re both twenty-five.

Luke sits with a towel wrapped around his shoulders as various Apollo kids come in and out to check on you. It’s not that he doesn’t trust them, but being more than fifty feet away from you isn’t something he thinks he can stomach right now.

He would’ve probably sat in his drenched clothes all day if someone hadn’t threatened to kick him out for dripping water all over the floors. Chris had come by to drop off a change of clothes from the cabin, and had left him with warm sweatpants and the hoodie he had given you a long time ago. There were paint stains on the sleeves from that one time the Apollo kids had dragged him into crafts with the younger campers, and the edge of one of the sleeves had long since worn away with age.

It was your favorite of his, oddly enough. He was more likely to find it draped on your frame than on his.

(“Hey, Castellan,” Chris had joked the first time you’d stolen it from him. “Nice outfit.”

You’d grinned, prodding him with the point of your shoe. “Think I wear it better?”

You did.

For the rest of the night, Luke wondered why he felt so weird after Chris had referred to you with his last name.)

He puts the hoodie aside for you and sits in the plain shirt offered to him earlier instead. The fabric of the sweatshirt smells like you now. It’s not his anymore.

Someone clears their throat from behind him. He turns to find Casey leaning against one of the beams, staring at the two of you with something swimming in her eyes. “The poison’s run its course. She’s on the mend.”

“Right,” Luke says. He’s too tired to say much else, and he’s still bitter about the way he had found you, sobbing with your wrists tied around your back. He’s trying hard not to be angry at them, so he avoids looking at the injuries left behind on your skin. “Thanks.”

She doesn’t move from her spot, watching and observing. Luke waits for her to spit out whatever it is she wants to say.

“You’re lucky, Luke.”

He fights the urge to scoff. ‘Lucky’ is probably the last word Luke Castellan would use to describe himself. If he was really lucky, you’d be sitting by the lake with him and he’d be rubbing sunscreen over your back so you wouldn’t get burned. “I’m lucky that my best friend almost died?”

She purses her lips. “That’s not what I meant.”

Your light breathing rustles the thin sheet over you and he slips his hand into yours. Traces the veins at your wrist.

“I meant that you’re lucky to have each other. I can tell the two of you are close.”

He wants to laugh. Close. Luke wants to think that after a lifetime of having each other, you’d be considered something more than close.

“She wouldn’t have made it, if you hadn’t shown up.”

He had known that, of course. But hearing her say it out loud makes it too real. You’d almost died. Again.

“I know Miles kind of chewed you out earlier, so I’m here to apologize on his behalf. You’re a really good guy, Luke.”

He turns to face her. Her red curly hair is messy, like the stress of the day has worn her down.

Luke finds his lingering irritation dissolving. She’s just a kid.

He nods at her and decides to not acknowledge her compliment. “Thanks for apologizing.”

She turns on her heel quickly, shutting the door behind her.

“I am pretty lucky.”

Luke can’t turn around faster. You squeeze his hand three times and he feels the weight on his chest lifted.

“Sorry that I keep doing this to you.”

You’re halfway smiling. He smiles, too, even though he feels dead on his feet.

He drops half of his face into your stomach, and you move to scratch at his scalp. He sighs. You smell like the cool freshwater of the river.

“Yeah. You should be sorry.”

You sit up before he can protest and kiss the mess of curls on top of his head. You don’t seem to mind how they’re damp and gross, threading your fingers through them and dragging your nails in that way you do.

Luke wants to hold you forever and hurt anything that’s ever looked at you wrong. He wonders how you’d feel if he went back into the forest and sent whatever did this to you back into Tartarus with his bare hands.

“I’m never letting you go out into the woods ever again,” he says instead.

“Oh?”

“You’re living up to your nickname, killer. Each of these hospital trips takes a decade off my life, you know.”

“My bad.”

He drags your hand out of his hair to slot your fingers together. “If I ever catch you in here again, I’m killing you myself.”

“Duly noted.”

“I’m serious. If I see you within thirty feet of this cabin again, you’re in for it.”

You laugh, light and sweet. You do your mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

He doesn’t get up from where he’s laying on your chest, and you don’t move an inch for a while.

“Thank you, Luke,” you say after a bit. “I would’ve been dead, like a decade ago, if you weren’t around. You do so much for me.”

He squeezes your hand. “I’d do anything for you. I’d even let you strangle me a hundred more times.”

You sit up abruptly, and Luke knows he’s fucked up.

“What?”

Your hand goes under his chin and you force him upwards before he can stop you. You tug the neckline of his shirt down and he tries to protest, but he hears you gasp and knows it's too late. He can’t see your expression with the way you’re inspecting the column of his neck, but you are silent the entire time.

“Gods, Luke…” You say after a while. Your hand drops quickly to your lap like just the sight of the bruising has burned you. “I tried to- tried to kill you. I didn’t realize what I was doing. I’m so… I didn’t know-”

He shakes his head, meeting your gaze head on. You’ve started tearing up again, your eyes trained on the splotches of purple around his throat. “Wasn’t your fault. Don’t even imply that shit. You weren’t yourself, do you understand?”

Your hand is limp in his when he reaches for it. The two of you sit in the quiet of the Apollo cabin again, listening to the sounds of the stray campers that walk past the windows outside.

“I can’t believe I did that. I deserve to be locked up. I’m a monster for doing that to your pretty skin,” you say absentmindedly.

Luke cracks a smile. He thinks he’d let you drive a knife through his heart and still say it wasn’t your fault.

“I didn’t understand what was happening. But I could… feel everything.”

He runs a hand up your leg, soothingly. “You don’t have to—”

“No, it’s fine.” You shake your head. “I couldn’t really see ‘cause my vision was all screwed up. But I wasn’t scared.”

“I was,” he admits readily, squeezing your thigh.

If one of you dies first, he hopes it’s him. He’s had a taste of you dying twice already and isn’t sure what would happen to him if he had to watch it really happen.

“I wasn’t. ‘Cause I could feel you,” you say. You’re looking right at him but seem so far away. “I could hear your voice, but I couldn’t tell if it was you. But I knew you were with me when you were stroking my head like you do when you try and put me to sleep. And I wasn’t scared anymore.”

Luke feels like someone’s torn open his ribcage and shoved his organs back in.

Is this normal? he wonders. To feel this strongly about your best friend?

He stops himself from surging forward and taking your face into his hands.

What would he even do? Luke isn't even sure himself. He forces the ridiculous thoughts from his head and pulls your hand up to kiss your palm. He presses his mouth into the center and moves down to your injured wrist and then to the warm skin by your pulse.

You let out a watery laugh. “You’re stuck with me for life. Until the end.”

He smiles into the skin of your wrist. You’re joking, he’s sure of it, but he wouldn’t mind forever with you.

Luke stands up for the first time in what feels like hours. He nudges you forward on the twin sized cot, and you let him settle behind you. It’s a slightly awkward fit, but you don’t seem to care, lying comfortably against him. Your body is warm where it's pressed to his chest and Luke knows he could do this forever.

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” he says lightly, pressing a kiss into your hair. He doesn’t want to think about how serious he is. “So don’t get sick of me yet.”

You tuck yourself under his chin, pulling his arms around your front. Something inside of him clicks, like turning on a light, or slotting something into place.

When you turn around to kiss his cheek, it borders dangerously on the corner of his mouth.

“As if I’d ever be sick of you, hero.”

notes: will i ever give her a break? i guess we’ll never know! i cant tell if i dislike this bc im sick of reading it or if i didnt edit it enough 😭 so kindly let me know if u enjoyed :)

tags — lmk if u want to be removed/added!

killerverse: @yoremins @qtkat @mischiefmoons @cedricsleftelbow @syraxesrevenge @whiteoakoak @acourtofdeppressionandanxiety @dummie-dummiest @softtina @amberpanda99 @luvvfromme @3alamari @esposadomd

luke castellan: @chasebeth @silkenthusiasts @urmomsbananabread @sunny747 @randomgurl2326 @repostingmyfavs @au-ghosttype @mrsaluado @holy-macncheese-balls @catluvwr @katemlk @lukecastellandefender @wonuskie @kitkat-writes-stuff @bugcuti3 @bookworm-center @justanotherkpopstanlol @quinnsadilla @tinolawithrice @jjenjoysthings @marisrope @cantstoptherecs @anotherblackreader @iamforeverandalwaystired @siriusly-parker-main @mclando81 @amortencjja @inlovewithcarsthatrunreallyfast @amoreva

palestine will be free. i have to keep saying it. i have to believe it.

Precure Leaders (2004-2023)

it took me a while to finish all the pieces, but I'm so happy how they turned out <3

Winx Club

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Credits to: @roytheart_ (on Twitter)

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Winx Club

Fan Art

Credits to: @roytheart_ (on Twitter)

All rights to 👆🏻

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the iconic fairies from my childhood

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