Lee Fletcher - Blog Posts

Pensando en el mito de Jacinto, llegue a la idea de que los Jacintos no sólo salen en el lugar donde Apolo llora, sino también en el lugar donde los hijos del Sol mueren.

En la batalla del laberinto estos florecen en los lugares donde Lee y otros niños perecieron, un cruel recordatorio de lo que perdieron, los nuevos no lo entienden, pero los antiguos campistas, los que saben tratan de ignorar pasar por esas zonas ya que duele y nunca podrán acostumbrarse a eso.

Los mortales despertando confundidos, vean noticias sobre lo que pasó, pero nada pueda explicar por que hay un montón de Jacintos alrededor de donde estaba el puente de Manhattan y como de alguna manera esa planta sale de los ríos, de las calles, de lugares tan al azar que no tiene ningún sentido y aunque traten de quitar las flores, estas regresen.

Como los mortales intentan pensar y comienzan a decir que es un milagro de la naturaleza y es una esperanza hacia la humanidad luego del desastre natural que hubo y la mayoría de la gente lo cree a excepción del campamento y de los padres que perdieron a sus hijos en esa guerra y que lloran cada vez que visitan ese lugar.

Thinking about the myth of Hyacinthus, I came to the idea that Hyacinths not only come out in the place where Apollo cries, but also in the place where the children of the Sun die.

In the battle of the labyrinth these bloom in the places where Lee and other children perished, a cruel reminder of what they lost, the new ones do not understand it, but the old campers, those who know try to ignore passing through those areas since it hurts and they will never be able to get used to that.

Mortals waking up confused, see news about what happened, but nothing can explain why there are a lot of Hyacinths around where the Manhattan bridge was and how that plant somehow comes out of the rivers, the streets, from places so randomly that makes no sense and even if they try to remove the flowers, they come back.

As mortals try to think and begin to say that it is a miracle of nature and it is a hope for humanity after the natural disaster that occurred and the majority of people believe it except for the camp and the parents who lost their children in that war and that they cry every time they visit that place.

(Btw; Sorry for the mistakes, the english is not my first language)

@ jasongrace

@ finnickodair

@@ Michael Yew

@ Lee Fletcher

(I wish both had their own story in the series)

@ tris prior

@ rue (hunger games)

@ cinna

@ zoe nightshade

@ bob (hoh)

@ Charles Beckendorf

@Silena Beauregard

@ luke castellan( i think think he deserved better,he just wanted a father)

@ bianca di angelo

@ will from five feet apart

@ augustus waters

@ finch from all the bright places

@ Achilles and Patroclus my loves

@ basically half of the people from Hunger Games trilogy

Should I continue???

This sent me into an actual spiral 😭

I love Drew Tanaka so much but going through her tags and seeing stuff like this hurt in the most gut wrenching way possible

TA! Drew Tanaka

-Growing up never being taken seriously by anyone because of her looks

-Finally having people truly listen to her at camp

-Trying to figure out her godly parent

-Ares, maybe? The campers wonder, seeing her yell with the anger of war

-Not getting claimed, slowly accepting it

-Charmspeaking someone during Capture the Flag

-Silena realizing and telling everyone what it was

-Drew becoming the unclaimed daughter of Aphrodite everyone knows about

-Slowly being ignored and getting less and less training

-Befriending Alabaster Torrington, someone who, like her, knows their godly parent while being unclaimed

-Alabaster joking the Army and holding his hand out to Drew, to bring her with

-Her reaching out to take it, only to stop when she hears Silena calling her name, looking for her

-Saying goodbye to her best friend to stay with her sister

-Starting to date Lee Fletcher, hating the idea of the Rite of Passage

-Before the Battle, Lee making her promise that, above all, to protect Will, his little brother

-Lee dying

-Drew grieving, taking Will and running, deeper and deeper into the Labyrinth

-Alabaster and Ethan finding them, bringing them to the Princess Andromeda

-Drew not knowing Silena is the spy

-Drew learning about the Cabin Ten curse, Nemesis laughing as she recounts the story

-Drew working her way to the top and becoming one of Luke’s generals

-Drew breaking the heart of a random mortal boy, who looks all too much like Lee

-Silena dying, known as the traitor

-Zeus letting Drew go free, because of the dumb Aphrodite stereotype she had tried so hard to fight, had joined the Titans for

-Getting claimed right as she sees Silena’s body

-Drew becoming head counselor the day of her 14th birthday

-Having Aphrodite’s blessing for months, as an apology for not being claimed earlier, still having it at the start of TLH

-Piper coming along, too much like Silena, refusing the Rite of Passage

-Drew looking at Jason, knowing what will happen to him

-The war against Gaea.

-Drew Tanaka, seen as a shallow, self-absorbed Aphrodite girl by most of camp

-Drew Tanaka, survivor of two wars, outliving most of her friends and family

-Drew Tanaka, who became exactly what she hated in the first place

As a rare pair shipper, does it get any rarer than Drew Tanaka x Lee Fletcher?

As a rare pair shipper, does it get any rarer than Drew Tanaka x Lee Fletcher?

Will Solace and his siblings have got to be some of the pettiest mf out there.

cabin 7 before the war is so dear to me💔💔

i just had a realization

finnick in catching fire = lee fletcher

or how i personally imagine lee at least

My fav ships as Pinterest trope diagrams!!

I'm bored can you tell?

Fandoms are pjo, lotr and tsc, and I hope this all makes sense because apparently this is the most productive I'm going to get today <333

1)

^ Malconnor ^

Malcolm is being slowly corrupted day by day and Connor is have the time of his FUCKING LIFE 🎉 ✨

2)

^ Masonyew ^

I don't think I need to tell y'all who's who, but I think that this is rather incredibly accurate, just give my boy Michael a bit more temper 🔥

3)

^ Lestor ^

ngl, Lee and Castor could be either of the above, but I'm currently rooting for worried but exasperated Cas, and an overprotective Lee who doesn't know when to quit ❤️‍🔥

4)

^ Leeluke ^

now technically I don't ship leeluke, BUT I love the angst and this is really so them so I'm slapping it on here anyway

again, Lee and Luke could be wither of the above, but whichever one is the bigger simp (probably the first one) is definitely Luke 💘

5)

^ Kayssa ^

now, this one is a bit of a shot in the dark but stick with me here

Kayla has the looks of an angel. Bright smile, gorgeous ginger locks, a well-practiced innocent expression, this kid looks like the definition of a trustworthy child you could safely leave you car keys with. Realistically, she will take the car, crash it, leave an IOU note on the bonnet and run off to bully Austin.

Nyssa is a Hephaestus chick, so she's broad and strong and probably has a face like a brick wall half of the time, but actually is the sweetest child on earth unless your name is Leo Valdez. She would hang onto your keys and give you a coffee when you get back, along with a ten minute long explanation on the faults in your exhaust pipe and the name of the nearest car garage. 🔑

6)

^ Solangelo ^

I don't think I need to explain who's who. Just know that underneath that smile Will has so much locked-up anxiety it's giving him high blood pressure. 💫

7)

^ Faramer ^

Faramir is too adorably oblivious because he's had his head in a book for the last three hours and doesn't know what time it is, and Éomer is trying to shoot his shot while holding back a panic attack over such close proximity to the really cute guy he's been freakishly stalking for the past two weeks. Éowyn and Aragorn are laughing their asses off in the background and Boromir is about to walk around the corner. 🗡️

8)

^ Kitty ^

Again, I think it's pretty obvious. Ty has to focus on processing and showing his emotions, while Kit freaks the fuck out so badly he had to run to another continent because he's emotionally constipated. 🤠

Blood, the Blood of Grapes

Fandom: Percy Jackson Rating: Teen Characters: Pollux; Caz (Castor); OC daughter of Dionysus; Lee Fletcher; Will Solace

Summary: The maenads, the raving-ones, the noise-makers. They had always loved the Children of Dionysus. Sometimes his children loved them back. (The youngest member of Cabin 12 is called like a fey to the revels in the wood)

CW: minor threat of cannibalism; blood imagery

A/N: Agatha is 11 here. Caz and Pollux are Scottish

Theo had been at camp three months before she dared to ask about the music. 

It was faint at first, lone notes snatched on the winds gone the moment she stood still to listen. 

She went to bed with it in her ears, rose with it on her tongue. It papered her skin with gooseflesh.

Then came cymbals. In the rustle of leaves, the salt-brine waves, the knives and forks at dinner. 

At night she heard laughter. The other cabins perhaps. But when she pressed her nose against the cold glass of her window it was only dark. The stars above swilled wine-drunk and gold. 

It grew louder. Like feet under the hills, like the thud of swords against leather, like the thump-beat-thump of her own heart.  

She rose early, one morning, mouth metallic, jaw aching for the taste of strawberries and found the satyr cross-hoofed cradling Pan’s reeds to his lips. He winked, a wild eye, and she swallowed his tune down her gullet.  

After that it never left her; sweet and strange, it poured through camp thick like syrup. She found it on her plate curled round her cup, felt it in the soil and the worm-dark dirt, heard it in the amphitheatre in the argument of voices, saw it in the long twigged hands of the tree-people as they waved to her, the pipes the cymbals the drums. 

The question fell like baby teeth as she climbed into bed. 

Pollux grinned lopsidedly as he tucked Bunny into her blankets. ‘What music?’ 

‘The pipes. The drums.’ She shook her head, ‘They chant, why do they always chant?’ 

The twins exchanged a look, one of their silent conversations she cannot read. 

‘Faun-song,’ said Caz softly, ‘Da’s followers. Don’t worry’ 

They double checked the latches on the windows that night, tested the lock on the door.

She didn’t tell them that she wasn’t afraid. 

The chanting swelled louder, the pipes never stopped. It was not enough. The pipes were not enough, the drums were not enough. The cymbals of the sea and the bearded bleats of goats were not enough. She started humming it, needed to feel it inside her, in her mouth, in the glut of her stomach, greedy, greedy, she hummed. 

It was not enough. Her fingers hurt, her chest hurt, her ears hurt. Like it was a noise that could not be contained, condemned, to be still. She wanted to dance. Wanted to stomp her feet like the music halls of her childhood when she was young enough to twirl her skirts and spin. 

At the firepit she grew restless. The flames were high, Phoebus’ children bright, summer was coming and everyone crowed and still it was not enough. Sedate. Quiet. 

She wanted to dance. Wanted to move, wanted to tear her hair and shout MORE MORE MORE. 

May’s nights were long and warm. She dreamt of bull horns and absinthe and grinning green masks. She woke with the smell of fennel. 

It surprised her, in the end, how long it took her to go to the Forest. But Caz and Pollux had said it was out-of-bounds, told of monsters. She had promised never to go in. 

But that was before the music. 

Theo was supposed to be doing chores. A Saturday, no classes. Just polishing her leather breast-plate before Greek with Caz. She was not even supposed to be there but she’d tried for a half-remembered shortcut, misremembered, twice-remembered. She did not remember. Because here at the greenwood edge, the music came. 

Her head tilted, as if she might see into the leafgloom better. Her armour trailed on the ground. There was laughter, spilling like a drink, frothed and loud and merry. It reminded her of the after-show parties back home. Sequined girls still in their costumes, men handsome and moustached. 

It took her a while to see the woman. Greenskinned and tall, taller than Pollux even. Ivy trailed from her hair, her wrists, her dress was fawn skin. 

‘My child.’ Her voice is the best of honey. It stuck Theo’s tongue to her mouth. She swallowed, drily. 

‘The music...’

‘Ah.’ The lady smiled, a heady thing, ‘You like to dance?’ 

Theo nodded. 

She held out her hands, a coy tilt of the chin. ‘Come. Join us.’

‘I - I can’t.’  Theo had made a promise to the twins. The forest was dangerous. (But the music, how could it be with the music?) The pipes the cymbals the drums were loud.

She had taken a step before she realised it. 

‘Come,’ the lady lulled, ‘come ye child. Taste and see. We will not harm you.’ Her voice was the voice of many. The voice of pipes.

Theo took her hand. They ran. 

A whoop. A holler. A cheer. The woods raised up, loud and braying, the sound of a crowd. 

‘Evohé. Evohé’

It was a prayer, a hymn. The clap of hands, the stomp of feet. A hundred figures ran, a hundred figures writhed. Tree-men and women of holly and fir, satyrs with rolling eyes and naked legs, red berry creatures with horns and tails, leopard folk and boys with the heads of panthers that lapped the milk from the wet dew grass. 

The trees poured wine, the flowers dripped with honey. The air smelled of tanned hide and incense, sounded of cymbals and drums and flutes.

They kicked their heels, they keened their throats. And when they saw her, when a hundred eyes looked and saw, they cheered. 

A garland was summoned, ivy and vine leaves, wound in a crown, pressed to her head. her hands were taken, pulled into the crowd, she span, she twirled. She danced like she had not danced for years, back when her mother was alive, when the brass bands played what she asked, when life was smoke and powder and brandy.

‘Sister.’ They cried. ‘Priestess.’ 

Theo’s grin was wicked. ‘We dance.’ She said. She compelled. And they did.

The pipes the cymbals the drums the feet the cheer of a crowd that loved her. They laid flowers at her feet, tossed ivy to the ground, and when she threw back her head and howled they howled with her. 

She wanted more. Needed more.

‘Evohé,’ they cried, ‘daughter of Ours, where do we go?’ 

To the mountains, the mountains. Called the chorus. To the woods. 

Theo pointed, there was a staff in her hand, pinecone tipped and sharp. Onwards, deeper, deeper. They followed, the crowd of frenzy, the men and women who raved.

Their song was the rage of animals, the tears of sap, the blood of grapes.

Blessed are the dancers of the dance of god

A goblet was pushed to her lips, blazed gold and gleaming, and she drank deep and long. Rubbed a hand from her mouth, speared liquid across her cheeks. They cheered. Theo flushed, hot and thirsty and threw the cup to the ground. Where it struck, the earth bled wine.

‘Sister. Daughter of the god of joy.’ 

Daughter of the god of noise

She howled, they howled, the woods howled. They were hers now. Tree and stone and root. 

That was why she noticed the fault. The crack, the break, the wrong-quiet note in the good-loud noise.

A spy upon god’s possessed

‘Stranger! Spy! Watcher in the Woods!’

For doom for deed. Smite til the throat shall bleed

‘Feast’ Someone called. ‘Beast. Lion. Spy.’  

Their lips foamed, their eyes leapt like fire. Their hands tore at roots, at flesh.

‘Bring them. Find them. Rip them. Lionspy.’

Theo’s head spun, her stomach ached.

‘Eat it drink it suck the marrow dry. Yes. Yes. Feast until they die.’ A shout. A whoop. A holler.

A Scream.

Part two --

(Part of a larger story universe)

Still thinking about Luke trying to get Lee back, while Kronos absolutely despises him.

The drakon cabin 7 fought off in BotL? Kronos sent him here hoping he would kill Lee. Instead, the dragon returned with arrows stuck in it in shape of "F U". Luke is in love and wants his husband back. Kronos wants this twink obliterated.

And don't get me started on Luke seeking him out. He constantly sends him gifts and letters, calls him when Lee's outside of camp, and he pops out next to him when Lee's out grocery shopping. Lee is this 👌 close to strangling him. The only thing stopping him is his cousins playing around the corner.

Michael: HYDRATE OR DIE-DRATE!

Michael: *aggressively throws water bottles*

Beckendorf: Uh... what's up with him?

Lee: He's been trying to yell mental health and wellbeing into us.

Michael: I APPRECIATE ALL OF YOU!

Jake, crying: It's working.

Kayla will never tell her older brother in a million billion years. Plus one extra.

But she knows more about Lee Fletcher than he does.

It is not something she did on purpose. Nor is it information she necessarily wants, she most certainly did not ask for it. Nor is it information she will offer.

She will not tell him that she knows the crumple of Lee’s face when he tells a lie. She will not tell him she knows the stark pain in his shoulders at the end of the day. She will not tell him she knows the grooved scars on the palms of his hands from bitten-sharp nails. She will not tell him she knows the sounds of his quiet, pillow-muffled sobs as well as or better than she knows the sound of her father’s voice.

Instead she will watch him. And she will meet Lee’s tired eyes. And she will nod to him, and he will nod back, and they will both look at Will, exhaling.

———

The first time she sees him she is hallucinating.

Genuinely. Medically diagnosed and everything.

“Kayla,” Will whispers, and there is a strain in his voice, as there always is when one of them is sick. “Kayla, dolly, the cloth needs to stay on your head.”

“Cold,” she sobs, “please, Will, I’m so cold.” Dolly. Dolly. He calls her dolly when she’s crying, when the tips of her fingers are bleeding and her knees are scraped raw and she screams if he gets too close to her. “‘M so —”

Her teeth clack hard together so hard her mouth glues shut. And the ice in her finger and toenails fires up her veins and pricks through all of her capillaries, turning her solid, and it burns, and it aches, and she bawls enough that acid burns up her throat and dribbles down her chin, down her shirt, in her bed. And over the heart pounding in her ears she hears her older brother exhale a soft little broken moan and choke it back just as fast and his always-warm hands brush over her cheeks, and she groans and squirms away from it and cries harder, and he whispers “Hold on, dolly, the fever’s almost broken, I can feel it,” and she opens her eyes and he is there, hair longer, hair neater, lab coat starched and collar covered in old Star Wars stickers, bulky glasses barely clinging to his face, tears soaking his long, angular face.

And Kayla squints, and the freezing ice recedes ever so slightly, sparking just under her skin, and she tilts her head, and she stares at him, at his freckle-free face, and whispers, “…Will?”

And he squeezes his eyes tighter and begs, “One more time, kiddo, I’m so sorry. One more time. I can’t help you if I can’t touch you. Pull back the light, baby, I can’t see, you have to control it just a little more. Just enough so it doesn’t burn. Please.”

And she squints again and Will-not-Will wavers, and the infirmary lights blink off his tears, off the lens of his glasses, and the. she squints again and the lights are dimmer, and the lab coat is gone, and his hair is frizzier.

“What,” she croaks, and Will pats her hair, and his hands are rough like she’s used to, and his round face is wet, and his scrubs are barf-stained, again, and he is smiling, tears dripping into his mouth, bright blue eyes clear, and he laughs and touches his forehead to hers.

“One-oh-one,” he whispers, shoulders shaking. “You’re safe, dolly. Your brain is out of the oven. Gods. Holy shit. Holy shit, Holy God, Holy Hera.” And he starts to pray.

She exhales hard, exhales, and forgets about it.

———

The next time her brain is not cooking hard enough her proteins are denaturing.

The next time she is sleep deprived, which does not help her determine reality.

She is lucid enough to notice the change, though.

She should not be awake. This much she knows. Will had sent her to bed hours ago, a half-hour after Austin and a full hour after the kids — as is her right; she is a full 13 years old — and she went, not without grumbling. And she meant to sleep. She usually does. But the moon was bright, and unusually warm. And the fairy lights twinkled with twice as much laughter than usual. And the audiobook her daddy sent her was just so enticing, just so flowery and beautiful, and as she listened to the gravel-low voice of the woman narrating and stared out the window she could see it playing out, plain as day, over the silver-washed hill of Thalia’s tree and the gentle giggling of the Atlantic waves.

She’s not supposed to be up late enough to watch Will creep in.

But she is, and that’s that. She hears the creak of the rickety screen door, slow like he’s trying to keep it quiet, and holds her breath, careful to make all her muscles react to keep her from being seen. The cabin is big but not that big and she sees him quickly, out of the corner of her half-closed eyes, tiptoe careful across the wooden floorboards, hopping over the noisiest ones, resting at the side of each of their beds and waiting, watching at the ends of them, shoulders dropping, eyes blackened and eyebags heavy. After a moment at each he reaches out his burned hands, resting gently on her siblings’ foreheads, and closes his eyes, exhaling, letting the fiery warmth from his palms spread slowly through their veins, wrapping strands of sunlight neatly around them like spider silk. As it recedes he sighs, in exhaustion or relief, and holds his hand, for a second, breathing in, breathing out, and moving on.

He comes to her last.

She has relaxed her breathing by then. She is thirteen years old and remembers every day of it; knows how to twitch her muscles and murmur in gentle sleepiness, knows how to breathe til her heart goes slow and flicker her eyelids so her face shows its dreaming. Daddy checks on her too, when she’s home, and she likes to stay up for him, likes to wait, likes to savour the feel of his string-callused fingertips and soft cool palms.

“I know you’re not sleeping, you little twerp.“

He flickers again — she sees it this time — and the heat of his hands fade a bit. His face gets a little longer, chin a little pointier, and the wild curls around his head mellow into something wavier, something gentler and more tamed. The glasses balancing on his wide nose are unbelievably thick, thicker than Julia’s whose prescription is a joke, and make his blue eyes look buggy, beetle-shaped. He’s got half as many freckles but that could be the moonlight. His smile is the same.

“I know what REM feels like, you know.”

She says nothing and keeps breathing. He sighs. He strokes a thumb against her forehead and it is familiar, and she knows, immediately then, that it is her brother who strokes her, who guards the foot of her bed.

“I’m gonna go get ready for bed. If you’re not asleep by then I’m gonna smother you, ya pain in the ass.”

He pulls away and she watches, follows the thwack of his falling-apart Converse, the rise of his gentle humming. He pulls tiny bathroom’s door shut and the humming swells along with the fireflies, echoing soft and melodic in the kind-of-big cabin, and she means to stay awake, really. She wants to watch him transform again, wants to watch his shoulders grow back and his spine stretch straighter. Wants to see the familiar roundness of his cheeks.

But his voice is so beautiful, and the scrape of his toothbrush is as rhythmic as ever, and the moon is so high in the sky. Her audiobook fades to silence as she slips away, warmed, into the cradle of her bed.

———

The third time she sees him there is no excuse.

It is the dead middle of summer and he is exhausted. The camp swells with the sum of them all, with the drum of running footsteps and crashing swords and crowing laughter. Her brother lives in the infirmary, practically; no matter how many times he is dragged out he keeps sneaking back, keeps slipping out of his friends’ sight and falling right back into his scrubs, hair pulled back.

“You are not supposed to be here,” Kayla says crossly. “Your shifts are done for the week.”

He smiles guiltily and the change is immediate. The slant of his shoulders is identical, the curve of his grin is unchanged, but the glossiness of his eyes fades away, and the strange ghost of her brother takes full shape. He is different, in the clear sunlight. A familiar stranger. He grins at her widely and turns on his heel, strolling to the mortal medicine cabinet.

“And who died and made you head honcho, Sunshine?” She blinks in surprise, glancing down at her hands. That is a new one. Sunshine.“It’s the busy season. I’m only keeping up with demand.”

“You’re gonna wear yourself right out,” she hears herself say. “Right out, and then what?”

“And then the sun will keep shining,” her brother says. “Besides, you’ll be taking over in no time. You’re already better than me, squirt.”

It’s an odd thing to say — she isn’t. By virtue of her parentage she can heal, and she can sing the hymns. But her strength is in her bow and her violin; her strings, not the stretch of bandages or shine of the suture. Will knows it. This brother, though, the one who stands in his place, is not speaking to her.

“I am?”

“‘Course. You know anyone else who can drag an errant soul right back into a body?”

Yes. She’s seen Will do it on more than one occasion, on more than one justification. She’s seen how it makes Chiron’s lips tighten and the atmosphere go dark. There is healing, and then there is blasphemy and challenge. Will walks the line like no one has since Zeus struck the challenger clean off the Earth.

This brother is not talking to her.

“Am I really going to take over, Lee?”

She says it carefully, because she isn’t sure. There are no pictures and Will tells no stories. But she hears whispers, sometimes, from the scattered few who knew them both, who watch Will corral the lot of them to breakfast or take the reigns of the chariot or calm hysterics with a touch, who whisper: “Sometimes I look at him and it’s like seeing a ghost.”

Her brother smiles a wide thing at her. It is as soft as she remembers. “Course, baby. No doubt in my mind.”

———

The fourth time she sees Lee Fletcher, she makes him come.

She waits very carefully. He comes when Will’s tired, she hypothizes. When his own strength won’t stand. So she waits, for the second wave of camp flu, for his lead on the climbing wall, for the rare nights when Gracie gets cranky and homesick and stomps around the cabin, throwing things and yelling. She waits for the look in his eyes, for the glassiness to smooth into something soft and reverent, something timeless.

It does not come when she expects.

The fourth time they are sitting together. Or, Will is sitting, legs tucked under him on the side bench, and Kayla stands, breathing careful, arms pulling elastic taut.

Her third missed shot, he is behind her.

“Relax you jaw,” he suggests. “Your tension is throwing you off. Let yourself hit the edge — it’s a new challenge, kid. No need for a bullseye.”

“I always get a bullseye,” she argues.

Lee smiles. His eyes are different, she realizes. They’re — constant. Blue. Like hydrangeas.

Will’s change with the sky.

“Bullseyes are a process.” He puts a steady hand on her elbow, tilting it slightly. “You gotta aim for the bigger picture before you focus on the details. The bullseye will come. Start with hitting the target.”

She huffs, scowling, but he’s right, and on her fourth shot the arrow lodges, just on the edge of the compacted wood.

Lee cheers. That, she sees clear as day, is identical, from the strain of his arms to the crow of his whooping laughter. He even does the same clumsy, dorky dance that sends him sprawling.

Kayla smiles past the lump in her throat.

———

The fifth, sixth, and seventh times pass without her counting, as does everyone one beyond. They happen in stretches and in the blink of an eye — the shapes of his mouth when he yawns, the drawl of his fed-up sarcasm. The weight of his elbow on the top of her head, grinning as she shoves him off, the shake of his deep, bone-rooted sigh when he thinks she’s asleep and his entire body strains, curled up under his favourite quilt. The weight of his ‘v’ in I love you.

She almost stops looking.

“What did he look like?” she blurts, one evening when he takes them to the beach. The rest of them are up ahead, Austin chasing the younger ones up the muddy sand.

Will freezes, just barely, then walks on with a forced lightness, swinging his loose arms between them.

“Who?” he asks, voice light.

Kayla gnaws the inside of her cheek.

“Your older brother.”

“I had four, at one point.”

He says it quiet like he does at the campfire, when it’s only the older kids left but she’s managed to stick around, holding her breath so they won’t notice and send her away. When Will lies back on a log and matches his breathing to the flames, eyes unseeing, and Annabeth watches him carefully and whispers, “Play us something, Will.” And he picks up the guitar he keeps dusty under his bed and sings something soft like there’s no hardness left inside him. No bowstring.

“When he laughed, you could hear it across camp,” he says quietly.

Kayla had not specified which brother but he knows anyway, had been waiting for her ask, and she strains to hear, now, leans in over the turn of the waves and shifts of the sands and strives for every note, every chord of his voice. “He invented a full name for me so he could holler it when I got in trouble. William Andrew.”

“I didn’t know he made that up.”

A ghost of a smile turns Will’s lips. “Yeah, it stuck real good. Even Chiron forgets I wasn’t born with it, actually. He yells it, too.”

He tilts his heart to the sky and stares at the clouds, exhaling, hands still by his sides.

“I was his favourite,” he says finally. “He wasn’t supposed to have anybody, but he loved me. He watched me real careful. He was —” he swallows — “I loved my brother, you know. To the sun and beyond it.”

He stops, turning to the waves. She lets him and watches his back, watches the shape of his scapulae under his camp shirt.

“I wish I still had him.”

The air shifts beside him, then. She sees Lee next to him, this time, not in place of him, with a broad hand on his shaking shoulder, a tanned forehead pressed to his temple. He turns to her, when Will breathes normally again, and winks, blinking back away as the clouds move from the sun.

“I think he’d be real proud of you.”

“Yeah?”

Kayla hesitates. “I mean — yeah. You’re like him, you know? You stand like he does.”

Will is smiling, softly, eyes red.

“I’ll have to show you a picture of him, sometime.”

“Yeah.” Kayla smiles, exhaling deeply. “Yeah, I’d like to see him.”

Canon 7: Apollo ☀️🎶

meeting the in-laws i chose violence for my warm up today

Lee does not immediately suspect something when he hears screaming.

That's his bad.

He will make it abundantly clear in his defense that the core value of this camp is violence. That is It. Not safety, not training, not worship or hard work or discipline or anything. It's violence. Didn't get the last croissant at breakfast? Violence. Someone used up all the hot water? Violence. Someone got in close to your face and insulted your dead mother? Violence. Can't decide whose nail polish colour is more well suited to their outfit?

You guessed it.

Violence.

His cabin is not immune. In fact, the Apollo cabin may be technically from some perspectives worse than every other. It is a little known fact that the solid gold walls of hubris are, in fact, sound proofed, and yet the midnight trombone continues to echo gently and unkindly over the midnight breeze. So when he hears, one beautiful and sunny July afternoon, intense, bloodcurdling screaming echoing from his very place of residence, he thinks: ah. Someone has once again used Leanna's sheet music practice and she is responding with brute force. Good for her.

But then, of course, the screaming pitches up high enough that four windows shatter and his hearing starts to go, and he thinks, again, ah. And then immediately begins to sprint.

"Whatever you're doing, cut it the fuck out," he barks, sprinting up the porch, and then very quickly turns to the side to wheeze silently. "Leave him -- oh, for the love of the gods."

Fortunately, his youngest brother is not being teased or tortured or in any other such way bothered. Technically. Unfortunately, the brother who he should have been more concerned about is pinning said baby brother to the floor, needles shining in hand, shrieking, "Sit still! Sit still! I swear to the muses, asswipe, sit still or I am going to end up impaling your brain!"

"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts --"

"I have not fucking done it yet!"

"Michael," Lee says, dragging a hand down his face, "watch your fucking language."

Michael bares his teeth. "He pestered me for twelve fucking days, Lee. He is getting his ears pierced or I am going to pierce him between the eyes from a hundred fucking feet."

"He's torturing me!" Will hollers, straining away. "He's -- sticking me like a pin cushion --"

"That is how piercing works you little shit --"

"I'm reporting you to child services!"

"Good! Call 'em now! It'll take them half a fuckin' hour to get here, I'll have lots of time to kick your ass!"

On one hand, Lee is Practically and Adult. He is seventeen whole years old. He can vote, if he chooses to break the law. Hell, in some countries he's legally allowed to kill people with no consequences.

"None of that is true," says Diana from her bunk, flipping a page in her magazine.

On the other hand, it is a truly beautiful day. He could just...leave. He could take a walk along the beautiful shoreline and reflect upon the days when he was an only child of a neglectful mother, blissfully lonely and unbothered. Oh, those were the days.

"Hold still!"

On the mysterious third hand, it is really kind of funny to watch Michael wrestle with a nine-year-old and lose.

"Move over," Lee says, walking over to his sister's bunk. She does, giving him approximately one square millimeter of space. Wow. She's feeling generous today. "Wager?"

"Twenty-six minutes at minimum," Diana says. She pats around until her hand hits maybe the massivest bag of sour gummi worms Lee has ever seen, shoving at least nine in her mouth at once. "And its uneven."

Lee reaches for a gummi worm. She kicks him in the spleen. He pulls his hand away.

"I'll take that. He's getting some leverage, I think he'll get them pierced in twenty-four."

"You're on."

They shake, then settle into observe. Diana passes him a set of rubber ear plugs, which he gratefully accepts just before Will screeches so loudly Michael's ear drums genuinely begin to bleed. At least he got closer, this time.

(It takes Michael thirty-two minutes and he somehow manages to pierce one ear twice. Lee accepts his gummi-worm winnings with grace and integrity and anything Diana claims otherwise is because she is a bitter sore loser who likes to start rumours and discredit his good name.)

(Obviously.)

-- -- --

based on this and this drawing by @cometjuice

more cabin 7

Brothers

Lee, Michael, and Will. I always thought Michael was heavily into the emo scene as a teen, due to his anger issues and height. He pierced his own ear and lip, and tried to do his tongue but Lee stopped him. Will thinks his older bother is the coolest ever and wants him to pierce his ears.

real patriots kill nazis -the graffiti on the side of my apartment building and also, what I think Michael would say.

he is a sleeping with sirens fan and sounds like vic fuentes. and i stand by that.

A whisp of hair tickles his cheek, following the elbow resting on his shoulder. Lee glances over as Cass swipes the strands back behind her ear.

“So,” she says, very nearly dropping her plate. Lee reaches over and gently tilts it back upright. His sister Does Not notice.

He lets it fall. She doesn’t notice that, either. Rest in peace, Stale Piece of Olive Bread, Single Grape, and Sprig of Parsley (?). You will be missed.

“So,” Lee repeats. He follows her eyes, gaze landing on a frizzy mess of blond curls and vacant blue eyes. “…Ah. So.”

Cass’s fork twirls in the general direction of their new baby brother. Several other people in line at the braziers also look over to where she’s pointing, glance obviously back towards the two of them, leaning close, and then pretend to look away while very clearly straining to hear. What a place, Camp Half-Blood.

“We gotta fix that.”

Lee grunts. She’s right — rarely does he ever see a kid Will’s age so blasé and sad about camp for so long.

But.

The circumstances.

“We already talked to Luke, Cass.”

She waves a hand. Her fork very nearly misses his eye. Lee would like, for once, if she could maybe use perhaps one ounce of her prophetic abilities to be less of a klutz. “Eh, Luke doesn’t know everything. There’s gotta be something he didn’t try, something Will likes. I mean, I think I saw the barest little hint of a smile when Diana was cussing Michael out yesterday.”

“Achlys would smile at that,” Lee argues. “I mean, come on. He got flamed. It was embarrassing.”

“Fair, fair.”

Lee looks back at Will. He still sits at the edge of the Apollo picnic table, chin on the worn-smooth wood, poking vaguely at the food Diana got for him. There’s a decent spread — some of the roast chicken, some of the lemon potatoes, probably more vegetables than any eight year old would be willing to eat, but it’s not like they would know. Will barely eats anything. If it weren’t for the Twizzlers that keep disappearing from Lee’s stash under the floorboards, he would’ve stuck the kid on an IV already. It’s been weeks.

“We could maybe try the weapons rounds again,” Cass murmurs. “I know Luke did it on intake, but maybe —”

She glances over, peeking through the edge of her hair, and cuts herself off, mouth furrowing as she bites the inside of her cheek. The son of Hermes in question leans on one of his younger siblings, grinning as they shriek and complain, laughing as another kid empties out what looks like the entire camp stash of cutlery from her pockets. Lee’s not dumb — he saw the difference, too. There’s no demigod more kind and welcoming and determined than Luke Castellan, Lee knows it, Lee’s experienced it, but —

When Will came up Half-Blood Hill, he was sobbing. He scratched four other demigods trying to squirm his way back to where his mother was running back to her car, shoulders heaving with her own cries, face-tear streaked and laden with guilt as she watched him go. When Will was dragged to the Big House, he was there ‘til nightfall. When Will was placed, as all are, in Hermes, he didn’t leave the cabin for days.

Camp doesn’t usually see that. Luke doesn’t usually see that. And as much as the guy has seen everything, there’s nothing he can handle less than a demigod who desperately wants to go home.

It’s not something anyone brings up.

“We’ll give it a go after dinner,” Lee agrees.

It’s not a lot, but it’s better than nothing. It might help to get a tour of what Camp offers by someone a little more…qualified. Or enthusiastic, rather. Will’s eight, after all. What kind of eight-year-old doesn’t want to swing a real sword at a training dummy? Or, hell, at another eight-year-old? Not that there are many other eight-year-olds at camp this lovely April, but Annabeth is like…ten. Lee thinks. Eleven? Something like that. Maybe she’ll swing a sword around with the kid. She only tends to be lethal when someone is doubting her. She’ll probably be very lenient on someone who is just learning.

Well.

Like, one would hope.

Whatever. It’ll sort itself out.

He repeats it to himself as he sits down, plastering a wide smile on his face and meeting Will’s eyes. Will stares back, eyes big and dead, but Lee refuses to look away first, to look down. Eventually Will return his gaze to the brown mush he’s made out of his plate.

“Hi,” he hedges.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Will hums. From beside him, Diana sighs — that is the extent of what they usually get. A little more, actually. The hi was slightly more animated than usual. More like a single two-by-four than a rotting corpse, in terms of spirited greetings.

If Lee is anything, though, it’s annoying and persistent. It’s actually what led to his getting claimed last winter.

“You get something to drink?”

Will shrugs. Lee glances into his cup to see that he has not, in fact, gotten anything to drink.

“They’re enchanted, you know.” He taps his own cup. “Anything you ask for, you get. I get Green Apple Kool-Aid.”

“‘Cus you’re a freak,” Michael mutters. Lee shoves him off the table.

Will scrunches his nose. “…Enchanted cups?”

The look he levels in Lee’s direction is equivalent, he imagines, to the look the jury gave OJ Simpson on his first foray of the witness stand, but the allure of discontinued novelty drinks must be stronger than his suspicion, because he tilts his cup closer to him, thinks for a minute, and then says, “Coke.”

All three of them hold their breath. Even Michael, who is recovering from his recent trip to the ground. The cup slowly fills with sparkling amber liquid.

Will frowns.

“Hey,” he says, something akin to a pout taking over his face, “I asked for coke.”

The drink stops fizzing. It, too, seems to regard the young boy in confusion.

“That would indeed be Coke,” Diana says eventually.

Will scowls. (It is, probably unfortunately for him, a little bit adorable, because his cheeks are very pudgy and he has quite a lot of freckles and his whole face seems to scrunch with the movement. Like a baby hippo. Lee tries really very hard not to smile but it’s something of a losing battle, he thinks.)

“It gave me cola!”

Lee looks at Cass. Cass looks at Lee. Cass looks at Michael, then, and Lee looks at Diana, and they all kind of look at each other and envision the words what the fuck floating between them in wavy comic sans.

“That would be the case,” tries Michael. Lee can see that he tries very hard not to tack ‘you dumbass’ on the end there. Lee pats him on the shoulder in recognition for his efforts.

“I asked for coke!”

“Okay, let’s maybe back up a bit,” Cass thankfully says, before Lee can utter his very eloquent ‘huh’. “What are you asking for, hun?”

“Coke!”

“No, I — I, uh, I got that part.” She purses her lips very thoughtfully. “Are you thinking of, maybe, Diet Coke?”

“No! Regular orange coke!”

“Okay,” mutters Diana. “Okay, awesome, I love it when everything makes sense.”

“Orange coke!” insists Will again. And, like, yeah, they brought this on themselves. When Lee scraped off a portion of his food and prayed for more emotion from Will, he did not specify. He was under the unfortunate misconception that his father loved him and was not a sociopathic genie. That’s on him. But still. “The fruity one! With the orange lid an’ the F on the bottle an’ not the one with no bubbles! The coke one!”

“Are you thinking maybe of Fanta?” Cass says, finally. She makes a weird shape with her fingers. “Odd bottle shape? Neon?”

“Yes!” exclaims Will, visibly relieved. “The orange coke! The good one!”

The cup quickly ripples and changes into a liquid the approximate colour of their shirts, only harder to look at. Will narrows his eyes, drags it over, dips his tongue into it, and then lights up, chugging it down with the zeal and zest Aphrodite kids do cranberry juice.

“One thing they got right up here,” he says happily, wiping the sticky moustache off his top lip. He, for the first time, looks a little less like there is a giant aching hole in the centre of him.

All at once, Lee remembers the one time his mother took him with her to one of her conferences, deep down in Arkansas. They stopped for Wendy’s on the drive. Lee requested Coke. The cashier asked ‘what kind’. Lee stared blankly at her for a total of at least seventeen solid seconds before replying ‘uh, the…Coke…kind?’ and received a large disappointing cup of Sprite.

“Oh my gods,” he says. He now knows, he feels, at least an approximation of the shock Phaethon felt that one time. “You’re Texan.”

None of his siblings share in the euphoria of this realization. This eureka moment, really. Least of all Will, who seems to be wondering if he can, perhaps, put in a request to be claimed by another god with smarter children.

“Lee,” says Cass gently, “have you gotten dumber?”

“No, no, he’s Texan,” Lee repeats. “They’re like. They say weird shit down there.” He gestures at Will, who is rapidly shifting from bewildered to offended. Lee would feel bad if it wasn’t a little bit funny. “Coke means pop. Fixin’ means intending. Might could — actually, I’m not sure what might could means, and at this point I’m too afraid to ask.”

“It means might could!” Will cries. He throws his hands up in exasperation which would be better conveyed where his hands not still pudgy enough to have the little indents on the knuckles. Lee melts to the actual floor. “That’s like askin’ — askin’ what ‘the’ means! It means ‘the’!”

“Oh my gods,” breathes Diana, hand pressed to her mouth. “Oh my gods, he’s adorable.”

“What does ‘might could’ mean, he says! Nex’ thing I’mma hear’s gonna be some stupid Yank quest’n ‘bout y’all, I bet —”

There is a thump as Michael slides right off the bench. This time, Lee doesn’t even need to push him.

“Yank,” he wheezes, from the floor. There are real tears in his eyes. “You’re my favourite, kid, holy fuck —”

Will stomps his little foot. It’s so — tiny. Bite sized. The lights in the sole twinkle like crazy. He’s got Princess Leia on the heels.

Lee is going to melt into goo.

“Who authorized him to be this goddamn cute,” Lee whisper-yells. “Like, genuinely. Look at him.

“Believe me, I’m looking,” Cass says, smiling softly. She knocks their shoulders together, snorting as Will chokes on his own indignity, hollering something about and there’s no such thing as healthy brisket! how about that! til’ his freckly face glows.

“Oh, wait, shit, that’s real,” Lee says. “That’s — yo, he’s actually bioluminescing. Are you seeing this? I am seeing this.”

“Didn’t know that was something we could do,” Diana comments. She grabs her cup, empties it into Michael’s (making a truly — truly — rank concoction of milk and Mountain Dew, Lee physically recoils) and stares at it until it refills.

“Hey, Glowstick.”

Will freezes. The most affronted look Lee has ever seen on a child scrunches his squishy face. Cass coos. Michael starts cackling again.

“Who are you talking to,” Will demands, scowling.

Diana looks at him. She raises her eyebrows.

“You tell me, Johnny Storm.”

“That’s a — that’s a bad reference!”

“Just — here.” Diana slides over the cup before Will can get started again. “Here’s your coke, kid.”

Will squints at the cup for several seconds. Diana holds it out dutifully. Well, for a dutiful seven seconds before her arm gets tired, then she sets it down and moves her hand away.

“Mama says I’m not allowed two cokes in a row,” he says finally.

Lee glances over at Cass. She grimaces back.

Here we go.

Diana just blinks.

“What does your Mama say about throwing stones at people named Clarisse from the roof of the Big House?”

“She never mentioned.”

“Well, we’re allowed to do that here. The rules say you can have two cokes, too, if you want.”

Will screws up his face. He gnaws on his bottom lip. Lee holds his breath.

Finally, he takes the tiniest of little sips.

“I guess two cokes is kind of nice,” he says.

Lee smiles. He reaches over, paying close attention in case Will’s a biter — you never know at Camp Half-Blood — and ruffles the kid’s frizzy curls.

“Some good things about camp, huh?”

Will huffs. “It’s still not great.” He sets his cup down. His soda moustache sits at a firm handlebar. Cass muffles a snort in her hands. “But not bad for a bunch of Yanks.”

Lee decides that he will take that. A stubborn, sarcastic Will is better than a miserable one. They got time. They’ll get there.

Plus, when Michael takes a mindless sip of his Surprise Concoction and sprays it all over Diana’s face, hacking and cussing up a storm, Will even smiles.

Yeah. They might even get there soon.

I thought of a fanfic idea where it’s about Lee Fletcher growing up in camp half-blood and his life throughout of the years and I wanna bring him back to life buttttt I realized that sounds a lot like your fanfiction life of short archerr even though I didn’t take inspiration from that fanfic, I’m still gonna ask permission if it’s okay I write that fic

oh my gosh, absolutely! I definitely do not own the trope and that sounds awesome, go for it <333

maybe dm me when you post it? I'd love to read <33

sat on my school bus rn and I've just had possibly the cutest but most depressing idea ever

what if Lee used to have a habit of collecting ducks?

like, plastic, glass, metal, whatever, just yellow ducks

hats, spots, stripes, accessories, this man has a whole army

and he made a habit of hiding them around cabin seven and the infirmary and when any of his siblings were sad or needed distracting he'd send them to find a specific duck and they'd be searching for the next hour for a fucking yellow and pink polka-dot duck with a tiara

and when he dies, everyone completely forgets about this until Will rummages through a drawer in the infirmary one day and BOOM

cowboy duck✨

and suddenly everyone's finding ducks everywhere, in shoes and drawers and the archery range storage cabinet and that one part of the strawberry fields where Lee and Castor used to hang out and whenever someone missed him they'd all go on a hunt for a duck until they had over a hundred of the fucking things

but still, even years later, after the TOA, Jerry finds a duck with a grapevine hat and a guitar, and Will, Kayla and Austin burst into giggles while he looks at them in confusion

'what? why are you laughing?'

'nothing. nothing at all.'

:D

Luke: Small creatures are just more vicious. Their anger has less space to be bottled up in. Silena: That's ridiculous! Give me one example of this. Luke: Terriers. Beckendorf: Wasps. Lee: Michael.

bitches be like “oh i love the pjo series!” then only ramble on about the minor characters and ignore what is written in cannon

its me i’m bitches

right, so this is odd but I just had the WEIRDEST revelation and went what if I made Michael Yew trans, gave him a massive self-hate arc when he hits puberty and make Jake the best boyfriend ever for just being awesome through it?

...

so I did.

and I can't be asked to make a proper story out of my random chunks of writing to put on ao3 so I'm posting it here lol

just... don't question where my brain went with this, it's cool, I'm insane

😎 👍🏻

first bit is a lil angsty and cringe bc I havent edited properly but the rest is basically crack and chaos

~~~

Jake wasn't all that surprised when he found Michael in their tree, staring at the sky miserably. Instead, he sat beside his boyfriend and joined him in watching the clouds. "What's up?"

Michael sighed heavily, muttering something under his breath that Jake didn't catch. He raised an eyebrow at the son of Apollo, and the archer huffed, covering his face with his hands as he spoke.

"Maturing."

Jake paused. "Sorry?"

His boyfriend groaned, rubbing at his eyes and refusing to look at Jake. "I'm maturing."

"Right. And...? Isn't that what everyone does as they get older?"

"No. Well, yes, but like..." He sighed, spitting it out. "My body is maturing and I hate it."

Jake stopped, realisation washing over him. "Oh. So, you're..."

"Menstruating." Michael said through gritted teeth. "And it sucks. It doesn't feel right. Also, hip curvature equally sucks."

He looked at the son of Apollo, faintly befuddled. "Hip curvature?"

Michael groaned, then sat up and pulled his shirt tightly around his waist, and Jake paused as he spotted what the archer had been hiding under loose t-shirts and hoodies.

Oh.

His boyfriend's hips had indeed curved, forming a slim waist and slight hourglass figure that most girls would die for. Michael, however, looked absolutely miserable about it, seemingly under the impression Jake might be put off or horrified by the change, but the son of Hephaestus just looked at his boyfriend and noted how it accentuated his natural beauty. He gently moved to wrap his arms around the other, carefully pulling the archer into his lap, and found his hands fit just perfectly in his boyfriend's curves, meaning he was easily able to hold the smaller boy, and it felt right. Michael had tears in his eyes, and Jake pulled him closer, resting his head on the other's shoulder as the son of Apollo refused to meet his eyes, staring out into the trees stubbornly.

"I think you're beautiful." He hummed, pressing a kiss to the archer's jaw, and Michael blushed, but still avoided eye contact, seemingly embarrassed as he sniffled quietly. Jake smiled and cupped his boyfriend's chin, turning his face to look at him. "Hey. I don't care that your hips are curvy, or that you're on your period, or any of that shit. Actually, I do care, and I think it makes you even more beautiful. This," He slipped his hands under his boyfriend's shirt, tracing his fingers along his boyfriend's sides and outlining his curvy figure. "Is not something to be ashamed of. I love you for who you are, and that will never change, yeah?"

Michael smiled slightly, then sighed, looking at himself in disgust. "I'm a girl."

"No you're not. And if you are, I'll love you just the same. Doesn't matter to me."

Michael snickered slightly at that. "Are you seriously saying you'd turn bisexual just for me?"

Jake smirked, shrugging. "Yup. I'm yours, no matter what."

His boyfriend looked at him for a minute, then grinned, leaning forwards to kiss him. "I don't deserve you."

"Likewise."

"I'm still a boy, though."

He grinned. "Good. Thought so."

Michael snickered, then sighed and looked back down at himself, frowning. "But this still isn't good."

"Why?"

"The bone structure isn't as strong." He said, matter-of-factly, and Jake smirked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"So, it makes you more delicate?"

Michael sighed, rolling his eyes. "Technically, yes."

"Good to know. Guess I'll have to be extra gentle." He grinned, and Michael slapped him lightly, huffing, but there was a smile twitching at the son of Apollo's lips.

"Shut up. I'm not fragile."

"Only to me."

"Shh. I'm fine. See?" He hit himself in the ribs, hard, and Jake paused, grabbing his boyfriend's hands and looking at him, unimpressed.

"Don't hurt yourself."

"I'm fine."

"Please."

Michael looked at him for a moment, then sighed and nodded, leaning his head on Jake's shoulder. Jake smiled, moving his hands back to the other's waist, secretly loving the feel of his boyfriend's curves, not disgusted in the slightest by the change, and instead enjoyed the way the son of Apollo did feel more delicate, in contrast to his normally hard, stony exterior. Michael was unbelievably strong in some ways, but in others he was much more fragile, particularly mentally, and Jake sometimes had to take the initiative, not that he minded, because in times like this, Michael let himself be taken care of, and the son of Hephaestus enjoyed it.

~~

He soon found out that the only downside to reassuring the son of Apollo that he loved the way he looked, was when Michael used that to his advantage, and managed to twist Jake into a complete mess, simply by losing a bet.

Michael had reluctantly informed him earlier in the day that he'd managed to lose a bet with Kayla, and she was making him pay the price at campfire. Therefore, Jake was expecting his boyfriend to be forced into playing his guitar during sing-along, or telling bad jokes onstage, or something else the son of Apollo would greatly dislike.

He did not expect him to walk in wearing his sister's clothes.

Michael was dragged into the amphitheater by a giggling Kayla, the son of Apollo wearing skinny jeans, a crop top, and his camp necklace tied around his bow, with only the bronze pendant Jake had given him on show. Jake felt his brain short-circuit as he looked at the other boy, noting how ridiculously good Michael looked in those clothes, with his slim figure and tanned skin shown off brilliantly. Nyssa whistled quietly next to him, nudging her brother in the ribs.

"Kay mentioned she was giving Mikey a glow up as punishment for losing, but I didn't think she'd be able to get him looking that good. Damn, when did he grow into his height like that?"

Jake just stared, completely and utterly entranced by the other boy. Kayla soon spotted him gaping, and nudged her brother, gesturing to Jake and grinning. Michael turned and spotted him, instantly blushing scarlet when he noticed the son of Hephaestus staring at him, and he smirked, winking at the other boy, which absolutely did not help with Jake's current state of mind. Nyssa snickered and poked him.

"Dude, you're basically drooling over him right now, you know that?"

Jake slowly peeled his eyes off his boyfriend, face bright red in embarrassment as he looked away, instead meeting Nyssa's eyes as his sister smirked at him. "I- shut up." He blushed, and Nyssa grinned.

"Wow. You really are a simp."

"Shut up! I just... didn't expect it. He looks good, though."

His sister smirked, looking back at the son of Apollo. "True. Since when did puberty hit him, my gods."

Jake snickered. "About a month ago. He was really upset, got his period and everything."

Nyssa winced. "Poor guy. Confused?"

"Nah, he knew what was going on. Just embarrassed, mostly. Disgusted by himself, which I wasn't okay with, but I think we've sorted it. He had to go to Ellie for period advice, which he was not happy about either."

"Hm. A late bloomer, clearly."

"Apparently so."

"He's grown into it, though. If he was a girl, he could totally pull that figure off. Damn."

"Yup." Jake was staring again, and he knew it. Michael seemed to be finding it endlessly amusing. Nyssa suddenly poked him again.

"Not gonna lie, I don't think you're the only one checking him out." She hummed, nodding to a boy that had slipped through the crowd to sit next to Michael, eyes trained on the son of Apollo's hips and waist. Jake scowled as he sat down beside Michael, much too close for anyone's comfort, and quite clearly started flirting, trying to touch the son of Apollo and wrap an arm around his waist. Michael, however, was not amused in the slightest, and Jake could see him snapping at the other boy and pushing him away. The camper didn't seem to get the hint and kept pushing, until Michael rolled his eyes and pointed to his necklace, then at Jake, who was glaring the guy down, resisting the urge to punch his face into a wall. Michael seemed quite amused by the angry fire blaring in his boyfriend's eyes, and eventually managed to shove the camper away, but Jake could still see far too many eyes on his boyfriend, and it made him grit his teeth. He'd never been a massively jealous person, but right now he was feeling seriously possessive; the urge to walk over, make out with the archer and hold him tightly, clear to everyone that the son of Apollo was his, becoming very strong in the back of his mind.

He just about managed to avoid that until the end of campfire, and then as everyone was packing up, the other boy just grinned at him and disappeared back to cabin seven, leaving Jake fuming as he returned to cabin nine. Jackass.

~~

"Hey."

Jake was sitting against one of the trees bordering the lake, just relaxing and watching some of the younger campers splash around in the water, until he heard a very familiar voice and looked up.

That was his first mistake.

Michael was stood next to him, grinning and leaning against the tree, wearing a similar outfit to the night before with low rise skinny jeans and a slightly cropped shirt. He was still wearing his bronze pendant, with his bow slung over his shoulder, and the son of Apollo looked absolutely amazing. Jake just stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and quickly looked away, training his eyes on one of the trees on the other side of the lake. Michael snickered, flopping down next to him, and Jake groaned internally. This wasn't going to end well for him. Michael just laughed. "Are you ignoring me?"

"No." Jake replied, continuing to stare at the trees. "Just not looking."

"Why?" He could hear Michael's grin in his voice, and he knew the other boy knew exactly what he was doing to Jake. Asshole.

"Because I can't have a conversation with you if I can't think straight. Literally."

Michael snickered, shuffling up so they were shoulder to shoulder, and Jake sighed heavily as the other boy spoke, smirking. "Do you like it?"

He huffed. "Too much, along with half of camp." He grumbled, and Michael snickered again.

"Jealous?"

"Unbelievably jealous. I was about ready to punch that guy last night."

He snorted. "Wasn't the nicest guy, I'll be honest. Bit touchy."

"Looked it."

"You wanted to kill him, didn't you?"

"Just a bit. Gods, I don't know what the fuck you've done to me, but I completely stopped working last night. You melted my brain into a puddle of sappy thoughts."

Michael laughed at that, but Jake had noticed a new camper, roughly their age, quite clearly checking Michael out with a smirk. He muttered something to his buddy, and then they were both staring at the son of Apollo and oh, Jake felt the possessive urges return. He just about managed to keep a cap on it, but Michael saw right through him and snickered, nudging the son of Hephaestus teasingly. "You alright there, Tool Boy?"

"No." He growled.

"And why's that?"

"Because there's about five other people checking you out here, and it's pissing me off."

"What are you going to do about it?"

He turned and saw the son of Apollo grinning at him innocently, and Jake sighed heavily, knowing the archer had got his way quite easily here, but he couldn't bring himself to care too much.

"Jackass." He muttered as he leant forwards, and Michael laughed as they kissed. It wasn't as long as Jake would have liked, considering there were about ten little kids in view, but it certainly did the job as Jake spotted several shocked or annoyed looks when they pulled away, much to his amusement. Michael snickered, and the son of Hephaestus hummed, gently grabbing the smaller boy and pulling him onto his lap before he could protest. Michael smirked, leaning back to look at him as Jake wound his arms around the archer's waist protectively, and Jake shrugged, smiling.

"Someone feeling a bit possessive?" The son of Apollo teased, grinning, and Jake hummed, watching the guys that had been checking Michael out huff and walk away, rolling their eyes. Good.

"Possibly. You're absolutely fucking beautiful." He murmured, resting his head on the smaller boy's shoulder, and Michael blushed brightly, but smiled.

"Does that mean I should borrow my sister's clothes more often?" He smirked, and Jake huffed.

"If you want me worked up into a complete mess on a daily basis." He grumbled, moving his hands to hold his boyfriend's waist, rubbing his thumbs along the other's sides and tracing his curves. "I'm glad you're embracing this, though."

Michael shrugged, humming and leaning into the son of Hephaestus' touch. "I thought over what you said. And then Carly walked in when I was changing and completely

freaked and made me play dress up with her and Kayla."

Jake snickered. "You enjoyed it, didn't you?"

"Hm." He shrugged. "Carly supposedly figured out what my best colour is or some shit. And apparently Kayla had wanted to put me in a bunch of random different outfits for a while now, so she loved it."

Jake smirked. On the one hand, it was hard to imagine Michael willingly playing dress up with his sisters, but on the other hand he knew the son of Apollo would do anything to see his siblings smile, so it wasn't all that surprising. "And what did Carly say your best colour was?"

"Green, apparently."

"Do you even own anything green?"

"Nope. I have no idea how she figured that out, but she made me wear a green shirt and... yeah, I kinda see her point."

Jake raised an eyebrow at that. Michael was never one to ever think he looked good in anything, particularly with his history with his body, but if he thought he looked decent in green... That was interesting. He wondered what magic Carly had done to make the son of Apollo like wearing something.

"Interesting. Is that another thing that's likely to make my brain fry?"

Michael snickered. "Yeah, probably."

"I'm happy you think it looks good on you." He grinned, pressing a kiss to the smaller boy's jaw, and Michael blushed.

"Shut up."

"Nope." He smirked, pressing another kiss to his boyfriend's jawline. "You're beautiful, and perfect, and amazing, and I'm the luckiest person ever because I get to date you and those losers don't."

Michael blushed brightly, his ears tinting red, and Jake grinned, amused by the reaction. Michael rolled his eyes, but kissed him anyway. "You're such a sap."

"You love it."

"Shut up."

~~

Jake frowned as he walked past the Apollo table at breakfast, noting Michael wasn't there, and looked at Lee in confusion. The older son of Apollo grimaced.

"He's back in the cabin. Not feeling well."

That made Jake frown. Michael rarely got sick- and never that badly either- it was a side effect of being the son of the god of sickness, so either Lee was lying, or his boyfriend was embarrassed and hadn't given his brother the true reason for why he was staying inside.

Jake popped in the Apollo cabin after breakfast to check on him, and found Michael curled up in a pile of blankets on his bed, holding his stomach and looking absolutely miserable. Jake walked over and carefully climbed the ladder, sitting next to the archer, and Michael looked at him for a minute, then sighed. "I'm fine, don't worry."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "If you were fine, you'd be outside. What's up?"

Michael huffed. "It's just- ugh." He winced, leaning forward slightly and wrapping his arms tighter around his waist in pain. Jake looked at him in concern.

"What is it? Why are you...?"

His boyfriend groaned quietly, head now on his knees as he rocked back and forth slightly.

"Nothing. Just..." He sighed. "Cramps."

"What, like stomach cramps, or- oh." Understanding dawned on the son of Hephaestus, and Michael groaned again, nodding.

"Yeah, fucking period cramps. Shit."

"Bad?"

"Really bad. I couldn't walk earlier. Lee did a scan and told me there wasn't much he could do, I just have to wait it out. Fuck-" He groaned again, cursing. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

Jake winced, then looked around the cabin, searching for something. He hummed when he spotted what he was looking for, climbing down off the bed and walking over to grab a beanbag stuffed parrot. He wasn't sure whose it was, but he knew it was microwaveable, and that's all that mattered. He walked over to the small microwave they kept in the corner of cabin seven, used for reheating things or making hot packs for injuries, and plopped the parrot inside, pressing start. Michael looked at him in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

He shrugged. "Nyssa uses a hot water bottle to combat hers. Figured a parrot might work the same."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "You're microwaving Carly's parrot?"

"Mhm. The bean filled ones are like hot packs, just covered in fluff. Harls has a dragon one that Niss steals every so often."

The microwave beeped, and he pulled the parrot out, now very warm, and walked back over to Michael's bed, climbing up and flopping down next to the son of Apollo, passing him the parrot.

"Try it."

Michael looked at it. "What, I just hold it?" Jake smirked.

"No, you put it where it hurts, dummy."

"Oh. Right."

Michael took the parrot and placed it just below his stomach, curling back up again and humming happily. Jake smiled. "Better?"

"Yeah, actually. Thanks."

"Anytime. I am gonna get you a beanbag animal now, though. I don't want Carly to kill me for stealing hers."

Michael rolled his eyes. "I can get one myself, you know."

Jake smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"

Michael elbowed him and he snickered, then looked up as the door to the Apollo cabin opened and the rest of Michael's siblings walked in, not even noticing Jake and Michael until Sam turned and spotted them, grinning and placing his hands on his hips. "Mason. Are you trying to make a move on my brother?"

Michael rolled his eyes as Jake blushed. "No, dumbass."

"Oh, really?" Carly grinned. Jake smiled.

"I borrowed your parrot for Michael's cramps, hope you don't mind."

She looked at him for a minute, then smirked. "Ah, you're here on boyfriend duties. I see. It's fine, I use it for that anyway."

Michael huffed, and Ellie smiled, walking over and reaching up to ruffle his hair teasingly.

"Feeling better than earlier?"

He sighed. "Ish."

"Are they like, a stomach ache, or more like someone stabbing you?" Austin asked casually, flopping backwards onto his bed, and Lee suddenly grinned, moving to rummage through a cupboard in the back of the cabin.

"Why don't you try it?"

Kayla looked at him. "Sorry?"

"We have a machine that replicates the pain of a period cramp, because I convinced Chiron it could be useful for teaching people about why they are a valid excuse to skip on things."

Jake snorted. "To teach the Ares cabin, you mean?" Lee shrugged and Ellie hummed.

"Not Clarisse. She gets them bad."

Lee suddenly pulled a box out of the cupboard, blowing the dust off and smiling. "There it is. It has different settings, so why don't we get the people that experience them to put up their normal setting for the rest of us to try?"

Carly smirked. "Sure. I'll go first."

Lee explained how it worked; putting a pair of pads just below your stomach under your shirt and turning the knob up a notch at a time to reach the average pain scale. Carly hummed and placed the pads below her stomach, then turned the dial up slightly. She continued for a few notches until she started wincing, then stopped. "Five."

Kayla snatched it next, placing the pads on herself instead and turning up the dial until it hit her average and she winced. "Yeah, five."

Ellie was an eight, and Michael said that apparently he'd reached a break in his cramps, so he'd give it a go. The son of Apollo scrunched his face up as he turned the dial, flitting straight past five and eight, up to ten. There were fifteen notches on the scale, and Ellie stared at him as he grimaced in pain, taking the pads off quickly. “Ten.”

“Ten??”

He winced. “Yeah.”

Austin wandered over, picking it up off Michael’s bunk and walking over to Lee. “Can I try?”

Lee smiled at him, gesturing for his little brother to sit beside him on the bed as he talked him through it. Austin made it to a four, and he winced, looking at Kayla.

“Yeah, I see your point.”

She hummed, nodding, and Ash grabbed the machine next, him and Sam sitting on Sam’s bunk and messing with it for a bit. Ash made it to seven, grimacing, and Sam looked at Jake quickly. “Do you want to go next?”

Michael snickered. “Give it to Jake last in case he blows it up.”

Jake looked at him. “Seriously? I’m not that bad.”

“Jake, I’m surprised you haven’t seriously injured yourself yet with the amount of things you’ve accidentally blown up this month.”

“Harsh.”

Ash snorted, passing the device to Sam. “Just take it while they argue like an old married couple.”

“Hey!”

“Michael, he’s not wrong.” Kayla grinned, and Michael rolled his eyes, flipping his sister off and ignoring Lee’s dirty look at the action. Sam made it to eight, and Will got to six, then it was passed to Jake. He frowned as he turned it on, quickly noticing a problem with the electronics, and the rest of the room snickered as he pulled a screwdriver and a pair of pliers out of his pocket and quickly started fixing the problem, because it would annoy him if he didn’t. Michael grinned, taking advantage of his distraction, and flicked the dial straight up to ten. Jake yelped, doubling over in pain, and a small explosion occurred, blowing up the device. He sighed heavily and sat back up after a moment, glaring daggers at his boyfriend, who smiled back innocently, nodding to the machine.

“I think there’s something else for you to fix now.”

Jake huffed, swatting him on the head. “Jackass.”

“Language!”

“I thought you weren’t allowed to do that for me because you have no responsibility over me?” He smirked, ignoring the rest of Michael’s siblings laughing at the blown up device while Lee raised an eyebrow at the son of Hephaestus. Carly snorted.

“You’ve basically become an extra sibling at this point, you’re in here that often. Plus,” She grinned. “Brother in law counts, doesn’t it?”

Both Michael and Jake immediately blushed scarlet, and Michael waved his hands at his sister, scowling. “Slow down a bit, for fuck’s sake.”

“Language!”

“Fuck off!”

Kayla snickered. “Dibs on first speech at their wedding.”

Jake groaned as Will snickered. “Oh, come on-”

“When’s the date? Gotta get my suit ready.”

“Will, I will pin you to an archery target.”

“You can’t even move right now.”

“Won’t fucking stop me.”

“Language!”

“Piss off Lee!”

“Fine, but I’m walking you down the aisle.”

“Lee!” Jake groaned again, ignoring Lee’s teasing smirk. “Don’t encourage them! We’re fifteen and sixteen!”

“Oh yeah, you’re a pervert.” Carly nodded. “Preying on someone younger than you.”

Michael burst into laughter as Jake looked at the daughter of Apollo. “Carly, what the heck? I’m five months older, not fifteen years.”

“You never know.”

He scoffed. “You never know- yes, because I look like I’m thirty, clearly.” Michael was in fits of laughter, and Jake huffed, picking up the device and hopping off his boyfriend’s bunk, walking out the cabin and rolling his eyes at the teasing smirks. “Goodbye, I’m going to fix your machine. Michael, you better eat lunch.”

“Ooh, Mikey, you’ve been called out for starving.”

“Starving?? Bitch, how many meals do you think I’ve missed?”

“Language!”

“OH MY GOD I’M FIFTEEN!”

“AUSTIN’S ELEVEN!”

Jake snickered as he closed the door behind him, listening to the group bicker between themselves. Some things never changed.