#percy jackson and the Olympians fanfic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chasingpj · 1 year

Text

𝐈𝐈. 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞

“I know you’re scared. I am, too, but they’re growing and getting strong. It’s time.”

pairing: percy jackson x fem child of hecate!reader

words: 6,762

warnings: brief mentions of religious institutions, catholicism, human sacrifices, and tripping on mushrooms. if you're a ginger... i'm so sorry.

timeline: the lightning thief

a/n: so excited to finally get this posted. one thing i really wish i did when i initially started writing this fic was give a proper insight on the mc's and her brother's home life. i thought the addition of her grandmother and grandpa would be so fun and i'm excited to hear what you think. in the next chapter we will finally see the twins get to camp so stay tuned!

prologue chapter i chapter iii

The final bell of the school year rings, releasing a flood of excited children. Their shouts and quick footsteps move from the hallways to the echoing streets, bodies quickly funneling themselves through the double doors like inmates breaking out of prison.

You scrunch your nose, trailing behind the crowd along with Atticus. Though excited to go home, neither of you was ready for the awful weather outside. Today’s sweltering heat washes over your body, humid and suffocating, no doubt. Some say it’s a beautiful day, but to your standards, this was torture from mother nature herself.

Atticus grunts in annoyance as the rays of sunlight hit him hard. It was a slap in the face compared to the air-conditioning you’re begrudgingly leaving behind. Your brother trudges beside you, quick to unbutton and shove his tie into his pocket. You follow, exposing your skin to bake under the unforgiving sun.

“Glad that’s over,” you speak almost in a sigh, and Atticus nods.

“I didn’t think it would end,” Atticus’s eyes avert to the statue of Saints in front of your school’s chapel as you pass by. “I still think those things are alive.”

A snort leaves your lips, flashing your gaze at them one more time. After the principal forced you and Atticus to scrub the stone as punishment for wearing black nail polish, you couldn’t bear to look at them. That and your brother was right. Those angel statues have definitely whispered your name once. “I don’t want to hear or see anything else about Saints for the rest of the summer.”

“Don’t want to hear about Jesus either,” Atticus adds.

“Or how Eve ruined everything.”

“Or how God made his archnemesis.”

You pause for a moment in thought. “Satan’s pretty cool, though.” Atticus nods. “Agreed.”

Neither of you says anything else. The children's chatter around the streets does enough to fill the silence. There are thumps of basketballs in the passing park’s courtyard and the low hum of the sprinklers. The ice cream truck jingle plays in the distance, herding kids toward the sound, and cars whoosh by, honking through traffic on the busy road. As you and Atticus make your way to the residential streets, your silence feels more meaningful as it’s filled with soft croaks of cicadas and bird chirps.

Soon, your family's familiar baby blue Victorian home is in sight. Like a sore thumb, it sticks out from the traditional American homes on the block. On the outside, the white trim and the many flower bushes your grandmother tends to make the home look sweet and inviting. At first glance, it would look like any regular residence. Though different in style, there would be no reason for a double take if, of course, the white monument sign announcing “Cromwell Funeral Home” wasn’t there.

“Hey! Wednesday and Pugsley Addams!” A slow, agonizing sigh leaves your nostrils. Felix Bain, a fitting last name for the nuisance he is, runs out of his front door as you and Atticus pass by. His posse of boys is hot on his heels, their faces with the same arrogant smile as their dictator. They giggle and chatter, but yours and Atticus’s stride don’t falter.

“Ignore him,” Atticus mumbles.

“I can’t believe you guys don’t melt in the sun,” Felix shouts again. “I’m surprised you can even get into the chapel. You must have some weird pagan magic protecting you.”

You didn’t expect Atticus to betray his advice, halting sharply and turning in Felix’s direction. Your eyebrow raises.

“Felix, do you know what they say about gingers?” Atticus asks. The friendly tone in his voice is bitter under his deadpan expression.

Felix’s smile widens with arrogant challenge. “What?” “They say gingers have no soul and every freckle on their pale ghostly face is a soul they’ve taken to fill the emptiness.”

Felix’s lips falter, eyebrows slowly knitting in the center of his forehead.

“You have a lot of freckles,” you point out, your jaw clenching to hide your smile.

Felix’s mouth opens, but you cut him off quickly. “Gingers are also known to be unlucky. So unlucky that Ancient Egyptians used them as human sacrifices to release their bad luck.” Slowly, he begins to frown, shifting on his feet nervously. “Count yourself lucky you don’t live down the street from pagans….” Your eyes fix on your home a few houses from his. “Oh, wait. You do.”

“You guys are weird!” Felix yells, his face almost as red as his hair. Smiling wickedly, you and Atticus turn on your heels, ignoring Felix's sloppy insults in your direction.

“If I were you, I’d make sure to lock your windows at night,” Atticus shouts behind him.

Angrily, the redhead stomps inside his home and mutters about how freaky the two of you are. The moment his front door slams closed, you and Atticus burst into laughter.

“That was so mean!”

You scoff. “So what?! He deserved it, and you’re the one who started it.” “I did, but I wasn’t the one who made it seem like we were gonna sacrifice him!”

You shrug, opening the gate to your home. “Oh well.”

Atticus shakes his head in playful disapproval, “You’re on a roll today.”

Your eyebrow raises in confusion, stumbling to the side from Atticus’s nudge. “What do you mean?” “First, it was Avery and then Felix.”

Atticus laughs at how your eyes roll, hand coming up in a dismissive wave. “Oh, please.”

“It was kinda mean.”

“So what if I charged her double?” Quickly, you reach into the mailbox beside your door, collecting the envelopes for your grandparents, “First, you call my tarot cards stupid.” A loud clunk hits your ears as you harshly slam the box close. “Then suddenly, you want to be nice, so I can give you a reading about your stupid crush. You know what, I’m glad the cards told her he doesn’t like her.”

As he walks into the house, Atticus laughs and mutters something about you being cruel. You trail close behind, surprised to see the ground floor decorated and ready for service. On your left are a couple of loveseats and coat racks right across the rows of banquet chairs. Further inside, there’s a hallway with a lounge area usually set up with desserts and Hors D'oeuvre for the guest.

“My little rascals, how was school?” A familiar voice calls from inside the mourning area, putting a smile on your face.

Your grandmother stands on a small ladder, hands carefully arranging flowers where the casket will be placed. Bright reds, whites, and pinks decorate the walls, and Cordelia hopes the display will soothe the eyes of grieving families.

“It was fine,” Atticus answers, and you nod in agreement.

Being realistic, how well can school go? Almost every day, the nuns penalize you for something. Whether it’s a minor offense like having nail polish or a freak accident at the chapel altar, you and Atticus never seemed to stay out of trouble. As for today, it was just fine. It could have been worse. You only got outed once by your teacher for dozing off during mass, and knowing it was the last day of school soothed any of your usual dread.

“Just fine?”

“Mhm,” you shrug, leaning against the doorway as you admire the display.

“Very well,” Cordelia says with a slight smirk, aware of the chaos she’s about to unleash. As you and Atticus move to leave your grandmother to her task, she perks up. “Since you’re here….” You halt in your tracks. “Could one of you get me the hammer from the basement? It should be in the toolbox somewhere.”

Before you can react, your brother shoves you from behind. “Not it!”

A growl leaves your lips as the boy flees before you can recover. “Hey, get back here!”

“No!” Hot on his heels, you turn through the lounge area, watching Atticus struggle with the doorknob before he bursts into the back hallway.

“You’re lazy!” You shout, finger raised in the air. Atticus, already halfway up the stairs, flashes you a smile.

“And you’re slow.”

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

Theo goes down the checklist of his last-minute details. First, he soothes the flyaways from the hair, cleans the sides of the lips from any lipstick, and adjusts the flowers in her folded hands. Poor girl, he thinks. Her life was taken right at the cusp of some of the best years life has to offer. Her family wanted a closed casket, afraid her face was too mangled to do otherwise, but Theo never cowered from a challenge. Nothing’s ever too broken to fix, he always says, and his work showed for it.

Classical music played low from the record player in the background. As he checks the final product, it’s peaceful enough to keep his head clear until the twins make it home. Theo liked to call them Tom and Jerry. You being Tom and Atticus being Jerry and never was it the opposite. A small huff of laughter leaves him as he catches some of their argument.

“You’re lazy!” “And you're slow!”

He shakes his head. “Those kids are something else,” he mutters under his breath, middle finger pushing the round glasses up the bridge of his nose.

Expectantly, he stares at the long staircase on his right as the door flings open. You stomp down the stairs with an angry look and he couldn’t help but laugh at his usually cranky grandchild.

“Hi, Grandpa,” you greet a lot more cheerfully than you looked, and his heart warms.

“Hi, Pretty Girl,” he coos, his arms stretching wide for your embrace. His hearty laugh is muffled through his chest as you wrap your arms around his waist. “How was school today?”

“It was fine. Slow day,” you shrug. “Grandma needs a hammer. Where’s the toolbox?”

“In the big metal cabinet back there. Just shout if you can’t find it; I’m heading to the bathroom.”

“Okay.” You turn on your heels, twisting through the tables of equipment.

The storage room was filled with boxes of everything from old furniture, family photos, decorations, and a bunch of other things your grandmother insisted on keeping. Grandpa always urged her to clean it out, the room so congested that the door only opens just enough for you to slip in but she refused. Luckily, you didn’t need to tango your way through stacks of items, the cabinet straight ahead. You felt silly when your own reflection scared you, not expecting an old mirror to lean against the space beside you.

You search for a second, finding the hammer in plain sight. Grasping the head of it, you wiggle it out of the toolbox and shut the cabinet closed. About ready to turn on your heels, you almost missed it. You catch something in the corner of your eye, and it takes a second look to see what it is.

Not again.

A girl with ghastly gray skin and hair matted to her sunken cheeks stood a few feet behind you. Soft droplets of water dripped from her hunched-over frame, and her cold blue eyes burned a hole in the back of your skull.

Your pulse roars in your ears. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t look away. Her expression changed from a blank stare to pure bewilderment, and in her panic, she catches your gaze through the reflection. A shaky breath leaves you, watching in anticipation as her mouth opens wide. Slowly her chest fills with air, and your hands slap over your ears as a truck horn blares from her throat.

As if released from a trance, you whip your gaze in her direction to find her gone. Even the droplets on the floor didn’t darken the concrete as you had seen through the mirror. Your eyes flicker across your surroundings. Though nothing revealed what you saw was real, the eeriness left behind was enough to get you moving, and you ran straight to the stairs without looking back.

One would think you just ran a marathon. By the time you made it back to Cordelia, you were winded. Your heavy footsteps announced your arrival, and Cordelia turned around, her smile faltering when she caught sight of your puzzled eyes.

“Oh honey, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Cordelia jokes, grabbing the hammer from your grasp.

“I think I just did,” you mutter to yourself.

Shifting on your feet, you admire the intricate arrangement your grandmother had put together as a distraction. She’s always had an eye for that kind of stuff. You wander a little to your left, curious to see the memorial photo perched on the mahogany stand, and the sight of it makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand up straight. That’s her. Instead, she wasn’t gray and wet. The photo seemed to be a graduation picture, and she gleamed with life, her skin sunkissed.

You don’t know how long you were staring at the picture, but it was long enough for Cordelia to notice. “I saw her.”

Cordelia quirks her eyebrow. Her heels click on the floorboards as she arrives at your side. “Did you see her around town?”

“No.” You rip your gaze from the photo. “I saw her downstairs.” Cordelia opens her mouth, assuming you’d seen her in the casket, freshly put together for her service tonight, but you cut her off. “I saw her in the mirror downstairs, standing behind me.”

There’s a short pause between you and your grandmother, the two of you pondering in careful silence.

“You know…” she begins slowly, fiddling with a loose nail between her fingers. “Our family is from a long line of witches, honey.”

“I know.” She smiles warmly at you, reaching over to rub your back soothingly. “You said my mom is a witch too.” “I did. A very powerful one. You and Atticus, all your gifts are credited to her.”

The mystery of your mother was a topic that frequented your mind. Occasionally, your grandparents brought her up and often recounted the one time your father introduced her to them. You’ve heard the story plenty, but you yearned for more every time. What did her voice sound like? Where in your face did you look like her the most? How tall was she? Did she have freckles or a beauty mark? Did her green eyes have brown or yellow flecks? You wanted to know it all.

They always tried to give you as much as they remembered and often asked your father to help them verify some details. You knew it was their way of ensuring you and Atticus didn’t forget about her. However, they never considered how hard it was to hear about your mom and never fully knew who she was.

“Dad doesn’t like talking about her.”

“It was tough for him when she left,” Cordelia smiles sadly, her thumb stroking the back of your neck affectionately. “I don’t think he ever fully recovered.”

“Why did she leave?” You ask, testing the waters. This is usually when the conversation ends, but you figured you’d give it a shot. Time and time again, you’ve asked the same question, but your family has kept this piece of information strictly confidential.

Every time, your grandmother says the same thing as she’s saying right now. “You’ll know one day, but she had her reasons.”

The disappointment on your face was evident, and she tsks. “Don’t give me that face, honey,” she leans her cheek on top of your head. “One day, you’ll know with age. Just not right now.”

Not right now. You’ve heard it too many times before. What even was the hold-up? You would think that being 11, almost 12 in the fall, would be old enough to know this secret. If you think about it, you’ve been in the double digits for two years. You were practically a teenager at this point, and still, you were too young by their standards.

“As for who you saw downstairs, seeing the dead doesn’t always have to be scary.” Cordelia’s voice takes you out of your thoughts, going from one frustrating topic to a daunting one.

“I know. She just looked scary,” you frowned.

“Her soul is restless, perhaps, confused too. I’m sure she won’t linger for long.” A shiver runs up your spine, and your arms wrap around your frame. It felt as if the simple conversation about this girl was summoning her. A voice told you you were psyching yourself out, but as your grandmother's eyes flickered across the room, you realized you were wrong. “I think I will speak with her.”

More than happy to leave the creepy stuff to her, you nod and don’t dare look in the direction her eyes are fixed on. “Well, you have fun with that,” you giggle nervously, stepping back toward the back hall entrance.

Cordelia sends you an amused smile. Maybe one day, you’ll be as courageous as your grandma. Many times she’s told her creepy, unsettling accounts of the supernatural after you and Atticus would beg them out of her. They always made you feel better about the memories of your own strange occurrences that filled you with dread.

Weird things happened to you so often you had thought it was universal. However, after the kids in school called you crazy that one time in kindergarten, you quickly realized it wasn’t. Grandma’s stories reassured you that you weren’t losing your mind. However, it was quite an annoyance for your father. As much as you and your brother enjoyed a scary story, you always sought refuge in his room when the tales lingered in your minds well into nighttime.

“I will.”

You give her a thumbs-up before turning on your heels.

“Oh, and honey?”

“Yes?“

“Remember to light your candle for Lady Hecate. You forgot this morning.”

Your palm flies right to the middle of your temple. All day you had felt like you forgot about something, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“Okay, I will,” you say shortly. Quickly, you reach the brown door in the back of the hallway that leads you to the mahogany stairs. For a second, your eyes grace the entrance to Grandpa Theo’s workspace, and a shiver goes up your spine. It was in your head, but you bolted up the stairs, feeling like you were being chased.

“How rude, not lighting your candle for Lady Hecate,” Atticus peers over the railing, and your eyes roll. “Even I remembered.” “Maybe if you had to rush out because someone decided to take forever in the shower, you would have forgotten too.”

“No, I wouldn't because I’m better than you.” A squeal leaves him when you reach over to push him, hands missing his body by a few inches.

“Whatever lets you sleep at night,” you mumble.

As always, Hecate’s altar is in your path the moment you reach the top of the stairs. You couldn’t remember a time when the table wasn’t settled tight in the corner of the living room, making it a staple of your childhood. The dark brown table with its offerings was an eerie sight for some people, but to you, it was comforting. Talking at the altar always brought you comfort; oddly enough, you felt heard too.

Right on the top ledge sits a bronze statue of Hecate. She stands tall with an extravagant crown on her head, her dress flowy and rustled under the cape over her shoulders. Her left hand holds twin torches, and her right has a dagger. At her feet are skulls and two dogs peeking from the back of her dress on each side. If the statue wasn’t daunting enough, the shelf right under held five candle holders lined up neatly. The sides are caked with long drops of black wax, except for the holder with the candle you forgot to light this morning. According to your friends, that made the whole setup creepy, not the offerings on the table.

Those offerings included a bouquet of dried lavender sitting in a vase you made years ago in art class, and beside it was a board of dried bread, fruits, chocolate, and garlic alongside a wine-filled chalice. There are also small trinkets that litter the table as presents to your deity. One of them is a small Yoda figurine Atticus insisted Hecate would love. Finally, settled in the corner is a diffuser, the steam dispersing the scent of citrus and flowers. That combination of smells is one that you equate with home. A whiff of that anywhere could take to the memories of this table.

“I apologize, Lady Hecate,” you say, pulling the box of matches from the drawer. “It’s Atticus’s fault that I forgot.” A smile emerges as you light the candle and throw the match in the little cauldron beside to snuff the flame.

“Not true,” Atticus chimes in, his footsteps growing heavy as he emerges beside you. “Hecate should punish you for forgetting.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

Atticus leans on the wall next to the table, arms crossed as you dig for a clean cloth in the middle drawer. You dab some coconut oil on it to polish Hecate’s statue. “Today was the last day of school,” you begin, carefully rubbing the base. “Atticus and I only got in trouble once.”

“It was probably because we were only there for three hours,” he concludes.

“For sure.” Moving the oil up Hecate’s dress, you hum softly. “I hope the summer goes by slowly. I don’t want to go back any time soon.” “Neither do I.”

“And I hope we go on vacation like last year.” You bring Hecate’s ear close to your lips as if you were telling her a secret. “Persuade our dad to take us to Disney World this year.” “And Universal,” Atticus adds. “And Universal, please,” you whisper again, and your brother perks up excitedly. “You think she will?” “I think so. She gave Felix nightmares when we asked,” you and your brother smile knowingly, excited for the trip as if it was already set in stone.

By the time you finished polishing Hecate, you and Atticus had already discussed all the plans for your trip. You would like to think her divine intervention was already at work, especially as you hear footsteps coming up the stairs before your father appears in the living room. “Hi, Dad,” you and Atticus say in unison, and the man smiles tiredly. He only had two lecture classes on Friday, but being up all night working on his latest academic project had taken all his energy. “Hey, kids,” he says sweetly, ruffling your and Atticus’s hair affectionately. Putting his computer bag on the couch and tossing his keys on the kitchen island, he doesn’t notice his twins staring at him. He must have felt the burning gaze, eventually looking in your direction. As he unbuttons the cuffs of his dress shirt, eyebrows raised at how your smiles stay frozen on your faces. “What are you guys so happy about?”

Stifled giggles release from your throats, and Vincent’s expression becomes increasingly suspicious. He’s not sure what those looks mean. “Unpredictable” already felt like an understatement for you two. “So, Atticus and I were thinking,” you pause for suspense, slightly enjoying the nervous anticipation from your father. “We were thinking that you could take us to Disney for vacation,” Atticus blurted out before you could.

Vincent immediately snorts at the suggestion. “I’ll think about it.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Really?” “Eh,” Vincent shrugs with a playful smile that tells you not to get your hopes up. At the sight, you and Atticus slouch, ready to beg. “You guys suggest it like it’s cheap.”

“That’s why you’re paying for it,” Atticus says matter-of-factly, and Vincent couldn’t help but laugh. “Summer’s barely started, and you guys are already planning a vacation?” You and Atticus nod and his eyes switch between you, wondering how this idea came to be. “Let’s talk about this another day. For now, go upstairs and wash up for dinner. I’m gonna start cooking.”

Atticus sighs, and you mimic the boy beside you. It was a shot in the dark, but he’ll come around. You were sure of it.

“Lame,” you say, the word drawn out, and Vincent shakes his head, amused, as the two of you disappear upstairs to your rooms.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

What is there to do? Sitting at the edge of your bed, you look around your room, searching for something to occupy your time. Usually, by this point of the night, you and Atticus were doing homework at the table and waiting for dinner. You could almost laugh at yourself. School is over for the year, and you’re sitting here wondering what to do besides a homework assignment that doesn't even exist.

Your usual hobby of reading felt too school-like, and it didn’t feel like the right activity to celebrate your first night of freedom. Through your jack and jill bathroom, you can hear the plastic buttons of Atticus’s controller and his frustration when he loses his game again. For a second, you considered joining him, but that didn’t feel right either.

You resort to plopping back into the bed, staring at the ceiling—small snippets of your day flash by, your mind skimming through them like pages in a book. Abruptly, the memories stop at your conversation with your grandmother.

“You’ll know one day, but she had her reasons.”

Your once-forgotten disappointment ventures right back. If you had a dollar for every time you tried to come up with possible reasons why she left, you’d be rich. Brainstorming every reason you could think of, you concluded the only one that made sense was that she didn’t want you and Atticus. Truly, what could be the reason for leaving you on a doorstep and never coming to see you again? Sometimes, it felt like your grandmother was bluffing when she claimed to know that your mother loves you very much and that one day, you will meet her. Those promises felt like things your grandmother said to convince herself or to uphold an ideal to refuse reality.

Your father’s feelings about it were the most complicated part. Every time she was brought up, it was like he couldn’t bear to listen or speak of it like swallowing something rotten. Grandma said he was heartbroken, which added to the huge question mark of this situation. How could your mother love you so much but then leave and hurt your father in the process? It was just bizarre.

If the day ever came when you got to meet her, you questioned what you would even say. You suppose you’d hear her reasons first, but sometimes when you thought of the scenario, you couldn’t imagine giving her the time. Though inconsiderate, you wanted to yell and tell her how it feels to be the only person in class without a mother. Sure, your grandmother was always there, and your father filled in the roles as much as he could. Still, it felt like there was something you were missing out on.

Putting on a movie or submitting to the prospect of reading felt like a good idea now more than ever. At least then, it would pull you out of these suffocating thoughts for a little while. The moment you sit in your bed, you’re surprised to see your brother standing in your bathroom doorway.

“Wha—”

Atticus moves so fast, you barely process the moment he slings a small golf ball right in your direction.

“Ow!” Rubbing the sting it left behind on your chest, you glare at him

“Give me the money,” he demands.

“Seriously? That’s what you did that for?” Atticus doesn’t cower under your growing anger, and he nods pridefully. “Yep.” “It’s not even your money,” you explain.

“We split what we make; we agreed on it,” Atticus says, and as you open your mouth, he flings a golf ball at you once again.

“Atticus, stop!” You screech. When you decided you needed a distraction, this wasn’t the one you were hoping for. Of course, right now is when he decides to torment you for a measly 10 dollars. Both of you had two clients today, and charging Avery double meant you made more money. It was yours to keep, but here Atticus is claiming his half.

His high-pitched laughter fuels your rage, “Give it to me!” “It’s not yours! I worked for it!” With a smile you wanted to wack off his face, he secures another ball into the leather tab of his slingshot. “Stop!”

You didn’t even have a chance, his eyes calculating the shot with ease, and he releases the ball. It flies right to the plastic cup on your nightstand, and there’s a clunk, juice running out in long droplets straight to the floor.

I’m gonna kill him, is the first thought that crosses your mind.

You hate mess. Your brother knew that better than anyone. Along with the pulse thumping hard in your ears is the echoing drips coating the wooden floor. The boards will get sticky, and so will your nightstand. The innocent bystander of the attack, your journal, is probably soaked, and who’s gonna clean it? You. Of course, you, and here he is, smiling at you like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “You’re dead!” You scream with a straight stride in his direction, and Atticus yelps, dodging your attempt to grab him. He manages to slip past you, his hand snatching the money off your desk on his way out. “Ugh!”

Harmonious thumping footsteps fill the hallway, wooden floorboards creaking with every heavy step. Downstairs, the chandelier over the dining table shakes, and Cordelia's cup of tea ripples into circles. “They’re fighting again.”

Right through the dining room archway, Vincent cleans some dishes. His hands pause their task, head tilting back and eyes close for a moment. The bickering never ends with you two.

Quickly, he wipes his hands with a dish towel nearby, his footsteps heavy as he makes his way to the bottom of the stairs.

“What’s going on?” Your father’s tired call is just loud enough for the both of you to hear, but neither you nor Atticus gives him the time.

Hot on his heels, you follow your twin into his bedroom. He makes a beeline into your shared bathroom and returns to your room.

“I made that money myself!” Your anger bubbles in your core as every attempt to grab his collar fails. A harsh grunt of frustration leaves your lip, and a door slamming follows. You don’t waste time checking the door that shuts by itself, lunging at Atticus one more time, but alas, he quickly escapes and heads down the hall. “We’re business partners! You’re supposed to give me half!” After several more attempts, Atticus squeals when you finally get ahold of his collar. He falls back on the floor from your hard tug, arms tucking into his chest to cage the money between his hands. “Since when? We agreed we keep what we make, and I made that money!” Atticus squirms in your hold, his fist waving frantically. “GIMME!”

“Guys! What’s going on?” Your father calls louder, and a loud crack comes from upstairs. It was so loud that you backed off from prying Atticus’s fingers, thinking he cracked a bone.

Atticus gasps at your father's call, but he doesn’t respond. Instead, he laughs at your frustration. “You’re so ugly. You look like Grumpy from Snow White!”

His hands catch your arms before you can punt him, and the two of you are wrestling as if your life depended on it, and in Atticus’s case, it kind of did.

“Shut up!” You yell, then there’s a shatter.

A painting on your left falls straight off the wall. Atticus gasps and tilts his head aside just enough for the frame to miss his face as it falls flat. When you’re distracted, he shoves you off of him, rolling on his stomach and crawling away as fast as he can. He tries to get back on his feet, but you regain your balance quick, and right as he reaches the top of the stairs, you grab his foot and drag him back. “Help!” He chokes out, reaching to grab the banister of the stairs, but it is too late. A groan leaves his lips as you climb on top of him. Straddling his back, your hand grabs a fist full of his hair and pulls back. “AHH!”

“Gimme it!” “DAD!”

“Y/n! Let go of your brother right now!” In your blind rage, you just notice your father standing with a disapproving glare at the top of the stairs. “He took my money!” You lean over to retrieve the bill from him, but he continues to wave his fist.

“It’s OUR money!”

“No, it isn’t!”

“Is too!”

“IS NOT!” A strangled yell comes from Atticus as you tug on his hair a little harder, causing the skin around his eyes to pull up. He looked ridiculous, but you are too angry to find any humor. “Y/n! Enough!” Vincent stands his ground, and your eyes snap at your father. You looked wicked with your glowing green eyes and a swirling aura over your head. Anyone sane enough would cringe at the sight, but his glare remains assertive and steady. “Let. Go.”

The sternness of his tone brings you back to your senses, and there is relief in Vincent’s gaze at your dimming aura. You take your time, but eventually, you release your brother.

“Now, without violence, tell me what happened.” Your father demands, leaning against the staircase railing. His calm and relaxed nature brings your mood down, and you rise from your spot.

“Atticus took my money.” “It’s OUR money,” he says once again. The repeated phrase makes you so angry that you shove him back on the floor right as he’s about to stand up. “OW!” “Y/n, keep your hands to yourself,” Vincent scolds, and you huff. He sighs, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “What money are we talking about?”

“The money we made from our business.”

Vincent raises an eyebrow at you. “Business?

“Yeah, our tarot reading business.” “Tarot reading business?” He furrowed his eyebrows at your nod as if it was the most nonchalant thing in the world. “You two ran a tarot reading business at your Catholic school?”

“Um, yeah?” You shrug, and so does Atticus beside you.

It wasn’t that big of a deal. The nuns never found out, so who cares? The two of you were careful, only doing readings in the bathrooms or behind the bookshelves in the library. Maybe, it was a little wrong to do readings between the church pews, but it was only once!

Okay, maybe twice.

Actually, it was three times.

Regardless, it’s not like the bible explicitly says, “you cannot use tarot cards.” The last time you checked the fine print, it wasn’t in the Ten Commandments.

Also, five dollars per reading was enough to get you guys all the candy and snacks you could need, so it was something you couldn’t give up. In that case, it could have been considered greed or gluttony even but those rules don't apply to you. After all, you weren’t even Catholic.

“Pretty sure you shouldn’t be doing Tarot readings at your Catholic school.” “And I’m pretty sure pagans shouldn’t go to Catholic school, but here we are.” You mimic the beaming squint of your father but you backed down.

Vincent sends you an expression telling you you weren’t being fair and your vision falters elsewhere. Catholic school was the only option after you and Atticus got expelled from the only public school in your area.

It’s a long story, but basically, Atticus picked mushrooms from the forest behind your house for an art project, and you made the mistake of mentioning them to your friends at lunch. Next thing you know, Jackson makes a bet to eat the mushroom despite you and Atticus saying it was a bad idea.

One thing leads to another, and Jackson ends up having a bad trip in the middle of math class. It could have been worse. Better psychedelic than poisonous, right? Your principal disagreed and expelled you and Atticus immediately.

Vincent sighs, “Give me the money.” “What?!” You ask, and Atticus clutches the bills into his chest. “Give it to me. Now. I will keep it until you two calm down.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “But—”

Your father's hand comes up, stopping your words. “Atticus, give me.” Your brother sighs, begrudgingly handing it over. “Go to your rooms.” You move quickly at the command, not because you are eager to obey, but because you’re so angry you don’t want to be around either of them. You slam your bedroom door closed and Atticus’s door follows right after, leaving your father alone in a deafening silence.

The soft sigh that leaves Cordelia makes Vincent’s eyes shut tight. He didn’t even notice she joined him upstairs during the chaos. His mother stares at him in his peripheral vision as he assesses the damage you left behind. The only window in the hall is shattered. Again. Two out of three paintings are discarded on the floor, frames broken at the ends.

“You’ve held it off long enough.” The floorboard creaks under Cordelia’s slippers. She tsks at the falling paintings. “I know you’re scared. I am, too, but they’re growing and getting strong. It’s time.”

It’s time. Fear strikes his chest. Those words felt miles away once but not anymore. Vincent envies his past self and the privilege of tucking away the dreaded scenario.

The tiny babies he used to rock to sleep, the ones that glowed in his arms from the sheer power of their tiny wails, the two that snuggled against him when they were scared at night, were ready to leave. It feels impossible.

Even now, after watching your legs and pride grow, he cannot wrap his head around how the two of you should go off to this camp, unlock your mother's powers, and learn to wield weapons.

WEAPONS? Oh gods.

The other day, Atticus stapled his hand, and you almost took a finger off trying to wash a kitchen knife. How will the two of you even manage with swords? Vincent senses an anxiety headache coming around just at the thought.

“Lady Hecate, give me strength.” The statement is drowsy but pleading. He needed all the divine intervention he could get.

His twin's youth was slipping through his fingers uncontrollably like the shifting nature of water. Through his grief, Vincent tried to think of the benefits of their departure.

They won’t have to deal with the eerie entities they attract for the first time. Finally, no weird nightmares or occurrences, at least for a time. They’d learn to get their powers under control, which would be a blessing to his wallet. It’s going to be his third time replacing that window. They’d also get all the answers about their mother, who they’ve been dying to know about.

Cordelia always pushed her boundaries, telling them bits and pieces of who she was and snippets of memories of when Vincent was utterly in love with her. He didn’t like it, but he was grateful for it.

It’s been over a decade since Hecate last graced him with her presence, and he still found it hard to talk about. He couldn’t help but grieve the idea of how different their lives would be if their godly parent were more involved. Still, he was glad they knew her as their patron. In a way, just like a mother, they did seek her out for solace.

Despite all the positives, Vincent had to acknowledge it was also one step closer to becoming the people they were supposed to be. Whoever they were supposed to be.

The mystery of that drove him insane. Even aware that the trajectory of their life was up to the fates, he still prayed and hoped they didn’t end up like the Greek tragedies he’s spent years of his life studying. It was foolish, but praying was the only thing that brought him a faux sense of control.

With a feeling heavy as stone in his throat, he nodded to no one. It’s time, he thinks, the voice in his head far more certain than he felt.

masterlist my lobby: ♡

#percy jackson fic #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson masterlist #percy jackson fanfiction #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson and the olympians fanfic #percy jackson and the olympians fanfiction #my writing #yg by xeni #percy jackson #percy jackson and the olympians

121 notes · View notes

lifeofroos · 2 years

Text

A/N: I need to write this out of my system I think. I have a friend who isn’t doing so well, and he said I felt like a burden, and then I said… well this. Themes of suicide, mental health, self-harm and depression.

Or I wrote a darker-then-usual Dionysus-gives-Nico-therapy-as-well-as-he-can story.

AO3 - KoFi

Burden

‘I could have gone to a healer.’ Nico sat down on the crappy plastic chair in his cabin and extended his arm, so that Dionysus could disinfect the wound on his arm.

‘But I needed to talk to you.’

‘What is there to say?’

Dionysus sighed. He grabbed a bandage and began binding it around the wound. ‘It looks like a cut.’

‘So?’

‘To be blunt: Did you make that cut yourself?’

‘No.’

‘No or not exactly? If you understand what I mean.’ Dionysus reached for a roll of medical tape.

‘Not exactly, I think.’ He didn’t cut delibaretly. Yet, he might not have cared whether he fell or not while he ran down a rocky patch.

‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’ Dionysus ran tape around the bandage.

Nico shrugged. ‘It wasn’t very interesting. I tripped and cut myself on a sharp rock. That’s it.’

Dionysus cut the tape. ‘And you didn’t care about it, did you?’

Nico didn’t reply. There was nothing else to say about it.

‘Why don’t you care, Nico? I do.’

‘You do?’

‘I don’t want you cutting yourself on rocks, more or less accidently.’

‘Hm.’ Nico looked into his lap. ‘I just… it doesn’t really matter to me if I get hurt or not. My life doesn’t matter anyway.’

Dionysus dropped the scissors onto the floor. With a movement that can only be discribed as a jump he got in front of Nico. ‘What did you say?’

Nico felt his cheeks getting hot. ‘I… eh… I don’t really think it matters if I live or die.’

Dionysus grabbed his shoulders. ‘Do you realise what you are saying right now?’

Nico felt tears welling up in his eyes. ‘I don’t think so?’

‘Other people do care if you live or die, Nico. You think your friends want you dead? If your boyfriend wants you dead? You think your siblings, your many allies, your father wants you dead?’ He shut his eyes for a moment. ‘I want you to live.’

‘Oh.’ Tears ran down Nico’s cheeks. ‘Why?’

‘Why? Because I-’ Dionysus took a step back and looked away. He clenched his jaw.

‘I didn’t think you’d react this way,’ Nico said in a small voice.

‘Kid-’

‘I just-’

‘Why wouldn’t I care about you, little bastard? I am bandaging up your wounds, for crying out loud. I speak to you every week, because I want you to be okay. Why would I not-’ He buried his head in his hands.

‘I thought people wouldn’t care because I am a burden to them,’ Nico mumbeld. ‘I… I need help, and emotional support, and I- I mean, it’s easier on them if I’m not there, I think...’

‘And you don’t think the grief you’ll bring onto all these people isn’t a worse burden to bear for them?’

Nico got quiet. ‘Maybe.’

‘Oh…’ Dionysus sighed and came closer to pull Nico into a hug. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered. ‘Sorry for reacting like that. You can’t help all these thoughts in your head. Just… know that they aren’t healthy. And that I am here to help you with them.’

‘Are they really that unhealthy?’

‘Yes.’ Dionysus let go so he could look Nico in the eye. ‘They are, kid. You’re young, you’re supposed to be full off life. Even as a Hades kid.’

‘Am I not cursed by my parentage?’

‘The important question is: do you want to be?’

Nico blinked. ‘No. I do want to be happy and filled with life. But I don’t think I can.’

‘I’ll go above and beyond to make sure you will be,’ Dionysus sissed. ‘And I am the god of life. Of living. Of rebirth.’ He exhaled, suddenly looking tired beyond the years. ‘Not that I can promise you anything,’ he mumbeld. ‘But I’ll try my hardest.’

‘Thanks.’ Nico sobbed. ‘I… I think this is what they call a wake-up call.’ His voice wobbled. ‘I didn’t think of all this.’

Dionysus closed his arms around him again. ‘Sh. I’ll try my best to make it alright, kid.’

Nico nodded. Maybe it wasn’t the most appropriate moment to think this - but the thing he craved most now was a nap, a nice, long nap, so he could wake up refreshed and think all of this over in rest.

14 notes · View notes

xspeter · 11 days

Text

꥟ part of the ‘dancing with our hands tied’ collection. main masterlist.

IN WHICH… Luke Castellan has returned from his quest, but he refuses to see anyone. Too bad you’ve been assigned to watch over him.

W.C: 4.3k

You didn’t like being awoken in the middle of the night. Not by your siblings, not by a nightmare, and definitely not by Chiron.

He’d practically forced you awake, and then started telling you that there was an emergency and you were desperately needed.

Your sleep stricken mind you’d barely been able to process it, blinking a few times as you sat up slowly. Chiron stared at you expectantly, like he expected you to jump out of bed and follow him. If he wanted someone to do that, he should’ve woken up a morning person.

“…What?”

Chiron didn’t repeat himself, instead just leaving the building with a hushed whisper of, “Follow me.”

You swallowed, blinked again, and then did as you were told, slipping on a pair of crocs and wrapping your arms around your chest. The night time summer air was cold, and goosebumps rose on your skin as you followed the centaur.

Chiron didn’t say anything as you walked, well, more like jogged, and it frustrated you. Where was he taking you? What was so important that he had to wake you, and only you, up in the middle of the night?

“Chiron,” You whispered, “What’s going on?”

“Luke’s returned from his quest,” He said as you approached the Big House.

You grinned. You didn’t know Luke all that well, but you knew everyone was excitedly awaiting his return. But, your smile dropped once you noticed the worried knit in Chirons brow. “That’s supposed to be good, isn’t it?”

Chiron sighed as he placed his hand on the front door, an unusual look of worry and maybe even fear in his eyes. “I want you to be prepared when we go in here. Remember, I chose you because I believe you are the most capable in calming him.”

Your mouth went dry as you realized something was very, very wrong. “Calming… who? Luke? Did something happen?”

Chiron doesn’t say anything, instead turning the doorknob and practically forcing you inside. You wish he hadn’t.

The first thing you notice is the sobbing. Pure, unfiltered, scream-crying that makes your heart ache for someone you don’t even know. Then it’s the people, nymphs running around in a panic, random medical supplies and blankets dropping from their arms as they dart around the room.

Then it’s Mr. D. You’ve never seen Dionsysis as anything other than annoyed and irritated. But right now, he looks nervous. Scared. It’s terrifying.

You can’t tell where the sobbing is coming from, it’s so loud it feels like it’s all-consuming. Like it’s coming from every inch of the room.

You turn to Chiron, slight determination in your features, “Where is he?”

Chiron looks almost relieved, like he was expecting you to turn tail and run. Honestly? You wanted to. You weren’t equipped to handle something like this, and you had no idea what was wrong with him anyway!

He gestures towards the stairs, “First room on the left. Grover and some other satyrs are in there with him. I’ll have a nymph bring you the things you’ll need, just try to calm him down for now, alright?” You nod, sucking in a breath as he walks away from you.

There’s not many things to say as you approach the room. You can hear the Satyrs and their hushed whispers of panic and worry, and you can hear the pain in Luke’s screams. The way he cries like he’s been torn limb from limb, and maybe he had been.

You take a deep breath before you peak into the room, but you can’t see Luke. You can see Grover, tears in his eyes as tries wiping something in front of him. You notice the blood that coats his shirt and hands, the deep red cloths that surround him.

A satyr you recognize, Alder, notices you first. And you see the relief that floods his body when he does.

You swallow, and enter the room. Hands clammy as you approach Alder. Your voice wobbles a bit as you speak, “Give me a rundown of what happened.”

Alder is shaking, his breath coming in unevenly. “He- he got back barely even ten minutes ago, and he was sobbing. I couldn’t see his face at first so I didn’t understand but- but-” He sucks in another breath, squeezing his eyes shut. “It’s deep, Y/N.”

You nod. You still don’t understand completely- but you know it must be a cut of sorts which helps relieve you a bit. At least now you have an idea of what you’re dealing with.

From what you knew of Luke’s quest, he had to receive an apple from The Garden of Hesperides. And even though you didn’t know much about this garden, you had an idea of what might have given him the laceration.

You placed a hand on Grovers shoulder, and watched as he turned around to face you. You could see the blood on his shirt much better now, as well as the blood that dripped from his fingertips.

Grover didn’t question you for a moment, but you both winced as Luke let out another wail. Grover must’ve understood why you were there, so he shakily nodded his head and stepped away, letting you finally see Luke fully for the first time.

The sight makes you gasp. Luke’s face is practically covered in blood, all leaking from a jagged cut that runs down his left cheek. His eyes are squeezed shut, body practically flailing as he gasps and groans in pain.

“Okay, okay, okay..” You chant to yourself, hands unsure of where to go or what to do. You didn’t have any of the supplies you needed, not yet anyway, and Luke clearly didn’t even notice you were there. You don’t think he noticed anyone was there.

You squeezed your eyes shut, sucking in your bottom lip as you struggled with what to do. “Luke, can you- can you hear me?” You asked shakily. A stupid question, you knew he couldn’t hear you, you just weren’t sure of what else to say.

Luke didn’t respond, instead, more tears rolled down his face, making the blood run and drip down onto his pillow.

You struggled with what to do, unsure of what you could even do or say to calm him. Honestly, you weren’t sure if there even was anything you could do right now.

You glanced back to the satyrs, and then to Grover, and you felt your stomach drop. He was staring at you expectantly, his own tears leaving dark lines on his tan skin. You knew about his history with Luke, how much he cared for the older boy, and you knew seeing him like this must’ve been terrifying.

So, you did the one thing you could think of.

When you were younger, every time you cried your mother sang you a song. It was silly, and it didn’t really hold any value to Luke as far as you could tell, but it was the only thing you could think to do.

“Here comes the sun and I say, ‘It’s alright, Little Darling..’” You started hesitantly, voice quiet as you leaned down to luke, your fingers tracing his jawline.

He didn’t say anything, in fact he didn’t even react, instead continuing to writhe and scream in pain and fear. Still, you continued.

“The smiles returning to the faces, Little Darling..”

The satyrs all just stared at you in what you assumed was confusion. You didn’t blame them- you were unsure of what you were doing yourself.

“It seems like years since it’s been here, here comes the sun..”

Sometimes, if you were in an exceptionally good mood, you’d sing this song during the campfire. Apollo kids always sang during it, but you weren’t one to enjoy that with them. That’s why you think Luke recognizes it.

Slowly, his breathing evens, and his splintering sobs turn to quiet whimpers. His body relaxes, practically going still as his eyes return to their natural shut state.

You smile, cupping his uninjured cheek with your hand, ignoring the blood that soaks into your skin. “Here comes the sun and I say, ‘It’s alright’..”

☀︎

It’s five days before Luke wakes up.

You come in every morning and every night, checking on him and cleaning him up. Changing his bandages, shifting him around so he doesn’t develop sores from laying in the same position. Sometimes you go in just to keep him company.

But, still, you nearly jump out of your skin when you enter the room and find Luke sitting up, staring out the window with an obvious knit in his brows.

He turns to you once he hears the door click shut, but neither of you say anything. You feel small under his burning gaze, but still, you swallow and approach him.

You turn to the bedside table, where you’ve been keeping the fresh bandages, and silently get to work.

Luke doesn’t say anything as you gently turn his head towards you, and he doesn’t say anything as you peel back the bloody bandage that covers his left eye. It makes you nervous.

But, you know Luke has been through something traumatizing. Something you’ll probably never understand, so you don’t say anything either. If he wants to talk, you’ll let him go first.

The next three days pass by just the same. Every morning and every night, you change his bandages, check his vitals, make sure he eats, and leave. All without saying a single word.

You want to ask him what happened, if he remembers anything, if he remembers that you were there that night. Does he even remember that night? Does he even know your name?

But you don’t ask. And on that fourth day, Luke finally says something to you.

You're changing his bandage again, and make a pleased hum in the back of your throat when you notice it’s completely clean.

Luke, who usually looks anywhere but at you when you’re doing this, locks his gaze with yours. He swallows, leaning back onto his hands, “Is it better?” He asks.

You're stunned for a moment, but quickly pull yourself together. His voice is rough and raspy from what you assume is not talking for literal days, but it’s still got a soft kindness too it you’re not sure you’ve ever heard from anyone else.

“Um, yeah. There’s not any blood soaking through it anymore which is a really good thing. I mean, I was starting to get a little worried with all the bleeding but you seem to be healing up nicely.” You fiddle with your fingers a bit nervously, looking at anything but Luke.

Luke doesn’t say anything for a moment, turning his head and staring out the window. You take his indifference as a sign to leave, so you take your things and walk towards the door.

Just as you are about to close it, there’s a voice.

“Wait,”

It’s soft, and if you hadn’t been listening you probably wouldn’t have noticed it. But you do as told, turning around and making contact with the curly haired boy.

He looks to be struggling with what to say, as if he’s unsure of how to get the words out. Your hand grips the doorknob uncomfortably, eyes wide as you look expectantly at Luke.

Finally, he releases a breath and relaxes his shoulders. He looks back towards the window, and murmurs, “Thank you.”

It’s the last thing you were expecting to hear from the demi-god, but still, you practically glow once it falls from his lips.

“Of course.” You say, quietly waiting to see if he’ll say anything else. You don’t let it disappoint you much when he doesn’t, baby steps and all that, but still, for the first time in a week, you leave that room with a smile.

☀︎

The first thing you notice when you enter The Big House is yelling. Lots of it.

You’re confused, because Mr. D is standing right next to you and you’re not sure Chiron has ever raised his voice a day in his life. And then it registers. Luke.

“He’s been going at it all day.” Mr. D says, that familiar annoyance in his tone. “Get him to stop, would you?”

Your lips part as you stare up at him in shock. “Me?”

Dionysus shrugs, taking a gulp of his Coke. “You did it the last time he was raising hell! Just do whatever you did then.”

This was a completely different situation then last time! Then, Luke was barely even conscious. He couldn’t register what was going on around him, and he was screaming in pain. Not anger!

You shook your head, stumbling over your words a bit as Mr. D grabbed you by the wrist and began dragging you upstairs. “I can’t! This is completely different and has nothing to do with me! And I can’t do what I did last time- It’d be weird now!”

But, you don’t have any more time to argue, because Mr. D barges into Luke’s room without a second thought, pushing you inside and slamming the door.

Chiron and Luke both go silent, both turning to face you. Chiron looks confused, a silent question on his face. While Luke.. doesn’t look like anything. The knit in his brows relaxes, and the obvious frown that was on his face disappears. He looks as if nothing happened.

“I’m sorry,” You huff, wincing a bit as you reach for the doorknob to exit, “Mr. D kinda forced me in here, Not sure what he thought I could do…” You mumble the last part, clearly very annoyed. “But I’ll uh, i’ll just leave you guys to.. continue.” You gesture to the two of them with a fake smile on your face, struggling to open the door. Mr. D must’ve locked it, that old bastard.

Chiron shakes his head, giving you a small smile. You can tell he’s exhausted though, his eyes say it. “No, please, stay. I’ll go.” He shoots a look to Luke, who’s frown has returned onto his pink lips. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”

Luke doesn’t say anything, and Chiron opens the door so easily you almost feel embarrassed.

There’s silence as you approach him, deafening, sickening silence, and you itch to ask why he was yelling. What made him so angry?

You suck in your bottom lip and risk a glance at Luke. He’s staring out the window still, and you wonder what he thinks when he looks out there. Does he miss everyone? Does he want to go back and finish his quest?

“Um,” You release a breath, shrugging your shoulders in an attempt to seem completely indifferent. You sit on the stool next to Luke’s bed and begin to get to work, “Not to be.. nosy or anything like that, but, what was that about?”

Your hands are gentle as you softly position his head so you can get the best angle, softly peeling the bandages away and checking in on his progress. The cut has healed nicely, and it’s no longer blaring red and raw. Instead, it’s a nice pinkish color, and you can tell that scar tissue is beginning to form.

Luke doesn’t say anything for a moment, and you begin to worry that you crossed a line. “You don’t have to answer that-”

“Chiron wants to tell everyone that I’m back from my quest.”

Your blink a couple times, but smile a bit that he felt comfortable enough to answer you. You hadn’t registered that his return had been a secret until now, but you can understand why he’d want it to stay that way.

He was supposed to be this great swordsman, someone all of camp looked up to and depended on. You assumed that’s how he saw the quest, something else the rest of camp would be proud of him for.

So, when he failed? Probably not the best for his pride.

“I understand why you wouldn’t want to tell. But.. they’ll all find out eventually. Wouldn’t you rather rip the band-aid off now instead of waiting?” You ask, voice a little hesitant. You don’t want to scare him off, or make him feel like he’s being attacked.

He huffs, gnawing on his lower lip as you gently replace his bandages. “What would the difference be? Disappoint everyone now, or disappoint everyone later. How fun.”

There’s a bitterness in his voice that you hadn’t expected, but you understand it. “They aren’t going to be disappointed, Luke. They’re worried for you. I see them, you know? They sit and watch the hill, waiting for you. And I don’t want to… push you, or anything, but I think maybe it’s time you let them help you.”

Luke’s lips thin, and he goes back to staring out the window. You finish your work silently and stand to leave, but a hand on your wrist stops you.

You look down surprised, finding his fingers barely locked around your wrist to stop you. He looks up, making soft eye contact with you, almost as if he were begging you not to go. You listen.

You sit back down, and Luke releases you without saying a word. It’s this moment when you can finally take the time to really admire him, not the things that leave him scarred.

His hair is a deep brown. Not quite black, but still so dark it could be mistaken for charcoal. The sunlight from the window streams onto it, making it glow a soft mocha color. His eyes match, but they're more honey-colored than anything.

Freckles dot his skin like stars, aligning to form different constellations. You resist the urge to trace them. But his lips.. they're so soft, so pink. So.. unique. You want to trace them, too.

Luke sniffles, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not… not that I don’t want to. It’s more like I can’t. How am I supposed to tell them I failed when they expected so much more of me? If I tell them that.. that I’m not as amazing as they think I am, then who do I become?”

You smile gently, eyes crinkling in the corners. You risk interlocking your fingers with his, fully expecting him to pull away, but he doesn’t. His breath hitches in his throat for a moment and you can tell he’s hesitant, but, he returns your gesture, holding your hand with a softness you hadn't expected.

“You become human.”

☀︎

News of Luke’s return spreads around the camp like wildfire. Everyone is excited, happy that he returned at all, but they are also confused. If Luke had returned, where was he? And why had no one seen him?

You honestly couldn’t help the swell of pride in your chest the next morning when you’d gone to check on Luke and he’d told you he was having Chiron tell camp. Some selfish part of you wanted to believe it was because of what you’d told him, but you knew realistically it was something Chiron had said.

You chew on your nails as your siblings talk in hushed whispers at your table. All of them talking about where the hell the hero could be and why he hadn’t been seen. Some say Chiron is just waiting until Luke is cleared of any injuries he may have gotten, others get more extreme and say he hadn't really returned at all and Chiron was just waiting to tell everyone he had died.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything, would you, Y/N? You’ve been acting pretty secretive lately..”

Your head whips to your brother, Lee, as he eyes you suspiciously. You stammer on your words, eyes gluing to the space around him as you struggle to come up with the words. You’d never been good at lying.

“No! How would I even know anything? I know as much as you, and also, I'm sure Luke’s okay wherever he’s at so you guys should stop worrying and stop talking about it.”

Lee gasps, eyes going wide as he points an accusing finger at you. “You do know something!”

“No I don’t!”

Your sister, Marcia, snorts and rolls her eyes. “You totally do.”

You stutter for a second, racking your brain for an excuse. “I’m- your- whatever! I have to go!” You stand abruptly, walking away and ignoring the way Lee groans and pleads with you to tell him.

You find yourself in the strawberry field, just as you always do when you feel conflicted, and pick so many red berries that your basket feels as if it weighs more than a super fat cat.

You huff as you drag them to The Big House, your arm slightly aching. Look, you weren’t one to… physically exert yourself. You’d stick to nursing people back to health, thank you.

Luke watches you curiously as you plop the strawberries onto the bedside table, slightly panting as you do. You rub at your forearms, doing your best to smooth the ache there. “I figured Chiron wasn’t bringing you any of these, and I remembered someone told me that you really liked them. So…”

You winced a bit, mentally cursing yourself for mentioning that last part.

But Luke doesn’t mention it, instead he just stares up at you, and you watch as his lips quirk up into a small, genuine smile. “Thank you.”

There’s a swell of pride in your chest, one that you allow yourself to be selfish about, because Luke Castellan is smiling and it’s just about the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Don’t mention it.”

You both chat aimlessly as you patch him up and you even stay to talk with him way after you finish. In the two weeks Luke has been holed up in this room, you can tell the effect it’s having on him mentally and physically.

He’s lost most of the tan that used to kiss his skin, and instead is an uncharacteristic pale color. His muscles have become less defined (not that you were paying attention to that), and he just seems more bored than anything now. You don’t blame him, having to have his only conversations revolve with the same four people. Chiron, Mr. D. Grover, and you.

“No, come on, there's no way you purposely skip out on capture the flag!”

You shrug nonchalantly, playing with the ends of your hair as you lean back onto the backrest of the stool. “I just don’t see the point. And, besides, I enjoy helping everyone with their injuries. It’s usually only the younger kids who come in with little scrapes and cuts, so it’s super easy and they always give me these adorable little smiles.”

Luke listens intently to your reason, and he finds it almost endearing how you ramble, a soft smile on your face as you think of the kids. “I understand that then, I guess. I love those troublemakers too. Sometimes.”

You snort, glancing up from the hair you were tangling and towards him. His eyes are soft, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the headboard. “Only sometimes?”

He shrugs, “Yeah, only when they’re not causing some kind of trouble. Which is pretty much always..”

You silently agree with him on that, nodding your head. You want to ask him when he plans to leave this room, you’d cleared him two days ago, but decide against it. Luke would leave when he was ready, but maybe he just needed a push in the right direction, just like last time.

“I heard Connor talking about you today.”

Luke sits up a bit in interest, scratching his forearm. “Really? What’d he say?”

You suck in a breath, wetting your lips nervously. “He said he missed you. And that he was worried about you.”

The smile on Luke’s lips falls, and is replaced with his usual nonchalance. His body deflates, and he turns his attention to the sheets in front of him. “Oh.”

You nod, “I think everyone misses you. And they all kinda just wait to hear any news about you they can get. It’s kind of sad, honestly. And, to be perfectly clear, I am an absolute horrible liar and my siblings are starting to catch onto my daily visits here. I fear if you don’t make an appearance soon they might follow me.”

Luke snorts at that, but he doesn’t smile. You want to pry open his mind and understand just what he’s thinking. “I want to. I’m just.. I'm scared of them. Of how they’ll look at me.”

You shake your head, “Luke, they love you. Like, seriously love you. You’ve gotta stop getting in your head about this, let them show you how they’ll look at you. Not your head.”

Luke sighs, letting his eyes fall shut as he processes. You think that deep down he knows your right, he just needs to set his fear to the side. And you definitely understand how hard that can be.

You stand, walking over to the door quietly. You open it, but pause before you leave and look back at him. “Let them love you, Luke.”

You're not surprised when the next morning, Luke isn’t in his usual spot. You’re especially not surprised once you hear the cheers that come from the lunch area.

You peek around the corner with a smile, happily watching as practically everyone in camp surrounds Luke.

None of them even seem to care about the new jagged scar that covers his left eye, or the way he seems like a completely different boy from the one who left all that time ago.

“What happened on your quest? Did you complete it?” Someone, you can’t make out who, asks. You hold your breath as Luke hears it, his smile faltering slightly.

“I, uh,” He stammers, looking uneasy. You curse and step out of your hiding place, doing your best to put yourself in Luke’s line of sight.

He spots you almost instantly, and you watch as relief floods his entire body. You give him an encouraging thumbs up and a large smile.

He returns the smile, and looks back to the camper who asked. “I didn’t get the apple, but, I did get this super cool scar-”

You watch as Luke makes eye contact with you again, and he doesn’t have to speak for you to know what hes saying.

Thank you.

#luke castellan x you #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #the lighting thief #angst #fanfic #fanfiction #percy jackson and the olympians fanfic #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell x reader #fluff #eventual friends #xspeter #enchanted

320 notes · View notes

fuckthcistem · 1 month

Text

#percabeth #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #iconic duo #wonder duo #annabeth pjo #pjo fandom #percy and annabeth #percy jackson #duo #pjo memes #pjo series #pjo fanfic #pjo tv show #annabeth chase #perseus jackson #percy series #this is percabeth #percy jackon and the olympians

6K notes · View notes

awesome-shoes-with-wings · 3 months

Text

Do any of you ever wonder if Camp Half-Blood accidentally brought in a demigod of a different pantheon before?

This would be especially hilarious if it happens sometime after The Last Olympian/Heroes of Olympus, where the gods are required to claim their kids quickly.

A whole day passes, and the new demigod needs to sleep in the Hermes Cabin and Percy is furious. Meanwhile, the Greek Gods are pointing at each other and shouting, contacting the most obscure of mini gods. Chaos erupts on Olympus as every deity in Greek Mythology is called upon and interrogated. Hermes hasn't run around so much in centuries.

Hecate sits in silence, fully aware of what's happening, but enjoying the show too much to intervene.

4K notes · View notes

wishingformoredogs · 4 months

Text

I will not be silenced.

4K notes · View notes

kamaluhkhan · 4 months

Text

THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

read part two GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you want revenge on luke castellan)

pairing: luke castellan x child of nemesis!reader (gender not specified)

word count: 8.5k

summary: luke hated your guts. he really did. he just hoped that no one could tell how, even after all this, you're still everything to him.

warnings/disclaimer: luke's POV. spoilers for the lightning thief and season 1 of pjo. some heated make-out sessions but no actual smut - MDNI / 18+. mentions of blood + death + alcohol. luke is 19 during tlt but i wrote this with him + reader being 21 by the end of this (this is important for the next part lol). anyways, luke + reader share clothes and lots of intense emotions they maybe possibly don't process in the best way. lots of ANGST - it's a greek tragedy fr!

author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation! this fic is LONG but i hope she's worth it ♡

♪: the grudge by olivia rodrigo

(i. you have a sharp tongue)

fourteen year old luke was overwhelmed when he first stepped into the hermes cabin. it was loud and overcrowded and no one really seemed to care that they had a new cabinmate. the head counselor showed luke to an empty bed at the back, told him to get settled in, and left without another word. luke dropped his backpack before collapsing on the mattress. it was so thin that he could feel the springs dig into his back.

"you'll get used to it."

luke sat up to see you climbing through the window.

you had a band-aid stuck on your chin, chipped nail polish the color of blackberries, and leather combat boots that looked way too heavy to be wearing in the heat of summer.

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.”

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous.

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?”

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in.

“what? n-no!”

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you.

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp.

it just didn't seem fair.

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods.

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest.

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest.

every demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself.

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?”

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching.

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.”

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.”

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze.

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too.

“she deserved more.”

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there.

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do.

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise.

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.”

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm.

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day.

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.”

luke bristled at your nickname for him.

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go.

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in.

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly.

the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again.

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down.

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse.

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled.

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.”

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning.

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone?

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one.

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward."

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you.

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp.

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready.

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him.

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through.

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him.

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power.

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood.

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased.

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess.

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson.

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?”

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken.

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.”

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer.

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too.

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time.

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more.

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips.

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die.

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy.

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away.

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze.

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse.

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse.

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.”

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality.

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie.

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat.

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him.

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for.

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did.

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it.

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair.

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates.

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes.

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.”

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes.

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that.

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you.

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?”

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush.

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….”

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right.

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for.

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached.

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?”

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?”

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him.

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.”

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said.

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow.

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air.

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch.

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion.

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp.

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him.

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment.

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door.

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire.

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god.

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy.

everything was falling into place.

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you.

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles.

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist.

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him.

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey.

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy.

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?”

“they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true.

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him.

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it.

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down.

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet.

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog.

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more.

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously.

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated.

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind.

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated.

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well.

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.”

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe!

would you hate him, if you knew?

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage.

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?”

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns.

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.”

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment.

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips.

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe.

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his.

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath.

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time.

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted.

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor.

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother.

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock.

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.”

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being.

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.”

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone. we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance.

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor.

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape.

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice.

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head.

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life.

there was a small, pathetic part of luke that wanted you to choose him, even if it meant you would have plunged the knife into his chest.