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yandere-wishes · 1 year

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He's Just Ken

Summary: You're just Barbie, perfect on the outside, dead on the inside. He's just Ken, neither perfect on the outside nor on the inside.

Author's note: I condone neither patriarchy nor matriarchy. But I do love exploring different forms of mental exhaustion and extreme emotional dependency.

Warnings: Mental abuse, dark mental headspace, mentions of suicide and self-harm (only if you read between the lines), yandere behavior, yandere Ken,

Not every Barbie has a Ken. Not one for herself anyway. Every Barbie knows a Ken, but that Ken most likely belongs to her friend, or her neighbor, or one of the other Barbies. Not every Barbie has a Ken, but every Barbie knows a Ken. You know one too, one with sandy hair and ocean eyes. And a look that longs for something more. You know a Ken who keeps his heart from breaking by crossing his fingers and praying to the Malibu sun. You know a Ken who's only happy if a certain Barbie looks his way. Or rather you knew. This was before the world fell apart. This was before he destroyed it.

Ken returned without Barbie and the universe began to crack. It's fine you thought. It's fine you hoped. Ken -That Ken, the one who waited on the beach for hours on end until his Barbie walked by- returned from the real world preaching sermons on how the Kens were better, superior, the rightful rulers of Barbieland. How they didn't need the Barbies, how they no longer needed to settle for being treated as anything less than perfect. How they needn't be number two any longer. Ken returned without Barbie and the universe wept.

You've always known the real world was a messed up place. It had become evident when the thoughts started to creep in. That was years ago-albeit you'll admit you have no idea if Barbie years and human years aligned- years since you started to feel like a constant failure. Years since that harrowing voice began screeching endless dreadful thoughts into your cranium. Notions that festered your mind and heart, tiny maggots that chewed away at your soul. There was always something wrong and it was somehow always your fault. Then came the pain. Horizontal pangs that shot across your arm. Always in the same spot, always in a cluster of three. Barbies don't feel pain as intensely as humans, at least they're not supposed to.

You worried for your human back then. You truly did. But you were always too scared to leave Barbieland. Never brave enough to go find her. She's fine you hope...you doubt it though.

You also refused to go see Weird Barbie. Too scared of being labeled as anything less than perfect. So long as these thoughts merely remained inside you and no outward defects began to show, you would be fine. You could just pretend like everything was as perfect as it always had been.

Ken came back from the real world unscratched. Yet his words hit a chord within every other Ken. They began to take over. The Barbies were reduced to accessories. Pretty little things that clung to their lovers. Dressed in short skirts and maid outfits. Turned into what they weren't.

Ken destroyed what once was perfect. Yet all you could think as you watch the pillars of your homeland cripple and your friends descend into madness. Was how utterly beautiful he was.

The world turned upside down.

Barbieland fell.

Kendome rose.

And yet as everything the Barbies had worked all so hard to build came crumbling down. As your friends and neighbors began to lose themselves and submit to a tyrannical patriarchy. You found yourself utterly unaltered. Your world had been destroyed long ago. This was just another calamity that you would fake your way through. It would be easy, a lifetime of practice finally paying off. Stay quiet, stay in the shadows, no one would notice.

No one was supposed to notice...

Ken found you on the beach one night. A day or two after the hostile Ken takeover. He walked up behind you out of breath as if he'd been running.

The bonfire crackles, a warning, and a love song. Until now you'd only ever existed in his sideview. An afterthought as he impaled his heart and called it love. You had burned yourself in his rays and called it love. You're convinced neither of you knows what love truly is. The moon's rays dance as you two sit side by side. In the distance, you see Blue Mermaid Barbie and Mermaid Ken share a tender kiss. An unparalleled sight.

Ken sits next to you. Eyes following your every move. Scanning every dip and curve of your plastic corpse. He's just Ken you remind yourself with an uneasy breath. He's just Ken, nothing to fear. Although you're not entirely sure if those old ideologies shine through. He's Ken but somehow he's become unstable at worst, flammable at best. Something radioactive ticks inside of him waiting to detonate. Waiting to make the world feel a trace of his pain.

Ken's fingers intertwine with yours as waves of helplessness crash across your body. You were created to be ethereal yet all you see is perfection molded in the shape of Ken's face. He leans in, carelessly placing his chin in the subspace of your neck as he whispers. "I see the way you look at me" his warm breath tickles the shell of your ear. You flinch, in time with the breaking of the waves. "I know you want me" Reality blurs when Ken touches you. He pulls you between his legs as his lips kiss the back of your neck. His fingers run up and down your arm as if he's trying to memorize your shape, your soul, you. It's romantic you think but all you feel is puka shell shards stabbing your flesh. You know he's dreamed of this intimacy with the other Barbie.

you wonder if in his eyes you are merely a ghost. One he resurrected with desperate love and a broken heart. You wonder if he sees her, feels her, wants her. Yet he'll settle for you. The next best thing. The other stereotypical Barbie. Somewhere along the line, your own voice sounds, foreign to you. He's talking, his voice is smooth like silk. Fragile like window glass after a bombing. He asks you something, something you've dreamed of for all so long. He asks you to be his bride wife. You agree despite how degrading it sounds.

What once was a pink haven of fun and joy has now been turned into a mess of horses and black sunglasses. Barbie's dreamhouse is now Ken's Mojo Dojo Casa House. You feel like an intruder, like a traitor. You feel loved, wanted, needed. Someone once told you that truths can co-exist. It's all you can think to save yourself from going mad.

There's an unspoken easiness that comes with being with Ken. The way he's always around. His hands never leave you, tracing stars on your arms, running through your hair. He wants his presence to be felt.

"I like this" you confess one night as you rest your head on his arm. "I've always felt...less than perfect. Like I couldn't be good at anything like the other Barbies." Ken laughs and it feels like the stars have cladded you in their warmth. He pinches your nose with a soft smile. "I know the feeling," he mutters and you feel your heart crack. "But you don't have to worry about that. I'm here and so long as you're with me. We're both going to be perfect." You snuggle into his chest as you close your eyes. "Ken and Barbie" you sing, a mantra, a prayer. One for a better future. One for a happy life.

You have a dream house. Had one at least. You sometimes wonder which Ken lives there now. You wonder if his Barbie feels your presence radiating off the walls and the floor and the heart-shaped night lamp you once treasured. You certainly feel Stereotypical Barbie's presence echoing from every corner. You see her ghost whenever Ken pulls you onto his lap to watch a horse flick. Infuriated and distressed. You wonder if she's angry because you didn't join the rebellion. You wonder if she's angry because she thinks you took Ken away. You see her ghost again, feel her between the pause of two breaths. She glitches and fades as you hide your face in Ken's mink coat.

"I don't like being apart from you" Ken claims as he lays your body on top of his. One hand dangling off the couch the other curling your loose locks. To Ken a touch away feels like being galaxies apart. You kiss his chin and his cheek and his nose and finally his lips. It feels like a dream. One you refuse to wake up from.

Ken is gold.

Unmetable and solid.A kaleidoscope of hope

He has so much potential rotting inside of him.

Ken is gold.

Beautiful and everlasting.

His value lies in how pretty he is. How good of an accessory he's willing to be.

You wonder if he's sick of being gold.

You felt Barbie's ghost again today. This time looming and aggravated. She wants her presence acknowledged. She has something she needs to say. Ken was out, one of the rare times you two spend apart. Something about a beach off and rock paper scissors.

You wonder if a ghost haunting is their way of showing love.

You wonder if the Kens starting a rebellion is their way of showing love.

Barbie talks for ten minutes straight. You cling to every word, you forgot how much you missed the Other Barbie's voice. It's in the final beat of her sentence that you notice she's not a ghost. Not this time. This is Barbie, the girl who had been your friend since the day you left your box. "Help me" she pleads as she grabs your shoulders. "We need to fix this", you turn your head and smile a broken smile. "I can't" you confess.

It's easy to undo brainwashing. Even easier to reinstate it. What Stereotypical Barbie and her friends can undo. You can simply redo. Even Barbies prefer ease, a few simple half-truths sung into the right ear at the right time. And the once normalized Barbies are running back to their Kens. You turn, in the rays of the golden sun, you see Barbie. Her eyes hold glimmers of unshed tears. She wears her betrayal on her pink sleeve. "Why" she whispers as her fingers reach out to hover over your heart before she retracts them. You think you may have burned her. You think she's afraid of being plagued by your depravity.

You feel like a traitor, like a monster. A creature made of pink lipgloss and shattered vows. should Kendom fall, you know your delicate dream life will fall with it. You stare into her eyes. And the words that leave your mouth feel so rehearsed, yet you swear it's the first time you've uttered them. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you both when you went through hell. I'm sorry I wasn't there when the world collapsed and you ran from the debris. I'm sorry I can't help you pick up the pieces and rebuild what once was yours.., ours. I'm sorry I'm so selfish".

Immortal hearts are cursed with the loneliest beats. Maybe that's why the other Barbies never bothered to ponder their endless existence. Maybe that's why the Kens always clung to false promises of love. Maybe saying I love you is the same as saying I'm letting you go. Stereotypical Barbie has already reached this conclusion, you know this. For a fraction of a juncture, she looks into your eyes. Trying to reason and plea and hope all in the same breath. When you say nothing more her eyes shine with grief as she turns on her heels and runs for the hilled house. You reach out to her, yet only grasp the warm Malibu breeze.

What do you call a person such as yourself?

Coward...

That sounds about right.

Ken kisses your neck, and it feels like lava sprinkling along your skin. You feel like a defeated soldier drowning in a sea of guilt. Survivor's guilt a voice echo inside your head familiar yet all so distant. A ghost from a past life or a current one unseeable to you. "I have it too" the voice replies. You wonder if it's the voice of an angel or a mortal girl. You don't tell him about the Barbie resistance or how easily they can reverse the brainwashing. You work best alone anyway.

You hear the word death replay in the background as Ken bites a sensitive spot. A faint noise, a haunting whisper. You hear the word death and it sounds more familiar than the name Barbie that has rolled off your tongue every day since birth.

Ken harbors you inside the once was dreamhouse like a forbidden secret. Sometimes the skirts feel too short. Sometimes the world feels too heavy. You always feel the eyes of the other Kens on you. You think Ken planned it that way to show the Ken world who you belong to. Just last week he took you to the beach. Both of you wearing matching pastel blues and silver earrings. Other Ken was there also adorned in pastel blue and silver earrings. You see the twitch in your Ken's jaw, the icy glare when Other Ken waves to you. "Let's go," he says, commandes really. He throws you over his shoulder and you're heading back the way you came. "I really wanted to see Mermaid Barbie..." You pout. "No no, you wanted to see a movie remember?" Ken corrects you, to be honest, he does that often. You're starting to doubt you even know your own wants anymore.

Today Ken has you dressed in a pink and white dress. You remember Setrotypical Barbie use to love this dress. You run around the kitchen cooking a pretend dinner. You really want to go shipping, to pick out something you'd like. A rose pink Lolita skirt and a matching button-up. You really want to die. Although that's normal you always want to go shopping. You always want to die. You wonder if Ken will ever let you pick out your own dresses. You leave his plate in front of him as you loop your arms around his neck. You rest your chin on his head as he pulls you closer. Not picking your own clothes is a small price to pay for the intimacy you've craved for far too long.

"Never has there ever been a girl as pretty" Ken whispers as he relishes in your presence.

"Do you have any idea what you are?" He rasps, his lips hovering over yours. You're both sitting on the bed, watching the sun die for the day.

Ken is a monster. At least that's what you're supposed to think. You have something in your mind something that squirmes around in what can only be described as reason. To call it wits and a conscious would be an overstatement. Lucide is a better word. Weak and brittle yet somehow still standing. Deep inside, your heart refuses to call Ken anything other than hero, savior, salvation.

"I'm yours" it's the first truth that's left your mouth in a long long time. You cup his cheeks and kiss him with all the doom and gratitude that lies within you. And Wow Ken tastes like mint ice cream and shooting stars. Like dead dreams that lay on the tip of your tongue. He's the beach at night and the evermore gardens during the day. He's everything good and confusing and painful and sweet. Ken nibbles your ear, playfully, and coos sweet words into your soul. Spinning tales of how you'll be together forever. You soak in his presence, rolling his name around in your head. You keep your head filled with him before your own thoughts give you a heart attack.

You're Barbie but now you are so much more than that. You're his Barbie. Ken's Barbie. Damaged yet simultaneously perfect. And he's perfect too, mesmerizing when the sun's rouge rays kiss his pretty face, bathing him in golden ichor.

You wonder if perfection and imperfection have always been in love.

Sometimes in the dead of night, you think of the little girl playing with you. Albit she isn't a little girl anymore, is she? Kids grow up. clawing and biting through the painful transformation. Sometimes it leaves their minds fragmented. Sometimes it leaves them less than whole.

Judging by how long it's been, your little girl is grown up by now. You close your eyes and give Ken a final kiss before sleep overtakes you. You hope she's okay, even though you know that can never be true. Being "okay" doesn't seem to be a real thing in this universe.

Because girls are broken and the universe knows this

Because boys are broken and the universe knows this

Because the universe does nothing. Just sits there and watches as life bends and breaks itself over and over again

Barbieland is broken too, imperfect and destroyed.

And so are the two of you.

Yet in the end, it doesn't matter.

For as broken as the world is the most important of things has been resolved.

Ken has his Barbie.

And Barbie has her Ken.

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brailsthesmolgurl · 6 months

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RETRIBUTION

SEQUEL TO DAMNNATION. kindly read the prequel to get a better idea on the story's direction. I know I promised an alternate ending, where angst is not involved, but I want to prolong this pain for you masochists :> Enjoy this long, hefty, and incredibly hurtful read. But, it is okay my lovelies, I shall have a good-comforting parallel-universe ending written for you guys this week. SOOO pls do keep up with my profile :)

The legend goes on, with the God of the Sea failing to protect his beloved. His fate was decided for him by his people, but now, he shall take fate upon his own hands and remake his own endings. But, does fate falter? Even to a God?

Warnings: Angst Angst Angst Angst, Spoiler to Rafayel's Lore and I put in some of my own zesty twists to the lore, Deaths and Bloods and some okay maybe not some descriptive gore.

Rafayel walked across the sandy paths of Lemuria, in his human form, with his beloved laid peacefully in his arms. Rafayel did not even bothered to shift back into his merman form as he wanted to dedicate the mundane's death to his people. Or rather, to show how much he loves her, by being a shadow of her, a human, walking amongst Lemuria. A promise he had always given her.

"You promise to show me Lemuria someday right?" He remembered the way her face would light up when he tells her stories of Lemuria. From how Lemurians had sourced for various kinds of sea stones from different parts of the ocean to build their homes to how Lemurians were created, to what do their daily routines consists of and many other kinds of stories that a man could ever dream of hearing from an actual Lemurian.

There was not a moment that y/n was ever bored of it. Instead, whenever he visits, it naturally became a conversation starter. Y'n would ask him of the most random things. "So do Lemurians possess any gardrobes?" Rafayel nearly spat his tea out, snapping his head towards her when she mentioned about toilets as they were having snacks in the middle of the night within her chambers. "Or perhaps they just do their business wherever they are allowed to---" Before she could even finished, Rafayel would have his hand on her lips, to silence her before she continue ruining his appetite for the rest of the night.

The swipe of his fingers on her pale lips reminded him of those days. She is no longer smiling now, eyes and mouth closed, her skin looked ghoulish under the water, skin reflecting light whenever the lightning above struck the surface of the sea. Rafayel's face is a sheet of calm demeanour, but the soul that lays beneath the hunk of this man is a roaring sea, just like how he summoned for the storm before he stepped foot into the vast ocean.

Fishes and various kinds of sea creatures that used to swim along the pathways are not seen nor found within miles of Rafayel's sight. None of them were brave enough to be within his presence as they knew the aura that Rafayel had emitted. It is no doubt that sea creatures are much smarter than Lemurians. Every step he took made the sea creatures scattered further away, burying deeper into their hideouts, scared for their lives.

Rafayel stood in front of his kingdom, eyes pinned against the marble white towers that he calls home. Cheers and laughters could be heard from the banquet hall, where the Lemurians were probably herded, awaiting for his return for a grand celebration towards the revival of Lemuria. But Rafayel was far from a celebratory mood. "We have arrived, my love." His voice monotonous, no hints of happiness nor giddiness, nor sadness, nor disappointment. Just numbness. A man with feelings bears empathy and sympathy, but, a man without feelings bears emptiness, null and void of all emotions.

He continued his course, holding onto y/n tighter in his arms. He had the initial thought of wanting her body to rest within his chambers before he commits bloodshed. But, having an audience might not be a bad idea. Instead, Rafayel wanted this. He knew that she could not be able to tell nor see, nor to be there to stop him, but he wanted her soul to watch him commit this, to execute damnation upon his kind. All he wanted, was to show her how much he loves her, to the point he is willing to do this, to be a mad man.

The heavy doors leading to the banquet hall slowly opened with a chant of a spell. Rafayel's eyes staring straight ahead, his once two-toned irises had now dissolved to be a dark maroon colour. His guess was right, all of the Lemurians were gathered within this hall, laughters and conversations filled the environment. But, almost abruptly, the laughters and conversations seized, and Rafayel could care less about the whispers that started to take place within the silence.

It did not took long before some of the Lemurians sensed something was off and they started swimming towards the heavy doors. Rafayel chanted something under his breath and the doors slammed right in front of their faces. The ones who tried to escape were shocked, but none of them made their move to question why the God of the Sea had a dead girl with a gaping orifice on her chest within his arms and why did he chose to present himself in a miniature form of a mere mortal. Practically the size of an ant compared to the average 2m Lemurians surrounding him.

"Your highness!" Arvia was initially cheerful, emerging from the crowd before he spotted the girl the God was holding onto. He stopped in his tracks, wanting to turn back before he felt a strong force pulling him towards Rafayel. Arvia faced Rafayel, eyes bulging when the invisible force coiled around his neck. "Your highness.... please!" The young merman coughed, the crowd watching in horror.

"You were the messenger weren't you?" Rafayel asked, eyes looking past the young merman, not even sparing him any last bits of attention.

"I was only...executing...what...was being....told..." The merman replied, his breath getting more restricted by every passing second. "I did...not...know...of...the ceremony. Please...I just want to save---"

"Your highness, no!" A mermaid appeared from the crowd, with blonde hair curling like tendrils on land, hazel eyes staring at the young merman before darting over to Rafayel's figure. She happened to be Arvia's mother. "He did what he have to...To save us all." Her sentence made Rafayel's right eye twitched slightly, fueling the God's wrath even more. "Then," Rafayel turned his head and angled it upwards to stare at her right into her eyes. His dark eyes could quite literally burn a hole through her soul as she finds herself talking back to a God. Not just any God at this moment, for he has taken his stance as a vengeful God. "Should it be justified? That I am only doing this to save my beloved?" Before the mother could even say anything, Rafayel only exhaled his breath and Arvia's head immediately got cut off clean by the invisible force. The head's eyes blinked a couple of times, floating upwards towards the surface, while its body sank onto the sea floor, twitching as it goes down. Blood seeping out into the ocean waters, creating symbols guided by the waves.

Lemurians within the banquet hall went into immediate panic, screaming and screeching, wanting to leave the banquet to save themselves. Rafayel looked up, watching as the Lemurians tried to flee. Like a bunch of fishes trapped within a fisherman's net, pushing against one another and fighting for whatever that is left for their puny lives. His voice was hushed, but clear enough to be heard within the hall. "Don't worry my people, you shall only feel the hurt that I had felt." And all of the screams halted.

...

Amund dragged himself across the sea floor, a trail of blood painted by his very own body fluids. The man was in agonizing pain, nearly to the point of passing out. Just a while ago, he was getting all cozy within his own chambers before he heard loud screams that travelled through the sea rifts. But it did not took long before it stopped so he took no mind to it, figuring it was just another norm for those celebratory parties. Not segregating the mischievious ones from the docile ones, that is just an invitation for a mishap to happen at a party.

He heard a swoosh coming from the side of his house and his door slammed open to reveal the God of the Sea, in his mundane form, covered in splatters of blood from head to toe. Amund's jaw dropped when the screams finally registered into his head. The screams may just be caused by this man standing right in front of him. The very girl Amund had tortured set securely within Rafayel's arms. Rafayel's unusual calm demeanour is not part and parcel of his personality, which further solidified Amund's questions to himself.

"Your high---" Amund was literally smashed through the walls of his house and the merman landed roughly onto the sand pile behind his house. Rafayel walked through the hole, eyes still hollow and face expressionless. "Pleas---" Another slam through another wall. And this repeated for a couple of times, until Amund was laying on the sandy pathway in the village, blood pooling out of his mouth. He tried to escape, pushing himself up and trying his best to get his tail to wag so he could generate enough momentum to give him a boost off of the ocean floor.

"It was a fairly easy instruction." Rafayel spoke, finally. Maroon eyes boring into Amund's skull. "And yet, you failed." Rafayel knelt down, showing Amund the girl he was holding onto the whole time. "You had deeply failed me, Amund. And you had failed Lemuria." Rafayel stood back up on his feet, licking his lips and looking back towards the towers that he had walked out from. "For what you had done to her, death would only be the easy way out for you." Rafayel's eyes turned a darker shade and Amund let out a blood curdled scream, begging for his highness' mercy.

It has been a while, with Amund crawling on the sea floor. Dirt and rubble trapped under the old man's nails. Some of his nails however, were ripped off due to him being tossed around---his failure to hold onto anything to slow down the impact, caused some of his nails to be ripped right off of his fingertips during the impact---with Rafayel's invisible force whenever he tried to plead for the God's mercy.

Rafayel had managed to pluck out the merman's scale, piece by piece. Lemurians scale are used to make lethal weapons not only on land, but also in the waters. Yet, they are the hardest to harvest as pulling off ONE scale would equate to a human ripping off their whole scalp in one go. So, one could only imagine the pain Amund is going through currently. Amund could barely crawl, eyes swollen from the sand that had entered his tear duct and hoarse voices turned into silenced croaks.

If Rafayel was not holding onto his beloved, he would have easily been the one to pluck out Amund's scales one by one. Rafayel's blinding rage had deluded his mind, as he watched the merman who is the reason behind his lover's death. "She was going to be my mate, my lifetime mate, for this upcoming season, do you know that?" Rafayel scoffed, tears stinging at the back of his eyes.

"But you had to just test my patience, and my capabilities as the God of the Sea. Hence, what you had experienced today, shall never equate to the pain you made me go through. For you had taken my fate, my people's fate upon your own hands." He gave Amund a good kick and the guy groaned in agony, facing down as he regurgitated blood. "What I did today, was nothing but a mere taste of what I am capable of. AS A GOD." His last sentence carried a strong surge of disgust, his bloodlust psyche temporarily separated his status between Amund, an ordinary merman and himself, which is made to be a God.

"I curse...curse her." He managed to choke out and Rafayel's eyes widened, immediately leaping forward to grab the merman's head to face him. The merman croaked out his very last laugh, taunting Rafayel's actions and the last sentence of his was spoken in Lemurian, a rendition of a chant to curse y/n to be reincarnated into a sea witch.

Rafayel's blink of an eye sparked his evol, and he stood there, watching the eternal flames that was casted on Amund burn the merman from what was left of him into a pile of dust, waiting to be consumed by the planktons that lives within the sea water's ecosystem. Tears unknowingly flowed down his cheek and trickled onto his lover's face. The show is over and so is his wish to see her to be a mundane again in her next life. Rafayel held her corpse closely and tightly to his body, soft sobs finally leaving his lips as he faltered to the sea floor.

...

Hundreds of years has passed. And hundreds of years, Rafayel had travelled the seas to search for her. To at least sense any signs of her presence. Ever since the massacre, Rafayel was tied down by his own guilt, for not only failing to protect his lover, but also being the sole reason for the extinction of Lemurians. How uncanny, a legend that tells the tale of a God seeking vengeance upon his own kind just because they had killed his one and only lover. That tale would surely be pure nonsensical or would and could possibly generate pure hatred from anyone who hears it.

Rafayel could care less, like how he heard the screams of his people in their very last moments, the sound of blood and tears splattered across the once white and pristine walls that they were confined within. The sound of Amund begging not to be killed---with his throat slowly giving up on him---the last curse that he uttered and the last sounds that had bubbled from him when he was lit up with Rafayel's evol.

A hint of humming caught his ears and the man stopped his movements, ears twitching in directions to catch onto the tune. A tune only he has ever whistled. With a gesture, dolphins came surrounding the God in circles, by command. "Find out the source for me, yeah?" Rafayel asked and the circling dolphins chirped in return before they dispersed into all directions.

Rafayel's heart skipped a beat, out of nervousness? He had no idea, he still has not gotten used to the idea of his heart being whole again. Because his heart has only been whole only when he was with her. He does not need a whole heart, he only needs her to fill in for the whole of his heart. And for that moment, he shall forever await.

One of the dolphins returned, whistling back to catch the God's attention. Rafayel looked up, and without hesitation, grab ahold onto the dolphin's fin and he was led towards the source of the humming. The dolphins brought him through the kelp grounds, where his people would usually come by to forage for food when they migrate to the northern side for warmer waters during the changing in seasons.

The dolphin led him to the side of the cliff, where it plunges down to the deepest part of the ocean. Creatures beneath those waters are indespicable, and no Lemurians had ever dived that deep. And that includes the God of Sea himself. The humming came again, this time further confirming that the source of the sound came from down below. Rafayel turned around to look for the dolphin, but the poor creature had left him all alone the moment it dropped him off here.

With a deep breath and a puff of his chest, the purple haired God swam deep into the dark waters below. All of his senses heightened to the max as he himself would not expect what he might encounter. Legends were told that there lives a sea serpent so huge that it could engulf the whole world if it awakes. And that was the only legend that still kept Rafayel on edge till now.

His fear dissipated almost instantly when he spotted a faint light in the far distance within the dark. You see, Lemurians although are half-fish and half-man, they do not possess infrared vision that allows them to see in the depths. Within the depths, Rafayel's flames do not work as well as this is the place where Gods are not exactly welcomed. He sped up his swimming when he noticed the light bounces further down into the dark. Pause. Then the light comes back up, but this time, at a very high speed.

Noticing a huge shadow, Rafayel turned and immediately started charging full speed towards the cliff again. But due to the darkness of the waters around him, the God found himself entrapped in the darkness, bumping and hitting himself against the cliffside. The bone-crushing, chomping sounds that came from behind him made him not-one-bit curious to see what was actually chasing him. Right when he was about to be gnawed by a creature, he heard a voice calling out in a language he had not heard of and he blacked out.

...

"I think he is waking up." A voice whispered next to Rafayel. "His eyes are fluttering."

"Is it? Oh yeah, he does look like he is awakening." Another voice intruded, deeper, but not enough to be known as a man's voice.

Rafayel slowly opened his eyes, before he was met with two snailfishes. One with a red while another is tinted with a blue hue. His eyes darted in between the two fishes as he was trying to comprehend if they were the ones talking earlier.

"Good morning." The red one spoke and Rafayel gasped, moving away from the fish. His pupils blown out as he was shocked. He has seen fishes all of his life, but he had never encountered talking fishes. EVER. But making spells to make fishes talk is definitely a skill only a sea witch possesses. This gave Rafayel a thought, maybe she felt lonely down here so she made herself some friends.

"You scared him Red." The blue one spoke this time, and it swam closer towards Rafayel, using its spiny fins to mimic how a mundane would usually talk. Gestures, as what was taught to the snailfishes, is a common courtesy of good body language to humans. But given the snailfishes had never been in contact with any humans, they took the closest resemblance to what their highness looked like. Rafayel looked just like a human to them.

With parted hair and two eyes, a nose and a lip. He is obviously a human to their knowledge. "We are not going to hurt you." The blue fish gestured it's small fins in circles, speaking slowly for each word, afraid that the man before it would not understand them. "Our master ask us to care for you as she went out to gather some food."

"Who is your master?" Rafayel asked as he sat up, kindly hoping that it was the girl he had awaited for many years. "Where is she?" His excitement made him winced, his head still hurts, a side effect of a sea witch's spell.

The feel of the water temperature shifting made the two snailfishes swam off to one of the tunnels. Rafayel took this time to observe his surroundings. Contrast to the dark waters he was in just now, he is currently in a cave like structure, with huge seaweeds and some pebbles laid out beneath him and a sea lantern hung up at every corner of the cave to provide some decent lighting. For a moment, he did not believe that he is in a sea witch's abode.

The walls had paints on them, some forming artworks of the seas above, and some were writings written in what Rafayel assumed to be sea witch's language. Rafayel stopped at one of the drawings, it was a rough sketch of Lemuria. Seeing the sketch, his breath hitched in his throat. The past memories of his massacre surfacing again but he forced it down. Not willing to show weakness in such a foreign territory. Below the sketch, there were symbols that Rafayel could not read. But he decided not to further crack his head.

The fishes returned and Rafayel's heart dropped to the bottom of his tail when he was met with her. The girl who he had always been waiting, the girl he had committed massacre for, the girl that had made him suffer with loneliness for the past hundred years. Y/n is now in front of him, but other than human legs, it was swapped with a black and singular long tail, resembling one a Moray eel has. Her once brunette curls took on a much darker shade, the same as the waters below here. The curse happened after all, for she had became the sea witch of the depths.

"You are awake." Y/n spoke and oh how he missed her voice. The voice that produces the best laughters and asked the most silly questions. Yet, with this version of her, her voice held none of those characteristics he remembered. It was deadpanned, the lack of emotions nearly made Rafayel winced. With his lack of a response, the sea witch looked towards both of her friends. "Does he happen to be a mute?"

"He spoke to us just now, but more like engaged us in a question or two." The blue snailfish chirped, swimming back to the side of Rafayel. The same fin that used to make gestures came to give a pat onto Rafayel's cheek and the merman turned to look at the fish in question. Seeing Rafayel's reaction, the fish hurriedly swam back to its master. "He is a human as you described right? Right, master?"

"Not quite, Blue." Ironic, Rafayel thought. It is very ironic of her to name things exactly based on the way they looked. It has always been a habit of hers. She placed the seashells she had harvested neatly onto the floor and she swam over to have a closer look at Rafayel. "I think, his origins are of a mermaid." Her eyes are now a different shade of colour, black irises match the shade of her pupils. Another staple for a sea witch. "I apologise for the black out you had to experience earlier on. I had to cease the Angler Fish from rising towards the surface as I did not want it to disturb the ecosystem as of above."

"Do you know of my name?" Rafayel asked, a glimmer of hope shined in his eyes as he really wished for her to remember at least a slither of memory of him. For he had been her one and only lover in her past life. But with the way she raised an eyebrow and tilted her head, his hope got extinguished like a fire that could not be ignited.

"What do you seek for, Lemurian?" Y/n swam back towards the pile of sea shells she had collected and she grabbed one of the bottles from above her shelf. Examining the shells one by one before placing them into the bottle, only the ones that has spots on them would be chosen while the other would be tossed aside and the two snailfishes seem to be having a feast with the leftovers.

The turn of her head got her to look him right into his eyes. The warm glow emitting from the sea lantern casting a soft glow on her face. Just like the time when he held her in his arms, on top of the rock. He tore his eyes away from her, his cheeks burning from how affected he was from her gaze. But he answered her. "I came here for a potion. A potion to cure me from my wandering heart." ...

It took y/n 100 days, a cycle between 50 days and 50 nights to produce the potion that Rafayel had requested for. Shortly after the interaction, Rafayel had returned back to the shallow seas, as he could not bear to watch the love of his life not knowing him for who he is and who he was to her.

His last words to her before he departed to the shallows was, "Once the potion has been completed, I shall meet you at the sea stacks by dawn. The one far north." He said, index finger pointing towards the said direction. His eyes does not meet hers before he left. That was how heartbroken he was. His heart wearing him down day by day as he waited for the potion to be crafted.

During the 100 days of wait, he kept going back and forth between the waters and land to keep himself occupied. But the land served him better as the mourning of the princess had ended long ago. When the princess went missing, the King sent out every single one of his troops to search for the lost princess.

Rafayel purposely placed her back onto the sea stacks so she could be found easily. Knowing the God, he would have kept her by his side even if she were to be nothing but a bag of bones, but he knew, her people would want to know of her whereabouts. Even if it would only bring them to her corpse. He could not give himself anymore liberty to take her away from her people, like how he had singlehandedly perished the people of his kingdom. He did not turned his head back at all once he had left her there, swimming away in full speed so that he would not be discovered and caught, and to save himself from crying anymore.

The beloved princess' death was mourned by all. Every citizen within the Kingdom's grounds were in tears, regardless if its a man or a woman, an adult or a child. That was how loved she was. Her people mourned for her for nearly five decades, and that was how long Rafayel refused to surface and to walk on land. Every time he closed in to the shores of her kingdom, the sounds of the cries of her people would strike his ears. He became so used to it that he would visit the same place every day, by dusk, just to silently cry and mourn with the people of her kingdom.

He would not even go anywhere near his kingdom either. For it was filled with the bones of his people. The people that he used to cherish, that he would always go back to. But now, all he returns to, is a dead and eerie silence. The bloody stains of his people had now hardened, taken over by sea crustaceans as Lemurian blood offers a lot of benefits to the sea creatures. If any Lemurians lived past that day, Rafayal would definitely earn the title of 'The God Who Went Deranged'.

The day has finally came, where they shall rejoice by the sea stacks. Rafayel was already waiting there since dusk, body floating above the waters, facing up towards the bright skies painted in pastel yellows and reds. Blobs of clouds that seemed so edible Rafayel wished he could fly instead of swim. A bunch of bubbles surfaced next to him and he slightly turned his head, watching as she emerged from the waters, holding two vials in her hand. Her face expressionless and cold as the first time he had met her in this life.

"Here." She handed him one of the vials and he took it, repositioning himself from having to float, to facing her directly. "Are you sure this is what you desire?" Her question caught his attention, his mixture of lilac-lapis orbs stared into her obsidian ones. "Because your memories will be perished forever, do you know that?"

Rafayel looked at the vial, the contents of the fluid is watery, and takes on a sheen of coral-like pink. "My mind is set." His eyes caught her again. "This is what I had desired when I met you that day." His words although does not hold any meaning to the sea witch, but it held meanings that one could never fathom, within the God of Sea's memories.

"This is usually done between two, one to forget while the other to contain the forgotten memories." She explained, holding up the vial to her eye level as she continued. "And since you do not have anyone you want to consume this with, I shall be the one to contain your forgotten memories."

As expected, Rafayel knew she was going to say this. He had never once mentioned anything about the Lemurians being extinct. Neither did she asked. Always putting people ahead of herself, her nature still seeped through from her past life that it has easily become one of her core personalities even till now. Rafayel silently sighed in his own mind when he looked at this woman in front of him. The lover that he had sworn his life to, became the lover that was seemingly a stranger to him.

"We shall consume this together, and with a chant of a spell, hence the void of the memory shall take upon its place." Rafayel pulled the cap open, mirroring her actions and they drank the mixture together. Rafayel winced at how bitter the content tasted but y/n seemed unaffected, as sea witches are not equipped with a sense of taste as most of their potions tasted wicked as their personalities had always been portrayed to be. "Well enough to start?"

"Hu-Ayr-Tey Ta-Fa-Fu-Lei." Rafayel chanted and he watched as y/n's eyes widened. Finally, a reaction from her. Not in the way he had hoped for a reaction of course. You see, Rafayel, being God of the Sea, although had never travelled through the deep waters and had never knew of the Sea Witches' language, but the spells equipped by the sea witches were born out of a God's nature. Should there be benevolence, there shall be malevolence. Just like how Rafayel's massacre is a proof of a God's malevolent nature taking place physically, a sea witch's spells are born out of a God's mentally twisted nature.

"What have you done?!" She held onto her neck, feeling herself struggling to breathe as her neck is closing up on her. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" She raised her voice, looking at him with anger that starts to paint her face a shade of red. "How do you know of this spell?!" She was in disbelief, eyes shooting daggers into the merman in front of her. Rafayel showed no amusement though, his eyes although were entirely focused on her, his heart crushed.

Fate in general, creates thousands and millions of possibilities towards one's ending. For a God, fate should easily be nothing but a just another miniscule issue within their palms. But for Rafayel, the moment he fell for a mundane, was the moment he signed a blackmail for himself. He has to gamble with fate now, just like with any other mere mortal. The only advantage he got is that he could look into the near future to help him better plan out his upcoming course of actions.

This happening now, marks one of his course of actions. The fate he had chosen was to kill y/n with his own hands, so she could be reincarnated to be a human in her next life. Then, he could take place as a man, on the land, seeking for her love and attention, just like how a mere mortal would. Yes. Rafayel, the God of the Sea, would risk his status of being a God just to be a human, just to be with her. "This is the only way." He spoke to her, as he watched her slowly lose her memories to swim, her tail, now a pair of legs, flailing clumsily in an effort to save herself.

The spell that he had uttered, does not only make her forget her own identity, but it makes her forget everything, wiping everything off of her memory and giving her a clean slate. A reincarnated soul would always remember bits of their past lives, that is how deja-vu and realistic dreams come about. But this spell would wipe her memory of her past life as well. As bad as it sounds, Rafayel sees this as the only viable way for him to live his next life, having to protect her. All the other courses of action, would only lead to more bloodshed and he grew tired of it.

The tears came flowing again, watching his beloved struggle to breathe as she started to choke onto the seawater that is rapidly entering her lungs. Rafayel could only watch, he could not interfere as it would ruin the course of her next life. Heart wrenching, gut punching, every other word of torturous feeling would describe him perfectly at this moment.

Y/n reached out her hand to him, desperately looking at him and clawing for him, seeking for his help to drag her out and onto solid land. But his refusal seemingly made her accepted her fate. Her pupils then slowly stopped moving, her body slowly stopped thrashing and twitching as she continued descended deeper into the waters. A scene that reminded him deeply of Arvia during his last moments.

Once the bubbles had stopped surfacing out of her agape lips, Rafayel swam down as fast as he could, and he held her cold body in his arms again, closely studying her very last moments. Her eyes were opened, in a state of shock and acceptance, lips blue like the shade of his lapis-coloured eyes, tail had now taken form into two legs, her body stiff and hollow like how she was when he first found her in the past 100 years. The curse was finally broken, but it also broke Rafayel. With shaky breaths, he uttered. "In your next life, I promise you. I promise. You shall only ever hear of my name as to be Rafayel. I shall no longer...be the God of the Sea."

Parallel Universe Ending is Out: Salvation

I love doubling the damage sometimes, this one-shot had became somewhat of a small series. I enjoyed using a bit of my gore movie visual experiences within this piece of writing. Thank you for the ones who wished for a sequel. I hope this makes you bawl your eyes out.

But do not worry, I am already starting on a not-so-angsty ending that takes place in a parallel universe. I don't think this series would continue on as I think it is best to leave it to you lovelies' vast imagination.

As usual, any requests you want me to write? I can write it for ya :)

Have a good day and pls cry for me lovelies :)

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #lnds #rafayel sfw #rafayel x reader #rafayel angst #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace

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midnight-raven · 2 years

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Meet the Spider-Gang: Frost-Spider/Jack Frost

B4+BH6: Into the Spider-Verse AU

Alright, let’s do this one final time, yeah? My name is Jack Frost, I was bitten by a radioactive spider, and for the last three years, I’ve been the one and only Frost Spider. I think you know the rest. I saved a bunch of people and fought The Nightmare King from another dimension. Got offered a spot to a superhero team called ‘The Guardians; like that’s gonna happen, and I saved the city again. I don’t know why I have these powers if it’s my gift or my curse, and I don’t think I’ll ever know. But one thing is for sure, as long as this city needs me, I’ll always find a way back.

At nine-years-old Jack Frost was adopted by ER Nurse Emily Bennett after waking up in the hospital alone with no memories of his past. Just his name.

Growing up, Jack was a big brother to Jamie and Sophie Bennet, and talented Hockey Player. However he always wondered about the life he forgot, and wondered why no one ever came back for him.

One day, Jack gains spider-like abilities from a strange spider-bite, and he becomes a Superhero

However, everything changes when a mysterious man named Tsar Lunar wants to recruit the vigilante to join a superhero team known as The Guardians.

While Jack is resistant about joining the team, he’ll find himself caught off in the midst of a battle when a man known as The Nightmare King rises from shadows.

Threatening everything and everyone Jack holds dear.

#Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons #Into the Spider-Verse AU #Rise of the Guardians #Jack Frost #Jamie #Sophie #North #Bunny #Tooth #Sandy #Pitch Black #Across the Spider-Verse AU

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thewriterwithnoplan · 8 months

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THE TRAITOR'S SOULMATE (2/2)

Summary: Humans once had four legs, four arms, two heads, and two hearts. For humanity's hubris, Zeus struck them in two. You and Luke Castellan are determined to find your way back to each other, but before that can happen, there are things the two of you need to do.

[Part 2 to The Hero's Soulmate]

Soulmate AU: You meet the future version of your soulmate.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Word Count: 7378

Warnings: Canon typical warnings, swearing, I use the spelling 'mom' because the series is American but I - and I cannot stress this enough - am not American, she a long one.

A/N: I've loved reading your comments, thank you so much for all the support in part one. I hope you enjoy, because we all deserve a little Luke Castellan every now and then!

Masterlist

Amphitrite had been gifted a premonition and the world was all the worse for it. The dream had come from Apollo or perhaps the Oneiroi or whatever great heart pumped blood and Gods and monsters out into the world.

It did not matter to the Goddess from whom the vision came, for in this dream Amphitrite had watched her husband fall in love and sire a child to a mortal paramour. A precious boy that Poseidon might even one day love, with a taste for the colour blue and a heroism that would grow to rival his namesake. And for the Queen of the Seas, that simply would not do.

It would not be the child’s nor his mortal mother’s fault – she was not Hera after all – and so she would have to punish her husband for the blame would be his. But how was one to punish a King among Gods before his crime even came to be? Why to beat him at his own game, of course.

So, Amphitrite set out to sire her own demigod with the mortal man her husband would hate most. A devout catholic.

Amphitrite stayed with her mortal lover and their half-blood daughter until the girl was all but five. Far longer than the greater Gods were wont to spend with their offspring. But what a precious babe she had bourn and what a traitorous husband she had back home.

But fate and prophecies and soulmates were such funny things. Inciting chaos. Inviting paradox. Introducing dangers untold.

It took Amphitrite all those years – though seemingly short in her immortality – to realise her fatal error. She had been the one to leave Poseidon. She had been the one to sire a child. She had been the one to drive her husband to the surface and his mortal. And so, the blame was hers to shoulder.

Amphitrite decided that she would be a self-fulfilling prophecy no longer. It was time to venture back below the surface.

In a last fit of guilt, she bestowed her first and final act of mercy unto her mortal lover. She told him everything.

When finally, she had gone back to the sea to reconcile with her husband, the catholic man took his turn to bestow his first and final act of mercy unto his young demigod child.

Against all the teachings of his faith. He abandoned his young daughter at Half-Blood Hill. And let the devil-spawn keep her life.

The Spirit of the Hudson River never did learn to like you. You with your greedy hands, snatching debris from its murky waters. You and your strange sea creature friends who would not dare brave such pollution were it not for your presence. Your pile of war spoils tossed aside like children’s toys. Your strange little bubble of air on the sandy floor of the river, where you stowed your treasures and slept bracketed by water. Were it not for the pollution that slopped against the edge of the river as if it were trying to escape you, the Hudson River Spirit might have chased you and your sea friends and your collection of trinkets out of his waters. But as it were, you made a strangely amicable tenant for a demigod. So, as long as you paid your dues the spirit let you keep your little underwater oasis.

For your first years living there, you made your way in New York City by selling lost things dredged from your river home. Bikes and old weaponry and tarnished jewellery and buckets of coins from across the world. You were careful and you coveted your few precious belongings, but with the rivers bounty, you rarely went hungry.

By the time you were fourteen, you found you could venture further into the city without as many questions. You had met an odd assortment of people whilst selling the lost and unloved things of the river; all who knew someone, who knew someone, who needed another set of hands and so you offered yours. You babysat and cleaned, worked in delis and sandwich shops, helped old women with their groceries and young families mend their clothes. A retired teacher gifted you packets of schoolwork and with little else to fill your hours under the river you took to learning. Your numbers came easier than letters and reading always gave you a hard time but the activities she gave you each time you tended to her balcony garden gave you something to do when the sounds of the city kept you up at night.

All the while you followed Percy Jackson from the recesses of the Hudson. Shuffling your little bubble and its blessedly dry treasures up and then back down the river as he was bounced listlessly from school to school. Watching over him as the mythosphere tried desperately to barge into his little mortal life. Feral harpies that tried to snatch him into the air, great snakes that tried to sneak through air vents and all manner of underworld-born sea creatures that sought to pull him below. You had wrestled and dismembered and slayed them all. Adding their feathers and scales and great weapons to your dragons-hoard.

You were sixteen when you finally knocked on Sally Jackson’s door to introduce yourself. You had spent weeks working yourself up to it, planning your outfit and then fussing over each piece. All your clothes had been gifts and were often a size too big or printed with some generic tagline like Spread peace not hate!; or made entirely from yarn that the old woman whose meals you prepped at the start of each week had gifted you after she had taught you how to crochet; or like the dress you wore now, were sown together from thrifted fabric scraps and embellished with pretty shells and baroque pearls. You had planned the time you would arrive down to the minute so that her oppressive husband would be out, but the hour would not be so late as to make an unexpected visit threatening. You had planned to keep Percy safe while you were away from him by entrusting your friends Clarence the Crab and Emily the Squid to supervise him for the evening.

What you had not planned for was the possibility that Sally Jackson would be the most lovely woman you had ever met. You had been struck dumb by it the moment she opened her door and greeted you with a kind smile. Couldn’t your mother have chosen a mortal as gentle as she to be your parent? Alas, the Gods had never done a thing for you.

“Can I help you, lovely?”

You tried not to burst into tears as you asked, “Mrs. Jackson?”

“Are you alright?” She opened the door wider, leant out and scanned the corridor behind you. “Is there something you need?”

“No ma’am. I’m here about your son, Percy. His father sent me.” A good ambiguous statement that would pique her curiosity but let on nothing about the Gods. Allowing you to spin your tale – that you were Percy’s long-lost step-sister, come to reconnect.

“Poseidon?” Alas, the Gods had truly never done a thing for you. “Is something wrong? Is Percy, okay?”

“He’s fine Mrs. Jackson, I’ve been keeping him safe.”

She scanned the hall behind you once more, “You best come in.”

Over a cup of tea, you told Sally Jackson everything.

You liked your home under the river. For lack of a better term, it allowed you to remain liquid. You could follow Percy wherever trouble took him. You could stay up until the city grew quiet for that brief moment before dawn. You could train with the Hudson River Spirit, even if he only entertained you because he enjoyed winning.

You liked your bed made out of stacked wood pallets and a mountain of blankets. You liked your wooden chest of draws stuffed full of trinkets and weapons and the precious few items you owned. You liked this place that you had carved out with your own two hands.

But you also liked your home in the Jackson household. Where there was always music playing. Where it was always warm and dry. Where there would always be some blue-ified food in the oven or blue candy in the mason jars by the sink.

It became your job in the summers to babysit Percy, to keep him away from Gabe and from danger while entertaining his endless need for motion. You took him to art galleries (which he hated) and aquariums (which he loved), to craft fairs (which he tolerated because he liked the things you made) and swimming pools (which he only liked when he won your swimming races).

“What even is a soulmate?” Percy had asked you one day at the park.

“The person with the other half of your soul,” You scrunched your nose up, “Or well, that's what people say.”

“You’re saying I’ve been walking around with half a soul?”

“I didn’t say I believed them,” You rattled your water bottle in front of his face until he took it. “Stay hydrated.”

He frowned at you, “You don’t believe in soulmates?”

“Of course I do, but it's a little more complicated than that, kid.” You took the water bottle back and played with the cap for a moment while you thought. “Think of it like this. You can have two different puzzles that are cut the same way, right? So all the pieces from one will fit with all the pieces from the other. But that doesn’t mean they belong together, the picture doesn’t come out quite right because even though the pieces fit, they don’t necessarily belong to the same puzzle. Maybe that’s what it was like for your mom, like she couldn’t find the pieces that made up her picture and so she went with the ones that fit at the time.”

“You don’t think my mom and dad were soulmates?”

“I never met your father.”

“But he’s your dad too.”

“He’s my mom’s husband. Maybe my mom and dad are soulmates.” Percy didn’t seem to like that answer. “Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe your mom and my mom each have pieces that fit into your dad's puzzle but neither match his picture, or both. Maybe his picture is a year with your mom and a lifetime with mine and having you. Maybe he needs to collect all those little pieces at the right time when they’re the right shape or he’ll end up with a completely different picture at the end.”

“I kind of understand.” But he gave you a look that said he probably didn’t. “What picture are you making?”

You hid your smile behind the lip of your water bottle, “My soulmates about yay-high, pretty as a magazine cover with dimples and all. I’m collecting my puzzle pieces with you and your mom and this city so that I’ll have half of his picture.”

“If you know who he is, why don’t you just go find him now?”

“Still looking for some pieces, I guess.” You kicked a rock with the toe of your boot. “Souls are fragile. If you go rushing in and trying to jam the pieces in when they’re not shaped right just yet you could damage them.”

“What happens if you do that?”

“It’s probably harder to find each other in the next life. You’ll chip pieces away and your souls won’t fit right.” You shoved your hands into the pockets of your cardigan and pulled out a sandwich, you gave Percy the bigger half.

“Who taught you all this?”

“My mom used to tell me and well, I've thought about it a lot.” You tugged Percy by the back of his shirt so he didn't go stomping through a puddle, he glared. “But anyway, some people think it’s just fate. That you find your soulmate no matter what and it’s a perfect fit either way.”

“It would be easier that way.”

“Sometimes that’s just not how the story goes, kid.”

Percy thought that was the most important thing anyone had ever taught him, but he figured some of the other stuff you taught him came in handy too. You taught him the tricks you learned to work around your dyslexia. You taught him to skip stones and to not throw rocks at seagulls. You taught him to flip off the Empire State Building but only when his mom wasn’t around. You taught him to knit and do a cartwheel and make a good cup of tea to take his mother in the morning. You taught him to chew with his mouth shut and to sword fight with wrapping paper rolls. You taught him to braid hair and throw a punch and say all the swears in Ancient Greek.

And then one day, a Satyr came for Percy Jackson, and there was nothing left for you to teach.

You wrote Sally a brief letter of warning, picked your way through seven years’ worth of belongings and collapsed your life into a backpack. You said goodbye to Clarence and Emily with a brief promise to visit, pushed a final wave of pollution from the waters and thanked the Hudson River Spirit for his hospitality. He gifted you sixteen perfect round pearls and insisted that he never wanted to see you again. You spent the bus ride to Long Island threading them into a necklace made of fishing wire, tying off each pearl with your teeth.

It was a tentative tradition between demigod soulmates to exchange gifts upon their first meeting. So few and far between were the possessions of a half-blood that even the smallest bauble would likely mean the world. The practice had died out some over the centuries as the Gods received fewer offerings from mortals and turned to their children for sacrifices. Gift-giving to your soulmate as a demigod became all but synonymous with spitting at the feet of the divine and loudly proclaiming you would make offerings to your soulmate instead. A pearl necklace would be an excellent final addition to the collection of small gifts you had assembled over the years. Let the Gods weep at your feet and beg for scraps if they needed them so much, you would ignore them just as they had ignored you.

You arrived at Camp far sooner than you might have liked, a few hours past mid-day when hopefully the rest of your ilk would be occupied with meaneal chores and activities. You considered waiting at the crest of the hill for someone to notice you only to find a pine tree planted firmly at its peak where you might have stood. Instead, you make the alarmingly easy trek down to the Big House.

“Chiron!” He had always been your favourite of the two men, currently sat on the porch drinking juice and playing cards.

“Yes, my girl?” He barely spared you a glance as he shuffled his cards between his weathered hands. He stilled for a moment and then tossed his head back in the way a horse might toss its mane. “My dear!”

You raised a hand, halfway between a salute and a wave, “Nice to know I haven’t been totally forgotten.”

“Au contraire.” Mr. D stuck his nose up at you. “Which one are you again?”

“The little one that went missing some seven years ago,” Chiron stood as you climbed the stairs onto the porch. “How are you, my dear? Where have you been?”

“Shouldn’t you be at Yancy Academy?”

Mr. D’s eyes turned sharp in the way that had once made your friends whisper that some days, he was more maniac than man , “And how do you know about that little girl?”

“Percy Jackson is at Yancy,” You smiled at him, all teeth, “How did you think he survived long enough for your baby satyr to find him?”

“You have been protecting young demi-gods?” Chiron asked wearily.

“Percy Jackson is a full-time job, I’m afraid,” You tugged at the strap of your backpack, praying you could keep control of the conversation. You had a lot of time under the river to think and this was one of many things you had spent countless hours mulling over. Weighing and considering what story you would tell them – to tell the truth of both your parentage and put Percy in harm's way or to lie and balance your life on its sharp edge. “I found him in Manhattan, he was like a magnet for mythological activity. By the time I’d had enough of rebelling and wanted to come back to camp, I was protecting him from attacks every other week. He wouldn’t have lasted a month. I came back as soon as I could.”

No matter how many times you played it out in your head, the lies won every time.

“Kids.” Mr. D threw back the last of his juice.

“Perhaps you should settle back into the Hermes Cabin, dear.” Chiron smiled down at you, the corners of his eyes pinched, “You’ve given myself and Mr. D much to talk about. We’ll settle the issue of your paperwork tomorrow.”

“Of course.” You rustled through your bag, digging up a palm sized statuette that you set onto the table. “Before I forget, I brought you a gift Mr. D.”

“A toy,” He snatched it up. “Oh joy.”

“It’s you, as the mortals’ see you. It’s from the gift shop at the Met.”

“How kind of you, my dear.” Chiron softened, and you watched as even Mr. D’s temper seemed to ease, his hands gentle around the gift as he admired it.

An unseeing piece of plastic for the God who served as no more than a silent observer over the affairs of the camp. Let him choke on his ego, you thought as you left the pair to their discussion.

Cabin 11 was blessedly empty when you entered, but your old bunk was not. A pile of clothes was thrown haphazardly across the bedspread. You snatched a sleeping bag and a lumpy pillow from the storage closet and threw them down with your bag. If you could not have the bunk that had been yours at twelve, you would claim the corner that had been yours at five. As you shook out the sleeping bag and pulled out your belongings, you tried not to think of your bed of blankets under the river or Sally Jackson’s couch.

Instead you turned your mind to the Big House and the conversation that was no doubt happening within.

You had constructed a perfect image, if you did say so yourself. Grown in ways Mr. D could not have predicted but Chiron would insist he had foreseen. Still a rebellious young woman in the mortal sense, with your scuffed leather boots and ripped jeans. But the parts that had screamed ‘insubordination’ to the Gods were neatly tucked away. Your twin knives strapped to your forearms under the billowing sleeves of your crocheted top, your vicious tongue caged behind a sweet grin, your once sharp stare softened at the edges.

Once you had fashioned yourself so that the Gods could not paint you as a hero, now you fashioned yourself so that they might forget you were an enemy.

Let Chiron think you were a misunderstood wayward girl scout come home from her self-imposed quest. Let Mr. D think you were a stupid girl who had seen the world beyond the Gods’ protection and finally accepted that you needed them. Let them all think wrong. You had left to protect your brother and returned for one reason only.

“You’re here.”

You turned, and there he was, “Luke Castellan.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it, limbs jerking slightly as if he wasn’t sure whether to move toward you or stay put. He was almost certain you could hear the way his pulse was racing, his heartbeat clanging wildly in his chest as he searched desperately for a suave reply, but everything else seemed lack lustre when you said his name like that.

Your face twisted into something like anger and for a moment he thought he’d messed it all up before your lips curled and you practically spat, “I do like your scar.”

And then he was laughing at you, wild and bewildered and not the least bit contained. Before long you were laughing too, neither of you quite sure what was funny, just so wholly relieved as your chests were flooded with wonder and warmth.

It felt like fireworks and popping candy. Just as he had promised all those years ago. You resisted the urge to throw up on his Converse.

You might have been crying and he might been too but you weren’t exactly sure because one moment you were both laughing at nothing and the next he was on the floor with you. He held you like he had never held a single thing in his life, like he was lost at sea and you were the only solid thing for miles. He tucked your head under his chin and sucked in great forced breaths that you could feel beneath your cheek. Because he was warm and there and real. And that meant the last seven years, the better part of your life, hadn’t been for nothing.

You and Luke make your way to dinner side by side. You had spent the afternoon rambling about your lives, about your meetings with your future selves, about your home under the river, about his responsibilities as a camp counsellor and yours as your brother’s keeper. He told you about Annabeth and Thalia and the rest of his siblings, you told him about your parents and Sally Jackson and your sea friends. You gave him his necklace which he lets you fix in place at the base of his throat – you do not spend a moment too long running your hand up the back of his neck and through his curls.

He had been almost bashful when he gifted you a watch that matched his, inlaid with twin fragments of mother of pearl taken from the same shell – kind of like your soul had been, he had said. You swear you’ve never owned anything as precious. You let him strap it to your wrist as he tells you about spending a summer diving for it in the lake. And then softly, tentatively, he tells you about his quest.

Luke could have cried from the way you were looking at him alone, so very gently, like you could cradle him with your gaze alone. At a loss for words, you simply whispered, “I am so proud of you.”

His grip is iron-clad and you tell your next story with your face pressed into the side of his neck, pretending you can’t feel him shaking softly.

When you make your way to dinner you’re both glowing with the soft exhaustion of emotion. You all but lean against one another as you collect your goblets and fill your plates.

The other campers steer clear of you, content to leave Luke to chauffeuring the new kid around. You count yourself lucky, it was only a matter of time until one of the older campers recognised you.

You were almost to the end of the Hermes table – that perfect spot at the end where you might just have a chance of holding a private conversation after dinner – when Chiron interrupted you.

“Mr. Castellan, I see you’ve acquainted yourself with our newly returned camper.”

“That’s my job, sir.” You tried not to stare at the crooked smile he flashed the centaur.

“Perhaps you ought to show her how to make an offering,” Chiron says pointedly, “She’s been away for a long time, and it’s your responsibility to treat her as you would any other incoming Camper.”

Luke turned to you, his boyish grin still charming but the mirth leaking out of his eyes, “Of course. Do you remember how it’s done?”

“I do. Just not a lot of food to be spared in the mortal world.”

You squinted, the corners of your mouth pulled up in what Chiron would likely mistake for sheepishness. But Luke could see it in your eyes. How your anger had made you pointy in all the places someone your age ought to be soft. He wondered how all the jagged edges of you would feel against all the jagged edges of him. He thought maybe if the two of you were careful, you could make something smooth as sea glass and twice as pretty, together.

You dump a clump of mashed potatoes into the fire with an unconcerned flick of your fork. Luke lops part of his own meal on top of yours, you glare enviously at the reasonable portion he had left on his plate. You hoped the food would burn at the bottom of the braiser.

“Sorry, sir.” You mocked Luke. He stuck his tongue at you once Chiron had turned his back.

You hurried to snag the seat at the end of his table, sliding into place across from each other. You flounder for a moment, wondering whether to draw your legs as far under your seat as they will go or bask in the gentle brush of his knee against his leg. You settle for the latter and try not to evaporate under his gaze, as he stares at you even as you start eating.

Luke realised he’d spent too long staring when you all but groaned, “Don’t tell me I have to sacrifice my dinner to you too.”

He flashed you a grin, then tried to say as nonchalantly as possible,“Is that why you left? So you could enjoy a proper meal every once and a while?”

You stared at him for a long while, “You, future you, told me to leave, to find my brother.”

“Why would I do that? If you had stayed at Camp–”

“That’s almost exactly what I said to you.” You pushed your food around as you stared at a point just beyond his head, he thought for a moment that he could see the neurons firing behind your eyes, like a hundred tiny zaps of lightning, “But I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. And I think you were right to send me away.”

“I don’t think I’ll be hearing that very often.” He dodged the pea you fling at him with a grin.

“I think maybe if I don’t leave, I won’t become this me or do the things I’ve done and maybe that’s important for us or our future or some past you rewrote by telling me to leave.”

“Seems overly complicated.”

“I think it’s supposed to be complicated,” You couldn’t help but admire the quiet skill with which he wielded his cutlery, “If it were easy, we would find each other in every universe.”

He paused, knife aloft, “You don’t want to find each other in every universe?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” You speared a leaf of spinach onto your fork to hide your scowl behind as you said, “The Gods have made it this way to keep us separated.”

“We’re together now.”

“Which means they lost.”

Luke watched you for a drawn out heartbeat, then leaned over to transfer the perfect squares of meat he’d been cutting onto your plate.

You took a long moment to chew before you said, “So, your plan to send me after Percy worked.”

“I thought it was your plan.”

“I forgot to ask you whose plan it was.”

“I say it’s your plan.” He took a long pull from his goblet that left his lips tinted red.

“It doesn’t matter what you think.” You passed him a napkin before he could ask, “It’s what you will think.”

“Sure, Precious.” He smothers a laugh into the napkin at the way you scrunch your nose at him, “You know, because you're so protective of your food. Like Gollum with the ring.”

“That’s the stupidest explanation for a pet name I’ve ever heard.” But you’re damn near head down on the table as you laughed. “I definitely got the smarter half of our soul.”

“Then it was definitely your plan.”

You’ve still got a hand pressed to your face to conceal your smile when you say, “What about when I meet you? Any words of wisdom?”

“Try not to fall for me. I can tell you’re pretty charmed but it’s really not appropriate. I’m seventeen, and you’re what? Twenty-four?”

You launched your bread roll at him. You’re twice as incensed when he catches it whilst looking directly at you, “Asshole.”

“Smartass. See, two can play that game.”

Luke can’t help but think you’re just as pretty sneering as you are smiling, like no expression no matter how ugly could detract from your beauty. Maybe you’re like him, he scarcely dared to hope. Maybe you’re something better, another part of him whispered. The way you talk about the Gods and turn your nose up at them, and play their game only when it suits you.

You weren’t vengeful in the way he was. You weren’t the spitting vicious thing the Camp had liked to pretend you were when you weren’t around to prove otherwise. You were worse and better and everything he needed. You were a storm on the horizon, a snake coiled tight. You were better than just angry. You were disillusioned. Not a product of juvenile resentment but true wrath born of awareness. Not the wild foaming-at-the-mouth kind that he had imagined when he had first heard your name. But the dark carefully contained kind he had seen in the face you would grow into.

This, Luke thought, you were the start of everything.

It’s some weeks later when you stick your hands through the grating of the bunk above Luke as leverage to lean over him and croon, “Up and at ‘em, Pretty Boy.”

He pushed his face out of his pillow, curls sticking up at odd angles as he looked at you half-asleep, “What?”

“Remember? Training?”

“No,” He scrubbed sleep from his eyes, “What did you call me?”

“Sickly.”

“I don’t think that was it.” He propped his head up on a fist as he smiled at you sleepily.

It was so disgustingly cute that you had to turn your back when you said, “Just meet me there.”

Luke’s freshly showered and holding an apple core when he deigns to join you in the forest. He tossed the apple at you and you caught it without thinking. You fake gag at him as you throw it further into the forest.

You wiped your hands against his shoulder as you say, “I’m not sure if an apple core counts but that was dangerously close to an Ancient Greek proposal, Castellan.”

“I got hungry.” He shrugged. You squared off across the clearing, stretching as you warmed yourselves up for the ensuing sparring match.

“You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“Is this you rejecting me?” He landed an open hand on his chest and staggered backward. “You wound me, Precious!”

“Was that you proposing? Because I’m,” You wiped your hand again for good measure, scrunching your nose up, “Disgusted.”

“You would be honoured if I had just proposed to you.”

“You should be nicer to me.”

“And go easy on you just because you’re my soulmate? Unlikely.”

“Because, asshole, I’m the one who got you out of chores this morning, or have you forgotten already. You seemed rather grateful for your little sleep-in.”

He unsheathed his sword and twirled it round in his hand, “You’re a bad influence.”

“Like you weren’t ready to worship the ground I walk on when I told Chiron you needed to get my training up to speed.”

“Do you want me to tell you, you’re brilliant?” He pointed his sword toward you with that grin that made you want to hold him down just so you could admire it longer. “You’re brilliant.”

“You’re stalling.” You pull your knives out, one from your boot, the other from your belt. You miss your old clothes with their pretty sleeves and their personality, your camp shirt seems a poor trade in comparison.

“Stalling? Me?” Luke scoffed. “Never!”

“Don’t you have a counsellor meeting at half-past?”

“I do, so please don’t feel bad when you lose. I only have half an hour to wrap this up. You understand.”

“Who’s fault is that Mr. Just-five-more-minutes?”

He gasped in mock offence and lunged forward, his sword swinging at you in a great arch. You leapt back, out of his range, then ducked low and rushed toward him. Luke was quick, in a viciously smooth move he swept his sword at you again. You brought your knives together, bracing as the impact ricocheted up your arms. Admittedly, you were at a great disadvantage given that you were reluctant to throw a knife at Luke’s head – even though he’d demonstrated an impressive ability to swipe your wayward throws out of the air – and that he had an additional several feet of reach on you.

Luke feigned to the right, you lashed out at his left side and narrowly avoided his sword as it came down at you. He whistled slowly as both of you backed up to circle each other for a moment.

“You’ve got moves, I’ll give you that.”

And so the dance went on. Luke struck, you parried or slipped out of his blade's path with a flourish. You struck, Luke swung his sword and slipped around your blows. Finally, you found the chink in his precious armour. He fell back to his right foot when he deflected a blow. You jerked forward. You jabbed the knife clutched in your left hand toward him as you moved in with the right. Just as you hooked a foot around the back of his leg, Luke’s sword made contact with your left shoulder slicing through sleeve and skin. Luke fell backward with a sharp hiss, his sword flying to the side.

In the end you had laid him out flat in twenty minutes. Luke Castellan had spent the last seven years fighting to win. You had spent them fighting to survive. You supposed it didn’t hurt that the greatest swordsman to enter Camp Half-Blood in nearly three centuries was reluctant to let anything sharp or pointed anywhere near you. You secretly thought he might have been going easy on you for being his soulmate after all. You collapsed on the forest floor beside him, your chest heaving to draw in oxygen.

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” Luke huffed.

“Orange isn’t really my colour.”

He turned to you with a wink, “Oh but it is.”

You wave your hand through the air.

“I’ve gotten very good at putting broken things back together over the years.” He tried not to look at the line of stitching that ran from the ankle of your jeans to the rips at your knee. You tried not to look at his cheek. Instead you reached out and trailed your hands across his necklace where the pearls sat snuggly at the base of his throat.

“You’re wonderful.” He brushed his knuckles down your shoulder and they came away red. “Even covered in blood you’re the most wonderful thing I’ve ever seen.”

You groaned, “Sweetness, you can’t just say–”

“You call me Sweetness when you visit me.” He whispered it like it was his greatest secret. You traced up his throat to his cheek and pressed your thumb into his dimpled cheek. “You’re still being wonderful. I can’t think when you’re–”

“Wonderful?”

“Okay, Smartass.” He sighed up at the sky, then pulled the both of you to your feet, “Enough lounging, we need to get that cut checked.”

You let him dust the dirt from you and resheath your knives, one in your boot, the other in your belt. Silently revelling in the gentle way he tugs you this way and that. You were well on your way to the infirmary, shoulders bumping and fingers just barely brushing, before he spoke again.

“Where does it come from? The nickname.”

“Sweetness?”

He looked away from you and squinted off into the distance, as if you were suddenly too bright to look at, “Yeah.”

“My mom used to tell me this story about meeting her soulmate. She probably meant Poseidon, but at the time I thought it was about my dad,” The back of Luke’s hand bumped into yours again, his fingers catching yours, his gaze resolutely ahead but you were definitely holding hands. “She said it felt like swallowing lightning and gorging yourself on popping candy. Like sweetness.”

“You like popping candy?”

“It’s my favourite.” You gave him a queer look as if to say, it’s not yours, you utter heathen?

Luke laughed at you all the way to the Apollo Cabin as he listed all the reasons it was the sub-par candy option. Nonetheless, when you emerge from the infirmary, he unloads a fistful of little packets he’d pinched from the candy bowl when the Apollo kids’ hadn’t been looking.

“Who has sub-par candy options now, Sweetness?” You teased, your mouth crackling merrily.

“Keep calling me that and you can have all the terrible candy you want.”

“Try some,” You shoved a packet toward him, because if he kept saying silly things like that and looking at you the way he was you were liable to do or say something equally as stupid. “You’ve got half my soul, maybe it’s our favourite.”

“I don’t think they had popping candy when we had one soul,” He flicks the packet held between your fingers. “And aren’t you the one who says we’re puzzle pieces not halves?”

“You have been listening to me!”

“Hard not to.”

“Asshole.” You flashed your teeth at him.

“Smartass.” He said, but the bite wasn’t there. He was watching you again, in that way he did sometimes before he said something stupid that made you want to throw yourself in the lake or run back to Manhattan or do something equally as stupid, like kiss him. “You–”

You twisted your hand in the front of his shirt and jerked him toward you, the little sachet crinkling in your fist. For a heartbeat, you were both silent, an inch away and staring as if you could will the other to be the one to press forward. But then he closed his eyes and Luke Castellan was kissing you. Like lightning and popping candy. With all the elegance of two lovestruck teenage fools and all the heat of two people who knew they had all the time in the world but still couldn’t bear to waste a second of it. His hand held you by the chin and then splayed lightly across your cheek and tucked hair softly behind your ear. You were only just reaching for the mess of curls at the back of his head when someone wolf whistles.

“My favourite.” Luke grinned, licked his lips and then turned. Hands stuffed in his pockets and a big stupid grin stretched across his face, as he shouted at you, “Stay out of trouble.”

You flip off the Aphrodite kid who’d whistled at you, and hurried back to the Apollo Cabin. You and Luke Castellan were going to need a lot more popping candy.

You’re in the lake, encased in an air bubble, sprawled out side by side with your backs against the sand, when Luke tells you what he’s done. That mere weeks before your arrival he had done the unthinkable. He had robbed the King of the Gods blind and betrayed half the Pantheon in doing so. You weren't sure whether to laugh or cry.

You had simply laid there, silently, for what had felt like aeons to Luke but maybe that had only been because he had to keep reminding himself not to hold his breath. He wasn’t drowning. You weren’t going to turn him in. He hadn’t just blown his whole plan and his life with his soulmate in one fell swoop. He just had to keep breathing and wait for you to say something. He thinks that maybe your mother had passed on some divine knack for diplomacy as Queen of the Sea with the way you seem to turn the issue of his betrayal over and over in your head.

After a while, you reach your arm toward the bubble and the sky. For a brief, terrifying moment, Luke thinks you’re going to pull the lake down on him. When you don’t Luke spends another infinite second wondering whether he would just let you do it.

He tosses the thought aside and focuses on the coin weaving between your knuckles. Like magic, it appears and disappears around the bends of your fingers but it wasn't real magic, just you fidgeting. He pressed his lips together and tried not to think about you at the bottom of the Hudson River, flipping your coin and turning over the issue of your soulmate and your brother and the camp you’d left behind. What is it you had said? You’d had plenty of time to think about those things.

Maybe that's what you need now – time. He’s about to offer it to you, offer to swim his way back to shore so you can think, even if he'd probably drown on the way. He’d give you all the time in the world if he had it.

But then you finally speak, the golden drachma rolling between your fingers, “If you hurt my brother, soulmate or not, I will kill you.”

“I am your soulmate.” He insisted as the implication made his skin itch.

“You are.” Your smile was so gentle it almost felt sad. “So you understand that my love for him comes before my hatred of the Gods. If you have put him in danger wit–”

“We get married.” He blurted. “We have a future. I woke you, when you visited me. That must mean I win.”

“It means, if that’s the path we’re even on, if those people are even the versions of us that we become… maybe you don’t hurt Percy.”

“I won’t.” He swore and you weren’t sure how to ignore the half of your soul that lies so sweetly. “I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe.” You swallowed like you’d been chewing glass your whole life, and someone had finally offered you something substantial to sink your teeth into. “Maybe if we leave now, there’s a world in which I don’t have to pick between my blood and my soul.”

Luke was quiet for a long moment, “We could recruit him. You said it yourself, he’ll be more powerful than any of us.”

“He’s twelve.”

“He’s the son of Poseidon.”

“He’s twelve.”

“You were twelve when you left to protect him.”

“And look how that turned out,” Your grin was brittle, but he swore you were still the loveliest creature he’d ever laid eyes on. “I’m sat here planning to betray everything I was raised to follow.”

“You’re going to follow me?”

Your eyes traced the shape of his jaw, his nose, his scar. You looked pained, “I fear I would follow you into much worse, Luke Castellan.”

“I’m trying to lead you to something better.” He reached for your hand, took the drachma from your fingers, and pressed a slow, soft kiss to your palm. He smiled and there were dimples in his cheeks and tears in his eyes as he whispered, “We can try for better.”

“Leave Percy.” You pressed your fingers to his cheek, “Let him come to camp, let him join us when he’s ready.”

“You’re sure he’ll join us?”

“He will, I know it. We just need to let him see the Gods’ apathy for himself.” And you sighed. Luke wondered how many lifetimes your souls had seen, how many times you had searched for each other, how many times you had been torn apart. You sound ancient when you say, “You and I have seen more than enough.”

He turned his head and whispered in the scarce distance between you, “What do you propose?”

“We leave. As soon as anyone catches on, we take anyone who agrees with us and flee.” You brought his hand to your mouth and pressed your lips to his knuckles firmly, “We can plot your revenge and plan my new world on the way.”

Luke feels ancient when he promises, “Okay, on the way then.”

But he swears, as you lean forward and kiss him, that no matter how many times you do it this lifetime or in all the lifetimes until this story – of you and Luke Castellan – became ancient, it would still never stop feeling like the first time.

Like lightning and popping candy.

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#luke castellan x reader #soulmate au #luke castellan #pjo luke #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo series #pjo show #percy jackson show #pjo #percy jackson #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fanfiction

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