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cece693 · 8 months ago

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Stupid Crush (Nico di Angelo x Son of Poseidon)

This was something that suddenly came to mind and I couldn't help myself :) Hope you enjoy it.

Summary: It wasn't just the fact that Nico had to reveal his crush on Percy in front of Cupid, but when your boyfriend, the twin brother of said boy, was also in attendance, Nico's life was destroyed.

tags: Nico confesses his crush on Percy, however he's dating you, reader is Percy's twin brother, things get angsty 😈

Nico’s heart pounded in his chest as Cupid’s mocking voice echoed around them, his magic coiling around Nico's soul like a noose. Jason stood on one side, his blue eyes wide with concern, while you—Percy’s twin brother and Nico’s boyfriend—were on the other. Cupid’s voice dripped with cruel amusement, cutting through the silence like a knife. "The truth, Nico di Angelo. Tell them who once held your heart."

Nico’s throat closed up, his worst nightmare unraveling before his eyes. This was the moment he had fought so hard to avoid—the truth he had buried deep within himself, even from you. But there was no escape now. Cupid’s magic tightened, pulling the confession from his lips like a venomous secret. "I…" Nico’s voice cracked, his fists trembling as he clenched them at his sides. "Percy Jackson."

The air in the room shifted. Your breath hitched, but Nico couldn’t bring himself to look at you. He knew what he would see—shock, hurt, betrayal, the crumbling of the trust you'd built together. The pain he’d been dreading. "What?" Your voice came out in a cold, broken whisper.

Nico swallowed hard, staring at the floor. "It was before I met you, before Percy got with Annabeth. I thought—" He stopped, the words turning to ash in his mouth.

But you could read between the lines. Now everything made sense, how Nico easily allowed you to befriend him; you weren't special, just a boy who shared the same face as someone Nico loved. Loves. "So, let me get this straight. You're only with me because my brother didn't return your feelings? Am I just your consolation prize?"

Nico’s head snapped up, panic swelling in his chest. "No! No, it’s not like that!"

Your eyes narrowed, fury replacing the initial shock. "Really?" you spat, taking a step toward him. "Because from where I’m standing, it sounds like you settled for me when you couldn’t have Percy."

Nico’s voice wavered as he pleaded, desperate to make you understand. "I didn’t settle! I chose you because I love you. That crush…it was stupid. It doesn’t mean anything anymore!"

But Cupid’s laughter echoed again, cruel and jagged like shattered glass. "Ah, but old feelings never truly die, do they, son of Hades?" The god’s voice teased, his presence hanging over them like a storm. "You can hide it, bury it, but the truth always has a way of surfacing." Nico had never wanted to strike down a god as much as he did now. "Now that the truth is out," Cupid continued, his mocking tone fading as his presence disappeared, "I'll leave you to deal with the consequences."

Silence fell, but the weight of Cupid’s words lingered like a blade pressed against Nico’s throat.

"You played me." Your voice, thick with unshed tears, barely above a whisper but laced with so much pain that it felt like a physical blow. "You say you love me, but if Percy hadn't chosen Annabeth…if he had even shown the slightest interest in you, would you still have ended up with me?"

Nico froze, the question like a dagger to his chest. He wanted to deny it, to say that nothing would have changed the way he felt about you. Perhaps your friendship did arise from some misguided crush on Percy, but as time progressed, Nico fell in love with you. You. But even then it took time for him to distance who you and Percy were, sometimes it even stunned him how much you were alike, so if Percy did magically return his feelings, would Nico fall for you? His silence seemed to confirm your suspicions as your expression hardened.

"That’s what I thought."

Jason stepped forward, trying to break the tension. "Guys, come on. Maybe we should—"

"Stay out of it!" You snapped, your voice sharp enough to make him flinch. Jason took a step back, helplessly looking between you both, understanding that this was something beyond his control.

Nico reached out, desperate to grab your hand, to stop you from slipping further away, but you recoiled. "Don’t." Your voice was quiet but firm, the finality in that one word shattering the last bit of hope Nico had. "Just…don’t."

Nico could only watch as you turned away, disappearing into the shadows. Jason hesitated for a moment before following after you, leaving Nico alone in the cold, empty chamber, the weight of what he had just lost settling deep in his bones.

When the three of you returned to the Argo II, the change in atmosphere was immediate. Gone was your usual bright demeanor, replaced by hollow eyes and the kind of blank expression that spoke of barely contained pain. Nico, too, was different. His usual quiet presence had shifted into something darker—his shoulders slumped under the weight of regret, his face pale as if he were just moments away from breaking.

The others exchanged worried glances but said nothing as you silently headed toward your cabin. The slam of the door reverberated through the ship, causing everyone to flinch, even Nico, whose eyes lingered on the door as if willing it to open and for everything to go back to how it had been. But it wouldn’t.

Hazel was the first to break the silence. "What happened?" she asked, her voice soft, her gaze fixed on Nico. When he didn’t respond, avoiding her eyes, she looked to Jason, who merely shook his head, pity etched across his features. "Nico," Hazel pressed gently, her worry growing. "You can talk to us."

But Nico didn’t answer. Instead, he stepped back, letting the shadows around him rise, and within moments, he was gone—leaving the others standing in silence.

Days had passed, but to Nico, each one felt like an eternity. Every hour that dragged on without your voice, without your gaze meeting his, was a torment he hadn’t anticipated. The coldness that had settled between you was suffocating. Whenever Nico approached, even just to be in the same room, you’d find some excuse to leave. He could sense it, the way you tensed whenever he was nearby, the way you averted your gaze, as if looking at him was too painful. And that hurt more than anything—knowing he was the cause of it.

The others noticed the growing distance between you two. The worried glances exchanged over meals, the whispers behind his back. Jason and Hazel, in particular, kept trying to reach out, but Nico had shut himself off. What could he say? How could he explain the rift when the mere thought of it made his chest ache? Even Leo, who usually cracked jokes at the dinner table, had grown more subdued, as if the tension in the air had smothered his usual cheer.

Nico couldn’t bear it anymore. He had to fix this—he had to at least try. He couldn’t stand the silence, the void that had replaced the closeness they once shared. So, one night, when the Argo II drifted quietly through the sky and everyone had retreated to their cabins, Nico ventured out onto the deck. The night was cool, the stars twinkling above like distant, indifferent observers to his misery. But that wasn’t what caught his eye.

You were there—alone, standing at the edge of the ship, staring out into the horizon. For a moment, Nico just watched you, his heart aching at how much he missed simply being near you. He could almost imagine everything was fine—that you were waiting for him, that you’d smile when he approached, kiss his forehead, and mention how he needed to take better care of himself.

Gathering his courage, Nico stepped forward, his footsteps soft against the deck. "Can we talk?"

You stiffened at his voice, but didn’t turn around. For a few agonizing moments, there was nothing but silence. Then, with a sigh, you spoke, your voice devoid of the warmth Nico so desperately missed. "I don’t know what there is left to say."

Nico’s heart sank, but he pressed on. "Please, just let me explain."

At that, you turned to face him, and Nico saw the exhaustion in your eyes. The sleepless nights, the weight of betrayal, all of it etched into your features. "Explain what, Nico?" Your voice was calm, but there was an edge to it, a coldness that made his chest tighten. "That you were in love with my brother? That you settled for me? That I wasn't your first choice? Do you think words are going to fix this?"

"No," Nico whispered, stepping closer, his voice strained with the weight of everything he wanted to say. "No, I don’t think words can fix it. But I never meant to hurt you. I—" He paused, swallowing hard, trying to find the right words. "It was a crush. A stupid, meaningless crush. I didn’t choose you because of Percy. I chose you because of you."

Your eyes flickered with something—anger, hurt, betrayal—but you didn’t waver. "Then why didn’t you deny it when I asked you? Why didn’t you just say that nothing could have changed how you felt about me? Why did you hesitate?"

Nico opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. He hadn’t known what to say back then, and even now, he was at a loss. How could he explain that moment of doubt without sounding like the worst kind of person?

"You see?" You shook your head, your expression hardening. "You couldn’t. You couldn’t tell me that I wasn’t just second best. But, do you know what hurts the most? It’s not just that you had feelings for Percy. It’s that a god had to force you to tell the truth. If Cupid hadn’t intervened…how long would you have strung me along? How long would I have been in the dark while you carried this secret? Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I—" Nico started, his voice faltering. "I didn’t mean to hide it from you. I didn’t want you to get hurt. It was just a crush. Something stupid. And I thought I’d gotten over it, I swear." He took a step closer, his eyes pleading with you to understand. "I grew a crush on Percy when we were younger—when I first came to camp. He was the hero. Brave, kind...everything I wasn’t. And I thought, maybe if I could be near him, maybe I’d feel like I belonged."

Nico’s hands clenched into fists at his sides as he remembered those days, the confusion, the hope, and the loneliness that had followed. "But it wasn’t real. Not like what I feel for you. Percy was this…this idea in my head, someone I admired from afar. But you—" His voice broke, his eyes locking onto yours with desperation. "You were real. You saw me for who I am, all the broken parts, and still cared. What I feel for you isn’t some crush or fantasy. It’s love. I love you."

You shook your head, your face twisted with both anger and pain. "But how am I supposed to believe that, Nico? After everything? How do I know you aren’t still lying to yourself or to me? You say it’s love, but how do I trust that?"

Nico felt like the ground was crumbling beneath him. He couldn’t lose you—he couldn’t. "I’m not lying," he insisted. "I swear it. On the River Styx, on my mother, on Bianca—on everything I hold dear—I love you. I don’t care about Percy anymore. What I had for him was nothing compared to what I feel for you."

The solemn weight of Nico’s oath filled the air, the magic of the River Styx sealing his words, making them unbreakable. The sky seemed to darken for a moment, a rumble of thunder far in the distance, confirming the binding nature of his vow.

But you didn’t flinch, didn’t waver. Your eyes, once filled with love, now only reflected the deep wounds left behind. "Maybe you believe that, Nico," you said softly, but the coldness in your voice made it clear that something between you had shifted, something that could never be undone. "But I can’t anymore. I can’t keep going, wondering if I’ll ever fully have your heart. Because that shadow—the one you said lingered over you—it’ll always be there, won’t it?"

Nico’s breath hitched, the weight of your words crushing him. He wanted to scream, to beg, to prove that you were wrong. That there was no shadow, no lingering doubt in his heart. But his silence, that hesitation back in Cupid’s lair, had already broken something vital between you. And now, no matter what he swore on, no matter how much he begged, you didn’t believe him anymore.

Tears pricked at Nico’s eyes as he realized that he was losing you, that you had already made up your mind. "Please…" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Please don’t go."

You looked at him for a long, painful moment, and Nico thought—hoped—that maybe there was still a chance. But then, you shook your head, and turned away, leaving him standing there, the solemn weight of his oath ringing hollow in the night air. Nico felt the cold wind biting at his skin, but it was nothing compared to the emptiness that had settled deep within him as he watched you walk away. Alone, once again.

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7s3ven · 1 year ago

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HELL-FIRE. luke (pjo) - pt 1

PART 1 > PART 2 (in progress)

IN WHICH… Y/N doesn’t want to admit it, but perhaps she and the mischievous son of Hermes have more in common than she originally thought.

“Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise. I see my reflection in your eyes.”

Warnings : mentions of abuse

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

—

The cold water lapped at Y/N’s shoulders as she sank into the tub placed strategically in the corner of the empty cabin.

Life as a forbidden kid was hard. You had no siblings and everybody was expecting you to do grand things. A small sigh slipped past Y/N’s lips as the water heated up until it was at a temperature that almost scolded her skin. Perhaps it was because Hades, the king of the Underworld, was her father but Y/N always found herself fascinated by fire. She loved to watch the blue, orange, and yellow flames flicker in the dim darkness.

It wasn’t until her arrival at Camp Half-Blood did it all make sense. Y/N, the daughter of Hades, was able to control fire. Though, she hadn’t quite gotten the hang of it. It all came in random bursts and every time she walked along the crisp green grass, a trail of brightly lit flames slithered after her.

The Demeter kids hated her for ruining the plush red roses that took them weeks to nurture. Y/N could understand their fury and she did her best to avoid their plants now, especially because her fire favoured the taste of Demeter’s flowers.

A quiet knock on the wooden door interrupted Y/N’s peace. She slowly rose from the water, droplets running down her finger tips. She slowly dried herself with a soft cotton towel before slipping her bright orange shirt over her head. She slid on a pair of loosely fitting pants before turning the knob, harshly pulling the door open.

“Do you need something?” Y/N asked, frowning at the small kid in front of her. He trembled and took a nervous step back.

“Luke… he… he told me to give this to you.” The kid stretched out his hand, practically shaking as Y/N stared down at the dark red rose. A lousy gift in her opinion.

Luke was the son of Hermes and the head counsellor of his cabin. He was popular amongst the campers and girls constantly swooned over him. Y/N, on the other hand, had no interest in romance. It had always been that way ever since she was born.

Y/N was conceived into this cruel world with a cold and empty heart. Her mother thought of it as a personality disorder at first until she realized that it was just how Y/N was. No amount of love forced into her arms could change the deep anger boiling inside of her.

Y/N took the rose, peering at it and scowling. “You’ve done your job. Scram.” She shooed the young Hermes kid away, almost shoving him off her rickety wooden porch. She caught sight of Luke watching her through the clean window of his own cabin.

He had never shown much interest in her before until a year ago, where we witnessed her easily take down some of the best fighters in camp.

He grinned at her, a gesture that should have made her heart flutter. But it didn’t. Y/N silently stared at him, feeling the sudden heat rush to her fingers. She lit the rose alight and it didn’t take long until only a few crisp and blackened petals remained in her grasp.

She quickly dropped them, scattering the remains of the once beautiful flower everywhere. It acted as a constant reminder that no matter how hard Luke tried, she was simply immune to his charm.

It’s not like Y/N didn’t want to love, because she did. She saw the Aphrodite kids treating Valentine’s Day like it was some big festivals. And she noticed how many of the boys in the Apollo cabin always had their eyes glued to one of the Athena girls.

They looked at her like she was a pile of treasure; like a precious jewel. They stared at her with such admiration and adoration that Y/N felt a little jealous. How come she couldn’t love while others could?

It was probably because of the darkness lurking within her, feasting away at every small spark of happiness until it was gone, resting in the belly of the beast. Anger, jealousy, and hatred consumed her easily. And she was bitter because of it.

It was pitch black by the time Y/N collapsed on her soft mattress. She was clad in shorts and a black crop top to battle the humid weather during Summer. She was half asleep when a quiet tap and rattle woke her.

Y/N quietly groaned. She knew who was waiting by her window, wearing a spare camp t-shirt and dusty grey shorts that stopped above his knees. His tapping become quicker and sharper until Y/N had no choice but to fling the window open.

“What?” She hissed at Luke.

He always came at the same time every night. Twelve o’clock sharp in hopes of wooing her. Y/N wasn’t stupid, she knew he was after something else that wasn’t romance related but until she figured out what, she wasn’t comfortable being alone in his presence.

Luke simply smiled, resting his chin on the sill. “Walk with me?” He questioned, jabbing a thumb over his right shoulder.

“It’s past curfew.” Y/N sharply retorted, glowering at him. Beams of moonlight shone down on the pair, acting as if the world were a stage that needed to be lit. Y/N could clearly see Luke tilt his head to the side, gazing up at her through his lashes.

“It’ll be quick.” He was persistent as always.

“What part of not interested confuses you?” Y/N threw the covers back over her body, prepared to crash her head against her feathered pillow and let her eyes flutter shut.

"One walk and I'll stop annoying you for a week."

That made Y/N pause. She stared at Luke, narrowing her eyes. A week wasn't long but it was better than putting up with his presence constantly. "Okay." She slowly said, causing Luke to victoriously grin. He pumped his fist.

"If we get caught, you have to take the blame." Y/N warned Luke as she stepped out of her cabin, pointing sternly at him. He wrapped a lock of her H/C hair around his finger, standing too close to comfort.

"I'd take every blame for you." He whispered, playfully winking. Y/N rolled her eyes in reply.

"I'd let you rot in a ditch." She pushed him away, storming down the stairs of the small porch. He clicked his tongue, eyes glazing over her movements. He jogged to catch up with her, his hand brushing against her leg.

The slight breeze surrounded the two of them as Y/N glanced up at the shining stars, her eyes darting around to spot all the different constellations. Luke followed her gaze, arching an eyebrow.

"What are you staring at?" He asked, licking his chapped lips. Y/N's eyes darted to look at him before she rolled her eyes, not saying anything.

"Can't you take a hint to be quiet?" She muttered after a minute of painful silence.

"No, I can. It's a choice to annoy you." He slyly smiled, bumping Y/N with his hip. She scoffed, shoving her hand into his face.

The crickets chirped loudly as Y/N walked past them, Luke following close behind. The air was colder now and Y/N relished the feeling of it against her skin. She almost forgot the son of Hermes was with her before he cleared his throat.

"No fire following behind us?" He questioned. He was used to the flames that often licked at Y/N's ankles but never dared burn her.

"That would get us caught." Y/N retorted. She faltered for a second, "Me, I mean. It would get me caught."

Luke lowly chuckled. "Nah, too late, Blaze. You said us. So there is something between us. And here I thought you only saw me as an obnoxious idiot."

Y/N sharply clicked her tongue, glaring at him. "Don't call me Blaze. And yes, I do see you as one."

"What would you prefer then? Conflagration? Inferno? Oh, what about Holocaust?"

"I didn't even know you knew those words." Y/N uttered, blankly staring at Luke. But Blaze was surely better than being called Holocaust.

"Blaze it is." Luke slung an arm around Y/N's shoulder, carefully testing the waters. The smell of burning flesh wafted through the air and Y/N quickly shrugged Luke's arm off, panicking slightly.

"Don't touch me." She said. It was supposed to be a harsh command but it came out as more of a desperate warning. Y/N's eyes darted to Luke's burnt skin. She scowled, at both his persistence to hold her and her inability to control her angry flames. It's not like she was actively trying to hurt people. It just... happened.

"I think it's time for you to leave." She said, her voice nothing more than a whisper. "Get your arm checked."

"It's late, no Apollo kid will be awake." His sizzling flesh didn't phase him in the slightest. He had dealt with worse, far worse. Like Clarisse's spear. "Besides, I like walking with you."

"At least soak your arm in water. It'll bring down the stinging sensation as well as protect it from risk of infection." Y/N was hesitant to even get near Luke, afraid of what her ability might do lest she lost control. But Luke was fearless. He'd grip her wrist a million times, even if it meant getting burnt, just to feel her skin against his.

He was like Icarus, unrelenting in his pursuit for greatness. He adored Y/N like Icarus loved the sun; too fast and too close. In a way, Y/N was death reincarnated. Pupils so big that it was unsettling, a glare so intense it could swallow you up, and a dark grace that followed her every move. Icarus died with broken wings but a fulfilled soul, just as Luke would if it meant he could hold Y/N.

Y/N led Luke towards a small pond and dipped her hand into the cool water. It started bubbling and Y/N instantly recoiled. Luke watched her, curious.

"Why do you do that?" He asked, gaining Y/N's wavering attention.

"Do what?" She muttered, furrowing her brows in confusion. Luke lightly chuckled, staring down at the rippling water.

"The fire thing. And heating up water. Why?"

Y/N shrugged. "It's not like I do it on purpose. It's random. Heating up water is easy enough but the flames are weird. I've tried spotting a pattern but I just can't see it." Y/N held up a finger, heat rushing to the tip. A flame flickered but it wasn't like her usual orange or blue ones. It was pink.

A light pink hue reflected off Luke's face as he peered at the fire, his eyes darting to follow its wild movements. He slowly dipped his charred arm into the water, grinning at Y/N who found slight amusement in playing with the pink flame.

"You ever think your flames follow your emotions?" He piped up, tilting his head to the side.

"Excuse me?"

"Your emotions. Maybe they control your fire." He shrugged, "Your flames are usually orange but when you get angry, which happens a lot, they turn blue. And the pink... I don't know. Love?"

Y/N sneered. "Love? Who would I be in love with?" It was a ridiculous suggestion. Stupid, even. Love didn't exist in Y/N L/N's world. Luke raised his brows, silently gesturing to himself. "I'd rather kiss a dragon."

Luke reached out to touch the flame and Y/N pulled away in a panic. "Don't!" She exclaimed, but Luke's hand was already waving through the fire. It didn't hurt in the slightest and Luke smiled. Y/N's whole hand exploded into pink-toned flames and she jumped, waving her hand around until the fire went out.

"Blaze... Do your emotions... scare you?" Luke asked. Y/N lightly scoffed, glaring at Luke as she always did. A flicker of blue glazed over her E/C eyes and then it was replaced with orange which quickly shifted into pink. And it finally returned to blue before disappearing as quickly as it came.

"Your eyes... they, uh..." Luke didn't know how to describe it. "Do they... somewhat flame up a lot?"

"Ignore that." She grumbled, shielding her face from Luke's hawk-like gaze.

"You intrigue me. Why do you act so bitter all the time, Y/N?" Luke questioned, clearing his throat. She paused, lightly biting down on her bottom lip. He didn't have room to judge because despite carrying around a kind and caring facade, Luke was just as mean as her underneath it all. Y/N just... didn't bother to hide it while Luke turned his head every time his eyes darkened or his lips curled into a disgusted sneer.

"I don't have a reason. Do you ever think that maybe I'm not acting and that I was born this way? Because I'm pretty sure I was."

"There's a reason for everything."

"Okay, you want to know why?!" Y/N exclaimed, fed up with all his questions and teasing. Luke calmly gestured her to continue.

"I hate them. I hate the deities above who call themselves our godly parents. They are just as fucked up as us, if not more. I mean, what were they thinking? Fucked up people give birth to fucked up kids. They underestimate us and abandon us and still think that we'll worship the ground they walk on. If I'm being honest, I don't think they love us. My father... Hades... he had an opportunity to save me from the abuse my mother was inflicting on me."

Luke's facial expression softened. His eyes locked with Y/N's angry ones and for a split second, he saw himself in her. A demigod desperate to prove themselves to their parent only to be disappointed.

"And you know what was worse? I saw him. I met him. He came to our house one day and I didn't know it was him in that moment but after I got here, it all made sense. The man who randomly showed up on the doorstep all those years ago and acted like he knew everything about me... was my father. The same man who dumped me in the horrible care of my mother. Hades, the supposedly only God who loved his half-blood child, actually abandoned her when he had the choice to take her with him."

"I get what you mean." Luke muttered, shifting closer to her. She didn't stop him. "I feel abandoned too. My dad, he did something similar. I agree with you when you say that the gods don't love us... because I don't think they do either. We're just... their pawns. You see this scar?"

Luke's finger trailed over the scar that adorned the side of his face. "My father... he gave me a quest that Hercules had already completed. I didn't want to do something someone else had already done but I thought, how hard could it be? And I failed it... I failed the quest. And some stupid dragon scratched me and gave me this scar."

"I don't get why they think we're expendable." Y/N's hands clenched into fists and she clicked her tongue. She turned to Luke, flinching at how close he was all of a sudden.

It all happened too quickly. One second Y/N's lips accidently brushed against Luke's and the next the whole field around the pond burst into a flood of pink flames. Y/N and Luke stood in front of Chiron, hands clasped behind them. Luke stared at the ground in shame while Y/N wasn't scared to look Chiron in the eye.

"You not only snuck out past curfew, which is breaking rules, but Miss Y/N, you also burned a fellow camper and set flames to the grass."

"Chiron, sneaking out past curfew was my idea." Luke, as promised, took responsibility for his actions. "And she can't control her fire and I provoked her so I deserved it anyway." Luke shrugged.

"That still doesn't excuse your behavior. I expect you to clean all the swords before the Ares kids mess them all up again."

Y/N scoffed under her breath. "This is all your fault. I can't believe I snuck out with you of all people." Y/N poked his shoulder and a small pink flame danced across his shirt before dissolving into thin air.

"Pink means love." Luke teased.

"I will burn you again." Y/N threatened, stomping on his foot.

"Hey, you wouldn't burn your ranting partner so soon, would you?" He grinned.

Y/N didn't want to admit it but she did share a lot of similarities with Luke. From their hatred for the gods to the feeling of being abandoned. "Talking with you wasn't entirely terrible." She muttered, rolling her eyes.

"Thanks, Blaze." He gently grasped her hand, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckle. Y/N jumped and everything went up in flames again. Literally. "Y/N... Y/N, you're on fire. You are on fire!" But it didn't hurt. The flames wrapped around her like a comforting blanket as Luke stared at her in both awe and confusion. "It's kinda cool actually. It looks like you're glowing." Luke chuckled while she glared at him, wildly trying to pat the pink fire out.

"Come on, just admit you like me, Blaze. Even just a little bit. You find me pretty, don't you?"

"I do not!" Y/N exclaimed, the flames growing stronger. Luke teasingly raised his brows, staring at her with a knowing smirk. She scoffed, spinning around.

"See ya later, Blaze!" Luke called out as she stormed away. She turned around, deeply scowling at him.

"Shut up!" She shouted, a glowing trail of fire following after her and burning its way through the grass. Campers squealed at the sight, jumping out of the way.

Luke chuckled to himself, watching when Y/N sneered at a young Apollo boy. "She's so cute." He muttered to himself, shaking his head in amusement.

From the window, Chiron sighed at the familiar sight of Y/N's fire. "She's getting stronger." He said, frowning.

"So? At least her pink flames are harmless, unlike her blue ones. And don't get me started on that huge blowup she had last year. I didn't even know black flames existed until she blew up! More like exploded!" Mr D scoffed, shivering at the memory of Y/N's black flames. It was like a massive bomb went off.

Chiron was silent for a moment until he looked at Mr D. "She likes Luke." He quickly said.

Mr D instantly sat up, slamming his hand against the table in front of him. "Oh, yeah, definitely! I started shipping those two ever since they started bickering. Catch up, Chiron!"

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priyajoyy · 1 year ago

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Tangled masterlist

Clarisse la rue x Pesephone!repunzel!fem!reader

You had spent your entire life hidden away in a tower to protect you from the outside world wanting you for your powers, its only when a certain daughter of ares finds you scared and confused, that she finally gets to see the outside world like you always longed to.

[part 1]

Clarisse finds you hidden in a tower in the woods and realises you might be the daughter of a god

[part 2]

Clarisse helps you get over your fear of leaving (rather forcefully) causing you to leave your tower for the first time in your life

[part 3] coming soon

You finally get to explore the world you’ve always wanted to your entire life, with Clarisse and her quest mates leading you back to camp

[part 4] coming soon

Arriving at camp, you get to meet Chiron and all the other campers, learning more about your heritage and why your parents chose to hide you away

[part 5] coming soon

Your parents realise you’re missing and aren’t very happy you’ve been taken from safety and taken to somewhere anyone could find you

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tearsstained · 11 months ago

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Tell me that you love me again - Luke Castellan Headcanons

Headcanons of how Luke Castellan fell in love with the ridiculed Hades kid based on the song 'Again' by Noah Cyrus

POC friendly, plus size friendly, gender neutral, Hades!Reader, can either be read as Disney Luke or book Luke.

Content warnings: Not proof read, angst, Stoll brothers, alcohol (mentioned), Lukes betrayal, Reader going on a quest, the master bolt quest, strangers to friends to dating, virginity lose (mentioned), sex (mentioned), death/sacrifice, war (mentioned), Kronos (mentioned), spoilers for the Last Olympians, Lukes death, Percy Jackson (mentioned), song lyrics used, songfic.

Navigation | Masterlist | L.C Masterlist

"You just made the worst mistake."

"And you'll regret it, darling."

Luke! Who was known as the camp's golden boy and admired by everyone for his charm and talent.

Luke! Who never really had any romantic interests and no experience with love.

Luke! Who despite having girls flocking to him daily, never dated because he never found anyone intriguing enough to think about.

Luke! Who had only heard of you through other campers and never really paid a thought to you until he saw you.

Luke! Who met you randomly on a Thursday afternoon when you were chilling out with the Stoll brothers.

Luke! Who was captivated by your beauty when he first saw you and mistaked you for an Aphrodite kid.

Luke! Who discovered that Travis and Connor are your only friends.

Luke! Who made the worst mistake by asking the Stoll's about you.

Luke! Who then got bombarded with questions and poking assumptions by T&C.

Luke! Who eventually admitted to being interested in getting to know you and got absolutely blackmailed by it.

"Cause once you give and then you take."

"You'll only end up wanting."

Luke! Who made a deal with the brothers that if they introduce him to you, he'll let them bring proper alcohol into camp for bonfire nights.

Luke! Who was unrealistically determined to know you.

Luke! Who became obsessed with the thought of you despite barely knowing you.

Luke! Who finally met you at a bonfire night after being taunted by your presence in the Hermes cabin.

Luke! Who never got enough time to talk to you.

Luke! Who felt teased by your short meeting and only wanted more.

Luke! Who searched for you all around camp the next day but never found you once.

Luke! Who continued searching for you throughout the next several weeks just to only see you at the mess hall where you couldn't talk.

Luke! Who begged the Stoll brothers to tell him your schedule or where you hang out at.

Luke! Who only got a "deal's over, can't tell." in response.

"Was everything hard enough?"

"Cause one day you'll wake up."

"And then you'll say."

Luke! Who found you on your own at the docks before asking if he could join you.

Luke! Who internally freaked out when you accepted but played it off.

Luke! Who got to know you more and became friends on that dock.

Luke! Who genuinely laughed at every dark joke you said that would scare most people.

Luke! Who kept meeting up with you whenever you were both free at the dock, claiming it was 'our spot' now.

Luke! Who offered to teach you how to swim and help improve your sword fighting skills.

Luke! Who started joining in on your little hangouts with Travis and Connor in the Hermes cabin.

Luke! Who started meeting up with you in the Hades cabin and began having sleepovers together secretly.

Luke! Who slowly but surely became one of your best friends.

Luke! Who became too attached to you.

“I wanna be your lover."

"I don't wanna be your friend.”

Luke! Who had a painfully noticeable crush on you but somehow you didn't see it.

Luke! Who started hanging out with you a lot more and built a much stronger connection with you then Travis and Connor had.

Luke! Who got jealous when you were with T&C but tried to remind himself that you aren't together and can hangout with whoever.

Luke! Who defended your name when other campers were talking about how weird you were and how they believed you were the lighting thief - when in reality it was him.

Luke! Who heard from the Stolls' that you liked him but thought he didn't like you back.

Luke! Who then arranged a sleepover in your cabin and asked you out that night.

"You don't know what you got 'til it's gone, my dear."

"So tell me that you love me again."

Luke! Who cherished every moment with you because he knew he'd have to go soon.

Luke! Who wanted to hide you away from the upcoming war none of the campers knew of but couldn't.

Luke! Who kept acting normal, even when Percy Jackson arrived.

Luke! Who showed Percy around and built a big brother relationship with him.

Luke! Who was the first to bow when Percy was claimed as Poseidon's son.

Luke! Who heard from Percy that you were also forced to go on the quest to retrieve the Masters Bolt (that he stole) due to being a child of Hades.

Luke! Who has never been so disappointed of not being chosen to go on a quest before until now.

Luke! Who begged Chiron to go as well to protect you from the set up danger he knew of but was continuously denied.

Luke! Who told you he loved you for the first time before you left.

"Baby, I'll hold my breath."

"You don't know what you got 'til it's gone, my dear."

"So tell me that you love me again."

Luke! Who dreamed of you every night and prayed you were okay every day.

Luke! Who realized how deeply in love he was with you and wanted to recruit you to Kronos army so you could be together without worrying.

Luke! Who could only hope you would return to camp unharmed.

Luke! Who was ecstatic when the four of you came back mostly unharmed but also realized his cover would be blown soon.

Luke! Who harboured your last night together before he was revealed.

"Again, babe, again."

"You don't know what you got 'til it's gone, my dear."

"So tell me that you love me again."

Luke! Who couldn't stop repeating the three words he only told you once before

Luke! Who seemed oddly clingy but you brushed it off as making up for missed time.

Luke! Who was almost in tears several times while kissing all over your body and repeating those three words to you.

Luke! Who took your virginity that night since he knew he might never see you again.

Luke! Who worshipped you all night and was so gentle with you.

Luke! Who broke your heart the next day.

"Ooh, she's screaming in my head."

"Ooh, I left her where I slept."

"Somewhere, I can't escape from, I'm running from myself."

"Somewhere in between in love and broken, I'm in hell."

Luke! Who felt horrible for betraying you like this but wanted to get revenge on the gods.

Luke! Who offered to protect you if you joined him, only to end up getting denied and screamed at.

Luke! Who couldn't turn back now that he outted himself, so he went through the portal alone.

Luke! Who was haunted by your face every night and day.

Luke! Who never stopped loving you, even if you were on different sides.

"Saying I wanna be your lover, I don't wanna be your friend."

"You don't know what you got 'til it's gone my dear."

"So tell me that you love me again."

Luke! Who replayed every memory of you together in his head during the days now that he's away from you.

Luke! Who missed you severely but couldn't go back to camp now.

Luke! Who was happy with getting his revenge but regretted it as well.

Luke! Who thought of those harsh words you yelled at him that night and how he just wanted to hear you say 'I love you' again.

Luke! Who desired a future with you but could only fantasize about it.

Luke! Who knew you hated him but still kept loving you.

"You'll leave when the clock hits ten."

"You don't know what you got 'til it's gone, my dear."

"So tell me that you love me again."

Luke! Who despite not seeing you for years, instantly recognized you when he saw you with Percy and Annabeth.

Luke! Who just wanted to stop Kronos to prove himself to you even if it meant dying.

Luke! Who just wanted you to love him again, even a little bit.

Luke! Who sacrificed himself to end Kronos just for you to know that he regrets it and wishes things were still normal like at camp all those years ago.

Luke! Who died for your unreciprocated love.

#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan headcanons #luke castellan x you #luke castellan #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #luke castellan x hades!reader #hades!reader #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan angst #pjo x reader #pjo luke castellan #percy jackson #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell x reader

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pretty-side-of-the-moon · 1 day ago

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If you are up to it, could you write something for Luke Castellan x reader? Maybe something like the reader getting claimed by hades or something like that?

I'm gonna do HC's for this if that's okay

But fellow hades kid??? Cabin thirteen rep 😝😝

So I didn't know where to go with this so it's really short and let me know if it's wrong lmao

Thankkk u smm for the req have a lovely day bby

XOXO,

Pretty ♡♡♡

-----

The first time luke noticed you were different, you were crying.

Somthing happened, like things always seemed to do with you. You snuck off, and Luke was the one who was made to go find you.

He knew of you, talked to you a few times, but you'd never been particularly close.

He was a little irrated that he had to go and find you. It wasn't his job to make sure everyone was okay- but then he saw the grass: all dead and brown.

It gave him chills.

He followed the path, and there you were, hidden in the woods, surrounded by a circle of dead grass. Your head was tucked into your knees.

He paid a bit more attention to you after that.

There were a few...other odd things.

The way you were always cold. Or how he could swear the air around you got colder when you got upset. Or how if you got all happy...flowers would pop out from the grass. After all, death paves the way for life

So, maybe, you were a demeter kid. He asked if you thought you were once.

"I don't think I've ever managed to keep a plant alive for more than a week."

You and Luke got closer.

At first, he really was just curious.

Then, you were just friends.

Then a little more.

And eventually, he stopped asking about your parent. It didn't matter.

Until it did.

He was there when it happened.

You were sitting on a bench with him next to the strawberry fields. It was cool outside, one of the days right before summer ended, when you stick yourself in jeans for the first time in weeks.

You had just kissed his cheek, and he was talking about something one of his campers said. You didn't even notice it until the monster was behind you.

You didn't recognize what it was, you only recognized that it was on top of your boyfriend and his sword was far of out his grasp.

You didn't know what to do. It wasn't your fault.

You barely knew what you did before the shadows were coming back to you, and all that reminded was a pile of bones, and the lingering smell of death.

You stared at Luke, and he stared back.

"You.. you got claimed." He whispered, and you froze.

There it was, above your head. The lingering purple and the sigil of the death god.

#pretty's blog!!!#luke castellan #luke castellan x #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #pretty's boyfriend <333 #luke castellan x y/n #pretty's fics!#hades! reader

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f0rg0ttendaughter0fhades · 1 year ago

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Trying to get drunk at camp halfblood is just @GroverUnderwood talking to trees, Trying to convince @PercyJackson that we do not need to go skinny dipping and watching @AnnabethChase cry over math problems??? Can @LukeCastllen come back? He knew how to drink.

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xoxochb · 1 year ago

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cabin 13 girlies are superior

#cabin 13 #child of hades #the underworld #cabin 13 girls #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo tv show #hades pjo #percy jackson series #luke castellan fluff #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #hrtsforhorror

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diveintoserena · 1 month ago

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𝐓𝐎𝐀𝐘𝐃 | 𝟎𝟏 my therapist thinks i'm just anxious (she's wrong)

𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐎𝐃

Mikey Madison as Lyra Jean Henderson

Luke Castellan x DaughterofHecate!Oc

I WISH I COULD SPIN some dramatic tale of a destiny foretold, a grand awakening of power. That I ever bought into the whole "you're special" spiel. Truth is, for years, I was just a ghost in hand-me-down clothes, armed with a sharp tongue and an even sharper instinct for survival – which mostly involved getting the hell out of dodge.

So, no epic origin story here.

Instead, you'd usually find me in some brightly lit, sterile room, enduring the pitying gaze of another well-meaning but clueless adult. This particular afternoon involved Dr. Reyes patiently explaining the various ways my brain apparently malfunctioned, while I mentally cataloged the exits and wondered if the faint scent of cheap lavender was supposed to be calming or just irritating.

─━━━━━━⊱۞⊰━━━━━━─

Dr. Reyes' office was a sensory assault I'd come to expect from anyone claiming to help me navigate my "complex inner landscape"—and trust me, my inner landscape looked less like a serene garden and more like a monster truck rally. The air hung thick with the cloying sweetness of artificial lavender, battling a stale undercurrent of institutional coffee and the faint, lingering scent of unspoken judgment. It was the aroma of good intentions gone wrong, a perfume designed to soothe but only making my skin crawl with the urge to escape.

The beige walls were a testament to bland conformity, the framed diplomas screamed "I know better than you," and the motivational posters? Pure, unadulterated torture. ("Hang in there!" featuring a kitten clinging to a branch? Seriously? Had they met my life?)

This worn, slightly sticky chair had been my reluctant throne in countless iterations of this same charade. Different faces across the desk, different diplomas on the wall, but the underlying script – fix the broken thing – remained stubbornly the same. And the smell... always that same suffocating blend of coffee, synthetic calm, and disappointment.

Dr. Miller had whispered like I was made of spun glass, convinced one wrong word would send me shattering into a million inconvenient pieces. Dr. Nguyen had offered stress balls like they could somehow absorb the chaos churning inside me, never actually hearing the whispers that sometimes seemed to bleed from the very walls.

And Dr. Howard? Bless his oblivious heart, he'd once achieved peak therapeutic stillness by falling asleep mid-sentence. I'd considered drawing a mustache on his face with a stray pen.

Then there was Dr. Reyes. Efficient. Clinical. And just as convinced she held the instruction manual to "Lyra-Jean, Problem Child, Model 7.3."

I knew that look in her eyes. I'd seen it reflected in the weary gazes of social workers who shuffled my file like a losing hand, the forced smiles of foster parents who saw me as another temporary paycheck, the concerned frowns of teachers who just wanted me to be normal.

A project. A case. A broken code to be rewritten.

Maybe they were right. Maybe I was a walking glitch in the system.

But no one ever bothered to ask if the glitch wanted to be fixed. Maybe the errors were the only things that felt real.

They just slapped on labels, offered generic solutions, and moved on to the next malfunctioning unit. And the sheer, bone-deep weariness of being someone else's puzzle was a constant companion.

My fingers worried at a loose thread on the purloined purple jacket – a comforting texture in this sterile environment. The clock's ticking was a relentless drumbeat, each second a reminder of the time I was wasting. The fluorescent lights hummed, a discordant soundtrack to my forced compliance.

Underneath the carefully constructed apathy, the familiar itch started. The primal urge to bolt, to disappear into the anonymity of the streets, where at least the dangers were honest.

But running wasn't the immediate plan. Not today. Survival sometimes meant playing the game, even if the game was rigged.

So, I sat there, my grip tightening on the chair's worn arms, a silent promise to myself that I wouldn't break, wouldn't shatter, at least not in this beige box of forced serenity.

Dr. Reyes flashed her professional empathy smile – the one that translated to 'I get paid for this, but also, my hot yoga class starts in twenty minutes.'

"So, Lyra," she began, leaning back like she was about to deliver a profound revelation instead of just repeating the same questions, "you mentioned 'experiencing things' again this week?"

'Experiencing things.' That was her sanitized way of describing the creeping shadows that danced at the edge of my vision, the whispers that slithered through the air when no one else was around, and the general feeling that reality was a badly rendered video game, glitching every other Tuesday.

I focused on the maze of scratches etched into the faux leather chair across from me, tracing their patterns like they were ancient runes holding the secrets to escaping this beige-walled purgatory, instead of proof that past inmates had also endured this particular brand of psychological torture.

I shrugged, a carefully calibrated display of apathy. "Not exactly seeing. More like...feeling the universe vibrate on a frequency only I can hear."

Dr. Reyes tilted her head, the human equivalent of a confused cat. "Can you elaborate?"

Oh, I could elaborate. I could describe how the air sometimes shimmered like a heatwave in the middle of a polar vortex. I could explain how shadows stretched and twisted into impossible shapes, like they had their own agenda. I could detail how, when I focused too hard, people's words would just...cut out, like their brains had suddenly gone on strike.

But that would earn me a one-way ticket to the psych ward, and I wasn't in the mood for padded walls and mystery meat.

"It's like..." I paused, carefully editing my internal monologue for public consumption. "Like something's just...out of sync. Like it's there, just beyond the edge of my senses, but if I try to grab it, it vanishes."

Dr. Reyes sighed the heavy sigh of someone who'd already pre-diagnosed me with a terminal case of 'being a difficult kid.' "Lyra, we've discussed this. These are classic symptoms of anxiety, often exacerbated by past trauma. There's no evidence of any...underlying condition."

My jaw tightened. Trauma. The word itself was a barbed wire fence, sending a shiver of angry energy through my veins.

I knew what she meant. The night. The thing I'd buried so deep, it was practically fossilized. The flashes of fire and screams that still haunted the edges of my dreams.

But this wasn't just about that.

The whispers, the shadows, the ever-present feeling of being watched – they weren't just figments of a damaged psyche. They were real. I felt them in my bones.

Dr. Reyes studied me, waiting for the inevitable argument, the rebellion she expected. When I didn't rise to the bait, she took it as a personal victory and plowed ahead.

"Have you been practicing the breathing exercises we discussed?" she asked, her tone suggesting I'd probably been using them to hyperventilate into a paper bag.

I gave a curt nod, a blatant lie. Deep breathing had never stopped a shadow from crawling across my bedroom wall.

"What about meditation? Have you found a quiet space to center yourself?"

Another nod. Another lie. My "quiet space" usually involved a crowded bus and a pair of noise-canceling headphones.

"Perhaps we should consider a slight adjustment to your medication?"

Absolutely not. The last time I'd let them tinker with my brain chemistry, I'd spent a week convinced I could communicate with houseplants.

"No more meds," I stated, my voice leaving no room for negotiation. "They make me feel like a zombie who's allergic to sunlight."

Dr. Reyes sighed again, the sound of professional patience wearing thin, and scribbled something onto her notepad. It probably translated to: Patient remains stubbornly delusional, possibly possessed. Recommend exorcism.

"Lyra," she said, her voice slow and deliberate, like she was explaining why one plus one equals two to a particularly dense toddler. "I can't exactly wave a magic wand and make the bad things go away if you keep hiding them under a rock."

My throat felt like it had swallowed a handful of gravel. She wasn't wrong. A small, logical part of my eleven-year-old brain acknowledged that. But the bigger, louder part screamed danger.

Opening up meant peeling back the layers of carefully constructed indifference, showing the messy, broken bits underneath. And that usually led to labels, endless tests with stupid questions, and the dreaded phone call that meant packing my few belongings into another garbage bag and being shuffled off to another house that didn't really want a silent, twitchy kid with weird stories.

So, instead of the truth, I offered a carefully crafted imitation of cooperation. I forced a tight, insincere smile that didn't reach my eyes and mumbled, "Yeah. Okay. I'll... try." The word felt like a betrayal the moment it left my lips.

Dr. Reyes mirrored my expression with a smile of her own – thin and brittle, like a cheap plastic toy that might snap if you bent it too far. It was the kind of smile adults gave you when they knew you were lying but were too tired or too jaded to call you on it.

"That's all I ask, Lyra," she said, her voice laced with a weary resignation that echoed my own. "Sometimes, just saying the words out loud, even the scary ones, can make them lose a little of their power."

She wrapped up the session with the usual motions: a brief, impersonal handshake that felt like two strangers accidentally brushing fingers, a prescription for pills that would inevitably end up gathering dust in whatever forgotten corner I was currently inhabiting, and the standard fortune cookie wisdom about 'confronting my fears head-on' – which, in my short but eventful life, had only ever resulted in more things to run from.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

I wish I could pretend that stepping out of Dr. Reyes' office felt like shedding a heavy skin. That her carefully chosen words had somehow rearranged the tangled mess inside my head. That I actually bought into the whole 'your troubled past is manifesting as spooky hallucinations' lecture.

But the truth was a bitter pill I'd swallowed long ago: she was missing the point entirely.

The shadows weren't just tricks my mind was playing. The air didn't just feel wrong; it was wrong, humming with an energy that prickled my senses. And no amount of well-meaning platitudes, forced breathing, or those aggressively scented candles was going to scrub away the weirdness that clung to the edges of my reality.

Unfortunately, my internal debate about the fundamental flaws of modern psychology was cut short the moment I stepped into the waiting room.

Because perched on one of the uncomfortable, floral-patterned chairs was her.

Mrs. Patel.

And just like that, the faint glimmer of hope I hadn't even realized I was clinging to evaporated, replaced by the familiar, sinking feeling that my already messed-up day had just taken a nosedive into the Mariana Trench.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Mrs. Patel. My assigned shepherd in this bureaucratic wilderness. She was a force of nature contained in a petite frame, an Indian woman whose default expression could curdle milk and whose unimpressed gaze held the weight of a thousand bureaucratic forms. Her dark hair was a severe, gravity-defying bun, her blazer looked starched with pure disapproval, and her clipboard was practically a permanent fixture, a shield against the chaos of kids like me.

She also possessed an uncanny, almost supernatural ability to sniff out my attempts at freedom, like a bloodhound with a nose for truancy. No matter how cleverly I slipped through the cracks of the system, Mrs. Patel always seemed to materialize, her presence a tangible manifestation of my failure to disappear.

And the way she was currently laser-focusing on me over the top of her half-moon glasses promised an imminent Mrs. Patel Lecture™, capital letters and all. Her gaze felt less like observation and more like an X-ray, peering directly into the rebellious core of my being.

"Lyra," she stated, her voice a low, weary drone that suggested she'd had this exact conversation approximately one million times. "Sit." It wasn't a request.

I sat. Not out of any sense of obedience, but because even at eleven, I recognized certain immutable forces in the universe. Mrs. Patel was one of them. Arguing with her was like arguing with gravity – ultimately pointless and likely to result in a headache.

She shuffled the papers on her clipboard, the crisp snap of the pages echoing in the sterile waiting room. She landed on the document detailing my latest act of unscheduled departure.

"This is the third time this year, Lyra." Her tone implied this was a personal affront.

I offered a nonchalant shrug, my gaze fixed on the peeling corner of a "Hang In There" poster featuring a disturbingly cheerful sloth. "Are you sure it's only three? Feels... more comprehensive than that."

Mrs. Patel remained unmoved. Her expression didn't even flicker.

"You cannot continue to abscond from your designated placements." Her vocabulary always sounded like it belonged in a legal textbook.

"Why not?" I countered, a flicker of defiance sparking within me. "I'm getting really efficient at it. Almost... professional."

A sigh escaped her nostrils, a sound that spoke volumes of her dwindling reserves of patience. It was the universal language of 'I am dealing with a level of stubbornness that defies logic.'

"You are eleven years old, Lyra. You are not supposed to be proficient in independent survival."

I didn't respond. What was the point? Laying out the stark reality of my existence – the alleyways, the dumpster diving, the constant fear of being dragged back to places where I was an unwanted burden – wouldn't elicit sympathy. It would just earn me more lectures and thicker files.

Mrs. Patel's sharp gaze pinned me to the uncomfortable chair, making me feel like a particularly uninteresting insect under a microscope. Her slow exhale wasn't the huff of a frustrated bureaucrat; it was the weary sigh of someone carrying a weight I couldn't comprehend, rubbing the bridge of her nose as if trying to erase a persistent ache.

"You know," she said, her voice surprisingly devoid of its usual crispness, "you're not the first kid I've seen walking this particular tightrope."

My sarcasm was my shield, always at the ready. "Wow. Groundbreaking. Turns out, I'm not a unique snowflake. Color me astonished."

But Mrs. Patel's gaze didn't waver. "You think you're operating outside the predictable, Lyra, but you're not. I've seen this script play out countless times."

A knot tightened in my stomach. There was a weariness in her tone that felt... different.

"Kids who run. They all wear that same defiant mask. They believe they're smarter, tougher, that they can outrun the things that scare them. That maybe, if they just put enough distance between themselves and the bad stuff, it'll eventually stop chasing them."

She leaned forward, her gaze intense. "Do you know the ending of most of those stories, Lyra?"

The silence hung heavy in the air. I didn't want to know. My carefully constructed wall of denial bricked itself higher.

Mrs. Patel sighed, a soft, defeated sound. "You remind me of my son."

I blinked, thrown completely off balance.

"He was stubborn, too," she continued, her voice barely a whisper now, the professional facade crumbling. "Thought he didn't need anyone. Thought asking for help was a sign of weakness. And one day... he decided he didn't have to listen anymore."

A frown creased my forehead. "What happened to him?" The question felt too loud in the sudden quiet.

She hesitated, her gaze drifting somewhere beyond the beige walls. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken grief.

Then, her voice flat and distant, she murmured, "I buried him when he was seventeen."

The fluorescent lights buzzed, suddenly amplified. The stale air felt heavy, suffocating.

Something sharp and icy snaked its way down my spine. A cold premonition.

I didn't want to ask. The answer hung in the air, a suffocating weight. But the morbid curiosity, the dark understanding that sometimes bloomed in the shadows of my own life, forced the words out. "How?"

Mrs. Patel's knuckles were white as her fingers tightened on the edge of her clipboard. Her gaze remained unfocused.

"He ran one time too many."

My breath hitched. The lump in my throat felt impossibly large.

"You're eleven, Lyra. You have time. A sliver of it, maybe. But one day, if you keep sprinting away from everything, you'll wake up and realize you've run out of road. And I don't want to be the one standing over your grave, wondering if I could have... if I should have done something different."

For a fleeting, fragile moment, the carefully constructed walls around my heart cracked. I almost spilled it all. The whispers that clawed at my sanity in the dead of night. The way shadows danced with a life of their own. The chilling certainty that something ancient and malevolent had been tracking me since that terrible night when I was eight.

But the moment passed, as quickly as it had come. The ingrained instinct for self-preservation slammed the doors shut.

"I'm fine," I lied, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.

Mrs. Patel's gaze returned to mine, sharp and searching, trying to pierce the carefully constructed mask. She saw nothing but a defiant eleven-year-old staring back.

She sighed again, the sound heavier this time, the sound of a battle already lost. "You are not fine, Lyra." Her voice was softer now, tinged with a weary resignation that mirrored the exhaustion in her eyes. Too many broken kids, too little time.

She looked down at her clipboard, the papers rustling softly. Another sigh, almost to herself. "God help me, kid."

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

I knew the unspoken question hanging in the stale office air, thick and heavy between us: Why, Lyra? Why do you keep tearing yourself away?

My gaze locked onto Mrs. Patel's, a silent standoff. My fingers, small and tight, gripped the worn arms of the chair as if they were the only anchors in a storm.

Why did I keep running? The question echoed in the hollow spaces inside me, a constant, nagging hum beneath the surface bravado.

She wanted an explanation, a neat little box of reasons she could tick off on her endless forms.

She wasn't going to get it. Not today. Not ever, probably.

Because how could I articulate the moment the word "home" had become a cruel joke? How could I explain the endless cycle of cold, unfamiliar rooms, the saccharine smiles that never quite reached their eyes, the thinly veiled resentment of people who saw me as nothing more than an inconvenience, a drain on their already stretched resources?

And then there were the others. The ones where the coldness wasn't just in the walls. The ones where the smiles hid something darker, something that made the shadows in my head seem almost welcoming by comparison.

Those places... those were the real reasons I ran. The unspeakable ones that clawed at the edges of my memory, the ones that made the whispers in the dark sound like lullabies. But those were secrets buried too deep, festering wounds I wouldn't expose to anyone, least of all a system that had repeatedly failed to protect me.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Foster Home #6: THE KESSLERS.

A picture-postcard of suburban serenity. Manicured lawns drank greedily from sprinklers, and neighbors exchanged saccharine waves that felt as genuine as the plastic flamingos adorning their flowerbeds.

It screamed "safe."

It lied.

Mrs. Kessler greeted me with a smile stretched so wide it looked painful, her hands fluttering nervously as she smoothed the fabric of her pastel skirt. Mr. Kessler stood a menacing shadow behind her, his hand clamped firmly on her shoulder, a silent declaration of ownership.

She was the sugar-sweet facade.

He was the fist beneath the velvet glove.

"You'll be safe here, sweetheart," Mrs. Kessler chirped, her grip on my hand just a fraction too tight, her eyes darting nervously towards her husband. The word "safe" felt like a hollow promise the moment it left her lips.

For the first two weeks, they were...performative. Overly attentive, their sweetness cloying, their eyes constantly tracking my movements. They bought me clothes that felt alien against my skin (always practical, never anything I would choose). They served me elaborate dinners (that politeness demanded I choke down). They peppered me with questions (that I deflected with practiced silence).

At night, the thin walls carried their hushed whispers.

She's so quiet.

Good. Less trouble.

I learned the rules of this new cage quickly.

Smile on cue. Consume the offered food without complaint. Become invisible.

Predictably, the charade didn't last. It never did. The cracks always appeared.

One evening, the exhaustion clinging to me like a second skin, I left my empty dinner plate in the sink instead of immediately scrubbing it clean.

A momentary lapse in vigilance. A mistake.

Mr. Kessler didn't tolerate mistakes. Especially not from burdens like me.

His voice, low and sharp, sliced through the quiet kitchen as he loomed over me, his bulk eclipsing the cheerful yellow glow of the overhead light.

"Don't you dare be insolent," he growled, the accusation hanging in the air like a threat. "You should be grateful."

I hadn't even spoken. My silence was apparently its own form of rebellion.

It was just one slap.

A swift, brutal strike across my cheek that sent a jolt of pain and shock through my small body, knocking me off balance against the cold, unforgiving metal of the refrigerator.

A warning shot.

He hadn't needed to repeat the lesson. The message, sharp and clear, resonated in the sudden ringing in my ear.

I perfected the art of silent movement, of shrinking into the corners, of becoming a shadow in their perfectly ordered home. I learned to tune out the muffled sobs that sometimes escaped Mrs. Kessler's room late at night, the sound swallowed by her pillow.

I didn't tell anyone. Why bother?

The other ghosts in the system understood. They always did. We recognized the unspoken language of fear and neglect.

We just didn't talk about it. What was the point of voicing the obvious?

The system wasn't designed to catch us when we fell. It was a conveyor belt, moving us from one temporary stop to the next, each placement a brief, forgettable chapter in a story that no one truly cared to read.

I stayed at the Kesslers' for what felt like an eternity, each day a carefully navigated minefield of unspoken rules and simmering tension. Months bled into each other, marked only by the changing seasons glimpsed through the sterile windows and the growing knot of fear in my stomach.

Until one day, I simply... wasn't there anymore.

The rain was coming down in sheets that night, a cold, relentless curtain obscuring the manicured lawns and fake smiles of the neighborhood.

I remember the smell of it – wet asphalt and damp earth rising up to meet me as I ran, my threadbare backpack a clumsy weight banging against my spine. The sound of my own ragged breathing was lost in the drumming of the rain.

I remember the back door, usually locked with a precision that bordered on paranoia, standing slightly ajar. A silent invitation. A crack in their carefully constructed facade.

And I remember Mrs. Kessler's voice, a faint whisper carried on the wind as I slipped into the darkness. It wasn't the saccharine sweetness she usually employed. It was low, urgent, laced with a desperation I hadn't heard before. "Run, sweetheart. Please. Don't look back."

And for once, I listened. I didn't hesitate. I didn't question. I just ran, the rain washing away the last vestiges of that too-perfect house, the whispered warning echoing in my ears. I didn't dare glance over my shoulder, didn't want to see the regret or the fear that might have prompted her unexpected act of defiance. I just ran, into the storm, into the unknown, because anything felt safer than staying.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

I blinked, the memory of rain and a whispered plea fading like a half-remembered dream. Shaking it off, a reflex honed by years of trying to outrun the past.

It was irrelevant now. Ancient history.

Mrs. Patel, with her well-meaning pronouncements and her endless forms, couldn't rewind the clock. Couldn't erase the echoes of slammed doors and forced smiles. Nothing could.

But every time she offered the same tired reassurance – "This new home will be different, Lyra" – it wasn't her voice I heard. It was Mr. Kessler's low, menacing growl, a constant undercurrent to every promise: "You should be grateful."

The real reasons for my flight were a tangled mess I wasn't ready to untangle, not even for myself. I could have listed them, a litany of disappointment and distrust:

1. Because the sterile, temporary spaces they called "home" felt less like refuge and more like holding cells.

2. Because I was the square peg in their carefully rounded holes, always out of sync, always the outsider.

3. Because the endless cycle of packing and unpacking, of forced smiles and hollow greetings, had worn down any fragile hope I might have once possessed. Because the government checks they received felt more real than any genuine affection.

4. Because the gnawing loneliness of being truly alone felt preferable to the hollow pretense of belonging.

But voicing those truths would make them solid, undeniable. And I wasn't ready to admit that the idea of a real home, a place where I truly belonged, had withered and died a long time ago.

So, I offered the standard deflection, the mantra of the self-sufficient runaway. "I take care of myself just fine." The words felt brittle and unconvincing even to my own ears.

The revolving door of foster families had taught me a harsh lesson: I was an obligation, not an addition. Some ignored my presence, treating me like a piece of unwanted furniture. Some tolerated me with thinly veiled impatience. And some... some just looked at me with a mixture of pity and suspicion, like I was a defective product they'd reluctantly agreed to house.

Like Mrs. Adams, whose initial kindness evaporated the moment she ushered me down the creaking basement stairs, "your own space" translating to a damp, spider-infested dungeon.

Or the Petersons, whose attempts at salvation involved dragging me to a church where hushed whispers about my "rebellious nature" echoed during the sermons. Or the Jacksons, whose smiles for Mrs. Patel vanished behind closed doors, replaced by muttered resentments and the constant feeling of being watched.

Somewhere between the second and third house, the futility of it all had sunk in. I stopped bothering to unpack my bags. What was the point of settling in when I knew, with a chilling certainty, that I wouldn't be staying?

Mrs. Patel's sigh was heavy this time, the sound of a weary warrior facing another unwinnable battle. She flipped through the pages of my file, the rustling paper a stark counterpoint to the silence between us. "Lyra," she asked, her voice softer now, tinged with a genuine, if belated, concern, "do you even grasp the destination of this path you're so determined to walk?"

My gaze remained fixed on my hands, my small fingers twisting together, tracing invisible patterns.

Of course I understood. The world wasn't some Disney movie where lost kids magically found loving homes. I wasn't naive.

Kids like me – the runners, the ones deemed "unstable" and "unplaceable" – we weren't destined for heartwarming adoption stories.

Happy endings were for other people's narratives. We aged out. We hit eighteen with a garbage bag of belongings and a system that was finally done with us. And then... we just faded away. Became another statistic, another cautionary tale.

But at least disappearing then would be on my own terms. A final act of control in a life where I'd had none. A choice, even if it was the choice of oblivion.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Mrs. Patel's hand slid a slim, manila folder across the worn table that separated us. The sound was soft, almost hesitant, yet it landed with the weight of a life sentence.

"There's a new placement for you, Lyra."

My muscles instinctively tensed. This was the ritual I dreaded most. The forced optimism in her voice, the flimsy hope that always crumbled to dust, the inevitable introduction to another set of strangers who would eventually look at me with that same weary resignation.

"I don't need another home," I mumbled, the words laced with a bitterness that even I could hear.

"You need something, Lyra," she countered, her gaze steady. "This... this pattern you've established? It can't continue."

My eyes narrowed, fixed on the innocuous-looking folder. It represented a new cage, a new set of expectations I would inevitably fail to meet. New faces, new routines, new ways to be reminded that I was a temporary fixture, a burden they were obligated to bear.

But as my fingers unconsciously dug into the faded denim of my jeans, a flicker of a memory surfaced, unbidden. A fleeting image, buried deep beneath layers of cynicism and distrust. A memory I hadn't allowed myself to revisit in years.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

Foster Home #4: THE BENNETS

A small, slightly dilapidated house nestled on the fringes of Philadelphia. The wallpaper was peeling in places, and the "lawn" was a testament to nature's resilience over suburban aspirations, a chaotic tapestry of green. But the air inside had been thick with the comforting aroma of cinnamon and the musty scent of well-loved books.

Stepping across their threshold for the first time had been almost overwhelming. The sheer warmth of the place had felt suffocating after years of sterile, temporary spaces. Not just the heat radiating from the ancient fireplace in the living room, but the very atmosphere – too many voices overlapping in laughter, too much vibrant, messy life spilling out of every corner.

Mrs. Bennett was a whirlwind of flyaway auburn curls and a voice as smooth and comforting as warm honey. She called me 'sweetheart' with a genuine tenderness that made my guarded heart flutter for the first time in what felt like forever. Mr. Bennett was a quieter presence, a large, gentle man who moved with a lumbering grace and always carried the faint, comforting scent of sawdust clinging to his flannel shirts.

And then there was Hannah.

Just ten, a year older than me, with fingers perpetually stained with ink and a precarious tower of dog-eared fantasy novels perpetually teetering in her arms.

For the first time since... well, since before the shadows and the running started, I almost felt... ordinary.

I had a room. Not a damp basement, not a lumpy couch, not a forgotten storage space. An actual room, with a window that looked out onto a wild, overgrown backyard, a bed piled high with blankets that smelled faintly of fabric softener, and a bookshelf that Hannah, with a conspiratorial grin, helped me fill with pilfered treasures from the local library.

She patiently taught me how to braid the tangled mess of my hair, her fingers surprisingly gentle. I, in turn, initiated her into the cutthroat world of five-card draw, teaching her the subtle art of the poker face. We'd huddle under the covers at night, a shared flashlight beam illuminating dog-eared pages and whispered secrets, weaving ridiculous tales until sleep finally claimed us.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, a fragile tendril of hope unfurled in my chest. Maybe, I'd dared to think in the quiet darkness, maybe this one might actually stick.

Maybe, just maybe, I had found a place.

Maybe... maybe I had a sister.

Then, four months later, the fragile bubble of normalcy burst. Hannah got adopted.

And I didn't.

I remember standing on the porch that crisp autumn day, my hands jammed deep into the pockets of my oversized hoodie, a silent, awkward sentinel watching as Hannah, her face a mixture of excitement and a hesitant sadness, climbed into the unfamiliar car with her new parents.

Her hug had been fierce, a desperate squeeze that momentarily stole my breath. She'd whispered promises – to write, to call, to somehow bridge the chasm that was opening between us.

She stopped.

Maybe it wasn't her fault. Maybe the whirlwind of a new family swallowed her whole. Maybe her new parents thought it best to sever ties with the past. Or maybe, deep down, she realized that starting over meant leaving everything, and everyone, behind. But the day her carefully drawn letters, filled with childish drawings and misspelled words, stopped arriving, something inside me hardened. The fragile seed of hope that had dared to sprout withered and died. I stopped believing in almost-homes, in almost-families, in almost-sisters.

Two weeks later, when Mrs. Patel's familiar, unimpressed face appeared at the Bennetts' door, I didn't even offer a token resistance. The fight had gone out of me. What was the point of clinging to a place that was never truly mine?

I simply retrieved my meager belongings, shoved them into my worn backpack, and followed Mrs. Patel out the door, leaving the scent of cinnamon and old books behind like a fading dream.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

I blinked, the warmth of the Bennett house, the ghost of Hannah's laughter, abruptly vanishing. The memory dissolved, the vibrant colors bleeding out like ink spilled into water, leaving behind the stark reality of the waiting room.

My gaze drifted back to the manila folder on the table, a symbol of yet another temporary stop on a journey I never asked to take.

I could hear Mrs. Patel's voice, a low murmur of words I couldn't quite grasp, the sound blurring into meaningless background noise against the sudden, insistent thrumming behind my eyes.

The phantom ache of loss, the hollow echo of the Bennetts' fleeting warmth, lingered like a cold hand pressed against my ribs. My stomach twisted with a familiar, bitter resentment.

It wasn't fair. The unfairness of it all, the constant cycle of hope and abandonment, clawed at the fragile edges of my composure. Why was I always the leftover? Why did others get their neat, happy conclusions while I was perpetually stuck in this endless loop of running?

A sharp, cold coil tightened in my chest, a heavy weight pressing down, stealing my breath. My hands clenched into fists, the sharp bite of my own fingernails digging into my palms a small, grounding pain.

And then—

The room flickered.

Not the harsh fluorescent lights above.

Not the air, shimmering with unseen currents.

The entire room.

For a fraction of a heartbeat, it was as if two realities had momentarily overlapped, a glitch in the fabric of existence.

There was the office – the sterile beige walls, the precarious stack of manila files on Dr. Reyes' desk, the weary receptionist tapping away at her keyboard in the corner. And superimposed over it, something else.

Something underneath.

The shadows clinging to the corners of the room stretched at impossible angles, elongated and distorted. The fluorescent lights seemed to bend inward, their harsh glow wavering as if being pulled into some unseen vortex. The very air felt like it was shuddering, the solid walls subtly warping and twisting, as if I had inadvertently glimpsed a layer of reality just beneath this mundane one – a world not meant for my eyes.

It was fleeting, less than a breath.

Then it was gone.

As if it had never been. The office settled back into its dull, predictable reality, leaving me with a cold certainty that the world wasn't always what it seemed. And neither was I.

A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped my lips. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat echoing the sudden surge of adrenaline. The blood roared in my ears, drowning out the mundane sounds of the office.

Mrs. Patel didn't even blink.

Her head remained bent over her notes, her brow furrowed in concentration as she flipped through the pages, utterly oblivious to the fact that for a fleeting, terrifying instant, the very fabric of reality had seemed to... unravel. Glitch. Shatter and reform.

Had I imagined it? A trick of the light? A desperate fabrication of a mind teetering on the edge?

No.

No, I had felt it. A tangible shift in the air, a prickling sensation on my skin that had nothing to do with anxiety.

Like the charged stillness before a violent thunderstorm, like the crackle of static electricity just before a shock, something fundamental had shifted. The world had stuttered.

And a chilling certainty settled in my gut: I had been the catalyst.

I swallowed hard, forcing a deep, steadying breath. My hands, trembling uncontrollably moments before, slowly relaxed their white-knuckled grip. The pounding in my ears began to recede, replaced by the dull hum of the fluorescent lights.

Mrs. Patel's gaze finally lifted from her notes, her brow arching slightly, a flicker of something that might have been concern crossing her usually impassive features. "You alright, Lyra? You look a little... pale."

I forced a small, unconvincing nod.

"Yeah," I mumbled, the lie feeling thick and clumsy on my tongue. "Fine. Just... tired."

Mrs. Patel's expression softened, the sharp edges momentarily blurring. "This placement," she said, her voice taking on that familiar, hopeful tone, the one she used before delivering yet another disappointment, "this one... it might be different."

They always say that, a cynical voice echoed in my head. Different shades of the same old cage.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly feeling like sandpaper. The air in the waiting room felt thick and charged, the lingering echo of the room's brief distortion still vibrating beneath my skin.

Because deep down, a cold certainty had taken root. I already knew something she didn't. This wasn't just about another foster home, another temporary placement. Something had shifted within me, a door had creaked open to a reality she couldn't even imagine. And whatever waited on the other side... that was the real reason nothing would ever be the same again.

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

The bus stop. Two blocks east. A familiar landmark on the map of my escape routes.

My mind was already charting the course, a well-worn path etched into my memory. The blind spots in the security cameras lining Main Street, the narrow alleyways that offered temporary sanctuary, the faces of store owners trained to ignore the transient figures that drifted through their periphery.

If I timed it right – left this sterile office right now, while Mrs. Patel was still lost in the labyrinth of her paperwork – I could be swallowed by the anonymity of the city before she even finished dictating her next weary report.

My hand instinctively adjusted the strap of my backpack, testing the meager weight of its contents. The bare necessities for survival: a worn hoodie for the coming night, a stash of pilfered granola bars to stave off the hunger pangs, my dad's tarnished pocket knife – a small, tangible link to a life that was gone – and the smooth, intricately carved wooden raven I always kept close. Not much. But enough to vanish.

My body was already responding to the silent command, a subtle shift in weight, knees flexing, muscles coiled and ready to spring. I could slip out of this waiting room, a ghost in the afternoon light, before anyone registered my departure. Mrs. Patel, burdened by her endless caseload, might not even bother with the cops this time. Just another sigh, another file marked "uncooperative," another lost cause fading into the system's vast, uncaring maw. And she would move on, because that's what the system did. It moved on, with or without you.

A jolt of adrenaline surged through me, and I almost pushed myself to my feet. Almost made a break for it.

Then—

The fluorescent lights above didn't just flicker. They convulsed.

Not the familiar, momentary blink of a failing bulb, the kind that made you squint and wonder if your eyes were playing tricks on you. This was different. Ominous.

They shuddered, the harsh overhead glow stuttering in slow, uneven pulses, like a ragged breath caught in a dying throat. The light itself seemed to weaken, the room dimming not gradually, but abruptly, as if some unseen hand had reached down and twisted a celestial dimmer switch. It wasn't just the lights; it was the air itself, the very atmosphere of the room growing heavy, thick with a palpable sense of dread. The hairs on my arms rose, and a metallic tang filled my mouth.

My fingers instinctively curled around the worn strap of my backpack, my knuckles whitening. A primal chill, ancient and bone-deep, slithered down my spine, a sensation that had nothing to do with the office's inadequate heating.

Then, the intrusion.

It wasn't a voice in the traditional sense, carried on sound waves. It was something far more invasive, far more unsettling. It slid into the deepest recesses of my mind, bypassing my ears entirely, a viscous presence that seeped into my thoughts like black oil spreading on water. It wasn't heard; it was known.

"Not yet, little spark."

The intrusion resonated in my skull, a vibration that felt less like an auditory experience and more like a half-formed memory dredged from the darkest depths of my subconscious. It was a knowing that defied logic, a recognition that sparked not from hearing, but from something far more instinctual. Like the phantom weight on my chest when I woke screaming from a nightmare, the lingering unease without a source, the chilling certainty that I was being watched even in an empty room.

No. No, I shouldn't know that... presence. It was impossible.

But I did.

A fractured echo from a time long buried.

Eight years old.

A different room, bathed in the lurid glow of emergency lights. A different, terrifying silence punctuated by the crackle of flames. The acrid scent of something burning, something precious, something irretrievably lost.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my head throbbing, desperately trying to shove the fragmented memory back into its sealed tomb. My pulse hammered against my ribs, a frantic drum against the encroaching darkness. No. That wasn't real. None of that was real. That night... that trauma was locked away, fragmented and scattered in the inaccessible spaces between then and now, in the shadowed corners of my mind where I refused to venture.

I clung to the flimsy shield of denial, desperately trying to convince myself that it had been a hallucination, an stress-induced phantom.

But deep down, something ancient and malevolent stirred, a cold, sharp whisper that resonated with a terrible certainty: You didn't imagine it, little one. He remembers you, and he is coming.

My breath caught in my throat, a strangled gasp. My fingers clenched around the rough canvas straps of my backpack, their familiar texture a desperate anchor to the tangible world, a grounding force against the encroaching unreality. I wasn't eight anymore. I wasn't that helpless, terrified kid.

I whipped my head around, the movement so abrupt and violent that the room swam and tilted around me.

The receptionist's desk, moments before occupied, stood empty, abandoned. The door to Dr. Reyes' office was firmly shut, the frosted glass obscuring any sign of life. The uncomfortable, floral-patterned chairs lining the far wall sat in rigid formation, devoid of occupants, sterile and lifeless as forgotten museum exhibits.

No one else was visibly present.

But the oppressive wrongness remained.

I could feel it, a suffocating weight pressing down on my senses. The air itself had thickened, becoming viscous and resistant, like trying to breathe underwater. The hum of the fluorescent lights, once a mundane drone, had mutated into a strange, discordant buzzing, a grating vibration that resonated deep within my bones, like an ancient radio struggling to pull in a signal from a station that existed outside the normal spectrum.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the rising tide of unease.

Then, at the very periphery of my vision—movement.

The shadows pooled along the floor, normally static and obedient, began to writhe and stretch.

Not dramatically. Not yet. Just subtle elongations, the edges blurring and shifting, as if they were testing the boundaries of their confinement. An inch. Maybe less. But undeniably, irrevocably, they had moved.

They weren't supposed to move. Shadows were passive things, reflections of solidity. They didn't possess agency.

I froze, every muscle in my body coiled tight, my grip on the backpack straps tightening until my knuckles turned white. I forced myself to draw shallow, even breaths, desperately trying to project an air of nonchalant indifference, to pretend I hadn't registered the impossible.

But they had.

The shadows, the oppressive weight in the air, the unseen presence that radiated a chilling awareness.

They knew I had perceived them.

They had been lying in wait.

The lights above convulsed again, their buzzing intensifying into a sharp, piercing whine that drilled into my skull, a sound so high-pitched it vibrated the very fillings in my teeth.

The shadows clinging to the walls didn't merely stretch this time. They pulsed.

An organic, rhythmic undulation, like a grotesque heartbeat.

Like something vast and unseen breathing.

The very air itself underwent a violent transformation, the change not gradual, but instantaneous and suffocating. First, a wave of preternatural cold washed over me, a biting, invasive chill that penetrated skin and bone, sinking into the marrow and extinguishing any vestige of warmth. I gasped, my breath catching in my throat, and shivered violently, my breath condensing into a visible fog as if the office had been plunged into the heart of winter.

Then—an equally abrupt wave of oppressive heat slammed into me with the force of a physical blow, so intense it made my stomach churn and twist. It was a suffocating, heavy heat, thick and viscous, like being trapped in a furnace. It felt like an invisible weight pressing down on me from all sides, crushing the air from my lungs.

I was paralyzed, trapped in a vortex of conflicting sensations.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't breathe.

An invisible weight coiled around my ribs, constricting, crushing, stealing the air from my lungs. My ears began to ring, a high-pitched whine that intensified into a deafening roar, the kind of disorienting silence that follows an explosion, the eerie aftermath of something violent and unseen tearing through the fabric of reality.

"Not yet, little spark."

The intrusion came again, not as a disembodied voice, but as a tangible presence, a psychic violation.

Phantom fingers, icy and insubstantial, brushed against my wrist, sending a jolt of unnatural cold through my veins. They weren't real, not flesh and bone, but they were undeniably there, a chilling mockery of physical contact.

I clenched my fists with all my might, the sharp edges of my nails biting into the soft flesh of my palms, a desperate attempt to anchor myself in physical sensation, to prove I was still in control.

"Soon." The word resonated in my mind, a promise and a threat intertwined, a vibration that seemed to emanate not from the air, but from the very core of my being.

The shadows clinging to the walls didn't just pulse now; they twitched and writhed, as if something sentient was trapped inside them, struggling to break free, crawling just beneath the surface of the mundane world.

The grating buzz in my ears escalated into a painful shriek. My vision began to fracture, the edges of the room blurring and distorting, reality itself stuttering and skipping like a damaged record.

My stomach churned violently. My bones felt alien, too heavy, too dense, as if they were solidifying into something other than bone.

For one terrifying, disorienting second, I was gripped by the impossible, nauseating certainty that I was no longer sitting in that worn, uncomfortable chair.

That I had been displaced, transported to some other place, some other time.

That something ancient and powerful had taken root inside me, its presence warping my perception of the world, twisting my very essence.

I gasped, sucking in a shuddering breath of air that felt thin and insufficient.

The lights flickered again, a final, desperate spasm – once, twice – and then, with an almost audible click, snapped back to their normal, unwavering state.

The oppressive weight lifted, the unnatural cold and suffocating heat vanishing as abruptly as they had arrived.

The room was still once more, bathed in the mundane glow of the fluorescent tubes.

The air felt lighter, breathable again. The shadows lay obediently still, confined to their assigned places.

The sound of my own ragged, uneven breathing filled the unnatural silence, each inhale and exhale a frantic attempt to reassure myself that I was still anchored in reality. My heart continued its frantic pounding against my ribs, a trapped bird desperate for escape.

I squeezed my eyes shut, swallowing hard against the rising tide of panic, forcing the terror down, burying it deep where no one, least of all Mrs. Patel, could detect its presence.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

My logical mind screamed for a rational explanation, a dismissal of the impossible.

But the cold, primal certainty in my gut whispered the undeniable truth: It was real.

And I knew, with a chilling clarity that transcended reason, that even if I ran, even if I disappeared into the furthest corners of the city, it would follow me.

It didn't matter if this new foster home was marginally better or infinitely worse than the ones that came before.

It didn't matter if I stayed and played the game, or if I fled into the familiar embrace of the streets.

Because something ancient and powerful was stirring.

Something was coming, its presence a growing shadow on the edge of my awareness.

And whatever it was, whatever he was, it was actively seeking me out, its relentless pursuit driven by a purpose I couldn't comprehend, a hunger I could only sense. And it wouldn't stop. It wouldn't rest.

Not until it found what it was searching for.

Until it found me.

(And gods help me—the most terrifying part was the sickening, traitorous pull, the almost imperceptible whisper within my own soul that, for a fleeting, horrifying moment, almost...welcomed it.)

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audreyscribes · 1 year ago

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Ω PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS MASTERLIST Ω WORKS:

"COOKIES" (CLARISSE LA RUE X READER) IMAGINE:

Synopsis: What happens when you combine cookies with a child of Iris, who becomes friends with a child of Ares.

"CARRY ON MY WAYWARD CHILD" Annabeth Chase/Thalia Grace/ Luke Castellan & Reader imagine: [1] [2] [3] [4] [Ao3 Link]

Synopsis: When a dream makes the reader unable to settle, they decide to take a walk, converting their dream to reality.

Reader encounters Luke, Thalia, and Annabeth on the run when they have a dream that makes them go out and see a sick Annabeth with a tired, injured Luke and Thalia. They take them in, saving them, and encounters them years later when they remembered a kind stranger.

*no specific pronouns or descriptions used. Referred to as Y/N. Roughly college/university age.

Ω PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST 📜

MAJOR GODS: {LINK}

🍇DIONYSUS🎭 [TUMBLR][AO3]

👟HERMES 🐍 [TUMBLR] [AO3]

⚒ HEPHAESTUS🔥 [TUMBLR] [AO3]

🕊APHRODITE💖 [TUMBLR] [AO3]

⚔ARES🐗 [TUMBLR][AO3]

🌕ARTEMIS🏹 [TUMBLR][AO3]

☀APOLLO🎶 [TUMBLR][AO3]

🦉ATHENA🧠 [TUMBLR][AO3]

🌾DEMETER🌽 [TUMBLR][AO3]

⚡ZEUS⚡ [TUMBLR][AO3]

💀HADES💎 [TUMBLR][AO3]

🌊POSEIDON🔱 [TUMBLR][AO3]

🔥 HESTIA 🏠 [TUMBLR][AO3]

👑HERA 💒 [TUMBLR][AO3]

MINOR GODS: {LINK}

🌈IRIS☮ [TUMBLR][AO3]

💤HYPNOS😴 [TUMBLR][AO3]

⚖ NEMESIS ♎ [TUMBLR] [AO3]

✌ NIKE🏆 [TUMBLR][AO3]

🥂HEBE🙏 [TUMBLR][AO3]

🍀 TYCHE🎰 [TUMBLR][AO3]

🔮 HECATE🌙 [TUMBLR][AO3]

MISCELLANEOUS GODS: {LINK}

{W A V E 1.0}

💀 PERSEPHONE💐 [PART1 | TUMBLR]\ [PART 2 | TUMBLR] \\[AO3]

🧝‍♀️MYSTERIOUS NYMPH(?) 🧝‍♂️ [PART1 | TUMBLR] \[PART 2 | TUMBLR] \\ [AO3]

🍎ERIS😈 [TUMBLR] \\[AO3]

🎶HARMONIA☮ [TUMBLR] \\ [AO3]

{W A V E 2.0}

💀 THANATOS 🦋 [TUMBLR] \\ [AO3]

💤 MORPHEUS💤 [TUMBLR] \\ [AO3]

🍃 ZEPHYROS🌷 [TUMBLR] \\ [AO3]

🔥PROMETHEUS🔥 [TUMBLR] \\ [AO3]

PRIMORDIAL GODS: {LINK}

🌌CHAOS🌌 [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

🌎GAEA 🌎 [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

🕳TARTARUS🕳 [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

💘EROS💞 [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

♟EREBUS🌑 [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

🌌NYX🌌 [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

🌄HEMERA ☀ [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

🌫️OURANUS🌬️ [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

🏔OUREA🗻 [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

🌊PONTUS🌊 [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

???? EPILOGUE ??? [TUMBLR] || [AO3]

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to-fly-with-clipped-wings · 1 year ago

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A Sea of Sorrows Percy Jackson x Traitor! Reader

Series Summary: A chronicle of the moments you fell in love with your enemy, Percy Jackson. An epilogue to your fate and an epitaph to your grave. AKA in a universe where you are a traitor to Camp Half-Blood. This is an ode to the boy that led to your downfall: Percy Jackson. will be divided into five acts, each for one of the first five books, with moments between you and Percy that shaped the end. Also, Luke and Ethan will still be traitors as well, but what they do in canon might change since you are here too!!!

Percy Jackson Masterlist

------------------------------------------------------------->

Act 1: the Fall of the Gods

Dear Percy. This was the year the Gods fell from Olympus, and I fell from you. I miss the us from that year. I wonder, did either of us know what was in store?

Part 1

Part 2

Act 2: Grains of Sand

Hey Major. This was the year that my quest felt lonely without you. I wish you came back. Why did you need to go?

Act 3: Riptides in a Reef

Percy. This was the year I wanted to come back to you. I mean, I always did. But this was the year it hurt the most. How can we be so close, but so far at the same time?

Act 4: Poisoned Veins

This was the year I wished we could be together forever. Screw the labyrinth, Kronos, Luke, the Gods. Just come back to me. Please. Major?

Act 5: My Sea of Sorrows

I'm sorry, Perce. You are my sea of sorrows, but I am not yours. Love, always and forever, your Major

*characters are aged up one year (so in tlt, yall are 13 and the great prophecy is at 17)

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spider-ghoul · 1 year ago

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The Pain of losing him (Pt. 1?/Intro)

Summery: After Luke left, his girlfriend is alone to find herself. And as the years pass by, the girl with pretty hair becomes the Son of death.

FYI: This is part one of a fic I'm also posting on Ao3 and this is gonna serve as a background for the actual story (starting in chapter two) I'll be posting soon.

Sorry if this is bad lmao

No major content warning xx

~~~~~~~~~

When Luke Castellan was 19, he left. It was only three weeks after his birthday, the last week of july. He tried to take me with him, he really did. At night, as I toss and turn in my sheets, I can still hear his sweet voice filled with venom.

“Darling, Please. Whoever Your Dad is still hasn't claimed you? Don't you think we could-”

“Stop it luke. You’re crazy. I’m getting Chiron-”

“Y/N, Darling, don’t.”

And as i broke into a run, Something stung my ankle. When I woke up in the medic cabin hours later, he was gone. And a uncouncus Percy Jackson was beside me, his body turning in his unwanted sleep.

I was fifteen then. My own birthday was coming up. I spent it at camp Half-blood without luke. Without knowing who my godly parent was. The Hermes cabin wasn’t the same without Luke, but I couldn’t leave camp. I attracted monsters like flies to honey. I didn’t know what else to do. I spent my nights in Luke's empty bed, any of the Hermes kids could have tried to take it from me. They didn’t. They missed the ghost of their brother just as much as I missed the ghost of my boyfriend.

I was sixteen, when I went with the son of Poseidon to receive the golden fleece. It was supposed to be me, Percy, and Annabeth. And grover, after we rescued him. Clarisse tagged along. I hadn’t spoken to her, not since Luke. Believe it or not, they were friends. Despite the bickering and arguing, they were close.

Talking to her again made it impossible to not think of him.

Then, there were the sirens. Despite my better judgment, I tied myself up with Annabeth to hear their song. The first thing I saw was Luke. Then I saw myself. The scrawny girl was long gone. In her place, a boy. A boy with dark hair and eyes that matched mine. He looked like the boys in my old pinterest boards, in the stories with the morally gray characters. He looked like me.

When Percy freed me from the ropes, and received Annabeth from the deep, which was horrifying. I asked Annabeth for her dagger. They were both horrified as the hair fell over the side of the boat, but as I ran my hand through my new hair, I smiled.

When I went back to camp with Grover and the golden fleece, I went back to the Hermes cabin. And I still slept in his bed, but I felt so much better because not only was I a different person, I was myself. I talked to Chiron, and got a proper chest binder and then everyone knew I was a boy.

I was still sixteen when My hair went from blonde, to brown, then to an inky black. The change in my hair was something I didn’t know how to feel about it. But it looked like me. And then, when I woke up from the nightmares of Luke, and I went outside to escape the restraints of his cabin, the grass died under my feet. I didn’t tell anyone.

Percy Jackson was fourteen when his mom drove Grover, Thalia, Annabeth, Percy, and I to a boarding school. Me and Thalia had become quick friends and her anger towards Luke made me feel so, so much better.

That was when I met two kids with the same dark eyes as me. I felt some uncanny urge to protect them. When the quest was put forward, I wanted to go. I didn’t. Not until a disheveled looking Percy Jackson found me that night.

Percy promised Nico something that I didn’t quite hear.

Percy Jackson Held up the sky. So did Annabeth Chase. And so did I.

The cosmos weighed nothing compared to having to tell that little boy his sister was dead. I held his hand, and he said it, not to me, but to percy.

“Where’s my sister?”

I hugged him tightly as Percy handed him the last thing his sister wanted him to have. And the ground split open underneath me.

As Nico ran, the dark blur over my head told both me, and Percy Jackson about my father.

#luke castellan x reader #Luke castellan x trans reader?#Percy Jackson #pjo x reader #Hades!reader #nico di angelo

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cece693 · 8 months ago

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Hiii!

I just recently saw your PJO fanfics about Nico and I loved them.

And I also noticed the severe lack of PJO x male reader fics in general. So I was hoping if you could write a fanfic with son of Demeter reader x Percy Jackson. (Can be a fanfic or just headcannons ur choice)

You don't have to do this request but it would be nice ^-^

Alright ty for listening to my Ted talk

Wildflower (Percy Jackson x Son of Demeter)

Thanks for the request :) You really had me dig out my books to remember how Demeter was portrayed, and surprisingly, she's kind, so it wasn't much trouble doing this request. It seems I got carried away, so I hope you enjoy!

tags: fluff, some angst, overprotective Demeter, who knows who your father is, headcanon and fanfic, mentions of calypso, break up/make up

Being a son of Demeter is a big deal. Because although she wasn't a virgin like Artemis or Hestia, it was rather difficult for a mortal to catch her attention. So not only are you a demigod but also cursed (lucky) to be a descendent of such an esteemed goddess.

Compared to other campers, you don't hate your godly parent. Sure, your mom is absent for many things and your memories of her are rather scarce, but, on the flip side, you are made aware of just how much your mother loves you. Afterall, you are her youngest child and she must keep an eye on you.

So, when news reaches her that you've begun dating Percy Jackson, she grows overprotective. What do you expect? After the whole fiasco with your sister, Persephone, she wants the best for her son. So expect the goddess to keep an eye on you two.

Percy doesn't mind your mother's overbearingness. In fact, it reminds him of his own mother. However, this doesn't mean that Percy is reckless. Demeter might be kind, but inquiring her wrath was stupid. So, he's extra careful and strives to show respect to the goddess—never stepping on flowers, always keeping a respectful distance from sacred plants, and treating every piece of nature as if Demeter herself is watching.

It takes some time, but your mother comes around. In fact, she's pleased you found someone 'worthy' of your affections. This might or might not have something to do with the fact that Percy has begun helping you tend a garden dedicated to her. Growing flowers known to be sacred to Demeter, like poppies and wheat. They work on it together, Percy’s hands clumsy but earnest.

Not everything in your relationship is easy. There are times, winter and fall especially, when your mood is foul and Percy is no help at all. His recklessness and impulsivity always ticks you off, but none more so when he keeps secrets from you. Like how Calypso kissed him before departing Ogygia.

The moment you saw him walking down the hill, something was off. He had that nervous look in his sea-green eyes, the one he got when he was about to face something dangerous—only this time, it was you. You crossed your arms, trying to root yourself in place, like your mother, Demeter, had taught you. But the anger simmering inside made that hard.

Percy reached you, giving a half-hearted smile. “Hey, I—”

“You kissed her?” Your words cut through the air like a sharp gust of wind.

Percy blinked, looking caught off guard. “What? No, it’s not like that—”

“Don’t lie to me, Percy.” You felt your fists tighten, your connection to the earth deepening as the grass beneath your feet curled and twisted with your emotions. “You let her kiss you, didn’t you?”

His brows furrowed, and he stepped closer. “It wasn’t like that. Calypso was—she was saying goodbye. It wasn’t…I didn’t want to hurt her.”

“You didn’t want to hurt her?” You repeated, the words feeling bitter on your tongue. “What about me? Or did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Percy exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly frustrated. “I was stuck on her island. I didn’t ask to be there! She kissed me because she had to say goodbye to something she couldn’t keep. It wasn’t my choice.”

You laughed, but it was bitter, like the taste of dry soil. “Maybe not, but you didn’t stop her either.”

Percy’s eyes flashed with frustration, the sea’s storm brewing behind them. “Come on, that’s not fair!” he snapped, his voice rising above the whispering trees. “I was stuck on a cursed island, not on some vacation! What was I supposed to do? Tell her no? I didn’t exactly have a lot of options.”

You took a step back, the sting of his words making your chest tighten. But anger pushed you forward again, overriding any hint of reason. “No, what’s unfair is me thinking you were gone, Percy!” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. The pain had to come out somehow. “I waited here for weeks, wondering if this was the quest that would take you away from me forever. Did you even think once of me while you were away? Or was Calypso the only thing on your mind?”

Percy opened his mouth, but for a moment, no words came out. The guilt that flashed across his face was brief, but it was there, plain as day. “Of course I thought of you,” he said, his voice softer now, though still tinged with frustration. “I thought about you every single day. But I was stuck on that island with no way out. It wasn’t about wanting to be with her. I was just trying to survive.”

“And that’s supposed to make it okay?” You could feel the vines creeping up again, brushing against your ankles like a reminder of everything you were trying to hold in. “You were trapped; I get that. But a kiss, Percy? Do you know how that sounds?”

“I didn’t want this to happen,” he whispered, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You looked away, blinking back the sting of tears you refused to let him see. “Well, you did.”

The silence between you was heavy, thicker than any storm. Percy stared at you, guilt and regret etched into every line of his face. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he said, almost to himself.

You swallowed hard, forcing the lump in your throat down. “I don’t either, but right now, I need to figure out if I even want to.”

To say Demeter was mad at Percy is an understatement. The goddess's wrath casted a dark cloud over Camp Half-Blood that left even the bravest demigods feeling uneasy. Percy found himself stuck inside his cabin, trapped by an invisible force of nature, the very flora that usually thrived in the camp now threatening to attack him.

Not even Poseidon, the god of the sea, could ease some of Demeter’s anger. He tried to vouch for Percy and his love for you, yet the mere mention of Percy's name caused your mother to shake the ground beneath him. That was the first and last time he meddled in your affairs.

The campers were worried for both of you—the fight had clearly affected everyone, their agriculture suffering greatly, but they truly believed you guys were it. So it pained them to see the perfect couple at the verge of going seperate ways.

It was Annabeth who managed to get you two to talk things through. With her acting as the mediator, you three were locked inside a room and forced to speak about your feelings. Looking back, it was comical how it closely resembled marriage counseling.

The room felt thick with tension, every breath heavy as if weighed down by the unspoken emotions swirling between you, Percy, and Annabeth. You sat on the edge of the worn-out couch, legs bouncing anxiously, eyes fixed on the floor as if the threadbare carpet held the answers you desperately sought. Percy was beside you, close but not close enough. The usual warmth of his presence felt distant, and though you could sense his guilt radiating off him, it wasn’t enough to bridge the gap.

Annabeth stood before you both, arms crossed over her chest, her expression a blend of sympathy and frustration. She was here as a mediator, but even the daughter of Athena couldn’t easily navigate this emotional minefield. “Let’s just go over the events,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. She turned to Percy, urging him to explain. “What led to the kiss?”

Percy sighed deeply, running a hand through his unruly hair as he gathered his thoughts. “Calypso gave me some items—supplies, food—and made sure the raft was stable enough to withstand the ocean’s currents. I was grateful; she’d done so much to help me. So, I turned to say goodbye and thank her when she…when she suddenly kissed me.” He glanced at you, his eyes pleading. “M/N, please believe me when I say that I didn’t reciprocate—I didn’t want it.”

You finally looked up, eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made him flinch. “That’s not the problem, Percy,” you said, your voice surprisingly calm but laced with hurt. “What hurt me was that you didn’t push her away, that she thought you were interested enough to even try.”

You paused, swallowing the lump in your throat as you tried to keep your composure. “During your time on Ogygia, did you ever once mention that you had a boyfriend? Did you ever think of me when you were with her?”

Percy’s eyes widened in panic, the hurt in your words cutting deeper than any monster’s blade ever could. He reached out, but his hand fell short, hovering between you as if afraid to cross the fragile line that now separated you two. Desperation filled his voice as he finally spoke, each word trembling with urgency and raw honesty.

“I did tell her,” Percy blurted, his voice cracking. “Gods, I talked about you all the time. From the moment I set foot on that island, I told Calypso about you. Every single day. I told her how you were waiting for me, how you were my anchor—my reason for fighting and my reason I couldn’t stay with her. She knew, M/N. She knew you were my everything.” He ran a hand over his face, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill.

Annabeth’s expression softened as she glanced at you, silently urging you to listen. Percy’s words were coming from the heart, and even she couldn’t deny the sincerity in his voice. But the pain in your eyes remained.

“When I first got there, I was barely conscious,” Percy continued, his voice softer now, tinged with a mix of sorrow and desperation. “I was so beaten up, so tired, and all I could do was mumble your name. Over and over, even in my sleep. She heard me say it—Calypso heard me calling out for you, asking for you.” He paused, swallowing hard. “She knew there was someone else. She knew how much I loved you. I made it clear, but I didn’t push her away fast enough. I was stupid, and I’m so sorry.”

You felt your heart twist at his confession, the image of Percy lying on that distant shore, broken and alone, but still calling out for you. It was the kind of story you had dreamed about before—the hero fighting impossible odds, returning home to the one he loved. But now, hearing it from his lips, the romance was stripped away, leaving only the raw truth of a mistake made in a vulnerable moment.

Annabeth cleared her throat, trying to diffuse the tension, but even she seemed at a loss. “Look,” she said gently, “what matters now is where you go from here. You two have been through worse together. If you still want this—if you still want each other—then you’ll find a way.”

Percy reached out again, hesitantly, his fingers brushing against yours. “I’m not perfect, M/N. I screw up, and I hurt you, but I want to make this right. I love you, and I’ll spend every day proving it if you’ll let me.”

Even if you forgive Percy, you take baby steps to rebuild your trust. You agree to talk more openly about your feelings and avoid keeping secrets from one another. Percy goes out of his way to make you feel valued, leaving you notes, planning small dates, and constantly reminding you how much you mean to him.

Percy knows he didn't only need to seek forgiveness from you, but your mother. To truly show his commitment, he request a chance to speak to the goddess. It’s terrifying—facing the goddess’s wrath head-on—but he humbly apologizes and explains how deeply he loves you, promising to never let you feel sidelined again. Demeter doesn’t forgive easily, but she appreciates Percy’s bravery and sincerity, granting her reluctant approval with a warning not to hurt her son again.

To solidify his commitment, Percy organizes a surprise picnic in the strawberry fields—your favorite spot. It’s filled with your favorite foods, and Percy shyly presents a flower crown he made himself, though it’s a little uneven. It’s simple but heartfelt, symbolizing his renewed promise to always cherish you.

After reconciling, you and Percy start talking about your future together, beyond Camp Half-Blood. You both decide that New Rome is the perfect place to build a life after everything you’ve been through. The idea of living among other demigods and having a peaceful life feels like a dream finally within reach.

The move to New Rome is filled with excitement and nerves. You find a cozy apartment together, and even simple things like grocery shopping or decorating the space feel like small adventures. It’s a fresh start, and every day feels like you’re building something new, hand in hand.

One evening after a particularly good day—whether it’s celebrating an exam passed or simply enjoying each other’s company—Percy gets down on one knee. He doesn’t have a grand speech prepared; he just tells you how much you mean to him and how he can’t imagine a life without you. The ring is simple, with a small gemstone that reminds you of the sea, and you say yes without hesitation.

Surrounded by your friends from Camp Half-Blood and New Rome, you and Percy get married in a beautiful ceremony filled with flowers and ocean-themed decorations. Demeter attends, blessing the union with flourishing blooms, a sign of her approval and happiness for you both. The ceremony is intimate, filled with laughter, tears, and the undeniable feeling that you’ve both found your forever.

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7s3ven · 1 year ago

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POPULAR. luke (pjo)

( master list )

IN WHICH… Y/N is tired of being bullied her whole life so she makes a deal with Luke. As long as she does his bidding, he’ll make her popular.

“Beggin' on her knees to be popular. That's her dream, to be popular. Kill anyone to be popular, sell her soul to be popular.”

Warnings : toxic! luke + y/n (but they’re lowkey iconic together), gore, death, manipulation if you squint, dark themes, y/n + luke are both pretty messed up, pretty gruesome near the end, not proof read

A/N : Me when I wanna write toxic one shots to express my feelings but I've been in toxic relationships and writing fluff is how I comfort myself :c

—

Years ago, the young Y/N would’ve scoffed in her face. Maybe even spat at her if she was feeling bratty enough. Why make a deal with Luke? It was like selling your soul to the devil.

Camp Half-Blood loved Luke, adored him even. But under all that courage and glory was a monster. Y/N had seen it first hand when he turned his head for a split second during a duel, his eyes going dark and his lips curling into a cruel sneer.

Nobody except Y/N ever noticed that hidden darkness behind his soft kindness. It wasn’t her fault she made that wretched deal. He approached her first, staring so longingly into her eyes and speaking with a voice so charming that she hung off every word.

The first time he talked to her was when she was eating breakfast, isolated from the rest of her chattering siblings. Ares was her father, which explained all her retrained anger towards the world. She was the lowest of the bunch, never socialising with anyone and avoiding all group activities to the best of her ability.

She was skilled with a spear but did anybody notice? No one did. Except Luke. In a way, he was her saviour in this eat or be eaten world. Y/N was a tough cookie to crack but getting her head shoved into toilets every day could wear down anybody.

Luke wasn’t usually one to take an interest in girls. He had plenty fawning over him for his attention but none of them could catch his eye like Y/N. There was something about her precise aim with the blade of her spear and the way she gulped down her ice cold water without a second thought. Call it creepy, but Luke found solitude in secretly watching Y/N train.

“Y/N.” Was the first thing Luke had ever said to her. She looked up in surprise and Clarisse’s face turned sour at the sight of the Hermes boy. Her beady eyes narrowed as his hand brushed against Y/N’s shoulder.

“You’re pretty good with a spear.” He quietly whispered in Y/N’s ear so none of the other Ares kids could hear him. “If you ever need a sparring partner, I’m right here.”

Y/N lips parted in shock as she watched him slink off towards his own table. Her siblings stared at her in curiosity before turning back do their food, scoffing at her.

Every minute, Y/N would steal small glances at Luke. And every time, he caught her and gave her a knowing smirk. She looked down at her plate after being caught for the fifth time, her cheeks flushing red and turning hot. She no longer felt hungry.

Y/N stood up, scraping the rest of her food into the fire. She felt a presence behind her but she paid no mind to it until they spoke it.

“So, did you think about my offer?” Of course it was Luke. Y/N flinched, almost dropping the porcelain plate into the fire to join her discarded meal.

“Why me?” She asked, her voice nothing but a quiet whisper that barely reached Luke’s ears.

“Why not you?” He replied, cheekily tilting his head.

Y/N could come up with many reasons to that question. She always took Luke as someone who carefully picked who he interacted with, especially when it came to girls.

“May’s prettier.” She said, nodding over to the bright brown-haired girl tucked in the middle of the Aphrodite table.

“Yeah, she’s pretty but you’re prettier.”

“Vivian’s smarter.”

Luke glanced at the Athena girl with not much interest, shrugging. “Not my type.” Vivian’s was everybody type with her sharp-witted mouth and perfectly cut bob.

“Why are you talking to me, Luke?” After a while, Y/N cut straight to the chase. She furrowed her brows in confusion, a little uneasy with how close Luke was and how girls were glancing over at her.

“I’ve seen you fight.” Luke continued to avoid her questions, much to her annoyance. “Like I said, I’d be happy to be your sparring partner. Today, five pm. Does that work for you?”

Y/N stared at him, hesitating for a moment before she slowly nodded. “Yeah… I’ll see you then.” She briefly smiled before rushing off, dumping her plate somewhere else.

Luke wasn’t expecting much when he showed up at the arena, holding his newly sharpened sword. He figured that if Y/N didn’t end up coming then he could at least get some solo practice in.

But no, she was sitting on a bench inside the arena, fiddling with her spear. She lifted her head, her eyes locking with Luke’s.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know you’d actually show up.” He dropped his sword in front of her, grinning.

Y/N shrugged. “It… seemed rude not to.” She muttered, looking down at the ground around.

“I’ll be honest, Y/N. I didn’t just want to spar with you. I’ve come to make you a deal. I’ve noticed that a particular someone keeps shoving your head into a toilet.” Luke smirked when he saw Y/N stiffen. He crouched down in front of her, “What if I told you… that I could make it all go away? Just like that.”

He snapped his fingers.

“I can make you popular, Y/N. So popular that no one, not even Clarisse, will mess with you again.”

Y/N gave Luke that same narrowed glare that Clarisse often sent his way. “What’s the catch?” She asked, causing Luke to chuckle.

“Smart. The catch isn’t that big. All you have to do is whatever I tell you to.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raised slightly as she finally made eye contact with Luke again. He charmingly smiled at her. She thickly gulped, weighing out all her options in her head. She could reject his offer and be the victim of relentless bullying… or she could accept and never get hit by Clarisse again.

Luke frowned at her hesitation. “The choice is your’s.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered to look at everything but him. She slowly nodded. “Okay.” She whispered. “Okay. I’ll do it. Deal.”

It started off small. Steal someone from Clarisse, easy enough. Y/N was almost as cunning as Hermes himself, which slightly impressed Luke. He gave her a nod of approval after she dropped Clarisse’s beloved spear in front of him. As promised, he stopped the bullying, but in a way Y/N never expected.

After yet another failed game of capture the flag, Y/N was walking towards the large crowd of demigods when Luke abruptly picked her up and kissed her. Dating or even being around Luke Castellan was guaranteed to make you popular and Y/N had somehow been roped into it without her knowledge.

Her tasks weren’t too difficult until Luke told her to do the unthinkable. To pick a target and violently murder them as a warning to the camp that bad things were coming.

“Luke… you know I can’t.” She muttered as she hid behind the Hermes cabin with him. She was clutching onto his arm, begging him to give her another task. Luke stared down at her in annoyance.

He rolled his eyes, slightly sneering. “Come on. It’s easy. I’ll even show you.” Y/N peered at him through her lashes, looking like a deer in headlights. But she couldn’t say no. She could never say no to Luke when he had his lips pressed so firmly against her’s and when his fingers traced delicate circles around her waist as he lifted her shirt.

After that short conversation, Y/N’s nights consisted of sneaking out to meet Luke. He taught her how to wield an ax, how to knock someone out, and even explained how to dismember a body. Clearly, he had studied these dark topics.

Y/N lay on the forest floor, staring up at the stars. Luke was nearby, his arm lazily slung around her waist and pulling her closer towards him.

“We have to be careful.” He whispered in her ear, tucking a strand of her hair away. Y/N knew that if Luke went down, she’d be forced with him and vice versa. He pressed a light kiss to her neck, inhaling the smell of her floral perfume.

Luke had a twisted obsession with the idea of murder. It thrilled him. The vivid image in his mind of blood splattered across the floor and limbs bent at awkward angles made his stomach churn but... it was exciting.

"Luke... what are we doing with our lives?" Y/N muttered, turning to face him. When had everything gone downhill? When did they suddenly turn into borderline murders and sadists? Perhaps Luke was always like this and he infected Y/N with his disease. But if she was willing to do anything to become popular, even drive a knife through someone's heart, then it just showed Luke that she might be as abnormal as him. “Princess,” Luke’s voice was barely a whisper as he handed her a cigarette. He often kept them hidden under his mattress, only taking them out when he needed to destress. He lit the tip for her and watched as she slowly took a drag, blowing out a mouthful of smoke.

The pair stared down at the body in front of them. They weren’t dead, merely knocked out. Outside, the wind was relentless. It smashed against the wooden walls of the abandoned cabin, as if warning Y/N and Luke to stop whatever madness they were about to commit.

BORN IN GRIEF,

“Do you ever think it could have been different if the gods gave a fuck about us?” Y/N asked, tilting her head to the side. She took another drawl from the cigarette before passing it over to Luke. “Would we be less… messed up if they actually cared?”

Luke shrugged. “Maybe. But this is who we are, we can’t change that.”

RAISED IN HATE,

Y/N would never admit it out loud but she and Luke were sick. Sick for even thinking of doing this and suddenly, Y/N’s stomach lurched. A tiny morsel of her personal morals held her back from approaching the body but she was also curious. How long would it take until the demigod before them realised their doom?

HELPLESS TO DEFY THEIR FATE.

They stirred but their eyes never fluttered open. Luke and Y/N exchanged a look before he gestured her forward. She held the wooden handle of the ax tightly, dragging it along the floor as she stepped towards the unconscious body.

Y/N was unusually calm when she lifted the ax, the sharp blade glinting in the moonlight. Suddenly, the demigod awoke with a desperate gasp. They scrambled back at the sight of Y/N.

LET THEM RUN,

“Please, don’t… what have I ever done to you? Don’t kill me! I haven’t even completed a quest or been claimed yet!” The demigod clasped their hands together, begging for sweet mercy. Y/N merely gazed at them, wide-eyed and unmoving.

“I’m afraid she won’t listen to you.” Luke made his presence known. The demigod’s eyes flickered over to him and they let out another gasp. They couldn’t beloved that Luke, the son of Hermes, the heartthrob of Camp Half-Blood was sitting idly on the sidelines while his companion was staring at them like they were an experiment. Simply a hypothesis that needed to be tested.

“She works for me. She’d kill her best friend if I told her to.” Luke gestured for Y/N to continue. The ax was raised above her head, ready to pierce the heart. Y/N swiftly swung the blade down. It buried itself in the demigod’s chest and a drowned-out scream slipped past their lips.

LET THEM LIVE,

Y/N’s eyes shook as she stared at the body in what could only be described as desperation. Desperation to land another sick blow.

Y/N lost count of how many times she raised the ax up and swung it down. All she could think about was the euphoria and giddiness rushing to her head. Blood stained her skin but she didn’t stop until the demigod was nothing but a mangled corpse, unable to be identified just by looking at their gruesome face.

Thunder crashed and lightning flickered. Rain poured down, the gods’ way of expressing their grave disappointment.

BUT DO NOT FORGET WHAT WE CANNOT FORGIVE.

Luke blew out another cloud of smoke, gazing at Y/N with his own twisted version of love. “Red looks good on you.” He uttered, spinning her around like she was in a beautiful ball gown and he was her date to prom.

Y/N laughed, the thrill of killing taking over. Luke’s lips curved into a smile. He had never heard the sound of her laugher before. And he was already intoxicated. Her lips tasted like smoke and tangy metal and he pulled her closer.

THEY ARE NOT ONE OF US, NOT OUR KIND.

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