IN THE SAME REC AS MY TWO FAV AUTHORS 😭😭 NO WAYY ILY ILY

all of me | luke castellan

pairing: knight!luke castellan x princess!reader

a/n: sooooooo i know that i said i would work on something else but this hit me and suddenly i could not rest until i wrote something for it so you're getting headcanons since i can't formulate proper thoughts. some of this is dialogue but most of this is pure stream of consciousness. im already kind of obsessed w them ?

wc: 3.7k lollll this got away from me but it was so much fun.

warning(s): parental death, fighting, normal royal stuff. fluff, angst, all that good shit

princess!reader and knight!luke

yeah

and they're childhood friends bc they grew up in the castle together

YEAH

luke is the son of a kingsguard and he wants to be just like his mom 

his father is out of the picture (booo) and his mom never really talks about him but she’s raised luke the best she can

shoutout to may castellan, she was the first female kingsguard! and definitely the first to personally guard the king 

you are the heir to the throne and the only thing you're sure of is that you want luke to be in your life

you basically spent all your time together because he was kinda the only one your parents would approve you hanging out with

most of the crownsguard don't have children and those that do have them live with their spouse outside of the palace, and your parents didn't want you spending time with the children of servants

and luke's mom is your father's closest friend because she's the king's personal knight and so everything’s basically already vetted and they don’t have to worry about you accidentally getting murdered by him 

so you and luke basically spend every moment of your free time together!! 

even when you’re not free tbh 

sometimes you beg your tutor to hold your lessons outside so that you can sneak glimpses at the knights training and luke training alongside them 

whenever he sees you, his face always instantly brightens and he will lose focus in whatever tf he’s doing because he’s only thinking about you now 

and instead of either of you doing what you’re supposed to do, you just spend the whole time making faces at each other and trying to grab the other’s attention 

after his mother tries (and fails) to get him back on track a million times and your tutor realizes that you’re never going to listen to her historical prattles they allow the two of you to talk for “FIVE MINUTES AND NO LONGER MY BOY” and your tutor is all “i ask that you do not delay our lessons any further, your highness” 

and tbf you and luke could notttttt care less. you immediately join up and you start teasing him about his form and how he was holding his sword and he just makes fun of you for having to be a princess

“Your form is horrendous, Luke! How do you expect to beat anyone holding a sword like that?” 

“At least I’ll be on the battlefield one day. You can bore our enemies to sleep with your recounts of Aureldan history.” 

“Oh, I bet I could beat you right now. I’ve got royal blood in my veins.” 

“And I’ve got knight’s blood in mine,” he says. “I’ve at least got a sword. That’s more than you have.”

You huff. “Mother says I have to learn propriety before I even think about picking up a weapon.” 

“Do you want to hold mine?” he asks immediately, his eyes lighting up as he offers it over. “It’s just wood because Mom doesn’t want me to hurt myself, but that means it’s safe for you.” 

you do. obviously. 

You’ve got soft hands, untouched by the world, and the sword feels foreign in their grasp as you realize this is in fact the first time you’ve ever held a weapon. You cut it through the air a few times and Luke is grinning wider than ever 

“I think the role of a warrior princess suits you,” he says.

“It is nice,” you muse as you turn it over in your hands, already growing used to the feeling of it. 

“And you look great with it,” he says. “Powerful.” 

“I’d give myself a splinter before I can do anything with it,” you retort as you hand it back to him. “It’s a nice thought, though.” 

His eyes light up. “You should train with us sometime. My mom is the best at teaching— she’d teach you everything you need to know!”

You glance back at your tutor, who is very clearly eavesdropping, and you sigh as you look back at Luke. “Maybe in a few months.” 

Luke’s mother calls his name and it’s obvious that your time is over. You hug each other and promise to meet up as soon as your responsibilities for the day are over, then go back to your respective duties. 

Your tutor takes you inside because she doesn’t want anymore distractions, and you wave at each other like crazy as you’re walking back into the castle.

so yeah. you’re best friends and you have been since you first met as children, and though it is a battle for your betters to keep you on task if you’re near each other, you just light up when you see each other and it actually helps 

You’re learning dining etiquette and if you get told that you’re using the wrong spoon again, you’re going to lose your mind. 

luke is hurrying through the halls to catch up with his mother and you both catch a glimpse of each other. 

your posture straightens, he stops in his tracks, and you both smile at each other. then luke’s mother calls his name again and he’s on his way again. 

spoons aren’t that bad, you think 

you’re mulling over history books in the library that make you want to fall asleep.

luke just happens to be walking past on the way to his chores, and when he spots you, he yells out your name and waves at you. you wave back, and you both stifle laughs as your tutor shushes you 

suddenly, you’re not feeling so down.

Luke is training on his own out in the yard before dinner and he’s about ready to break his sword over his knee because he can not get this damned move right. 

he hears your voice across the way and sees you, all dressed up and with your parents about to get into a carriage. you’re on your way to a ball, he remembers you telling him earlier, and he finds himself smiling. 

You had been complaining about it, and Luke had told you to just think of the two of you hanging out whenever you were bored. You said you were already planning on it.

His smile widens. He’d be thinking of you too, wondering what it would be like for him to attend with you. Dressed in the same gaudy outfits as the rest of the court, having to go through the same dull niceties that you’d been raised on, listening to stories from other royals he couldn’t care less about. 

Standing beside you as an equal. 

Luke’s young, but he already doesn’t care for nobles and their court. But he thinks he would wear any amount of uncomfortable suits and listen to any number of dull proposals for you. 

for the rest of the night, he trains better than he thinks he ever has. 

and of course, you break the rules together. GOD HELP YOUR CHARGES YOU ALWAYS BREAK THE RULES TOGETHER 

your tutor cannot count how many times you’ve slipped out of lessons and she’s found you in the halls talking with luke, him smiling brighter than she’s ever seen as he listens to you go on and on and on 

your mother cannot count all the times you’ve talked about what you and luke did that day instead of describing to her any of the history or arithmetic you were supposed to be learning 

May always keeps watch over her son, but she’s been known to turn a blind eye when Luke thinks he’s being sneaky to go off and see you. 

and of course, sometimes you actually hang out when you’re allowed to hang out lol 

you’ve run around every bit of the palace grounds together, you ride horses together (with parental supervision of course), and once you’re a bit older, you’re actually allowed to practice with luke and the rest of the knights! 

typically, it’s a shorter session with May teaching the two of you, and typically, it ends with both of you ready to die because you’re just kids and even though Luke is a prodigy, you are sooooo bad at swordfighting. it’s honestly not even funny how bad you are at it the first couple of lessons 

But May just pats you on the shoulder and promises to work with you until you’re as good as her. 

(luke pouts and says he wants to be better than you. you forget that you’re holding a sword and just start complaining at each other) 

(“you CAN’T be better than me luke I’m the princess”) (“YES I CAN MY MOM’S THE GREATEST KNIGHT EVER”) (“SHE PROTECTS MY DAD WHICH MEANS I CAN BE THE BEST EVER”) (“THAT DOESN’T EVEN MAKE SENSE”) (“YES IT DOES”) (“NO IT DOESN’T”) (“I’M YOUR PRINCESS YES IT DOES”) 

(the lesson ends when May has to pry you two apart) 

but we haven’t gotten to the knight part. 

because it’s a bit sad. 

what happens to may in pjo canon is awful but 

May Castellan dies when you and Luke are sixteen. A month after your birthday, in fact. Four months after Luke’s. 

(he’s always held those three months over you, especially as you get older.) 

(it doesn’t seem to matter as much now.)  

rumor has it throughout the kingdom that she slowly went insane and then fully lost it, ultimately dying in an attack against the king during a ball that turned out to be a set-up. 

the only one who knows what really happened that night is your father as he was the only other person there at her death that still lives, but he refuses to talk about it, only saying that “Head of the Kingsguard May Castellan died a hero and shall be remembered as such”. 

Luke… does not take it well 

besides the king, he obviously spent the most time with his mother and it was obvious to anyone that she loved him with all her heart and wanted him to follow whatever dreams he may have had 

she’s given a knight’s funeral and you are beside Luke the entire time, holding his hand or him leaning against you as you listen to eulogies or even just sitting next to each other because your presence is enough for him. it doesn’t matter what—you’re always connected in some way, and no one says a single thing. 

he needs you, and you need him. it’s as simple as that. and no one dares to correct the princess when she’s icier than they’ve ever seen her.

You put on that front to protect Luke—you don’t want anyone bothering him, and you don’t want him to have to worry about you at a time like this. 

Because you know he would. He always does. 

When Luke gives his speech, barely able to hold back tears, he looks at you the entire time. he doesn’t tell you, but you’re the only reason he’s able to get through the day. 

Luke becomes a ward of the royal family. 

There’s no chance you’re letting him leave, and Luke doesn’t want to go either. The memories of his mother all around are painful, but he takes some small comfort that she’ll live on in Aurelda forever. 

Your parents have no objection to it—he grew up in the palace anyways, and he can practically provide for himself. You wouldn’t have let them say no. 

You’re thankful beyond words that Luke is still here. Because everything feels like a mess, and things are a little more manageable with him by your side. 

Someone tried to kill your father. They killed Luke’s mother instead. Both of you are broken in different ways.

Obviously, this sparks the beginnings of war both in Aurelda and in Luke’s entire being. 

but that’s a topic for another day. 

May’s death changes your relationship. 

She was his mother, obviously, but you were close to her as well. you could never forget every time she ruffled your hair and complimented your sword fighting, or every time she would acknowledge you in the midst of a crowd with a smile and a nod, or every time she would act like a mother and not a knight. 

she had the best hugs in the entire kingdom. 

But her death changes your relationship because Luke changes. 

He’s angrier. His edges have all sharpened, honed by his own spirit. He softens when he’s around you, but to the outside eye he’s impenetrable. He thinks you’re the only one that understands him. 

Others pity him, fear him, are jealous of him. 

You treat him the way you always have. Like your best friend. 

That’s all he needs. 

And so Luke throws himself into his training, vowing to become the youngest kingsguard in Aureldan history to honor his mother’s memory. He wasn’t able to save his mother, and he needs to become strong enough to protect the ones he loves from anything. 

(You don’t know it, but he thinks of you every time he closes his eyes and sees the night his mother died. He’s in the place of his mother and you’re in your father’s position, and Luke knows that he would sacrifice himself for you every single time.) 

So you don’t have as much time for each other anymore. Luke is on his kingsguard mission, and you’re starting to come into your own as the Crown Princess of Aurelda. 

You can’t sneak out of lessons anymore to go talk with Luke, because you’re starting to learn about the nuances of politics. 

Luke can’t let you interrupt his training, because he’s on a warpath and he won’t be stopped before he reaches his goal. 

You can’t neglect your responsibilities because they’re more than just etiquette or history lessons. War is going to come to Aurelda sooner or later, and you’ve got to be ready when it does.

You’re only sixteen, but neither of you are children anymore.  

But you’re still best friends. Nothing can change that—it’s just changed the way you show it. 

You take your morning walks with your mother past the training grounds, and Luke always smiles at you and salutes no matter what. You bow your head in a very refined, princess-y nod, and you continue on. 

Luke makes sure he’s always the one that gets to deliver news to you, even going so far as to make deals with other servants and messengers just to make sure he gets to see you at least once a day. 

Most of the time, you end up seeing each other at night. Just happening to end up in the kitchens at the same time for a midnight snack that results in hours of talking with each other. Bringing Luke to your balcony to look at the stars together. 

Even some midnight training has occurred together, though you always end up a sweaty mess and having to make a bath for yourself because you can’t alert your servants. Luke says he likes you best when you have that vicious glint in your eye while you’re training with him. 

Luke still has horrific dreams, and though he weathered them on his own for a while, one night he finds himself outside your door. When you open it, seeing his haunted eyes and disheveled appearance, you let him in immediately.

It’s not the first time you’ve slept in the same bed after nightmares, and you know it won’t be the last. 

(You spent the whole week together after his mother’s death. Not even your parents could complain when they saw the change in both of you.)  

And Luke does it. He completes his training, having become one of the fiercest and youngest warriors Aurelda has ever seen. Traditionally, knights are older, but an exception was made for Luke—he’s got the Castellan name and a childhood spent with the greatest knights in the kingdom to back him up.

You’re the first person he tells when he finds out, and your scream of pure joy must have echoed throughout the entire castle. You hug him tighter than he’s ever been hugged before, and for just a moment, in your embrace, he feels like you’re both kids again. 

Weeks from his eighteenth birthday, your father knights Luke Castellan in an official ceremony. 

Not just as a member of the kingsguard, though—he is sworn in as a knight, and as your personal bodyguard. 

Your father didn’t tell you beforehand, and you thank a childhood of courtly influence to keep the shock off your face. One hand tightens ever so slightly into a fist, and you let it out just as quickly. 

You can’t see Luke’s expression, kneeling and head turned downward. You would pay all the gold in the kingdom to know what he was thinking. 

“Sir Luke Castellan.” Your father’s voice booms through the hall, and a shiver even goes down your spine. “Do you swear to serve Aurelda as her loyal knight, through war and peace, through riches and debt?”

“I do,” Luke says. 

“Do you swear to protect the Crown Princess of Aurelda—” your father says your entire title, and for the fifth time you wonder how many middle names a princess needs, “—my daughter—with everything you have in you, until your dying breath?” 

Your breathing stills for the slightest moment. 

Luke doesn’t flinch. “I do.” 

The thought of Luke dying for you is unimaginable. It’s something you’d never ask of him—you don’t think you could live in a world without him anyways. You know it’s what knights are expected to do—for king and country, my life for yours—but that’s for any member of the royal family—any member of the court. 

Luke is assigned solely to your protection. 

And he doesn’t even falter when he bonds his life to yours. 

As soon as the ceremony is over and Aurelda has gained three new knights, you’re on your way to Luke. You don’t care if anyone else wants to talk with the princess, you don’t care if your parents need to tell you something—royal propriety be damned, you need to talk to Luke.

He doesn’t look surprised when you march up to him, but there’s already a different air about him. 

Maybe it’s because in these past couple of years he’s absolutely shot up in height, maybe it’s because his insane training regimen has toned every part of him, maybe it’s because he’s done what no one else has done before, or maybe it’s just because he actually accomplished his goal. 

But when he smiles at you, that crooked slant to his lips that always meant mischief when you were younger, it’s enough to make that train of thought immediately shut down. 

“Princess,” he greets. “I think we’re going to be spending a lot more time together, these days.” 

“Yeah,” you say, the warpath you’d intended to be on fading away almost immediately with his words (and that goddamned smile that will certainly be the death of you someday.) “Maybe this is our way to make up on all that lost time.” 

“...I’d like that,” Luke says. 

“Can I hug you?” you ask wryly. “Or is that unbecoming of a brand new knight?” 

“I don’t think anyone will tell the princess she is doing something wrong,” Luke says. 

So you do. You hug him, and he immediately wraps his arms around you, and you hate that you had any doubt that he would. You’ve always felt safe in his embrace even since you were children, and now that he’s four times as strong and much taller, you feel it more than ever. 

He truly does look the part of a perfect knight. You remember the days of wooden sword fights and afternoons by the lake, wondering what your future awaited, but sure you would be together no matter what. 

You feel like you’ve aged a century since then.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” you say as you pull away. “You’re incredible. I mean— you always have been, but this… It’s everything you’ve ever wanted. So I’m proud of you.” 

Luke brushes his curls out of his face with a gauntleted hand, his smile turning a bit more genuine. “It means the world, princess. You are… one of the main reasons that I even made it up here. So I have you to thank.” 

You feel your cheeks heat. “I haven’t done anything.” 

“You’ve been you,” he refutes. “You’ve stood by my side through everything, and you’ve always been there when I need you no matter what. You’ve done everything.” 

You’re thankful for the sheer sleeves of your gown, because now your entire body feels warm. And maybe that’s why you practically blurt the question out, but it’s been burning in your mind since the moment it happened. 

“Did you know?” 

He frowns. “Know what?” 

“That you would become my personal guard,” you said. “You’ve wanted to be a part of the kingsguard since you were a child, and now…” 

“Princess,” Luke says, “I asked your father for the honor.” 

That throws you off. “What?”

“Do you think he would entrust your wellbeing to just anyone?” he asks. “It’s part of the reason I’ve been training so hard—I wanted to prove to him that I was worthy of the position.” 

“Luke—” you start, but he shakes his head.  

“War is coming to Aurelda whether we like it or not,” he says. “All I want is for you to be safe. This way, I can ensure it.” 

“You said you would die for me,” you say. “You vowed it.” 

“That is generally how knighthood works, yes—” 

“Luke,” you interrupt forcefully. “I don’t want you to die for me.” 

“The goal is for nobody to die,” he says wryly. 

You cross your arms. “You know what I mean.” 

“Your safety is my number one concern, princess,” he says. “That’s all you need to know.” 

You stare at him. He stares back. 

You win, because Luke sighs and shakes his head. “We don’t have to worry about that at the moment. Right now, you have to get back to change before you sit in on an advisor’s meeting with the king and queen.” 

You frown. “How do you know?” 

“I’m your guard,” Luke says. “It’s my job to know.” 

“You were just sworn in!” you protest. 

“And I am always prepared,” he remarks. Luke holds his hand out in a gesture towards the door. “After you, princess.” 

You shake your head as you start walking. You hear Luke’s footsteps start soon after, much heavier than yours in full armor as opposed to your ceremonial dress. “You are ridiculous.” 

“Which is also my job,” Luke muses.

and so luke becomes a knight, but not just any knight.

your knight.

good luck handling that crush on him you've harbored since childhood now.

i wanna draw a female marauders comic bud i have no ideas. my life is hell 😁

you once told me that the best movies are never ‘good’

that movies you hate are the movies that are simply better than others.

when you showed me your favourite movie, i told you that i thought it was good.

and it was objectively good.

couldn’t it just be good?

but it didn’t matter that the movie was good or bad or that it was maybe just ‘ok’.

what mattered was that i had contradicted you.

you expected me to remember everything you said, memorise every rule and regulations you had set.

but i couldn’t remember every law that fell from your lips.

i couldn’t fathom every thought that you told me to think.

and now we’re sitting on your couch in silence, watching the credits roll.

the movie was good. and i’m sorry that it was.

why is this photo the header for the luke castellan x reader tag . IS IT JUST ME OR IS THIS THE PHOTO???

my fic was not even that good n doesn’t even have the most notes whatttt ?????

REGULUS BLACK

“as i got older, i learned im a drinker.

sometimes a drink feels like family.”

i don’t give a damn ‘bout my reputation // living in the past, it’s a new generation

my fav headcanon is that marls wasn’t popular at all: ppl hated her bc she dressed ‘weird’, she was an open lesbian and a sport fanatic, loud and mean. outcast marlene best marlene.

(song is bad reputation by joan jett, aka marls’ anthem by marls’ no 1 artist)

oh my god. there’s 702 of you guys.

that’s insane. that’s like… 17k in instagram followers. im basically famous. they’re gonna invite me to the pjo s2 premiere. should we throw a party? should we invite bella hadid?

slash j guys I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOUUUU IM SO FR RN . i have a parasocial relationship with all of you guys mwa mwa kisses xx

GIGGLING GIGGLING IM GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET OMG!!!!! 😛😛😖😖😖😖😖😖🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

you never disappointed me - part two

part one part two

➻ synopsis: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader ; percy and beckendorf's plan to set you up with luke is in motion, but you're extremely resistant to any advances (10 things I about you AU)

➻ word count: 3462

➻ warnings: swearing, ooc/kind of loser!luke, ooc silena, she/her pronouns used for reader, sexual innuendos

➻ thank u so much for all the love on part 1 I am such a happy gal!!!!! also, have my first day at uni tomorrow (so pls wish me luck) and sorry if updates slow down!

TAGLIST: @myxticmoon @wicca-void @leeknows-wife @thekittyxo-blog @number-onekidqueen @instabull

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It turned out that getting you to go out with Luke was harder than he’d originally anticipated. Eager for the whole ordeal to be over and for him to be 50 dollars richer, he’d hopped down from his spot on a fallen log and hurried to meet you by the volleyball courts when your match ended. You, unaware of Luke’s agenda, were fanning your face to combat some of the sweat that had accumulated, quickly tightening the messy ponytail you’d tied. Luke watched you in your own world, unbothered by anybody watching you, unlike the rest of your siblings. Sucking in a quick breath for confidence he approached you.

“Hey there, girly,” He smiled, “How’re you doing?” You looked up at him, inquisitive for a moment but ultimately unimpressed.

“Sweating like a pig actually, and yourself?” You were barely looking at him, skulling an impressive amount of your water bottle quickly. He stared at you, not expecting to be dismissed so easily. He recovered smoothly, not prepared to give up so soon.

“You really know how to get a guy’s attention, huh?”

“My mission in life,” You shot him a cloying smile, now giving him your full attention, unable to help being slightly interested by his boldness. “But obviously I’ve struck your fancy, so you see it worked. The world makes sense again.” You‘d figured out his motives now and had no interest, so began the walk back to your cabin. He followed, much to your dismay. Couldn’t men ever take the hint?

“So I’ll pick you up Friday then?”

“Oh right, Friday, uh huh.” You kept your eyes ahead, dodging a few younger kids as Luke trailed after you, annoyingly optimistic still.

“The night I take you places you’ve never been before,” He said, and you looked at him in disbelief. The ego on this kid!

“Right, like the makeout clearing in the forest? Do you even know my name, Castellan?” Luke could tell that you were mocking him, but he still had high hopes.

“I know a lot more than you think.” He smiled then, a lopsided thing that would have been somewhat charming if you’d actually bothered to look. Instead you were already walking away, calling out a “Doubtful. Very doubtful,” over your shoulder as you picked up into a run, presumably to go tell Clarisse about the bizarre experience you just had. Luke watched you go, dumbstruck in the middle of camp.

Percy and Beckendorf watched the exchange from the porch of the Hephaestus cabin, the latter putting his head in his hands dramatically.

“We’re screwed,” He groaned and Percy winced slightly.

“I’m sure it’ll all be fine, dude. Luke has faced a lot worse than a teenage girl.”

When you sat at dinner that night, desperately avoiding the eye contact Luke seemed desperate on initiating, you almost told Silena about your bizarre day. You’d opened your mouth to start the story when you realised that she’d only be encouraged by Luke’s antics, pressuring you into going out with him for her own benefit and quickly shut it. She’d noticed your odd behaviour and searched for meaning in your face. Panicking for something to replace the conversation, you zeroed in on the necklace sitting nicely on top of her camp one.

“Where’d you get the pearls?” You asked, already dreading the answer. Silena only confirmed your fears, claiming them as your grandmother’s with a coy smile.

“So what? You’ve just been hiding them the last three years?” You were always closest with your grandmother, and you were sure she wouldn’t leave her favourite pearls for Silena over you.

“Daddy found them in a drawer just before summer.” Silena shrugged as if you weren’t sitting across from her, cheeks a blotchy red in your upset. “Besides, they look good on me.” Your hands itched to hit her as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ears, knowing exactly how much she was pissing you off.

“Trust me, they don’t,” You spat, quietly glad when Silena stalked off in a huff, amongst the first to leave the meal. You didn’t know how much longer you could argue with her before starting to cry, which you really didn’t want to do in front of the whole camp. You thought you were safe for the rest of the meal when Drew began speaking instead.

“You could try being nice sometimes, you know, people wouldn’t know what to think.” You rolled your eyes aggressively.

“You forget, I don’t care what people think,” You replied, taking in a spoonful of food.

“Yes you do. Everyone does. You know, with a new look you could have some serious potential.” You ignored her last statement.

“No, I don’t,” You emphasised, “You don’t always have to be who they want you to be.” You knew that wouldn’t impact Drew in the slightest, but you hoped it might resonate with some of your younger siblings — encourage them to nurture their internal beauty rather than accept the vain stereotype Aphrodite children were forced into. You pushed yourself out of the bench you were sitting on, needing a break from your insufferable siblings. As you dumped your dishes where they needed to be you saw Luke beginning to follow you and turned to make dead eye contact. Knowing you’d only scream at him (or worse) you gave him a dangerous look, accompanied with an almost imperceptible shake of your head. Not enough for anyone else to know you’d even acknowledged him, but enough to tell Luke to back off. He was smarter than you thought, as he held up his hands in a show of surrender, redirecting his action to innocently collect up his own dishes.

You may not have had any interest in knowing the boy, but you did appreciate that he knew when to back off. Or so you thought.

You were proven not-so-free from Luke Castellan the very next morning. It was the Aphrodite cabin’s day to check all the storerooms, and you’d volunteered to do the one which held all the weapons and armour near the sword fighting arena. You knew none of your siblings would come near if they could help it, mostly against weapons and the violence that surrounded the area, so you’d get a whole morning alone. It was peaceful attending to the chore, and you were allowed to use some of your Aphrodite eye for beauty. Of course, stacks of swords and assorted weapons could only be made so pretty, but you enjoyed organising them into neat rows, making it look as nice as possible — not that you would admit that to Silena or you’d be in her vanity chair receiving an unwelcome makeover in seconds.

You were just admiring your own sword, which you’d taken the time to polish while you were taking care of the others, when you felt a presence behind you. You didn’t react, assuming it was just some camper coming for a weapon, until he spoke.

“Nice sword, vintage hilt?” You tensed as Luke’s voice infiltrated your peace.

“Are you following me?” You disregarded his statement, an unimpressed frown present on your lips.

“I was training in the arena and needed to polish my sword. I saw you come in a while ago and not leave, I came to say hi,” He explained, and you raised an eyebrow. You weren’t friends, why would he come for a chat?

“Hi.” You promptly turned back to your task, shoving the cloth into the intricate designs of the hilt.

“Not a big talker, huh?” He persisted.

“Depends on the topic. My sword doesn’t exactly whip me into a verbal frenzy.” That wasn’t strictly true — the sword was a gift from your mother, with gold twisting around a blood red ruby in the centre of the hilt. After you’d made it clear that you weren’t going to just sit around during your time at camp she gifted you the sword, her way of saying that if you were going to fight, you should at least look good doing it. You’d had several conversations with Clarisse gushing over the intricacy of it, and profusely thanked Aphrodite for the gift in your offerings. You didn’t quite care to share this with Luke, being a relative stranger.

“You’re not afraid of me, are you?” He asked, and you were somewhat taken aback by the earnest tone of his voice.

“Afraid of you? Why would I be afraid of you?” You couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that crept into your sentence.

“Most people are.” He gestured subtly towards his scar — gnarled and twisted against his otherwise tanned skin. You put a hand on your hip, resigned to conversation now.

“Well, I’m not.”

“Ok, maybe you’re not afraid of me, but I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked.” You were pretty sure Luke was going for smooth or charming, but you thought in this moment he was entirely lame. The wink didn’t help his case.

“Am I that transparent? I want you, I need you. Oh baby, oh baby.” You put on your best Drew impression, nasally and whiny, before handing him the cloth he needed to polish his own sword and turning to leave. There, quickly approaching the door, was Ethan. Seeing you he put on a disgusting smirk and blocked the doorway, effectively caging you into the storeroom.

“Gods, what is it, asshole day?” You asked, not caring that both boys could very clearly hear you. “Do you mind?” You gestured to his blocking the exit. He simply looked down at you, clearly doing his best to appear sexy (and failing miserably).

“Not at all.” His stupid smirk was going to kill you, and not in the good way. You scoffed, giving him a last chance to get the fuck out of your way. Then, sparing a fraction of a glance back to Luke pretending to mind his own business, you slammed the hilt of your sword into his foot, wishing it was the blade instead. You watched him crumble to the ground, holding his foot with both hands.

“You bitch!” He yelled, voice cracking pathetically in the middle. You forced your smile to stay contained.

“Oops,” You feigned innocence, one hands covering your mouth strategically. “You might need some ambrosia for that…” With that you side-stepped him, eager to leave the situation. If you’d have looked back, you would have seen the gleeful, disbelieving smile on Luke’s face, probably the biggest one he’d worn in a while. Although he didn’t get the date he’d entered for, he was beginning to think you were a little more interesting than you let on.

“Did you just cripple Ethan?” Silena shrieked as you entered your cabin to grab your things. “He’s a model, you can’t do that! Has it escaped your notice that you’re completely psychotic?” You pretended to think for a moment, then shrugged nonchalantly.

“Guess your long walks on the beach are gonna have to wait,” You sighed dramatically, leaving Silena to wallow in her pity alone. It wasn’t like it was really your fault — if Ethan had learned how to respond to words or learn the meaning of ‘move’ he wouldn’t have gotten himself into that situation in the first place.

Meanwhile, Ethan and Luke were having a similarly emotional conversation after Luke had — very reluctantly — helped Ethan over to the infirmary to get his foot checked out.

“When I shell out fifty, I expect results.” Luke sighed, could this boy get any whinier?

“Yeah, I’m on it,” He said through gritted teeth, resisting the urge to hurt him.

“Watching that bitch obliterate my foot doesn’t count as a date. If you don’t get any, I don’t get any, so let’s get some,” Ethan said, running a hand through his ridiculously styled hair. Luke couldn’t believe his nerve. First of all, obliterated? He would be left with a bruise for a few days, if anything. Secondly, this whole things was Ethan’s idea, Luke had never given any indication wanting to ‘get some’, especially not with someone so clearly resisting his advances. Just as Ethan left, giving the Apollo girl treating him a douchebag smile, Luke hardened his resolve.

“I just upped my price,” He said, loving the way Ethan’s eyes widened like a cartoon character. “A hundred bucks a date, in advance.”

“Forget it,” Ethan grumbled, moving to leave again.

“Forget her sister then.” The two boys stared at each other, one significantly more amused than the other. Luke knew he had the upper hand in the dynamic, something he revelled in. Then, after the intimidation tactic clearly wasn’t having any effect, Ethan reached for his wallet, Luke admiring the crisp fifty he was handed.

“You better hope you’re as smooth as you think you are, Castellan.” Luke just watched him go, confident tilt of his head conveying his outlook on the situation.

Luke had taken his usual spot overseeing combat training, but his usual thoughts were long gone. Instead, he was entirely preoccupied with you. He didn’t know how to get you to go out with him when you could barely entertain a conversation, and he twirled his cigarette between his fingers as he pondered.

Percy and Beckendorf saw his internal conflicts, slowly moving closer to him under the guise of a very chaotic fight between the two. Finally Luke gave them attention, knowing Percy’s skills would never have him running all over the place like that. He raised an eyebrow, a sign for them to get on with whatever they were angling at.

“We know what you’re trying to do, for Beauregard,” Percy said, and Luke appeared almost startled.

“And we want to help,” Added Beckendorf helpfully, shying away when Luke’s eyes bore into his.

“And why would you do that?”

“Beckendorf here has a major crush on Silena—”

“Gods, what is it with this girl? Does she sweat nectar?” Beckendorf opened his mouth to protest when Percy spoke over him, knowing it would be more beneficial to let Luke lead.

“Look, I think we can both tell that Charlie’s love is pure, well-intentioned, better than, say, Ethan White?” Luke sighed, catching on.

“I’m in this for the cash, that’s it. Who Ethan wants to bang is of no interest to me.”

“There will be no banging!” Beckendorf cried as Percy pushed him behind. He was no use in a delicate situation like this.

“Ok, Luke, it’s just that we’re the masterminds behind this whole thing. We set it up so Beckendorf can get the girl — Ethan’s just a pawn.” Luke paid closer attention suddenly, intrigued by the chess match he’d been pulled into.

“So you two are gonna help me win her over?”

“We’ll do research, find out what she likes. We can be your guys on the inside.”

“In a strictly non-mission type of way,” Beckendorf added helpfully, nervous of the legends he’d heard about Luke’s failed quest. Luke chose to simply ignore that comment, and Percy filled the silence before he could get angry about it.

“Let’s just start here: the Apollo cabin is throwing a party on Friday night, it’s the perfect opportunity.”

“I’ll think about it,” Was all Luke said, a clear signal the conversation was over. Percy and Beckendorf returned to fighting, slightly more regulated now they had gotten what they’d wanted, and Luke brought the cigarette back up to his lips, new thoughts clouding his mind.

Meanwhile, Ethan had found Silena where she was known to hang out by the rocks near the lake. He was hovering next to her, providing snatches of shade as he performed pose after pose, claiming he had a modelling job lined up when he left for the year.

“So which do you like better?” He asked, moving his hands fractionally to the left of his chin.

“The second,” Silena giggled, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “It’s more… pensive.”

“Damn,” Ethan kicked the sand softly. “I was going for thoughtful. So, you going to the Apollo party on Friday?”

“Maybe.” She produced her best coy smile, looking up at him from behind her lashes.

“Good, ‘cause you know I’ll only bother if you’re there.” Silena smiled, getting up from her spot on the rock.

“Bye.” Her voice was airy in the way she knew drove boys mad. She walked away leaving Ethan wanting more, her specialty. You scoffed, catching the end of the exchange. You and Silena made momentary eye contact, tension thick between the two of you.

As Beckendorf approached Silena, fishing for more information about you, Ethan had caught you in his sights and wasn’t going to let you go so easily.

“You sister is so cute,” His voice infiltrated your bubble in a way that made you want to hit him so desperately. “Doesn’t have your bite though, a feisty woman is so sexy.” You knew he was just trying to get a rise out of you, but it was so close to working.

“Come any closer and I’ll show you just how feisty I can get,” You snapped, braid almost whacking him in the face as you turned to face him. You could have sworn Ethan looked afraid for a second before he covered it with bravado.

“One day you’re gonna realise that all of this hostility is just your sexual repression. Don’t worry, babe, I’ll be waiting with open arms… And legs.” You almost threw up.

“Gods, can’t you just leave me alone, asshole?” You yelled, trying to push past him to get anywhere else.

“C’mon, don’t be a prude,” He whined, and you were really close to taking him to the ground — not in the way he wanted.

“You heard the girl,” A voice called from behind you, and instantly Ethan took a step back. “She wants you to leave her alone.” Luke appeared behind you, a respectful distance away whilst still making his intentions clear. Ethan shrunk back into himself, making a lame excuse as to why he had to leave, hurriedly fleeing the beach. Reluctantly, you turned to face Luke.

“I’m not going out with you just for that,” You said plainly, daring him to try again.

“You think that low of me?” He laughed, dark eyes sparkling with mirth. You forced yourself not to notice. “I don’t have to want something from you to know that Ethan White isn’t worth your time.” It was your turn to be embarrassed at that, feeling slightly narcissistic for assuming that was the purpose of the conversation (it was, but Luke sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin his chances because you were in a mood, justified or otherwise).

“Oh.” You stared at his shoes. “Well, thanks, I guess.” You moved to leave but Luke stopped you, hand not quite touching your arm, unwilling to have it bitten off.

“So you do have a heart!” He joked, signature grin on his face. You wondered why you were seeing so much of it lately when he’d been so dour since his quest.

“Ha! You wish.”

“Don’t try to hide it, Beauregard, you’re warming up to me.”

“I’d sooner fuck Mister D,” You replied, actually taking your leave.

Luke watched you go, chewing his lip between his teeth. There was more to you than you let on, he was sure of it. He wouldn’t say it was any fondness, but he was starting to have a curiosity attaching itself to this scheme, and he knew that going out with you would satisfy it. He should have known having any personal stakes involved — sentimental or otherwise — would get dangerous.

Your own thoughts had barely budged on Luke. He was still a pain in your side and you figured you knew what kind of guy he was — not the type you had any interest in. Still, you couldn’t deny that you were appreciative he’d saved you from Ethan (and the inevitable washing up duty you’d be punished with when you beat him up), so maybe he wasn’t quite as despicable as you’d initially judged him to be. Close, though.

this is the best thing since sliced bread.

part two immediately.

⋆· ༘* god, it's brutal out here !

pairing ★ jock!luke castellan x drum major!reader

synopsis ★ the one where the football team hasn’t won a game in a nearly a decade. luke castellan changes some things. (4k)

content ★ no pronouns used for reader, bad teenager humor, inaccuracies bc i am not a band kid, very vague smau, not proofread, best viewed on mobile

notes ★ when i tell u that i switched writing styles for this, jubi and iss17 r so different. pls enjoy the crack tho, bc frankly, i think im hilarious

series masterlist

Opinion | Football team reaps the rewards it does not deserve

Heralds Vol. 77, Issue 1

Zeus City High School’s VAPA groups have won more championships that the football team ever has. Just last school year, marching band took sweepstakes in nearly every round, placing first in regionals and second in nationals. Other groups such as cheer, choir, and color guard also took competitions by storm, setting the highest win rate in the history of the high school.

However, their efforts aren’t as recognized as the football team, even though ZCHS hasn’t won a single game in a decade. Meanwhile, performing arts struggles with the leftovers of the football team’s funding.

“It’s really unfair and discouraging,” freshman Percy Jackson provided in a statement. “It’s my first year in band and I had to duct tape my broken snare harness because we don’t have money for new ones. Look, the football team got new equipment and a locker room renovation. My recycled uniform smells like […] and they get custom practice jerseys.”

Jackson’s sentiment is shared widely among the student body associated with VAPA. Members such as junior Miranda Gardener feel that their passions are put aside for a sport that contributes nothing to the school other than spirit.

“Being in color guard is stressful, especially because a lot of us take hard classes, too,” said Gardener. “I love performing, but I’ve honestly thought about not trying out again because we work hard for nothing, and the people who barely work get everything.”

The administration office and football team have not reached out in response to inquiries.

It’s around that time of year where you could walk out of the classroom and see four people blowing their nose down the hall and one person pretending to use the bathroom but really just searching up the answers to a test.

Luke Castellan is one of them. Your fingers are picking at the edge of the hall pass, a click click against the plastic that echoes hollow in the hall.

He hears you coming, back curled in the position he’s taken over the water fountain. Castellan gives you a cursory glance, goes back to drinking, and then looks at you again. You walk faster.

Double-take, his spine unfurls to stand upright, wrist wiping away the droplets on his mouth.

“So I read your article,” he says right as you cross tangent paths. He leans against the wall, pseudo-casual, hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans. “Just wanna let you know that football’s definitely gonna get a win this sea—your pass is a toilet seat?”

Your face burns, heat licking from your neck to forehead. Your eyes flick to a deflated rubber duck sitting atop the fountain’s porcelain edge, the tail of which is punched out and threaded with a tag that reads HALL PASS.

“And yours is a bath toy?”

Red blooms over the high of Castellan’s cheeks, and he snatches the duck off the fountain, hiding it behind his back.

“Shut up,” he grits, the bath toy making an airy sound in his tightening fingers. “Who even let you write that article anyway?”

“I’m the editor-in-chief,” you say, smug-like, shrugging like it’s nothing. You take a look at his face, the downward draw of his brown and the brutal set of his mouth.

Castellan’s exhale comes out from his nostrils in a hiss, jaw feathering.

“We’ll win this season,” he says, low, quiet. He’s so close that you can almost see something wading in the dark, inky pool of his pupil. “I’m making sure of it.”

( How did you go from casual conversation to this? )

“Is that on or off the record?” Your grin could be classified as shit-eating, mouth splitting too wide and eyes curving too crescent. Castellan sneers and pushes off the wall, jostling his tense shoulder with yours.

“So fucking annoying,” you hear him hissing as he walks away. You laugh in a huff, watching his wound-up back shrink in the distance.

What an asshole.

[ IMAGE: A snapshot of Percy Jackson from an up-down angle with the zoom set to 0.5x. The flash is on, washing his skin, hair, and eyes pale. The background is dark, save for a group of teens behind the curve of his cheek in ugly orange band uniforms and black slacks. ]

Liked by majmajmaj and 35 others

perciusjakcsn not even cooked WE R GRILLED 😨 📸 @.travstole

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majmajmaj ur gna be well done xtra crispy if u forget to count those fucking rests again,,, 😒

↳ perciusjakcsn PLZ HAVE MERCY SARGE ↳ majmajmaj DRUM MAJOR NOT DRUM SARGEANT PETER 🖕🖕🖕 ↳ perciusjakcsn JUSTICE 4 PERCY 😞💔

groovewood did u srsly just replace me as cameraman DUDE 😭

“Are we actually incapable—” The band continues to push each other around, the noise of nearly a hundred mouths in motion reaching an all-time high. “—of lining the fuck up?”

Charles’ wide, orange-fitted frame sidles up next to you, a megaphone in hand. You take the device in silent thanks, switching it on and cringing at the feedback.

You raise the megaphone to your mouth. “ATTENTION!”

It’s a mad dash into formation, teens in orange scrambling to their places. Someone yelps when a tuba swings in a wide arc above their head. A flutist trips over a saxophone. Drumline frantically assembles, sliding clumsily into harnesses and setting off more than two cymbal crashes.

“What a goddamn clown show.” Mr. D, absentee band director, walks up behind you and Charles, scowling at the mess. He takes a swig from the Coke can that’s practically glued to his hand before snatching the megaphone. “PETER JOHNSON, YOUR HARNESS IS LOOSE. LEE VASQUEZ, WRONG SECTION. COLE STALIN, IF I HEAR CARELESS WHISPER ONE MORE TIME, I WILL THROTTLE—”

From the crowd, Connor Stoll’s face twists in pseudo-confusion, hands coming up to pat at his ears and shrugging. A laugh ripples through the ranks.

Mr. D looks like he’s going to have a stroke with the way his expression pinches, sour. Mouth crumpled in on itself like the opening of a drawstring bag, eyes glaring narrow and beard bristling.

You take the megaphone back gingerly, dialing down the volume with a grimace. “Alright, first prelim game of the season, we’re against our one-sided rivals, Jupiter High.”

The band groans. Mr. D wanders off elsewhere.

“I’m not supposed to say this, but we are definitely losing. Even so, please do not boo if our team gets a touchdown. Don’t laugh if you hear something demeaning from the other team. And—clarinets—it is absolutely unacceptable to be bribed by Travis and burst into Squidward’s theme mid-play.”

Travis lets out a squawk of indignation, the shriek of it echoing around the side of the field. Charles holds out his hand for the megaphone, which you pass over.

He clears his throat. “Thank you, major. Uh—Jupiter is one hundred percent going to decimate us sports-wise, but we’re better than them in VAPA and test scores. Please don’t tarnish our reputation as regional champions, I don’t think I can survive that.”

Short and sweet, he sets down the device and gestures for the band to start marching around the track for warm-ups. You follow the path of the oval, feet tracing the white running lines, dust running over your shoe prints.

At the far side of the field is a giant inflatable centaur, the breakaway banner held between its feet. It’s a football thing for the players to run out at the beginning of the game. Except, you’re pretty sure that most schools do not run out under the legs of a stupidly expensive, balloon-ified mascot.

The football team is gathered behind the banner, hiding under the shadowed belly of the centaur. Some players are stretching, drinking water, closing their eyes. There are cheerleaders milling around, making small talk with glossy smiles.

Luke Castellan catches your eye over a girl’s shoulder. You recognize her, the slight of her build and the curl to her honeyed hair and most of all, the pep flags in her hands. Charles stiffens from beside you, back going rod-like, chest puffing out.

Silena Beauregard turns, waving cluelessly, innocently. Your fellow drum major nearly stumbles. You—and half the band—give Castellan an downturned thumb when she turns away. Someone from the trombones plays a limp womp-womp.

Castellan looks mortified, like he’s going to dig a hole for himself and die in it.

( If so, good riddance. )

[ VIDEO: A shaky clip from the lit-up bleachers at Zeus City High School’s football field. The camera pans over the heads of the seated marching band, a sea of half-asleep teens in orange, instruments drooping with the nodding of their heads.

The spectators groan, the commentator remarking that Sherman Yang has missed yet another throw. Someone from the rival side hollers loudly—Zeus City? More like Zeus Shitty!—to which their lavender-hued cheerleaders titter, sending a ripple of amusement echoing through the opposite bleachers swathed in purple.

A majority of the ZCHS marching band cackle and jeer. The camera zooms in on the two drum majors standing upfront. You’re shaking your head and thumbing the space between your brows. Charles Beckendorf wears the face of saddened disappointment. ]

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travstole 😬😬

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majmajmaj reporting this to d, no phones on the field tf??

↳ travstole snitch much?? ↳ majmajmaj what was it? ah, ‘die graecus scum’ - JHS octavian, most definitely

conmanstole poor becky d,,,

↳ perciusjakcsn ‘poor becky d’ as if ur not the reason y he has premature wrinkles 🫵🤨

The classroom is cold-hued, almost sterile under the cheap incandescent lights. Everything is blueish, backlit by the evening as it rolls over the horizon. You sigh when the ligaments in your neck rub just right to pop the bubbles between your bones. The door creaks, a tall figure, sticky with shadows, stepping in right before you try to move on to cracking you knuckles.

You almost don’t recognize him in that soft-looking sweater, a pair of black frames propped over the bridge of his nose. Castellan settles into the chair at the opposite ledge of the desk, the legs straining against the floor in an ear-itching scrape when he scoots closer.

“Hey there,” he says, borderline breathless, to which you give him a narrow look. He gives you a quick grin in return as he fumbles with his laptop; you catch a deep etch to his smile lines at the corners of his mouth before they disappear. “So, I’m just going to ask you a few questions about stuff like band, Heralds, school life.”

“This feels like an interrogation,” you tell him, unimpressed, “instead of something for yearbook. Are you sure you aren’t trying to get me arrested? If so, I have the right to remain silent.”

“No, just yearbook. Purely professional.” The other boy laughs, the sound of it rattling behind his ribs. It sends something spiraling down your stomach, like a marble run made with your intestines. “About last week, in the hallway—I know it’s not an excuse, but I was going through some stuff. So, sorry about that.”

He slides his phone between the two of you, the glossy screen emblazoned with a red button waiting to be pressed. Castellan sweeps out his hand in offering, palm-up.

You click the button, the first waves of sound appearing on the pixels in zig-zags.

“What is your name and the extracurriculars you partake in?” Castellan asks, even though he should know, because you’ve gone to the same school for years. You tell him, and he tests it in his mouth, feeling the weight of it around his tongue like it’s the first time he’s heard of it. The marble run of your insides starts to roll faster. “Cool. I’m Luke—football, volleyball, and obviously yearbook.”

“I know.”

It falls quiet for a moment, the snick of keys pressed into their beds being the only thing filling the silence. “Okay,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “How’s it like being a Heralder? Any notable experiences?”

You keep your answers short and sweet, easy for damage control. “It’s basically a free period. We print every three weeks, so I have plenty of time to write and format the spreads.”

“And off the record?” he asks, a small grin sewn over his face. You think you have an idea of what he’s trying to do.

“It’s peachy.”

He tuts, a snick of the tongue. The laptop he’s typing on is drenched in cold light too, the screen reflecting onto the lenses of his glasses, something blue-gray in the glassiness of them. “And what about band? I remember you wrote something about VAPA kids having a hard time with balancing their schedules.”

“I didn’t write that,” you remind him, a near snap to your words. “It was a quote from Miranda Gardener.”

“But you agreed with her,” Castellan counters. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have put it in your article.”

Conceding, “Fine. The actual band period start at seven-thirty during zero—we use that time to practice songs—and after school, we all head out to the field for drills from five to nine.”

“How do you have time to do homework?”

“I said Heralds was a free period, didn’t I?”

He laughs, the sound of it a little hollow with the way he’s fully concentrated on his laptop. “You did. Okay, moving on—favorite school snack?”

“Cup noodles from the teacher’s room.”

Castellan makes a confused face. “Uh, favorite class?”

“Obviously band.”

“Worst class?”

You think about it for a moment. “Stats.”

He smiles in agreement, eyes going crescent. “First choice of college?”

“Anything but an Ivy.”

Castellan shakes his head, chuckling.

You wait for a minute, watching his screen go by through the surface of his glasses. Castellan’s eyelashes aren’t long, but they’re thick and heavy. His eyes are a mid-toned brown, just darker than hazel. Like fresh-turned dirt. Or milk chocolate brownies. Or—

He hasn’t asked anything in a while. You cough awkwardly. “Am I free to go?”

Castellan looks like there are words fighting on his tongue, fingers carding through his messy curls. His lips are blushed, almost a bruise with the way they’re so damn red. You think about Charles. And then Silena. How Castellan had walked into the classroom breathless.

You know that you shouldn’t assume, but you’re going to assume.

“Never mind, don’t answer that.” You make a show of checking your phone, retinas seared with the sudden brightness of the screen. “Mr. D needs me on the field. Connor might be starting another riot with the saxes.”

“Yea,” he says tightly, “go ahead.”

TO: becky d

(19:35) so. (19:35) not 100 percent sure but i think silena and castellan (19:36) yk what ill ask her during p1 tmrw

FROM: becky d

(21:58) NO?? (22:10) SARGE PLS TURN OFF DND 🙏 (22:11) not even cooked im deep fried 😭

TO: becky d

(08:45) so funny story i was on dnd until p1 and (08:46) LMAOO DID U REALLY JST CALL ME SARGE CHARLES 😐 (08:46) but srsly why didnt you yell at me during 0 we coulda avoided this,,,, (08:47) btw i didnt ask her she was talking to drew tanaka abt some other guy that def wasnt luke 👍

FROM: perciusjakcsn

(11:38) hey sarge do u know how to find annabeth (11:39) i need her to explain the crab cycle. preferably before p5

TO: perciusjaksn

(12:34) * Major, not Sarge (12:34) ** Krebs cycle (12:35) This is Annabeth. To paraphrase Khan Academy, the Krebs cycle describes a chain of reactions in the mitochondria to produce energy in living cells through cellular respiration. I won’t go through the details because the reactants and products are not on the test, and neither is the order in which the reactions proceed. If you have any more questions, my username is ‘anniebethc’.

Annabeth stabs her spork into her bag of salad, the flimsy plastic warping and crinkling as she draws out another mouthful of lettuce.

“So,” you start, idly twirling your own spork as you read the message she sent through your phone, “giving hints about the test? That could be considered cheating.”

Her cheek dips, held captive between her teeth. “It’s nothing.”

You give her a suspicious look. “And when Connor asked you about glucose and you told him to fuck off, that was also nothing?”

The girl’s look is withering as she chews her lunch slowly. You hold up your hands in surrender, letting go of the topic.

Annabeth’s gaze catches something behind you. You follow the line of her sight, tracing it along the lunch shelter and landing on Castellan. He’s got a laugh tremoring in his shoulders, grinning at something a girl—Silena again—is telling him. You whip your head back to see Annabeth’s eyes go fuzzy and sparkling.

“What?” she asks, noticing your twisted face.

“Nothing,” you huff. “But, uh—Percy’s a good guy.”

The girl squints, bewildered. “What—I don’t like Luke. We’re neighbors, so it’s weird.”

Neighbors?

“We’re halfway through the semester and you’re telling me now that Public Enemy Number One lives next to you?”

“He’s only Public Enemy Number One to band.”

Emphatically, “Which you are a flutist of?”

A lunch tray clatters onto your table, Travis sliding onto the bench and joined by Charles. The Stoll boy cracks his wrists, the pop of air loud even over the chatter of the shelter.

Charles peels open his school lunch, cringing at the clumpy mac salad sitting in the bowl. He looks over at your food, eyes tracing the outline of the plastic cup and watching the steam escape over the lip.

“Where the hell did you get instant noodles from?” blurts Travis. You tap a half-empty thermos in the pocket of your backpack.

“Ask Clarisse nicely and her dad’ll get it from the teacher’s lounge.”

Travis gives you a narrow look. It would’ve been almost threatening if his eyes weren’t occasionally glancing at your noodles.

“How nicely?”

“Six dollars.”

The old Stoll turns to Charles, irises sparkling, wide, expectant—a poor attempt to make puppy eyes at your fellow drum major. Charles sighs, fingers digging through his backpack to return with a twenty.

“Ah,” he warns right as Travis reaches for the money. “Two noodles, one for each of us. And then you’ll go to the vending machine for chips and a soda. No more, no less.”

Travis nods eagerly, snatching the bill and running off. You watch his back as he leaves; he nearly topples Luke Castellan in his excited haste.

“You know that’s a scam, right?” Annabeth's voice brings you back to the present. She’s got her brows quirked as Charles shuts the lid to his mac salad.

“It’s better than this.” He holds up a bag of damp baby carrots and cringes. It is at this moment that you know what your next article will be about.

[ IMAGE: Luke Castellan posing in semi-formal dress, standing in a dark classroom. The photo looks like it’s been taken on a digital camera, nostalgic and slightly grainy, bright spots blooming at the center. He’s got a fitted white button up and a pair of neat, pressed slacks on. His tie is black, rumpled, the knot loosened around his neck. Over his shoulders is a slouchy pastel orange cardigan with the equestrian mascot of ZCHS sewn into the breast.

His head is turned, showing his sharp side profile. Luke’s face is pensive, one hand in his pocket and the other at rest, fingers laid over his thigh. There are a pair of computer glasses sliding dangerously down his nose. ]

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lukestellans ‘cause we never go out of style

📸 @.luvvbeaus

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luvvbeaus 🔥🔥🔥

↳ tankadreww men who listen to tay >> ↳ conmanstole @.majmajmaj aint no way ppl actually find him hot 🤣🤣

anniebethc You knotted your tie backwards, Luke.

↳ lukestellans ask ur dad to help me pls 🙏

You don’t get to write your article about how shitty the school lunch is. Instead, you get assigned to the homecoming game, scribbling out lede after mediocre lede onto the reporter’s notebook balanced in your palm, the paper of which scrubs uncomfortably against your gloves.

“This is probably the highest score I’ve seen on that board,” comments Charles, fiddling with the seam of his uniform. “Another touchdown and we’d actually win our first game in ten years.”

“There are six seconds left,” you say, glancing at the clock. You’re starting to sound like Annabeth when you say, “It’s pretty close too. The likelihood of an actual win is so low that—”

The rest of your words are swallowed by the commentator.

AND THAT’S LUKE CASTELLAN RUNNING INTO THE END ZONE, HE CATCHES THE BALL—TOUCHDOWN FOR ZEUS CITY!

You jump at the roar that engulfs your side of the bleachers, parents and students and alumni rising in a tidal wave of celebration.

The cheerleaders jump and scream, pep flags dancing in the air, pompoms glittering. People are hugging, cheering. You even see a grandma shed tears and kiss a toddler on the cheek.

“What the fuck.” Nevertheless, you’re compelled to turn and face the music, raising your hands and signaling for your bandmates to play the fight song.

Luke Castellan runs a victory lap, zipping around the field in his ugly, bright orange jersey, arms thrust skyward in celebration. You think that the big, taunting 11 painted on his back will haunt you for the rest of your days.

His pace peters out by the time he reaches the stands, giving sweaty, full-bodied hugs to whoever’s closest to him in his conquest. You frown when he strolls along the stands, helmet pulled off and hanging from his fingers.

He’s all damp, curls plastered to his forehead and sweat beading over his brow. His breaths come out as icy puffs in the mid-October air, an exhausted blush blooming red over his cheeks, eyes glassed over, lips bruised and chest straining for air.

Castellan points at nothing in particular, angling his finger at the bleachers with a winning smile. A number of girls giggle—even color guard—and many pull out their phones to snap pictures of him.

He’s looking straight through you, though. Like he has something vengeful to prove. The floodlights are blinding, a glimmering sheen painted over the player.

You frown, brows drawing together furious, mouth pinched. Castellan sneers back and turns away.

And then, your journalism advisor comes up to Castellan with a dark-haired woman. The teen hugs the woman but ignores the man, bitter.

Frankly, you’ve never been able to put your finger on it until now, why Mr. Hermes had seemed so familiar to you. Now you can see it.

Luke Castellan looks very much like his mother, same eyes and lips. Bony shoulders, full face, straight and dark brows. He’s got the same arrow-like nose as Hermes, however, the same inky black hair.

He turns for one last look at the emptying stands. Behind you, your bandmates begin to pack up, carrying their instruments down the bleachers.

You’re the one offering a sneer now, though you doubt he can see it from this far. Luke tilts his head with a furtive smile and you lose sight of him when he ducks out into the parking lot.

You look down at your reporter’s notebook, the scratched-out ledes and the Heralds logo printed at the top.

You’re fucked.

p.s. ★ i moved around some canon ages to better fit the story if ur wondering why luke is 17/18 while percabeth r like 13/14,,,, also—the inclusion of articles and social media was inspired by phanatics’ big reputations on ao3, aka one of my fav slash fics (pls note that there r some spicy scenes tho)!!

sharing is caring, so pls rb and also lmk ur thoughts ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ᡣ𐭩

luke tags (open); @melllinaa @amortencjja @niktwazny303 @arsonnaire @ma1dita @m00ng4z3r @saltair-and-palemoonlight @witch-lemon

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