On Wings of Vanity and Wax
by HeavensRebel
Thalia G/Luke C.
Romance/Angst
Rated T
A/N: I apologize for this wierd-ass, wtf-was-I-thinking fic. I hate Thuke. Really. I'm ashamed to ship it, because I'm just so madly in love with Luke, and I dislike Thalia, and I would NOT ship Thuke EVER if their love story WASN'T SO DAMN BEAUTIFUL. Really. It's almost as beautiful as Destiel (non-SPN fans, disregard), and that says a lot considering Destiel is my OTP.
I'm done rambling. I got the title from a song/album by a band I don't really like, but my friend Eliza loves so whatever.
Disclaimer: If I owned PJO, Luke wouldn't be dead.
The harsh sound of bronze against stone grinds sharply through your eardrums –
Your head snaps upright in a quick jerk, almost breaking your fragile neck as your tendons pull taut against the bone. He's smiling at you now, lips pulled over a wicked gleam of white – perfect, straight, like a dental commercial come to live. Gods does it make you want to hurl. That damned grin and those eyes –
Like sharp-tipped glass, piercing your very soul with too much knowledge, like they know and see everything that ever existed. Eyes the color of a frozen ocean, eyes like a god's.
But then they shine with a sinful gleam and everything inside you just stops.
Because you remember.
And in that brief moment as he raises his precious Backbiter high above your head, you lock gazes, and he remembers too.
And suddenly, he's on his knees, sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, begging you to come back, to let go of the bliss that is immortality so you can be together, just the two of you, like it's supposed to be. Like you promised.
But you know better.
Know better than to allow him to grab you and kiss you like he's doing now. Know better than to let him take you, right away, out of Artemis' grasp. Know better than to let him get inside your mind.
. . . You let him anyway.
But as soon as it's over, you let him crawl away, all the broken pieces inside of him scrambling to glue together, if only for a minute, so he can look Kronos straight in the – er, mind – and say that he'll do it.
You shouldn't hurt like this, but you do. You shouldn't have to stitch yourself back together and tread wordlessly back to Camp so you can pretend, all over again. You should go with him. Take over the world with him.
But you don't.
