Here's one about Luke. I know no one cares about or even likes the guy, but I had this idea so here it is. Read AND REVIEW, pretty please.
Disclaimer: Rick Riordan has enough of a life to not write on fanfiction. Now me on the other hand...
In the Underworld, there was always a bitter wind tossed about through the air, no matter where one went. Even when Luke made it to the Isles of the Blest, the wind was always there to shake a chill down his spine. It was on those blustery days of the dark wind in which Luke would start to feel down, and that's when he'd sit down in a high place overlooking the Fields of Asphodel and remember.
He'd remember Thalia. Sometimes he would imagine her freckled face and fierce blue eyes so vividly it was like she was really there, with an affectionate scowl on her face and a small twinkle in her eye. Sometimes the vision was so frighteningly real Luke would catch himself talking to her. He would then quickly release the picture from his mind and feel the bitter loneliness overtake him again.
He'd remember Annabeth. He could still feel her warm face buried in his lap, see her honey blonde hair flying out from behind her when she ran, feel the solid trust in her gray eyes. Then the guilt and shame would burn like an uncontrollable wildfire in his heart and he'd choke back a sob and banish those eyes from his mind. He can't take the pain.
He'd remember his mother. He'd try and conjure the image of her before the incident- before he even had a memory- but it wouldn't come. All he was left with was the vision of her burning green eyes, the sudden tension in her hands, her stifled shrieks in the night. He winced, remembering the bloodcurdling shriek that forced him to flee anything and everything that had to do with her. Those memories would never leave his mind, nor did they ease the despair and loneliness that seized up every bit of Luke's being.
He'd remember Hermes. And he'd remember him by that name because the man was never a father to him. The father who never showed his love, who abandoned Luke for a high life, who left his mother to suffer insanity by herself. Then Luke's hands would form a fist and anger would consume his heart. This would scare Luke more than anything else, for it was that wrath that sent him to his debacle, and ultimately, death. That anger hurt, and Luke would struggle to release it.
He'd remember Percy. And it was only now that he felt truthfully and undeniably sorry, and only now where he couldn't tell the poor kid that truth. Luke's stomach would clench when he thought about what could have happened if Percy hadn't killed the monster he was becoming. He could still see the rock-solid determination in Percy's eyes, his protectiveness toward Annabeth when she was in danger, the unwavering bravery he summoned to try and defeat him. Him, as in Luke. He was the bad guy. That's when the sob would be choked back into the throat again. Heshould have been the one protecting Annabeth, the one wielding unwavering courage in the face of the enemy. Instead he was a coward, giving into irrational rage and a cold, scraping voice in the dark-
Luke was stop right where he was, body stiff and upright, his hands clammy and his heart cold. He'd remember Kronos. The cruel reasoning behind a bone-chilling voice, the gold light consuming his essence, black ropes holding back his will in his own body. Then Luke would throw himself to the ground and sob and yell and scream until his body ached. Until his heart twisted itself into knots, the guilt and shame and horror of what he had done multiplying until it crushed down on him like a black wave breaking on a hardened shore. He would learn on those days of the dark wind a hard truth. Ghosts still cry. And it still hurt.
A little depressing, but I actually liked how it turned out. What did you think? Review, please :)