#like i always end up feeling like the clown show everywhere when i dont mask & pretend im normal-ish

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Dumbass got stabbed III

I really thought I had finished with this two shot but after a request from @/booksrlife300 on ao3 asking for the aftermath I really couldn't resist making it a three shot. And my writing demon certainly agreed because it really went wild during my plane ride.

Anyway here is part three (and i think the final part) to dumbass got stabbed.

Recap (since it's been over a year):

Percy gets stabbed by a monster after coming back from the movies with his friends and the first place he goes to is Jason's house. Jason nearly has a heart attack after Percy collapses on his door and then he pulls him inside and stitches him all up.

This fic starts with Percy waking up the next morning.

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Percy wakes up to searing pain. It spills across his skin like an upturned sowing box. He doesn't know where it's coming from because it feels like it's coming from everywhere. He can't even take stock of his body because he feels like one big pincushion. He supposes being stabbed makes him a pincushion.

He doesn't want to open his eyes. He can feel the light behind them. Too bright. Too loud. Too not how he feels.

He feels like deep darkness. Like the darkness just before a star explodes. The darkness before the sky erupts. The kind that blankets all of his senses except the one that pings danger. That's red and wailing at him. But then pain so untamed it turns his vision orange lances across his side and his eyes snap open with a low howl.

He can see white ceiling. He can see black dots. He hears scrambling, clothes rustling and something falling over. And then he can see blue eyes. And then he can see skies and oceans and glass bottles and concern like mothering hens staring down at him.

"Percy," His name is a growled gasp. Sleep still clinging to the strings of his friends voice box, scratching it's way down his throat.

"Hello, I'm in immense pain." Vaguely he notes that he sounds like an automated machine relaying it's faulty inner workings. That's half how he feels now that the burning-orange pain has lessened to a caution-yellow.

"Here," A golden hand, fingers wrapped in individual bandages, long and racing with green veins, holds out a square to him. It is small and unassuming. Nobody would guess it holds the food of gods. Then again nobody would guess those gods existed.

His mouth feels as though he's been eating his clothes for sustenance the last week. All heavy tongue, dry saliva glands, and teeth too smudgy to be healthy. He considers turning the square away for some toothpaste and a glass of water. But neither of those are going to magically cure the wound marking his side. So he opens his mouth, his jaw, and let's Jason drop the square onto his tongue. Warm fingers brush his lips as they pull back and he wants to chase the lightning-blue zing that they leave behind against his sarcastic mouth.

Instead he snaps himself shut and chews slowly. Only half interested in the cookies, then brownies, then soda— which he somehow knows is blue— disappears down his throat. He feels the magic working through his veins, skin stitching itself together. A headache he didn't know he had disappates.

With a long exhale he relaxes back against cotton cushions and finally takes a good look around the room. He has every detail of it already memorised, having spent many a day and night in this position bothering his friend endlessly. There's the singular shelf that houses old trinkets tattered and bruised from years of moving; the single arrow from Thalia's set— given in protection and as a reminder that she would always be there, for real this time; there's the gaudy new York taxi keyring he had given the blonde, now without the ring part, so of no real use; and the snow globe from Piper when she visited Paris. The soft yellow wall— lemon drizzle if you want to get specific— sits in perfect contrast to the charcoal grey of the rest of the room. It sort of embodies Jason's whole presence. The desk, well used and scattered with books and paper and Chinese takeout containers, sits in the corner opposite the bedroom, right near the window. He says if he can see the city he can breathe a little easier. He knows what he's working towards. Percy thinks it's so he can see the sky and know there's always a way to escape.

Him and Jason are good at that. Escaping. From bad situations, from big feelings, from each other. There's always something left unsaid between them. It drives their friends mad, but it's all they can do to stop from becoming hurricanes and devouring the entire universe.

"How are you feeling?" The blonde is sitting in his swivelly squeaky desk chair, leaning over him with all sense of care and concern. It makes him feel like duck egg blue.

"Much better thank you." He attempts a grin. He hopes it's not a grimace. "No matter how many times I get stabbed it doesn't seem to hrut any less."

Jason narrows his eyes, "I wonder why."

See that's what Percy likes. Everyone else is always giving him disapproving looks and worried scoldings when he says things like that but Jason? Jason indulges him, makes it feel not so suffocating to always be injured and bruised and relying on little squares of God-food to get him through the month.

"How do I look?" This time it's definitely a grin. He can feel the green of his eyes go emerald with amusement.

"Very pretty as always." The reply is solemn, but there's a twitch of pink lips and it's all he can do to not reach over and touch it.

"Want to tell me what happened?" A frown replaces the amusement and he wants to rewind the last few seconds again and again. "You were a little...out of it when you showed up."

"Yes I suppose getting attacked by a monster makes all the smart chemicals in my brain go a little foamy."

"You don't know what attacked you?"

And he is pinned to the bed, to the room, to the world. Because nobody can read the words behind his words the way Jason can. Can read the emotion behind his pauses and the expressions behind his masks. He is neon purple.

"It was dark." He resigns himself to the story. When he's done, laid all the boring details bare, he studies the floors.

The silence stretches around them, cocooning them into something too delicate to touch. It feels almost awkward, or it would if he knew anything about that when he was here. Instead it's just quiet.

"Can you stand? You need a shower."

"Oof Jase," He puts a hand to his chest, hurt painted like clown's make up falling across his face. "I can't look that bad."

There's a precious smirk, full of quick whips kicking up in his friend. "It's the way you smell actually."

He takes an exaggerated whiff and nearly gags. "I smell like I'm decaying." He shudders.

A laugh bursts from the blonde and Percy doesn't want to move in case the music ends. He feels candy floss pink in that moment.

"Right up you get. I'll sort out breakfast and then you can entertain me for the day."

"You don't have to take care of me." He rolls his eyes, sitting up with a hidden wince. His feet settle on the floor. He's grateful neither of them acknowledge that he came here in a haze. That Jason did take care of him. That when his mind was nothing but blinding pain this was the first place his legs took him.

"I'm not taking care of you. I'm using you for entertainment."

What his friend doesn't realise is that Percy can read all his hidden scripture just as well. How "entertain me" means I'm keeping an eye on you. How "mind helping me with this" means I can do it just fine by myself but I want company. How winks mean "it's a joke between us" but smirks mean "it's honesty but gently". It warms his heart to know he can do this. It's a sunshine yellow thing to know someone the way they know each other.

"You good?" Jason stops at the door when he still hasn't moved from the bed.

"Yes just preparing to haul my very large body into your very small shower." He feels the eye roll more than see it. It tugs a smile onto his face.

"I'll remind you that I'm an even larger body and I make it work."

"How on earth do you ever have shower—"

"Percy Jackson!" He is snapped into a laugh.

And then he's in the bathroom and his mouth is full of mint bubbles and although there are circles as deep purple as squished plums under his eyes they shine with contentness. He doesn't fear or worry. Not here. At home, in his mother's house, he's the protector from monsters only he can decimate. At camp he is the protector from monsters that are determined to destroy. But here. He is just Percy. And his protector is cooking pancakes in the kitchen. He is just Percy. And he is sage green as he steps into the steam of the shower.

He looks down, catching the fading wound on his abdomen. His brown skin let's droplets of water rest briefly before rippling and they go racing down to the tiled floor. He stands there for a good minute just staring blankly. But then he hears the sound of a kettle whistling and it jolts him into action as he scrubs the grime and gross of yet another something trying to kill him, off his body.

By the time he's done— sweats and a loose tee rummaged from Jason's closet draping over his too hot skin— the pancakes are neatly stacked on two plates and fresh steaming coffee sits to the right of their food. He feels honey brown.

"Looks delicious."

"I know the way to your heart." The blonde shrugs.

"It's more of a journey than most bargain for." He laughs quietly.

"Dont worry I've brought my hacksaw and my hiking boots I'm willing to run through Amazonian forests."

"Well that's relieving," He grins around his mug. "I was beginning to think I'd be stranded in my stone tower forever."

"All alone?"

He snorts, "No I've made friends with all manner of being. I can't be alone, you know that." He bites into his pancake, blueberry slipping off his fork with a thudding splash into the syrup.

"I do know." The blonde's voice is all buttery and melting. And the truth that comes with it knocks a new vein into Percy's heart.

They're quiet for a few minutes as they devour their breakfast. When there's mere sips of coffee left he settles back in his chair and regards his friend.

"What manner of entertainment am I providing today?"

"Whatever you want but I'm not leaving the house."

"Oh good I don't know if I can make it ten steps out your door without half crumbling to dust these days."

"You wouldn't."

"Mhmm," He hums distractedly, gaging the weather to decide if they're going to huddle up with movies and far too many blankets or throw playing cards at each other while drowning in lemonade. It's a movie sort of day, he decides.

"You wouldn't turn to dust." Jason is saying. "You're too much god and too much good to die like monsters." There is that silent reading again.

"Maybe I was." Percy shrugs, "Before you know..."

And he doesn't need to add anymore because the big space the catches onto that sentence no matter how much time separates those events from the now still means the same thing. Before Tartarus. Before he made a ventriloquist puppet out of a goddess. Before he became unhinged.

"You are not a monster for protecting yourself. Or others." Golden voice is firm. Solid.

"You may be the only one who knows and thinks that."

"Doesn't matter it's still true."

"Okay enough seriousness." He doesn't have the energy for their circling conversation. "Shall we binge Pirates of the Caribbean?" For a stormy grey second he thinks his friend is going to keep their talk going but then he sees the surrender behind the blue eyes and a part of him unwinds.

"We can." There's a raised eyebrow accompanying the agreement and he knows there's conditions attached. Like a damn insurance plan. "If your promise to let me walk you home this evening."

"My big bad wolf." He teases.

The blonde responds with a low growl that makes his whole body turn a violent azure blue. "Fine. We shall stare at Captain Jack Sparrow and then you can valiantly walk me to my front door and shake hands with my mother."

"Wonderful. Now let's get some blankets down."

Jason smiles as he stretches on his tiptoes to reach the fluffy ones. He feels the soft material under his palm but the there's a hand over his brown one and it's tugging the blanket down. He sticks his tongue out at his friend.

Percy is ocean blue.

[the-ram-fire]

How about Libras and Aries?

MY MOM IS A LIBRA. DEFINITELY NOT SISTER SIGNS I OBJECT THE WHOLE SISTER SIGN SHIT. LIBRAS CAN GO SUCK A FUCK

libras think they can charm their way through ANYTHING in life tru story. i was telling my mom that i can’t ask the lady at the student questions anything cuz she always yells at me and i can’t take that shit and she goes “have you tried charming her into telling you what you want?” LIKE FORREAL IF THIS DOES NOT EXPLAIN A LIBRA I DONT KNOW

when they get into a fight or get their feelings hurt they’re gonna talk to EVERYBODY firstly and then you. actually most of the time they’re not even gonna talk to you they’ll just give you the cold shoulder and let you figure it out. after a while they’re gonna start acting like they did before you hurt them for the sake of keeping peace. that is until they start overthinking it and realize you ain’t shit and you;re not good enough for them. they take a lot of shit before they realize they should move on tho. once they realize that they’ll just slowly start dropping you and ignoring you until you realize you ain’t shit bitch

their favorite show is sex and the city and desperate house wives. they’re suckers for those lolly-pop, lolita, pastel flowers, pink waters, fluffy unicorns kinda shit. i bet they still wanna dress up as a fairy even if they’re 50 years old. which isn’t bad i would dress up as a fairy for the rest of my life 

CLOTHES MEAN SO MUCH TO THEM LIKE OMG. they need to have branded clothes like the fuck my mom thinks the world is ending when i buy clothes from second hand shops. i once bought 3-4 flannel shirts from a second hand shop for little money, and the next day she goes out and buys me this branded flannel shirt which costs 10 times more than the 4 flannel shirts together JUST TO TELL ME THERE’S SHIRTS LIKE THAT IN STORES WHERE THE CLOTHES HAVEN’T BEEN WORN BEFORE. alright mom goddamn chill

FLIRTING IS THEIR L I F E. I DONT KNOW IF THEY NOTICE IT OR NOT BUT THEY HAVE FLIRTED WITH EVERY SINGLE FUCKING PERSON THEY KNOW. 

ARIANS. OMG. HERE WE GO. ARIANS ARE THE BULLIES OF THE ZODIAC. THEY ARE THE BULLIES OF THE BULLIES. THEY THINK THAT HAVING THIS ‘ALPHA IM SO STRONG LOOK’ WILL GET THEM THROUGH LIFE. GUESS WHAT BITCHES. IT WONT. UNLESS YOU LIVE OFF OF STREET FIGHTS WHICH I HIGHLY DOUBT CUZ WE ALL KNOW UNDERNEATH THAT “IM SO FUCKING MACHO” MASK YOU’RE A PEACE LOVER. DIRTY FUCKING HIPPIES. 

they live to fight tbh verbally or physically. you don’t like their favorite show? guESS WHAT YOURE iN A FIGHT NOW. 

YOU KNOW WHY THEY’RE SO FUCKIN LOUD AND THROW FITS WHEN THEY’RE PISSED? THEY’RE NOT REALLY THAT PISSED THEY JUST WANT YOU TO LEAVE THEM ALONE CUZ THEY’RE ABOUT TO CRY. YOU BEST BELIEVE THE MOMENT YOU TURN YOUR BACK TEARS ARE GONNA START ROLLING

THEY ALL CRY AT THE MOVIE “THE DOUBLE LOTTIE” and they all secretly adore beyonce alright.

they can’t fuckin chill, they’re gonna go headstrong in a wall until they hurt themselves so badly to a point of no return. they act on impulses and never ever think through their shit. if you got a huge plan for tomorrow lets say of business like and y’all need to sit through and plan it out, think it through, guess what arians be doing the night before? probably getting hammered until they can’t fucking see because they’re too pussy to show their true emotions. tomorrow even if they say they got a plan you best believe they’re gonna improvise whatever fuckery first comes into their head. immature arians think emotions are a sign of weakness while mature arians wear their heart on their sleeve and ain’t afraid to break down in the middle of a movie theatre sobbing their hearts out. 

they talk whatever comes to their mind first and jump from one subject to another in 0.3 secs. can’t hold a conversation about one thing even if it depended on their life

they all want to have close connections to people but when people start showing a little bit attention towards them they run like hell because “GETTING CLOsE?????? EMOTIONS?????????????????? NEED TO SHOW M LOVE???????? WHATS THAT???” 

they’re soooooooooo fuckin afraid of failure. it’s their biggest weakness. they all wanna be #1 IN LITERALLY EVERYTHING and wont hesitate to admit

they’re the most annoying shits when they get drunk, fucking yelling all the time, puking everywhere, falling down every 2 secs. i think all arians are alcoholics. they drink cuz they can’t handle their emotions in a healthy way

ohhhhhhh I ALMOST FORGOT THE MOST IMPORTANT THING. when they are dating they want to be their partners #1 priority, gets hella jealous if they see other bitches liking their pics and shit, but they also wanna have (and probably do, if they’re not in love with you) 40 other side hoes

aries aesthetics include blood, gore and violence

they all secretly wanna be comediantes of whatever sort. stand up comedy, youtube, whatever. they wanna be the fuckin clown at the party