#percys boiling pot

[bassguitarinablackt-shirt]

before you turn anons off……………. sighs………………… ᵒᵈʸˢˢᵉᵘˢ ᵇᶦᵍ ⁿᵃᵗᵘʳᵃˡˢ

[citrusreadstoa]

Reading The Dark Prophecy: Chapter 34 (SPOILERS)

"Apollo, sing!" Underwater?

"(Oh, I get it! That's why they were called cottonmouths!)" Awful fucking way to learn exactly what kind of snake is in this lake. They're usually native to southeastern US, but this is a magic cave, so what the heck. Also, their bites can be fatal.

"Water moccasins are poisonous." I think you mean venomous. That Lethe water must be getting to you.

"Your blood on my hands. The crushed rose I couldn't save." Who is Meg singing about? Off the top of my head, probably her mortal dad. I wonder if we'll soon learn more about him.

"Something told me this cave was not the right place to bare one's soul." Very true, Trophonius could be listening and he does not sound like a kind fella.

"soft, kind eyes. He held out a single red rose." Meg's dead father? A memory of him?

"Just outside the New York Public Library in Midtown, a man's corpse sprawled on the white marble steps." In public? "Police milled around, taking notes, snapping photos" Yes, in public.

So I guess we learned more about Meg's dad. That was a little sooner than I expected.

"swirling upward like a waterspout, forming the shape of a man." Trophonius! Meg, stop your solo! I know you've gotten into your rhythm and all, but it kinda sorta really does have to end here. At this rate, Trophonius is going to think you're here for the prophecy.

"Around him swarmed a host of phantom bees, his sacred creatures, small smudges of darkness." I'm sorry, this totally broke the tension. That's a cute image.

"I've waited a long time, Father." We already knew he was his son, but I gotta say, it feels like half the characters in this series are children of Apollo.

"I could answer them, for the price of her sanity." Thanks, but I think I'll come back for the Black Friday sale.

"Take me instead . . . Did you listen to me then, Father?" Ooh, truly unfortunate choice of words. If he wasn't going to take her before, he'll do so now out of spite.

"'She is precious to you,' said the Oracle." It feels significant that he's referred to as the Oracle here rather than as Trophonius.

"Yes, I would die to save Meg McCaffrey." CHARACTER 👏🏻 DEVELOPMENT 👏🏻

"Very good!" He let that slide wayyyy too easily. Getting Trophonius to give the prophecy to Apollo instead of Meg should have taken a lot more work and a lot more time. "Then promise me that you'll grant me a wish." . . . "I swear. Whatever you ask." There it is. Apollo is racking up favors faster than a kid's birthday party. "Oh, I didn't promise anything in return!" THERE IT IS! Good trick, Trophonius! Very good.

[lilislegacy]

percy: *intensely watching the news, waiting to hear about something he may have caused*

piper: come on percy, come eat with us. you’ve been sitting there waiting for hours. if something happens, you’ll hear about it eventually. a watched pot never boils

percy, distractedly: yeah and an ignored one boils over

piper: that-

piper, turning to annabeth in confusion: have i been spending too much time with him or is that one of the most logical things i’ve ever heard someone say?

[cobrakaisb]

humid summer

summary: summer rolls around, and for the first time in two years you find yourself outside the borders of camp half-blood but how long can you keep pretending to be a normal cruise guest on the princess andromeda?

featuring: BOOK SPOILERS (from here on out), multiple povs (reader, percy, and annabeth), plus more of reader and annabeth’s relationship, oh also angst

word count: 2.7k

series masterlist ||| previous ||| next

the summer heat combined with the florida humidity is stifling. you feel like you’re boiling in a pot of soup, as opposed to lounging on the pool deck of a cruise ship. even the ocean breeze does little to quell the heat. you almost feel bad for the other demigods — who you know are training on a deck somewhere on the princess andromeda — but you can’t bring yourself to that point. not when you, chris, and katrina offered for them to ditch too. 

“how long do you plan on tanning for?” someone asks, and you recognize the voice as your boyfriend’s.

“until the sun goes down,” you answer, holding a hand up to your forehead as you give him a once over. 

it is obvious that he hasn’t been training, not in khaki pants and a light blue polo, but he still has his sword hanging from a sheath around his waist. his arms are crossed over his chest, and he shoots you a disapproving glare. yet, all you can focus on are his muscles.

“you’re gonna get a farmer's tan, dude,” chris jeers, eliciting snickers from you and katrina.

“oh you’d like that wouldn’t you?” katrina teases, elbowing your side as you get up from your lounger and walk towards luke. 

you lift up your shades, pushing them to the top of your head and smile softly at him. you’re trying your best to be apologetic, or at least seem apologetic, but you’re sure it isn’t working. your eyes flicker across luke’s supposedly serious gaze, but you can see the humor swirling in his eyes. 

“you’re not mad are you? we were really just taking a break,” you explain, a soft pout on your lips to try and sell your story. 

luke raises an eyebrow along with the corner of his mouth, and while you know he doesn’t believe you, he doesn’t provide a lecture or try to contradict your words. it’s clear to all the demigods on the princess andromeda that while you’ve aligned yourself with them — with his cause — your loyalties lie in the palm of his hands, a sentiment which isn’t lost on luke either. he has the ability to cradle it or squash it like a bug. there is no inbetween. yet, he continues to push his luck. 

even now as you laugh poolside with chris and katrina with his firm hand resting on your hip, he knows that you’d slip away from him if you knew what was going on in the brig. if you knew who was there and what he’d done to lure them right into his clutches, you’d flee. 

he clears his throat, demanding your attention. only when all three pairs of eyes are on him does he muster up the courage to actually be a leader: “i better see the three of you at training later, otherwise you can kiss those free nights goodbye.”

luke squeezes your hip once more before departing, walking back down the hallway he originally came from.  

*****

the continuous rocking back and forth is starting to get to percy. with each sway of the large cruise ship, he can feel the insides of his stomach turning. the sounds of the waves crashing against the strong hull should be calming, soothing even, yet they only increase his feelings of nausea. 

“don’t tell me you’re seasick, seaweed brain?” annabeth snaps, but there is a hint of sympathy behind her cold words. 

“ugh as if,” he answers, but promptly squints his eyes after a particularly large jolt.

“i knew this was too good to be true,” he mumbles, leaning his sweaty forehead against the cool metal bars in hope of some relief. 

“it wouldn’t be if you’d just accepted my offer. it’d make things a lot easier for the both of us,” another voice chimes in. 

percy opens his eyes, immediately reaching for the ballpoint pen residing in his pocket. he can’t help but stare at the older boy, the person he once called a friend, with nothing but resentment and hatred. luke is leaning casually against the wall across from their holding cell. his arms are crossed, sword sheathed, and he looks like he has all the time in the world. there even seems to be a flicker of annoyance in his brown eyes. 

“we both know things could be much easier. right percy?” luke continues, but he doesn’t make any moves or even reach for his sword. 

“what are you doing here?” percy asks, mustering up enough strength to stand from the floor of their cell. 

luke chuckles, shaking his head back and forth with a small tsk. “c’mon percy, you’re smarter than that. i bet even annabeth has this figured out. isn’t that right banana?” 

“don’t call me that,” annabeth growls, fists clenched at her sides. 

percy watches their interaction, an intense stare down. he’s only even seen luke partake in one, and he remembers how luke was the first to recede. you’re the only person who luke allowed to bully him into getting your way, and annabeth must remember that as well as she turns away from the boy she once called a brother. percy looks at annabeth, asking her a silent question, but she doesn’t even acknowledge him, simply keeping her gaze locked on a questionable stain on the floor. 

“hmm, guess not. makes this even more entertaining,” luke says, stepping away from the wall and towards their cell. 

percy doesn’t hesitate this time, swiftly lifting the cap off his pen with the flick of his thumb. his sword appears in his hands, and he grips the hilt so tightly that his knuckles turn white. 

luke holds his hands up in surrender, “no need for violence, percy. i haven’t even gotten a chance to speak yet.” 

“really? cause you’ve been doing all the talking,” percy snaps, his eyes never leaving luke’s figure as he searches for any impending danger. 

luke chuckles again, but it’s humorless. his eyes turn back to percy lacking any and all warmth. with a clenched jaw, luke looks him up and down. percy feels his breath hitch in his throat; he remembers all too well the last time he fought luke. he also remembers that he has more training under his belt than he did a year ago. 

“i’ll be honest with you percy, because i think we owe that to each other. i know my dad sent you here, hoping you’d convince me to change my mind, but it’s not going to work. we both know that,” luke starts. 

“you, on the other hand, still have time to join me. percy, join us and all will be forgiven,” he finishes, extending his hand to percy. 

percy stares at it, and without a second thought spits at the older boy.

luke grimaces, wiping the saliva on his white linen shirt. “well then.” 

he turns to walk away, leaving the two teens and their cyclops companion behind, but he stops suddenly. his black curls bounce as he whips his head around over his shoulder, brown eyes meeting annabeth’s watery gaze: “i’ve done a lot of things, banana, but associating with a cyclops isn’t one of them.” and then he’s gone. 

*****

the training room is already packed when you and katrina arrive. although a majority of the space is taken up by demigods, you can see some monsters hanging around the outskirts of the crowd. their presence is looming, much like their size, and you nervously adjust the bowstring strapped around your upper body. it feels like it’s choking you, a sensation only amplified by the lump in your throat. try as you might, you can’t seem to swallow it down, and it only worsens as other demigods focus their attention on you. while katrina leads you through the crowd towards chris, their whispers echo in your ears. it’s giving you deja vu. 

you blink, and you’re back at camp half-blood. the dining pavilion is silent as you walk behind luke, weaving in and out of tables to get to cabin eleven’s. they’re trying to be subtle, quiet even, but their voices are much louder than intended. not to mention, all their eyes are on you, making it fairly obvious who their target is. a young girl turns to her friend, whispering something in her ear while making direct eye contact with you. you hear every word. 

“and she gets to skip morning training for a pool day. like how is that fair?” an auburn haired girl whispers not-so-quietly to her friend. 

your gaze snaps towards her, lip curled in a sneer. her blue eyes widen when they meet your anger-filled irises. she takes in a shaky breath followed by a cautious step back. after giving her a once over, you recognize her as holland, a fifteen year old daughter of athena. 

luke’s hand grips your shoulder roughly, pulling you along before the situation can escalate despite your incessant protests that you can handle yourself and this girl. he’s not here to do that this time though.

“remind me again, holland, how many bullseyes you’ve hit? oh that’s right, none because you can’t even keep the arrows in the quiver, much less on target,” you ridicule. 

her eyes gloss over and bottom lip trembles, yet she still manages a comeback: “i’m just confused as to why luke’s girlfriend gets special privileges.” 

the silence in the room is loud. everyone was already eavesdropping, but now it’s blatantly clear; you can hear a pin drop. your nostrils flare at her words, and you straighten your spine. scanning over the crowd of demigods and monsters alike, all their eyes ask the same question: what’s your next move? 

“is that what you all think?” you ask rhetorically. 

“well, let’s put those theories to rest,” you continue, marching to the front of the room. 

silently, and with hundreds of eyes watching, you remove your bow from your shoulders. the quiver filled with a dozen arrows brushes against your right thigh as you remove one. the wooden shaft is light and pliable in your hands; if you weren’t so determined to make holland eat her words it’d probably be snapped in half. you load the arrow, inhaling as you pull back the string. on the exhale, you release; a perfect bullseye. 

“let’s see if i can beat holland’s record,” you taunt, already loading up for your second shot on the second target. 

it’s bullseye after bullseye, and the silence in the room only gets heavier with each shot. finally, you run out of arrows and targets. you turn on your heel, facing the crowd. it’s arrogant, but you bend over into a deep bow with your eyes focused on holland’s blue ones. 

“once you can do that, holland, you can skip morning training too,” and with that, you walk out the door. 

you barely make it three steps before someone stops you. it’s luke; you can tell by the way he holds your bicep, firm yet delicate, and the rough calluses on his palm. you shrug, easily wiggling out of his grasp. his eyes are burning a hole in your head, but you refuse to meet his gaze, keeping yours locked on the vast horizon. 

“what was that?” he asks, voice gruff. 

“your army is getting cocky. someone had to put them in check,” you snap, crossing your arms now. 

he scoffs, stepping beside you with his body turned so that he’s looking at you. he waits patiently for you to acknowledge him, but you don’t. the waves rippling out on the ocean are much more entertaining. 

“maybe they know they’re on the winning side,” he replies, voice oozing confidence. 

you’re silent. 

“and i think you need to remember that too,” he continues, walking away. 

“really? cause it feels a lot like camp. if i wanted to be judged, i would’ve just stayed there. i thought my boyfriend, camp half-blood’s golden boy, would understand,” you say. 

luke freezes, but he doesn’t turn around. “then go back there,” he mumbles, opening the door to the training room. 

you blink, registering his monotone voice and hurtful words. maybe i will, you think.

and yet, you still end up falling asleep next to him that night. whispering apologies to each other in between kisses and tangled limbs. 

*****   

percy promised himself that he would never see the princess andromeda again. turns out promises are meant to be broken. he thinks you might be starting to realize that too. 

“and poisoning thalia’s tree was just the beginning,” luke confirms, standing across from percy. 

sword at the ready, percy waits for luke to make the first move. his eyes flicker over to you, and he’s stunned by your confused expression. it’s clear that luke is the mastermind here, but percy always assumed it was more of a co-parenting situation with heavy emphasis on your involvement in the child’s — luke’s plans to restore the golden age — life. it appears, however, that he was wrong. 

“thwarted again luke. the golden fleece is already on its way back to camp. i guess clarisse can be good for something,” percy taunts, but he’s just buying time.

annabeth already has an iris message queued up, broadcasting his conversation with luke to the entirety of camp half-blood. percy’s sure that he’s never beating those seaweed brain allegations, not when he’s so obviously struggling to bait luke. yet, the older brunette clenches his jaw at percy’s words, anger flashing in his eyes. 

“kronos was right. i should’ve killed you when i had the chance,” luke yells, before going on offense. 

percy throws a quick, albeit sloppy, parry. luke grunts, and percy thinks that playing dodgeball with joe bob and his laistrygonian siblings at meriwether college prep really paid off. for one, it definitely made him stronger. and two, he was able to deal with all the chaos of the party ponies around him, much like he was able to win that final dodgeball game. 

in between percy fighting off luke, and the ponies demolishing anything in their sight, annabeth and grover get cornered. percy can see them, backs literally against a wall, as a hellhound growls in annabeth’s face. it’s not afraid of her dagger, and grover’s pipes aren’t doing anything to help the situation. percy turns, ready to jump in and leave his side quest with luke behind, (he’s sure there will be other opportunities), but he doesn’t need to. 

*****

you know it’s wrong. somebody from kronos’s army should not be protecting the so-called enemy, but you can’t help it. annabeth is the little sister you never had, and even if she doesn’t see you in that light anymore, you refuse to stand by and watch her get hurt. 

you whistle, and the hellhound fixes its beady red eyes on you. it probably expects you to run or cower in fear, but it only takes one swipe of your knife to turn him to golden ash. now, there’s nothing standing between the three of you. 

annabeth steps forward, her gray eyes cold and calculating as she tries to determine your ulterior motive. you never once break her stare, even though your chest is heaving, and you feel like passing out from all the new information you received today. 

“i swear i had no idea,” you say, voice breathless. 

annabeth’s gaze softens slightly, and you only know that because you know her so well. you can’t imagine that she believes you; you wouldn’t believe yourself. yet, there are only three people who have seen your true colors, the person buried underneath the mask of hera’s daughter, and annabeth is one of them. unlike grover, annabeth can detect the hurt in your voice. she sees the disappointment in your eyes, and that proves she can trust you. 

“leave with the ponies. i’ll make sure he doesn’t follow you,” you instruct. 

on her nod, you turn away, heading back into the craziness of the party ponies to stop a red boxing glove from punching out ethan nakamura. she pats grover’s shoulder, leading him towards a less congested area, and waits for their chance to slip out. 

true to your word, luke doesn’t follow them home.

taglist: @percabethlvr @iwantahockeyhimbo@hottiewifeyyyy @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @maraschinocherry3 @used2beeeeee @harrysnovia @cami-is-reading @mxtokko @cxcilla @obxstiles @dracoslovergirl @vanessa-rafesgirl @l1a-pjosversion @vikimontethegirlblogger

[bixbiboom]

Cover reveal for the upcoming Critical Role cookbook!

Check out all the Easter eggs hidden in that art, lol

Plus a sneak preview of one of the included recipes: De Rolos’ Revenge Pasta!

De Rolos’ Revenge Pasta

For generations, the traditional dish of the de Rolos, rulers of the city of Whitestone, was a warming pasta puttanesca. Then the Briarwoods took over the city, slaughtered all but two of the de Rolos, and reigned for years of gloom and terror. After the survivors, Percy and his sister Cassandra, reclaimed Whitestone with Vox Machina's help, some old traditions were bound to evolve. Now a new dish has been added to the celebratory rotation. The topping is white, like Percy's hair, rather than the red of blood, and the pasta contains two entire heads of garlic. Partake in good health and stinky breath. Unless you're a vampire, in which case: go straight to hell, and say hi to the Briarwoods for us.

PREP TIME: 10 minutes

COOK TIME: 20 minutes

Kosher salt

1 pound / 450g dried spaghetti

½ cup / 120ml extra-virgin olive oil, plus more for serving

20 garlic cloves, thinly sliced (about ½ cup / 100g)

½ teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes

Freshly ground black pepper

1 cup / 15g finely chopped fresh parsley leaves (from about 1 small bunch)

1½ cups / 360g whole milk ricotta cheese

Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a boil over high heat. Add the spaghetti and cook according to the package instructions, 9 to 12 minutes. Drain in a colander.

Heat the olive oil in the now-empty pot over medium heat. Add the garlic and red pepper flakes and cook, stirring often, until the garlic is very fragrant and soft, 2½ to 3½ minutes. Remove the pot from the heat and add the cooked spaghetti, 1 teaspoon of salt, ½ teaspoon of black pepper, and the parsley. Toss the pasta to evenly coat it with the infused oil.

Transfer the pasta onto serving plates and top each portion with a generous dollop of ricotta cheese. Drizzle with olive oil and finish with additional black pepper.

[drewtanakagf]

oh me? yeah no im not at all thinking about TLT and how clarisse and percy were both presented as having a (complex) relationship towards violence. im not at all thinking about the dynamic between clarisse and Percy, how clarisse started out as a bully then became a friend all bc they both share a commonality: being stuck in the cycle of violence. not AT ALL thinking about nature (clarisse) v nurture (percy) in how they deal with it on a day to day basis. how clarisse needed to feel powerful and please her father. how in som she practically covers before ares. how percy keeps his head down, a pot simmering until it screams and bubbles over. how the boiling is faster when its another person. how clarisse pushes her pain out and percy pushes it in.

mhm not at all.

[happyk44]

Percy walks through the forest at camp after the whole Labyrinth battle. Someone said Nico had disappeared into the trees a while ago. He hasn't emerged since. Percy is worried, of course he is. The kid has a habit of vanishing on him, and he just wants...

He wants Nico to be okay. To have a plan. A place to go. He doesn't have to stay if he doesn't want to, although Percy would much prefer his little cousin stay where he's easily accessible and Annabeth and Grover's eyes can watch him while Percy lives life in the city. But if he doesn't want to stay at camp, Percy wants him to know that he can always come to Percy if he needs help. Or really for anything.

As he walks through the trees, over torn grass and shattered rubble, it reminds him of nearly six months ago. The first time he looked for him. The realization of who he was. What he was.

The words Percy spoke that night. The promise he made.

He stills in the silence of the stars and bristling trees. The ground is solid, the air is chill, but something... Something is wrong. He can feel it like the pull of a tide. He pulls Riptide of his pocket, uncaps the pen, and steadies the sword in his hand. Another monster, still lurking?

The ground bursts beneath him. He jolted back as muddy hands claw their way out from the earth. Seconds later, Nico's head emerges with a quiet gasp. Percy's heart freezes in his chest.

Nico's face is smeared with dirt. It sits in clumps across his hair. There's a jagged cut, small and healing, just about his left brow. And there are tear-stained tracks across his cheeks that glisten in the moonlight.

He digs himself out a little further, then quietly grunts as he struggles to push himself out of the hole. Percy's heart beats again. Riptide slid into his pocket as he walks the two, three long strides back to Nico, and pulls him out with both hands.

He hiccups a little cry, but nothing else comes from his mouth. Percy lifts the edges of his shirt and cleans Nico's face off. He doesn't complain. But he does flinch at the start and Percy's heart crumbles rapidly.

"What happened?" he whispers when Nico's face is finally clean. His cut has fully healed by now, but Percy can't stop staring at the space where it once sat. It was too small, too delicate, for a monster's touch.

Nico sniffs. He won't look at Percy. "I'm the son of Hades." His voice is a cracking whisper. Like crumbling sand. "I belong underground."

They're words Percy knows Nico believes. He is made of darkness and death and dirt the same way Percy is made of salt water and floods and a chilling cold as you sink, sink, sink. But his tone is too flat. His voice is montone. He is reciting words spoken to him. Not words he thinks.

"Nico."

He flinches, curls his arms around himself. His jacket is a little torn. He fiddles with the ring on his finger. Then, with a shaky breath, "This isn't the first time campers have tried to bury my father's children, Percy."

He states it like a fact, something meaningless to him, but his voice hitches on "bury", and blinding rage as strong as the crash of waves against rocks courses through Percy's veins without hesitation.

"Someone tried to kill you."

Nico tugs at his ring. "I-"

"Someone," Percy repeats, "tried to kill you. Yes or no, Nico." Weakly, Nico nods. Percy bites back to the urge to punch the nearest object. "Look at me." Nico hesitates, then slowly brown eyes meet green. His eyes are wet and wide, desperate and miserable and resigned to fate. "Do you know who?"

He shakes his head. "I don't- I don't know their names."

Names. That cuts through Percy like a knife. He grits his teeth. "Would you recognize them?"

"I-" Nico swallows. Looks away. "Yes. But. Only one by face." He twitches nervously. "I would. I would know the others by their souls."

"That's a really cool power." Percy smiles, but he knows it doesn't quite reach his eyes. The rage is boiling, threatening to spill over the top of the pot. But Nico is shaking, and Percy needs him to know that there's nothing wrong with who he is. "What does my soul look like?"

Nico falters. Surprise sits in his eyes as he turns back to Percy. He watches Percy's face for a second or two. Then, "Green usually. Like a soft green. Feels like..." He closes his eyes. "A sea breeze on a warm day. The sand on your feet. Comfortable. But when you're fighting, it's like a storm. Harsh. Tastes bitter. Angry. Turns dark blue. Sort of gray." His eyes open and he whispers hoarsely, "Feels like a tsunami right now."

Percy gets it. He does feel like a tsunami. He's hit his crest and he's just waiting to fall, to inflict damage, to break, to shatter, to drown.

He doesn't fall though. Not yet.

"Can you take me to them?" he asks slowly.

Nico tugs at his fingers so hard Percy's surprised they don't dislocate. He wraps his hands around Nico's. Nico jerks and shakes. He opens his mouth but there's no sound. Percy squeezes his hands.

"I promised Bianca that I would make sure you were safe. And I told the fucking Fates that I would be the prophecy child so I could uphold that promise," he says and Nico's eyes go wider. He tries to speak but Percy cuts him off. "So tell me who tried to kill you, so I can make sure they never do that again. To you, or anyone else they deem unworthy of being here."

The ocean is not fair. That sits in Percy's gut like a curse. The ocean will swallow anyone whole. There is no worthiness. There is no separation. Everyone is the same.

Everyone can drown.

Nico stares for a while. Then slowly nods, and let's Percy pull him to his feet. They walk hand-in-hand out of the forest, Nico's steps timid and slow the closer they get to the light.

Percy gets it in a way. There were moments he would sink as far as he could go, and look up only to see darkness. And he would be comforted by it. The swimming towards the light, the sky, was always a little sad. It meant breaking out of his element. Meant leaving the ocean behind to stand on land and breathe in air.

Sometimes he wishes he could just drag the people he loves to the bottom of the ocean and never deal with anyone else again. He wonders if Nico wishes the same. He didn't die being buried alive. He is made of the underground. It doesn't kill him.

That's where those idiots went wrong.

Nico points them out with subtle fingers. They're separated from the other campers, milling about before the bonfire, before the sing-along. They're laughing and smiling. They are not ashamed of what they've done.

Percy grits his teeth and thinks bitterly, They will be.

[anticomedygarden]

for AI-less whumptober....

WHITE ROOM for alt list. If you wanna.

(literally any pairing bc I trust your ship judgment skills the maximum amount tbt)

😁 love it! no ships but i think you'll like this...i really hope

tw slight blood and gore, mentioned suicide

Luke Castellan and how he realized the fight he got wasn't the fight he wanted.

@ailesswhumptober ao3 link

-

Luke never meant for more demigods to be killed. It's actually the reason he started on this journey. No more dead kids. No more neglected kids. No more abused kids. Shouldn't be too hard, right?

Wrong. Turns out when both sides' main fighters are child soldiers, kids die, especially when their parents are deadbeat gods. Maybe that shoulda been obvious, but hey. When a mysterious all powerful voice tells you he can stop the murder of your people, sometimes you listen. Especially when your supposed 'all powerful' parents can't step off their thrones for two seconds to see if their kids are still kicking. Every side has its drawbacks. It just sucks that demigods are always the ones to pay the price.

-

It's around this time that Kronos starts taking major control of the mind. Luke has gone through the horrible ordeal of piecing Kronos out of Tartarus, nearly killing Percy (wow, another one), poisoning Thalia's tree, etc., etc., but now that the grisly parts are over, Kronos wants the mind and body all to himself.

It must have been a test. See how far he's willing to go for the cause. Well, apparently pretty damn far, for all the lies Kronos told him. Fatal tests of will just to pass inspection, like a car. Like Agamemnon. Like Odysseus. While he let Kronos hand pick his sacrifices. Like Artemis. Like Zeus. Like-

-

Annabeth is kidnapped. Bianca dies. The best of them, being held against her will. One of the newest, body lying broken in the gods' garbage while a 13 year old wonders how to tell her ten year old brother that his sister isn't coming back. The metaphor writes itself.

-

(Was Bianca killed by the infamous pettiness and laziness of the gods, or was she killed by a quest she was only on because of choices Luke made?)

-

Everyone keeps threatening Annabeth. If he could just get her to see, to see how terrible the gods are, that he is fighting for demigods and only demigods, that Kronos can help them-

-

"Is that what you want? To go back to your dad in triumph?"

He gets pushed off a cliff for his efforts, and Annabeth still goes back to Camp with Thalia and Percy.

It hurts.

-

Must these be their only two options? Death or losing their identities to a cause that was never about them? Losing their identities as they become soldiers? Gods, he hopes not. This can't have all been for nothing.

(In the back of his mind, he thinks there's another metaphor in there somewhere. He's traded a coffin for white room torture.)

Coffin for white room torture. Coffin for white room torture.

Coffin or white room torture.

Coffin or white room-

-

After Annabeth rejects him, there's not many options. He can't go back to Camp. He can't live on the run. He has no home. That's it. He's completely isolated. Kronos is all he has left.

It's a life of threats and ultimatums, impossible tasks and even worse commands. He bathes in the River Styx. It hurts. It always hurts.

Somehow, he knows: this is the beginning of the end.

-

The white walls are nearly constant now, and that's a new torture in and of itself. Every second he spends in here is another second Kronos is out there wreaking havoc with what was once Luke's body. The regret is over flowing now, too, boiling over the sides of the pot that is his mind, scorching the bright white and bringing color into his miserable life. His people are dead. His people are dying and it's the gods' faults. It's his fault. It's Kronos' fault. It's his fault. It's the goddamn system's fault for never changing.

It's his goddamn fault.

-

White walls.

Neon lights.

No shadows. Of all the things about the little room in Kronos' mind that Luke's been granted, he never thought the absence of shadows would be what bothered him most, but of course it's another fucking metaphor.

Nothing's real. Was it ever? This whole path started with a voice in his dreams. Who was he to decide between one dictator and the next? He's a husk of a person carved out to house a monster. His life is a joke. What's next? Will anyone even live to see it?

He's never getting out of the web of his own mistakes. His legacy is nothing. There's no hope, only the harsh white light of marching time.

His goddamn fault.

-

There's a voice in the cell. This hasn't happened in-

He doesn't know. Time isn't real.

It's Annabeth.

Annabeth-

It's Annabeth.

"Luke. I understand now. You have to trust me."

There wasn't a world in which he didn't trust her.

"Your mother. She saw your fate."

His - mother? Who-

May.

There's a brief flash in his mind's eye, blonde hair - no, white - peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, burned cookies. A bitter, bitter feeling. He can't tell if it's Annabeth's voice or the images or the feelings that choke him.

"Not the end, Luke. The prophecy - she saw what you would do. It applies to you!"

Annabeth's voice is so clear - so thick and heavy with tears - that he wishes he could reach out to her and wipe away all the sadness and hurt like he did when she was little.

But nothing can fix what he broke.

"You promised. You're holding Kronos back even now."

Was he? It sure as Hades didn't feel like it - but demigods were survivors.

Maybe this box was his preservation, not his prison.

He could pound on the walls, knock the blinding panels down. He could let the neon lights fall and shatter beneath his feet - he could get out. He could run from the filthy recesses of Kronos' mind and fucking fix something for once in hisgoddamn miserable, wasted life.

He is in the throne room. His father's chair sits nearby, with its rams' horns and gray rock and goatskin. It's almost enough to send him back to the box.

But beneath him is Annabeth, and she looks terrible. Just awful. Terrified of the sword that Kronos - no, Luke - has raised above her, ready to strike. Her knife is in her non broken hand. And not even as old as Luke was on his quest that started it all.

His goddamn fault.

Then she just has to deliver the exact words that will ruin him, tears and snot on her young, pale face, looking for all the world like that seven year old he found behind that dumpster all those years ago - except, it wasn't even a decade ago. How are they still so young?

"Family, Luke. You promised."

Even though he feels it, he doesn't think he actually shudders, but within moments, he is back in his own body, nearly out of practice, like steering with video game controls. "Promise," he whispers. Family. Someone else - Thalia. Dear gods, don't let her be dead.

He looks forward again, through his own blurry eyes, and sees red. "Annabeth, you're bleeding."

Finally within reach, he stumbles toward her, unsteady on unfamiliar feet. He's grown since he was last in control.

She doesn't shy away, just mumbles, "My knife." Her arm twitches, unable to lift against Kronos' power. "Percy, please."

Vaguely, he's aware of Percy knocking Backbiter out of his hands with Annabeth's dagger. So quickly, Kronos is back in power as just the son of the sea sends anger and panic bolting through him.

Luke's barely gone for any time at all this round, and he understands what he has to do. There is nothing else. "He's changing. Help. He's - he's almost ready. He won't need my body anymore. Please-"

Another flash, and the next thing he knows, he's on the ground, hands burning, smoking, pain pain pain that he doesn't feel. All he cares about now is the knife in Percy's hand and all the demigods he let down. "Please, Percy."

The boy in question staggers over to where Luke lays on the ground, and the blond nearly groans when he hesitates. "You can't...can't do it yourself," he warns, and trips through a couple of sentences that he hopes get his point across.

It doesn't matter; Percy still looks at Annabeth for her nod of approval in the end, and Luke mourns the loss of a life where he gets to tease them for that, his little sister and the other boy she clearly has wrapped around her finger in what is surely becoming a codependent relationship. Finally, he has the knife.

"Percy? Are you..." someone else nearby says. Luke doesn't have time to care about that, or to ruminate on all the ways he's screwed over the owner of that voice. He has to hit his weak spot before Kronos can take over again, and that's exactly what he does.

It hurts. Gods, it hurts so bad. He got to choose between the coffin and the white room and somehow he got both. Somehow, he dragged dozens of others with him just to send them to the coffin. He has so many regrets and only seconds to settle them all.

Annabeth's - Hal's, originally - knife in his hands, and Annabeth, Grover, and Percy surround him, barely able to stand yet still holding on. He coughs. "Good blade." He looks at Annabeth first. "You knew. I almost killed you, but you knew."

"Shh," Annabeth says immediately. "You were a hero at the end, Luke. You'll go to Elysium."

It's got to be a pipe dream, but he's also got to trust her. "Think...rebirth. Try for three times. Isles of the Blest." Maybe with two more tries, he'll finally get it right.

That makes Annabeth smile. "You always pushed yourself too hard." She presses her fingertips to his as he coughs blood.

"Did you love me?" he asks, surprising himself, even though it is a question that he would like answered before he dies.

"There was a time I thought...well I thought..." As she looks at Percy, it hits him that she thinks he means romantically, and he can't bear the idea that he allowed Kronos to twist his mind so far. "You were like a brother to me Luke, but I didn't love you."

That's all he needs to hear.

Just then, a wave of pain hits him, and he coughs more blood.

Grover - wonderful, kind Grover - says, "We can get ambrosia. We can-"

"Grover," Luke chokes out. There's no time for this, and more importantly, Luke can't bear to hear it. "You're the bravest satyr I ever knew. But no. There's no healing-" he coughs again, more blood flooding over his lips. He doesn't have much more time.

He turns to Percy, gripping his sleeve. "Ethan. Me. All the unclaimed. Don't let it happen again." Don't let the gods slip back into their bullshit while their children go dead and ignored. Don't let this vicious cycle start until both sides are destroyed. Give them better choices than the coffin or torture. If this is to be his legacy, he is damn well making it last.

"I won't," Percy agrees. Luke knew he would. He always saw how things should be. "I promise."

It's enough. It's a pact between a dying man and a boy with more power than anyone will ever know what to do with. It's a promise to protect their people. It's a promise to never let things get so bad that a child turns countless ruined childhoods, lost lives, and horrors into a near massacre of all the wrong people. It's enough.

I'm sorry, mom, Annabeth, Thalia, young me. I tried so hard, and I still got the coffin.

He takes one last look around, and he closes his eyes for the last time, no Kronos bubbling beneath his skin or gods watching his failures, just three people that somehow still believe in him. It's enough.

-

all dialogue goes to either the titan's curse or the last olympian

[moominvalley-state-of-mind]

so i love it when movies / tv shows are adapted in ways that arn't just like

live action or something

so heres the different styles I would make rrverse adaptations in (if i was in charge of them and had a giant budget)

Percy Jackson and the Olympians:

ghible / old disney

kinda youthful, fun

very expresive, would work well for percy's humor i think

Heroes of Olympus:

a mix of styles

like a tv show but each episode is a chapter

and each book is a season

and eatch episode is a diffrent stly to go along with the charicter's pov

Kane Cronicals:

paper stop motion

idk mutch about KC but from what i have read, I think that this would fit very well

the kinda sophisticated ness of it

mixed with the chaos that you can do

if done right

is kinda like carder and saidie ig

The Trials of Apollo:

spider verse / the michles vs the machines / scott pilgrim against the world

would work really well with a visulization of the music and poems lester/apollo dose

maby the amount that's used increases

as he regains his godly ness?

Magnus Chase:

a big boiling pot of stuff

each of the 9 worlds has a diffrent aesthedic?

a bit like the amazing world of gumball?

you can tell where a charicter is from because of there animation

please add on if you guys have any ideas!!!

i might expand on this idk

[wolfmage553]

Grog: Which one of you were going to tell me that tea tastes differently if you put it in hot water?

Vax: You were putting it in cold water?

Grog: ...

Pike: Grog, answer the question.

Grog: Scanlan told me that people put it in hot water to speed up the tea-ification process and I didn't know there was an actual reason.

Vex: *Looking at Scanlan* You don't have the patience to ask Tiberius to hold your cup for an hour?

Scanlan: Why are you using Tiberius to boil your tea?

Vex: Do you think I have the patience to boil water in a pot on a campfire?

Vax: It takes less than a minute!

Vex: Brother, do you think a campfire has the power of the sun?

Vax: How long does it take to boil a pot of water on a campfire?

Vex: Like seven minutes.

Vax: Just put your mug of water in the pot. It boils in like two minutes. Less than that if Tiberius already held it for a minute.

Vex: You're putting the mug in the pot? Is your mug enchanted?

Percy: Every single person sitting here beside myself and Tiberius are lunatics.

Tiberius: Do none of you own kettles?!

[bassguitarinablackt-shirt]

thanatos big naturals

[lillie98]

I had a Luke. They were my entire world and, like a frog in a boiling pot, I almost missed my opportunity to escape. They told me we were the same—they understood my pain—but when it came down to it, they were using me for their own benefit. It hurts because we were good…we were best friends, but then Backbiter came into the picture and they became too powerful. I’ve never opened up about it because it’s something incredibly personal that left a deep, festering scar on my soul. One I’m still learning to navigate. Unfortunately, there was no redemption arc in this story. My Luke jumped through the portal and never came back. Not that I need them to, I’ve found my own way in the world. I take their lessons with me and use them to fight my battles hoping, one day, I can save the next Percy from falling into Luke’s trap.

I love the way Luke and Percy’s relationship illustrates how young people fall victim to these toxic mindsets and how Neurodivergent people like Percy can fall into their traps without even realizing it. It happens so quickly and easily that, once you realize what’s happened, you feel like an idiot for ever trusting them. I’m so glad media isn’t shying away from these kinds of complicated and messy relationships and the effects they have on a developing, Neurodivergent mind. Your story isn’t over, Percy. You’ve already found your people. 🧡💙

[the-al-chemist]

The Lights That Never Go Out

Chapter 8: All The Things I’ve Always Missed

A/N: A heads up, we are going full on ‘When Harry Met Sally’ in this chapter. Sorry, Nora Ephron, but I’m having what you’re having. Written using @thethreebroomsticksfic’s Yule Bash prompt ‘Fireplace’.

Warnings: mentions of grief and canon character death.

25th December, 1998

Charlie and his brother and sister-in-law stood on the doorstep of the Burrow, waiting in the cold for someone to let them in. From outside, the house seemed almost quiet, but he knew that inside there would be a bustle of activity. There always was at this time of year.

The door in front of them swung open, and they were greeted by a waft of warm air that smelt of pine and roasting turkey, and the exuberant hugs of their mother, Molly.

“Merry Christmas, boys. And to you as well, Fleur.”

Molly’s arms opened to Charlie immediately after Bill, and as he returned her embrace, he looked at the kitchen behind her over her shoulder. The hob was covered in boiling pots, and piles of plates and crackers were stacked on the kitchen table. The walls of the room were covered in decorations that half-hid and half-distracted from the cracks in the plasterwork and missing paint that Charlie had yet to finish.

The Burrow was messier, more chaotic, and just as homely as he remembered it being.

Charlie’s mother frowned slightly before closing the door, and she turned to both of her eldest sons, confused. “Is Artemis not with you? I thought you were all coming up here together from yours.”

“That was the plan.” Bill strode across the kitchen and looked carefully at the cooking food as if inspecting it. “But her bed was empty this morning.”

As his mother’s eyes widened, Charlie removed his shoes with his back to her, not wanting her to see the disappointment on his face. He hadn’t told Artemis in words how much it meant to him that she be at his side today, but she had told him so solemnly that she would be there that he suspected that she realised. Maybe his suspicions had been wrong. After all, the two of them seemed to have lost their understanding of one another recently.

“Don’t look so worried, Mum,” Bill continued. “She went to the Three Broomsticks last night, chances are she’s probably still there, was too drunk to Apparate home. Charlie’s left her a note at ours so she’ll know to come straight here once she gets back.”

That wasn’t why Charlie had left the note. Artemis would know where they had gone, but he hated the idea of her returning to Shell Cottage on Christmas morning to find it empty, to find that they’d all left without her.

Bill’s reasoning may not have been strictly correct, but it stopped their mother from looking quite so concerned at the idea of Artemis’ absence.

“What is it with you all going out and getting so drunk on Christmas Eve, of all nights?” she asked, tutting quietly. “You know, Percy just sent his Patronus on to say that he and George are going to be late this morning. Apparently George went to the Leaky Cauldron last night with Lee Jordan and came back in a right state. They were supposed to be coming early to help lay the table, but it doesn’t sound like George will be much help to anyone today, from what Percy described.”

She spoke very quickly, the way she always did when she was anxious. Charlie got the idea that it had nothing to do with laying the table, but decided it was better not to ask her what was really bothering her. After all, he already knew the answer to that question. He shrugged.

“Is there anything Bill and I can do to make it easier?”

Charlie may have mainly been offering to help his mother in order to change the subject, but he was being genuine enough; he didn’t mind helping. Still, his offers were declined. With nothing for him to do, he made his way into the sitting room to join his youngest siblings.

He found them both on the floor; Ginny lying on the rug attempting to encourage a cat with long fur and a squashed-looking nose to play with a paper chain, while Ron sat playing chess with his friend Harry, his girlfriend reading a book in the chair behind him. The pine tree in the corner of the room was boasting an impressive pile of presents, and a fire was crackling in the hearth.

His face and heart warmed by the fire, Charlie took a seat in another one of the armchairs so that Bill and Fleur could stay together on the sofa. Ginny looked up at them all hopefully from the carpet.

“Is Artemis here not yet?” she asked. “Is she coming at all?”

Charlie shrugged. “Should be, unless she’s changed her mind since I spoke to her yesterday.”

It was possible. It might even be probable. Then again, Artemis had always had a tendency to be late. Hopefully, she would turn up in the next hour or so, though a part of Charlie was beginning to doubt that.

“Does she not like to spend Christmas with her own family?” said Hermione, her eyes lifting from the pages of her book for the first time since Charlie had entered the room. At her feet, Ron let out a quiet scoffing noise.

“Doubt it. Most of her family are a bit crap, aren’t they? That’s why she used to spend so much time ‘round here when Bill and Charlie were at school.” He used his wand to direct his bishop diagonally across the board before adding, “Bit like Harry, only Artemis never tried to get off with my sister.”

He had spoken in a low voice, his comment clearly meant for Harry’s ears, but not low enough. On Charlie’s other side, Ginny looked up and gave their brother a pointed and mischievous grin.

“Not yet,” she said, and she wriggled her eyebrows and pursed her lips. Ron pulled a face before his attention returned to his chessboard.

Charlie said nothing. Hoping that if any of the others noticed his cheeks growing pink, they would assume it was from the heat of the flames, he turned his face towards the fireplace. Hanging from the mantelpiece was a row of stockings, the ones he and his siblings used to open each Christmas morning during their childhoods. Now that they were all adults, the stockings were empty, but all seven of them were still there.

Despite the ransacking of the Burrow, the Weasleys’ Christmas stockings had fared better in the war than the children themselves.

There was the sound of a loud crack in the garden outside, shortly followed by a knock on the kitchen door and Charlie’s mother making an excited-sounding noise. Moments later, she and his father Arthur entered the sitting room with two more Weasleys in their wake: Percy and George.

“Wonderful,” Molly said. Her cheeks were flushed and her smile a little too wide. “Almost everyone is here. I think we are only missing…”

Her voice did not break, but she stopped speaking so quickly that the end of her sentence seemed to disappear entirely rather than tail off. Her smile fell from her face, and everyone else fell silent. The only sound that could be heard were those of the fire and Celestina Warbeck on the kitchen wireless.

They were missing a great deal. They were missing laughter, a pair of bright eyes, a lopsided grin. A son, a brother, a friend. Charlie struggled to take his eyes off the middle most stocking on the fireplace, the one that once would have been — the one that still should have been — Fred’s.

Of course, it wasn’t just Fred who was gone. It was Tonks, who had been the first friend Charlie had made at school. It was Lupin, Tonks’ husband and the father to her child who would now have to grow up without his parents. It was Moody, who Charlie had barely had more than one conversation with, but had been as fierce in battle as he had in loyalty. It was Dumbledore and Snape, and all the others whose lives had touched on theirs over the years, and countless more who they had never even met. It was George’s ear, Bill’s unscarred face, and Percy’s sense of self-worth. It was the inexpensive yet priceless family heirlooms and photo albums that they had been unable to recover in the wreckage of their home.

Right now, though, it was mainly Fred. From the missing stocking over the fireplace to the brother who was missing both an ear and his double. Every joke that wasn’t being made, every tear their parents tried to hide, each one was because Fred was gone.

Charlie looked to his father, who had one arm around his mother’s shoulders. He looked to Bill, who had Fleur’s hand resting on his knee. He looked to Percy and George, the former of whom patted the latter on the shoulder. He looked to Ron, reaching up to interlace his fingers with Hermione’s, and Ginny, returning the sad, sympathetic smile Harry was offering her. All Charlie had for comfort was the warmth of the flames in the fireplaces, which had all of a sudden become far too hot for his liking.

“Excuse me, I’ve got…” Charlie stood up. He cleared his throat. “Erm, bathroom.”

He did not need to go to the bathroom, he just needed to go, to get out of the room which was growing too small and crowded, too loud in spite of the quiet atmosphere. He needed to be alone, despite the fact that he couldn’t ever remember feeling quite as lonely as he did in that moment. So, instead of heading for the bathroom, he continued up to the very top of the house, to the attic, where he opened the window and stepped out onto the roof.

Sitting up here, his back against the warm stone of the chimney, he was completely out of sight, out of the reach of anyone. No one knew where he was, no one could find him, no one could demand anything of him. There were no brothers, dead or alive, no dragons, no one he could let down. There was just him, just Charlie, entirely alone in the world.

It was exactly how he had always liked it, but today, more so than ever before, his solitude felt more solemn than it did soothing.

He missed the way things had been in the past, before the war, when everything had felt simple and unfettered. He missed his brother. Right now, he missed Artemis, the assurance he had always felt in her presence, the mutual understanding they had always shared, or used to share. He had wondered time and time again what it might feel like to have her lips on his, but he would give back each one of their too-few kisses if only to get those things back again. He loved her, he had done for years, but she was his best friend first and foremost.

Perhaps that was why he loved her. It was certainly why he missed her so much. It was why he had always been there for her, and why it hurt so much that she wasn’t there for him today of all days, the day he needed her the most.

The midwinter sun was not yet at its zenith, and the morning air was crisp and cool. The sky was too vast and empty even for Charlie to continue looking at it, so he closed his eyes.

“Charlie?”

His eyelids snapped open at the sound of his name being called out. Unsure whether or not he had imagined it, he sat up straight and turned his head in the direction of the still-open attic window.

He hadn’t imagined it. Scrambling over the roof tiles towards him was Artemis, her hair more dishevelled than usual and her eyes dark and tired-looking. Charlie blinked twice.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to come after all,” he said as she reached him. Artemis opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it again without saying anything. Charlie shrugged. “How did you know I’d be up here?”

Artemis half-laughed. “Lucky guess?” She made an awkward humming sound. “No one knew where you were, so I…”

Her voice tailed off. Charlie nodded, not sure if he should speak or not. Artemis took a deep before continuing.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier. I know I should’ve been, but I decided to get the train back to London, and then I just started walking around and before I knew it it was morning already.”

“Wait, you’ve been up all night?” Charlie asked her.

“Yeah,” said Artemis. Her eyes were almost damp-looking. “I was thinking, and I couldn’t stop thinking because the more I thought the more confused I was, but also the more it made perfect sense. I mean, I don’t understand it, but it does make perfect sense. It makes so much sense that I don’t know how I always missed it before. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

Charlie didn’t know what she meant at all. He said nothing. Artemis bit her bottom lip.

“I think you know what I mean, because I think you’ve realised it, too. I think you realised it before I did, and I feel so stupid for not… for not noticing, and for not feeling the same way before, and for trying so hard not to feel it.” She screwed up her face. “I am saying it all wrong. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Charlie told her, not entirely sure what she was getting at, but Artemis shook her head, her eyes more tear-filled than ever. “You don’t need to be upset, whatever it is you—”

“I love you.”

His words died on his tongue in an instant, but his mouth remained half-open.

“I… I just love you,” Artemis repeated. Charlie was still unable to say anything. He watched her as she swallowed hard and blinked. “I don’t mean as just a friend, I mean that I really, really love you. And I don’t know when I started, I just know that I do.

“I love you because you’re kind and patient and brave. Because you never take shortcuts, and your hands are all rough, and you always manage to stay calm, even when you’re actually really panicking. Because you have dimples when you smile properly, and you knit me ugly socks every Christmas, and you make stupid infuriating jokes when I’m angry, and you’ve never let me down or not been there for me when I needed you, not even once.

“I love you because you understand me, and I understand you, and no one else understands either of us like that. Because you’re the best person I know, and you make me better just by being with you. I love you because you’re good, and because you’re you, and because I don’t how you do it, but you feel like home and freedom, both at the same time.”

Artemis��� tears had begun to fall from her eyes. Every word that passed from her lips echoed, dreamlike, in Charlie’s head. They intermingled with his own thoughts, which were chasing one another around his brain so fast that he couldn’t catch hold of a single one.

“For Godric’s sake, Charlie, can you just say something, please?”

Charlie opened his mouth and closed it again, twice. No sound came out either time. His eyebrows furrowed, and he took a deep breath before he found himself capable of speech.

“You think my socks are ugly?”

For some reason, that was the first thing he could think of to say. Artemis gave a little sniff and almost giggled.

“Yeah, they’re really ugly,” she said. “That’s why I like them.”

“Right.” Charlie breathed. “Right. Yeah. Yeah, that’s how I feel about you, as well.”

“What, I’m ugly and that’s why you like me?”

“No!” said Charlie. “No, I meant the whole ‘feeling like home’ thing. Sorry, I…” His voice caught in his throat, and he had to cough to clear it. He smiled at Artemis. “What I mean is that I love you, too.”

“In the same way, or—”

“In all the ways. I love you in any way you can think of, and probably more. In every single way a person can be loved, I love you.”

There was nothing more Charlie had to say. Anything else he could possibly say had already said by Artemis. She hadn’t missed a single point.

“You happy with that?” he asked. The smile on Artemis’ face was all the response he needed, but still he felt a wave of relief wash over him as she nodded her head.

“That’ll do for me,” she said quietly. There was a pause, one that felt distinctly less awkward than any that had passed between them in the previous week. “So, now what do we do?”

Charlie considered her question. His answer came quickly and easily. There was one thing he wanted to do more than anything else in the world.

“I’d like to sit here for a while and just be with my best friend,” he told Artemis. “Is that alright with you?”

“More than alright.”

His heart both full and light, Charlie shuffled over so that there was room for Artemis to sit beside him. Behind them, the warmth that rose up the chimney from the fireplace in the living room, where the rest of his family were gathered without them, completely unaware of where they were or what anything that had been said. He looked down and saw that Artemis’ hand rested so close to his that their smallest fingers were only just touching.

“May I?”

With Artemis’ nod of assent, he took her hand in his own, fingers laced. Without even thinking about it, he raised their linked hands to his lips and kissed her wrist. Artemis smiled at him, and rested her head on his shoulder, a gentle weight that seemed to displace all of the rest of the world.

The rest of the world didn’t matter, not for these few moments, not right now. For now, it would just be Charlie and Artemis, just being, together hand-in-hand beneath the great expanse of sky.

[ravendruid]

#6 from the fluff prompts, with perc’ahlia?

[Hi anon. Sorry this took so long. I hope you like it!] The one who usually doesn't get sick gets sick.

Percy doesn’t usually sleep early, not when most nights are assaulted by nightmares and others by insomnia. Because of this, finding him in the kitchen boiling water is not a rare occurrence. Although he usually has the faded green tin of brown grounds next to him, ready to scoop spoon after spoon into the royal-purple mug, tonight he has a soft salmon-colored ceramic jar with herbs and flowers, a tea given to him by Keyleth as a wedding gift. He hums a quiet melody as he tumbles his fingers on the white marbled stone of the countertop, looking at the dark window with unfocused eyes so he doesn’t see his reflection in the black pane. The paleness of his skin is such a high contrast that one could easily consider him a ghost. 

As usual, the man’s mind is full of ideas, sketches, a tinkering to-do list for the next morning, worries and memories. He jumps from one to the other like a frog jumping on lily pads in a pond, some bringing him happiness, some concern, others sadness. It’s rare that he sits still to think nowadays, opting to busy himself with tinkering, paperwork, or, more often than everything else, his darling wife, whose stomach grows visibility every month. He snorts as the kettle’s whistle calls him back to the material world. Here he is, in his twenties, living a life he never thought he deserved: married to an amazingly beautiful and smart woman with his firstborn child on the way. 

Percy doesn’t dwell further on that feeling. Vex’ahlia needs him tonight, and he has no desire to let her wait more than she has to. A wave of sickness has been traveling through the castle, from server to server, and from all people, Vex, the epitome of health, had to be the one getting sick, as if being pregnant isn’t already bad enough. Like the kind-hearted man his parents taught him to be—Percy snickers again at the thought of a younger Percival considering himself a kind man—he trades the workshop for his bed chambers, his tools for the chamber pot, and the coffee at late hours of the evening for a calming tea.

“Vex’ahlia,” Percy calls softly in case his wife has finally fallen asleep. 

“Hm?”

Vex turns in bed, the damp sheets sticking to the swell of her stomach and breasts—much to his delight, Percy noticed one did not come without the other. She looks radiant still. Even with her dark hair falling off her braid, the dark circles growing larger underneath her eyes, and the beads of sweat that trickle down her neck to her exposed shoulders. Percy swallows hard, trying to focus on the task at hand.

“I brought you some tea. It should help you sleep, dear.”

“Thank you, darling.”

Percy notices Vex has more color to her cheeks than she had that morning. Her eyes are more focused as she takes the hot mug, twinkling under the candlelight on her nightstand. Percy raises his hand, slowly and carefully, giving Vex the opportunity to reject him, but she doesn’t—she never does—and he brushes his thumb along the apple of her cheeks as she slowly sips on her steaming herbal tea. She hums happily at the liquid that burns in her throat as her eyes crinkle up in a smile.

“I could get used to this,” Vex’ahlia must definitely be feeling better because her smugness is back. “Being pampered and taken care of.”

Percy snorts, shaking his head in disbelief, “Dear, don’t I already pamper you enough?” He places a hand on her belly as if it helps make a point. Vex throws her head back with a laugh and nods. Her hand comes to meet his on the swell, and she leans in to press a soft, chaste kiss to his cheek—not his lips, lest he fall sick next.

“Yeah, you do, dear. More than you should.”

[glitchdollmemoria]

tumblr user glitchdollmemoria is a samefooder! its safe food is broccoli and rice AND ITS SHARING THE RECIPE MOTHERFUCKERS

[legal disclaimer: im a broke autistic cunt who was not taught many life skills as a teenager and is now learning to cook through trial and error and page 1 of google]

Obligatory Unrelated Pre-Recipe Storytime:

when i was a child my mother bought me the first percy jackson book and i read it like a starving dog devouring meat scraps from a mcdonalds dumpster. i then tried to check out the second book from my school library, but the librarian told me my mother had told her not to let me check it out. i was very confused and hurt, but quickly found out this was only because she was planning on buying me a hardcover box set of the entire series.

Ingrediences:

broccoli florets

jasmine rice

garlic powder

dried minced onion

kosher salt

soy sauce

teriyaki glaze

vegetable oil (or other oil of choice)

Steps For Proletariat Rice (no rice cooker available):

rice goes in pot water goes in rice. jasmine rice is softer than standard white rice so you dont need as much water. i think the article i read said to use 1 and 1/4 cups of water per 1 cup of rice, but i cant find that article again, and i estimate water amounts by eyeballing it based on how much rice im cooking and where the water comes up on my pinky finger. i could not begin to explain my methods, so please follow your heart, or a better recipe writer

start by bringing the contents of the pot to a boil without a lid

once the water is bubbling, change the heat to the lowest temperature and put a lid on that thang. monitor the rice because i dont have an accurate internal clock and dont know how long it takes for my rice to cook. all rice dishes are unique individuals and you have to meet them where theyre at

rice is done

Steps For Delicious Broccoli:

put some oil in a frying pan. the amount of oil you use will determine the texture of the broccoli, less for crisper broc, more for soggier broc. follow the mouthfeel. experiment with it

broccoli goes in the oily frying pan

shake garlic powder, onion bits, and salt on those veggies. you want them FLAVORFUL so do not be shy. just watch out for the hubris (adding too much and becoming overwhelmed by garlic). mix your broc to disperse seasonings

fry those tasty morsels at medium-low heat, i usually go with about a 3 on my stove. LET THEM SIT. LET THEM REST. you want them to get a little itty bit charred for maximum yummy crunchiness. occasionally flip them around in the pan to allow other sides to become charred as well, or else theyll feel left out. once again follow the mouthfeel to decide when theyre ready. i dont generally put a lid over the broccoli as it fries because that results in them being steamed -> extra soggy texture

broccoli done

Bring That Shit Together:

serve broccoli on a bed of rice and top with both soy sauce and a generous drizzle of teriyaki glaze. mix it to spread the sauce joy evenly. dont burn your mouth. love you

[yonemurishiroku]

You mentioned having a bias against Percy. Can you talk more about the things you dislike about him? I'm not stirring the pot,I swear! (not on the Styx,tho)

Lol it's totally okay!! xD That pot would boil without you stirring anyway...

In my defense - actually not - I'm petty and a menace to society.

You can find the explanation here!