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number-onekidqueen · 10 months ago

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The Seven Times Luke Castellan Said 'I Love You'

Luke Castellan x Apollo!fem!reader

Pure angst.

3.7k words

Warnings: death, injury, insecurities, bad parenting, spoilers for Percy Jackson book series.

One.

Luke must’ve been four the first time he ever said those three words.

He’d been at preschool, and it was the second week. He’d missed mommy. He felt different to all the other kids, and there were all these really scary faces that kept popping out of bushes that no one else could see. His mommy had picked him up early when the preschool called, and taken him home to a surprise. She’d baked his favourite: choc chip cookies, and he was even allowed to drink Kool-Aid too!

“I love you, mommy!!” He’d mumbled, while he stuffed his little mouth with the baked goods, in a sugary daze.

It made him feel so much better, knowing at least he had mommy to always come home to and rely on.

If only that had been true.

Two.

He was 9 when he said that sentence for the second time.

Mom wasn’t there for him anymore.

He was scared to go to school and leave her alone, because every time he got home, she would be insane. It’s like she wasn’t there with him anymore.

She would scream so loud and her eyes would be bright green, and she’d shake him and cry, wailing about how he was going to die. Usually it would make him so disturbed he’d run into his bedroom and lock the door, hoping she wouldn’t follow.

She always did.

It was when she started to pound on his door, begging him to come out, that he’d begin to sob, shaking in fright.

He’d pray and pray to his dad in desperate tears, asking and asking him to bless his mom, to free her from this curse and to make her better again. It didn’t ever stop.

She’d still make cookies, sometimes, but she’d forget about them and leave them in for so long they’d always be burnt to cinders. She’d serve Kool-Aid too, but he’d grown out of it.

Eventually, he couldn’t stand it anymore. His mom wasn’t getting better, but worse. Her fits were getting more frequent, and Luke’s dad wasn’t doing anything to help him.

Luke couldn’t stay here a second longer.

“I love you, mum,” he whispered to her curled figure on the couch, a full backpack on his shoulder and all his childhood allowance in his pockets as he softly closed the door.

He knew they’d be better off without each other.

Three.

Luke was fourteen when he said that phrase for the third time.

He’d finally found his family.

Sure, it hurt to think of his mother, all alone in his old house, but he had two amazing, brave and funny sisters to make up for that.

Until he didn’t.

It was all such a blur.

One second, they’d just been meeting some satyr by the name of Grover, who claimed to be their protector, a safeguard back to a camp for kids like them.

They’d been on the journey, he, Thalia, Annabeth, wondering what it would be like when they got there, what would happen.

And then the cyclops had struck.

It had all gone too quickly from there. They’d been running madly, tripping through the forest scrub, their hearts pumping, their adrenaline pulsing, Grover yelling that the entrance to camp wasn’t far, that they’d be safe there and to keep going.

The cyclops was still gaining on them, and Luke was starting to feel an awful sense of dread.

Then Thalia - brave, amazing, stupid Thalia - had volunteered to fight the monster. She’d told them to run ahead, that she had the sucker and would be right behind them.

And Luke was scared and thinking of Annabeth and safety, and he agreed, he kept running.

He left her.

His sister.

He swore he blinked once, and then she was dying, crumpled on the dirt, bleeding out and groaning in pain, camp only an ironic few metres away.

None of them even had time to reach out a hand to help her before she turned golden, vanished into a great big pine tree.

Gone forever before he could say goodbye.

“I love you, Thalia,” he whispered that night, not caring that he was breaking curfew rules, getting too close to the dangerous outskirts of camp.

Not caring he was using present tense. He refused to say ‘loved.’

Because he would love Thalia forever.

Four

Luke was sixteen the fourth time he uttered those words.

After all his life he was finally at home.

He’d grown accustomed and comfortable with camp, accepting it as his home. Even though sometimes it was weird to be at a summer camp all year round, he found happiness in his new place, trying to forget about the bad things. Thalia. His mother.

He’d found peace in routine, and confidence. Chiron said he was becoming what would be the best swordsman Camp Half-Blood had seen in 300 years.

There were his friends and siblings. He had Chris and the Stolls, and all the other Hermes kids that made his cabin rowdy and feel homelike.

Then there was y/n, probably his best friend, an Apollo girl who’d healed him immediately after he got to camp and had been there for him since.

There were heaps of activities to keep him busy. Training. Capture the flag. Parties, when he was old enough.

It had been the second of one of the post-curfew parties Luke had been to, and he admitted he had drank too much. Far too much.

Things had got out of hand when an Ares boy had insulted you, someone who was lovely to everyone. He couldn’t really even remember what the boy had said, only that it enraged him and he’d only seen red after that.

It all sort of went downhill from there. He’d thrown a punch, received one, and the rest was a sweaty and jagged dance of thrown limbs.

And now he was here, replaying the events in his mind, sat on the bathroom floor of the Apollo cabin, you kneeling over him with a warm cloth. His fists clenched at the thought of that stupid boy again.

“Luke,” you whispered, and the thoughts disappeared. “Look at me so I can fix you up.”

He didn’t have to be asked twice. It gave him an excuse to openly stare at you. In this dim light, you were gorgeous. Your skin seemed to glow golden from within, which mirrored the bright warmth of your eyes, and the radiance of your hair that framed your face. It was bittersweet, making him happy yet sick with longing, especially in his drunken state, to think of how you weren’t his. I want you, he wanted to whisper. He nearly did.

“Thank you. You’re so good.” He said instead.

“I don’t know about that, but always. That’s what best friends are for,” you reassured, smiling.

His heart sank. He didn’t want you like a best friend. He wanted you to want him like he wanted you.

“Yeah,” he said offhandedly.

There was a long pause. Your touch was soft on the cuts all over him, and although it stung, it was worth it. It was finished all too soon except-

“I’m still hurt,” he tried to explain, but the words wouldn’t form, “like, my chest.”

“He got you there too? Through your shirt?”

“Yeah. Little sucker had a pocketknife and everything.”

“Ok,” you replied. The room stayed silent. Suddenly, he was confused.

“Um-“

“Yeah, sorry, I just zoned out, um-“

Your hands reached for him almost… shyly. Could it be possible that you were overthinking seeing him like this, flustered, also thinking about him like he was about you? It drew a grin to his face. He decided to play with you.

“You don’t have to treat me that delicately. I promise it doesn’t hurt that much.”

You gave a nervous laugh, your hands moving slightly faster as he lifted his arms.

And then it was time to gauge your reaction. Your eyes were certainly not on him, but his chest, and it almost seemed your cheeks had transitioned from golden to rosy. His grin turned into a smirk.

“I gather that stare is either in reaction to my amazing abs or really bad cut. Either way, take it all in,” he teased. It occurred to him later he would never have said anything remotely like this if he was sober.

“Haha, Castellan,” you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes and continuing your job. But you were smiling.

Your features were even softer closer up. It took his breath away, and he couldn’t help the words that next escaped from the confines of his heart.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You froze, midway through finishing dabbing a cut. Your eyes looked up at his, his earnest, vulnerable irises. And then you looked down at his lips. And dropping the cloth, you took his face into your hands and kissed him. It was the most exhilarating, fantastic five seconds of his life. And then you pulled away, stepping back.

“There you go. That’s probably all you wanted, since you’re drunk. You’re-you’re healed now.” You stuttered out.

And he wanted to chase you, have another kiss, try to create a proper response to that, to why he loved you, but you’d ran away from him, and he didn’t want to be snooping through someone else’s cabin, even in his state.

He was left reeling in the moonlight, stumbling back to his cabin before the harpies found him. Once he was between the sheets, his mind muddled, he found it easy to fall asleep, the image and feel of you still in his mind.

He woke up the next day, baffled that his mind could come up with a dream so lifelike. Even mad that maybe a Hypnos kid has taken note of his crush and decided to create a dream like that as a prank. What assholes.

Because you would never kiss someone like him, he knew that.

Like ever.

Five

Luke was seventeen the fifth time he said that statement.

He hadn’t known things could get so much worse.

His father, finally acknowledging him after his claiming, had sent him on a quest. Sure, it was a reused quest from Heracles, but Luke knew just how glorified and contested quests were, and so he accepted happily, choosing two of the older and more experienced campers to assist him in retrieving the golden apples from the dragon.

You were a bit offended that he hadn’t chose you, and he had no explanation that he could offer you, save for a confession. It made for a parting laced with bitterness.

The quest started off fine, and they got to their destination smoothly, but it quickly went downhill from there.

Once they were in the garden, almost immediately the dragon was alerted of their presence. It began to attack, using quick, violent manoeuvres that were hard to keep up with for even the most experienced.

Too hard for one of his quest mates, who became food for the monster’s jaws. It was a sickening, gruesome sight that Luke could never wipe from his mind.

The other quest mate became injured soon after that, and then it was Luke on his own.

At that point, even he knew the quest was lost. He was just defending himself and trying to get out alive. And so he did, with a painful scar from eye to chin as a marking of his forever defeat against the dragon.

He returned as a failure.

He was wounded, with a permanent and ugly physical memory, one of his quest mates was dead, the other also mortally wounded, and their fingers hadn’t even grazed the golden flesh of the apples. He couldn’t even finish an already done quest.

Worse was the pity.

The moment he stepped past Thalia’s tree and into camp, all he received was pity. Quiet voices, soft glances, stopped conversations, permits, excuses.

It was as if he were the dragon, and they were afraid that if they did not tread lightly he may begin roaring flames at them.

He never did.

Just like y/n never treated him with pity.

Your eyes were objective, calculating as they surveyed his wounds. Of course your words were soft, but they always were, with your perfect bedside manner. In those moments where you treated him normally, he couldn’t appreciate you more.

Worst of all probably were the nightmares. He had one awful recurring one: he’d be back in that hellish garden, the dying screams of his dead quest mate and the roaring of the dragon in his ears, the adrenaline and chase all through him, and then every camper he’d ever known would appear, surround him and shake their heads, looking at him in pity and knowing he was a failure. They would chant it, and pelt burning rocks at him, and he would run, run, run, but he could never escape it.

He couldn’t bear it one hot late July night, and slipped away under the stars. He was always calmer there, where he could put himself and his feelings into perspective.

And that’s where y/n had found him, sitting on the dew-soaked grass with his knees loosely curled to his chest.

You didn’t say anything in the beginning, just sat there beside him, breathing, stargazing too.

“I’ve seen you come out here, every night this week.” You stated, finally looking over at him. “Are the nightmares that bad?”

He nodded, gulping down the fear and tears that submerged at the thought.

“You should’ve come to me, you know we have dreamless tonic at the infirmary-“

“Yeah I know. But I deserve it, don’t I?” He asked bitterly, turning to you, “I failed and so I get to live with the consequences. The nightmares.”

“No. No, of course not. You don’t have to face consequences-“

“But I do already, don’t I? I feel like I’m not even the same at all, like I’ll never be the same again. I’ve got this stupid, disgusting scar,” he spat, jabbing at his face, “as this reminder and I’ve got to live knowing I wasn’t ever good enough to succeed and my failure led to someone’s death.”

There was silence for a while, where you gazed at him, at his eyes.

“Stop blaming yourself,” you said softly, “I won’t let you.”

“I can’t help it though,” he whispered, voice cracking, “after training for so long and everyone telling me I’m the best swordsman, I couldn’t save someone, could barely defend myself. And now they’re dead, because of me. And every time I try and forget it- I look in the mirror and see this-this scar and-“

You scooted closer, and one of your hands laid over his.

“Your scar isn’t a symbol of failure. It should never be. It means you’re brave, that you survived that dragon-“ you reached for his face, and so, so gently began to run your index finger down his scar, “-that you’ve overcome all that horror and emerged stronger.”

You cupped his cheek after you finished tracing. His heart was racing.

“And you’re still the same to me. You’re still smart, funny, brave, handsome, strong. You’re still you. Don’t let anyone take that away.”

Your hand slowly drew away from his face, but he caught it, keeping you there.

And he stared.

Stared at this beautiful, golden girl who was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He could only think of three words.

“I love you,” he whispered to you, and he slowly leaned in.

You kissed, his hands in your silky hair and yours on his strong back, and this was the most effective healing Luke had ever had.

He knew at this moment that the best he would ever be was with you.

And that would be always, he hoped.

Six.

Luke was nineteen the next time he spoke from his heart.

Things were finally getting better, but they had a long way to go. Luke would be there to see the good change come through.

Camp was normal. Demigods died, demigods lived. They got claimed, their parents ignored them for months or years. They would train for quests, row, sing at camp fires. He would teach sword classes, rowing, and in his spare time he and y/n would go to their secret spot at the lake and…. Spend some time together in private.

Flustered and a little ruffled they would return to have dinner, stargaze, play wild games of Capture the Flag.

Luke was happy enough. But he didn’t know how long this would last, this calm joy.

He couldn’t live like this, waiting in fear for the other shoe to drop with no help from his dad and the other gods.

He’d made his decisions, laid his plans, and now he waited. Waited.

Tangled in your arms, he traced shapes on your hands as you played with his hair. It was a warm environment, like the home he never had.

The nightmares never really left Luke. Well, unless you were with him.

It was many a night, after curfew, when snores were in the air that he would sneak into your cabin and join you (There were too many people in Hermes cabin for the alternative to ever happen).

And there in your bed he would stay. Sometimes you would talk. Sometimes you would make out. And sometimes you would have quiet times like this, all of each other intertwined as you were lost in comforting thoughts.

Well, you were.

Luke was lost in guilt and impossible choices. He never wanted to leave you, be apart from you. He didn’t know how he’d live without seeing you, hearing your voice. And he hated to leave you like this. But he knew you would never join him. Apollo hadn’t been great, but he hadn’t been terrible and he knew his plans would scare you. He wanted the best for half bloods. This was the only way he could think of. When he came back, surely you would understand.

“You’re so quiet,” you mumbled, from your place under his chin. “What’s wrong?”

“You know what I was thinking about?” And he made up some deep philosophical thought that the two of you quietly discussed and argued about for the next little while, the conversation drifting to other topics before you got drowsy.

“Good night,” you murmured, lifting your face to kiss his nose, scar and lips softly. You returned your head to its place, your warm lips in a smile against his neck, “see you in the morning.”

His stomach plunged, and he felt sick with guilt. He reached over for you, drawing you in for a long, passionate kiss. You, still half asleep, confusedly frowned, but settled back into him with a grin on your face. It was a goodbye, but you didn’t know that.

“I love you,” he breathed, while you fell asleep, and he swore he saw your lips turn upwards. You succumbed to sleep quickly, and it made it simple to softly slip away, escape from you.

As he passed Thalia’s tree, he turned back to look at the cabins, your cabin.

He’d run away once from a home, and it had hurt him. But it had been worth it in the end, and he didn’t regret it.

It hurt running away from this home. Was it worth leaving if it tore his heart into two? He supposed only time would tell. Fitting, giving who his new master was.

——————

And that was the last time Luke ever said I love you.

Well, there was once more.

——————————

Seven.

He didn’t know how old he was when he said that small sentence for the final time.

All he knew was he obeyed Kronos and that the gods had to be slain.

The city at least was familiar. A deep, small part of him felt almost… scared and upset that this city was being damaged.

Oh, and the people. There was a boy he hated, who was powerful and threatening. And a girl with him, who he should hate but he seemed to, well, not.

It had all unfolded so suddenly, the defeat, and suddenly he remembered bits and pieces.

He’d betrayed camp half blood, the only home that he had known, but only so the gods would pay attention to them, be better parents. But what he was doing now wasn’t what he had wanted. Not at all.

He supposed it was an easy decision to make when the boy - ….. Percy - told him to stab himself in the armpit.

He did and finally, in the deadly silence, he was himself again. He was Luke Castellan. A demigod, a child of Hermes. A lot of other things.

For a moment all he could see was the blonde girl whose name he couldn’t remember, that stared at him as he began to writhe in pain. The same blonde girl he couldn’t seem to hate, who he seemed to be soft for.

A lot of other faces stared too, who seemed to be familiar to him but he couldn’t place.

And then there was screaming. Loud, pained screams and running footsteps and a panic rose inside of him. He knew that scream, although he’d rarely heard it.

And there was you, y/n. A face and voice he instantly knew, that he would remember half-dead, which ironically reflected the place he was in now.

You were as beautiful as he remembered, even now, your face contorted, grimy, tears streaming, your hair a sweaty mess.

“No, I can heal him, I can heal him.” You sobbed, kneeling beside him and trying to staunch the bleeding which he could oddly not feel.

He hated seeing you like this. So sad, hurt, in pain. Knowing there was nothing he could do to improve it made it even worse.

He reached for your hand, squeezing it and attempting a weak smile. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, “I’m sorry for everything I ever did to you, because you never deserved it. And-“ he coughed, dust in his lungs.

“I love you.” He said, loud and clear for the world to hear. He wanted to say more, but his chest was weak.

It was only them for that moment. You dove in and kissed him, just as passionately as he had that final night. It took his breath away, and he found himself grinning, joyous, at peace.

It was a goodbye, but he didn’t know that.

#luke castellan #pjo #pjo series #luke castellan x reader #pjo show luke #luke castellan x you #pjo spoilers #percy jackson series #pjo tv show #pjo series luke #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fic #luke castellan angst #luke castellan oneshot #luke castellan imagine #you're welcome #I hurt myself writing this #i may release some more oneshots who knows #requests open

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vioartemis · 1 year ago

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I love her so much... (part 2 [au])

(Jenna Ortega x fem! reader)

Summary: What if Jenna had followed you that night, and tried to hold you back? Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 2 [au] Warnings: angst (just a little bit I swear) (English isn't my first language, I'm sorry if there are mistakes or if something doesn't make sense TvT)

Emma waited until your sobs stopped to take a step back and lead you to her car. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying that much.

"Where are we going...?"

"To my apartment. I'm not letting you alone after this"

"Y/n, wait...!"

Jenna's voice made you freeze just as you were about to get in Emma's car. You turned around slowly, trying to hold back your tears.

"I'm sorry...! I'm so sorry, for everything! I love you more than anything...I'm sorry I've been neglecting you lately... work had been overwhelming for everyone, and Percy asked me to help him- I'm not trying to find myself excuses...! I- I should have talked to you about it instead of keeping it all to myself... I'm sorry Y/n..."

She seemed genuinely sorry. You wanted to give ger a second chance, you really did. But the little voice in your head was telling you that she might hurt you again.

Taking your silence as a negative reaction, she started to walk away. Your heart ached at the sight, and you found yourself taking a step forward, almost instinctively.

"Go." Emma told you "Follow her"

You look at your friend and nodded.

"Thank you. For everything" you said with a grateful smile, before running after the brunette

"Jenna!"

She froze, not certain she really heard you call her, and turned around hesitantly, eyes full of hope when you stopped in front of her.

"I... I don't want it to stop... us, I mean"

"Are you.... are you giving me a second chance...? Y-you still love me, even after what I did...?"

"Of course I still love you..." you reassured her "Now let's go home, hm...?"

"Wait I- here..." she started, handing you the box you gave her earlier "I don't deserve it..."

"Jenna-"

"No, Y/n... I- I've been such a bad girlfriend, I don't deserve any gift... But I promise I'll get better, to be worth your love..."

You stayed silent for a second, before nodding and taking the box. Your fingers brushed over hers.

"We can go now" she said quietly

You nodded again, and you both walked back to your shared apartment.

Once you got there, you got ready to go to bed. You had put on your pajamas, and slipped under the covers, soon followed by Jenna. She stayed on her side of the bed, not sure you would want her close.

That caused your lips to curl up slightly, touched by her thoughtfulness, and you moved closer to her, snuggling in her arms. It was the first time in weeks that you really slept together, in each other's arms.

It had been so long that you melted in her embrace. Her arms felt so nice around you, her perfume invading your nostrils felt so right, and so did her whole body pressed against yours.

It didn't take you long to fall asleep, a smile on your face.

At the sight of your sleeping figure, Jenna felt a wave of relief wash over her; she was afraid she'd never get to see you like that again.

"I missed you, I'm sorry..." she whispered, placing a soft kiss on your forehead "I love you..."

<><><><> ♡ <><><><>

A few months had passed since that night, and everything was back to normal. Your relationship with Jenna was doing better; she was here - as much as her job allowed her - and she was doing her best to show you how much she loved you, how much she cared for you.

Tonight, you were supposed to have dinner together at 8. It was now 11, and she was still not here. You had texted her, called her, but didn't get any answer.

Your stomach flipped at the thought of things turning out like it did months ago. You couldn't do it again.

You decided to wait for her, determined to talk to her, and when she finally arrived - around 1am - you sat up in your shared bed. You waited for her to enter the room; she seemed surprised to see you were still awake.

"I thought we would spend the night together..." you said "What happened?"

"... Nothing" she replied, shaking her head

"No, it's not nothing. I called you, I texted you... you're doing it again, Jenna..."

The look in your eyes made her realize she fucked up again. Her worst fear was becoming real, again.

"I- it's just..." she sighed "I'm a bit overwhelmed... with work, with the responsibilities, with Percy..."

At the sight of tears forming in her eyes, you took her hand in yours.

"I'm here for you, you can vent if you need to..." you gave her hand a reassuring squeeze

"It's just... there always are unexpected problems at work, we're under a lot of pressure lately, more than usually... and I need to come up with important things for next week, and I still don't have anything... and Percy's always asking me for help for stupid things...! And even if I want to say no, he always manages to convince me, and I don't even notice it! I'm so tired, Y/n..."

You pulled her in for a warm, comforting hug, rubbing her back gently.

"It's gonna be okay... I'm here, I'll do my best to help you with that... You should have talked to me about it..."

"I'm sorry I- I didn't want to bother you with that..."

"You never bother me Jenna, I-"

You got cut off by your girlfriend's phone suddenly buzzing. She gave you an apologetic look as she picked up.

"Hello? ... ... What? No listen Percy, I- ... ..."

She looked up at you, biting her nails nervously. The concern in your eyes, as well as the warmth of your hand on hers, and your love for her gave her the courage she needed.

"No, stop. I'm not available right now. ... ... It's 1 in the morning, Percy. I'm not at your disposal, nor your personal helper. ... ... Find someone else to help you. Bye."

She hung up with a sigh, and when her gaze met yours again, your eyes were full of pride, love, and relief. You were proud she was able to stand up for herself, to stop getting 'controlled' by him. And you didn't miss the opportunity to let her know that.

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to do it sooner... I- I'm sorry I almost fucked everything up between us because of that... But I won't make the mistake again. From now on, I'll try not to keep everything for myself. I- I don't want to lose you. I don't see my life without you..."

You felt you heart flutter at her words. Hearing her say that made you so happy... so happy, and so relieved.

The few doubts that had popped in your head earlier had completely disappeared now. You were sure you could trust her not to hurt you anymore.

You reached in your bedside table for the box you had given her on your anniversary and handed it to her again. She gave you a questioning look, visibly confused.

"When you gave it back to me, you said you didn't deserve it. Well, I think you deserve it now" you said gently, as she took the box "I've been wanting to give it to you for a little while, actually..."

Her eyes were shining when she looked at you after opening the box, and she had a big smile on her face.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it! I- it's so beautiful...!" she threw her arms around your neck and pulled you in for a tight hug "Thank you... Thank you so much!" she pulled away to give you a sweet smile "Can you help me putting it on?"

"Of course!"

You carefully took the necklace out of the box and waited for her to turn around, before moving her hair to the side. You were quick to attach the jewelry around her neck, and placed a gentle kiss on her soft skin once you were finished.

"Here you go, my love"

<><><><> ♡ <><><><>

Almost a year and a half later, you found yourself in a quite familiar position: crying in Emma's arms.

"It's okay... just- try to breathe, please"

"I- I'm just... I'm so..."

"I know, I know. Everything's gonna be okay"

You pulled away at her words, taking a deep breath and wiping your tears carefully.

"Yeah, you're right... Everything's gonna be perfectly fine"

"That's what I want to hear!"

Suddenly, the door of the room opened, revealing a nervous Hunter.

"What are you doing?" he yelled-whispered "We're waiting for you...!"

"She's ready, don't panic!" Emma replied, before turning to you "Just breathe, and it will be fine, okay?"

You nodded, and she gave you a brief hug, before exiting the room to join the others, leaving you with Hunter.

"Are you ready?" he asked gently, offering you his arm

"Y-yeah, I think..."

You both made your way to the main room and waited behind the door. When the music started, you took a deep breath.

All eyes were on you walking down the aisle, arm hooked under Hunter's. Yours, however, were glued to the gorgeous brunette ahead of you: your soon to be wife, Jenna Ortega.

[Previous part] || [Other ending]

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem reader

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happyk44 · 1 year ago

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i started writing this in my drafts weeks ago but didn't continue much farther than the first sentence - probably put it down to do something else and then passed out lmao. anyway after scrolling past last night wanted to continue it but can't be effed to scroll through my drafts rn (i save everything to my drafts to tag and queue later and my drafts ar like over 250+ rn)

anyway percy who becomes obsessed with finding this grim reaper he saw the night his mom killed his step-dad. he was an abusive asshole and percy helped his mom stage the scene to look like someone gabe owed money to came knocking. they don't have much in terms of expensive shit - just the TV and playstation. it's an old old model that one of percy's classmates was going to throw out as he wasn't into the games he had with it anymore and was getting the latest version for christmas.

it was nice that he gave it to percy with only a fraction of the cost in hand and a promise to give him the rest over time. percy paid him off every monday. it took sally weeks to pay it off, percy chipping in by donating cans and glass bottles he found lying around. the games were old and a little childish, but it was the only entertainment percy had aside from sally's old and crappy laptop that gabe hogged with online poker games.

so it sucked to watch sally dump it into an empty trash bag. it's small, she'd said. the tv would be too big to carry out without causing suspicion, even in mind-your-business new york city, but the playstation, her shitty laptop, and gabe's cell and wallet were things that could be dumped into a bag with no one giving a second look. percy crawls out the fire-escape grateful their shitty apartment building doesn't have cameras. he has to use a couple boxes to really rise himself enough to stuff the bag under the other bags. sally walks out the front door and they go have a late dinner at a nearby cafe.

then go home an hour later and scream in surprise at gabe's dead body in the bedroom, still warm from the heater in the corner boiling up the room that sally promptly unplugs.

percy doesn't think much about WHY his mom was so specific about how to clean his blood off the kitchen floor, about how to stage the scene, about moving gabe's body into the bedroom, about pulling him like he had been then letting him fall flat. heating up the room to keep him warm and fresh, while keeping the window cracked open so the heat doesn't stay by the time the police arrive.

he writes it away as her being a reader, a writer. maybe murder mysteries had been on her mind lately. maybe she watched too many cop shows. maybe she'd thought about this so many times she perfected it. his mom was not a repeat killer. gabe was her first time. her only time. and it was fine.

he sucked.

it's sitting in the chair, feigning distress but not too much, talking to a cop about the scene while he stares off into the air when he sees him. the boy is young, dark-haired and pale-skinned. he's startled by the presence, cutting off in his explanation about how people often came banging on the door for money gabe owed them. how he kept his poker winnings in the now open and empty safe in the bedroom. he wants to draw attention to the boy, but no one else seems to notice him.

he watches idly as gabe is carried out the front door in a body bag. then disappears towards the bedroom.

percy stands and mutters something about wanting to see his mom. the cop guides him to where she's sat on the bed crying thick tears. the boy is there. no one else cares that he's there. the boy reaches out and gabe's body shimmers into view. he's a visage of how he'd looked right before he died - the wide-eyed shock, tensing of his shoulders, mouth open wide because he'd been shouting at percy, threatening him.

he didn't realize how much like his mom he was until gabe fell flat with a knife sticking out of his throat. his mom standing behind him breathing hard. she'd squatted beside his head, pulled out the knife. stared at it. then stabbed stabbed stabbed until gabe's chokes turned to wispy gasps and his wispy gasps disappeared.

"four stab marks," his mom had said. "hopefully that won't look like overkill. but make sure to mention how many times people came screaming at the door just in case."

gabe's white glowing form dissipates into a ball in the boy's hands. he pulls out a baggie from his shoulder bag, then dumps gabe into it with a grimace.

he does suck, percy thinks. be annoyed.

the boy steps away. his eyes catch percy's. percy's arm tightens around his mom's shoulders as he looks into the endless void that is the other boy's eyes. flashes of his own death catch his mind. lying flat on the ground, weakly asking for help, and a dark-skinned man with black angel wings standing above him whispering, i'm sorry, but it's time to go.

then the boy looks away and disappears into a shadow.

grover believes him when he tells him about it. that's the thing percy loves about grover. the mystical and paranormal are easily believed. grover's parents are hippie-like green witches. percy doesn't really get it but has surmised from grover and visiting their house it means they really, really like plants.

"grim reaper," grover calls him. "or a psychopomp. collectors of the dead."

he lists a bunch of names from various cultures until percy cuts him off. "are any young boys?"

grover shrugs. "i mean life is bigger than what the stories tell. there's more people, more humanity. atheists even. where do they go? who collects them? there's definitely more gods and spirits than we think these days. it's not like they all stopped fucking just because the stories ended. there are definitely more gods than we think."

percy doesn't know what to do with that. grover asks him a lot of questions about the boy. but it's hard to answer them. they can't find a culture he could belong to, a way to summon someone without a name. the kid was young, dressed normal in black clothes with a normal black messenger bag. there were no signs of culture, religion, belonging.

he could've blended into a primary school playground easily.

"maybe you need to kill someone," annabeth suggests. the conversation arises a year or so after they first met and befriended her - a new addition halfway through the school year, a few months after gabe's unfortunate death. following a CPS check, her biological mother decided to take charge of her. annabeth spent a lot of time grumbling about her family in california while also missing california ("it's familiar, new york is not, i don't miss my step-mom, i miss the comfort of routine") and bitching about her bio mom's obsession with her grades and extracurriculars.

it takes some campaigning but the three of them manage to create an afterschool club in the new school year for her to find some time to chill and relax and get school work done. it took a lot longer to convince her mom to let her join their "magics and mystics club" - some nonsense about how it'll make her stand-out in college applications.

percy highly doubts any college is looking too closely at middle school extracurriculars, but what does he know? he's either lasting until graduation with grover and annabeth, or getting his GED and dropping out to immediately book it to the first basic entry-level job he can find. school already sucks ass, but his barely medicated ADHD and severely dyslexic ass already twaddles the line of a C average. What's the use of hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt that's only growing frantically from interest and a degree he barely achieved with the lowest grades required to shake the hand of someone he's never interacted with?

annabeth spends most of her time in the club doing her homework, while percy gets reeducated on grover's witchy stuff. their club advisor is the drama teacher who only checked in at the beginning of that first meeting then dipped for the drama club. grover's putting together a presentation on the history of mysticism while percy glues pictures to poster board. annabeth will present their stuff. the three of them doubt anyone will care if they did anything productive with their club, but annabeth's mom will so they do their best to make it fancy as fuck.

she already doesn't like either of them.

in the spare times that annabeth isn't doing homework or studying for another class, they talk about the spiritual and paranormal, magic and whatnot. so percy mentions his experience with the reaper.

and annabeth's first suggestion is murder. it's hilarious. grover knows the truth but annabeth only knows the lie. percy makes a note of it in his head. maybe he'll hint around the truth. they're close, but there's still time needed between the two of them. the worst she's told him is about the spiders in her bedroom. but nothing about what kickstarted a CPS investigation and her subsequent arrival into his life.

"maybe he's a murder reaper," she says. she's intellectual, doesn't believe in the mystic magic stuff but tolerates it for grover. "so he only comes around when there's been a murder."

"i don't think reapers are split up by types of death," grover argues. "and even if they were, why would a little kid be sent to deal with murders?"

annabeth crosses her arms. "maybe he's not a kid. maybe he just chooses to look like that."

they get into a weird half-argument, half-civil discussion. to her credit, annabeth doesn't bring science into it. they both descend to the computers and the books grover brought in from his house to search through to prove whatever point they've landed on.

percy is too busy cutting out paper to glue to poster board. and thinking about the murder aspect. he doubts that murder matters. he's pretty sure grover's right, but he likes keeping his balls so he doesn't say. annabeth is probably right too. magical beings are always capable of changing form. maybe little kid is just easy. who would be afraid of going somewhere with a little kid. or a dog.

but death is needed to see the reaper again. percy doesn't live with anyone dying. and he's too young to volunteer at the hospital. besides death is random isn't it? everyone was convinced that their classmate who got diagnosed with stage four cancer was going to die but she returned a year and a half later missing a leg but recovering. and the gym teacher who ran marathons and was known for his obsessively healthy eating habits died of a heart attack over the summer.

and even if he hovered around people on the verge of death, it didn't mean he was going to be there when they died.

but murder? definitely. he'd be right there because it would be his fault.

at that, he dashes the thought away. murder is wrong. he can't kill people just to see a reaper he saw but never spoke to. it's not like he has any questions about his death. he'll die when he dies. dying isn't scary to him. what's scary is dying before his mom and leaving her childless and mourning. but death itself? he's unafraid.

but inside burns a deep need to see the reaper again. not even to talk to him. just to lay his eyes on that night sky hair and porcelain skin. then he'd be satisfied and the need would go away.

maybe.

probably.

hopefully.

it's on his sixteenth birthday that he sees another reaper. it's not the boy he's looking for. he's disappointed. he shouldn't be. he should be more concerned with the dead man lying in front of him.

the letter opener is sticking out just below luke's left armpit. it hadn't killed him. it was too delicate for that, and the spot wasn't vital enough. but it had shocked him enough for annabeth to shove him away in disgust. he fell back, tripping over annabeth's shoes, and smashed into the glass coffee table.

"shit," annabeth breathes. she doesn't notice the reaper - a slender arabic man appear from the darkness and pull luke's soul of his chest with thin hands. he pushes his hands together and the soul vanishes. then he turns into a dog, or... something like a dog, and disappears back into the shadows.

it's take a few minutes to figure out how to stage the scene. they get rid of the letter opener and shove a piece of broken glass into the spot. this time he doesn't escape through the window. just walks out of the room, calm and detached, and sits in his mom's car. when the police arrive, annabeth, crying thick tears, tells them that he had fallen over while she was getting her things ready after percy came to pick her up.

it's not technically a lie. the police wish him a happy birthday when he says he came by to pick annabeth up from her study session because they were going to do laser tag for his birthday that afternoon. when they don't arrest him in the weeks that follow, he relaxes. and considers his options. he googles arab dogs which is an odd search term but brings up jackals and anubis. cool, he thinks. he tells them both about it afterwards. despite the death, grover is excited. annabeth is less impressed.

"i would've noticed, i was there too," she huffs.

"maybe they don't like you because you're a nonbeliever," grover fires back.

is percy a believer? he's not sure. he knows that what he sees is real. if he was suffering from delusions or hallucinations, surely he'd be seeing them a lot more than twice over the course of four years.

"what if i asked them?" he suggests. "to make themselves visible to you?"

"planning on being around another newly dead guy soon?" annabeth asks with a laugh. grover snorts. but percy remains silent and serious so their amusement shifts to concern

grover leans in close. "percy-"

"just bad people," he cuts in with a solemn whisper.

"you can't be judge, jury and executioner," annabeth hisses. "what you think is bad is not always universal? think about jim crow laws or slavery-"

"annabeth," he cuts in before she can go on an historical tangent. "i was hoping you'd help actually."

it doesn't take long for her to click together what he wants out of her. she glares at him. "percy," she snarls through clenched teeth. "i'm not swishing my ass to entice seedy men for you to murder so you can maybe have a hallucination to process death."

"okay, okay." conceding, he raises his hands. "it was dumb, i'm sorry. i just... really wanna see this kid again. sorry."

annabeth watches him carefully the rest of the day. grover doesn't. he knows what percy is, even if he doesn't agree. so it's not too surprising to start seeing grover scrolling through the newspaper on his phone. he startles every time percy spooks him when he's reading. then laughs it off, swats at percy, and keeps reading. it's the obituaries that percy sees the most, but sometimes articles about a death.

whatever he's looking for, some kind of proof it's percy, he must not find because he doesn't say anything. but it's grover, percy's soulmate. so he's sure the slow side-eye that he gets some mornings are a knowing side-eye.

percy doesn't look at the newspapers. if he's gonna get caught, he'd rather be surprised about it other than worrying and getting sloppy.

it's hard to find truly shitty people from first glance. he doesn't have the patience to observe. just slight insomnia that keeps him up until one in the morning prowling the streets. he hovers around in his old neighborhood, where the cameras are for show and shitty people live. it's still difficult. he doesn't want to go around hurting innocent people. less so because he cares, but more because it would disappoint grover and annabeth and his mom. he can't disappoint them.

he does see reapers, including the one who will one day take him, but never the boy. percy tries to envision him older, but even then none of them match. he does try to speak to them, but they ignore him. he wonders if it's some kind of weird curse. he can see them but they can't. sometimes the ignorance seems intentional, but he can't really tell so other than a few short sentences that always go ignored, he gives up and heads home.

some days he wakes up and is certain the police will come for him. but they never do and so he gives it a few days or a couple weeks and head back out again. they're opportunity kills. random and haphazard. he keeps mittens on, which looks normal in the fall and winter, but sketchy over the summer. to counteract his want to see that reaper, he signs up to be a counselor for a summer camp. grover joins him. annabeth is dragged off to university summer classes by her mom. her emails are miserable. percy wonders aloud to grover if annabeth would be happier if her mom was dead. grover eyes him flatly and says he doubts it.

percy gets assigned to the little kids who tell him all kinds of family secrets. some are funny. some are not.

it's not that hard to get into the camp's directory and write down in poor handwriting and with tons of struggle the names and addresses of these secrets. it's not a lot, which is great. but it's more than it should be and come summer's end, he has his start for the fall.

it's clear grover knows what percy's planning. he was there after all when a little secret got whispered too loudly. but all he says is, "sometimes kids get things wrong." the newspaper on his phone comes back into play after summer ends. but he still says nothing, even when glances at percy from the corner of his eyes.

it's two years of scattered kills before he sees him again. the kid is older now. he looks about fourteen, maybe fifteen. but percy knows it's him. he's the only one who makes eye contact. this time percy doesn't see his death. but he sees the endless void.

purgatory, he thinks, before he blurts out, "i've been looking for you." the teen tilts his head and smiles, small, gentle. the sight of it slams hard into percy's ribcage and sinks messy into his heart. "what's your name?"

"what's yours?" the teen fires back, turning away from percy and collecting the pulsing orb into a little baggie like before. his voice is enchanting, smooth and crystalline. there's an edge of an italian accent in it.

"percy," he says without hesitation. "jackon. percy jackson." he shakes his head. "perseus, actually, but everyone calls me percy."

the teen laughs gently. the sound is haunting. somewhere in percy's subconscious he knows the sound should scare him. but instead he just craves it more. "well, perseus jackson, my name is nico."

nico, percy thinks. in his head, the name is surrounded by hearts like a schoolgirl writing out the name of their crush in a movie. "that's really pretty," he says aloud. mentally he slaps himself. that's really pretty? that's stupid.

but nico just laughs again. "thank you." he steps over the dead body and touches percy's face. "perseus was a quite the soul when he was collected." his fingertip ghosts down percy's cheek, leaving light phantom tingles behind. "will you be?"

then he dissipates into shadows, leaving percy with a heavy craving for his ghostly touch and hauntingly enchanted voice.

#percico #percy jackson #nico di angelo #annabeth chase #grover underwoood #happy talks pjo #my writing #my fanfic #maybe i'll add more to this later #i was thinking about adding jason to it but i wanna stick w/ percico and i don't wanna accidentally talk myself in perjasico #also how the fuck do i keep starting posts w/ the intention of it being a short ramble of thoughts and then turn it into a thing

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nothankyou543 · 1 year ago

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Leo Valdez x child of Poseidon reader

Percy is your older brother, you came to camp a month after the war with Kronos and in that time you and Percy got really close

so obviously you were devastated when he went missing

you and annabeth are frantically searching for him in between days of on and off crying

One day she goes searching and you see other people with her you run up thinking one might be percy

its not. Three new demigods are standing in front of you

the first is TALL like skyscraper tall with blonde hair and blue eyes

the second a girl with choppy brown hair and changing eyes standing next to…a child?

At first you didn’t see the third person because he was on his knees panting

he looked like he just ran a 5k

he looked up and holy crap

he has curly brown hair that’s soaked from the lake, with the most beautiful brown eyes youve ever seen

you blush and look towards annabeth who looks at you questioningly

“I’m guessing you didn’t find him” you say solemnly “ no, I’m sorry” you nodded and started to walk back to cabin 3

you can’t stop thinking about the boy you saw

on the other side of things when Leo first saw you all his cheesy pock up line evaporated

he was at a lost for words as a beautiful girl with h/c hair and e/c eyes stared down at him

her face looked like she’d been crying and he had the urge to comfort her but he didn’t even know her name

he turned to annabeth and said “ who was that” she answered saying “ that’s y/n, Percy’s little sister, she’s been a mess since he disappeared

fast forward to after the tour and the claiming to the camp fire

you see the boy from before sitting with Hephaestus cabin so he must have gotten claimed

he looks up at you and you look away

when you look back he is walking towards you

he stops and says “ hi I’m Leo, but you can call me Super Sozed McShizzle”

that made you laugh which was the first time you had laughed in months

The rest goes as follows

“I’m y/n”

“ I couldn’t help but notice that you look a little sad, wanna talk about it”

”not really” you say getting up

you walk back towards your cabin

you didn’t mean to be rude but you felt like you were gonna cry again and you didn’t want to do that in front of everybody

you get back to your cabin and cry yourself to sleep

the next morning a knock wakes you up

when you answer there’s no one there but a rose is on your doormat along with a note

dear y/n I know your bummed about Percy and a little birds told me you like flowers you I took a wild guess at your favorite. - secret admire

you were stunned that anyone would do something so nice for you but the only thing you could think about was that they were probably still there

as a joke you say “ for reference f/f if my favorite flower”

you smile at the joke you made and go back inside

in truth you did feel a lot better now knowing someone cared

also how did he know you liked flowers?

switch perspective

leo had the grin of a mad man on his face

He gave y/n a rose and learned what her favorite flower was He felt like he was making progress at trying to talk with her

in truth he had no idea if she liked flowers or not he just went with it

ok I’m running out of room I’ll post part 2 on my profile comment anything you want to see

#leo valdez #leo valdez x y/n #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez fanfic #jason grace #piper mclean #heros of olympus #hoo #x reader fanfiction #child of poseidon #leo Valdez x child of Poseidon

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pjoxreader · 2 years ago

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Hii!! Omg I literally love your writing so much!

I was wondering if I could request some platonic headcanons for Percy, Will, and Annabeth? Maybe where Reader is their sibling and she leaves camp to go home to her mortal parent, but ends up having to run away cause said parent is a horrible person and Reader has to call their sibling from a payphone for help?

I really hope that's coherent, feel free to ignore, and make sure you take care of yourself!!<33

Sibling Reader Calls For Help

((I'm so glad you love my writing! Everyone has been so kind it's heartwarming. I'm glad I got to join this fandom even if I'm late!))

Percy Jackson

-Percy takes being your sibling very seriously, even if it is just through your father. He’s very protective over you so he ensures you’re ready to head back to the real world when it was time. He takes a nervous breath helping you get your backpack filled with questing supplies, as if you were heading out on a deadly quest and not just to visit your mom.

-”Always look both ways when crossing the road and remember, I’m just a call away.” Percy was heading back to visit his mom too and you can’t help but laugh at his worrying. “I’ll be alright Percy, If I can fight monsters I can handle my mom.” you promise, You honestly believed that too at the time.

-Percy smiles fondly at that and ruffles your hair. “I don’t doubt it.” he says. You really thought you could handle your mom. You honestly thought you stood a chance to her after all of your training, but when it came to it and you were at her doorway you froze.

-She started screaming at you, yelling that you were a demon child and that you’d get her killed by some monster. You knew she was drunk but still her words hurt. What hurt worse was the bottle she threw at you that shattered over your eye. -You have to stumble down the street as blood drips down over your eye, no one even bothering to help you. Your mind races to the worst possible option, did you lose your eye? Through the tears in your good eyes you see a pain phone punching in the numbers you slide against it, trying to take shaky breaths to keep yourself calm. -Percy picks up on the second ring thankfully. “Hello?” there's a tense silence as he hears you crying. “I… My mom she…” you manage to choke out between tears. “Where are you?” Percy demands his voice darkening right away. You tell him where he was and in less than ten minutes he drives across New York which was a feat in itself. He picks you up with a sad smile not caring that you were a bit too old to be carried around. “It’s ok. I’ve got you.” he soothes but under that smile you knew Percy was seething in anger. You were just glad to have Percy… He was more of your family than your mom ever could be.

Will Solace

-Will was a great big brother, he knew when to give you space and when you needed help. Right now he could tell you were nervous so he gently rubs your back with a gentle and kind smile. “It’ll be alright. You have my number.” he reassures you. -”R-Right…” You say softly but you were still nervous. Sure you could face down monsters but trying to face down your mother..? That was a different story. Will seems to notice your hesitance and places his cowboy hat on your head with a proud grin when he sees your surprised face.

-”For good luck. That hat has been with me through a lot, so take good care of it.” You can’t help but tear up giving Will a tight hug, making him laugh. Part of you wish you had never left after that…

-It was supposed to be a good luck charm… So… So why did you feel so unlucky? You had tears in your eyes as you made your way down the street. Your mom had dumped you on the side of the road in a muddy puddle and drove off without you.

-You were holding Will’s hat close to your chest, feeling guilty for having coated it in mud. But that’s when you see it. A payphone. You make your way in digging through your jeans for loose change and make the call. It takes a few seconds that feel like forever but Will picks up. “Hello?” he asks. “I… I… Your hat I’m… Sorry I didn’t mean…” you couldn’t help but sob when he picks up all the emotions you bottled up pouring out. -Will was there in minutes, it turns out he wasn’t far from where you were. He frowns sadly, hugging you close “hey, hey, It’s ok.” he soothes you gently, rubbing your back and smiles sadly. “You’re not hurt?” he asks worriedly. You sob and offer him his hat back “I’m sorry…” he laughs sadly at that, placing the muddy hat onto his head with a little grin. “It’s alright, A little mud never hurt no one!” he lets his thick Texas accent slip out with that and you can’t help but laugh a little. Will always knew how to cheer you up.

Annabeth Chase

-Annabeth had a hard time getting along with her siblings when she was younger, she felt unwanted and that her family didn’t care for her. But then she got older and met you, she felt an instant connection as if you were her real sibling. Which, you weren’t but she acted like it.

-She could tell you had a lot of potential and so she worked with you to help train you for the real world. For fighting all the monsters and sometimes even worse, the people. She takes a breath helping adjust the straps of your backpack. “Are you sure you can do this?” she asks hesitantly, seeing the determination in your eyes she couldn’t help but think back to how you were exactly like her when she was younger.

-”I’m sure. I can do this Annabeth.” you promise. She smiles softly at that and nods. “If you need anything, and I mean anything just give me a call.” She says gently, making you laugh; she was like a worried mom. “I will, I will.” you say giving her a wave with a grin as you run off. You wish she was your mom. Or at least your full sibling. Because you had never felt more alone than in that moment. There at your childhood home was a sold sign, Your family had moved on without you.

-You had wandered the streets for a while, working through your own thoughts unsure of what to do next but that’s when you saw it. An old payphone. You dig through your backpack and pull out the coins that you had there and punch in Annabeth’s numbers with shaky hands trying to keep your composure. You were a child of Athena, you were supposed to be better than this.

-But as you wait for Annabeth to pick up you couldn’t stop the tears that start to stream down your face. “Annabeth… T-They… They moved on without me… They left me… And didn’t even leave a note.” as you speak you break into sobs as you're forced to realize what had happened too. “Where are you?” Annabeth demands sternly. Before you knew it she was right outside the payphone and pulled you into a hug.

-You sob into her as you cling to her in a hug. Annabeth just soothingly rubs your back letting you cry into her shoulder. It hurt her to see you like this, it was all too familiar to her. To be abandoned by your family… But… but she wasn’t going to let you go through the things she did. Not anymore. She’d be there for you and protect you. She’d do a better job than Luke. She swore that to herself right there and then as she held you close.

~Masterlist & Rules~

Like my writing? Please consider sending me a Ko-fi! ☕

#pjo #hoo #percy jackson #annabeth chase #will solace #pjo imagine

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bey0nd-1he-stars · 10 months ago

Text

You owe me at least three days of rest in the infirmary - Solangelo

Masterlists

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Pairing: Nico di Angelo x Will Solace

Wanings: nightmares, insomnia, crying, implications of death (Bianca)

Word count: 890

Summary: The three says in the infirmary with some change.

SIX | NICO

- You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

You'll never know dear, how much I love you

Please don't take my sunshine away -

The sleep had taken him back once again, but this time for just a few hours. When he sat up the blankets fell off him and landed in a pile in his lap. Nico rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked around in the room. It was still a strange feeling to be there in the infirmary to get treated but with Will as doctor... Maybe it wasn't so bad after all. He shook his head at himself, he'd know the guys properly for a barley a week. Two days being on the battlefield, the two days coming after that Nico was holding the funeral ceremonies since all the half bloods insisted on dying heroically, and the two days after that he'd been stuck here, in the infirmary, sleeping most of the time. Nico had never had an easy time sleeping, he grew up with insomnia and after going through Tartarus alone, things didn't get better. After that he couldn't even close his eyes without seeing the terrible things he'd seen down there. Nico had never talked to anyone about it. He didn't want to, either. The only one who'd understand would be Percy and Annabeth and they were scarred enough so Nico really didn't want to bring it up.

The sound of scratching a pencil against paper made him step up from the bed he'd been borrowing the last two days. Will sat in his chair with his back turned towards Nico, his head down, concentration on something. He sang lowly and when Nico got closer he heard that it was lyrics from 'Your are my sunshine'. He smiled, Will had admitted that he wasn't much of a singer. At all. But to Nico, it was soothing and comforting, the sound of his voice reminding him that Will was still around, he hadn't left. When Nico was so close to Will that he could see over his shoulder and what he was doing, he realized that Will hadn't even noticed him yet. He smirked at the thought but let his gaze travel down to the paper. A pencil in Will's right hand created something Nico couldn't believe. He didn't see the whole picture, Will was leaning over half of it but it was just like the green hat she used to wear and her blank, dark curls.

All of a sudden, Will turned around in his chair, knocking Nico off his feet. He stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet. A warm hand gripped Nico's in the last second, stopping him from falling over towards the floor. A shock of electricity went through his spine. He smiled a soft smile as he gained his balance once again. Will's hand was still in his, but for once, Nico didn't care. Actually, he enjoyed it a bit. The soft, warm hand in his made him, once again, remember that the son of Apollo still hadn't left him.

"Oh gods, sorry Nico! I didn't mean to push you, I didn't even know you were there at all," Will said hastily. He shook his head and let go of Will's hand.

"It's fine, really. What are you-" he stopped when he saw the whole picture. Will had turned around to face him and at the same time he left the journal uncovered. There, covering the page, was a picture drawn by Will. A perfect picture of Bianca. It was just like he remembered her. With the green hat that casted a shadow over her brown eyes and the freckles that were splashed over her nose and cheeks. The brown shirt and a long skirt that flew in the wind. He couldn't take his eyes from the drawing, Will had done it with every single detail right.

"It’s so- It looks just like her," he said softly and smiled a little at the picture but tears started pooling in his eyes. Will's answer made him tear his eyes from the drawing and meet Will's blue gaze with wide eyes.

"You can have it, if you want to," he spoke softly and Nico could't believe him. But something in him didn't feel right. Will had spent hours on this drawing, it was his. His glory to take and his to look at for admiration. Not Nico's.

"I don't know Will. It's yours and you spent your time on it and-" Nico did come further into his protests before Will had ripped the page out of the journal. He gave it to Nico and that was enough to make Nico's tears fall over and roll down his cheeks.

"Thank you Will, really. Thank you," he said as he whipped away the tears. Nico placed the paper on the desk behind Will again, not wanting it to get damaged. Then he carefully wrapped his arms around Will in a hug. He felt the son of Apollo stiffen under his touch but soon he wrapped his arms around Nico's waist, hugging him back. Nico relaxed at the warmth Will spread and the comfort. The smell of sunshine filled his senses again and made Nico realize that he was still wearing Will's clothes. But at that moment he didn't care. He just felt like he belonged for the first time in many years. He belonged at Camp Half-Blood for the first time ever. And he definitely didn't mind.

#will solace x nico di angelo #nico di angelo x will solace #nico di angelo imagine #nico di angelo #william solace #will solace #nico di angelo x reader #will solace x reader #the sun and the star #riordanverse #percy jackson

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writing-till-i-am-dead · 3 months ago

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Sunny meets Camp Halfblood

Chapter 2

Chiron hovered over the boy in the bed. When Dionysus had brought the mysterious lad from the woods, everyone had seen. So now, a crowd of curious children are peeking their heads through the windows of the infirmary. "Annabeth-" Chiron started, sounding exhausted. The young blonde girl- who through years of acting as her father role, he knows is beyond trustworthy to be here, watching the boy- nodded her head. "I'll take care of it." She stepped outside, clapping her hands together. "Cmon everyone! Get a move on! Apollo kids, you're supposed to be at horse riding! Ares kids, quit arguing! Go!" Percy, the boy who everyone knows can't keep his nose out of anything, so Chiron didn't bother kicking him out, laughed. "That's my girl," he said, watching his girlfriend, Annabeth. "Isn't she something?" Chiron merely nodded and turned his attention back to the young boy. "His eye.." He slowly removed the patch to examine what lies underneath. He wasn't expecting such a shocking sight. In his socket was no eye, just a dent in his head where one should be. Along the dent was a large, grotesque scar, very fresh. Percy peered over and winced. "Yikes. Wonder what happened to the poor kid." Annabeth walked back in an glanced over at the boy and sucked in through her teeth. "He must've been attacked by a monster." Though, Chiron didn't seem so sure. "I'm not sensing any sort of demigod attributes to this boy. He feels.. mortal." "But if he's mortal, then how did he get in?" Percy asked matter-of-factly. "That's what I can't seem to figure out... Mr. D!" Chiron called out to the camp's director who had found the mysterious boy in the woods. "Do you know anything about this child?" Mr. D looked up from his game of solitaire, very annoyed to have to be involved in something he really doesn't want to be involved in. Which is anything that has to do with Camp Halfblood. "Of course I do." "Is there anything you can tell us?" "I don't feel like it." "Are you serious?" Percy spat. "Why are you being so stubborn." "Listen here, Peter Johnson. I am the god of madness and insanity. When a person goes crazy or is manic or anything like that, I know. But I have a line not to cross. I don't tell people about it." "That's... actually very responsible," Annabeth said, very surprised by the god's maturity. "Also because I don't like getting involved in whatever you mortals are going because it's a stupid waste of time." "Aaaaaand there it is," Percy said, rolling his eyes. "Wait," Annabeth cut in. "You know mortals if they are manic or crazy or whatever?" "Yes," he said, clearly wanting this conversation to end so he can continue to be left alone. "So.. this boy.. is he-?" "He's a bit manic, yes. Not a danger by any means, though." Everyone else in the room exchanged suspicious glances. Not a danger, sure. To Mr. D, who is an all powerful god. But to them? They might not be so lucky. But before they could decide what to do about the now potentially dangerous boy they have harbored in their infirmary, they heard a light groan from an unfamiliar voice. "Sounds like he's back in reality," Mr. D said nonchalantly as he adds a 3 of clovers to his clovers pile. Annabeth drew her dagger and Percy prepared his pen, Chiron moving his wheelchair back, reading to jump out of it if need be. The boy sat up, revealing just how pale and sickly he looks in the light. His eye was dark with thin black hair hanging in his face. He kind of reminded Percy of Nico, just more.. sickly than scary. The boy blinked a little, his eye adjusting to the light before looking up at the people who surrounded his bed. It took him nearly 30 seconds to realize that he was actually in danger. But instead of screaming or crying or asking questions, he froze up and laid back down. "If this is Hell, and you're here to punish me for what I've done, please just make it quick..."

#fanfic #omori sunny #sunny omori #pjo #Percy jackson #annabeth chase #chiron pjo #mr d pjo #dionysus pjo #crossover #omori

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papadoupoulous-lester · 1 year ago

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Loneliest person on earth// p1

loneliest person on earth// leo valdez x gn!apollo!reader

summary: when leo's s/o acts distant and doesn't come out of their cabin for meals, he starts to worry.

tw: self deprecating thoughts, suicide, trauma, mental illness

notes: its my first time writing a x reader oneshot so have mercy

(readers pov)

hot tears streamed down my face nonstop as I buried my face in my pillow. I didn't know why I was crying, it was stupid really. One little comment. That's all it took for me to crack. One silly little joke about my appearance caused me to have a full-blown meltdown. all my emotions had been pent up inside me for so long that I just cracked. I hated how sensitive I was. I was ashamed, really. how could a child of Apollo, a deity looked up to and worshipped because of his great beauty be so repulsive? I hate myself. The way I act, the way I look, the way I sound, the way I smile, the way I laugh, the way I walk, the way that I knew I'd never be able to fit in anywhere. In the mortal world, monsters would chase me if I dared come close to technology. In the demigod world, no matter what camp, I'd be thought of as a tool, a piece of equipment. Like a piece of Leo's machinery, not yet perfected. I was a senior camper, head of the Apollo cabin. I had been at camp since I was ten, I was now 16. People look up to Annabeth, as she's been at camp for the longest, being Chiron's favorite and all. But now, with her and Percy gone at college, I was the one that was forced to show around new campers, I was the one that had to help out the little kids, and i was the one that was expected to act PERFECT. like an emotionless ragdoll, hell, I'd kill myself if someone told me to. I felt like I was the one holding up the sky. with the weight of all of these things on my back on top of the fact that my dad was now a puny teenager named Lester and the fact that Julius Ceaser is trying to replace him as the sun god, I could never be okay. I could never be at peace. I always had to do SOMETHING. I wasn't even a social person anyway. I'd rather sit in a corner and wallow up in self pity or read The Song of Achilles than do whatever this was called. it was not ideal. I just wanted to be left alone, to be a normal demigod. I'd trade anything to not be known as the kid that makes hyacinth bloom where they walk. I wish I wasn't so sensitive, I wish I wasn't the way I was. My fatal flaw was fear. I was so afraid to disappoint the people around me, to hurt them, that i put aside my own needs and wants for them. That's why i was like this. I hate myself. I'm the loneliest person on earth. I'm surrounded by those that love me yet i don't feel loved. I'm surrounded by people that care for me and i know it yet I'm like well, this. My sobs grew louder as i removed my head from my pillow as i coughed and hiccupped. I lay flat on my stomach as i close my eyes and hide under the covers. I was freezing cold, yet i couldn't even get the motivation to get up. I hadn't come out of my cabin all day and i knew my siblings were worried. Will had come in about 4 times today to check on me but i acted like i was asleep to avoid conversation. I felt bad, i really did, but i just couldn't bring myself to do anything. I hiccuped and coughed as my cabin door creaked open. I froze in fear as i hold in my coughs, losing oxygen by the second. I heard soft footsteps approaching my bed. It was leo. the rest of my siblings were too loud to go unnoticed. I shivered as the covers were lifted over my head. I squeezed my eyes shut even though i knew it was of no use. "Hermosa?" Leo softly said. I opened my eyes as i sighed in defeat, "h-hi." I stammered, hiccuping. I could see Leo's face fill with concern as he saw my bloodshot eyes and my saddened expression. I sat up, brushing my hair out of my face so i didn't look like such a disaster. I looked at him and saw he was glancing upwards. I followed his glance and saw an entanglement of hyacinth flowers blooming all over my side of the cabin. "oh." i said,as my cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. he glanced down back at me and we made eye contact. "hey, whats wrong?" he softly said, wiping a tear from off my cheek. He sat down on my bed and i practically flew into his lap, head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around me gently. I relaxed in his warm, comforting embrace.

#leo valdez x reader #trials of apollo #gn!reader #leo valdez #apollo!reader #angst #percy jackon and the olympians #nb!reader #child of apollo #comfort #i reached the text limit un knowingly so i have to make a pt2 adsfsd

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nochi-quinn · 2 years ago

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legend of vox machina season 2 episode 7: the fey realm OR mmmmmmmmakinmway

the way I keep typing "campaign" instead of "season"

BUNNY LUCK DRAGON

I will forgive Amazon all their terrible merch crimes if they give me a bunny luck dragon plushie

"at least we're together" fey realm double date

vax comforting keyleth and talking her through her panic attack

keyleth does not have a good track record with magic animals

legitimately wonder how many times they said "feywild" and had to re-record

"shademurk" was at least easy to copyright dodge

keyleth broke the mountain

everyone's faces are really good this episode, I love them

percy's feywild hyperfixation

I already made my feywild anti-vax joke

I cannot believe Diplomacy has a lawnmower pull-start

"it's like they can't understand me!" her feywild plant accent (plantcent) is terrible

pike understanding that the sword was the problem, not grog

pikelan crumbs

this whole batch of episodes is pikelan crumbs. pikelan panko.

tfw you're in a toxic relationship with your sword

grog making every blacksmith cry

craven edge:

the screamer is slightly less high-pitched this time and is therefore less terrible

"whatcha doin :D"

seeing people on

skinny grog isn't real, he can't hurt you

"keyleth, you really need to learn your spells" tonight scanlan will be playing the part of the youtube comment section

seeing non-critters* on twitter going "BILLY BOYD???"

*people who watch the show but don't care enough to follow cast announcements

my kid came to give me a hug literally fifteen seconds before the sketchbook bit

percy's little :( when vax made fun of his books

they can now legally continue the "makinmyway" bit

grograft

album drop when

travis willingham does not get enough credit for the range he is capable of

grog rug in the critrole shop when

it is nice seeing the part of scanlan that actually cares about his friends

aaaand then Early Scanlan comes back out

"they're pretty! which probably means they're super-deadly." she's learning

I enjoy that percy's gun only fires when it's going to be completely ineffectual

gelatinous Non-Euclidian Shape

the animators either hated every minute of this or had the time of their lives, no middle sliders

return of jackalope keyleth!

I played this level of psychonauts 2, I did my time

and now we know why cheech marin was cast as trinket

and that was all the cheech marin we could afford

I did like this little scene of the boys working together again

not the anime glasses

"that's the thing with nobles, we're rather stubborn" p sure that might be mostly you, freddie

"where I'm going, I don't think you can follow" :(

this is my third time watching this and I still refuse to watch the rainbow puke

"garmelie was merely the traveler on this journey" fuck OFF

dragon holograms DRAGON HOLORGAMS

I swear they put "baubles" in the script for every thordak scene entirely bc lance reddick says it like that

mala: I didn't think scanlan HAD a strength score

the fact that "with our father" got the end-of-episode scare chord cliffhanger

#crititag #lovmtag #critical role #the legend of vox machina #liveblog #reaction post #spoilers

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anticomedygarden · 2 years ago

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until we came to leningrad

title taken from billy joel's 'leningrad'

The second time in her life Piper McLean saw Percy Jackson was at Camp Jupiter when he was 16 and she was 15 after months of work trying to find him.

There was something to be said in him running to Annabeth immediately, something that she adored immensely, but there was also something to be said in the look on his face when he realized who Piper was.

“Piper McLean?!” he exclaimed, face slack.

She spread her arms. “In the flesh!” She smiled.

“Wow!” He ran the fingers of the hand not holding on to Annabeth’s through his hair. “I was starting to think I’d never see you again.” Next to him, Annabeth smiled. Piper knew she was nearly as excited to see her boyfriend’s reunion with Piper as she was to experience her and Percy’s own reunion. “So, you’re a demigod?”

She nodded. “And one of the seven, apparently.”

Jason and Leo looked at her oddly. So maybe she had neglected to mention her connection to Percy, but why was it any of their business? It had been a stressful time; she could tell them whatever the hell she wanted to tell them. Besides, they could have easily found out if they had ever taken her and Annabeth up on the offer to go to Sally’s.

Besides, the rest of their reunion would have to wait until after the battle discussion and lunch.

----

Later, when Jason’s head was healed and the ship had been repaired, Piper and Percy finally had time to catch up with each other at dinner.

Predictably, Percy, who she had to admit, had done a great job growing up, (cause damn those cheek bones! And muscles - for a very brief second, she was jealous of Annabeth), spent a while staring wistfully at the holograms of Camp Half-Blood. She couldn’t imagine how much he must be missing home.

Finally, he managed to tear his eyes away from the wall to look over at her. “So, how have you been?” he asked.

She was pleased to hear excitement in his voice. After nearly 5 years of no contact, she had been afraid Percy would no longer care about their letters, or worse, hate her for allowing them to peter out in the first place, but after hearing Annabeth describe him so many times, she really should have had more faith.

She rubbed the back of her neck and turned to face him. “Oh, you know…not great,” she answered, about as honestly as she could. “You heard the story.”

“Yep,” he chuckled. “That I did.” He grinned and stuck out his hand. “Welcome to your new life as a demigod. It fucking sucks, but on the bright side, you also get to be completely ignored by the parent you never knew you had!”

Piper laughed and shook his offered hand, also getting into it. “Yeah, you also get these cool powers that come in real handy when your godly parent finally decides you’re worth their time.” They were both laughing at this point.

“Hang on,” Leo said suddenly, making a T with his hands in the timeout symbol. “You two know each other, how?” At the other end of the table, Hazel, Frank, and Annabeth turned to look toward their side as if sensing the change in topic.

Jason spoke up. “I would also like to know.”

Percy and Piper both grinned, and she knew he was remembering the exact same thing she was. “Okay, so it all happened 12 years ago when Piper was being a problem child at the New York City Aquarium-”

Piper broke in. “I was not being a problem child! That could have happened to anyone,” she defended herself.

“Yeah, but it happened to you,” Percy responded and poked her in the side. “Anyway, and we were both toddlers by the way, my mom and I were at the aquarium when I happened to find Piper crying in a corner looking for her dad, so-”

“He fucking introduced himself and asked me what my name was like it was a preschool socialization lesson!” she finished for him. “Then he saw Dad and I on TV a few years later and convinced his mom to let him send me a letter.”

Percy laughed. “Yeah, and we kept up with each other for a few years. We only stopped around the time I found out I was a demigod.”

“That was also around the time I started stealing and went to boarding school,” Piper informed them matter-of-factly.

The others barring Annabeth stared at them rather blankly. She supposed Frank and Hazel were pretty straight laced to be hearing this kind of story, but Jason and Leo should know her well enough to not be surprised.

Thankfully, Annabeth started laughing. “I don’t know why you’re so surprised. This isn’t even one of the weirder things they’ve done.”

Percy laughed. “You got that right.”

Leo gaped at him. “What is your life?”

“You don’t want to know,” Percy answered.

Pretty soon, everyone went back to their previous conservations, allowing Percy and Piper to return to theirs.

Percy was the first to start. “You know, those letters really meant a lot to me. Those were some of the hardest years of my life, and I was really lucky to have a friend like you.”

Piper smiled. “Same here. And I’m really glad we got to see each other again!”

“Yeah,” Percy agreed. “Hopefully, this time, it sticks.”

----

A few months after that pseudo-initial meeting, Piper found herself on the steps of the Poseidon cabin, hand poised above the door.

Am I really about to do this? she thought. Once she told Percy, there was no going back.

She knocked.

Right away, she heard footsteps from inside, and then the door was being opened, and she was walking through, and -

“I’m gonna break up with Jason,” she blurted, then slapped a hand over her mouth.

Percy’s eyes grew wide, and he shut the door. “Maybe we should sit down,” he said weakly.

She nodded vigorously. “That’d be good.”

Once they were seated facing each other on his bed (that he had to slide a pile of dirty clothes off of, though in Piper’s opinion, it looked no better on the floor than it had on the bed), he said, “I’m not gonna lie, this isn’t exactly surprising.”

She raised her eyebrows and motioned for him to explain.

“I just mean, with how you started, I kinda thought you guys would’ve ended things a long time ago, what with the memory manipulation and all,” he hurried to explain.

“Yeah,” she nodded. Piper was not at all surprised that Percy hadn’t just taken her relationship with Jason at face value; he was far smarter than people gave him credit for. “Lately, I’ve been finding it harder and harder to get past that.” She picked at his blue comforter.

“That’s understandable. I love Annabeth more than anything, but if we’d gotten together because Hera had implanted memories in one of our minds, I don’t think we would’ve lasted very long. Plus, we probably would’ve chewed Hera out and gotten ourselves killed.” He grinned as did Piper. That sounded exactly like something her friends would do.

She cleared her throat. This was the hard part. “There’s one more reason I wanna break up with him.” She took a deep breath, and Percy looked at her worriedly. “I think I might be-,” she hesitated, “-not straight.”

He looked at her, stunned. “When did-how did you-what-?” he paused, gathering his thoughts. “How long have you been questioning?” he finally asked.

It was Piper’s turn to be surprised. While Percy was smarter than he seemed, she certainly never would’ve pegged him as a guy up to date on LGBTQ+ terms.

“A while now,” she answered truthfully. “I guess it started after I put Gaia to sleep. I felt really powerful, you know? It made me think about why I was actually with Jason if we didn’t even start out truthfully. Then that kinda made me feel like maybe I didn’t need a man at all, and the only reason I thought I was supposed to be with him was because of Hera, who would’ve assumed we were both straight. Then I did a bit of a deep dive into queer media and sexuality, and now I think I’m either a lesbian or bi.” She took another deep breath, heart pounding. “And that’s it.”

Percy just looked at her, smiling. “I’m really glad you told me.” Then, he held up a finger in a wait a minute gesture. She watched him walk over to a desk in the corner stacked with books, papers, and pens and pencils. That must be new, she thought. She didn’t remember that being there the last time she was in the Poseidon cabin. A gift from his father, maybe, for saving the universe again? An answered prayer for a smooth and uninterrupted senior year from a certain goddess of wisdom? Whatever it was, she was glad Percy had it.

Then, he shifted a stack of books to the floor, and she stared, for tacked to the wall was a small bisexual flag over a demiromantic flag as well as a demisexual flag.

She pointed, stunned. “Y-you-”

“Yep,” he chuckled. “Me, too.”

----

Another few months after that eye opening conversation found the two of them and Annabeth at Percy’s apartment in Manhattan, Annabeth working on school work at the kitchen table and Piper on the living room floor while Percy carefully sectioned her hair into two Dutch braids.

“You know,” Piper was saying, “I’m starting to think there are no more decent single people.”

Percy laughed. “In the whole world?”

“In the whole world,” she confirmed. They had just finished telling Percy all about the last date she had been on in which the girl had shown up sweaty, 20 minutes late, and still in her gym clothes. The girl had then proceeded to spend the entire date gushing about Piper’s dad and how cool was it to have a movie star as a parent? despite Tristan having been blacklisted and bankrupted several weeks prior. She’d also flat out refused to refer to Piper as anything but ‘she’ even though Piper had mentioned several times that their pronouns were she/they. To top it all off, the girl had sent her food back five times and made Piper pay because there was, “No way a few little lawsuits could have taken all of the great Tristan McLean’s money.” All in all, not the best date she had been on, but definitely not the worst, either. That award went to the blind date with the guy who spent the whole date complaining about how the gays were ruining America.

“She’s right,” Annabeth called from the kitchen. “I’ve got the only good one in the entire universe.”

If Piper could’ve seen Percy’s face, she knew they’d be seeing a deep blush gracing his cheeks. “I know, right?” Piper added. “If only we were living in a world of Percys, life would be so much easier.”

The fingers in her hair stilled. “I don’t think I’m that great,” Percy said sheepishly. “I just love her and take her on dates.”

Annabeth snorted derisively. “You also rearrange your day to make sure we have time to actually talk to each other, you comfort me after nightmares, you bring me things when they remind you of me, you let me talk to you about architecture, you don’t get mad when I beat you at stuff, you don’t step in and try to fix things for me when I’m having trouble or when I’m fighting, you’re incredibly romantic, you’re a feminist without even realizing it, need I go on?” she finished smugly.

Percy huffed. “But that’s just basic stuff. Doesn’t everyone do that?”

Piper laughed at him, no longer trying to hide it. “And he doesn’t even think he’s special! You’re right, Annabeth, he’s the last true good one.”

Annabeth made a noise of agreement and turned back to her homework now that she’d won the discussion.

Piper returned her attention to Percy. “Seriously, dude, that stuff isn’t normal. You’re like, the number one boyfriend,” they informed him. “Just accept it.”

He laughed nervously. “No way.”

She shook her head. “I’m serious! Jason and Leo are convinced that Calypso and I broke up with them because they couldn’t compete with you,” they said, smiling.

“We’ll agree to disagree,” he said, tieing off her hair.

She turned to him. “Fine, but mark my words. You’re gonna realize one day that you’re the best boyfriend in the world.”

Annabeth snorted again. “Sure he will.”

----

“All right, I admit it. I was wrong,” Piper said a few months later. “There was one more good single person left, but now she’s mine!”

Percy smiled. “Is that right? Tell me again how amazing Reyna Remirez-Arellano is, cause I haven’t heard it 30 times already.”

“Gladly,” she smirked. “But maybe later. It looks like they’ve found the place.” Up ahead, Annabeth and Reyna had stopped in front of a Mexican Restaurant that Annabeth had heard about from one of her classmates at NRU, one that Reyna had somehow not heard of despite her several years as praetor. It hadn’t taken long for Piper to suggest a double date, both for the two couples to catch up as well as for Reyna to ensure that she knew about all of New Rome’s establishments.

That was another thing Piper was eternally grateful for. Reyna had come out of nowhere. Months of first dates, helping their dad, hanging out with her family in Oklahoma, and frantically catching up on school, and one trip to Camp Jupiter had completely unraveled all of it.

Piper had been there to help Jason and Annabeth start the minor gods temple project, but her part was very brief, mostly just negotiating with the various New Rome leaders. She had ended up spending almost the entire time hanging out with Reyna, allowing them to show each other previously hidden facets of themselves. They had both done some soul searching, Reyna more so than Piper, and, after an impulsive decision on Reyna’s part, the two had ended up together, and they couldn’t be happier.

That had also ended with Piper deciding to move on to the next phase in their life where they would do hybrid classes in Oklahoma, partly online and partly in person, allowing her to spend part of the month with their family and the other part with Reyna (and Percy and Annabeth) in New Rome. It was really the best of both worlds.

Percy turned back to them. “You coming?”

She smiled. “Always.”

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ittybxttykxttytxtty · 1 year ago

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Hello, fair warning. This chapter gave me deep feelings. Please understand that my feelings are required to be in capital letters.

He'd heard the way you'd slammed the door on your way out of his apartment that night. He knew how hurt and upset you’d been. But when you’d started crying because he had been planning to go out again, he'd wanted to comfort you– tried to–but you'd rejected him so easily instead. And that hurt him deeply. Because Matt had always thought you were different, that you understood him. That you loved him for who he was–you'd certainly always assured him that you did.

I HAVE NO WORDS. MATTHEW. MICHAEL. MURDOCK YOU IDIOT. YOU MASSIVE BARELY FUNCTIONING ADULT. YOU DOLT. IDEK WHAT TO SAY.

But you’d made that choice, he reminded himself. You had walked out on him. That thought only had Matt grinding his teeth together, anger coursing through him.

YOU WALKED OUT FIRST, YOU STALE BAGUETTE.

You weren’t the woman he’d thought you were after all. And that hurt.

AND WHAT ABOUT YOU?!?!?! BAILING ON DATES, NOT TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF, TAKING THE READER FOR GRANTED. ALWAYS EXPECTING HER TO BE AT YOUR BECK AND CALL LIKE A FUCKING DOORMAT. BELLA, ISTG. COME GET UR MAN. I AM TURNING FERAL

Also, sidenote. I think this is a common trope in superhero stories??? The difficulty of living a double life, like in this context for example. He should always be Matthew Michael Murdock, first and Daredevil, second. Matt can live without Daredevil but Daredevil can't exist/live without Matt. That's how it should be,anyways. Am I making sense?

Anyways, point is....he managed to live a life without Daredevil most of his existence. So why put being Matt on the back burner?!?! Take care of the host body, ya know? Without it there wont be a Daredevil. Dont let your alter ego take control of your life.

“ She left me ,” Matt snarled back. “Why the hell is that so difficult for you to understand, Fog? Why must you always assume that I did something? Clearly she wasn’t who I thought she was because she couldn’t accept me and what I do. Who I am .”

SHE ACCEPTED YOU. BRAIN DEAD AND ALL. WHY CANT YOU AT LEAST MAKE AM EFFORT AND MEET HER HALFWAY????!!!!!! MATTHEW. PLEASE. I AM BEGGING YOU. 🥹🥹🥹

“Ahh,” Foggy said, pushing off the counter. “This is because of Daredevil. I figured as much. So tell me what happened then, because I’m about to slap you upside the head and tell you you’re wrong.”

Daredevil works hard ... but Foggy works harder ..by cleaning up Matt's mess. Foggy, baby, I'm sorry that this trick ass hoe is messing with your schedule. It will never happen again 😩😩😩

“Okay, so,” Foggy continued carefully, “if I’m understanding this right, you’ve been canceling plans on your girl for a while now and she’d been upset about that. And then she comes and says she really needs to talk to you, and you what? Bail on her again? Quite aggressively, I’m gathering?”

✨ IN FRANKLIN PERCY NELSON WE TRUST, YALL. ✨ 🕊️

He’d hurt you, too. Long before you’d hurt him.

Matt scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m sure Daredevil showing up on her fire escape would go over real well with her right now.”

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

please tell me he does that and he hears the lil baby devil's heart beat and mistakes it for the reader moving on with another person. MAKE IT LONG AND ANGSTY THAT IT MAKES ME SICK TO MY STOMACH HURLING CRYING SCREAMING. Please and thank you 💕

additional thots:

- Karen and Foggy are working over time, they should be paid for it honestly.

- Cannot wait for Matt to to grovel, ik ive been saying this since ch.01 but listen...I AM WEAK FOR A MAN GROVELING. KNOWING THEY WERE WRONG. THERE'S JUST SOMETHING ABOUT IT, OKAY?!?!

- also........I CANNOT WAIT FOR THE MAKE UP SEX THAT WILL EVENTUALLY HAPPEN. IDC IF ITS ROUGH AND HARD OR TENDER AND SOFT. BUT PLEASE PLEASE MAKE THEM CRY OUT OF PLEASURE, PAIN, AND RELIEF. 😌😌😌

This fic is so good. I've been waiting to read every update after work so I can focus on feeling the angst ✨

Seeking Forgiveness [Part Three]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3k

[Full summary and installment list for this series can be found here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains angst, emotional hurt, delayed comfort, pregnant Reader

a/n: This one is entirely in Matt's POV and I'm curious to see how y'all react to his side of things! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @mattmurdocksstarlight @just-going-through-the-motions @paracosmic-murdock @yeonalie @auroraslibrary @1988-fiend @will-delete-this-later-probably@two-unbeatable-beaters @danzer8705 @ragamuffin285 @callmebrooklynbabes @spookyboogyuniverse @peachy-aisha @stevenknightmarc @nerdytreeflower @fucktthisworld @remuslupinwifee @kmc1989 @mywellspringoflife @thornbushrose @yarrystyleeza @shiorimakibawrites @thychuvaluswife @marvelcinematiquniverse @vallovesthedilfs @scoliobean @this--is--music

The ear-splitting and repeated honking of car horns on the street below harshly woke Matt, the sound shrill and piercing first thing in the morning. Seconds later the continuing noise drew forth a pounding headache that reverberated painfully in his head. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he rolled onto his side with a groan, his entire body loudly protesting the movement. He could feel a few new bruises he'd added to the others already scattered around his body, the new ones violently throbbing along his lower back and his left shoulder as consciousness abruptly returned to him.

Matt had been out well into the early morning hours running around Hell’s Kitchen tracking a man by the name of Petrov. He was the man that Matt had recently come to learn was the current leader of the Russian mafia now settled in his city. All of last night he had been trying to figure out where the new shipment of drugs would be coming into Hell's Kitchen at, but he'd yet again come home without the information he'd wanted. In a sour mood, he'd taken his anger out on a mugger while returning to his apartment, leaving the man more battered than he probably should have.

And his sour mood quickly returned when he realized he was alone in his bed again, the cold from the lack of you often curled under the sheets with him exceptionally noticeable this morning–more than it had been for the past few weeks. Because you had left him, deciding not to stay and wait for him to return the other night. Leaving him like everyone else always did, unable to accept that he and the Devil were the same man. That he needed to let that other side of himself out to protect Hell’s Kitchen.

But it sure as hell hadn’t felt like that to him the other night. Not with how quick you were to reject him and walk out on him. You’d never tried to reach out to him all of Friday, either. Whatever important thing you’d wanted to discuss with him the other night must’ve been what he’d initially suspected it to be. That you wanted to end the relationship. Truthfully he hadn’t wanted to hear you say the words out loud which was partially why he didn’t want to give you a chance to speak.

Matt knew he'd been canceling plans on you repeatedly, though he admittedly hadn't realized just for how long he'd been doing it with the way his days had been blurring together from his lack of proper sleep. But it hadn't been intentional. He hadn't meant to hurt you and he'd felt terrible every single time he had. It always nagged at him while he was out, the memory of the way your heart stuttered each and every time you saw him in his suit never far from his mind as he tried to focus on his late night task.

And it wasn't like he was out cheating on you or ditching you for his friends. What he was doing was the equivalent of being needed at a job–because that's how he saw what he did. As a responsibility he had to the people of Hell’s Kitchen. He'd honestly thought he'd be able to make it up to you once he'd gotten the situation with the Russians under control, but apparently he wasn't important enough for you to wait for him. And sure, he had to admit that he'd been awful to you the other night with the way he'd spoken to you, but the judgment and rejection from you had really upset him, as did the fear of hearing you tell him you were done with him. So he'd closed himself off to you, hoping to lessen how much you leaving him would hurt.

But Matt didn’t want to think about that this morning. His head ached enough from all the physical exertion last night and from not getting enough sleep. Those damn cars honking had ruined whatever sleeping in he hoped he’d have this Saturday morning, the sound of the city far too loud for him to lay back down and fall asleep now.

Though if you’d been here–

With a growl Matt tore the sheets off of himself, tossing his legs over the side of his bed and shoving all thoughts of you to the side. He didn’t want to think about you right now. He wanted coffee, desperately hoping that would wake him up and help the throbbing of his head.

Shuffling out of his bedroom, half limping in pain as he walked, he navigated his way through his living room and into the kitchen. He went straight for his coffee maker, turning it on and preparing a pot of coffee. He knew he was going to need a few cups already.

As the coffee brewed, Matt leant his back against the kitchen counter. His eyes closed as he ran a hand over his tired face, aware that his apartment seemed noticeably quieter and lonelier without you here. He’d been noticing that for weeks now, and every time he did he felt his heart sink a bit in his chest. Though this morning he almost felt sick at the emptiness here, as if someone had punched him right in the gut when he realized you were never coming back.

But you’d made that choice, he reminded himself. You had walked out on him. That thought only had Matt grinding his teeth together, anger coursing through him.

You weren’t the woman he’d thought you were after all. And that hurt.

The coffee machine began to sputter out his coffee, the noise loud and irritating to his ears this morning. Matt turned around, reaching a hand up to grab a mug from the open shelf on the wall. But a round of knocks coming from his apartment door rang out and he hesitated, his hand hovering just before the row of coffee cups. Brows furrowing together, his head shifted over his shoulder as he wondered how he’d been so absorbed in his thoughts that he hadn’t realized someone had approached his door. Though after a few seconds he soon realized that it was Foggy standing in the hallway and flipping through some paperwork that he’d brought with him.

Matt’s hand dropped to his side and he turned, a frown settling on his lips as he made his way through his kitchen and down his entryway hall. He unlocked the door, briskly swinging it open. It didn’t escape his notice how Foggy had startled in the hall at the abruptness.

“Fog,” Matt greeted flatly.

He could practically feel the way his friend’s eyes scanned over him, the sound of Foggy’s face shifting into a frown not lost on Matt. He imagined the bruises were quite visible, especially since he hadn’t managed to put a shirt on.

“You look like shit, Matt,” Foggy stated bluntly. “How long were you out last night?”

Matt turned, leaving the door open as he half-limped, half-shuffled his way back down the entryway hall. He listened as Foggy stepped inside, closing the door after himself before slipping out of his shoes. By the time Foggy had followed Matt into the kitchen, Matt had already managed to pour himself a cup of coffee, drinking a sip of it black.

“You want some coffee?” Matt asked him, avoiding the initial question.

“No, I’m good,” Foggy answered slowly, resting his arms on the kitchen counter and leaning over it. “I had some earlier before I left to come deliver the documents I told you I was bringing over this morning. Which I’m guessing…you forgot about, judging by the fact that it looks like you just rolled out of a dumpster that you used for a bed.”

Matt’s lips pursed together at Foggy as he drew his mug back up to his mouth, his eyes narrowing in obvious irritation. “Not a morning for jokes, Fog.”

“Is there ever with you lately?” Foggy grumbled.

Matt drank down more of his coffee, the throbbing of his head not helped by the way Foggy was drumming his fingers along the countertop. He could hear the way his friend was looking around his apartment, probably noticing the way it had looked neater than usual. Which was due to the fact that neither of you had been in his apartment much for the past few weeks. The moment he heard Foggy’s mouth open, inhaling that small bit of breath, Matt knew what he was going to say. And it wasn’t a subject he wanted to discuss.

“Where’s your other half?” Foggy asked, glancing back towards the closed bedroom door, entirely missing the way Matt had winced at the question. “Thought she usually spent the weekends with you. Is she still asleep?”

Matt ground his teeth together, roughly exhaling a sharp breath. He knew he’d ask about you.

“No, she’s not here,” Matt replied coldly.

He heard the way Foggy had stiffened against the counter at his words and the tone of his voice. Slowly, Foggy’s head turned back towards Matt. Matt’s lips thinned out in irritation, not liking the minute shift in Foggy’s posture.

“So the documents–”

“What’d you do, Matt?” Foggy asked sharply, cutting him off.

Matt’s hand gripped his coffee mug tighter in his fist, surprising even himself when it didn’t break in his grip. His jaw clenched at the question and the accusation from his best friend.

“What makes you think this was my fault?” he growled back, voice low and dangerous.

Foggy was nodding swiftly as if he’d known something had happened. He didn’t seem remotely affected by Matt’s obvious anger, clearly prepared to discuss this more. That only annoyed Matt further.

“So you two broke up? Karen and I thought as much with the way you’d been mopey and snippy around the office yesterday,” Foggy said. “What happened? Because one minute you’re telling me she’s the one, that she’s going to move in with you soon, and the next–” he waved a hand around the apartment, “–you’re a damn bachelor again. So what’d you do? Because I know damn well she didn’t end things, not with the way she always looked at you like the sun rises and falls out of your ass, Matt.”

Matt stalked across the kitchen in aggravation, slamming his mug down onto the counter that separated him from Foggy. The hot liquid splashed over his hand as Foggy briefly jumped at his outburst. The faint scent of fear soon hitting his nose was what had Matt’s eyes snapping shut, aware he was getting too riled up at this topic. That his anger was finally starting to make Foggy nervous.

Because it was about you and it hurt.

“She said she had something she needed to tell me,” Matt replied through clenched teeth, trying to rein in his frustration and heartache. “But I needed to go out as Daredevil. I was planning to interrupt a meeting with the Russians. The ones I’d been telling you about.” He exhaled a sharp breath, his left hand clamping onto the kitchen counter as he continued, hoping to ground himself and control his rage. “She was upset that I was going out again when we’d had plans. Said she really needed to talk to me. So I told her she could tell me afterwards when I came back and she got upset.”

There was a brief silence following his explanation, Matt hearing the way Foggy’s head had shifted to the side.

“And you were…growly Devil when you were talking with her weren’t you?” Foggy asked, gesturing a hand at Matt. “Like you are now?”

Matt grunted, shame burning through him as his eyes once again fell shut. Yes.

“Maybe,” he grumbled.

“That’s–that’s not exactly right,” Matt said, shaking his head. “I didn’t bail on her. The city needed me, Fog.”

“Sounds like she needed you more, buddy,” Foggy countered.

Matt’s eyes snapped open, his sightless gaze landing somewhere near Foggy in a glare. “I gave her the option to stay and wait for me to come back. To tell me what she needed to then. She chose to leave. I haven’t heard from her since, so I’m guessing her important talk was about her wanting to tell me that she wanted to end things. That she couldn’t handle me being Daredevil after all.”

Foggy scoffed, shaking his head at Matt. He could hear the way his friend’s mouth had yet again curved into a frown. Something like guilt twisted in Matt’s stomach at the way that night had played out but he quickly buried it under his anger and hurt.

“Why do you do that?” Foggy asked softly.

“ What ?” Matt snapped.

“This,” Foggy answered, waving a hand frantically at Matt. “That self-sabotaging thing you do. Things were good with you both. Great, actually. You were happy , Matt. And then you go diving into your hero bullshit and push people away. Making assumptions about her wanting to end things like you know that’s exactly what she wanted to talk to you about.”

“I do not self-sabotage,” Matt shot back.

“Then why’d you push her away?” Foggy countered.

“Because the city needs me!” Matt exclaimed in exasperation, throwing his hands on his hips. “You know that and she knew that!”

A glaring silence settled in Matt’s apartment after his loud outburst. Matt’s tongue slipped out, wetting his lips repeatedly in his agitation. He heard the very faint sigh Foggy emitted, even with the way his headache had worsened.

“I think you’re reading things entirely wrong, man,” Foggy said, tone softer. “I don’t think she was trying to break up with you. I think you fucked up. Big time. And judging by the way you’re incredibly defensive and angry, you really, really love her.”

Matt’s nostrils flared, his eyes still glaring sharply in the direction of his friend. Though a part of himself was beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Foggy was onto something. At least, about him fucking up. He was still pretty certain you’d wanted to break up with him. Because he had been canceling plans on you for weeks now. And you’d been getting hurt by him doing that pretty quickly, too. And he’d noticed, but he kept on putting off making things up to you because he’d been too focused on prioritizing the Russians. He’d hurt you, too. Long before you’d hurt him.

That guilt and shame stirred in Matt’s stomach again, threatening to overtake his own rage and heartache. But he couldn’t have been wrong about what you’d wanted to talk to him about, right? Because what else could it possibly have been besides an ultimatum for him to quit being Daredevil and to choose you instead?

“I think,” Foggy continued slowly, “that you need to go call her up. Put your tail between your legs and go beg for her forgiveness, Matt. Because you fucked up, admit it. I can see that realization dawning on your face right now, buddy. Talk to her. Apologize on your goddamn knees every day until she takes you back. Because we both know she was the best damn thing that ever happened to you.”

“She was,” Matt whispered, his gaze dropping down to the floor. “She always was.”

“Then go get her!” Foggy exclaimed, slamming his fist onto Matt’s countertop. “Fix things!”

He stepped around the kitchen counter, reaching out to slap Matt good-naturedly on the shoulder. Matt winced at the gesture when Foggy’s hand landed on a bruise and Foggy quickly muttered out an apology.

Rubbing his arm, Matt let out a sigh. “How am I supposed to fix things, Fog?” he asked. “What if she really doesn’t love the part of me that is Daredevil like she thought she did? I can’t give this up. I’m not going to.”

“There’s no way that bullshit is the reason,” Foggy told him. “Not with all the different ways she’s been there for you and your vigilante ass this whole time, Matt. She loves Daredevil just as much as you. But as for fixing things?” Foggy shrugged, shaking his head. “I don’t know, man. I think your first step is to reach out to her, though. Try to get her to talk to you. Apologize and maybe find out what it was she needed to tell you. Because I’m guessing knowing what that was will tell you how royally you fucked up here.”

“Yeah,” Matt said with a sigh. “You’re probably right. Though I have a feeling she’s not going to want to talk to me.”

“You just keep trying until she does,” Foggy told him. “And if all else fails, maybe you can romantically show up on her fire escape and profess your love to her or something?”

Matt scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m sure Daredevil showing up on her fire escape would go over real well with her right now.”

#matt murdock x reader #reread

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percontaion-points · 2 years ago

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TOWB chapters 45-48

Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions

Chapter 45

“Ghosts. The people that leave us too soon. The people we can’t let go of.” He paused. “You need to let her go, Ranka. May I?”

It’s rich considering that the entire premise of Ranka’s magic hinges on her inability to move past trauma.

“One day at a time. One hour at a time. One minute at a time,” he said, not unkindly. “I expect I’ll always be dealing with it.”

It’s okay to grieve after somebody you love dies.

But the problem is, as I’ve said, Ranka literally turned her entire personality into her trauma.

I hope that I don’t have to explain to people how unhealthy that it is. Magic or otherwise, people are more than their traumas.

For the whole evening, Percy talked about the Star Isles.

Not even the author cares about this! So it makes it hard for the characters to give a shit.

“Let’s go,” he said. “We’ve all had enough misery. I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Chapter 45 summary: Ranka’s magic is now gone, reduced to a heavy thing inside of her that she can feel but not access. She mopes around until it’s 2 days left until Galen’s coronation, more mourning her own upcoming death than the slaughter of innocent witches, but whatever.

Percy finds her as she’s brooding on a cliff by the sea. He forces her to take off the bracelet Yeva made for her, and tells her about his own shitty life. However, his life is glossed over, so nobody gives a shit about it.

In the end, Ranka stands up and chucks the bracelet into the sea.

Chapter 46

Galen and Aramis glanced at each other, and Galen turned to Percy with a twinkle in his eye. “I might have somewhere in mind.”

Chapter 46 summary: Percy takes Ranka to Galen’s room, which is filled with windchimes and books. The wondertwins show up a moment later; Galen is upset because he’d gotten a note from Percy stating that Galen’s room had been lit on fire.

A second later, a bunch of servants bring three cakes in. Percy explains that they don’t know when Ranka’s birthday is, but figured that they could celebrate it along with the twin’s birthday.

Ranka thinks about how her 17th birthday was 4 months before shit started to get real. Yeva had shown up in her tent early in the morning, her hands full of strawberries. So much had changed in such a short amount of time. Ranka starts to cry thinking about how thoughtful it is that Percy would have them make a cake for her.

Chapter 47

“I failed them,” she whispered. “I will not fail you.”

Chapter 47 summary: The four of them get shit-faced drunk, and go hang out on the roof. The clock chimes that it’s midnight, and they know that in the morning, the city will celebrate Galen’s coming of age day.

They start to joke around, but like… can we please get back to the plot? I literally do not care about them having one last good moment. This book has not made me care about these assholes at all. I’m still low-key rooting for the cult to win.

Percy and Galen pass out drunk. Aramis and Ranka ask each other what they would do if they weren’t who they are. Aramis says that she’d be a healer; it’s literally her only hobby that doesn’t involve her mom’s research. Ranka has no such hobby, having been forced from a really young age to learn survival skills. So she’d build a cabin in the middle of the woods and stay there forever, being isolated. Aramis says that she’ll join her, and they’ll sing and paint and teach Ranka how to read.

Chapter 48

The Murknen came first, dour and scowling, with moss woven through their wild hair. Ongrum had always said the Murknen hailed from a territory of swamps and little sunlight—and they had the personalities to match.

Again, I feel like the author created all of these tribes, but ended up never actually using them.

But she was determined to shove in all of the info that she made, so she ended up dumping it on us. So the end result is this really long scene that pauses the plot simply so that she can describe these groups of people that the readers don’t fucking care about!

“The humans want to support the twins…”

Do they though?

Ranka could not find Ongrum.

She’d searched for her for the better part of an hour, but the Skra leader was nowhere to be found. When Ranka questioned her coven mates, they’d simply shrugged and said something about her having business to attend to. They were lying, and it stung. She’d asked them as a Skra—and they’d responded as strangers. Even the witches she knew well—Tafa, Sigrid, Nadya, and so many she’d trained alongside, gave her the cold shoulder.

You are not one of us, their eyes said. We do not recognize you. You will have to earn us back.

Their rejection of Ranka probably happened the absolute millisecond the gate closed behind Ranka.

Ranka steeled her nerves and stepped into the crowd. It was time to stop a coup.

Chapter 48 summary: Our four heroes stand and watch as the city is filled with the different witch tribes. Percy assures Ranka that their plan is perfect, and that it will work.

Later, Ranka goes in search of her tribe leader, but her former clans-women literally lie to Ranka’s face about Ongrum’s whereabouts. She hates it, and hates them even more.

But forget about that. Let’s talk about how fancy Galen looks now! This is clearly the more important plot point!

#The Ones We Burn #chapter 45 #Chapter 46 #chapter 47 #chapter 48 #Ranka (TOWB)#Percy (TOWB)#toxic grief #Nobody fucking cares #shitty writing is shitty #shitty family is shitty

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samstree · 3 years ago

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Just a Little Pretense

Jaskier and Geralt stage a fake breakup. Someone’s feelings get hurt for real.

The reverse trope series: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

AO3

“… It would be to take you off my hands!”

Geralt’s voice echoes in the ballroom, between the tall walls and the high ceiling. Everyone on the dance floor has fallen into silence. Even the band has stopped playing, their lead singer gaping with round eyes.

Jaskier blinks, impressed.

All the eyes are on the two of them. Jaskier’s back prickles with the gazes. As the fight escalated, more and more guests have stopped dancing just to eavesdrop on the witcher and the bard, the most peculiar couple in the room.

Which is just perfect. The more people witnessing their breakup, the more awkward it will be afterward, and the easier it will be to get out of this tedious party. And here Jaskier is, regretting ever having doubted his dear witcher’s ability to perform.

Who would have thought Geralt is a method actor? Drawing inspiration from a past argument is ingenious.

His old acting professor back in Oxenfurt would approve of this. The show is going swimmingly and he is pumped with adrenaline—maybe he should go back on stage one day, do a play or two.

But alas, he can muse the idea later. The show must go on.

“Really? Just like that?” Jaskier croaks, seemingly on the verge of crying. He’s not so bad himself, classically trained and everything. “Thirty years, Geralt. I followed you for thirty years, and just like that, you will kick me out of your life? Did I ever—” he breaks off with a whimper. “Did I ever mean anything to you? Or were you ready to cast me aside this whole time?”

A tear rolls down. His lips wobble. The crowd erupts in hushed murmurs and sympathetic sighs. The set-up, the build, everything has been perfect. Now the only thing left is for Geralt to break things off, and the two of them can ride into the metaphorical sunset and never see this court again.

Jaskier waits in anticipation, but his witcher opens his mouth.

And closes it.

Geralt looks as upset as he should, angry and torn and equally shocked, his golden eyes wide and his jaw clenched tight. It’s a nice picture to paint for the audience. They are supposedly having the biggest fight in their lives and his body language is very convincing.

More than convincing.

Except, it just might be … too convincing.

Wait—

Jaskier focuses on Geralt, who looks as if he wants to shrink into himself, his shoulders slumped and arms drawn in. He looks as if he’s waiting to be struck. Wait, something’s not right.

“I can’t do this.” A whisper leaves Geralt’s lips, small and achingly sad.

It’s not the line he’s supposed to say.

Geralt’s eyebrows droop ever so slightly, and there’s a flash of distress behind the molten gold. It’s gone in a second, hidden behind a façade of indifference.

The tells are subtle, near imperceivable to the untrained eye, but to Jaskier, they are clear as day—Geralt is hurt. For real.

Oh.

Fuck.

“Geralt,” Jaskier tries, instantly snapped out of his character.

And yet, there’s no reply. Geralt lowers his head, turns around, and flees the scene within one heartbeat and the next. The crowd is too eager to make way for him.

“Shit,” Jaskier curses, ready to chase after Geralt, but the Countess de Stael appears out of nowhere with a flock of maids and positively blocks him in all directions. She’s eager to lament the loss of love and companionship, and to offer Jaskier a place at her court once again. Oh, shit.

Jaskier brushes her off, all the while painfully remembering he and Geralt’s goal from the beginning—to use the breakup as an excuse to get out of this place.

Well, the plan is shit. Is it too late to notice?

Weaving through dozens of nobles is a lot more difficult when they all want to extend sympathy, and Jaskier is only placating them absent-mindedly, faking regret and heartbreak. His mind is full of his witcher, who is either brooding or spiraling over the venom he spewed earlier.

The truth is, Jaskier has long forgotten about the mountain—not because it didn’t hurt. To be shunned by Geralt, blamed for everything, and denied friendship, was the worst thing to have happened to him at the time. It’s just that Jaskier has forgiven it, so long ago and so completely.

Jaskier cannot get to their room fast enough, and when he pushes open the door, the sight of Geralt’s dejected face is a stab through the chest. The witcher is perched on the bed, somehow looking a lot smaller than he is.

Jaskier never should have come up with the stupid fake breakup thing, never should have inadvertently reopened the old wound. They healed, together. They shouldn’t be hurting anymore.

“I explained. We can leave now,” Jaskier tires, but in fairness, he doesn’t remember what he said to the Countess. “Geralt?”

The witcher himself crosses his arms, hugging his midriff and avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. “Good,” he answers curtly, shoulders still tense.

He looks angry, and when Geralt is angry, it’s most likely with himself. Oh, whatever heartbreak Jaskier acted out earlier, it’s not a match to a fraction of what he’s feeling now. It must be the one millionth time Geralt’s self-loathing has broken Jaskier’s heart, and it never gets easier, not when Jaskier caused it himself.

“Hey.” Jaskier desperately wants to wrap his arms around Geralt. So he does. He sits down on the bed and pulls his witcher into the biggest bear hug, which is returned immediately and so very tightly. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I fucked up, Geralt. I’m—”

“Don’t be.” Geralt buries his nose into Jaskier’s neck and shakes his head. “I never should have said those things, Jask. I should be the one apologizing. It was wrong and untrue and I would never abandon you. You are my best friend. How can I ever? Please, believe me…”

Geralt trails off, his hands rubbing circles into Jaskier’s back. Although it’s unclear who he’s trying to soothe.

“I know. It’s okay. I know,” Jaskier murmurs, over and over again, sealing each reassurance with a kiss pressed into silver hair.

“I never meant it, Jask.”

“I know. It was fake. We were pretending.”

Geralt pulls away, golden eyes dead serious, pausing between every word. “I never meant it.”

Jaskier meets his gaze unwaveringly, with not an ounce of doubt. “I know.”

They stay there for a while, just holding each other. Geralt keeps sniffing Jaskier’s scent the same way he always does to check for injury or distress. He thinks he’s subtle, the sweet man, so Jaskier never mentions it.

Despite what an outsider might assume, Geralt is the sensitive one between the two. He’s so careful when it comes to their relationship, especially after the mountain and sometimes to his own detriment.

He’s so scared of hurting Jaskier again.

“I was an idiot for suggesting it,” Jaskier breaks the silence, nudging Geralt in the knee.

Geralt hums, lips pursed.

“Fake breakup is a terrible idea. Next time we’ll just grit our teeth and sit through the month-long party.”

Still, no smile.

“Alright, you win. Next time I won’t take you to a month-long party to start with.” Jaskier gently pats Geralt on the cheek. “For your delicate sensibilities, darling.”

Finally, finally, Geralt’s lips turn upwards, just a smidge.

“You are an idiot,” Geralt says, the crease between his brows fading. “Just…don’t make me make you cry again.”

Melting into the warmth welling up between his ribcage, Jaskier leans forward and presses a tiny kiss at his witcher’s forehead, so softly as if he’d break with any more force.

“Yes, dear.”

Being careless with Geralt’s heart is a mistake that Jaskier never wants to repeat. As he put a hand over his witcher’s languid heartbeat, Jaskier feels the soft thrumming against his palm, and realizes just how terribly he needs to guard it with the same care too. Against his frivolous self, and against the past that never seems to stop haunting them.

Because Jaskier needs this thing between them to work. If a faked breakup already seems unbearable, he shudders to imagine a real one.

A witcher’s life is already riddled with pain and sadness and could-have-beens. A poet would hate it if he added himself to the list.

---

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @kitcatkim3 @endless-whump @rey-a-nonbinary-bisexual @llamasdumpsterfire @dapandapod @kuripon

Please feel free to tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

#geraskier #geraskier fic #reverse trope #fake breakup #geralt x jaskier #post mountain #hurt/comfort #geralt of rivia is a sap #soft jaskier #jaskier is an idiot #don't mind him #established relationship

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phykios · 4 years ago

Text

Five Times Percy Jackson Cheated At School (And One Time Someone Cheated Him) [read on ao3]

thank you as always to @darkmagyk for inspo and beta-ing 💙💙💙 and thank you to @arosnowflake for the homer idea!

Percy squints at the paper prompt again, tilting his head, as if the new angle will extract some hidden information. It doesn’t change. The font is the special dyslexia-friendly one used by most departments at NRU, so he isn’t misreading it, either.

Your final will be an 8-10pp (TNR, 12pt, double-spaced) research paper expanding on one of the topics discussed in our class so far, or an alternate idea of your choosing, to be submitted in writing by May 7 with footnotes and bibliography. By 10am on the Wednesday before the Thursday class you will submit online a 750-word essay (word count does not include footnotes) on the research thread you have pursued that week (no written assignments due Week 6 or Week 12).

Percy might hate college.

“Your neck bothering you again?” Annabeth asks, coming up behind him, her hands already on his shoulders. She’s sweaty, dressed in workout clothes, having just come back in from a jog.

“My neck is fine,” he says. “Just preemptively freaking out over my Roman history final.”

He tilts his head back over the top of his chair, staring into the upside down, prettily frowning face of his girlfriend, and it does nothing to improve his mood.

“How bad is it?”

“Eight to ten pages,” Percy says, “not including footnotes.”

“Ouch.”

“And,” he grimaces, “it’s a topic of our choosing.”

Her mouth twists in sympathy. “Sucks.”

“Yep.”

“Anything I can do to help?” She squeezes his shoulders lightly, an open invitation.

He shakes his head, stretching his arms back to grab her waist. “Promise not to break up with me when you catch me crying at 4AM over it.”

“Promise.” And she seals it with a kiss, bending down to reach him. “Dad wants to know if you’re free on the 16th.”

“The 16th?” He wracks his brain. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t conflict with sailing, or Greek Club, or the monthly intra-pantheon relations council meeting that Chiron and Clarisse both guilted him into joining. “Pretty sure. Why?”

“Dinner--Charlotte’s out of town that weekend.”

“Sounds good.”

“Great, I’ll let him know. Now,” and she grins, “are you going to stare at that computer all day, or do you want to come and take a shower with me?”

Percy slams the computer shut.

He doesn’t think about his paper topic for a while after that.

***

To his great dismay, Percy gets to her dad’s house first on the 16th. Drama in writing group 🙄 she texts him as he gets to the door, be there asap.

Great. Alone in the house with his girlfriend’s dad. Taking a deep breath, he knocks on the door.

Not a minute later, Dr. Chase opens it. Last time they went to visit, Percy and Annabeth had ended up waiting outside for almost a quarter of an hour. “Oh, Percy,” he says, fumbling his flight helmet off his head. “Goodness, I thought I’d lost track of time again. Come in, come in.”

“Thanks,” Percy says, stepping inside and shedding his jacket. “Annabeth’s running late, but she said she’d be here soon.”

He frowns, looking so much like Annabeth that it throws Percy for several loops. “Well, that’s alright,” he says. “I’m sure we can entertain ourselves well enough until she gets here.”

“Yeah,” Percy chuckles, uneasy.

Several seconds pass.

“Oh!” starts Dr. Chase. “Right, yes. Come in. Would you like something to drink?”

Spoiler alert: it doesn’t get much better.

A few minutes of staggered conversation later, it becomes eminently clear why they need Annabeth between them. It’s not the awkward small talk that doesn’t go anywhere (“How’s school going for you?” “It’s okay.” “Good, that’s good to hear.”) or the fact that Dr. Chase doesn’t really grasp how to relate to younger kids (“Have you heard of this website called ‘Vine’?”), but more that it’s just painfully obvious that the two of them don’t really know where they stand with each other.

Now, he knows that Frederick Chase doesn’t hate him. Objectively, he’s aware of the fact that, if it weren’t for him, Annabeth never would have reconnected with her father in the first place, and he kind of owes him for that. Also, Percy knows that he’s a pretty chill guy--a little scatterbrained, but chill.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to make a good impression, though. Or that Dr. Chase thinks that Percy is smart enough for his daughter. Because, like, Percy isn’t smart enough for Annabeth--that much is obvious. Dr. Chase was courted by Athena. Percy barely made it out of high school calculus.

“Would you…” Dr. Chase hedges, plucking off his glasses and giving them a quick wipe with his shirtsleeve. “Would you like to see some of my current research?”

“Uh… sure. I’d love to.”

At the very least, hopefully Dr. Chase will talk enough for the both of them, eating up time until Annabeth gets here.

A new spring in his step, Dr. Chase leads Percy to his study, where he’s got a setup worthy of Cabin Six: on his desk is a massive map of the Mediterranean, littered with miniatures of tanks, planes, and ships. Ringing the room are wall-hangings, depicting different types of planes, half of their structure in x-rays like people in an anatomy textbook, sandwiching the giant viking sword which hangs directly behind his chair. Every inch of floor space is occupied with a pile of books, some serving as additional desk space for mugs, notepads, spare toy soldiers, and, in one case, what looks like the leftovers of a handful of celestial bronze spearheads, melted down into shiny, useless nuggets.

“You know I primarily study aviation,” Dr. Chase is saying, tidying up as he walks around the room, “but my colleagues and I are collaborating on an interdisciplinary re-evaluation of the entire North African theatre in World War II. It’s fascinating stuff; until very recently, they used to call it the ‘war without hate,’ given the lack of partisan roundups and, ah, ethnic clashes that you see in Europe--absolute garbage, of course. As if there weren’t civilians caught up in the fighting, too!” He chuckles, pleased at his own joke. Percy forces a laugh out of himself. “Anyway, with my prior experience studying the invasion of Sicily, I was brought on to assist in piecing the timeline together, working backwards from 1943.”

“Cool,” says Percy, filling the natural gap of conversation.

“Extremely! Operation Husky was a terrific endeavor of airborne, amphibious, and land-based combat.”

Percy nods. Amphibious? “Uh-huh.”

“Though, I must admit, I am having a little trouble retracing some of the ships.” Peering over his map, he leans down, fiddling with one of the ships. “You see this one here? The Palmer?”

Stepping up to the desk, Percy crouches down so the little toy ship is at eye level.

“Well, based on official records, the Palmer was supposed to have arrived at the rendezvous point at the same time as all the other ships, but ended up delayed by two days, and I can’t… quite…” He moves the ship again, frowning. “Figure out… why…”

“Where were they sailing through?” Percy asks.

Dr. Chase points to the map. “From Alexandria to Malta.”

“They probably just hit a bad couple of currents,” Percy says, standing up.

Tilting his head, Dr. Chase peers at him. “How do you mean?”

“If you’re going through the Cretan Passage, you’re going to hit all kinds of West-East currents which will push you backwards.” Snatching up a pencil from a nearby book stack, Percy lightly sketches on top of the map, tracing along the North African coast. “There are tons of overlapping currents in this area that push boats around in circles, especially around Sicily. That’s one of the reasons why so many historians figure that Homer was referring to the Strait of Messina when Odysseus goes through Scylla and Charybdis, here.” And he circles the strait, with a confident flourish.

When he pulls back, Dr. Chase is staring at him.

Percy blinks. “Um… sorry I drew on your map.”

“You--I have been trying to figure that out for weeks.”

He coughs, shrugging his shoulders. “Sorry.”

But Dr. Chase just laughs. “You can make it up to me by helping me with these next.” Clearing crumbs off of southern France, he bends over, pencil in hand. “So, say you were trying to get from Marseilles to Tunis…”

Forty-five minutes later, still embroiled in battle recreations of the Mediterranean theatre, they don’t hear Annabeth letting herself in with her key, not even registering her presence until Dr. Chase, grasping for a notebook, spots her leaning against the doorway. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“Oh, Annabeth, dear! I’m sorry,” says Dr. Chase, going over to give her a hug. “We didn’t hear you come in.”

“I can see that,” she says. “What are you guys doing?”

“Percy here has been assisting me with naval movements,” he says, proudly.

Lacing her fingers with his, Annabeth steps over to Percy, studying their battle map. “Really?”

“Oh yes, he’s been phenomenally helpful.”

She kisses his cheek, pleased. “Look at you, Mr. ‘Phenomenally Helpful.’”

“It was pretty fun,” he admits, warm all over.

“I’d bet. Although, I guess this means we should probably order in for dinner…?”

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Dr. Chase smiles. “Yes, I suppose we should. Does pizza sound all right to you two?”

“Let me take care of it,” she says, slipping from Percy’s side. “You guys looked like you were in the middle of something. Extra olives, dad?”

“Don’t forget--”

“And anchovies, Percy, I know.” She rolls her eyes, taking out her phone.

Rather than the three of them move into the kitchen, Annabeth ends up bringing the pizza in with her, because of course she has opinions she’d like to share about the Allies’ naval movements.

“You know, Percy,” says Dr. Chase, “I must say, you have a real knack for this kind of thing. Have you thought about what you might major in yet?”

Ah, the million drachmae question. “Not yet,” he says, fiddling with a pencil. “I figured I’d get through my gen eds first and then see which one I hated the least.”

“I think you should consider majoring in history.”

Percy’s head snaps up. “History?”

“Specifically maritime history, I suppose. Your predisposition to sailing and ocean currents would be a huge asset to your research.”

“But--wouldn’t history have, like, a metric ton of required reading? I’m not really sure that’s my area.” He has a daughter with dyslexia and ADHD; surely he’d understand Percy’s hesitation.

But he just shakes his head. “Graduate programs these days are very favorable towards interdisciplinary methodology, I sincerely doubt you’d have to barricade yourself in the library. And recently there’s been a significant push to make the field more accessible to students with disabilities, including things like digitization, screen reading for people with vision impairments, and even restructuring programs all together so that students no longer have to memorize the Encyclopedia Britannica in order to pass their general exams.”

“That’s really nice of you to say, Dr. Chase,” Percy says, “But history class isn’t like talking over naval movements with you.” He thought back to the paper that had lowkey been haunting his dreams. “Like, in my classical history survey, I can’t just… talk about currents and battle plans. I have to come up with a topic on my own, and then write about that.”

“Surely something involving Roman naval movements would be well within your skill set. You have a second sense about these things,” he chuckles, “clearly.”

Percy glances towards Annabeth, hoping she’ll back him up, but she looks thoughtful. Considering. Like she’s actually thinking about her dad’s proposal. “I can’t just choose something in naval history.”

“Why not?”

“Because… it's too easy?”

If it was anything like his afternoon with Dr. Chase, it might even be fun. And school isn’t supposed to be fun.

He repeats that thought to Annabeth as they drive home. “School isn’t supposed to be fun.”

“No,” Annabeth agrees, “but I don’t know… I like my intro art history class way better than anything we ever did in high school because I actually care about it. Maybe if you write about stuff you’re good at, like my dad suggested, you’ll like it more.”

The idea follows him all the way to bed, where he’s still mulling it over at 2 in the morning. Before he can chicken out, he grabs his phone, shooting off a quick email to his professor with his potential paper topic, then rolls over, eventually falling asleep.

By morning, he has a response.

Sounds good! Looking forward to it.

***

With shaking hands, Percy calls his mom. “Yes?”

“Hey mom.”

“Percy?” He hears her perk up, almost visualizing her sitting up in her chair. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Mom instincts. They can always tell when something is different. His heart throbs in his chest. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, smiling stretching across his face. “It’s just--I got my paper back.”

Percy had ended up writing his paper about the Roman navy movements in the Battle of the Aegates in 241 BC. It was probably the most fun he’s ever had on a school assignment, or at least the most fun he’d ever had writing a paper.

“And?” She sounds expectant, hopeful. His mom has always had such faith in him, even with thirteen years of schooling to prove her otherwise.

He looks back at his email, just to make sure he’s reading it right. “I got an A.”

She gasps. He can hear the scrape of the chair as she stands up. “Percy, that’s wonderful!”

“Thank you.”

“An A!”

He smiles into his fist, inordinately pleased. “Thank you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I am so happy for you!”

“Thanks, mom.”

“I’m so proud of you, Percy.” Her voice is soft now, like twilights on the beach with blue marshmallows. “I know how hard you’ve worked for this. You should be very proud, too.”

“I am.” And he is, weirdly enough. “I just can’t believe it.”

“I can.” His mom must be grinning, her eyes sparkling. “I always knew you could do it.”

“Sally?” He hears in the background, muffled. “Is that Percy?”

“Paul, Percy got an A on his Roman history paper!”

A second voice crowds its way in, equally excited. “An A? That’s great, kiddo! Congratulations.”

Why can’t he stop smiling? “Thanks.”

“I bet that feels pretty good, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

“Well, it is very well-deserved,” says Paul. “That was some great work you did. I could tell how passionate you were about your topic just from your first sentence.”

“Thank you.” Maybe he should be worried about all this praise going to his head, but damn, is it nice. “Listen, I have to go get started on dinner, but I just wanted to give you a call.”

“Of course,” says his mom. “I want to hear from you more, okay? Tell me more good news! Like when are you and Annabeth going to--”

“I’m working on it, okay?” says Percy, smiling even more broadly. “I’ll keep you posted, promise.”

She laughs, tinny and happy. “You’d better. Congratulations again, sweetheart.”

“Thanks mom. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

And he hangs up, puts his phone down on the table, tilts his head back, and sighs, full, happy, a release.

Maybe college won’t be so bad after all.

“You don’t have to do this,” Frank says, hushed. “All you have to do is walk away.”

Five Greek Fire bombs, cloudy yellow, are lined up on the table in front of him, neatly laid out in front of five twenties. From the side, Frank stares him down, surrounded by an army of morbidly curious Romans. Someone turned off the music and turned on the lights a while ago, stopping the party in its tracks, every eye on Percy and his opponent. Figures, his first college party all year and he causes a scene.

Percy grips the edge of the table. “He insulted the Mets,” he says for the millionth time. “I can’t let that shit stand.”

Frank sighs. “Annabeth?” he asks, hoping to stop this nonsense.

Turning to his side, Percy sees his girlfriend, two drinks in, her cheeks lightly flushed, but solid as she stands beside him, supporting him. Her eyes are hard, fierce, the warrior gaze of Athena all but leaping out of her. “Do it,” she says.

William, the sour-faced Roman legacy of Juventus, scowls. “A hundred bucks on the table. Sixty seconds. No throwing them back up.”

“Deal.”

“Frank,” Annabeth calls. “Start the clock.”

He sighs. “You guys are idiots.”

“Frank!”

“Okay, okay.” He holds out his phone, thumb primed, hovering over the screen. “On your marks, in three… two… one…”

He hits zero, and Percy grabs a shot glass. Squeezing his eyes shut, he brings it to his lips, and throws it back.

It’s… not what he expected.

The tequila is awful--no getting around that. Even to Percy’s untrained taste buds, having really only ever had some of Gabe’s sour beer (under duress) and some of the Demeter cabin’s strawberry wine (on his eighteenth birthday, a celebration for actually getting to graduate high school), he can tell it’s cheap, rank, unrefined shit, like he’s drinking straight toilet cleaner. But the garum, the weird Roman condiment that the shot is mixed with, the one that Percy had never heard of before, it’s… it almost tastes like the fish sauce that comes with the pork and rice noodles from the Vietnamese place down the corner of his mom’s apartment, only less… fishy? Yeah. Less fishy.

It’s a weird taste. It’s not bad, by any means, it just--straight up, it just tastes like saltwater. Like the sea.

And, well. Percy can handle the sea.

He looks at William, and grins. “You are so fucked.”

The assembled Romans cheer, spectators at a gladiator show, as Percy knocks back the rest of the Greek Fire bombs, one after another, clearing them all in under thirty seconds. Annabeth swipes up the cash, shrieking as she throws her arms around Percy. William wanders off, red-faced and glaring, as whoever turned the music off before flips it back on, the night, and the party, saved.

Silly Percy. He should have known what was coming next.

Thirty minutes later, he is well and truly wasted.

“You’re, like, really pretty,” he shouts at Annabeth over the loud music.

She snorts, grinning at him. “Thanks.”

“Seriously,” he slurs, tipping forward on his feet. “You could be a model.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Remember when we were fourteen,” he yells, bracing himself against the wall, “and you got kidnapped by that monster?” Slightly soberer but still a little flushed, she bites her lip, nodding. “Well, I followed the rescue party--I told you that, that I snuck out of camp to follow the rescue party? Right?”

“You did.”

He takes a sip of water, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth. Feels goofy as fuck. “We got hijacked by Aphrodite halfway through, and when I saw her, I thought--I thought, ‘Holy shit, she looks a little like Annabeth.’”

Her brows shoot up, smile pulling at her lips. “Really?”

He nods. “Totally! But you’re way, way p--”

Still smiling, she silences him with a kiss, the lingering taste of hard cider on her tongue. “I appreciate it,” she murmurs, grinning, “but you probably shouldn’t say that out loud.”

“Gross.”

From out of nowhere, like he always does, the weasley little shit, Nico di Angelo is suddenly in their space, looking surly and emo as ever, red solo cup in his left hand. “Nico!” Percy crows, grabbing for him and missing. “How’s my favorite cousin?!”

Ducking his wildly swinging limbs, Nico grimaces in the way that Percy has to come to recognize as his attempt at a smile. “Better’n you,” he says, a little wobbly. “What’s up with him?” he directs towards Annabeth.

“Greek Fire bombs. Five.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

“What!” Percy pouts. “He insulted the Mets.”

“Aren’t you s’posed to be, like…” Nico snaps his fingers, words momentarily escaping him. “A--representation… person? For the Greeks?”

Percy waves his hand, hitting the wall. “Fuck that. The Greeks can handle themselves. The Mets are sacred!”

“Are you with anyone?” Annabeth asks, momentarily taking up Percy’s usual role of concerned parent friend while he is drunk off his ass. Theoi, he loves this girl so much.

Nico shakes his head. “No, but Will and I are staying with--”

A thought suddenly blooms in Percy’s tequila-soaked brain. “Nico!” He shouts.

“What?” he hisses, glaring.

Percy pushes himself off of the wall, outstretched arms managing to box Nico in, falling on his shoulders and trapping him. He’s still a short, skinny little shit, the fuck, when are his Big Three genes going to kick in? “I need to talk to you about the thing.”

“The what?”

“The thing! The--the,” then he leans in, scream-whispering over the pounding bassline. “The thing.”

“That doesn’t help.”

“You know, it’s…” Percy licks his lips, language escaping him for a hot second. “Round. Metal. Jewelry thing.”

A beat, then Nico’s eyes widen. “Oh, that thing.”

“Yes, that thing!” Pulling back, he pulls Nico towards him, slinging an arm over his shoulders in a half-headlock. Annabeth watches, bemused, lips pursed as she tries not to smile. “I need to borrow Nico for a sec,” he says, words spilling out of him. “Back soon. Later. Soon.”

Her eyes crinkle, grey sparkling. She’s so fucking pretty. “Drink your water.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Then together, like some three-legged beast, the two boys lurch away deeper into the party, Nico leading them towards the kitchen. “Where’re you taking me?” Percy slurs. “‘M I being kidnapped again?”

“If I’m helping you plan out this stupid proposal,” he grumbles, pouring himself more vodka, “then I need to be less sober.”

***

Some mistakes may have been made.

“Where’s Annabeth?” Percy mumbles, looking back towards the house. The party is still raging, someone’s muffled Spotify playlist making a real racket, the greatest hits of ABBA still bouncing around his skull.

“Simp.” Nico, swaying a little, tries to stand up from his kneeling position, only to fall heavily back down on his knees. “She’s right where you left her.”

Discussing Percy's proposal plan had led to more drinking. More drinking had led to the two of them discussing their shared preference for blondes. (“Malcolm is pretty cute,” Nico admitted, flushing, and Percy almost screamed, “Isn’t he?! Sometimes I think about Annabeth with short hair looking like Malcolm and I almost start crying because she’d be so cute!”) Which then led to even more drinking. Which then led to general bitching about their lives, about Percy's hard-ass classics professor Dr. Bauer who he actually really liked but just pushed him so hard and expected so much of him, and Nico's half-brother Zagreus who was causing some family drama by picking fights with Hades all the time and also hooking up with both Thanatos AND the fury Megaera, which, ew, which then led to Percy inhaling his drink, nearly choking to death on unspecified college punch, Nico laughing at him all the while, as he had the most incredible idea.

"Nico!" He shouted, crushing the red solo cup. "Can you resurrect Homer for me?"

Nico gaped, staring. "What."

"Seriously! I need to ask him something for my paper."

"Percy." Nico gazed at him, all the power of the Ghost King boring into his soul, deep and haunting. Percy stifled a burp. "You're a fucking genius."

Which is how they found themselves around a shallow hole they had dug in the backyard, a large bottle of Pepsi originally intended as a mixer pilfered from the kitchen along with two slices of pepperoni pizza dumped on the grass beside them.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," he says, uneasy even through his drunken haze.

"It was your idea!"

"I don't have good ideas."

“Fuck you, I’m doing it.” With all the force of a tiny, angry kitten, he snatches up the Pepsi bottle, wrestling with the twist cap for a good ten seconds. “I wanna give that bitch a piece of my mind for making me cry in school.”

Percy looks at him sideways. “Hector killing Patroclus got you, too?”

He snorts. “Fuck no. Achilles didn’t pay his dues to the dead.”

“Seriously?”

The cap pops off, and Nico tips the bottle over, dumping flat, lukewarm soda into the shallow hole. “It’s the ultimate dishonor!”

Freak. Percy would die for the kid.

“Let the dead taste again,” Nico mutters. “Let them rise and take this offering. Let them remember.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Says the guy who’s related to both horses and water.”

“I’m not related to water, I just control it.”

The dirt turns black, dead soil mixed with sticky sugar water. Nico drops in the pizza, and begins to chant, that same ancient Greek that Percy heard in a dream once, talking of death and memories and returning from the grave or whatever. It’s still creepy as shit.

Despite the warm California night, the air thickens with chilly fog. Silence, impenetrable, surrounds them, blocking out the noises of the party. From the earth, blueish, vaguely person-shaped figures begin to form, like thunderous clouds before a storm. “Which one is Homer?” he asks, hushed.

“Shh!” Nico hisses.

Like little wells of gravity, the fog begins to coalesce. On one of them, Percy can almost make out, like, fingers. “Um, Mr. Homer? Sir?”

The figure doesn’t say anything. It lowers its mouth, drinking the soda out of the dirt. When it raises its head, Percy can see it more clearly, curly hair and milky white eyes and a straight nose. It--he?--seems a little more solid than your average run-of-the-mill ghost.

Nico frowns, eyes closed, concentrating. “What’s your name?” he mumbles.

That mouth opens, soundlessly, jaw working on nothing.

“Speak.”

It--there’s a sound, like hissing, only it’s not coming from the mouth, Percy thinks. It sounds like it’s coming from the earth. “Nico?” he asks. “You good?”

The ghost opens its mouth again, moaning, raising its hands. Weakly, unsteadily, it stumbles forward on feeble legs, tripping over the shallow hole in the dirt.

“Nico?” he asks again, a little more forcefully. “What’s going on, dude?”

Nico blinks, slowly, mouth hanging open a little. “Uh.”

The… thing… raises itself up on its hands? He guesses, and knees, crawling its way over towards them.

Now, Percy may be drunk off his ass, but he has seen enough movies to know exactly what the fuck is up.

Moving with a speed he didn’t quite think was possible right about now, he grabs Nico’s wrist, and pulls him up, dragging him along as he lurches towards the house. “Percy…” Nico moans, stumbling over a rock. “I think I fucked up.”

“You think?” Percy wrenches the door open, tossing Nico inside, before following in after, throwing himself against the door.

Nico groans, throwing his arms over his face. “Dio santo, my head.”

“Forget your head,” he says, “did we just raise a Homer zombie?!”

Panting, Nico stares up at him, sprawled on the floor of the house. “Oops.”

Percy thunks his head against the door. He does not have nearly enough mental capacity to deal with this right now.

But, he thinks ruefully, at least it’s just one. Even drunk, he’s pretty sure he can handle one zombie.

Nico’s eyes widen.

Percy stares. “What.”

“I didn’t stop the ritual.”

His stomach goes cold.

Turning around slowly, he pulls aside the little curtain on the window. “What?” Nico asks. “What do you see?”

Percy can’t speak, mouth dry.

Slithering up behind, Nico peers over his shoulder. “That’s… not great.”

“Nico,” Percy says, eyeing the horde which slowly shambles closer, half-decayed bodies in togas bumping into each other, almost identical to the drunk college students inside, as the song changes, once again, to ‘Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight).’ “Please go get Frank and Annabeth.”

The following Monday, an announcement is sent out to the entire campus: Per new department guidelines, students may not utilize the ambassador of Pluto to interview the dead for academic purposes.

Percy attempts to flatten his hair. He readjusts his shirt. He almost wipes his sweaty palms on his pants, before he realizes what he’s doing, and clenches them instead, nails digging into his palms. He turns to Annabeth. “Do I look okay?”

“Ooh, ‘Mapping Funerary Monuments in the Periphery of Imperial Rome.’”

“Annabeth.”

She looks up from her brochure. “Relax, seaweed brain, you look fine. You look better than most people here.”

“That’s because I bring down the average age of presenters by about thirty years,” he hisses, eyes darting about at the milling mass of attendees, all packed into the hotel ballroom.

Dr. Bauer had alternately convinced/pressured/guilttripped him into attending this year’s annual conference for the Society of Classical Studies to talk about the research he’d been doing with her. This year, the conference was held in San Francisco, so at the very least Percy didn’t have to spend five hours stressing about his poster presentation while simultaneously up in the air. But now that he’s here, in the ballroom, surrounded by strangers who know way more about this subject than he does, who are actually smart and probably never nearly flunked out of school or got kicked out or--

“Hey.” Annabeth takes his hand. “I know that look. You deserve to be here just as much as any of them.”

“Do I? I feel like any moment someone is going to come over and throw me out for trespassing.” He vaguely recalls something similar happening to him as a kid after he had ducked into the lobby of a semi-nice hotel to dodge what he had thought, at the time, was just a weird stalker, but had later realized had only had one eye. In any case, the hotel security guard had practically picked him up by the scruff of his neck, tossing him back out into the street.

“That’s just your imposter syndrome talking,” she reassures him. “No one is going to throw you out.”

He sure as shit hopes so. It would be a shame to have done all this work for nothing.

Glancing back at his poster, Percy can’t help but feel… good. Accomplished. Proud. About a school assignment, of all things.

His poster traces the development of the prow from the Greek penteconter, to the Roman liburna, and finally to the Byzantine dromon, looking at artistic depictions in history. Percy had picked the topic himself, spending hours in the library reading, writing, and hand-drawing cross-sections of the ships on the poster board when the images he had gotten from the Cambridge University library had been too small. It had been grueling, frustrating work, but fun, too. And not nearly as much reading as he had feared.

Dr. Chase proofread it for him. Dr. Bauer signed off on it. And Annabeth had taken one look at it, smiled, then kissed his cheek.

That was the best compliment he had gotten.

Though now he’s kind of torn between showing it off and hiding it away before one of these attendees figures out that he doesn’t belong.

He rocks back and forth and his feet, pursing his lips, randomly clicking his tongue. Annabeth nudges him. “Your ADHD is showing.”

That’s when, finally, one of the attendees steps up to his poster. He certainly has the look of a professor, in a black cable knit sweater with grey, curly hair and a receding hairline, thin, rimless glasses perched on his nose. He squints at Percy’s poster, rubbing his chin with one hand. “Interesting,” he murmurs, in a thick German accent. “Very interesting. This is yours?”

“Um.” He glances at Annabeth, who is frowning at the brochure, silently sounding out words that she can’t read. “Yep. All mine.”

“Very interesting.” He leans in closer, tilting his head. “So you agree with Pryor and Jeffreys about the skeleton-first construction, then?”

Percy blinks. Pryor and Jeffreys had written The Age of the Dromon, arguing that the ram, which had been a key feature of Roman liburnians, had gone away in ancient ship construction because of developments in how they built the hull. Right. “Yes,” he says. “The skeleton-first construction is a lot stronger than the, um,” shit, what was the name for this, Leo had only told him about a million times--oh! “Mortise-and-tenon!” He nearly shrieks. “The mortise-and-tenon method. It, um, it wears out a lot more quickly than the frame, so… yeah.” He clears his throat.

He nods. “Very interesting.”

Percy stares. Can this guy say anything else?

“This is very well done, young man.”

Oh. “Thank you,” he says.

“Who are you working with?”

“Um, June Bauer?” He winces at the accidental question.

He frowns. “I’m not familiar with her work. Where does she teach?”

What a loaded question. “Uh… New Rome University.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s--she used to teach at Northwestern, if that helps. Um, retired,” Percy says.

The frown stays, but at least he doesn’t ask any more questions. “Hmm. Well, this is excellent research, nonetheless. I look forward to reading your dissertation.” Then, distracted by something else, he wanders off, chin still attached to his hand.

“Who was that?” Annabeth asks.

Percy shrugs. “Beats me. Also, what’s a dissertation?”

“It’s like a senior thesis, but, like, five hundred pages long.”

Five hundred?! “Fuck me.”

“Maybe later,” Annabeth smirks. “It looks like you’ve got company.”

Sure enough, a smallish group of four people are approaching, led by Dr. Chase, making a beeline straight for them. “Here we are,” Dr. Chase says, gesturing. “This is the project I was telling you about. Percy, would you mind going over your poster for us?”

“No problem, Dr. C,” says Percy, smiling his least-grimace-y smile.

As one, the adults all turn to look at him, faces politely blank, expectant.

Percy swallows. “So,” he begins, “um, this research is about the development of ship construction in the Roman empire…”

He trips up on some of the words, and at one point, he sees Dr. Chase squint in the way that usually means that Percy is speaking too fast, but all in all, he doesn’t totally fall flat on his face. His audience looks engaged, nodding along as Percy moves from point to point, and no one accuses him of being a giant fraud, which is pretty nice.

At one point, Percy turns to the poster to indicate a specific point on his ship diagrams. When he turns back, his audience has suddenly multiplied, four people turning into a whole goddamn crowd. Each person gives him their undivided attention almost unblinking.

His mouth goes dry. “Um…”

Dr. Chase, bless him, saves his ass once again. “Would mind starting again from the beginning, Percy?” he asks, a little bemused himself at the amount of people that had suddenly appeared.

Silence stretches on for a moment, the muffled noise of the rest of the conference like a dull roar in his ear.

Annabeth, behind him, coughs.

“S-sure. No problem.”

Swallowing, he closes his eyes, breathing in through his nose. Why, oh why did he let Dr. Bauer talk him into doing this again?

He pictures the tides of Long Island Sound, gentle and rocking, unhurried and unbothered, tries to match his breathing to them. When he opens his eyes, unfortunately, the crowd hasn’t disappeared. Everyone is still staring at him.

But Annabeth stands next to her dad, flashing him a big smile and two huge thumbs up.

Percy relaxes. He’s got this.

“Okay,” he says. “So, about the middle of the first millennium CE, ship construction went through a couple of major developments…”

This time goes much, much more smoothly. He’s not sure what it is--though it’s probably Annabeth, her face fixed in a gentle smile as she watches him speak. Gods, what did he do in a past life to deserve someone as amazing as his girlfriend?

That’s the only reason he can do this. Hell, that’s the only reason he even thought to do this. If he didn’t have Annabeth there, encouraging him, cheering him on, he never would have had the confidence to put himself out there like this. She’s there to pick him up when he doubts himself, there to listen when he can’t explain himself, there to give him feedback when he needs to practice.

She makes him feel so strong. She makes him feel like he can take on the world--or at the very least, that he can impress a handful of academics.

And they certainly seem impressed with his talk so far.

“Excuse me,” says a nasally, pinched looking older British guy, face lined as though he lived his life in a state of perpetual squinting. “I find your conclusions to be suspect--wouldn’t the frame method be more susceptible to breaking than the mortise-and-tenon?”

Well, most of them, anyway.

Percy shakes his head. “You’d think, but no. If you look at the study by Steffy, you’ll see that the three-finned ram from the Athlit wreck was designed specifically to break the mortise-and-tenon hull by causing the planks to flex, so that they’d dislodge the joinerys right next to them. A blow like that can cause the wood to split right down the middle.” A blow like that had sunk Sherman Yang’s ship when they tested it out on the lake at camp last summer, the naiads practically hurling him out of the water so quickly Percy didn’t even have to dive in to save him.

“How were you able to do these strength tests?” asks another listener, an older woman with a thick Hungarian accent.

“Hands-on battle simulations,” Percy replies, easily. “We took our models and tested them in as accurate a simulation as we could make.”

“And how big were these models?”

Percy holds his hands apart, a vague, entirely inaccurate estimate. “About thirty meters, give or take.”

Her eyes widen. “How on earth did you get your hands on such a large ship?”

Percy freezes. “Uh.”

Oh, shit.

He had forgotten--most people didn’t have dads who could summon shipwrecks from the bottom of the sea, dropping them off at Camp Half-Blood with nothing but a sand dollar and one or two exhausted, pissed off hippocampi who had had to drag them all the way there.

“Um,” he stammers, licking his lips, thinking fast--c’mon, Percy, think! “I…” He swallows, panicking. “I… b… built one.”

In the corner of his eye, Annabeth facepalms.

Simultaneously, every mouth in the crowd drops--in shock, outrage, and even excitement. “You built one?!” the woman yelps.

Oops. “I had help,” Percy says, quickly.

Annabeth adds a second hand to her facepalm.

“Where?” The first man asks, his bushy brows flying above the rim of his glasses.

“At my… summer camp…”

Dr. Chase sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I mean,” Percy chuckles, shrugging his shoulders, trying not to sweat too obviously, “it was either that or lanyards, am I right?”

Dr. Chase, thank Athena, raises his hand, ready to step in. “What Percy means to say, I believe,” he says, attempting to draw their attention, “is that--”

“That’s amazing!” says another woman, probably a grad student attendee based on the fact that she’s wearing jeans. “Do you have pictures?”

Oh this is not good. “Um, not--not on me, but--”

“I do.” Annabeth takes out her phone, holding it up to the person next to her.

Percy blinks. “You do?” He doesn’t remember her taking any pictures.

She shoots him a look, two parts exasperated and one part “shut up and let me handle this,” with just a dash of fondness in the mix. Pointedly, she looks at him, eyebrows raised, indicating that he should continue.

Oh. She’s using Mist. And he needs to keep their attention on him so that they buy it. “Right,” he says, clearing his throat. “Any more questions?”

His audience placated for now, passing around Annabeth’s phone, he manages to finish up his presentation. After fielding a few more questions, people start to peel off, distracted by other posters and presenters in the ballroom. When everyone has finally wandered away, Dr. Chase comes up and pats Percy’s shoulder awkwardly. “Nice work,” he says, and he seems like he means it. “A little touch-and-go there for a while, hm?”

“A little.”

He chuckles. “Still, you should be proud. I don’t know how many undergraduates would be able to handle that kind of pressure.”

“I mean,” Percy says, shrugging a shoulder, “it’s about on par with leading an army. Maybe a little less.” Honestly, maybe even a little more stressful. If a monster had decided to attack the convention center and interrupt his presentation, he probably would have been relieved.

He’d been worried for a moment that he’d undone all those years of work in making Annabeth’s dad like him. And that he’d be charged with some sort of academic fraud, for the whole “I have a boat” thing without proof. Thank the gods for Annabeth, as always.

She’s looking at him now through narrowed eyes. She at least can’t be surprised--that was far from the dumbest thing she’s ever seen him do. At least his “I spent most of my time at magic greek mythology summer camp” covers are normally better than hers. As someone who spent his formative years in the real world, he’s usually pretty good at keeping the demigod thing under wraps.

“Come on,” she says, grabbing his hand. She pulls him off, through the dispersing crowd, lacing their fingers together, sweet and intimate, out of the hall and then down another one, and through a smaller corridor. Bringing them up to a little door, with a shake of her wrist, she pulls out her Estruscan keyring bracelet. About several of the keys have found themselves used in various misadventures, vanishing once their purpose is fulfilled, but her favorite key is still there. And, just like a clever child of Hermes, it can pick just about any lock.

Inside is just an empty room, a little staging area surrounded by tiered desks going up, no more or less remarkable than any of the other conference rooms they’d visited before.

“What--?” His question is cut off by Annabeth’s mouth on his.

Surprising, but definitely not unwelcome.

It's a while before they separate again. “You’re so good at this,” she tells him, unbuttoning his shirt.

He runs his hands along the lines of her flanks. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” he grins. He’d practice kissing her all day long if he could.

She smiles, shaking her head. “No, not this,” though she does lean in for another kiss, pulling at his lower lip with her teeth. “I know you’re good at this.” They break away, Percy pulling her shirt over her head, Annabeth shucking off his. “But history. Presenting.” She runs a finger over his chest, kissing his cheek, headed towards the sensitive spot on his jaw. “Gods, you’re so smart.”

Something about the praise vibrates through his chest. She doesn’t sound surprised, or anything, just--turned on.

“You had all those crusty academics eating out of your hand. Just, so impressed by you, knowing you know way more than they do about naval history. When you were explaining the--” Her compliment is cut off with a moan, as he leans down and starts sucking on her throat. Her blouse has a high neck, so he feels no guilt for using his teeth.

“Watching you today, gods.” Her breath is labored as his fingers play at the waistline of her skirt. “And then thinking of you defending your dissertation.” He bites at her jugular, and she lets out a long, deep moan.

“I don’t know what that means.” Do academics fight each other? Like, with weapons? He’s pretty sure he can take most of the people he met today.

“It means you get to show off how smart you are,” Annabeth says, grasping his shoulders, pulling him in for another kiss. “I was born the day my dad defended his. Gods, it's going to be amazing to watch you go.” She yanks his belt out of his pants, tossing it to the floor.

They miss the panel on recent translation efforts. But Percy can’t say he minds one bit.

And when Annabeth presents him with a positive pregnancy test two months later, Percy definitely knows he made the right decision.

He almost doesn’t realize he’s having a dream-vision at first.

It has been literal years since he’s had a demigod dream. Hell, it’s been a long while since he’s had a dream, period--being a new dad to a one-and-a-half-year-old saps too much of his energy to even think about dreaming. Once Junie is put to bed, when he’s out, he is fucking out, and he does not have the brainpower to spare to manifest any messed up subconscious fears.

Which is why when he blinks open his eyes, taking in the too-bright colors of the Parthenon and the gleaming shine of the bronze statues which are somehow all looking at him--also, you know, how the Parthenon is complete, standing as it did thousands of years ago, and not crumbled into ruins--he knows, immediately, he is being contacted by a god.

And only one god in particular would bring him to Athens.

Without even checking, he heaves himself up off the ground, folding into a kneel. “My lady Athena,” he says, “can I ask for what quest you’ve brought me here?”

“Impertinent as ever, Percy Jackson,” rumbles the goddess, but Percy doesn’t think he can sense any ill will towards him. He hopes, anyway. “Perhaps I have summoned you here for a social visit.”

“Perhaps,” he says, choosing his next words as carefully as possible. “But I assume you have too much to worry about to randomly check up on your daughter’s boyfriend.”

He lifts his head, catching her expression--stoic as always, but maybe with just the barest hint of a smile. “You assume correctly. You have become, contrary to my initial expectations, very wise in the time that I have known you.”

“Thank you.” He knows better than to do anything but accept the compliment for what it is.

“I have observed your work as a scholar in recent years, and I must say that I am surprised, yet pleased, that you have chosen to pursue such a path. I had not thought you to be suited for a world of old men and dusty papers.”

He grits his teeth. Don’t rise to the bait, don’t rise to the bait, don’t rise to the bait--

“I understand, as well, that though you and my daughter have,” and here her careful composition cracks, just the slightest, the tiny lift of her lips falling, “made a child together.”

Percy swallows. He figured, you know, in the abstract, that Athena would know about Junie, but hearing her say it out loud is… well, he’s just glad that Dr. Chase has always liked him. “Yes, my lady.”

“It is customary in your time to marry prior to childbirth, is it not?”

“It is.” Oh, fuck, is she going to smite him for that? “I--that is to say, we, Annabeth and I, we, um, we definitely want to get married, but, Annabeth kind of…”

He trails off. He can’t tell Athena, goddess of war, that his daughter pissed off the queen of heaven! And if he does, he definitely can’t imply that it was because she was being too stubborn!

“I know well of my daughter’s history with my father’s wife,” Athena says, smoothly. “I come to you now with an offer of peace.”

Percy straightens his back. Peace?

Raising one graceful arm, Athena turns, indicating the structure behind her. “Look upon my temple,” she intones. The white marble shines even more powerfully against the blue and red paint, intricate scenes and figures ringing the top of the columns. “In the time of Pericles, it was built to commemorate the victory of Hellas over the armies of Xerxes the Great. It was to be the shining beacon of our world, a triumph of our power and influence over the race of men.”

The race of men might have had something to say about that, he thinks to himself.

“But it was not to be,” Athena says, mournfully. “As our influence waned, so too did our temple, until its might was all but forgotten.”

Before his eyes, the paint fades away, ceilings and columns collapsing, the destruction of the Parthenon playing out in front of him.

“Some two hundred years ago,” she says, her voice taking on a darker, more dangerous tone, “a grave insult was paid to the ruins of my ancient sanctuary.” Like curtains falling on a stage, darkness swallowed up the structure, swift and impenetrable. “Many treasures were taken from my temple, stolen, by foolish, greedy men, spirited away far to the north, where they have languished in unworthy hands.”

He narrows his eyes. She can’t possibly be talking about--

Athena turns back to him, her eyes blazing, somehow twice as tall. “Retrieve my treasures,” she commands, war personified, “return the prizes of Athens to their rightful place, and I shall give you my support against my father’s wife.”

“You…” Percy leans back on his haunches, staring dumbfounded up at the goddess. “You don’t happen to mean the Parthenon Marbles, do you?”

“Yes.”

“The ones in the British Museum.”

“The same,” she says, imperious as ever.

Fantastic. “Welp,” Percy says, slapping his thighs, scrambling up. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll have to decline. Nice seeing you, by the way. I’ll tell Annabeth you stopped by.”

Her sharp gazes pierces him, full of fury. “You dare to refuse my support?”

He snorts. “When it means trying to get the UK to give the marbles back, absolutely. Do you know how stubborn they are about this?”

Lightning flashes behind her, nearly blinding him. “You will regret this,” Athena says, dark and foreboding. “You may have your father’s goodwill, but the queen of Olympus is clever and cunning, her displeasure swift and merciless.”

But Percy still shakes his head. “When Annabeth and I get married,” and it’s definitely a ‘when,’ it’s just a matter of when precisely, like after Junie can sleep through the night maybe, “I’d rather take my chances with Hera than try and untangle that particular can of olives.”

A growl, and a snap of her fingers, and Athena disappears.

With a start, Percy wakes up. Junie had gotten her chubby little hands around his nose, and had decided to pull.

“Ow, ow, Junie, hey,” he squawks, attempting to dislodge her grip from his face. “Hey, I’m awake, it’s okay.”

She laughs, illegally adorable, her grey eyes sparkling, squeezing harder.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs along with her. “You got my nose, you win.”

As if she were waiting for him to admit defeat, she lets go, clapping her pudgy toddler hands together.

“That’s right,” he picks her up, raising her above his head. “Barely sixteen months old and you already know how to take me down, don’t you? Just like your mommy.”

She smiles, waving her little fists.

Gods he loves this little monster.

Junie really is the best parts of both of them. She’s got her daddy’s hair but her mommy’s brain, quick and sharp and painfully adorable. She’s already learning to read Greek, Annabeth sitting her in her lap and sounding out vowels together, Annabeth taking her finger and tracing it over the letter shapes. This kid absorbs information like a sponge, which Percy can only assume is the natural conclusion of taking a son of Poseidon and a daughter of Athena and mixing their DNA together.

Thinking about his dream, he frowns. “What do you think, Junie,” he asks his toddler. “Should I take her up on her offer?”

The baby says nothing.

“I mean,” he tilts his head, “Greece has been trying to get the marbles back for two hundred years. UNESCO has top lawyers on this. What does Athena think I can do?”

Junie blinks at him.

“On the other hand, I do really love your mom,” he admits, “and I really want to marry her. You’d like that, right? To have your parents be married?”

There’s no way she can understand what he’s saying, but she moves her head like she’s nodding. Or maybe she does understand. She is Annabeth’s daughter after all.

Percy sighs. Dammit.

Time for a new project, he guesses.

***

Several months, a college graduation, and one relocation to Boston later, Percy growls, hurling his pencil at the wall. Mother fucker. Fuck the British Museum, fuck his tiny laptop screen, and fuck the Italian prick who decided to have the least ADHD-friendly handwriting of all time.

Why the hell is he doing this again? Like, seriously. Why in all of Hades is he, an inexperienced, snot-nosed, first year master’s student deciding to tackle the return of the fucking Parthenon marbles of all things. Like, what is wrong with him?

Roughly scrubbing his fingers through his hair, Percy stands up. He has to go for a walk, clear his head, or he might actually explode.

Then he catches a glimpse of the photo pinned to the fridge.

Percy’s mom had taken it, a candid of Percy and Annabeth and Junie on a sunny day in Central Park. There, in perfect 1080p, Junie is laughing, at what he can’t even remember, her pudgy fists yanking on Percy’s hair, while her mother and the love of his life does nothing to extricate Percy from her grip, her face screwed up so hard she had tears in her eyes.

Percy had talked a lot of shit to the goddess of war’s face, but truth be told… Hera still terrifies him a little. Which, he assumes, was her goal all along, but it would be nice to marry Annabeth without fear of something going terribly wrong--or, gods forbid, something happening to Junie. That simply was not a risk he was willing to take. Percy is content to spend the rest of his days as Annabeth’s life-partner and roommate, if it means that the queen of the heavens won’t have a reason to take out her issues on his children.

Even if the engagement ring in the back of the pantry is gathering dust.

Sunlight, wan but warm, falls in from the window, landing perfectly on his pile of open books. “I know, I know,” he growls, speaking to the air, rubbing his face so it doesn’t get stuck in a permanent glare. “I just--I just need a few minutes, okay? Let me go down the block and get a coffee or something. Two minutes, Lady Athena.”

The light fades. Percy takes that as an acquiescence, angrily scribbling a note. He’s not sure when Annabeth and Junie will be back, but even angry as he is, he doesn’t want to worry them.

Snatching up his jacket, he slams the door shut, stomping out of his apartment building and down the streets of Boston. He must be accidentally doing his wolf stare, because people are practically flinging themselves out of his path as he hurtles down the sidewalk. Literally--some girl is walking her husky, and the poor dog actually whimpers, cowering as Percy rounds the corner.

Coming to a stop, Percy slaps his hands over his face, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath.

He might be in over his head a little.

Sighing, he looks to his right. He’s standing outside of a Starbucks.

Percy doesn’t drink coffee, Annabeth does. And he knows exactly how much of a coffee snob his girlfriend is. Starbucks? Overpriced, overrated, over-sweetened garbage.

He pushes the door open, sliding up to the counter. “I’ll take a… iced mocha, I guess,” he says. “Large.”

“No problem,” chirps the barista. “I’ll have that out for you in a minute.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

One thing Starbucks does have going for it, though, are really good napkins for doodling.

Slumping down in his uncomfortable metal chair, elbows resting on the hard, faux-wood table, Percy takes out his pen, and doodles aimlessly on the brown napkins. No, not that pen. Just because it can write doesn’t mean that Percy wants to risk slicing his face open every time he has a stray idea. Completely out of the blue, Annabeth had gotten him a nice set of pens, and ever since then, Percy always keeps one on him. Now, if he could just remember to use the little notebook she had gotten him, too.

Percy is not an artist by any stretch of the imagination. He doesn’t have an image in mind, just lets his pen move, drawing endless chains of triangles and stars, nebulous shapes which form themselves into Greek letters. After he catches himself writing γλαυκῶπις for the eighth time in a row, he sighs, dropping his pen, and picks up the cup, taking a sip.

Yuck. At least the chocolate outweighs the coffee taste a little.

Gods, and their cups are always, like, drenched from condensation--not that Percy can feel it, but there’s practically a whole other drink on the outside of the plastic, dripping all over Percy’s pile of doodle napkins. That must be why they give out so many.

Grumbling, he mops up the mess, ink smudged into a blue-brown slurry.

He stops.

He squints at one of his doodles.

Not that anyone else could tell, but Percy had apparently been trying to recreate the signature of Ottoman sultan Selim III, the guy who had supposedly authorized the Earl of Elgin to take the Parthenon Marbles. Percy had been staring at copies of his signature all damn day, trying to tell if it had been forged or copied, but classical Arabic was just so far beyond anything he could even begin to wrap his head around. It was gorgeous work, but even looking at it made Percy’s eyes swim.

This particular doodle is not his best attempt. It looks nothing like the signature. It’s smudged, blotchy, but in a way that’s… weirdly familiar.

Snatching the napkin up, Percy bolts from the Starbucks, leaving his mocha behind.

Taking the steps of his apartment building two at a time, he bursts into his kitchen. His set up is exactly how he left it, books spread out all over the table, laptop shut and laid askew, the dry, half-eaten remains of his morning muffin on a plate on top of his encyclopedia of illuminated manuscripts--except for one book, the one on Ottoman history of the nineteenth century. It’s been opened, its pages facing the door, in the exact opposite direction of all the other books.

“Hello?” he calls into the apartment. “Anyone home?”

No response.

Percy approaches the table.

From the pages, Selim III stares at him, his portrait rendered in black and white, sitting just above a figure of his signature, his tughra.

Percy picks up the book, squinting.

The signature is crisp, clean, a work of art all by itself.

He looks at his napkin drawing. Blurry and smudged.

Opening his laptop, he pulls up the scans of the documents in the British museum, zooms in on the letter’s seal.

Blurry and smudged.

Percy stares.

It… can’t be that simple, can it?

In a daze, he fires an email off to his new grad advisor. Hopefully he won’t mind Percy sticking his nose in where he doesn’t belong. Hey Dr. T--was looking at the Parthenon marbles docs in the BM (don’t ask) and I noticed this weird smudge on the tughra. Lazy scribe, maybe?

And he closes his computer.

Later that night, while he puts Junie to bed, he gets a response. not sure. sent it to a colleague for a closer look.

He can’t even be bothered to really think about it though, not with Junie looking up at him with Annabeth’s eyes, and asking for another book. “Alright, kiddo,” he acquiesces, settling in beside her. All her story books are in ancient Greek, and at age two, she’s starting to recognize the letters. “Which one are you thinking?”

“Daw-fins, daddy,” she says, smiling.

“Dolphins, eh? Getting Mr. D on your side early, I see. As smart as mommy.” He leans down and kisses her forehead before he starts to read her the story of the sailors and their sudden dolphin madness.

***

“Huh,” Percy says to himself a few weeks later, as he and Annabeth are chilling on the couch, watching some Netflix.

His advisor has forwarded him an article from the BBC (New evidence suggests Elgin documents to be forgeries) with an accompanying note: Amazing catch!

“What is it?” Annabeth asks, nudging him with her elbow--a feat, since she also has an armful of a squirmy Junie to deal with.

“Update in the Parthenon marbles thing.”

That gets her attention. Anything Parthenon-related does. “Really?”

He shows her his phone.

Her eyes go wide as saucers. “Damn.”

“Yep.” He doesn’t realize he’s smiling until he feels his lips pulling at the sides of his mouth.

“My mom is probably your biggest fan right now.”

He starts. “What did you say?”

Turning back to the TV, she still manages to cast him a weird look. “I said, my mom will probably love you for this.”

A beat, then Percy practically somersaults over the couch, darting into the kitchen. Wrenching open the pantry door, he shoves his hand behind their collection of flours, fingers grasping for--

“If you’re looking for any more sacrificial cookies,” Annabeth calls after him, “we burned them all when Junie got a cold.”

“Remind me to make some more,” says Percy, pulling out his prize. It’s a little dusty, streaks of flour clinging to the blue velvet. “I have a feeling we’ll need them.”

“Oh yeah?” She chuckles. “What, did Olympus put in a special order?”

Percy slides back down next to her, ring hidden in his closed fist. “Can I have the baby for a sec?”

Eyes fixed to the screen, Annabeth passes her over. Junie’s hands automatically reach for his nose, ready to grab, but Percy places the ring in her grasp instead, kissing her forehead. “Hey, babe?” he asks Annabeth, handing her back. “I think our daughter has something for you.”

Annabeth takes her without a second glance.

Then she does take a second glance.

Ring closed in her pudgy toddler fist, Junie holds it out to her.

Annabeth gapes.

“So,” Percy says, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, “quick confession: I wasn’t just working on the marbles for fun.”

Annabeth just stares. Junie babbles.

“Your mom told me that if I helped get the marbles back, she’d back us against Hera if we ever got married. So…” He trails off, waiting for her response. As close as he is, he can see the tears start to well up in her eyes--a good sign. “Shall we?” he prompts.

“Oh thank all the gods.” Annabeth is crying, because she's Annabeth. And because she's Annabeth, she also wastes no time in transferring Junie to her other side, and holding out her hand so Percy can slide the ring on her finger. “I was so worried I'd have to have Chase on my Masters’ diploma, too.”

Percy is making sauce when his phone lights up. He hits speaker. “Hey.”

“Hey man,” comes the tinny voice of Magnus. “Sorry I missed your call earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Percy says, “I figured you were dying or something.”

Magnus’ eye roll is almost palpable. “Very funny. What’s up?”

Bringing the spoon to his lips, he blows on it, taking a taste, before reaching for the salt. Needs way more. “Do you happen to have any Varangian guards in Hotel Valhalla?”

“Varangian guards? Uh, maybe. Probably. Why?”

“I’m doing a thing on the attempted reconquest of Sicily,” he says, lowering the heat a little to a simmer, “and I’m having some trouble piecing together the Battle of Montemaggiore. Know anyone who was in it?”

Magnus hums. “I’ll ask around. Anyone in particular you’re looking for?”

Rifling through their little spice cabinet, he makes a mental note to get a new thing of hot sauce, tipping the rest of it into the pot. “If you have anyone who fought under Harald Hardrada, that would be great.”

“Hardrada? I’m pretty sure he lives on the fifth floor.”

Percy nearly drops the bottle. “No shit?”

“Big dude, long mustache, writes poetry?”

“Yes!” He picks up the phone, grinning from ear to ear. “Do you think I could come up and talk to him sometime?”

“Sure, but I thought you were doing something on Homer’s identity?”

He groans. “Backburnered for now until she stops driving me crazy.” No matter how many times Percy tells her, he can’t just drop the “Homer was actually an Egyptian woman” bomb without some serious evidence backing that up. And forgery is not one of his strong suits. Hence the need for a different topic for the time being.

“Has everyone ever told you your life is weird?”

“No, why do you ask?”

His phone suddenly vibrates, shocking him so badly he nearly drops it into the saucepan. Almost home, texts the love of his life, a shot of serotonin directly into his bloodstream. V hungry

“Sorry, Magnus, but I gotta run. Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. Say hi to my cousin for me.”

“Can do.”

“And make sure you pick a date soon! Sam needs to know so she can schedule her flight home.”

“Soon as I can.” You know, when his brain isn’t melting from grading undergrad papers. And making sure Annabeth and Junie are fed. And that Annabeth doesn’t lose herself in graduate school. And finding Junie a new preschool after she destroyed a classroom last month because of a monster. His toddler is a badass. But he’s a little worried she’s gonna follow Mommy and Daddy’s example as far as school goes.

Sometimes, he thinks that their wedding just won’t ever happen. With Athena on board, he figured it would happen sooner or later, but time just… keeps getting away from them. Which isn’t the end of the world. A lifetime at Annabeth’s side is all he really needs, Mrs. Jackson or no. But he’s seen the silver fabric she weaved for her wedding dress. It would be a shame for all that hard work to go to waste.

And, yeah, he wants to see his little Junie dancing down the aisle flinging seaweed before her mother. He wants his mom to cry a little and he wants all his friends to be there to celebrate with them. Is that so much to ask?

Speaking of his two favorite girls--”We’re home!” Annabeth calls from the hallway. “Junie, go say hi to daddy!”

Her bare feet slapping against the floor, his daughter comes toddling in, making a beeline for him. “Hey, kiddo,” Percy says, scooping her up. “How’s my best girl?”

“She’s just fine, thanks,” Annabeth says, setting her work bag down on the table. “Tell me I don’t have to wait for dinner--Margie kept me for the entirety of my lunch break, and I am starving.”

“Just gotta make a salad and we should be good to go.” But he makes no move to finish chopping vegetables, entirely too enraptured with the way Junie smiles when Percy sticks his tongue out at her. “Let me guess,” he says. “Does my best girl want some olives?”

“Peas,” Junie says.

“Oh, you want peas instead?”

She giggles, waving her arms. “Elaia, daddy!”

“Fine,” and he kisses her nose. “Extra olives for you.”

“Chip off the old block,” Annabeth says.

Handing her back to her mother, Percy sighs. “When am I going to get a kid who likes anchovies?”

“I’m doing my best here, okay?”

***

Hardrada is… not what he expected.

“Reputation isn’t that bad.” Hardrada is saying. “The production isn’t what it should be, but lots of her lyrics are still on point.”

“The production ruins it,” Percy insists. “And as a follow up to 1989? It's just bad.”

“And what about Lover?”

“What about Lover?”

“You can’t argue with the genius of that one.”

“It is terribly inconsistent,” Percy shoots back. “Yeah, ‘The Archer’ and ‘Daylight’ and ‘Miss Americana’ are sublime, but ‘ME!’? Come on!”

“Are you one of those people who thinks she peaked at Red?”

“Red is a bop from start to finish,” Percy fires back. “But she definitely peaked at folklore.”

“Thinking she peaked at folklore is just pedestrian when ‘tis the damn season’ exists!” Hardrada yells, drawing his axe, which is then promptly flung over Percy’s head.

As the only mortal in a room full of armed, excitable, undead Taylor Swift stans, Percy beats a hasty exit, Magnus and Jason covering him as he flees, because they’re just so thoughtful like that. Percy’s pretty sure he saw Magnus take an arrow to the knee, going down in a heap, before he shuts the door to the hotel, finding himself in a Forever 21.

Looking over his notes later as he gets back to his apartment in the North End, he frowns. They had spent… approximately twenty minutes talking about Sicily before getting solidly off track. Who knew an eleventh century viking would have such intense feelings about pop music?

And now he’s singing “seven” to himself as he unlocks the apartment door, because it's a good song, and because it made him think of Annabeth. And he always wants to think of Annabeth.

“Hey, babe,” he calls into the apartment, toeing off his shoes. “I’m back!”

He gets no response.

Percy looks up, confused. “Annabeth?”

“In the bathroom,” he hears, faintly.

“Everything okay?”

“Yep! Totally fine!” she says, unconvincingly.

“Alright,” he calls back. “Let me know if you need something.”

Moving Junie’s toys out of the way, he drops down onto the couch, grabbing his laptop. Hopefully he can make some sort of sense of the… notes… that he got from Hardrada. Though he’s probably going to have to trek out to Beacon Hill again, which, while not really out of his way, does mean he has to hike a bit from the Park Street station through the Commons, which makes him super sweaty and out of breath. It’s just embarrassing, walking into a hotel full of the greatest warriors of Valhalla, and Percy can barely handle a hill.

However, he’s not so out of practice that he can’t sense Annabeth coming up behind him. “You good?”

“What do you think about getting married by the end of the month?”

“Sure,” he says, pecking at his computer. Damn autocorrect ruining all the Norse names. He keeps forgetting to download the right language package he needs. “But I thought you wanted to wait until after you turned in your portfolio?”

“Well… I might not be able to fit in my dress if we wait much longer.”

That gets his attention.

Percy turns around, slowly. Annabeth is grinning, holding a thin little piece of plastic with a circle on the end. She wiggles it.

“Is that…?”

“Yep.”

“Oh.”

Her smile falls. “Are you mad?”

“What? No!” Percy slides his computer off his lap, twisting around to face her, up on his knees. “No, no, not at all. I’m not mad.” She slings her arms around his neck, pregnancy test warm against his skin. “I just…”

Eyes warm, she looks into his, unafraid. “What is it?”

“It’s…” It’s silly, is what it is. But this is Annabeth. If he can’t tell her, who can he tell? “I just feel bad that I’ve gotten you pregnant twice before getting married.”

“Well, at least I’m not nineteen this time,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “But maybe we wouldn’t have this problem if you weren’t such a horndog.”

Percy snorts. “Me? What about you, Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before my first lecture’ Chase.”

“Jackson,” she corrects.

“Huh?”

“It’s Annabeth ‘3 AM anal before your first lecture’ Jackson.”

Grinning, he presses his mouth to hers. After all this time, she still smells like lemons, her lips soft and warm. “Not yet it’s not.”

“Then let’s make it happen.”

And, well, Percy can’t think of a better plan.

Jamie hisses. “Fuuuuuck,” she whispers, the sound dropping like a stone in the dead lecture hall. “Goddamn shit fuck ass.”

And the worst part is, she’d actually spent a lot of time preparing for her Latin midterm. She’d made flashcards, she’d drilled noun endings, she’d even slept with the textbook under her pillow for fuck’s sake.

Typical--the moment she sits down to take the test, it all goes out the window.

“Legistne carmen longum de Troiano,” she reads under her breath, as though saying it out loud will unlock some hidden secrets of the cosmos.

Nope. Nothing. The multiple choices remain as inscrutable as ever.

“Psst.”

Jamie looks up.

There’s a four year old staring at her.

“Hi,” Jamie says.

“Hi,” says the four year old. Junie, her name is, she thinks.

Mr. Jackson, Jamie’s Latin TA, will bring his kids to class with him sometimes--his wife works full time, and Jamie guesses that they can’t afford a babysitter. She’s a cute kid, quiet, usually sitting in the corner of the lecture hall, drawing or even knitting, sometimes with her little sister playing with toy ships next to her.

Now, she’s still staring at her. “What’s up?” Jamie asks.

“Bello,” says Junie.

Jamie blinks. “Sorry?”

“Legistne carmen longum de bello Troiano.”

She squints down at her test sheet, attempting to visualize her flash cards. That’s… “Bello” is the right answer.

The fuck? The fucking four year old can speak Latin? “Thanks,” she whispers.

Junie beams at her.

Darting her eyes to the front of the lecture hall, Jamie spies her professor, Buck, completely conked out at his desk, his chest rising and falling with his snores. Percy is nowhere to be seen, his laptop open at his chair. “What’s the next one?” Jamie turns her paper so that Junie can see better.

“Pluto Proserpinam infelicem cepit,” she announces, perfectly accented.

Jamie points to the one after that.

“Rex qui pontem fecit erat Ancus Martius.”

“Awesome.”

The door to the lecture hall opens. Jamie whips around in her seat, startled, and sees her TA, walking down the steps. From the corner of her eye, Junie disappears, booking it to her dad, who scoops her up without missing a beat. “Hey kiddo,” he murmurs, smiling crookedly. “Were you bothering my students?” Then he glances at Jamie. “Sorry about that--hope she wasn’t too annoying.”

But Jamie shakes her head. “It’s fine.” Dammit.

Still smiling, Percy makes his way back down to his seat. Junie grins at her over his shoulder, her arms wrapped tightly around her dad’s neck.

At the beginning of the semester, Professor Buck had droned on and on about Mr. Jackson, about how he was one of the best up-and-coming classics scholars in the world, how he could have had his pick of PhD programs, and how NYU was lucky to have him. He got first pick of assistantships this semester, apparently, but had volunteered to teach Latin 1001, and they should all be grateful, because he had done some beautiful new translation of Virgil for his Master’s thesis, and they were all going to learn a lot from him.

Turning back to her exam, Jamie snorts. Of course a guy like that would have a kid who could speak perfect Latin.

She really should have just stuck with German instead.

#my fic #pjo #percabeth #the rivalry ends here #perseannabeth #darkmagyk #percy should be a classics major and here's why #the percy major for the stem hating author #also i feel like i have to say:#1) classics conferences are not like that #2) if only it were that easy to get the bm to return looted antiquities 🙄#pjo fic #percabeth fic #percy jackson

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