#the world washing out—parallel to percy saying the world shouldn’t be so beautiful. not when his mom is gone

[lanternlightss]

so !!! was talking with @gracefullilyofthevalley and they gave such a good idea that the brainrot immediately hit and !!! have to inflict upon you all now.

Who is this woman?

It’s the question most prominent on Percy’s mind, right after, I wonder if I could shove a tree up Gaea’s nose?

Gaea, whose breath makes the ground tremble, whose face barely twitches in the dirt of the cliff.

Gaea, who dangles a woman, one who looks so achingly familiar that his chest hurts, over the end of it all.

Choose, Percy Jackson, comes a voice that haunts his waking steps. Choose. A second chance.

A second chance?

Percy glares at the dirt, wondering if he could spray some water and wash away her mouth. Wash those foul words, and whatever.

“A second chance?” He repeats. What is that supposed to mean…

Choose. Sally Jackson, or the world.

(Not again, not again, not again.)

Sally…. Jackson?

(Not again not again notagainotagain—)

His head hurts, his heart—twists. Who…?

The ground around him trembles. Columns of dirt burst forth, spraying all kinds of earth into the air. A few rocks get into his hair, and one leaves a parting gift of a cut across his forehead.

The columns warp, twisting and curling. He takes a step back as they surround him, reminding too much of—of—

He regrets it, immediately, as a deep crevice cracks and expands just centimeters away from his foot. A fire blazes from it, spreading out, burning away all the grass and forest. In the distance, he thinks he can see cabins set ablaze?

The woman—Sally, who is Sally?—is shaken once more. She bites at the vines around her, an arrangement of curses muffled behind them.

Choose, Percy Jackson, Gaea demands. Choose.

(Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it—)

Percy looks between Sally and Gaea, a little frantic, more than confused.

“What do you want?” He hisses. Sally has to be important somehow, Gaea only ever taunts him with shit like that. For why she’s important…

Sally is shaking her head. Don’t, she’s trying to tell him.

There isn’t a look of fear in her eyes. There isn’t even hesitance. All that’s there is determination, and, astonishingly, an ocean's worth of… love? A deep, shielding love that…. a mother… could….

Choose! What will you sacrifice?

The ground rumbles once more.

Sally is looking at him more comforting, now. It reminds him of the blue drink he had, way back then, when they were about to first set out. It makes his throat close, it makes his eyes burn.

She looks at Percy as if everything will be okay.

(Stop it, stop it! This will be the last, I can’t—)

He stands, legs trembling, chest heaving with unshed tears.

The vines constrict around her, squeezing. Percy startles, his hand reaching out, feels the bit of moisture in the air respond to him, feels the water trapped in the soil—the choice has been made, he has lingered too long.

Around him, the world washes out into grey and black. Sally, though, begins to glow instead.

He tilts, as something comes to mind, of a scene far too similar. Of his mother—(his mother, his dearest mother, please you can’t take her away again!)—trapped in the hands of a monster. A minotaur.

She’s yelling at him, (she’s smiling at him), telling him to go go go (it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay)—

The glow is bright, now, blinding. It pauses for all a second, and—

(Please, I can save her again, I can save her—)

It fades, the glow draining in an instant, and she crumbles into dust. It slips through the vines, falling to the ground, in an awfully, awfully somber way.

Percy stares, hand still outstretched. A part of him feels like it crumbled alongside her, alongside his mother.

(That’s not what’s supposed to happen. That’s not what happened. This isn’t right.

What have you done?)

“What have you done?”

The ground rumbles, once more, but it isn’t Gaea who’s the cause of it. Under his feet, it trembles, dirt skittering this way and that.

Gaea does not answer. Her closed eyes seem to burn into him.

It does not affect him—not as much as she might want it to. It does the opposite, and something inside him roars, angry and upset and devastated and bring her back bring her back—

“What have you done?!”

He brings his hands up, his stomach twisting, and all he feels is rage, rage, rage, (a horrific emptiness), rage, rage.

A jet of water bursts out in front of him, ten, fifteen, then twenty feet high. It responds to his rage (responds to his desperation.)

In a voice that shakes the very core of the earth, he screams, “Bring her back!!”

The water shoots forth, expanding as it does so, until a tidal wave crashes into the cliff. It seems to have done nothing, as when it flows back, flows through the fires that blaze around him, Gaea has vanished. The dust has been swept away, not a trace left.

His body shakes, his expression one of terror and rage. He wants to find Gaea and rip every detail of her face off, wants to swear and curse the gods for forcing him into another godawful world-ending quest, wants his mother—

Wants…. his mother….

Percy sinks to his knees. His throat burns. The images of his mom exploding into gold and fading to nothing overlap in his mind.

A tear drops down his cheek. More follow, until he is heaving and sobbing and wailing and cursing at the injustice of it all. He keels over, holding a hand to his mouth, as he grieves.

“Bring her back,” he croaks.

(I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, mom, I couldn’t—

I couldn’t save you again.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…..)